Mastervibe Inc

No really i just can’t sleep — stuff happens. Long story.

But if I may, Bridge, it’s all your fault. I’m just sayin’. I knew from the go I was in for serious trouble. Like of biblical proportions. Himalayan, maybe.

You just kept on pushing it onto me — like some hellacious repellant, you see, you were saying, I’m toxic, I’m dangerous, I’m made of thick black stuff with sewing needles swimming in, just like Megan Fox’s puke in “Jennifer’s Body”.

And what you think I did. I just went to you. Like to my own private church. Ablaze in colorless, blinding glory. Too fucking beautiful to be true. Like one friend said to me, the trumpet player — you know, real friends, the ones who actually care enough to tell you things — a rose that’s this red, it’s not a rose, it’s paint.

And I said, well now don’t you go and destroy my hopes like that! All the while evidently knowing he was completely right. But I had to see for myself didn’t i? I just had to drop my whole soul right into this mess of yours. A man likes a challenge. A man needs a challenge. Young, pretty, tight-butted, who could ask for a better one. In all seriousness.

But, not wanting to be bitter or anything — I look back on this thang of ours, and I think, maybe it could have worked. I mean, I wanted you, and you wanted me. Isn’t that all that matters? I was told it was. But then, not the way I did.

I lost it baby, I must say, I lost you. I totally went sideways, got scared, lost control. Shit. I should have known it wasn’t the way to go. Because it’s not that serious. Love I mean. You were just a girl, I was just a boy. Keep perspective — yeah but, I couldn’t. I was all-consumed. 

I remember fighting the thought of losing you — walking in the street, quarreling with an imaginary Bridge, scrambling the shit out, losing my head. Boy, you sure made a huge impression on me.

I think all i wanted to say, all i want to say right now, is that i loved you ferociously, enormously, and I’m sorry I let you go. I’m sorry we didn’t happen. Church not on time.

Long story.
xxx Luke

Once upon a while, people be askin’ me, “Luke, do you got the funk?” To which I answer: Motherfucker, I ain’t posin’ up there! I’m a bass player goddamit! I don’t got the funk, I don’t own the funk, I am the funk!

But, lemme tell you, this was far from a given, at any time. I’ve had to sweat blood and sharp sixteenths to get there! I’ve paid my dues to the Funk, and in many ways, I still do today. But I do what I likes: I play music. And, sometimes, I get to tell stories.

Is the funk a bit like the mojo?

Not at all. The mojo is a magical spell related to voodoo, while “funky” only means stinky. As in, stinky business. Stinky business you can have on the back seat of a car. So that’s how you make funky music: by thinking of your girlfriend, on the backseat of a (seventies) car. None more to it.

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