DJ Fly Agaric 23 (drums) Pinopinopolis (Guitar) - Doctor Marshmallow Cubicle

Dr marshmallow Cubicle - Bogius Jam III photos

Doctor Marshmallow Cubicle Sampler

Mirror in the Buurvrouw & Sod The Rich

http://www.schudio.co.uk/blog/2011/mirror-in-de-buurvrouw/

From CHU:

After the success of the previous wall, the good folk at De Buurvrouw asked me to back to decorate their main wall in the bar. The inspiration came from the famous song by The Beat ‘Mirror in the Bathroom’ (there’s a fantastic interview with Dave Wakeling about the origin of the songs’ lyrics, not what you think). More details, a few 360 degree panoramas and a video after the jump.

I set up a timelapse camera, capturing every 30 seconds or so. The video below also has a soundtrack made by Amsterdam’s own Dr Marshmallow Cubicle, featuring the many talents of another long time collaborator and dear friend Steve FlyAgaric Pratt with guitar by Vicente Pino.
http://www.schudio.co.uk/blog/2011/mirror-in-de-buurvrouw/


SODTHERICH by flyagaric23

Marshmallow Cubicle LIVE at Magneet Festival 2011

Dr. Marshmallow Cubicle Queensday (flyer's by CHU)

SIXTY: a Novel by Steve Fly Agaric 23' Excerpt.

SHOWER SING-SONG SCENE
From SIXTY: A Novel by Steven James Pratt


Joe sang in a number of
different keys
and 'styles'
some might say

chanting squeaking,
wrapping to deploy one
word snapshots:
I was washing the brow with now,
running with the water asking am I wet,
how much on the bet, the next set of ideas,
who will go with me in conversation, in business,
who will believe this life I lead,
and take the seeds I sprinkle,
thinking of sinking the battleships of
unbalance through these lips,

taking each moment as strips, reading in reels,
clicking my heels and going into the ceiling,
what thoughts can get at it,
get at all in the feeling,
tongue tired must keep sealing
the fate of air particles,
ear to ear and head inside the Hsien-glider,
turned on the hot tap,
sqeeze the mapple syrup through the nozzel,
lips to nibble the ear world,
eyes to dabble the haze landscape,
a hedgehog in a cape, floating without water,
a mind-high you doing,
bad vibes traced out and back
again to play again,
remixed tricks of the grade,
call a shovel a spade,
heads spun and sprayed,
serving home made lemonade.

I am under the waterfall,
meteorites in each drip,
satelites encircle each drop,
clip-clop go the feet of the wooden folk,
tea and biscuits served in a tartan steel box,
around the fire,
thanks for the tree and the meal,
cheers for the cheers for the cheers,
such small talk passed by my ears,
got caught on an ear-ring
swung around the head
into a song about face.

Time around my neck like
clock hands interlocked,
time creeps under my bed,
around the rooms I roam,
in my hair like foam,
strings of lemon grass sweet
links between our sinks,
funnels and tunnels to our
past head gears, locked,
blocked, my rip roaring free
writing mocked,
trigger cocked and sheep flocked,
my lyric keeps me afloat,
solving the equation
advising not to vote,
don't vote for those fuckers
vote for your friends,
your facebook community as
Government entity,
spent plenty gob fulls on
social network,
how about some blow jobs,
the time around our body like lotion,
rubbed and medically applied,
60 jars of melted mars bars,
turned back into liquid, used
to bruise the brand
remake the sand every time

re-draw the bandwidth,
the stage-gauge,
the page depth of breadth
of field of view,
the space and time tiff seems overdone
still overdue, the day after
yesterday, tea time now
the flow of shower power
grows on me like moss
the teeth and the floss

the few days left
the sweat coming from under
my right cleft,
the gigs and the meetings,
the work and the eating,
the time it takes to bake a
cake and blog a new view,
to who knows who,
who listens to these blog
word wonders anyhow,
who's recording this,
nobody I hope and I'll
continue inuuendo and
reason for bliss,
kiss the dome hat and the
sky arch pussy
union of being
of being in union,
like concentric rings
of an oinion,
I'll make you cry like
a funnion

Trumpets from above and
gloves sewn into a
dove pattern fit the lady of bikes,
she rides past the supermarket trolley,
the cars and the large articulated lorries,
awkwardly parked like armadillo's,
like a word that don't fit,
traffic skewes the landscape
out of balance,
speed and greed perception on
low level street journey
we peek the street only
once a week but when kids
every night rain,
snow and wind we would
blend into the footpath,
the park and roads, out in the
dark exchanging our odes,
kids without direction, building
language and tuff skin,
getting into trouble outside
of school and flipping
every sin you could think of,
finding an edge to rebellion,
courting the gouls and impressing fools,
masking the making of trouble
with innocent ignorance
don't want to look or consider
to reconsider the data,
my teenage ego knows,
and I knows what's what,
it goes like this,
fuck off, we'll kick your
head in old man,
fuck off
now the path winds into
a spiral maelstrom
down to the deeper depths,
raps of critic
raps of injustice, raps
against power
angry, fire filled raps, but what
of the words bounce and softness,
the leaking perfume itching
behind your ear,
of nothing, the ephemeral
emerald of now,
the kind of thoughts a security
guard woulod guard
without pay for eternity
just to know they are safe, in love
the romance lock to the door,
your hands and legs sprawled out
on the floor
truth fucked in the ass, in the mouth,
the sex and body of beauty
and slang banged together
like two elk heads,
complicated jagged sharp sticks,
branched in starnge ways,
but the simple body parts fit,
thats it, give it to me,
thanks, the body and mind
leave the field altogether,
mind-sex left in the
comments section,
who's fucking who, who
cares, who knows, who stares,
who stars in their bra's and
rides Jaguar's,
who be in the sun strip
glitter of expense,
giving faked 'value'
to cheap products,
who put the people in the pictures
and paint the pictures of the people
what kind of a shampoo is this
who's business

whig and wags of the tails
of stale M.P's talking rubbish,
daft dense wafts of smoke,
as Flav said, 911 is a joke,
still to these war pigs,
slaughter of innocent
always innocent,
slaughter of the guilty
may revel in excess,
take these words and
put them in boxes,
take them out again
and re-dress,
address the fact the word's gone
page burnt away and only
sounds and lights left,
sacred drift

Catching acrylic worlds,
building a school and a
 hospital and a college in each neuron
each bit, everywhere fit
for consumption,
fit for connection,
fit for health and fitness,
live to see the expanse and contraction,
the contraction, the contraption,
the contra-distinction between
 tincture and reefer,
between size, and temperature,
giving smiles and stuff in each puff,
giving nod and the feeling of yes I will,
lets do it,
lets go for it and build up
 our free resource,
our friendship,

set sail and meet with warm
 feet and a loud hi,
please excuse me while I kiss the sky,
the stars are crying and
the milky way
blushes when you
walked in the room,
I knew the blues were close,
I could smell the toast
and eggs on our pillow,
jam and feta sitting on
 the side there ontop of your sweater,
the letter you wrote

the boat I took
the look of love and book of sweetness...
removed from the library
shelves of our township,
something lost and now a gain, again,
grasping the moon with the
 hand, the stars the earth,
grasping salt grains, grabbing at straws,
the wonder of disorganized religion,
the the the...

lack of cohesion, and order,
the disorder of Universe,
reflected in this verse,
in the world purse that
 opens up like a Porn
star's Vagina
when a big dick nation
wants some booty,
last I heard about 8 Billion
could provide adequate food
housing and shelter to
 the worlds population,
instead mutilation,
more bombs and listen...
I beat those drums again,
of p[ain and injustice,
the balance of my plug
mouth must muster up the mustard spice,
re-align with what's right and provide
the best gloss that I could put up,
put up the fists for the fight
 and celebrate the wins,
we win and they loose,
we win with each injustice
 and each death and each lie
and each bruise,
the nasty violent bastards
 of sick and twisted nations
by a peace loving amicable
society, we balance
inside of me lies the
core of each thought
I spew up onto the sports field,
what my minds revealed,
is to keep the sleep at
 bay with a continuous
babble... much like the
 records play.`


Steve Fly Agaric 23 'taken from his forthcoming Novel SIXTY'

Doctor Marshmallow Cubicle Syblings at 301 Overtoom pts 5 & 6

Doctor Marshmallow Cubicle Syblings at 301 Overttom

JOHN SINCLAIR and his AMSTERDAM BLUES SCHOLARS

John Sinclair - Words
Vincent Pino - Guitars, Effects
Steve Fly - Drums, Turntables, Production.

RECORDED AND MIXED BY Tim Eggmond at EI COMPLEX studios, AMSTERDAM. Monday 4th January 2010.

JOHN SINCLAIR and his AMSTERDAM BLUES SCHOLARS

We kicked of 2010 with a live recording session at the EI COMPLEX studios, Amsterdam. After our initial session last year - tentatively titled 'Doctor Marshmallow Cubicle' - we returned in 2010 with special guest, John Sinclair, to record six poems as a trio.

Starting at roughly noon, Vincent and myself recorded two sets of music, follwed by 3 sessions with John Sinclair starting around 5 PM through until 8. We made two passes on "It smells like Sulphur here" playing a little slower on the second cut, and the poem in honour of Jimi Hendrix "Scuze Me While I Kiss The Sky" is repeated twice by John, capturing our groove and giving us a healthy double-dose of the poem. The other tracks were spontaneous creations, unplanned grooves, built from feeding back with John a little before we played and listening to him while we played, in our headphones. The poems we recorded together were:

SMELLS LIKE SULPHUR HERE
HUMPHF
PANNONICA
SCUZE ME WHILE I KISS THE SKY
FAT BOY
FRIDAY THE 13TH

FRIDAY THE 13TH - John Sinclair and his Amsterdam Blues Scholars by flyagaric23

Shortly after the session I handed the freshly cut tracks to John, whom promptly programed some of them into his underground radio show to stunning effect, that you can listen to on show 304 now.

I went back to the the studio again yesterday, wednesday 13th January, and picked up the earlier part of the session where Vince and I let loose on some Marshmallow mayhem.
Open Source Democracy (b)- DOCTOR MARSH... by flyagaric23

The results have been chopped into 15 Tracks, some are available here, at my soundcloud account, now, free.

We plan to modify parts of these sessions further and produce an album, including turntable parts, bass, and other instrumentalists, plus we will record - new fresh - material in the coming months.

contact
flyagaric23 @ gmail . com
Please visit these links for more info and feedback from the artists.

http://www.myspace.com/flyagaric23

http://www.myspace.com/vinzentpp

http://www.myspace.com/johnsinclairradio

http://www.radiofreeamsterdam.com/john-sinclair-radio-show-304/

http://fatteningblogsforsnakes.blogspot.com/




Dollar Death - Amsterdam Blues Scholars by flyagaric23





Open Source Medicine - Amsterdam Blues Scholars by flyagaric23





FAT BOY by flyagaric23