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W.C. Minger Liner Notes
W.C. Minger Liner Notes
Beset by the
vagaries, we hold as well we are able to our steady course down a road with no
uncertain end. The weak among us fall and die on the road; but we all fall and die
somewhere. Along the way our path is punctuated by fleeting moments of glory,
blessed periods of respite relaxing with our true friends, and the occasional slip into
hideous pits of shame and degradation. One moment we are secure, asleep in the
tender arms of a lover, the next battered down and about by some sudden calamity.
We are befriended by strangers, beheaded by cruel outlaws, nourished by gifts of
cheese, and each day we wake like poultry and confront our continuum. There is
much to do, and our priorities allow us neither the time nor the perspective to
poetize the prosaic.
Now and again, perhaps also routinely, there appears among us one who knows and
feels too much our collective predicament to heed the peregrinations of his own
existence; a centroid life form, subliminally assaulted by the vicissitudes of service
to the communal cerebrum. And there is not much for the fellow to do but tell the
rest of us how it feels. Such a figure is our friend Bill; a febrile fissiped whose
fragile future forewarns of a funky farrago of futility; a cultural liver, if you will,
full of the rank waste of human frailty. Yet the man’s glebous yearnings defy the
homogenized instincts of the priapized populace. He confutes the cast a numinous
wimple occluding the murderous maunderings of mundanity and offering us a glimpse
of our unadorned selves. So here they are, recorded at last, a rowdy round of
rhetoric from the rictus of that remarkable reprobate, William Charles “Wild Bill”
Minger IV. Enjoy!