Thorsten Brinkmann - Rio (2007)
He stood in his shoes, a white Hanes shirt, and boxers -- bent at the knees and with his face driven into his elbow. "You're not typing what I say are you?" I promised I wasn't.
More about him: He is green. And lanky. And frail. Small. He loves to touch rusty spoons. Or at least that's how he describes himself. "You know who Salad Fingers is? Literally he has salad for fingers and loves spoons. " I told him to take this more seriously.
He shifted his feet a couple times and stood up straight, arm still laid across his face. I could tell he was trying to peek a little. "OK, this song is a beautiful sacred object that no one was meant to touch. The essence of natural. Gift from the Gods." I reassured gently so he'd continue.
"It's so beautiful. But we just slam shit into it." We sat in silence for a second and then I asked him to explain. "But I'd advocate for that. I'd talk about how cool and powerful it would be. To destroy something beautiful."
He opened opened his eyes. "I want to see the plume, damnit."
Br'er - Painted Lady (mp3) [Project Lodge on 10/11]