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‘Cross the pond, by the Dover Peaks

August 3, 2011

Dear Europe,

Were words a more worthy tool, we would much easier be able to express unto you our unadulterated gratitude in a way that better approximated the feelings we collectively harbor with regards to you, your people, and the manner in which you dealt with us.  For having so long ignored your shores, we were all but certain at the onset of our journey that we were, surely, in over our heads.  The amount of warmth, appreciation, and support that you offered in our direction not only surprised us, but humbled us to the core.  From the pit of our heart, we say: thank you.

Men are being held in cages today to account for certain atrocities.  Others are busy reflecting on the slaughter they enacted on a once-peaceful island.  Frustrated men and women are walking by foot from the Iberian Peninsula to the seat of European government to demand better treatment.  Rich men where we are from are haggling over how to ensure the gap between themselves and the hoi polloi stays wide enough for their yachts to traverse.  Football players are readying themselves for concussion, finally.  Other football players are trying to work their way back up from relegation.  And us?  We are sitting pretty, digesting the fine (vegan) treats of Joaquin’s Stockholm, and regurgitating the tales of angry, wheel-chasing dogs in Timisoara.  What sense is there to be made?

Sometimes you go out into the world ignorant of your place in it.  You are not fully aware that you belong, and days are spent wondering if you are a part of it or apart from it.  You sit in your room writing riffs, or writing words, and you propose to hate for the sake of it feeling far more fulfilling than not hating.  You sweat, maybe.  Imagine people actually giving a shit.  And mostly, it feels like a vacuum sealed package, landlocked to Orange County, sans air conditioning and impetus.

But but but.

Those of you that met us, that folded your arms in front of us, that plowed your drunken fist into our shattering teeth in Nurnberg, and that housed us, fed us, offered us a stage/floor/abandoned USSR furniture factory to play on or in, that gave us money for shitty shirts that didn’t really fit, that asked us awkwardly to sign CD’s, that sent us soap, and that shared a 9-person van with us, that accepted retribution from us, and that offered us aggression that will certainly never go unchecked: you have made us more aware that the world is more habitable than, perhaps, we once thought it was.  In such a day and such an age, it is easy to say that this is no small feat.  Thusly, our thanks.

More specifically, our electronic high-fives are forever offered to The Goodtime Boys, Glasses, and George from No Decline Booking.  Eat shit, assholes.

If you have the ability to show us photographic or video evidence of our existence in Europe, please email us.  Until then:

and

al / et al dangers

5 Comments leave one →
  1. Maraxvx permalink
    August 4, 2011 4:22 pm

    Tornate presto!

  2. August 11, 2011 1:45 am

    SAFE AL

    from your pal, Tal

  3. amnesiacphlgm permalink
    August 19, 2011 5:33 pm

    so glad you enjoyed the tour. it was amazing seeing you guys.
    please come back and keep doing what you’re doing!

    all the best
    Dimitri from Vienna (nice picture by the way)

  4. September 7, 2012 10:20 pm

    A very belated thank you from the bottom of my black and innocent heart. From the Gold Coast where I first ever heard you back in 2010, to Olde London Towne nine months later where I sang every fucking word to every fucking song, my conversion rate and its absolute completeness is a testament to how communicable this DANGERSrous infection truly is. More importantly, at both shows you gave us everything you had – love, sweat and tears – and I love you all for being so beautifully raw for us. These are the experiences I live for.

    Eternally yours,
    Defender Of The Faith

  5. January 20, 2013 7:25 am

    A very belated thank you from the bottom of my black and innocent heart. From the Gold Coast where I first ever saw and heard you back in 2010, to Olde London Towne nine months later where I knew and sang every fucking word to every fucking song, my conversion rate and its absolute completeness is a testament to how communicable this DANGERrouS infection truly is. More importantly, at both shows you gave us everything you had – love, sweat and tears – and I love you all for being so beautifully raw for us. These are the experiences I live for.
    Eternally yours,
    Defender Of The Faith

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