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Tickets
are $10 and the price of admission includes a "I'm gonna stand up here and yell some inane, stupid sh*t at you and if you don't like it, you can kiss my assssssssssss," rumbled the burly, lumberjack-looking, red-bearded, firmly brassiered Deacon Lunchbox before launching into a flurry of funny, sharp, assymetrical poems he punctuated with a hammer on torpedo shell or fishing pail. The AJC reviewers wrote, "If you like Emily Dickensen, you'll hate this book of poetry," which is exactly why we loved going to see him perform. Deacon passed away Easter weekend 1992, but come join the Savages and some of his closest friends to celebrate the magic, the madness and the moment this mountain of a man encapsulated and the Atlanta artists he inspired with his words, spirt and fearless sound. |
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