среда, сентября 28, 2005

Peace & Love by John Trubee

"I got high last night on LSD
My mind was beautiful, and I was free
Warts loved my nipples because they are pink
Vomit on me, baby
Yeah Yeah Yeah.

Stevie Wonder's penis is erect because he's blind
It's erect because he's blind, it's erect because he's blind
Stevie Wonder's penis is erect because he's blind
It's erect because he is blind

Let's make love under the stars and watch for UFOs
And if little baby Martians come out of the UFOs
You can fuck them
Yeah Yeah Yeah.

The zebra spilled its plastinia on bemis
And the gelatin fingers oozed electric marbles
Ramona's titties died in hell
And the Nazis want to kill everyone.

Stevie Wonder's penis is erect because he's blind ... etc"

вторник, сентября 27, 2005


ive got a friend and he worries me. because hes always so worried about being crazy, and going crazy, and giving off impressions that make people say, 'hey, he's pretty crazy, right?'
and i say to him: craziness is all fine and good, its ok, but you know man, i think youre very close to having something, i mean, to really being bang on - until you start talking about how crazy you are, i mean, you were so close.' and i really think that, i think he is close.
well, yesterday we were hanging out around novoslobodskaya, and we were making funny jokes, and saying things, and hanging out, and then all of a sudden there he goes, bang - man, im crazy!
and all i could say was - man, you were funny, you were witty and bang on, and then you have to screw the whole fucking thing up! crazy my ass! you are fucking crazy - i said - asshole.
and then, geez, he did get a bit weird, i mean, i dont know; some dude walked up and buddy turned around and looked at him straight in the face and screamed and then - fell down on the pavement and started frothing at the fucking mouth. then he got up and looked me in the face and said - nothing. he didnt say anything. but he freaked me out a bit. i dont know.

The Delightful Irony of Metathinking

I have been struck down by a terrible malaise. I hesitate to mention it, lest I inflict it upon others - but these, I suspect, are my last few lucid thoughts. Let them be put down, let them become the kernel of human destruction.
As our metro screamed around the curve and pulled into Krasnopresnenskaya, I watched a filthy, brown-skinned wraith - perhaps she was babushka in years past - screaming obscenities at a businessman. He nodded and gave a weak smile, half-ingratiating and half-pleading. And I thought: 'What am I thinking about?'
And in Novoslobodskaya, I saw a young punk on his heels list over and sprawl across the stones, and I though: 'That's all well and good, but what am I thinking about?'
And on Marksistskaya ulitsa, I saw a car reverse into a woman and knock her to the ground with a crunch, and she let out a pitiful cry, and a man got out of the car and yelled abuse at her, but I had no time to be relieved when the militsiya pulled up - I was too busy thinking: 'Yes, what am I thinking about? What is it that I am thinking about?'
I probably have less than a day, and I will be completely mad, mind broken by this endless litany. And then! O then I will have surrendered control, and my thoughts will become separate from my mind, and never again shall they meet. And, of course, among the shattered remnants of my consciousness, it will be impossible to pose the question 'What am I thinking about?'
But I suppose that is the delightful irony of metathinking, is it not?

пятница, сентября 23, 2005

Pushkin's Blood

Pushkin's blood was black,
But the French were unable
To prove it to me.

четверг, сентября 22, 2005

mon ami le max

mon ami le max
parfois est comme un ours sans une mere
est comme une renard sans la lettre r
parfois je pense qu'il est un grand arbre
parfois mais pas chaque jour
mais pas chaque
mon ami max

среда, сентября 21, 2005

Elegy haiku

The word 'elegy':
I wish I knew what it meant.
'Elegy', that is.

Poor Bastard

It’s not that I don’t like Pierre, I just forgot. My blasted phone hasn’t been working properly – I bought a new SIM card for the beggar, but it’s still on the blink.
Well, and after work we gathered at the kiosk for a couple of beers, and among the throng, I began thinking about my phone again. I guess I was kinda bored. Pierre was standing beside me, back turned, animated in conversation, and on a whim I pulled my phone out of my pocket and gave him a call. He heard the ring and excused himself, but I hung up just before he answered. I just wanted to see if my phone was working, see? He looked a little bewildered, and I admit I had a chuckle at his expense – twice the chuckle when he turned back, only to discover his conversationalist had thankfully departed. Poor old Pierre – he tries hard.
I spied the poor bugger throughout the night, pulling his phone from his pocket from time to time and staring at my number, trying to figure out who had called him. But he never worked up the guts to ring back and find out, poor old Pierre. I figured I’d do the right thing and tell him at some point, but by the end of the night I was riding the metro home, and I’d forgotten all about Pierre. Poor bastard.

shelves and canes

shelves and canes shelves and canes
broken canes and broken shelves
broken hearts and empty wells
empty wells in empty shelves
-listen-he said- the shelves are empty
the are no books in broken hearts
there are no books on broken shelves
there are no canes
to support
this broken
of what once might have been

Croissant sans

Le croissant n'est pas un arbre
Le croissant ne sait pas la difference
L'arbre croit croit sans sans
verticalite, l'arbre bizarre

le bout de pain sesame
dans la nuit blessee de mon coeur meurtri
dans la nuit evanouie de ma tete en essor
le bout de pain


try to rhyme wagon with passion
try to rhyme the letters of my name
with the beating of your heart

How to breathe pollution

Quality cigarettes for cheap purposes
with a crown atop everything loud
pick up edelweisses for a guy called moses
hyped the feelings hidden on a cloud

I'd like to learn another foreign language

I'd like to learn another foreign language
I'd like to eat another foreign sandwich
Then I could speak in tougues...
....roll them round my mouth and swallow.
Hmmm, foreign toungues!

I'm planning to buy a new car

I'm planning to buy a new car
with big yellow shining horns
the policeman ask where do u you come from
in this brand new car
with big chalk sparkling exhaust
I am gonna burn some tar
take it with you man, you fake it
I don't have a driver licence

i was looking after my friends cat

i was looking after my friends cat
and now i cant find it
i was looking for a new best hat
i now my friend is wearing a cat
my friend is wearing a cat
my friend is wearing a lost cat

I want to learn to dance the Tango

I want to learn to dance the tango
buy butter buy butter buy a plane ticket
buy a plane ticket, don't step on the bucket
you don't know you don't have a go
I'm the grim fandango, ripened mango
I shake my legs, shark in a thin can
kill the muppet, I do what I can


The great big sky is like a watermelon
they fired it up and they gloom
In the alley, mashed potholes lawn
give credits to the ring I pawn

вторник, сентября 20, 2005


I am still waiting where you left me
Outside the produce section
Halfway between the homogenized milk
And the automatic doors
How can there be such an abundance of colour and fragrance
And so little nourishment for the soul?

Dearest, I’ve dropped the remote control
And its just out of reach
The people are lost in the aisles
And there is no one to change the channel
Where are the French movies about love on horseback?
Where is Pepe le Pue making love to the cat?
Where is the sense of a meaningful sexuality
Our fathers died for in the Great Patriotic War?

Natasha, dearest,
I have lost my sense of time
And fear being late for ALL engagements
Natasha, my love!
My desires have lost all proportion –
I want flags on everything
And a woman with tambourines tied to her legs
I want a floor that creaks
Every time you come back to bed
But with just enough of the indecision
I want trinkets everywhere
To charm you
And a statue of Lenin weeping
For the wicked things he’s done
I want jam pouring from the faucets
And soup cans in the microwave
I want you on the morning after
Your last great love

I want you to forgive me
For being less beautiful than you
And still putting on airs
Like the little dog
With no income
And too much pride

Everyday is A little Life

понедельник, сентября 19, 2005

Vino Grat

Chere Lune,

Je t'ai vu regarder a travers la fenetre et projeter sur mes murs, oui ce sont les miens ne discute pas ! des bandeaux de nuits comme s'ils venaient obscurcir les fleurs en motifs du papier-peint, oui j'ai du papier-peint a fleur et alors ? Bon, alors, je regardais ta magie a l'oeuvre, comme tu sais si bien jouer avec la lumiere et tout ca et je n'etais pas saoul, non non non, trois fois non, je contemplais quelquechose sans savoir vraiment quoi, en tombant mille fois entre la vie et le sommeil, a chaque fois tes bras me retenaient, de plus en plus fort, et je cherchais un grain de raisin qui aurait roule par la, en dessous de la table, mais je n'ai trouve que des boucles d'oreilles et une femme qui dormait dans le lit. Une femme tres belle de pres. Alors ca, mon Dieu, quelle surprise ! J'en suis tombe des nues et finalement j'ai pu sombrer moi aussi.

воскресенье, сентября 18, 2005


my dearest son,
i very nearly wrote nose there, and not son, but you now, thats what age does to a mind, even a mind once sharp, once wickedly sharp, and once very very concerned.
how would you react if i were to say - it serves you right? would you think me very wicked(and not sharp at all)? because it pains me very much to say it, and it pains me even more to admit it is the only answer i can give you.
alas, that is a mothers lot, to raise wicked children, children who simply - can i say it - do not listen.
is it not true that in those years when all others had run past, in those difficult years when all the others had, if i can be so incredibly bold, forsaken you, when a mothers thankless job is at its most tiresome and wickedly thankless, i say, is it not true that even then, you began to show that wicked strain of hardheadedness - even now i want to justify you, after all it is a trait you inherited from your father - that has now, i can say with all certainty, been your downfall.
you cruel stupid man.
but even now, a mothers love is forever, my love does not wane, i find a wave of sympathy yet alive inside me; yes, what is there beside a mothers love? is it not true what they say - he has a face only a mother could love? and is it not true that one could say the same of not only your face - but your character too?! what a foul thing.
i cannot say more right now, i am afraid i am too full of bile and disgust and neither is sitting here to write you doing anything for my legs, i must get up and stretch them.
it serves you right.
your father says hello.
and dont forget to bring those plates you promised(though no doubt youve already forgotten, my wicked son)
love, your mother

суббота, сентября 17, 2005

Women who pass in the street

Dearest Varvara,
I am losing my humanity. Yesterday I saw an old woman sprawled in the snow. Thinking perhaps she was dead, I laughed. Then I thought maybe she was drunk, and I hated her. As I walked past, I shuffled some snow in her face, to see if the cold would awaken her, but she didn't move. A woman passing by saw me and began remonstrating. You see, Varvara, the woman was so cruel that she preferred to remonstrate with me than help the old woman. They have done it to me, these women who pass in the street. I returned later, to see if I still felt like laughing or hating or maybe even helping, but the old woman was gone. Just a filthy rag in the snow, and I was so disappointed that I wandered the backstreets looking for people to remonstrate with, but there were none to be found. In the end, I came across a haggard dog with cunning eyes, and ran at it, waving my arms and shouting, but it just sat and winked at me, and I felt so sorrowful that I sank to my knees and held it's stinking head against my own until it pulled out of my grasp and looked into my eyes and said: 'you are neither human nor dog' and vanished into the darkness and, Varvara, since then I cannot remember my name. What is it again? Do write soon and tell me, Varvara: it pains me greatly that I cannot sign this letter, even though I remain,
Your most loving and devoted son,

пятница, сентября 16, 2005


i snapped at her, 'do you really want to have my babies?'
she didnt like that one bit, she wasnt happy with it at all. but she needed what she needed so she ignored me.
'come on,' she said, 'just a little dance.'
so i went out on the dance floor with her.

an anti-parable

once there was a turtle and once there was a rabbit, and they didn’t have any human characteristics about them whatsoever, and they weren’t like humans. the turtle was slow, that’s for sure, and so are many people, i guess. and the rabbit was your typical sort of rabbit – he stood there, half blind, not seeing almost anything at all, and if you tried to get close to him his ears jumped right up and he figured out that you were somewhere around but he couldn’t be sure, and thats also quite human, maybe. when he was sure he ran away, pretty fast, but not like a cheetah or anything.
a ninja would have been able to sneak up on him, or a Mohican, but lets call a spade a spade – a ninja doesn’t have much business sneaking up on rabbits and Mohicans are long gone.
so the turtle, he was walking around, looking for stuff and getting scared and hiding in his turtle shell, and the rabbit was eating grass and doing whatever and you know what – sometimes I feel like that turtle; but I rarely feel like that rabbit.

The Fable of the Camel and the Bee

Once upon a time, a camel was walking through the desert. From the top of a sandy ridge, she spied a green oasis nestled at the bottom of a valley of dunes. Being a little thirsty, she trotted on down, and immediately came upon a bee.
‘Ho!’ said the camel. ‘My name is Camel.’
‘Aha!’ said the bee. ‘They call me Bee.’
‘Bee,’ said Camel. ‘Do you not agree that the notion of a green oasis nestled at the bottom of a valley of dunes in the middle of the desert is absurd?’
‘Why yes,’ said Bee. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘How then,’ said Camel, ‘can you explain the existence of this green oasis?’
Bee smiled.
‘It’s quite simple,’ she said. ‘This green oasis is merely a mechanism through which a camel and a bee can meet, talk, and demonstrate a profound truism.’
‘Ah,’ said Camel. ‘But why should we wish to demonstrate a profound truism?’
Bee smiled again. She was a very clever bee.
‘Because this is a fable,’ she said. ‘And fables always demonstrate profound truisms.’
Camel gazed at Bee in admiration.
‘You are a very clever bee,’ she said.
Bee smiled once more, and her yellow stripes flushed orange.
‘However, Bee,’ Camel continued. ‘I have no wish to be a slave to profound truisms.’
‘Why, neither do I!’ cried Bee. ‘What a strange pair we are!’
‘Yes,’ agreed Camel. ‘What say you we wander over to the shade and forget this foolish fable?’
‘A fine idea,’ said Bee.
And so they did.

четверг, сентября 15, 2005

The Camel

At first, he thought they were bees. Angry bees, amassing in the glare, feeding off each other until they became laden with fury, could stand it no longer, and so swarmed at the camel’s head. Fearful, he had carried out an inspection at the end of the day: underneath a cake of dust and above a glimmer of contempt in the wide brown pupils lay an unconcerned camel’s face. The camel, at least, seemed unfazed by the bees.
The next day, the camel placed one enormous pad in front of the other, the bees swarmed, and he sweated and gazed at the dunes in dumb wonder. From time to time, he lamented the barren landscape until, overcome by his own stupidity, he announced: ‘And what do the bees eat?’
Laughing aloud, he slapped the camel on the hump. ‘They can’t eat you, can they, old dear? My flower of the desert, you attract flies, not bees! What kind of flower are you?’
The camel ignored him.
Later, another thought occurred to him, and he wondered: ‘But what do the flies eat?’
And he paid close attention until, sick with horror, he reigned the camel to a halt and dismounted. Weeping sores – open wounds rubbed into the camel’s hide by his saddle – were thick with crawling black flies. Maggots sparkled beneath.
‘Oh, my flower of the desert,’ he said, ‘they ARE eating you.’
And he sat in the sand and wept.

вторник, сентября 13, 2005

the bee

why does the honey bee gather honey?
of course he doesnt have a choice, of course he doesnt know why, of course. but the honey sure is sweet - he got pretty lucky.
why does the garbage man gather garbage. this guy has a choice, eh? why doesnt he gather honey? i would like to gather, but i'll bet the honey bee never says - hey, the honeys sweet! i love gathering, im just crazy about gathering honey, but man those flowers are prickly deals, there are some really prickly flowers out there.
and i'll bet at the same time that the bees dont say - god im in love with that flower, god shes just the most beautiful thing ever, god im in love - and then fall down on the ground in despair and grief and refuse to gather honey any more. and i wonder, this is the last thing - does the flower ever say - no, i dont love you, you cant gather my honey - and this would be why the bee fell down on the ground, if he thought she was really beautiful.

Juste comme ca

"no plan is the ultimate masterplan" J'ai prononce cette phrase a l'escorte tatouee qui demandait des precisions comme dans la chanson de Hacker avec Miss Kittin de cadavre, en me la jouant, je suis grave, un vrai connard, ce n'est pas a cause du costume en lin, c'est definitevement un tout bien grossier, neanmoins j'ai force un controle de face un peu severe en la jouant platinium, on s'est retrouve dans un autre endroit avec d'autres lampions, des champions de karate et des femmes qui dansent seules sur un coin de piste. C'etait beau a vomir, j'ai tout contenu dans une joie proche des larmes, ne jamais la croire, elle, qui dans un murmure d'alcoolique exprime des desirs insoupconnables pour une inconnue, la grosse phrase qui te rend jouasse, mais la, en fait elle apprecie juste la couleur de ta complexion et la tessiture exotique de tes formulations hasardeuses; Appelle-moi. Ouais c'est ca, juste comme ca.

понедельник, сентября 12, 2005

Crabmeat and Blood

‘Crabmeat and blood,’ she said. ‘For four days. Heh, that case of crabmeat must have thought itself the luckiest case of crabmeat in the world – perched up there on the wreckage all alone. I was pretty happy when I saw it, I can tell you. After I hauled myself up, I found Lysaker and Brinz, but the rest were already gone. We found Young – well, half of Young. He’d been savaged pretty badly, and was bob-bob-bobbing around in the swells. We hauled what was left of him aboard, all blue veins and white skin and still leaking pink. Brinz and I argued for a while about whether we should keep him. Okay, we argued about WHY we should keep him. Brinz thought we could get him a proper burial after we were rescued, I figured we may need something to keep us going after the crabmeat ran out. In the end, Lysaker began kicking what was left of Young off the edge, and do you know, another shark grabbed him from the wreckage, just like that! It took us hours to get at that crabmeat. They were stiff cans – we bashed them on a rivet until the metal bent and softened, then pried them apart with our bare fingers. Lysaker offered to open the cans by himself. “No need for all of us to shred our hands off,” he said. But the jagged metal did end up shearing through the flesh of his fingers, all the way to the bone, so then Brinz and I had to open the cans as well. We were not a particularly merry crew, I can tell you – you can’t throw a party with crabmeat and blood. After three days, the wreckage had drifted close enough to the mainland that we could see the shore. Before we could stop him, Lysaker announced that he would swim to land and fetch help. Just like that, then he was over the edge and cutting his way through the ocean. The trawler picked us up the next day, but nobody ever saw Lysaker again. I suppose that's what happens when you go swimming with crabmeat and blood all over your hands.’

today we talk flowers

I have a flower and its blue. When im not around I can see it, and I can touch it, and basically its always with me.
Its blue but it has a problem: its half normal flower and half bug eating flower, kinda like the venus fly trap. I dont really specialize in this sort of thing, I mean, im not a botanik or anything, but the reasons for it being what it is have something to do with cross insemination. Or in other words: its mother was a normal flower and its father was a fly eating flower.
And this is the gist of it, this is the real problem: it wants water and to play fair, but at the same time its dying for meat. Very literally. And because its two natures are by nature opposed, it is slowly destroying itself because it can have neither. And it’s a hard thing to watch, its really not easy. Poor flower. Its almost gone, though.

четверг, сентября 08, 2005

Un pantalon mal repasse

Il n'y a pas pire au monde, enfin jusqu'a present, qu'un gougnafier portant un pantalon mal repasse et qui brandit son pistolet a qui-mieux-mieux afin d'effrayer son petit monde, genre je suis un bandit. Je pense qu'il lui aurait fallu une once de courage pour affronter les veritables demons qui sont a nos portes, les veritables ennemis qui viennent jusque dans nos bras, blablabla... Le progres technologique, en voila une terrible nouvelle, on tue a distance, on appuie sur un bouton, la gachette comme ils l'appellent et pof, rate, bon ce n'est pas grave. Depuis on a fabrique des bombes atomiques pour ne rater personne, la t'appuie sur le bouton et boum, il en est fini de ces casse-bonbons, c'est une putain de garantie, la cible est individuelle, le massacre est collectif, c'est comme ca plus on veut etre precis plus les victimes sont nombreuses.


on the way out the door i slipped one pistol into my belt, one into my back pocket, and i cant remember where i put the third.
i crossed usiyevicha heading for the square, taking a right at first lenina, going straight on until port side, and finally turning left into peschanaya.
in the square i stopped in front of the big statue, there was a woman selling sunflower seeds and i thought, 'im all sweaty,' and i wiped my brow, and thought, ' now im gonna have to wait, nobody dies sweaty.'
then i made sure the gun in my belt was still there, reached into my back pocket and checked that one, but couldnt remember where i had put the third so decided not to worry about it.
'its better that way anyway, i didnt know where that third arm was gonna come from.'
and i sat down to wait until i was less sweaty.
i thought about three bullets meeting, but still couldnt figure out where the third was gonna come from.
it didnt matter cause i couldnt remember which pocket i had stuffed the third pistol in anyway.
i looked at the woman again, and she looked at me.
i stared at her but she wouldnt look away.
so i looked away.
by now i wasnt sweaty anymore.

Ole Blackie

I’ve never been to Reno, and I never shot a man just to watch him die. But my mama did tell me to be a good boy, and not to play with guns. And just like Johnny, I ignored her: I became obsessed with ‘em. I couldn’t wait to begin assembling my own private armoury. Why, with a rack of pistols, rifles, shotguns and uzis, I could… I could… Well, I never got that far. In fact, never gave a second thought to what I would do with the guns, I just knew I wanted ‘em.

George’s Res - I was always in a fever to get out there. The fishing was good, but he also had shooting irons lined up against the wall, and they – well, they were downright fascinating. Every so often, a visit from the rellies would see a motley group of men disappearing out the door at dusk, to emerge from the darkness several hours later, wiping gunpowder from gleaming black metal. Hell, once I even got to fire a gun. George took me outside, put a .22 in my hands, showed me how to hold it, and told me to pull the trigger. I was smart enough to aim first, and a thin ironbark sapling caught my bullet with aplomb. A surprisingly light recoil and I was stoked: this whole shooting business was going to be much easier than I first thought.

Some time later, we slaughtered Ole Blackie. He wasn’t much of a calf by that stage, but I still regarded him as such. I was keen as hell to watch the butcher at work. My brother and I stood at the fence fifty metres away. Dad placed a bowl of feed on the ground, and Ole Blackie came trotting over, began snuffling about in it. The butcher carefully placed the barrel between Ole Blackie’s eyes and pulled the trigger. Ole Blackie just collapsed like he had no bones anymore, and in a flash the butcher had whipped out his knife, leapt on Ole Blackie’s twitching body, and slashed his throat open. Black liquid spilled all over the grass. Dad and the butcher stood and watched; my brother and I returned indoors.

Ole Blackie never did anyone any harm, and deserved better than having his brain smashed with a bullet, but I can’t deny he made good eating.

среда, сентября 07, 2005

Le Bleu

J'ai, sur la cuisse, un enorme bleu. Comment je me le suis fait, je n'en sais rien. Mais il est present, sans le voir, je le sens, ca lance. Bien sur, quand je peux, je le regarde, je le trouve beau et je le touche. Je touche mon bleu et ca me fait kiffer. Des petites pointes de douleur legere, douces comme une morsure de chaton. On nous dit, vous vivez, ah oui, ca pour sur nous vivons, l'exemple en est de cette trace du monde physique, concrete, oui, bleue et qui fait a peine mal.

murder love and ben

If somebody asked me, and nobody will cause people don’t ask me things, but if they did, id have to say ben leaving was a very bad decision. Just the worst.
I don’t know how other people feel about it, but im just in the worst way about the whole thing, and not very pleased or happy.
Though lets be honest, really, he wont be any worse off without me, anyway. And maybe he’ll get some new socks, and quit smoking, and do all sorts of exercises in the morning, and go for runs. I expect he’ll also pick up a little sun, cause someone once said, out of his hearing, that the sun shines a whole lot wherever he is and next time I see him – there wont be any doubt in anyones mind: this is not me. we wont even look the same any more, though they say a leopard cant change his stripes, eh? But anyway, he’ll look really healthy.
As for me, I find I cant bring myself to wash my socks anymore, since ben left. I just keep thinking over that hole in the shoe he had, and how one time he wore a plastic bag on his foot to keep out the rain, and maybe more than one time. And now I cant wash my socks, just like that. cause I cant bring myself to wear a plastic bag, but I wont wash my socks anyway.

Murder, Love and Ben Mix

Curtis Mayfield_Junkie Chase (Instrumental)
The White Stripes_When I Hear My Name
British Hawaii_Pixian
The Pixies_Broken Face
The Modern Lovers_She Cracked (1972 demo version)
The Beakers_Think Postmodern
Pavement_Heaven is a Truck
The Gun Club_Ghost on the Highway
Dead Kennedy's_Back in USSR (Live)
Johnny Cash_Ring of Fire
The Kills_Ticket Man
Cocorosie_Not For Sale
The Gun Club_She's like Heroin for me
Guns and Roses_It's So Easy
Wilco_Company in My Back
Kings Of Leon_Slow Night, So Long
Babyshambles_In Love with A Feeling
Attack Of the New Surf Guitars_Don't Monkey With Tarzan
Sixto Rodriguez_Sugarman
The Dandy Warhols_The Dandy Warhols'T.V Theme
The Thermals_A passing Feeling
The Clash_The Leader
The Libertines_Last Post On The Buggle
Devendra Banhart_This Beard is For Siobban
Maximo Park_Graffiti
The Velvet Underground_White Light White Heat
IO_Drunk On a Sunday Morning
Pavement_Brinx Job

вторник, сентября 06, 2005

Wrapped in Russia

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i hate the sky, i never look at it. so its just the craziest thing that yesterday i was walking along and it occured to me, just like that - im looking up there! and that was the first thing. and the second thing is really a part of the first thing, i mean, nobody talked about it, who ever talks about the sky? its just there, but who talks about it, and its the same with fall! man, it happened, and now its fall, and everybody knows it. and the thing that ties this all together, the thing that im really trying to get at is kinda like this:
yesterday i was walking along, but there was this guy standing in the middle of the sidewalk with three dogs and a stand up bass, and the thing is, even though i was coughing up a lung, and trying to make him hear me, and really hoping id get past him eventually so i could get my day started, it was then, when i was already losing heart, and thinking it just wasnt going to be fate, that i accidentally looked up - and there it was! and there was fall too! and when i looked back down the guy with the bass and the dogs was long gone and i just went to work.
so i guess my point is basically this - here's a blog, and if its not the sky or the fall, its here and i hope it becomes just as inevitable. and just as cold. only, in the heart and not the street.