Oasis - 'The Masterplan'

sensual seth

heres another one of the wild crew - mad max's right hand man, or should i say: nemesis. as is evident from these, our latest pictures of the culprit, many years wandering in the desert have left him very little respect for those around him: dont be fooled by words and caresses, they are only the by-products of many lonely nights listening to the wayward howl of the dingo. do not approach but with care, and then be certain to carry a large stick - it is the stick he fears above all else.

mad max

if anyone finds this man please report back to us immediately, his name is max and he is extrememly dangerous to himself. last he was seen eating cheese on top of the tower, the name of which i forget, in the city i also cant remember right now off the top of my head. do not try to approach him - he is very dangerous and armed to seduce: with melting cheese and wicked rhymes - all who have approached him in the past have also disappeared.

Slideshow finland - france - russia

Bowled him! With the last ball of the day...

Chocoreve

Doris: You have no values. Your whole life: it's nihilism, it's cynicism, it's sarcasm, and orgasm.
Harry: You know, in France, I could run on that slogan and win.



Chocoreve

Guided By Voices - I Am A Scientist

Tete de noeud

Why the world should speak french ?

Because it's good,
good for me
good for everybody
and moreover it's good
for business
and relationship
so i could deteach me english
and speak in french
with people
and then i would say

"Le pain c'est bon"

and people would answer

"oui"

ou des fois "non" mais c'est comme tout, pour avoir bon gout, il faut etre tolerant

Mon amy le gwayn

il ay tres fort au ping-pong
il mange des chapos
mais il est rigoleau

Well, there is something more important

than news and fornication :








CHEESE
















AND

BREAD



































oh yeah

welcome, welcome this is the end

welcome to the end of the blog
welcome
it has come to this
it was a long way down
but the others will come
the others have to come
cause these ones have left
and theyre gone,
they dont even care
they even dont want to care
cause theyre somewhere else
theyre somewhere there
eating cheese and living it up with their own little imaginations of what it should be like to be born on the eiffel tower.
well i got news for everyone
youre not born on the eiffel tower
and cheese can not replace the blood in your veins
there is no cheese
there is no vein
there is only the eiffel tower
there is only today
the last day
of the blog
of our friendship
of our peace of mind
and of our cheese
i repeat
there is no cheese
there is only pain
there is only memory of pain
there is only aloneness and pain
and the memory of this aloneness and pain
what a memory!
what a pain

maxccccc

max me naime pas
mais c'est pas grave
cest pas tout le temps
que max
aime les amies
cest pas tout le temps
que je crois
quesque faire avec les enfants
cest pas grave
cest pas grave
cest pas vrais

je m'appelle...

je m'appelle pas Zeus
je ne suis pas un des immortelles
je ma'ppelle pas maxime
je ne suis pas un des mec loyale
je ma'ppelle pas fidel
je ne suis un revolutionaire des temps probable
je m'appelle Jordi!
est je veus te dires se que je sais -
je m'appelle jordi, est je vues...
dans le rue
avec mes mec
dans les tetes
dans les arbres
est dans les fetes
bonne fetes!
bonne ane!
bonne tetes
est bon soires!

the festival of poetry francaise

avec mon coeur
dans la poubelle
avec ma soeur
dans les etoile du mere
je suis
invincible!
est toi...
je ne sais pas
est tu...
je ne sais pas
est ton...
je ne sais pas
est ta...

je ne sais pas
je ne sais pas
je ne sais
tu crois?

we're all of us a bit of the pidgeon, each one of us a little bit of the bird.
some more of one than the other; but in general no one can say they have never been fed, or that no one has ever kicked in their general direction, or that theyve never flipped out for no reason when someone walked by and flown up into the sky. i personally get in peoples ways, thats my thing, but i do the other things too. max personally walks around bobbing his head. thats his thing. everybody has his thing on top of all the other pidgeon things he does.

Excitation

Je me suis excité, longtemps, a l'idée de refouler un jour le sol de la Russie. Sans aucune raison. Juste parce qu'un jour, en mars 2004, sur le quai de la gare de Finlande, a Leningrad, j'ai senti mon coeur s'arracher d'une mélancole blanche et glaciale, porté par d'enormes chapeaux en fourrure comme dans les films d'animations japonais. Des totoros sur la tete, la neige qui tombent par gros copeaux, sur les ponts, sur les blocs de béton pensés comme des allées simples vers le centre, vers les idoles communistes et tout le folklore d'une vie agitée par les coups d'états, les malversations généralisées et les rudes nuits d'hiver a tiser de la vodka.Il neige aussi sur les lieux, immenses et colonisés par le vide, juste ce qu'il y a de néant pour parcourir l'horizon avec une fierté imbécile, un Christophe Collomb de mes couilles..
Au nord, l'agitation, garantie de rechauffement, est diversement appréciée selon les pays; En Russie, je pensais qu'elle serait legerement plus psychotique et théatrale que ce que j'avais connu ailleurs. Et effectivement maintenant que j'y suis je reconsidere tout ce beau merdier en terrible farandole que j'aimerais retranscrire, si je pouvais en un mot, mais je n'y arrive jamais.
C'est toujours le meme resultat, une excitation. Sans aucune raison.

La cuisine et les deux oeufs au plat

La cuisine et les deux oeufs au plat
les deux oufs mis au plus bas
l'oeil crevé dégouline sur le haut
rien ne va plus, c'est la cuisine du démon

Slippery Dead Frogs

[I doubt very much that the creators of this archive envisaged persecution as one its dedicated pursuits. I know them, and they just don’t seem like the kind of people who consciously engage in the more vulgar and destructive brands of prejudice, bigotry and stereotypification. Hence, it is with some trepidation that I embark upon a series of reflections founded in ignorance, judgmentalism and a lick or two of sheer yellow-bellied cowardice. I rely here on that old Russian proverb: ‘Out of the mouths of boors and rednecklings hast thou ordained strength because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger.’]

What, by all that slithers in the darkness, is wrong with the French? In asking this, I declare that I have no intention of compiling a comprehensive list of their faults. Others may do so at length in the comments, but I will restrict myself to this statement: their thinking is askew. Specious. Slippery. In the coming weeks, I hope to demonstrate the slipperiness of French thinking. I also hope very much that these investigations will not reveal within the French a certain demonic malice, for I know several of the beggars, and they never struck me as surpassingly demonic or malicious. But that, I suppose, is the possibility for which we all must prepare when dealing with slippery, skewed, and specious thinking.

I will use as material for my analysis the selected thoughts of two of France’s most prominent intellectuals: Albert Camus and Jacques Derrida.

I should immediately warn against indulging in two obvious but (quite fittingly) specious objections:

The first is that it is unfair to derive a national mentality from two individuals who were, in fact, born and largely raised in Algeria. Some may believe that national borders should determine national mentality. This is quite clearly wrong. Being French has nothing to do with geography, and everything to do with the fashion in which one thinks, and the manner in which one regards the world. Frenchosity is confined neither to France, nor her ex-colonies, nor bloodline. It is, I repeat, determined by a special kind of thinking – specifically, slippery thinking. When one comes across a slippery thinker, one may surmise that said thinker is French.

The second is that it is unfair to project the selected thoughts of two individuals onto an entire nationality. Yet how else are we to derive a national mentality? By surveying every cheese-rooting frog on the face of the planet? That is quite clearly an absurd proposition. Are we to deny the immense standing of Camus and Derrida within the French intellectual space? Are we to equate their standing with that of every sans-culotte on the Rue de la Terre? These propositions are equally ludicrous.

These two objections are severe, and excessively so. I should also like to add that such objections are most likely to burst stridently forth from French throats. Hence, we may conclude with some sadness that the French are both insufferably severe and severely insufferable. Something will have to be done about them. But more of that later.

It's That Weta Time Again!