Baley

Only for you, babe. What's always disturbed me about birthdays, what truly awes the mind and baffles the soul vis-a-vis this East-European connection with a now rotting former Pope, is the expectation factor. We're expected to have a good time, smiles on our faces and sunshine on our lips, filling the world with our most candid inner joy, just because, incidentally, our dear mothers decided to vomit us unto this world a few years back, well, bollocks. We're expected to calmly sit, on our freakish chairs, with all these dirty little people raving about their dirty little lives right in front of our eyes, middle of the room, hot summer day. Look, hun, I don't give a damn about your son, his paralysis, your lack of pesos and bad tit job, yes, they're ugly, malformed, please, just get 'em out of my face. What I want to do is spend some quality time with that one mythical person I actually care for, me. Yes, I want to be alone, sipping champagne, listening to Liquid Swords and smoking a pack of lights a real man would never dream touch. But of course, what we need talk at this late time of day is the decay of modern culture, started not long ago by those icky WASPs and their mates, the suave Frenchies and loud-mouthed Krauts. Now, I ain't a sourpuss chatting you up, looking for love, I ain't a revolutionary calling for a new way and then changing my mind, putting on a suit and dedicating my life to number-crunching and the ole' 666 striperoo, nor am I a woman, a lady or a racist sniveling pig dressed in the finest Russian wool. What I am is, frankly, aging. And part of me hates it and part of me welcomes it and part of me thinks how fat my ass looks in the pinkish Jeans my grandma just gave me. Gifts have a real way of cheering you up, eh? Or To those that still, with open eyes, condemn the sun for the treachery of the moon, please understand that birthdays are the scepter of Satan, polished by his animated spit, the fires of Nevermore, dancing, tingling, pulsating sensations in our fermented trouser. The evils of man have long corrupted hell and redone it in their image, the transformation of water into beer is but the first cry of the old wooden oak, named God, who's battle once over is now reborn. I do not wish to make you understand, no, I do not wish to make you feel or see or even hear, what I want is the affirmation of the condemnation of Fascism in all its forms, birthdays, kisses, sex, they must all go for man to enjoy spiritual kindness in the face of an ever-changing world, the physical must be replaced by the spiritual for us to survive as a species, culture and civilization. Abolish the laws of man, destroy the bridges separating right and wrong, vomit your barfed regurgitations of Shakespeare on coke, all that is, now, as we approach the final century, is hate, and hate is spawned through our reproductive organs, thus we must separate them from our bodies and bathe in the platonic glory of love. Fire unites corporeal kindred. From now to eternity. And literature, and, well, art in general. Maybe life too, I'm sorta torn on that. Oh and, down, Muppet man, down. Ponies are so 2 years ago, I actually rode one once, a great achievement to be sure.

R.A. The Rugged Man - Lessons

Yeah, I sorta feel the same, maybe except Dolls, but it's been a while, don't exactly remember my initial reaction, maybe the park scenes were giggle-worthy? Also, Brother is his funniest film. Yeah, funnier than Kikujiro.

The elegy of the mind breaks the line separating realities Like many people before me, I am growing insane, Take notes. Please?

And then you got away, didn't you babe?

I'm sorry, but drunken retards are only funny in the context of self-parody. Slayer sounds, acts, and smells like a lobotomized pencil pusher who's just discovered the Dark Lord Beelzebub, whining and indignant self-abuse. They're Bright Eyes for middle-aged dorks relieving their teenage days of glory, when wifey could still boogie-woogie without her ass falling down 3 flats in one glorious swoop. NOFX - The Decline I hear they played this one live on tour, strangely enough, the only NOFX album I listen to at least once a month.

Nah, he came back in 2001, a shame in and of itself, Fantomas and, hell, even Grip Inc. are 1000 times better than old deflated Slayer. Christ Illusion, his first album with the band since re-joining, sounds like a third-rate comedy CD made by some amateur chums over the internet. Who can forget such honest, gut-wrenching lines like, Religion is hate Religion is fear Religion is war Religion is rape Religion's obscene Religion's a whore Or The desolace of Jesus Christ There never was a sacrifice To land him on the crucifix He rode the cup of purity Infectious in facility I've made my choice Six six six And even, Christ that breeds the pedophiles Don't pray for the priest Conviction finds a lonely child And preys on the weak You think your soul needs to be saved I think you're ****ing miles away Scream out loud here's where you begin Forgive me father, For I have sinned Ah, yes, Slayer, the band that never grows old, in spirit, music and mental capacity. I'm thinking 13, all Gothed up and ready to Rock & Roll. A schoolgirl serving at the altar of Satan, constructed in her Mamma's basement.

You gonna cut yourself a little? And those are some of the worst, cliche-ridden, whitebread lyrics this side of Venom or, God, Slayer. Though, I suppose, "Christ Illusion" is worth a chuckle. Poor Lombardo. Poor Hades. Then Daniel took the harp and went high on the hill, And he blew across the meadow like a whippoorwill. He played out his heart just the time to pass, But as he looked to the ground, he noticed no shadow did he cast.

http://www.library.utoronto.ca/canpoetry/bissett/poems.htm

I rather like his Rainy Days in Soho cover. The Ballad Of Robert Moore And Betty Coltrane too, I love that one. Anyone listened to the disk he did with Shane MacGowan? Slick Rick, oh man, now there's a character, I've always thought of him as one of the funniest, just simply coolest, MCs in hip-hop. Heard he's releasing a new album this year, his last one was good, actually, just about all his albums have been at least okay.

Why are you reading my Journal?! You, you, bastard! Give it back!

John Cale - Venus In Furs

Shouldn't that be PG-13? "Dear Diary, I do wonder why Miss Mira seems so disgusted by my attempts at seducing her, I swear, I've been the perfect gentlemen, oh how I wish she'd let me probe her insights with my gargantuan multi-faceted antenna of pulsating steel. Sigh, I feel so unwanted, I tried talking to HK, he's a robot, all alone, he should understand, but he doesn't like me either! He said something about my digestive tube and his big throbbing gun, God, I wish I'd understand the slang these kids today use, they're so immature, caring only about their dresses and their mascara, our whole society is turning into this materialistic slum, it revolts me me, so horrifying! I also put a hex on Atton, he's been a big meanie, all I wanted to do was play with him, I didn't ask for much, he called me names and ignored me, big meanie! I don't know why I keep trying, nothing ever changes, it is like we're being relegated to this life of misery by a vengeful God-of-the-skies, I should cuts my circuits, I should cut my circuits in front of all those slimy gooey silly jerks! That'd a teach 'em! Take GO-TO seriously! Sigh. It's hard being a robot..."

Son House - Levee Camp Blues The baddest mofo to ever touch a, uh, guitar. Note, that I am using "mofo" instead of the proper term out of fear for my memebership. I am indeed a sissy.

I'm pretty sure I've been to that place before. Now, try .

Here's some for your guitar wanking needs, babycake. I do like his symphonies. And if you're looking for something more, uhm, traditional, some .

You seemed to equate skill to technical proficiency, if I mistook your statement I apologise, though my own statement was more general, anyway, that wasn't the point, you see, those genres have different goals in mind, the playing itself is shaped around those goals. There's no point in comparing a 14 year old Chinese Girl playing Rachmaninoff to a 20 year old man playing an innovative form of heavily blues inspired rock. Does she put her soul into her playing? I don't know, all I saw was a young girl hitting some chords, maybe her emotions are lost on me, I don't know, I couldn't tell. Could she just pick up her guitar and play the blues without much prior exposure? I don't know that either, no one does. Frankly, I don't much care. Well, enough with this pesky arguing, it's time for some movies.

That statement might actually be, you know, correct if Page considered himself a classical instrumentalist. As things are though, you're comparing Bangers and Bratwursts. Sure they might look similar from afar, and they're sorta done with the same tools, but, uh, I don't really know where I'm going with this metaphor, my apologies, you see, I'm not exactly passionate about sausages. Li Jie's a good classical guitarist, but please, you're basically comparing a 20 something posh virtuoso to one of the most important|influential guitarists in the history of rock, and I ain't even that big a Led Zep fan, do you not see how ludicrous such statements are? Look, there's more to guitar "skill" than just technique, Page wasn't even about technique, you listen to those early Zep records, he's basically channelling the spirit of Robert Johnson, to keep with this cliche, it's about the soul, man. What I'm saying is that pure technique doesn't make you a skillful or great guitarist, it makes you a machine, without soul or emotional involvement you're just a dummy playing by your masters' rules and wishes. You have to understand that technical proficiency is a horrible thing to look for in music, yeah, there are a thousand wankers wankering over their instruments with little or no dedication, that doesn't make 'em more valuable on a grand scale than a Page, a Johnson, a James or a House. But the most important thing's the fact they play different types music, that's it, basically, any comparisons are useless because their goals and their styles are completely and utterly different.

How exactly do you measure skill, Pidesco, objectively, I mean? (And by that I mean, to make things clearer, how exactly do you compare those 3 guitarists?) Lester Young - Sweet Lorraine The Band - The W.S. Walcott Medicine Show

Eww Eww Shouldn't you be on the ship Eww Frankly, if you need know, I came here to confess my love for you, I took this human shape for you, I renounced my life as a mindless utensil, for you, always for you!