revisionist alternatif wounds to the hair-cut hit head

Bit of play...

2006-08-06T21:14:00.000+10:00

Man dressed in black suit: Gentlemen, this was to be expected, after all he’s been a medium all his life.

Group Chants: Lock them out and block the door
Bar them out forever more
Nook them out
Lock is mine
And door is mine
Three times three to make up nine
Change the lock and change the door
Smear them out forever more
Curse go back
Curse go back
Back with double pain and lack
Curse go back
Curse go back
Back with double fear and flack
Silver arrow through the night
Silver arrow take thy flight
Silver arrow seek and find
Cursing hark and cursing mine

#1

2006-08-06T21:13:00.000+10:00

I wrote your fading movie
Left all the words you think developed
Pouring in the resistance message
And cutting dirty film here
And takes daringly close
From vulnerable honesty to organ a leaky life fold
Takes action against time
This is the mien caper
And take inexorably
Scattering board books
Ripping film flakes
Shatter the theatre, the oven
Your two-bit dirty learn to wall green
The theme explodes directly from moochville
Poison techniques drop
You will take back to the sky
That retort branch to Italian air
This is your last
Are you serious?
Stand clear
You missed the tee
You get much too speed
Moving out
Cutting layout
Lined flags covered with control
Thought
Feeling
Don’t go ‘cause john can
Cancer piss
And you Mr. D who under the name of thathom Sabbath Eden
Summoned the machine armed subliminal level
Maniable disaster of nova
We beat in
Dismantle your miserable ship bodies

Start of play...

2006-08-06T21:12:00.000+10:00

Kid, what are you doing over there with the thugs and the apes? Why don’t you straighten out and act like a man? After all they’re only human cattle, you know that yourself. I hate to see a bright young man fuck off and get on the wrong track. Sure, it happens to all of us one time or another. I been saying this to boys sitting in the same spot you are, listening to what you’re listening to now, 25 years ago. They straightened out, the same way you’re going to straighten out. You can’t deny yourself kid, and you can’t walk out on lifetime change. There’s just no place to go.

Intervals

2006-08-06T21:11:00.001+10:00

Trial at ten minute intervals
Arbitrary intervals
Mined cosmetics
Tracked down in time
Close B&M
Transvestite airline
Demonic 5th floor
Basic paper
United cosmetics
Uranium limited
Love those radio
Allied drugs
Martin changed
Lazarus pharmaceuticals
Sell fifty thousand units and arbitrary intervals

2006-05-27T20:19:00.000+10:00

It's all in the eyes of a dreamer
It's all in the eyes of a man
All the things we've done in life
And all the thing we've planned
Is the world as sad as it seems?
Where are men's hopes?
Where are men's dreams?
All the songs have been sung
Al the saints have been hung
The wars and cries have been wailed
All the people have been jailed
In the eyes of a dreamer
In the eyes of a man
And you are the man

some notes on the word and the way

2006-05-20T15:00:00.000+10:00

They are right; my life is too easy the way I live it, but then I'm not trying to find god. I now find people amusing rather than disgusting (I am weakening) and although I still have days of depression and nights of depression my writing does not malfunction. Readers always expect growth but at this time just holding (the fort, haha) seems miraculous to me. The ability to relax - at times - in a decaying society might not mean I am the victim of spiritual rape. Evenings behind blinds, neither rich nor poor. Madness will arive on schedule. I don't seek solutions - just large spaces between not knowing and not wanting to know.

a very dramatic man

2006-05-14T20:39:00.000+10:00

vellors always hid the knife in the bushes
when he got read to fight
then if the guy started to duke him down
he'd go for the steel.
he had this guy down last week,
stuck him in the leg,
the guy was moaning,
"oh my god, you've stuck me in the leg..."
and vellors had the knife across his throat
and he said, "i'm going to chop your head off!"
then vellors girlfriend drove past in her car and stopped
and screamed,
"don't do it, vellors, i beg you, i beg you,
don't kill that man!"
"i'm gonna chop his head off!" screamed vellors.
"vellors, vellors! don't do it, and get away before
the police get here! the police are coming!"
vellors got up and ran down an alley.
i saw him a couple of days ago.
"good thing," he said, "my girlfriend stopped me
or i woulda chopped his head off, hehehehehe..."
vellors like that sort of thing.
he was very dramatic.
someday he is going to do it
if he hasn't already dont it. meanwhile, we are
good friends.

2006-04-22T15:49:00.000+10:00

At age 16 he wants to kill himself all the time. He felt alienated at school. He would see others and he felt nothing in common. They were so mean to him, it would make your teeth ache. It would make you want to hack off one of their arms and beat the others to death with it. He thought that in death he might find a home. Maybe he wouldn't be so lonely and full of sadness. He was tired of the way he was feeling. Every day was torture. One day he went home and shot himself in the head. He left no note.

2006-04-22T15:47:00.000+10:00

For years she wanted to die. It seemed anything she said prompted her husband to hit her. She had three kids. One of them was retarded. One of the other children tried to fix its face with a screwdriver held over the stove. Her husband rarely worked. She had to bring home the family's money. One day she was walking to work and got hit by a car.

2006-04-22T15:44:00.000+10:00

He went to school. His teacher got in his face because he was late, third time this week. He pulled out a gun and put five shots' into the teachers guts. He walked out of the building and into the sunlight. It was going to be a great day.

2006-04-19T14:32:00.000+10:00

A ship leaves port
mean horse of another thicket
wishbone of desire
decry the metal fox

2006-04-19T14:19:00.000+10:00

A hot sick lava flowed up,
Rustling and bubbling.
The paper face.
Mirror-mask, I love you mirror.

He had been brainwashed for 4 hours.
The LT. puzzled in again
"ready to talk"
"No sir" - was all he'd say.
Go back to the gym
Very peaceful
Meditation

Air base in the desert
looking out venetian blinds
a plane
a desert tower
cool cartoon

The rest of the world
is reckless and dangerous
Look at the
Brothels
Stag films
Exploration

2006-04-19T13:31:00.000+10:00

Great screaming christ
Upsy Daisy
Lazy Mary will get you up
upon a Sunday morning

"The movie will begin in 5 minutes"
The mindless Voice announced
"All those unseated, will await
The next show"

We filled slowly, languidly
into the hall. The auditorium
was vast, and silent.
As we were seated and were darkened
The Voice continued:

"The program for the evening
is not new. You have seen
This entertainment thru and thru.
You've seen your birth, your
life and death; you might recall
all the rest (did you
have a good world when
you died?) - enough to
base a movie on?"

An iron chuckle rapped our
minds like a fist.

I'm getting out of here
Where are you going?
To the other side of morning
Please don't chase the clouds
pagodas, temples

Her cunt gripped him
like a warm friendly
hand.

"It's all right.
All your friends are here."

When can I meet them?
"After you've eaten"
But I'm not hungry
"O, we meant beaten"

Silver stream, silvery scream
impossible concentration.

Here come the comedians
look at them smile
Watch them dance
and indian mile

Look at them gesture
How aplomb
So to gesture everyone

Words dissemble
Words be quick
Words resemble a walking sticks

Plant them
They will grow
Watch them waver so

I'll always be
a word-man
Better than a birdman

But I'll charge
Won't get away
without lodging a dollar

Shall I say it again
aloud, you get the point
No food without fuel's gain

I'll be, the irish loud
unleashed my beak
at peak of powers

O girl unleash
your worried comb

Sin in the fallen
Backwoods by the blind

She smells debt
on my new collar

Arrogant prose
Tied in a network of fast quest
Hence the obsession

It is quick to admit
Fast borrowed rhythm
Woman came between them

Women of the world unite
Make the world safe
For scandalous life

Hee Heee
Cut your throat
Life is a joke

Your wife's in a moat
The same boat
Here comes the goat

Blood Blood Blood Blood
They are making a joke
of our universe

2006-04-13T21:24:00.000+10:00

Do you know the warm progress under the stars?
Do you know we exist?
Have you forgotten the keys to the Kingdom?
Have you been borne yet and are you alive?

Let's reinvent the gods, the myths from all ages
Celebrate symbols from deep elder forests
[Have you forgotten the lessons of the ancient war]

We need great copulations

The fathers are cackling in the trees of the forest
Our mother is dead in the see

Do you know we are being lead to the slaughter by placid animals?

Do you know we are ruled by the T.V.
The moon is a dry blood beast

O great creator of being
Grant us one more hour
To perfom our art
And perfect our lives

The moths and atheists are doubly devine and dying
We live, we die and death not ends it
Journey we more into the Nightmare
Cling to life our passion'd flower
Cling to cunts and cocks of despair
We got our final vision by clap
Columbus groin grot filled with green death

(I touched her thigh and death smiled)
We have assembled inside this ancient and insane theatre
To propogate our lust for life
And flee the swarming wisdom of the streets
The barns are stormed
The windows kept
And only one of all the rest
To dance and save us
With the divine mockery of words
Music inflames temperament

(When the true King's murderers are allowed to run free a 1000 magicians arise in the land)

Where are the feasts we were promised
Where is the wine
The New Wine
(Dying on the vine)

resident mockery
give us an hour for magic
We of the purple glove
We of the starling flight and velvet hour
We of arabic pleasure's
We sundome and the night

Give us a creed
To believe
A night of lust
Give us trust in
The night

Give of colour
hundred hues
a rich Mandala
for me and you

and for your silky
pillowed house
a head, wisdom
and a bed

Trouble decree
Resident mockery
has claimed thee

We used to believe
in the good old days
We still recieve
In little ways

The things of kindness
and unsporting brow
Forget and allow

Did you know freedom exists in a schoolbook
Did you know madmen are running our prisons
withing a jail, withing a gaol
within a white free protestant
Maelstrom

We're perched headlong on the edge of boredom
We're reaching for death on the end of a candle
We're trying for something that's already found us

We can invent Kingdoms of our own
grand purple thrones, those chairs of lust
and love we must, in beds of rust

Steel doors lock in prisoners screams
and muzak, AM, rocks their dreams
No black men's pride to hoist the beams
while mocking angels sift what seems

To be a collage of magazine dust
Scratched on the foreheads of walls of trust
This is just a jail for those who must
get up in the morning and fight for such

unusable standards
while weeping maidens
show-off penury and pout
ravings for a mad
staff

Wow, I'm sick of doubt
Live in the light of certain
South

Cruel bindings
The servants have the power
dog-men and their mean women
pulling poor blankets over
our sailors
(and where were you in our lean hour)
Milking your moustache?
or grinding a flower?
I'm sick of dour faces
Staring at me from the T.V.
Tower. I want roses in
my garden bower; dig?
Royal babies, rubies
must now replace aborted
Strangers in the mud
These mutants, blood meal
for the plant that's plowed

They are waiting to take us into the severed garden
Do you know how pale and wanton thrillful comes to death on a strange hour unannounced, unplanned for
like scaring over-friendly guests you've brought to bed
Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings
where we had shoulders as smooth as raven's wings

No more money, no more fancy dress
This other Kingdom seems by far the best
until the other jaw reveals incest
and lose obedience to a vegetable law

I will not go
Prefer a Feast of Friends
To the Giant family

2006-04-13T21:21:00.000+10:00

Matchbox
Are you more real than me
I'll burn you and set you free
Wept bitter tears
Excessive courtesy
I won't forget

2006-04-12T20:25:00.000+10:00

There were gunshots outside tonight
They were close
The streets here are dirty, everything is covered in spray paint
This place is a joke, a worn out paradise
It's been gang-raped into shock

2006-04-12T20:17:00.000+10:00

He is retarded. There are things he understands. He can get along on his own OK. The doctors say his condition is deteriorating. Last year he understood this, now it isn't clear. He has never touched a woman. He knows he never will. He eagerly awaits the day he no longer feels the attraction to them. As it is right now, he hurts so much, so deeply, that he cries and loses control of himself. He has caused so many embarrassing moments for his family. They don't know what his problem is, why all of a sudden he'll start to cry and scream. They can't take him out anymore. He is smart enough to know he is not like the rest of them. He waits for his deep pain to end.

2006-04-12T20:02:00.000+10:00

He was raised on hate. At age he has quite an understanding of the world. He is in fear all the time and likes to stay in his room. He doesn't smile much. There is nothing to smile about. It's the fear and hate he understands the best. They make sense to him and never lie. He figures that is the way it is. For now, the room is his friend.

2006-04-12T19:57:00.000+10:00

He sees his girlfriend. They rarely touch. They are not attracted anymore. Neither make a big deal of it. A while back, they used to fight and swear that they would leave each other. Neither of them had the courage to meet anyone else. They don't hate each other.

2006-04-12T19:52:00.000+10:00

He was from a middle class home. He was an average student. He graduated and got a job in the same place his father worked. He got married with a girl he went to school with. Together they had two children. He lived the average life of the average person.

2006-04-09T12:05:00.000+10:00

A pain stabbed my heart as it did every time I saw a girl I loved who was going the opposite direction in this too-big world.

2006-04-09T11:17:00.000+10:00

We're like actors, turned loose in this world to wander in search of a phantom, endlessly searching for a half-formed shadow of our lost reality. When others demand that we become the people they want us to be, they force us to destroy the person we really are. It's a subtle kind of murder. The most loving parents and relatives commit this murder with smiles on their faces.

2006-04-08T20:23:00.000+10:00

Sometimes it seems the harder you try to hold on to something or someone the more it wants to get away. You feel like some kind of criminal for having felt, for having wanted. For having wanted to be wanted. It confuses you, because you think that your feelings were wrong, and it makes you feel so small because it's so hard to keep it inside when you let it out and it doesn't come back. You're left so alone that you can't explain

2006-04-08T20:20:00.000+10:00

I walk the straight lines. I walk through the summer nights. I walk the silver rope of dreams. I walk through dawns of dawns. There’s not a lot that isn’t dying. I see people parading in front of each other like insects in a killing jar, watching each other die. I walk the straight lines throught the Christ machines. Through the eyes of throwaway people. Through the wards and the shores and the cracks in the skulls of the sidewalks. Through love’s howling vacancy. I am the freedom soil. I dig my own grave. I resurrect myself every night. I am all things to myself. I walk the straight lines. I walk the spiders’s jailhouse. I walk the think line, the thin line, the white line and all the line in between. I wish I could trade in my eyes

2006-04-08T19:07:00.000+10:00

I am ready for whatever's coming. I expect nothing but to be let down or turned away. I am alone. Goddamn. The shit hurts sometimes, but I realize what I am, what I have become. The alien man waved his arms up and down and noticed that he couldn't wave in the right language so he stopped.

2006-03-29T20:48:00.000+11:00

Look down at me and you see a fool;
look up at me and you see a god;
look straight at me and you see yourself

2006-03-19T18:02:00.000+11:00

"Alas" said the mouse. "the whole world is growing smaller every day. At the beginning it was so big that I was afraid, I kept running and running, and I was glas when at last I saw walls far away to the right and left, but these long walls have narrowed so quickly that I am in the last room already, and there in the corner stands the trap I must run into."

"You only need to change your direction," said the cat, and ate it up.

2006-03-19T17:57:00.000+11:00

The Emperor has sent a message to you, the lowly subject, the unimportant shadow trembling in the furthest place before the sun; the emperor has sent a message from his death-bed to you and no-one else. He has ordered the messenger bow down before his bed, and has whispered it to him; the message being so important, he commanded the messenger to whisper it back into his ear again. By a simple nod of his head, the Emperor verifies the message.

At once the messenger begins his journey; a great, inexhaustible man; pushing first with his right arm, then his left, he cuts his way through the crowd. If he meets resistance, he simply points to his chest, where the emblem of the Emperor glistens. The way is made easier for him than for any other man. But the rabble is so vast; their numbers have no end. If he could only reach the open plains how swiftly he would fly, and soon you would hear the beating of his fists upon your door. Instead, he remains stuck in the crowd, vainly wearing out his strength; still, he is only making his way out of the deepest chambers of the citadel. He will never reach of them. Even if he succeeded, nothing would be achieved; he must struggle his way down the next stairwell; and if he succeeded, nothing would be achieved; the courts would still have to be crossed; and after the courts, the outer palace; and ones more stairwells and courts; and once more another level; and he would travel for thousands of years; and if he ever broke through the last gate – but that would never be possible – the majestic capital of the empire would lie behind him; full to bursting point with its own dregs. No-one could possible fight his way through here, least of all someone with a message from a dead man.

But you sit at your window when evening falls and dream it to yourself.

2006-03-19T17:51:00.000+11:00

It was very early in the morning, the streets clean and deserted, I was on my way to the station. As I compared the clock tower with my watch I realised it was much later than I had thought, and that I had to hurry; the shock of this discovery made me feel uncertain of the way, I wasn't very well acquanted with the area I was in; fortunately there was a policeman nearby. I ran to him and breathlessly asked him the way. He smiled and said: "You asking me the way?"

"Yes" I replied, "since I can't find the way myself."

"Give it up! Give it up!" He said, and turned with a sudden jerk, like someone who wants to be alone with his laughter.

Captain Beefheart Quotes

2006-01-31T15:07:00.000+11:00

"I think people have had too much to think and ought to flex their magic muscles. It takes awhile to get oriented to what I do, but people seem to be able to hear it if they give it a chance. I'd never just want to do what everybody else did. I'd be contributing to the sameness of everything."

"I guess the reason I use lyrics is because I'm a singer and the record companies and everybody would think I was ridiculous if I didn't use the English language."

"For instance, the English language is the only language that has an *i* before *e* except after *c*. What's before an *i*? Before my eyes is a sea. But the *c* I see is a sea. I'm not that word-oriented. I'm trying to use words like music so that they don't take your mind anywhere that I want them to."

"It's hard to use the English language. I'd rather play a tune on a horn, but I've always felt that I didn't want to train myself. Because when you get a train, you've got to have an engine and a caboose. I think it's better to train the caboose. You train yourself, you strain yourself."

"I think nutrition is very important. If you eat bad, you feel bad. If you feel bad, you do bad things. Most of modern rock and roll is a product of guilt. People cop licks off of dead people, like stealing pennies off a dead man's eyes. The movement needs a bowel movement."

"I don't do lullabyes. I'm tired of lullabyes, like The Beatles. I heard *Lullabye of Broadway* when I was a baby, and I still hear it now, and I'm still a baby. We're the only people doing anything significant in modern music. I haven't heard anything else that gets away from mother's heartbeat. All I've heard is a rebelling against parents, and I'm tired of hearing that."

"There's no competition with our music. It can't be compared or impaired, or impaled with points or justifications...It means absolutely nothing, just like the sun."

"I don't think there's any way you can *know* music. The minute you *know* it, you stop playing, and the minute a person stops playing, the music isn't playing anymore."

"I think most people try to get others to see through their eyes. And if you look through enough eyes, like in books, you end up not knowing how to use your own eyes. Then you have to be started by something. It all has to do with The One. People can't realize that a One is really a Zero split in half. It's like splitting the world in two; choosing up sides."

"They've already proved Einstein. I mean, all you have to do is look at the way the sun shines on a leaf, and it's round. They proved that light goes in a circle. So, I imagine as long as I'm light, I'm in a circle. Everything is in a circle. When people try to roll a square they get a lot of bumps. Spontaneous things are true things. Society is so anti-spontaneity because they can't get past the idea of The Switch. Some people think they can throw switches on other people. They switch them on when they want to hear them and switch them off when they don't. You know as well as I do that if you turn off a switch you couldn't turn a light back on if the electricity wasn't moving. See, electricity never stops moving. That's the *spark of life*. How can you turn life on or off?"

"I don't believe in time, you know, 4/4 and all that stuff," Beefheart says. "Frank believes in time and we could never get it together. He writes all his music and gets sentimental about good old rock 'n' roll, but that's appeasement music."

"The stars are matter, We're matter, But it doesn't matter."

"You can tell by the kindness of a dog how a human should be."

"See those people that used to be
Throw those tents
You can't see them now
They're in past tense
the past sure is tense"

"When I see a dolphin, I know it's just as smart as I am. Sometimes I'd rather be thought of as a dolphin than as a human being. I live up at Eureka, among the big trees, and I tell you, those things are really saying something. You gotta work to hear what they're saying. They're great. But the eucalyptus is so far my favorite. They brought them over from Australia for lumber, but when they grew here they curved, and there was no way they could be used for lumber. I think maybe they threw a curve on the lumber companies. And I think that's heavy."

"I left my horn home. I'm like an alcoholic about my horn. If I had it here I'd be playing it, and we'd be making another of those albums people don't buy. I have a very unusual voice. I have seven octaves. I have a way of going from a high note completely down to the bottom. I can just completely relax, and I'll almost go to sleep to get that low note, but not so asleep that I don't have the blood there."

"Recently, like on the last album, I've been getting inspiration from women, the way they move, their gestures. I think it's important that there be some men who appreciate women for what they are: women; not as some kind of extension of man. There's been a big ecological imbalance for years, what with women taking a back seat to men for so long. Their influence on life has been mutated, and, because of it, the men have been getting into wars and screwing things up. My inspiration comes from appreciating women for what they are."

"I also get a lot of inspiration from animals. I've always been looking at animals. I was at the zoo every day of my life from age 5 to 13. On my place I have lots of goats, horses, cows, cats, dogs. A lot of other animals eat here too: raccoons, coyotes, even a badger-gorgeous, tough, funny little animal. There's a lot to be learned from animals. They learned karate from cats. The way they move their hands in karate is the same way cats move their tails when they encounter one another. They learned yoga from the cats and the small animals. I think that most of the things there are to be learned can be learned from animals."

"There are only forty people in the world and five of them are hamburgers."

"Everybody's colored or else you wouldn't be able to see them."

"God's doing the jerk and it's the jerk's fault for lettin' him do it."

"Think about the poor rhinoceros. He's in trouble because people think his horn's good for sex. They grind it up as a potion for sex. We're lucky they don't find out about our teeth."

"I don't want to sell my music. I'd like to give it away because where I got it, you didn't have to pay for it."

"Do you know what I mean?"

2006-01-06T21:27:00.000+11:00

"I maintain that Truth is a pathless land, and you cannot approach it by any path whatsoever, by any religion, by any sect. That is my point of view, and I adhere to that absolutely and unconditionally. Truth, being limitless, unconditioned, unapproachable by any path whatsoever, cannot be organized; nor should any organization be formed to lead or to coerce people along any particular path. If you first understand that, then you will see how impossible it is to organize a belief. A belief is purely an individual matter, and you cannot and must not organize it. If you do, it becomes dead, crystallized; it becomes a creed, a sect, a religion, to be imposed on others. This is what everyone throughout the world is attempting to do. Truth is narrowed down and made a plaything for those who are weak, for those who are only momentarily discontented. Truth cannot be brought down, rather the individual must make the effort to ascend to it. You cannot bring the mountain-top to the valley. If you would attain to the mountain-top you must pass through the valley, climb the steeps, unafraid of the dangerous precipices. "

Jiddu Krishnamurti

2005-12-27T21:00:00.000+11:00

Last night you and I we gathered berries with a flashlight
Wide-eyed journeyed into scriptures giving me the insight
All of the persons to be breeded never had a skateboard or even a red light
We are needles in the karma greedy with the insight
Now we're hiding in your bedroom listening for dark spots
(really really loud)

little little crippled devil everybody makes of of him when he's in the stop light
Kool-aid you can stop pretending accidental washing always play your face to the right
fast tricks tripping down a kayak sequence into the fast night,
one more time,
you are poor

2005-12-27T20:58:00.000+11:00

You push a lot
You undid the wallpaper, made it so undressed
(in your head)

No attention
I'd rather be lost than found

I'll stick to reason, for chasing monsters
She's the mother of the ox and the devil
She's wonderful (just like you)

Id rather be lost than found
Rather be heard than right
Rather be sick than dead
Rather be loved than not loved (again)

Leave your work at home put down your briefcase

2005-12-23T12:54:00.000+11:00

"Love means:

- The nervous feeling you get in your stomach whenever you are about to see her.

- Having the patience to stand by her when she's going through the roughest times of her life even though there's nothing you can do about it.

- Preparing Christmas presents for her(that you know she'll enjoy no matter what) even when you think your relationship is headed out the door.

- Missing her so much at times that it actually hurts.

- Continuing to be in the relationship when your heart is being crushed just because you think there's a slight glimmer of hope that things might work out.

- Feeling so frustrated that you can't be the remedy to every single problem that she has.

- Putting her own happiness in front of yours no matter what the cost might be to you.

- Living your life each day and experiencing things and then knowing immediately how she would respond if she were there."

2005-12-17T21:21:00.000+11:00

"There are different ways of listening to music. There is a technical state when a person is developing technique and has learnt to appreciate better music, feels disturbed by a lower grade of music. But there is a spiritual way, which has nothing to do with technique. It is simply to tune oneself to the music." - Inayat Khan

2005-12-17T19:52:00.000+11:00

"I can tell he loves me when i look into his eyes and that's the only security I need."

Am I not one lucky guy?

2005-12-17T16:21:00.000+11:00

- Back then [during the punk movement] it was very much considered an anti-establishment movement... and it seems today most of the bands that do form want to be part of the establishment.

- What they pay you for now is being stupid and making people stupider.

- At this point in time it seems like 80% of the planet is fucking asleep.

- Don't ask me why the cataclysmic state of the environment hasn't galvanised and mobilised young people into doing something.

- The more severe the political landscape becomes, the more repressive... the more valuable the imagination becomes.

- Fuck you to corporations, fuck you to branding everything and fuck you to corporations having dictatorial control over society and media.

- All you need is one guy or girl to stand up and say "fuck this" and everyone goes "voice of a generation, thank you, I've been thinking that I just never had the guts to stand up and say it."

- You only need 5%, or less to like, embrace ideas and change it and like change the way people think all over again.

- It becomes a lineage of people finding others in this timeline gross.

2005-12-14T21:01:00.000+11:00

Hysteria

2005-10-26T20:27:00.000+10:00

"As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her
laughter and being part of it, until her teeth were
only accidental stars with a talent for squad-drill. I
was drawn in by short gasps, inhaled at each momentary
recovery, lost finally in the dark caverns of her
throat, bruised by the ripple of unseen muscles. An
elderly waiter with trembling hands was hurriedly
spreading a pink and white checked cloth over the rusty
green iron table, saying: "If the lady and gentleman
wish to take their tea in the garden, if the lady and
gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden ..." I
decided that if the shaking of her breasts could be
stopped, some of the fragments of the afternoon might
be collected, and I concentrated my attention with
careful subtlety to this end."

---T.S.E.

The Waste Land

2005-10-26T20:20:00.000+10:00

"Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis
vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent:
Sibylla ti theleis; respondebat illa: apothanein thelo.

I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du?
"You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
"They called me the hyacinth girl."
––Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Oed' und leer das Meer.

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations.
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:
One must be so careful these days.

Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying "Stetson!
"You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!
"That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
"Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
"Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
"Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,
"Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!
"You! hypocrite lecteur! - mon semblable, - mon frere!"

II. A GAME OF CHESS

The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Glowed on the marble, where the glass
Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines
From which a golden Cupidon peeped out
(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)
Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra
Reflecting light upon the table as
The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,
From satin cases poured in rich profusion;
In vials of ivory and coloured glass
Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,
Unguent, powdered, or liquid - troubled, confused
And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air
That freshened from the window, these ascended
In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,
Flung their smoke into the laquearia,
Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.
Huge sea-wood fed with copper
Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,
In which sad light a carved dolphin swam.
Above the antique mantel was displayed
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene
The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king
So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
"Jug Jug" to dirty ears.
And other withered stumps of time
Were told upon the walls; staring forms
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.
Footsteps shuffled on the stair.
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
Spread out in fiery points
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.

"My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
"Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak.
"What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
"I never know what you are thinking. Think."

I think we are in rats' alley
Where the dead men lost their bones.

"What is that noise?"
The wind under the door.
"What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?"
Nothing again nothing.
"Do
"You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember
"Nothing?"

I remember
Those are pearls that were his eyes.
"Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?"
But
O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag -
It's so elegant
So intelligent
"What shall I do now? What shall I do?"
I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
"With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow?
"What shall we ever do?"
The hot water at ten.
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of chess,
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

When Lil's husband got demobbed, I said -
I didn't mince my words, I said to her myself,
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Now Albert's coming back, make yourself a bit smart.
He'll want to know what you done with that money he gave you
To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.
You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,
He said, I swear, I can't bear to look at you.
And no more can't I, I said, and think of poor Albert,
He's been in the army four years, he wants a good time,
And if you don't give it him, there's others will, I said.
Oh is there, she said. Something o' that, I said.
Then I'll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
If you don't like it you can get on with it, I said.
Others can pick and choose if you can't.
But if Albert makes off, it won't be for lack of telling.
You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.
(And her only thirty-one.)
I can't help it, she said, pulling a long face,
It's them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.
(She's had five already, and nearly died of young George.)
The chemist said it would be alright, but I've never been the same.
You are a proper fool, I said.
Well, if Albert won't leave you alone, there it is, I said,
What you get married for if you don't want children?
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot -
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.
Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.

III. THE FIRE SERMON

The river's tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf
Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind
Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.
The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,
Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends
Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.
And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors;
Departed, have left no addresses.
By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . .
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.
But at my back in a cold blast I hear
The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.

A rat crept softly through the vegetation
Dragging its slimy belly on the bank
While I was fishing in the dull canal
On a winter evening round behind the gashouse
Musing upon the king my brother's wreck
And on the king my father's death before him.
White bodies naked on the low damp ground
And bones cast in a little low dry garret,
Rattled by the rat's foot only, year to year.
But at my back from time to time I hear
The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring
Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
And on her daughter
They wash their feet in soda water
Et O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dans la coupole!

Twit twit twit
Jug jug jug jug jug jug
So rudely forc'd.
Tereu

Unreal City
Under the brown fog of a winter noon
Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant
Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants
C.i.f. London: documents at sight,
Asked me in demotic French
To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel
Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.

At the violet hour, when the eyes and back
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays,
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest -
I too awaited the expected guest.
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,
A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
The time is now propitious, as he guesses,
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
Exploring hands encounter no defence;
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
Bestows one final patronising kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit . . .

She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover;
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
"Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over."
When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone.

"This music crept by me upon the waters"
And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.
O City city, I can sometimes hear
Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,
The pleasant whining of a mandoline
And a clatter and a chatter from within
Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls
Of Magnus Martyr hold
Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.

The river sweats
Oil and tar
The barges drift
With the turning tide
Red sails
Wide
To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.
The barges wash
Drifting logs
Down Greenwich reach
Past the Isle of Dogs.
Weialala leia
Wallala leialala

Elizabeth and Leicester
Beating oars
The stern was formed
A gilded shell
Red and gold
The brisk swell
Rippled both shores
Southwest wind
Carried down stream
The peal of bells
White towers
Weialala leia
Wallala leialala

"Trams and dusty trees.
Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew
Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees
Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe."

"My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart
Under my feet. After the event
He wept. He promised 'a new start'.
I made no comment. What should I resent?"
"On Margate Sands.
I can connect
Nothing with nothing.
The broken fingernails of dirty hands.
My people humble people who expect
Nothing."
la la

To Carthage then I came

Burning burning burning burning
O Lord Thou pluckest me out
O Lord Thou pluckest

burning

IV. DEATH BY WATER

Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,
Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell
And the profit and loss.
A current under sea
Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell
He passed the stages of his age and youth
Entering the whirlpool.
Gentile or Jew
O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.

V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID

After the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying
Prison and palace and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience

Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are mountains of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of mudcracked houses
If there were water
And no rock
If there were rock
And also water
And water
A spring
A pool among the rock
If there were the sound of water only
Not the cicada
And dry grass singing
But sound of water over a rock
Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
But there is no water

Who is the third who walks always beside you?
When I count, there are only you and I together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
- But who is that on the other side of you?

What is that sound high in the air
Murmur of maternal lamentation
Who are those hooded hordes swarming
Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth
Ringed by the flat horizon only
What is the city over the mountains
Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air
Falling towers
Jerusalem Athens Alexandria
Vienna London
Unreal

A woman drew her long black hair out tight
And fiddled whisper music on those strings
And bats with baby faces in the violet light
Whistled, and beat their wings
And crawled head downward down a blackened wall
And upside down in air were towers
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.

In this decayed hole among the mountains
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel
There is the empty chapel, only the wind's home.
It has no windows, and the door swings,
Dry bones can harm no one.
Only a cock stood on the rooftree
Co co rico co co rico
In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust
Bringing rain

Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves
Waited for rain, while the black clouds
Gathered far distant, over Himavant.
The jungle crouched, humped in silence.
Then spoke the thunder
DA
Datta: what have we given?
My friend, blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment's surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract
By this, and this only, we have existed
Which is not to be found in our obituaries
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
In our empty rooms
DA
Dayadhvam: I have heard the key
Turn in the door once and turn once only
We think of the key, each in his prison
Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison
Only at nightfall, aetherial rumours
Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus
DA
Damyata: The boat responded
Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar
The sea was calm, your heart would have responded
Gaily, when invited, beating obedient
To controlling hands

I sat upon the shore
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me
Shall I at least set my lands in order?
London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down
Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina
Quando fiam ceu chelidon - O swallow swallow
Le Prince d'Aquitaine a la tour abolie
These fragments I have shored against my ruins
Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo's mad againe.
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
Shantih shantih shantih"

---T.S.E.

The Hollow Men

2005-10-26T20:19:00.000+10:00

A penny for the old guy...

" I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer --

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow

For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow

Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper."

--T.S.E

Fight Club

2005-09-30T21:52:00.000+10:00

“A lot of young people try to impress the world and buy too many things,” the doorman said… “A lot of young people don’t know what they really want.”… “If you don’t know what you really want…you end up with a lot you don’t.”

"You buy furniture. You tell yourself this is the last sofa I will ever need in my life. Buy the sofa, then for a couple of years you’re satisfied that no matter what goes wrong, at least you’ve got your sofa issue handled. Then the right set of dishes. Then the perfect bed. The drapes. The rug. Then you are trapped in your lovely nest, and the things you used to own, now they own you."

"Fuck off with your sofa units and serine green stripe patterns, I say never be complete, I say stop being perfect, I say let... lets evolve, let the chips fall where they may."

"You're not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis. You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world. "

"It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything."

"The things you own end up owning you."

"I flipped through catalogs and wondered: What kind of dining set defines me as a person? "

"Reject the basic assumptions of civilization, especially the importance of materiel possessions. "

"We're a generation of men raised by women. I'm wondering if another woman is really the answer we need. "

"Shut up! Our fathers were our models for God. If our fathers bailed, what does that tell you about God? "

"Fuck damnation, man! Fuck redemption! We are God's unwanted children? So be it!"

"Something wrong, Dear?"

2005-09-22T20:00:00.000+10:00

"I swear to God there was some point maybe two years ago before all this shit started there would be shows in spaces we liked in Montreal where it wasn't great it wasn't like everything had come true, but there was, like, a glimmer. A little window would open a millimetre, you know? And it was enough you'd lie in bed and you'd be hammered and you'd think that little window is going to open a bit more and a bit more some thing that you can't define. You can't name it - something that would mean that life wasn't shit - I don't even see that glimmer in the space between the window and the window frame anymore - you don't get that glimpse. I don't know if that makes any sense. It's important to question these things and if you question them then you end up bringing up all the down points, right? So then you end up... Jeez! And you feel like you're in high school again going, 'Life stinks, man!' Do you understand what I'm saying? If you're actually asking these things, trying to figure this shit out, then these are the points you're going to bring up - what's wrong - you're not going to bring up what's good. We know what's good about where we're at - it's just not enough and the next stop is scary 'cause it's like - what is the next thing?" -- Efrim

Chart #3

2005-09-18T17:24:00.000+10:00

"...prepared in innocence to meet our king of glory
and so we have this
you have it in your secret windows
and you're understanding to understand it and to bring it forth
it takes minute detail
it takes a holy life
it takes emotions
it takes dedication
it takes dedication
it takes a death
and only god can allow it
and you couldn't do it if you're not the seed of god
and so the path through the great corridors
these are corridors unto his perfection
that is which the prophet and the oarman summoned has penetrated
that through this great sea of blackness
that i penetrated through these corridors
and i went through that last segment
where i went through these dark serpentines
i passed through that corridor
where they sat
where they are
and when you penetrate to the most high god
you will believe you are mad
you will believe you've gone insane
but i tell you if you follow the secret window
and you die to the ego nature
you will penetrate this darkness
oh yes there's many a man or woman
that's been put in the insane asylum
when this has happened to them
and they're sitting there today, people think they're insane
but they saw something that's real
and they see it when they're on drugs
the only thing is they see it
not through the light of god, and the way i show you
i show you to see it through the light of god
and the understanding of god
because when you see the face of god you will die
and there will be nothing left of you
except the god-man, the god-woman
the heavenly man, the heavenly woman
the heavenly child
there will be terror under this day of night
there will be a song of jubilee waiting for your king
there will be nothing you will be looking for in this world
except for your god
this is all a dream
a dream in death

and so i went through that window
and the tower of hell and the great serpentines of the highest order
and i went through that when i showed you chart #3
the question is asked and learned and someone who.... "

an unfinished movie about jail

2005-09-18T10:16:00.000+10:00

"the car's on fire and there's no driver at the wheel
and the sewers are all muddied with a thousand lonely suicides
and a dark wind blows

the government is corrupt
and we're on so many drugs
with the radio on and the curtains drawn

we're trapped in the belly of this horrible machine
and the machine is bleeding to death

the sun has fallen down
and the billboards are all leering
and the flags are all dead at the top of their poles

it went like this:

the buildings tumbled in on themselves
mothers clutching babies picked through the rubble
and pulled out their hair

the skyline was beautiful on fire
all twisted metal stretching upwards
everything washed in a thin orange haze

i said: "kiss me, you're beautiful -
these are truly the last days"

you grabbed my hand and we fell into it
like a daydream or a fever

we woke up one morning and fell a little further down -
for sure it's the valley of death

i open up my wallet
and it's full of blood"

2005-09-17T23:52:00.000+10:00

...infinity sweeping and falling away from you in all directions a dream you keep having where you are falling slowly or fast there is no bottom never has been or will be you will never land...

...all radial sound waves eminate from machine's busted heart like thin, infinite pink lasers or else sometimes like mile high cloud of bees or burred ton sinking...

...Babylonian Triangle of Captivity (are lights, triggered motion detectors activate nine grid sweep by roboticised surrveilance cameras and rapid deployment of cranky armed response team, fluorescent lights buzzing you are really very hungry and the buzzing parts puts this pain in your skull like geothermic plates scraping against each other, you are having a bad day you cannot see what he is typing into his computer but the thing beeps twice when he enters your name)...

...signal source = heart rusted machine blown, tubes ruined, torn gears, jury rigged wiring is faulty; shoots sparks (blue), smoke (black), flames (white) and buzzes uncontrollably...

...the things we endure, soon they are distant bad memories: we spent the last of our money on taxicabs + beer, stayed up all night hatching plans...

...tape loop so long it was rocketed thru atmosphere by wigged-out soviet cosmonaut - one edge rapped around a distant japanese weather satellite, other edge mounted on junked ¼ inch tape machine with misaligned heads; spinning satellite acts as a captain, tape loop moved over heads of tape machine at speed of satellites orbit x speed of earths orbit; playback is sporadic, tape loop so long it will take three lifetimes to hear its entirety...

[Regret] F#

[Fear] ∞

[Desire] A#

[Hope] ∞

1. continuous self-doubt...

3. inescapable police car/anxiety continuum

a. lack of money, resources... (helplessness)

2005-09-03T21:11:00.000+10:00

Brown Star

2005-09-03T20:58:00.000+10:00

I know of a Brown Star
That only certain people have found
For years they been lookin' around
A lot of people lookin' up
But very few of them looking down
Well they searched high and low for that little glow
That'll make them happy
Some searched fast and they went on past
Some went slow but couldn't let it go
I know of a Brown Star
That only very certain people have found
You can ask a dog why he's so happy
Just waggin' his tail around
Or a frog that makes him jump around
Follow a sailin' cloud until it dumps
The rain right down
But ask a man and woman if they've seen
A Brown Star around
Some will say yes and some will say no
Some will just laugh and some will just glow
Some will say why do you ask
Some will say well don't you know
Then there'll be the one that says
It's already been found
But you ask a child and they'll just jump up and down
Sayin' we found a Brown Star
Right on the ground.

-- Don Van Vliet

Untitled

2005-09-03T20:54:00.000+10:00

Manta ray a black and white
hand groped in blue light
under the moon
scratched a fingernail
tipped off full hand to one side
of heavens black top hat
god smiled, his black and white wings
wet with tears of peace perfumed
with lifes perfection

Untitled

2005-09-03T20:43:00.000+10:00

It's not worth
getting into
the bullshit
to find out
what the bulls ate

Her Eyes Are A Blue Million Miles

2005-09-03T20:36:00.000+10:00

I look at her and she looks at me
In her eyes I see the sea
I can't see what she sees in a man like me
She says she loves me

Her eyes
Her eyes
Her eyes are a blue million miles

Far as I can see
She loves me

Her eyes
Her eyes
Her eyes are a blue million miles

Far as I can see
She loves me

I look at her and she looks at me
In her eyes I see the sea
I can't see what she sees in a man like me
She says she loves me

Her eyes
Her eyes
Her eyes are a blue million miles

Dropout

2005-09-03T20:30:00.000+10:00

You wanna do what I told you what
Go ta school just cain't
Ya getta job Dunno whattit
What it's all about
you told her ya love her so figured her mother ya love her adapt her
adapt her adapter

Support her she says she's no boarder
getta job ya gotta support her
ya told her you loved her so figured her mother
ya love her adapt her adapt her adapter
'n;' what about after that

-- Captain Beefheart

Untitled

2005-09-03T19:42:00.000+10:00

A little paranoia
is a mood propeller

Untitled

2005-09-02T18:24:00.000+10:00

One nest rolls after another
until there are no longer
any birds -
one tongue lashes
another
until there are
no words
I love
fails no birds

2005-08-08T18:04:00.000+10:00

The same again
Another dissapointment
Is this really the way it is?
Or just a contract in our mutual interest?

Would You?

2005-07-07T13:51:00.001+10:00

If you had the power to cry,
Such that everyone could hear,
But no one understood what you do,
Would you?

If you had the power to change,
To know the truth
But no one could see the way you do,
Would you?

If you had the power to die,
Such that life never ended,
But no one knew what you knew,
Would you?

Seed to A Tree

2005-06-11T18:09:00.000+10:00

As I shit, I sit and wonder why
My floor is so cold and my back broken tired
But life is good even though it won't be long
With a candle comes emotions that dance with the shadows on my wall
What were your thoughts as they went flying through your mind
Compared to what you feel from the bars you're now behind
If they could speak, what do you think they'd say to you
I do believe you'd been better off if you'd just told the truth

Never had a problem til I stood face to face with me
And I wish there was a way for me to go inside so I could see
All the faces of the people who have torn a piece from me
As I grew from a seed to a tree

Can you feel the power of the eye
That's hidden away 5 feet from where we lie
What do you taste when you take a drink of me
Is it to much for me to ask if I asked you to leave
Please just leave, cause I want to be alone

There's a fine line, between love and my feelings for you
High time I washed it all away
Unkind I watch your future burn before you
Denied a chance of any love in your life
And I ask you one time....why?

2005-05-17T21:05:00.000+10:00

In a stronger age than this decaying, self-doubting present, he must yet come to us, the redeeming man, of great love and contempt, the creative spirit whose compelling strength will not let him rest in any aloofness or any beyond, whose isolation is misunderstood by the people as if it were flight from reality - while it is only his absorbption, immersion,, penetration into reality, so that, when he one day emerges again into the light, he may bring home the redemption of this reality; its redemption from the curse that the hitherto reigning ideal has laid upon it. The man of the future, who will redeem us not only from the hitherto reiging ideal but also from that which was bound to grow out of it, the great nausea, the will to nothingness, nihilism; this bell-stroke of noon and of the great decision that liberates the will again and restores its goal to the earth and his hope to man; this antichrist and antinihilist; this victor over god and nothingness - he must come one day.

Friedrich Nietzsche, On the Genealogy of Morals

Among all the things that can be contemplated under the concavity of the heavens, nothing is seen that arouses the human spirit more, that ravishes the senses more, that horrifies more, that provokes more terror or admiration than the monsters, prodigies and abominations through which we see the works of nature inverted, mutilated and truncated.

Pierre Boaistuau, Histoires Prodigieuses

"I know some new tricks," said the Cat in the Hat. "A lot of good tricks. I wills how them to you. Your mother will not mind at all if I do.

Dr. Seuss, The Cat in the Hat

C'mon babies grease your lips
Put on your hats and swing your hips
Don't forget to bring your whips
We're goin' to the Freaker's Ball

Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show, Freaker's Ball

An urge towards love, pushed to its limit, is an urge towards death.

Marquis de Sade

........

Maldoror was virtuous during his first years, virtuous and happy. Later he became aware that he was born evil. Strange fatality! He concealed his character as best he could for many years; but in the end, because such concentration was unusual to him, every day the blood would mount to his head until the strain reached a point where he could no longer bear to live such a life and he gave himself to a career of evil... sweet atmospher! Who could have realised that whenever he embraced a young child with rosy cheeks he longed to slice off those cheeks with a razor, and would have done it many times had he not been restrained by the thought of justice with his long funeral procession of punishments.

Comte de Lautreamont, Maldoror

Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law.

Aleister Crowley, Diary of a Drug Fiend

As far as I know, there is not one word in the gospels in praise of intelligence.

Bertrand Russell, "Has Religion Made Useful Contributions to Civilisation?"

As I walked through the wilderness of the world, I lighted on a certain place, where was a den; and I laid me down in that place to sleep: and as I slept I dreamed a dream. I dreamed, and behold I saw a man clothed with rages, standing in a certain place, with his face from his own house, a book in his hand, and a great burden upon his back. I looked, and saw him open the book, and read therein; and as he read, he wept and trembled: and not being able longer to contain, he brake out with a lamentable cry; saying,"What shall I do?"

John Bunyan, The Pilgrim's Progress

In my opinion the apocalypse... must be primarily an internal, spiritual event, and only in a secondary way an external catastrophe. The gates of the watchtowers... are mental constructions. When they are opened, they will admit [satan] not into the physical world but into our subconscious minds... the apocalypse os a mental transformation that will occur, or is presently occuring, within the collective unconscious of the human race.

Donald Tyson, "The Enochian Apocalypse"

Have you not heard of that madman who lit a lantern in the bright morning hours, ran to the market place and cried incessantly: "I seek God! I seek God!" —As many of those who did not believe in God were standing around just then, he provoked much laughter. Has he got lost? asked one. Did he lose his way like a child? asked another. Or is he hiding? Is he afraid of us? Has he gone on a voyage? emigrated? —Thus they yelled and laughed.

The madman jumped into their midst and pierced them with his eyes. "Whither is God?" he cried. "I will tell you. We have killed him—you and I. All of us are his murderers. But how did we do this? How could we drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What were we doing when we unchained this earth from its sun? Whither is it moving now? Whither are we moving? Away from all suns? Are we not plunging continually? Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there still any up or down? Are we not straying as through an infinite nothing? Do we not feel the breath of empty space? Has it not become colder? Is not night continually closing in on us? Do we not need to light lanterns in the morning? Do we not hear nothing as yet of the noise of the gravediggers who are burying God? Do we smell nothing as yet of the divine decomposition? Gods, too, decompose. God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him.

"How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? Whatwas holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it? There has never been a greater deed; and whoever is born after us—for the sake of this deed he will belong to a higher history than all history hitherto."

Here the madman fell silent and looked again at his listeners; and they, too, were silent and stared at him in astonishment. At last he threw his lantern to the ground, and it broke into pieces and went out. "I have come too early," he said then; "my time is not yet. This tremendous event is still on its way, still wandering; it has not yet reached the ears of men. Lightning and thunder require time; the light of the stars requires time; deeds, though done, still require time to be seen and heard. This deed is still more distant from them than the most distant stars—and yet they have done it themselves.

Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science - 125

Dr. Lao

2005-04-11T06:08:00.000+10:00

"Oh, we've spared no pains and we've spared no dough;
And we've dug at the secrets of long ago;
And we've risen to heaven and plunged Below,
For we wanted to make it one Hell of a show."

From The Circus of Dr. Lao

Columbine, Whose Fault Is It?

2005-03-27T10:36:00.000+10:00

"It is sad to think that the first few people on earth needed no books, movies, games or music to inspire cold-blooded murder. The day that Cain bashed his brother Abel's brains in, the only motivation he needed was his own human disposition to violence. Whether you interpret the Bible as literature or as the final word of whatever God may be, Christianity has given us an image of death and sexuality that we have based our culture around. A half-naked dead man hangs in most homes and around our necks, and we have just taken that for granted all our lives. Is it a symbol of hope or hopelessness? The world's most famous murder-suicide was also the birth of the death icon -- the blueprint for celebrity. Unfortunately, for all of their inspiring morality, nowhere in the Gospels is intelligence praised as a virtue.

A lot of people forget or never realize that I started my band as a criticism of these very issues of despair and hypocrisy. The name Marilyn Manson has never celebrated the sad fact that America puts killers on the cover of Time magazine, giving them as much notoriety as our favorite movie stars. From Jesse James to Charles Manson, the media, since their inception, have turned criminals into folk heroes. They just created two new ones when they plastered those dipshits Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris' pictures on the front of every newspaper. Don't be surprised if every kid who gets pushed around has two new idols.

We applaud the creation of a bomb whose sole purpose is to destroy all of mankind, and we grow up watching our president's brains splattered all over Texas. Times have not become more violent. They have just become more televised. Does anyone think the Civil War was the least bit civil? If television had existed, you could be sure they would have been there to cover it, or maybe even participate in it, like their violent car chase of Princess Di. Disgusting vultures looking for corpses, exploiting, fucking, filming and serving it up for our hungry appetites in a gluttonous display of endless human stupidity.

When it comes down to who's to blame for the high school murders in Littleton, Colorado, throw a rock and you'll hit someone who's guilty. We're the people who sit back and tolerate children owning guns, and we're the ones who tune in and watch the up-to-the-minute details of what they do with them. I think it's terrible when anyone dies, especially if it is someone you know and love. But what is more offensive is that when these tragedies happen, most people don't really care any more than they would about the season finale of Friends or The Real World. I was dumbfounded as I watched the media snake right in, not missing a teardrop, interviewing the parents of dead children, televising the funerals. Then came the witch hunt.

Man's greatest fear is chaos. It was unthinkable that these kids did not have a simple black-and-white reason for their actions. And so a scapegoat was needed. I remember hearing the initial reports from Littleton, that Harris and Klebold were wearing makeup and were dressed like Marilyn Manson, whom they obviously must worship, since they were dressed in black. Of course, speculation snowballed into making me the poster boy for everything that is bad in the world. These two idiots weren't wearing makeup, and they weren't dressed like me or like goths. Since Middle America has not heard of the music they did listen to (KMFDM and Rammstein, among others), the media picked something they thought was similar.

Responsible journalists have reported with less publicity that Harris and Klebold were not Marilyn Manson fans -- that they even disliked my music. Even if they were fans, that gives them no excuse, nor does it mean that music is to blame. Did we look for James Huberty's inspiration when he gunned down people at McDonald's? What did Timothy McVeigh like to watch? What about David Koresh, Jim Jones? Do you think entertainment inspired Kip Kinkel, or should we blame the fact that his father bought him the guns he used in the Springfield, Oregon, murders? What inspires Bill Clinton to blow people up in Kosovo? Was it something that Monica Lewinsky said to him? Isn't killing just killing, regardless if it's in Vietnam or Jonesboro, Arkansas? Why do we justify one, just because it seems to be for the right reasons? Should there ever be a right reason? If a kid is old enough to drive a car or buy a gun, isn't he old enough to be held personally responsible for what he does with his car or gun? Or if he's a teenager, should someone else be blamed because he isn't as enlightened as an eighteen-year-old?

America loves to find an icon to hang its guilt on. But, admittedly, I have assumed the role of Antichrist; I am the Nineties voice of individuality, and people tend to associate anyone who looks and behaves differently with illegal or immoral activity. Deep down, most adults hate people who go against the grain. It's comical that people are naive enough to have forgotten Elvis, Jim Morrison and Ozzy so quickly. All of them were subjected to the same age-old arguments, scrutiny and prejudice. I wrote a song called Lunchbox, and some journalists have interpreted it as a song about guns. Ironically, the song is about being picked on and fighting back with my Kiss lunch box, which I used as a weapon on the playground. In 1979, metal lunch boxes were banned because they were considered dangerous weapons in the hands of delinquents. I also wrote a song called Get Your Gunn. The title is spelled with two n's because the song was a reaction to the murder of Dr. David Gunn, who was killed in Florida by pro-life activists while I was living there. That was the ultimate hypocrisy I witnessed growing up: that these people killed someone in the name of being "pro-life."

The somewhat positive messages of these songs are usually the ones that sensationalists misinterpret as promoting the very things I am decrying. Right now, everyone is thinking of how they can prevent things like Littleton. How do you prevent AIDS, world war, depression, car crashes? We live in a free country, but with that freedom there is a burden of personal responsibility. Rather than teaching a child what is moral and immoral, right and wrong, we first and foremost can establish what the laws that govern us are. You can always escape hell by not believing in it, but you cannot escape death and you cannot escape prison.

It is no wonder that kids are growing up more cynical; they have a lot of information in front of them. They can see that they are living in a world that's made of bullshit. In the past, there was always the idea that you could turn and run and start something better. But now America has become one big mall, and because of the Internet and all of the technology we have, there's nowhere to run. People are the same everywhere. Sometimes music, movies and books are the only things that let us feel like someone else feels like we do. I've always tried to let people know it's OK, or better, if you don't fit into the program. Use your imagination -- if some geek from Ohio can become something, why can't anyone else with the willpower and creativity?

I chose not to jump into the media frenzy and defend myself, though I was begged to be on every single TV show in existence. I didn't want to contribute to these fame-seeking journalists and opportunists looking to fill their churches or to get elected because of their self-righteous finger-pointing. They want to blame entertainment? Isn't religion the first real entertainment? People dress up in costumes, sing songs and dedicate themselves in eternal fandom. Everyone will agree that nothing was more entertaining than Clinton shooting off his prick and then his bombs in true political form. And the news -- that's obvious. So is entertainment to blame? I'd like media commentators to ask themselves, because their coverage of the event was some of the most gruesome entertainment any of us have seen.

I think that the National Rifle Association is far too powerful to take on, so most people choose Doom, The Basketball Diaries or yours truly. This kind of controversy does not help me sell records or tickets, and I wouldn't want it to. I'm a controversial artist, one who dares to have an opinion and bothers to create music and videos that challenge people's ideas in a world that is watered-down and hollow. In my work I examine the America we live in, and I've always tried to show people that the devil we blame our atrocities on is really just each one of us. So don't expect the end of the world to come one day out of the blue -- it's been happening every day for a long time." MM

IF I DIDN'T KNOW ME, MY DREAM WOULD BE TO MEET ME.

2005-03-11T15:34:00.000+11:00

"IN MY OWN WORDS.

AFTER BEING SEEN BY MANY AS A DIFFICULT MAN, IF NOT DOWN RIGHT EVIL, A CUNT IN OTHER WORDS, IT SEEMS THAT HE JUST WANTS TO BE LOVED. HONESTLY. IN THE FOLLOWING WORK OF GENIUS AS HE TERMS IT, YOU WILL READ ABOUT THE MANY EVIL PEOPLE HE HATES AT THE MOMENT AND THE PEOPLE HE LIKES (APPROXIMATELY TWO) AND THE MANY PROBLEMS HE HAD WHEN HE WAS GROWING UP, BUT FORGIVE HIM, AFTER ALL HE IS, A CHARMING, SWEET MAN WHO SHOULD NEVER BE CROSSED UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.

She drew a picture of his penis. On a matchbook. Actual size. The red verbs and the courage hurts, He noticed he had a hair in his mouth. He noticed it had grown in, In-grown from his chin. The same had happened to his head. Are you a happy or are you a hippy? Like holding my cock and remembering her. Like a dealer in a casino of guilt.

I'm going to shoot a documentary about myself called "Yeah, You Know Me." I'll ask a hundred chicks the same question about me and film their hundred completely different answers. I want to make a movie about the life and times of a celebrity look-alike. I want to make a film about a dinner party I'll have where I Invite my most twisted friends, but they can only come with their parents. I should open a restaurant where the waitresses are so ugly and deformed you can't look at them. Mike Leigh, he stinks from touching himself, not where. I can't believe some people buy carpet. I can't believe it. Some people buy carpet. Do you believe that? Carpet gets stinky. And it took several wives, It sure did.

My film is going to be called Herpes Rising. A college student, as protest, set himself on fire. His parents never talk about him It takes a long time to know somebody for a long time, old friend you backstabber I'm always laughing and crying in my sleep. I feel like going to a football game wearing the visiting team's uniform and cheering until I get killed. I'm not gay. I'm happy. I had a bad dream I ass-fucked Hillary Clinton, I woke up - I'm happy that I'm sad. I washed the washing machine. It was a cleaner, A wet cleaner. Jump, you pussy. A brown poem. My friend went to the emergency room with a finger splint and died during surgery. Young man becomes old woman. Her smile was so big, it formed a circle - Fellatio. I saw this big, fat Puerto Rican chick with a big, fat ass walking down the street. I was late and I said to her, "Execute me, permiso, do you know what time it is?" She, "It's 3:30." He is an asshole. This is not sunburn, I'm blushing. I'm embarrassed to be a human being. It was scary and sad. So I peed and cried. This is like holding a penis upside down to make it appear erect. I hope you read my new novel: The Art and Science of Shit and Shitting. Thanks, really, really, thanks. Really, thanks, really. Realty really thanks. Thank you really. Really.

I want to make a film called Pork, It's a road film. It would be me driving across America, with extreme laughter as the sound track. Sometimes I'm either laughing or crying. Bad luck is better than no luck at all. I'm drinking a lot of water now so I can pee on everyone later, Climbing the brown, the good brown. Fat jaw. New skin. Slow clock. Humiliated like cooking cabbage. I'm saving myself for the next Hollywood. God-like bad art. Star Wars, the play. Wood carpet. Foot nude. New York City's my favourite country. Children boxing blindfold. I love you. Leonardo da Vinci, my father said he was just a fag. I put all my garbage In alphabetical order. Ten old women kill a child with their odour in an elevator. Thin penny. His penis was abreast I have some sort of fear of afro, It must be afrobia. When you buy sushi, you get a raw deal. Does the word alarm ring a bell? If George Lucas was a musician, he'd be bad jazz fusion. Him and ..., sitting in a tree, and it's a beautiful tree, and so it is, so beautiful. K-I-SS-I-N-G. You know, my dear friend, you've been good to me. And you've never let me down. So I guess I kind of like you. Hey everybody, I'm going to get the last ha-ha-ha. So ha-ha-ha. I like the sixties. All of them.

Did I ever tell you my bird story? I was seven years old and my brother and a couple cousins had these bow and arrow sets, And the arrows had suction cups at the end of them so they could stick to the wall (kids' toys). We removed the suction cups and filed the ends of the arrows pointy like real hunters and began taking hunting trips in the suburban fields. We'd tie our lunches and our bow and arrows to our bikes early in the morning and go hunting. Sometimes you'd have to take a dump in the fields and wipe with a leaf. After several months of unsuccessful hunting, we began to get frustrated. Although somebody once caught a butterfly and we kept it in a jar. One day I was crawling through the fields and spotted a baby robin bird. Out of its nest and unable to fly. It was about two days away from being mature enough to fly. Arid I found it hopping around. I ran to a nearby dumpster and copped an empty shoebox and trapped the bird in it. My plan was to shoot the bird and tell my friends that I shot it in the air, but I was a little nervous. So I put the box on the ground and made a deal with God, The deal was: I'd shoot one arrow into the box. If I hit the bird, I'd get to tell my friends that I shot it. If I missed, then I would take care of the bird, get it worms and pet it until it could fly away. So I shot an arrow into the box and right away I got excited. I was sure that I had missed and would now have a pet bird, And so I pulled on the arrow and lifted the shoebox lid and what I found was that the arrow had gone right through the back of the bird. And the bird's mouth was wide open, dead in pain, looking at me. Really looking at me, I didn't tell my friends anything. I just buried the bird right there and started to cry. I felt really bad. I made a monument and I had bad dreams for a long time. And I never shot anything else. And I didn't hang out with my brother anymore. A couple months ago, I was at my friends house and it looked like there was a dead baby bird in the pool. I jumped in and pulled it out. It looked totally dead. But it kind of jumped up and was flapping around. It dried off in the sun and started hopping around, but it was too young to fly. It had fallen from a nest hanging over the pool. I used an eyedropper and it eventually would eat some milk. This was in California and I found a bird rescue woman and brought her the bird. My friend Johnny keeps asking how my friend Bird Is doing. He's just kidding though.

I had a friend, he was a real filthy pig. Every time we were together he told me horrible, abusive, shocking sex tales of him and a bunch of chicks, and like an asshole, I used to always encourage him and laugh along. One time, I love this girl named Sophie. We had been courting for several months, but I didn't know her too well. Anyway, I was in a truck with this jerk friend of mine listening to a year's worth of his sex stories on a trip to Pennsylvania, One girl he told me about he told me the most hardcore story of ass-fucking, and blowjobs, cigarette burning and beating that shocked me, I thought to myself who could this girl be. It turned out to be the girl Sophie I'd fallen in love with.

I pulled over the truck and barfed for about an hour. It's hard for me to love somebody.

People are all creepy.

2005-02-27T19:11:00.000+11:00

People are all creepy. Creepy creepy creeps. Creeping around. Creeping here and creeping there. Creeping everywhere. Crippity crappity creepies.

Is Adult Entertainment Killing our Children? Or is Killing our Children Entertaining our Adults?

2005-02-25T15:32:00.000+11:00

"I have a hope for a new, stronger humanity. An age of enlightenment, an Age of Horus. The "great" are only "great" because we are on our knees. It is time to rise and time to create.

We are now the people our parents warned us about. And we should be, because they were naive.

We truly sit in the shadow of death, or rather the billboard that advertises it. We're all going to die! and if enough people are taking photos, we will all be stars.

But it's all really a popularity contest now.
How you die.
How many people you take with you.
What your cause was.
How good is your sound byte.
We even make martyrs where others, equally and brutally murdered fall as just statistics.

Murder sells, grief sells but boy does Jesus Christ sell. "Well, she died for God. Because if she had denied her faith she would have lived!"
SURE.
So if this school-shooting victim had said, "No spare me, I hate God", the deranged killer would have followed his own "Christian values" and turned the other pimply cheek. Right, maybe on the WB NETWORK made-for-TV version we can expect any day now. Sadly and simply that poor girl and her classmates didn't die for Christ or anyone else. She died because her head was where Dylan Klebold had his rifle aimed. We can all agree these deaths were unnecessary. So was my grandfather's and your brother or dad or JFK or Christ himself. But let's not make martyrdom a popularity contest based on cash, guilt and fear. I'm sure if they could bottle every tear we've shed in these events, they'd sell it back to us as bottled water. The crucifix is already the highest grossing mass-market piece of merchandise sold worldwide in the history of mankind. So where does that leave us? I say our art. That is all that makes us worth being alive. It's surely not what drives us to death. Each artist is a duality. On one hand he has human feelings and on the other he is an impersonal machine or process. But you cannot understand his psyche; you can only understand his creative achievements. I am a vehicle. An artist cannot be expected to interpret what he does for us. It must change us and in the change, we become the interpretation. The answer.

There is a thin line between psychosis and creation. Who's to say madness isn't pure enlightenment?

YOU CAN ONLY DO!

Everything you do is part of a plane plummeting towards our pitiful, dying earth. But your art, what you create is stepping onto the burning wing and forgetting silly things like life and death for a moment. Just to enjoy for one second a glimpse of beauty before you are reduced to ashes."

Marilyn Manson

2005-02-24T20:22:00.000+11:00

"The record is about seeing death and growing from it, and in the end, being strong and being alive."

"Antichrist Superstar is also about me wanting to grow up and be something that people would adore...instead I grew up and became something that people hated."

"Im thankful that I have two middle fingers.....I only wish I had more."

"There's days when I'd love for everybody to realize that things have gone too far, and that we need to be born again so that we can appreciate the little things....then there's other days when I think the world deserves to be destroyed. Why should I help anybody? Everybodys stepped on me my whole life. I've put on this crown....but I'm not sure if I want it."

"Why should we believe in a god that doesn't believe in us?"

"Everything you do is part of a plane plummeting towards our pitiful, dying earth. But your art, what you create is stepping onto the burning wing and forgetting silly things like life and death for a moment. Just to enjoy for one second a glimpse of beauty before you are reduced to ashes."

"My fellow Americans, we will no longer be oppressed by the fascism of Christianity, and we will no longer be oppressed by the fascism of beauty. ‘Cause I see you all sitting out there trying your hardest not to be ugly...trying your hardest not to fit in...trying your hardest to earn your way into heaven...but let me ask you - do you wanna be in a place that’s filled with a bunch of assholes?!"

"If I believed in an outside force that we wanted to call God - and I believe that there is one. I think God would appreciate what I say, because I can't see God wanting to create a world full of idiots."

"I'm not against God. I'm against the Misuse of God."

"A long time ago, there was a man as misunderstood as we are and they nailed him to a fucking cross!"

Piece de Resistance

2005-02-23T15:54:00.000+11:00

When the fork eats the spoon,
and the knife stabs
the face reflected in the plate,
dinner is over.

2005-02-23T04:10:00.000+11:00

Go aheah and build a better messiah, we can dig another grave.

Hotel Hallucinogen

2005-02-23T03:58:00.000+11:00

Lying in bed contemplatin
tomorrow, simply meditating,
I stare into the empy
spot, and I notice a penetrating
of two eyes looking up and
down at various odd angles
secretly inspecting me; and I
feel my stare tugged away
from the blank screen in
front of my eyes and directed
at the eight empty beer cans
forming an unintentional pyramid.

And I close my lids to think-
How many hours have passed
since I have constructed such an
immaculate edifice of tin?
Or did I create it all?
Was it the watchers?

I open my eyes and return my stare to the pyramid.
But the pyramid has now
become a flaming pyre, and
the face within is my own.
What is this prophecy that
comes to me like a delivery boy,
cold and uncaring of its message,
asking only for recognition?
But I will not fall prey
to this revelation of irrevelance
I will not recognise this perversion
of thought.

I will not.

I hurl my pillow at the
infernal grave, as if to save my
eyes from horrific understanding,
and I hear the hollow clang
of seven empty beer cans,
not eight-
Was it fate that left
one to stand?
Why does this solitary tin soldier
stand in defiance to my
pillow talk of annihilation

Then, for some odd, idiotic,
most definitely engimatic rason
the can begins to errupt in a barrage of
whimpering cries.
Does he lament because his
friends and family are gone
or that he has no one with which to spawn?
They were gone...

But no, that's not the reason.
It is a baby's cry of his mother's
treason.
The screaming fear of abandonment.
And this wailing, screaming, whining
causes the dead cans to rise
and I can't believe my eyes,
that this concession of
beverage containers is chanting
in a cacophony of shallow rebellion
to my Doctrine of Anihilation
that was discussed in my
Summit of the Pillow (which is now
lost among the stamping feet of the
aliminium-alloy anarchists).

I am afraid, afraid of these
cans, these nihilistic rebels.
As the one approaches-the baby cryer,
I suppose my fear now
escalates, constructing a wall
around my bed, trying to shut
everything out
but without a doubt
the cryer casually climbs what
I thought was a Great Wall
not unlike the one in Berlin.

He begins to speak.

His words flow cryptically from
the hole in his head
like funeral music: deep, resonant,
and sorrowful.

He says to me: "You must
surrender to your dreams it's just.
We sit up all day planning for your attendance
and upon arrival you
very impolitely
ignore us."

In awe, I nod my head involuntarily
and he closes my eyes.

No.

He gives me a pair of aphrodisiac sunglasses,
and I fall asleep in the shade.

Asleep in the fiel of hyacinth and jade.

When I crawl out of my sleep
I get up,
my hair a tangled mess of golden locks.
I enter the kitchen,
and go to the icebox.
I pull out a single can of beer,
and as I begin to drink
I hear

The weeping of an abandoned infant

Never Look a Judge in the Mouth Unless his Gift is a Book About Horses

2005-02-21T12:17:00.000+11:00

I've been trying all week to explain the difference between a night club and a night stick to a pile of idiots, who for the life of them, could not see the connection betwixt the moustache of Dali and the "mustache" of Nietzsche. I have put the dirt back in my mouth and drank from the dead, regardless of what these powdered wig witch doctors prescribed.

A catless grin with smoke for words,
I love all those who let me.

Apollonius....

Through the Pain Gate

2005-02-21T05:28:00.000+11:00

(Do mirrors sleep and do they have feelings? Or--"90 days of Sodom")

THE IMPORTANCE IS TO ALWAYS:

1—Do anything creative. Who cares what people think of it.
2—After all, art is only one ‘f’ short of what most people’s opinions smell like.

PATIENT WARNING

We see ourselves printed out on a zerox again and again and if we are not careful, we may end up just staring at a blur of ink. NEVER TOUCH ME UNTIL I AM DRY. (It will smear.)

I only make these things--- scratches, scars, mumbles, cords, chords---to form a ladder to climb my way out of the hole in Hell I have dug while trying to MAKE these things. Sometimes, I forget to stop and enjoy how pretty Hell can be, if you can get past the smell of DOUBT.

“Mais rien ne peut exister, si l’on raisonne.”

Nietzsche

2005-02-20T14:11:00.000+11:00

"A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything."

"A subject for a great poet would be God's boredom after the seventh day of creation."

"All in all, punishment hardens and renders people more insensible; it concentrates; it increases the feeling of estrangement; it strengthens the power of resistance."

"All truth is simple... is that not doubly a lie?"

"Altered opinions do not alter a man's character (or do so very little); but they do illuminate individual aspects of the constellation of his personality which with a different constellation of opinions had hitherto remained dark and unrecognizable."

"Although the most acute judges of the witches and even the witches themselves, were convinced of the guilt of witchery, the guilt nevertheless was non-existent. It is thus with all guilt."

"Art is not merely an imitation of the reality of nature, but in truth a metaphysical supplement to the reality of nature, placed alongside thereof for its conquest."

"At bottom every man knows well enough that he is a unique being, only once on this earth; and by no extraordinary chance will such a marvelously picturesque piece of diversity in unity as he is, ever be put together a second time."

"Enduring habits I hate... Yes, at the very bottom of my soul I feel grateful to all my misery and bouts of sickness and everything about me that is imperfect, because this sort of thing leaves me with a hundred backdoors through which I can escape from enduring habits."

"Faith: not wanting to know what is true."

"He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. Is not life a hundred times too short for us to bore ourselves?"

"Hope in reality is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man."

"In Christianity neither morality nor religion come into contact with reality at any point.

"Is man one of God's blunders? Or is God one of man's blunders?"

"It is always consoling to think of suicide: in that way one gets through many a bad night."

"It is hard enough to remember my opinions, without also remembering my reasons for them!"

"The most spiritual human beings, assuming they are the most courageous, also experience by far the most painful tragedies: but it is precisely for this reason that they honor life, because it brings against them its most formidable weapons."

The Remarkable Revenge of the Rejected

2005-02-20T11:38:00.000+11:00

The world is not the brightly colored place of bizarre wonders that you see on Saturday morning. People, both family and friends, appear vile and do vile things. Mum and Dad don't always look out for you. With more time and experience the sense of betrayal deepens as its range widens. Everywhere one can unearth hypocrisy and lies. Things not only aren't what they ought to be, they're not even what they pretend to be.

Disappointment hurts; betrayal breaks trust. There's no understanding why things lie, why reality lets you down so bitterly, why those who should love and take care of you can abuse, neglect, punish and ignore. And the hurt and broken trust form resentment. You turn your back, take the first step away from the source of it all.

Resentment breeds defiance. If the whole world can't be what you want, your immediate world can. Surround yourself with toys, artifacts and images, and choose your clothes with care. Defiance draws more abuse, but abuse makes it stronger. Defiance rejects the source in all ways: its culture, appearance, mores, and creed. The source responds with rejection, bigotry and hate.

Abused and assaulted defiance spirals downward into rage. Rage spirals down and down into hate as pure as alchemical glass. Hate spins on itself, craving and starving to destroy. The darkest darkness, where you know yourself as the incarnation of all the villains you feared. The crucible of hellfire.

From hell you can only rise, there's no further down. But the rising spirit is hate now pure: righteous wrath, justice. The desire to return full circle, to confront the abusers and betrayers with all the strength you've gained, to accuse and avenge. On behalf not only of yourself but of all the others, all the children like you, all the wounded and outcast. You cannot ignore what you have made, it says - here it is to face you, look you in the eye and demand its due. What you made was a monster, but yours all the same, and it deserved better from you than it got. There is true right and wrong without gray, sometimes, and here it is: you cannot escape the crime of abandoning and abusing the innocent trust of those who had a right to that trust. You cannot hide from its stare.

And that's its beauty, that's what's still at the core of this hell-bent, blistering, relentless revenge - the keenness of a child's baffled hurt. You remember: nothing that's happened to you since then has hurt as much as things did when you were little, when you didn't understand why they happened, and your feelings were simpler and more direct. This is still just that way, the memory's as sharp as a claw, none faded.

Why are they mad at us? What did we do wrong?
What did we ever do that wasn't just what you told us, or gave us to do, or did yourselves?
Why did you make us if we're not what you wanted? Where can we go if you throw us away?

It eats too much sugar and believes in magic. It dresses up and plays make believe. But it's got all the strength of will and experience of someone years older, and it's spent years working on its hate - and its magick. It is a purebred unstoppable force. It's got the Devil's hand. (And who better for an emblem here - the most famous of all disowned children, Daddy's blackest sheep, defiant prince of outcasts and rejects? None of us would be welcome in heaven...)
---It spits at heaven and starts fires. You made us, it says, and then refused to be responsible for us; we are your fault; we know we are monsters and we hate ourselves and you.

Orwell

2005-02-20T11:29:00.000+11:00

"I was somewhat lonely, and I soon developed disagreeable mannerisms which made me unpopular throughout my schooldays. I had the lonely child's habit of making up stories and holding conversations with imaginary persons, and I think from the very start my literary ambitions were mixed up with feeling of being isolated and undervalued. I knew that i had a facility with words and a power of facing unpleasant facts, and i felt that this created a sort of private world in which i could get my own back for my faliure in everyday life."

Me and my little mind....

2005-02-20T10:19:00.000+11:00

I’m clearly a small-minded person, with my own petty grievances. Hopefully, my work transcends my own petty grievances and small-minded nature. It’s best for me to remain small-minded on an emotional level and broad-minded on a conceptual level. It doesn’t matter whatever it is that makes me do my work. Neurosis, obsession, wanting people to like me, wanting my parents to feel bad for underrating me, making a lot of money, power, social status, wanting girls to like me. All of this doesn’t matter as long as the work that I do to achieve these small-minded needs is a lot more interesting than me and my reasons for making it.

And so it begins...

2005-02-20T10:13:00.000+11:00

What should we talk about? I don’t know, I really have nothing to say anymore, this is already uncomfortable. I feel the pain coming already. The brutal pain, when one day I should read the edit of whatever I say, because no matter what I say, no matter how I say it, no matter it’s tone, it’s frequency range, it’s decibel level or the way in which I put the words together, no matter my intentions and no matter the truth, what I’ll read one day will be a chastised, manipulated abortion of misunderstandings, manipulations, agenda and the amateur use of the English language.