quarta-feira, 1 de julho de 2009

II


Overstepping the line has become the highlight of the day. Apparently that's how one achieves true recognition.

Who can argue that?

It is useless trying to understand, as comprehension and simpathy are pretty far-fetched concepts just about now. Being a dickhead has become a must, or so it seems.

However, once in a while, this tendency is broken. Fortunately.


Fuck. It isn't ok. Not by a long shot, mate!


GRINDERMAN

Get in on


I had to get up to get down to start all over again
Head on down to the basement and shout
Kick those white mice and black dogs out
Kick those white mice and baboons out
Kick those baboons and other motherfuckers out
And get it on get it on get it on
On the day that you got born
They had to dig him the ground
They chipped him from the frozen snow
They dug his monkey fingers
But he had no where to go
They dug his pink hair curlers
They dug his sequined gown
They dug his Stratocaster
They dug his pornographic crown
He's got some words of wisdom!

GET IT ON GET IT ON ON THE DAY THAT YOU WERE BORN


He crawled out of the ooze
He defied evolution
He had green flippers and sang the blues
He caused a revolution
He got in the British weeklies
He got in the dailies too
He drank panther piss
And fucked the girls you're married too
He's got some words of wisdom

GET IT ON GET IT ON
On the day that you were born


You gotta do The Vaughan
Yeah, papa's down
Sweets is sweet
Tex is on


Then one day he went away
His neighbour claimed he'd shot him
If he hadn't of dissappeared
The Taxman would have got him

Yeah but before I leave
I call out from the storm
For those who gave their lives
So we could get it on

GET IT ON GET IT ON GET IT ON

On the day that you got born!




[Obri-fucking-gado Nick!]

segunda-feira, 29 de junho de 2009


Aqui deixarei fragmentos da minha pessoa. Palavras minhas, que poderiam facilmente sê-lo, ou que gostaria imenso que, de facto, fossem.
Espaço de catarse, tentativa de fuga, capricho idiota e presunçoso de alguém com tempo a mais... Não sei.

Sei que a inocência, aqui, morreu.

Foda-se!

John Cooper Clarke
Evidently Chickentown


the fucking cops are fucking keen
to fucking keep it fucking clean
the fucking chief's a fucking swine
who fucking draws a fucking line
at fucking fun and fucking games
the fucking kids he fucking blames
are nowehere to be fucking found
anywhere in chicken town
the fucking scene is fucking sad
the fucking news is fucking bad
the fucking weed is fucking turf
the fucking speed is fucking surf
the fucking folks are fucking daft
don't make me fucking laugh
it fucking hurts to look around
everywhere in chicken town
the fucking train is fucking late
you fucking wait you fucking wait
you're fucking lost and fucking found
stuck in fucking chicken town
the fucking view is fucking vile
for fucking miles and fucking miles
the fucking babies fucking cry
the fucking flowers fucking die
the fucking food is fucking muck
the fucking drains are fucking fucked
the colour scheme is fucking brown
everywhere in chicken town
the fucking pubs are fucking dull
the fucking clubs are fucking full
of fucking girls and fucking guys
with fucking murder in their eyes
a fucking bloke is fucking stabbed
waiting for a fucking cab
you fucking stay at fucking home
the fucking neighbors fucking moan
keep the fucking racket down
this is fucking chicken town
the fucking train is fucking late
you fucking wait you fucking wait
you're fucking lost and fucking found
stuck in fucking chicken town
the fucking pies are fucking old
the fucking chips are fucking cold
the fucking beer is fucking flat
the fucking flats have fucking rats
the fucking clocks are fucking wrong
the fucking days are fucking long
it fucking gets you fucking down
evidently chicken town