Where you're headed... yes, I mean you...

Morrissey contributes to the unemployment debate...

"I was quite happy to be unemployed because I didn't want a job..."

William Spencer Versus Aesop Rock

The Most Annoying Sound in the World

Can't Stand the Kids

I hate you
cos I love you
cos I hate you
Etcetera.

Shrill riff
of his guitar, a
deadly solo
slips under
this radar, and
it's coming again...
white wave of heat,
daze in my brain,
original beat
from small kids
on the street,
beating drums
too loud,
on fire
with desire...

and youth
is the only thing
they need shout
about.

Right?

Quote from Jeffrey Eugenides' Middlesex on words...

Emotions, in my experience, aren't covered by single words. I don't believe in "sadness", "joy", or "regret". Maybe the best proof that the language is patriarchal is that it oversimplifies feeling. I'd like to have a my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic train-car constructions like, say,"the happiness that attends disaster." Or: "the disappointment of sleeping with one's fantasy." I'd like to show how "intimations of mortality brought on by again family members" connects with "the hatred of mirrors that begins with middle age." I'd like to have a word for "the sadness inspired by failing restaurants" as well as for "the excitement of getting a room with a mini-bar." I've never had the right words to describe my life, and now that I've entered my story, I need them more than ever. I can't just sit back and watch from a distance anymore. From here on in, everything I'll tell you is colored by the subjective experience of being part of events. Here's where my story splits, divides, undergoes meiosis. Already the world feels heavier, now I'm a part of it. I'm talking about bandages and sopped cotton, the smell of mildew in movie theaters, and of all the lousy cats and their stinking litter boxes, of rain on city streets when the dust comes up and the old Italian men take their folding chairs inside. Up until now it hasn't been my world. Not my America. But here we are, at last.

p217

...I'd like to have a my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic train-car constructions like, say,"the happiness that attends disaster." Ahh...yes...

I'm not sure how I feel about this.

Your Personality Is Like Acid

A bit wacky, you're very difficult to predict. One moment you're in your own little happy universe... And the next, you're on a bad trip to your own personal hell!

What Drug Is Your Personality Like?

You Are Running on 80% Adrenaline

Your Adrenaline Level: Borderline Dangerous You're running around so fast, you don't realize how quickly life is passing you by. While you may be getting a lot done, you're on the go lifestyle is probably wearing you out.

Are You Running on Adrenaline?

Laura Nyro - Save the Country

hug the dark by Charles Bukowski

turmoil is the god
madness is the god

permanent living peace is
permanent living death

agony can kill
or
agony can sustain life
but peace is always horrifying
peace is the worst thing
walking
talking
smiling
seeming to be.

don't forget the sidewalks
the whores
betrayal,
the worm in the apple,
the bars, the jails,
the suicides of lovers.

here is America
we have assassinated a president and his brother,
another president has quit office.

people who believe in politics
are like people who believe in god:
they are sucking wind through bent
straws.

there is no god
there are no politics
there is no peace
there is no love.

there is no control
there is no plan.

stay away from god
remain disturbed

slide.

Thirty years
echo round
our front room.
And what's done is
done.
No use crying
over milk that's spilt,
no use chasing
shadows which, after all,
are only the absence of light
& air
in this ransacked hall.

Witness it:
strewn papers everywhere,
I, naive, seeking out some other
glowing thing amongst
these scrawled ink letters,
half a foot high
on my mother's wall.

Everything from the inside
looked like it was
about to blow it all
on the outside.
The incubator was swelling
alarmingly,
the warning bells
were all sounding,
electricity sizzling
in the sockets.
A waving finger
waved caution
at the scientists
but they would not listen
and so two hundred and fifty six figures came roaring out
of time,
the highest number of sea fish ever were caught
in a net off the coast
of Ireland,
and a million frogs rained down,
snakes sped through the grass
like blood in veins,
and the whistle of chimneys
became fiery mouths, spewing citadels
and torture victims
all the way across America.

And so this is the end of the world as we know it,
I told myself, either that, or it
is the beginning.

So I drove my car out
on that early Sunday morning,
to a freezing cliff top in Sussex,
before the church bells had even chimed ten,
before my toast had even settled.
And when I got there, I turned off the engine,
jumped out onto the grass
and started running,
my body
hurtling towards infinity,
towards those
invisible particles
that danced
on the other side of
the crumbling cliff edge;
in a sky which was now
all red and brimstoney,
all awash with chaos
and clutter.

I didn't want to die,
but before the eclipse
darkened over the world
that'd finally blot
our last lights out,
I wanted a little bit of heaven to open up
and receive all the too much living
that'd passed through my eyes,
and herald the joy of life
before all life was over.

What can I say?
I ran at the edge.
I glimpsed,
I gasped
I saw, perhaps

I jumped.

How Aily Grew Up

Johnny turns out to be
the thinnest rake of them all
with his weedy eyes that train on you
all night long
outside the diner or during
church.
I lost a lot
that evening, semen
on my dress, the lonely roadside.
In one blackout alone
I grabbed all my photos,
threw 'em in with the hotel litter.
I wasn't a looker, not fast
enough for the boys, not
cute enough for
Patsy, wailing
to my mother
through the cloakroom wall.
She never answered, course,
hair pulled back, mouth
dangling
like a ripped out appendix,
"Moon River" on the turntable.
I didn't wait
for the final
climax
that might lift us all
to God and heaven,
I just
crossed my legs
and cried
'cause Jesus was a man
who'd never
come
fuck it better.

Sheep Man Trailer

Electric,
this fire burns
dreadful
and all at once
we are branded
survivors
or witless
shakers of
silence.

Once, you plucked
a thorn from this bush,
said,
take me to
tomorrow, there I will be
branches, there
I will know
sorrow
no longer

than these days. Battered
winds of empty
passing, corridors
are the ones winding
into concrete,

thin air.
A step at a time.

Klaus Kinski - Jesus

most certainly