You know what would be really cool?

To walk through Nandos and shout lyrics of DMX songs into a mobile phone. As if you are having a phone conversation.

“What?”

“What?”

“WHAT?”

“This is not a fucking game. You think I’m playing? This is NOT A FUCKING
GAME!!”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I HAVE NO FRIENDS!”

“What?”

“I don’t know who you think you’re fucking with but I’m NOT HIM!”

And once you have the attention of all the little prissy boogie Nandoboys and Nandogirls, deliver the coup de grace: 

“Look, let’s dial up all the factors: You’re wack, your pussy, your girl’s a whore, you’re broke , the kid ain’t yours and everybody knows!”

Then, as you leave, stomping furiously every step of the way out…

 

“I am NOT A NICE PERSON!

I made you a cookie, but I eated it

I found a folder of half-done blog posts.

August 4, 2006:

Rock is dangerous, rock is wild, rock is subversive, rock is anarchic, rock is fuck you, rock is visceral, rock is primeval, rock is homicidal, rock is violent, rock is insane, rock is bad for you, rock is vanity, rock is a meteor shower of sound, rock is your brain leaping out of the constraints of its social conditioning and flying out into the oblivion beyond called “Freedom”, rock is the truth. Rock is the truth.

I don’t remember why I was writing that. But now, after reading it, I want to listen to 1979 again. Billy Corgan called the city a “land of a thousand guilts and poured cement.”

A flurry of couplets from nineties and early-00 rock songs rises up in my mind. “You grew up way too fast, now there’s nothing to believe” from the Goo Goo Dolls.

Leah Andreone, sang, “A voyuer with wings flashes a cure. She knows forbidden things– they have a lovely lure.”

It’s alright, it’s ok
Welcome to this life
Killing time
Just watching the grass grow

It’s alright, it’s ok
Welcome to this life
Don’t worry sweet baby
Cos it’s over before you know

Maybe I want to listen to Jungleland again.

Outside the street’s on fire
In a real death waltz
Between what’s flesh and what’s fantasy
And the poets down here
Don’t write nothing at all
They just stand back and let it all be