8 July 2012

 Another calm.

What have we here, laddie? Mysterious scribblings? A secret code? Noo, poems, no less. Poems, everybody. That laddie's making himself a poet.

Money gets back
I'm all right Jack
Keep your hands
Off my stack
New car
Four star
Day dream
Think I'll buy me
A football team.

Absurd rubbish, laddie. Get on with your work. Repeat after me.

After a million times of listening to this over the years. And revisiting this after the end of time.
I discover I live here.

To some this doesn't belong but in a parallel universe I'd be belting this out drunk karaoke thinking it my own and only mine.

I think this is just going very chronologically. I cannot will not make sure because this is not the time of day when I google things. I just rant and linkblog. Ditto pitchy karaoke.

I realise I cannot completely relate to all the lyrics of this song. I think yet. And I hope, I just hope not, that I end up making it my own any time in the future, distant or tomorrow. I can sometimes superficially and semi angstify it as me.

And this just because. It's funny and I was in love with it once. And it's a random happy moment.
The whip. And because Hugh Grant is perfection. And it's the 80s.

If we're on the topic of love. It is not topical. I knew when I found surreality. 
Inspired a poem and a blog which only has two posts of promise.
And nothing else.

For when two people on this earth was enough. My version, my time. My own. If I lay here. If I just lay here. Would you lie with me and just forget the world? (We know the answer to that, don't we?)

Forget what we're told. BEFORE WE GET TOO OLD.
Show me a garden that's bursting into life.
Let's waste time. Chasing cars. Around our heads.
I need your grace. To remind me. To find my own.

All that I am. All that I ever was. Is here in your perfect eyes. They're all I can see.
I don't know when. Confused about how as well. Just know that these things will never change for us at all.

Because sometime somewhere in my mind it meant something. A little something.
Somewhere along in the bitterness.

And to the meat and potatoes of the grand dinner that is life, let us clink some wedding glasses against each other and kill the bride. This is it.

6 July 2012

First in a line of who knows how many.

Makes your brain explode in a million and one shards of melted orgasmic happiness. Came across this live video where Vinnie Paul became my 20th birthday hero during the last few minutes of this epic gruesomely awesome fest of blissful hit repeat nights. Pantera has always been one hell of a pseudo mommy band figure where the sweet lullabies blaring on otherwise fine-ish but those occasionally musically drunk nights where it they are incredibly inadequate and you want to snatch the music and while it's oozing through your fingers, slam it on to your ears and pet it down hard and hope it just fuses into your being.

What is weird is that I'm saying this all monologue wise in an Australian accent which is not bad at all. Usually happens when there are big huge exams coming up and there's too much to read. But I think birthdays come right up there, mate.

Skid Row's Monkey Business is on the same league but it probably is not as guaranteable to make you feel okay. Badass, yes. My god, the image of Dave Sabo after the little chimp, I know for fucking sure, was the epitome of want the girls watching it on tv felt in '91. Cresendo rising in your brain the first 40 seconds remains in the goosebumps which last a lot lot longer. Makes me feel proud of the fact that that was the year I was conceived. Thanks, mum and dad. Truly thankful.

Sebastian Bach is also definitely one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen. To this day, he is right up there at age 44. Eddie Vedder's eyelashes if you've seen the right pictures are as heart beat skippy as the unforgettable guitar riffs. One of the songs which make life what it is is this. Coulda woulda marry that voice.

"Jeremy, The Wicked ruled this world."

I've been watching the other official video before but this one probably translates Jeremy's story better but that one feels like home. More ramblings by this recluse tomorrow. 3:30 am. Checking out.