magnificently unprepared/for the long littleness of life.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
revisiting british punk in its heyday. go clash! go sex pistols!
every cheap hood strikes a bargain with the world
and ends up making payments on a sofa or a girl
love 'n' hate tattooed across the knuckles of his hands
the hands that slap his kids around 'cause they don't understand
how death or glory becomes just another story
how death or glory becomes just another story
'n every gimmick hungry yob digging gold from rock 'n' roll
grabs the mike to tell us he'll die before he's sold
but i believe in this-and it's been tested by research
that he who fucks nun will later join the church
very trainspotting. is depression hardwired into the english psyche? hmm. maybe it's the bad weather.
oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight
lead me out on the moonlit floor
lift your open hand
strike up the band and make the fireflies dance
silver moon's sparkling
so kiss me
is sixpence none the richer british too? or scottish? anyway this is a nice song i'm jamming. so simple but somehow damn shiok to play.
exams have been shifted forward, obliterating similans plans. boo. well at least i won't be missing winter league finals for sure.
+ fictions&fires
11:43 AM
----
plangere, latin: to strike, or to lament.
in the depth of winter i finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.
--albert camus
--
to be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best night and day to make you like everybody else means to fight the hardest battle any human being can fight and never stop fighting.
-- ee cummings
--
--