Blog de pachuca-sunrise - # God is orgasmic.

# Posté le lundi 31 août 2009 05:57

Come along mate, you gotta cheer up, I know you're down on your luck but, don't be down in the dumps, don't be down in the dumps, yeah don't be down in the dumps, I know you're down on your luck but, you got to listen up.

One of those fucking awful black days when nothing is pleasing and everything that happens is an excuse for anger. An outlet for emotions stockpiled, an arsenal, an armour. These are the days when I hate the world, hate the rich, hate the happy, hate the complacent, the TV watchers, beer drinkers, the satisfied ones. Because I know I can be all of those little hateful things and then I hate myself for realising that. There's no preventative, directive or safe approach for living. We each know our own fate. We know from our youth how to be treated, how we'll be received, how we shall end. These things don't change. You can change your clothes, change your hairstyle, your friends, cities, continents but sooner or later your own self will always catch up. Always it waits in the wings. Ideas swirl but don't stick. They appear but then run off like rain on the windshield. One of those rainy day car rides my head implodes, the atmosphere in this car a mirror of my skull. Wet, damp, windows dripping and misted with cold. Walls of grey. Nothing good on the radio. Not a thought in my head.
Be safe. I know a place we can go where you'll fall in love so hard that you'll wish you were dead.
Lets take life and slow it down incredibly slow, frame by frame with two minutes that take ten years to live out. Yeah, lets do that.
Telephone poles like praying mantras against the sky, metal arms outstretched. So much land travelled so little sense made of it. It doesn't mean a thing all this land laid out behind us. I'd like to take off into these woods and get good and lost for a while. I'm disgusted with petty concerns; parking tickets, breakfast specials. Does someone just have to carry this weight? Abstract typography, methane inconvenience, linear gospel, Nashville sales lady, and torturous lice, mad Elizabeth. Chemotherapy bullshit.
The light within you shines like a diamond mine, like an unarmed walrus, like a dead man face down on the highway. Like a snake eating its own tail, steam turbine, frog farm, two full closets burst open in disarray, soap bubbles in the sun, hospital death bed, red convertible, shopping list, blowjob, deaths head, devils dancing, bleached white buildings, memories, movements, the movie unfeeling, unreeling, about to begin.
I've seen your hallway, you're a darn call away, I've hear your stairs creak. I can fix my mind on your yes, and on your no. I'll film you face today in the sparkling canals, all red, yellow, blue, green brilliance and silver Dutch reflection. Racing thoughts, racing thoughts. All too real, you're moving so fast now I cant hold your image. This image I have of your face by the window, me standing beside you arm on your shoulder. A catalogue of images, flashing glimpses then gone again.
Every clear afternoon now I'll picture you up in the air twisting your heel, your knees up around me, my face in your hair. You scream so well, your smile so loud it still rings in my ears.
Imitation. Distant, tired of longing. Clean white teeth. Stay the course. Hold the wheel. Steer on to freedom. Open all the boxes.
Open all the boxes.
Open all the boxes.
Open all the boxes.
Times Square midday: newspaper buildings, news headlines going around, you watch as they go, and hope that some good comes. Those tree shadows in the park they're all whistling chasing leaves. Around six pm, shadows across cobblestones, girl in front of a bathroom mirror she slowly and carefully and paints her face green and mask like. A portrait. A green stripe. Long shot through apartment window, a monologue on top but no girl in shot. The light within you shines like a diamond mine, like an unarmed walrus, like a dead man face down on the highway. Like a snake eating its own tail steam turbine, frog farm, two full closets burst open in disarray, soap bubbles in the sun, hospital death bed, red convertible, shopping list, blowjob, deaths head, devils dancing, bleached white buildings, memories, movements. The movie unreeling, about to begin.

# Posté le mercredi 30 juillet 2008 03:37

Modifié le lundi 21 décembre 2009 09:46

If I had just one wish, oh I know what it would be, I would be left alone, alone, alone; cause it's the first anniversary of your last phonecall.

"I was really annoyed by bands coming on and saying 'We've got CDs at the back for sale - three pounds each'... you'd think 'Fuck off, who do you think you are?' "

# Posté le samedi 11 août 2007 10:19

Modifié le dimanche 11 octobre 2009 09:46

Your answers, they're always lying on the ocean bed.

T'es moche
Connard, enfoiré de merde, espèce d'abruti. Pauvre idiot. Je te HAIS !

# Posté le jeudi 08 novembre 2007 15:17

Modifié le dimanche 11 octobre 2009 09:46

Take drugs, don't eat, have contempt for those you meet; take drugs, don't sleep, have contempt for those you meet.

Sincèrement, j'aurais adoré détester Hadouken! fiers représentants de ce mouvement des fluo kids dont j'exècre la musique et à côté desquels les Klaxons ressemblent à des choristes. Une musique tapageuse, agressive, hypnotique voire même hyperprotéinée (sans doute avec autre chose que la fausse Red Bull française).

'Bono must die' ?! Petit con arrogant, va.

# Posté le mercredi 06 août 2008 15:35