And how this hurts

IPC Sub-Editors dictate our youth

One of my favorite Clinic songs, from the period when Clinic was still putting out new and original music.

Baby baby we’re getting too close

One of my favorite songs on this earth.

Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole

from Martha Wainwright’s spectacular debut album

Onetwothreefour fuckthecops

Fun.

Obokuri-Eemui

(from the anime Samurai Champloo)

Distorted poet, speak prose

Broke stride as last of men realized their deep deceit. / This troubling advance of half-assed crews crowd these streets. / Never mind of who I am, son, just listen when I speak / Broken paragraphs hold wrath of a hundred million deep. / Bleak circumstance led masses to only want to dance / A bastard child of Reaganomics posed in a B-Boy stance / Make our leaders play minstrel, Left with none to lead our people. / How the fuck am I gonna shake your hand, when we never been seen as equals? / Deemed evil by those housed in church steeples. / False prophets read backwards from broken tablets to the feeble, / I seen you! / Regurgitate their lies. / I’ll bide my time with scrolls and ancient’s wine. / Heady brew left mark on this hazy scribe. / If stars align I suppose even the blind will see, / How they stole our last voice, corrupted culture into industry. / Few minutes remain, a tame soul wanders wild when it dreams. / Mine are filled with ill visions of soot and dope fiends. / These slit wrists won’t rest till I spill these last drops. /Tarnished skin only sin when I awoke on sidewalk. / Seen your movements through peripheral / Remain same individual. / When a man’s viewed as criminal to act animal is logical. / Audible tones honed to hold substance / Form sentence / Poor reluctant poet, speak prose / Refuse to beg repentance / Reluctant poet speak prose / Incite our peoples / We got raked through those coals / Once the truth was divulged. / Conscience calls thoughts subliminal / Actions all cyclical / Deplorable descendants of men depressed clinical. / Answers seem visible when visionless / Useless souls fold under pressure like hands pray to false Jesus. / Inadequate adversaries advance awkwardly. / Anger expressed outwardly / Causes ranks to break amongst these frail MC’s. / Your fictional tales told with conviction. / Concise concepts once written enter bloodstream / since this inks been forbidden. / Distorted poet, speak prosen / Incite our peoples / We got raked over coals / But the truth’s still untold. / Meaning lost to these zealots / Prefer bullets to ballots / Watch the rich sip from chalice / As these eyes fill with malice / Peasant hands remain callous / as our days retain darkness / I swallow razor blades to keep my vocal cords sharpened. / Morbid mixture of mistrust and anger paints picture. / Perception now blurred words slurred to form scripture. / These sullen souls misinformed / Storm gates of stronghold / Strange fate that I chose / Morbid poet speak prose. / Tattered voices arose / Red Blood written on scroll / Escapes throat an ill flow / For my violence atoned. / Modest thoughts monotone / Infant MC’s play grown / Found them hung in hallways / from cords on microphones

It’ll be a hot hot summer in hell businessman

I is just what you say you to

This is a cold war

I’ve recently turned into a fan of Janelle Monaé’s work, esp. of her new record. Below is a live clip with a performance of two sings from it. Amazing.

Baby’s gonna die tonight

Irony is over.

Oh Baby here comes the fear again.

Ride me Raw

Thou shalt not shake it like a polaroid picture.

I’m working on leaving

I am just an imbecile

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You know you can follow my voice

Incredibly, this is a cover by the Breeders, of a central song from the musical Hedwig and the angry Inch. Enjoy:

I’m doin’ the monkey now

Lead single from one of the best rock records of the 1990s. It’s been reissued recently. Get it if you can.

And if you complain once more

Time to spit new shit

Ici tout est gris / Les murs, les esprits, les rats la nuit

You’re full of shit

Look, you’re the nicest thing I’ve ever seen.

Soppy but I like it. Lapse of taste? Maybe. Still. When Nash picks up the chorus at the end of the song, starting with a resigned “Look”, it always breaks my cheap heart.

I be living proof to kick the truth to the young black youth

Kinnan di Leid wieda bled schaun heid.

(just ignore the video, posted this b/c of the song)

Blondes buy more peroxide

I did it for need and I did it for love

Fantastic performance of one of my favorite songs.

I’ll just read a book instead

(New Kate Nash single out)

Hey, Paul, hey Paul, hey Paul Let’s have a ball

(full disclosure: I still kinda have a crush on Kim Deal)

Unadulterated Loathing

This is a motherfucking invitation

Depressing Creatures with unprepossessing features

And you can’t pull me down!

from one of my favorite recent musicals.

So Innocent, So Full of Need

Be careful with love

via C’est moi, Sanftmut

Here come the Painbirds. R.I.P. Mark Linkous

I’ll write more of this tomorrow or later, or something, but I can’t just now. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Mark Linkous (Sparklehorse) killed himself. It’s not enough to say he will be missed. It’s impossible to say how much his art meant to me, and to others. Fuckin hell.

How stupid is it?

Don’t ask me is this line is about you

New record is in stores now. Review?

Don’t push me I am not ok

Tripping on fate

“Fuck it I’m not gonna stop drinking though”

since I apparently can’t write for shit, I deleted some poems and opened the vodka. Good old friend.

Winter’s here / And there ain’t nothing gonna change

…que je ne puisse plus avoir peur

Tom!

New album by Tom McRae, Alphabet of Hurricanes out soon! Listen to a brand new song on Mengia’s marvelous blog C’est moi, Sanftmut. Direct link to the song here.

Enjoy.

За то, что Вы больны — увы! — не мной

from “Ирония судьбы”, which I haven’t seen for years, until someone on the internet reminded me. *sigh*

Hey why aren’t you writing anything on your blog? Lazy much?

After having had the above, in some variations, emailed to me a few times, here’s my story: I’m sick. When I’m sick, I write badly, and can barely read. I lie back and play games on my computer.

And this is one of the best songs of the 1980s. Yeah. Fuck me I’m sick.

Kuess mir das taube Gefühl von der Haut

I got chills they’re multiplying

“another uninnocent, elegant fall into the unmagnificent lives of adults”