the king of rock'n'roll blues

he's got his soul in the stomach
and throws up remains of caviar
he's too fine to roadside diners
but this time bourbon's gone too far

everywhere he carries his sloppy guitar
like it was attached to his vomit soul
he ain't no scum-bag rockstar
he's just the king of rock'n'roll


his spirit smells like gasoline
and he drives a brand new cadillac
he's too weak he's too thin
too bent up on prozac

lost his money, lost his friends
all under drugs and alcohol
he doesn't care, for he's got the meds
and he's the king of rock'n'roll


the whole world loves to watch his bungle bones
snapping along his melody
he loves to be loved, and loved alone
but he's still in a lone lone melancholy

tonight on stage there'll be fire!
he'll burn the audience till it turns coal
he'll run away on his flaming tires
you know, 'cause he's the king of rock'n'roll


no place to carry a juggernaut
no place he finds to rest his head
no one told him something that mattered
no one said rock'n'roll was dead

he prayed jesus, budah, satan and such
'cause in this damn world he felt alone
no one to share his great catch
of being the king of rock'n'roll

no one told him rock'n'roll was dead
no one told me rock'n'roll was dead

Everybody's gotta learn sometime

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd

Alexander Pope "Eloisa to Abelard"

boulders become rocks become stones become stuck (inside the shoe) become sand become juggernauts

for no reason, apparently

my head hurts love

The day with its cares and perplexities is ended and the night is now upon us. The night should be a time of peace and tranquility, a time to relax and be calm. We have need of a soothing story to banish the disturbing thoughts of the day, to set at rest our troubled minds, and put at ease our ruffled spirits.

And what sort of story shall we hear? Ah, it will be a familiar story, a story that is so very, very old, and yet it is so new. It is the old, old story of love.

Two lovers sat on a park bench, with their bodies touching each other, holding hands in the moonlight.

There was silence between them. So profound was their love for each other, they needed no words to express it. And so they sat in silence, on a park bench, with their bodies touching, holding hands in the moonlight.

Finally she spoke. "Do you love me, John?" she asked. "You know I love you, darling," he replied. "I love you more than tongue can tell. You are the light of my life, my sun, moon and stars. You are my everything. Without you I have no reason for being."

Again there was silence as the two lovers sat on a park bench, their bodies touching, holding hands in the moonlight. Once more she spoke. "How much do you love me, John?" she asked. He answered: "How much do I love you? Count the stars in the sky. Measure the waters of the oceans with a teaspoon. Number the grains of sand on the sea shore. Impossible, you say."

"Yes and it is just as impossible for me to say how much I love you."

"My love for you is higher than the heavens, deeper than Hades, and broader than the earth. It has no limits, no bounds. Everything must have an ending except my love for you."

There was more of silence as the two lovers sat on a park bench with their bodies touching, holding hands in the moonlight.

Once more her voice was heard. "Kiss me, John," she implored. And leaning over, he pressed his lips warmly to hers in fervent osculation.

samuel johnson (lovers on a park bench)

philip glass' knee 5

Lonesome Knight

Gave away horse and sword for whores and sore...

if love is still a possibility, please, you should not!

AND YOU DON'T!
AND I DON'T THINK I DO...
A SQUARE CAN'T EVER BE NOTHING BUT A POLYGON
AND NOTHING OR NO ONE CAN EVER POLISH THE EDGES.
TRIANGLE IS NO CORRECT FORM FOR A HUMAN BEING.
I CAN NOW BE A POET!

(an oldie from my notebook)

this is what's degenerating your entrails

The necessary correlate of musical standardization is pseudo-individualization. By pseudo-individualization we mean endowing cultural mass production with the halo of free choice or open market on the basis of standardization itself. Standardization of song hits keeps the customers in line by doing their listening for them, as it were. Pseudo-individualization, for its part, keeps them in line by making them forget that what they listen to is already listened to for them, or "pre-digested".

theodor w. adorno (on popular music)

for a speaker

20"

We carry our homes

within us

which enables us to fly

j.cage

I am here , and there is nothing to say .

If among you are

those who wish to get somewhere , let them leave at
any moment . What we re-quire is
silence ; but what silence requires
is that i go on talking.

j. cage (lecture on nothing)

Anti-Licórnio (A um Licórnio)

A cavalo morto não se contam moscas
A carne decomposta vaporiza ácido
As narinas ardem
Os corvos pousam

A cavalo morto não se contam primaveras
A carne decomposta adoece
A pele vaporiza
As baratas aproximam-se


A cavalo morto não se olha de frente
A carne decomposta vaporiza ácido
Os olhos ardem
Os abutres salivam

A cavalo morto não se olham maleitas
A carne decomposta morre
O fedor vaporiza
As larvas nascem


A cavalo morto não se morre
Não se mata
A carne vive
Falece a alma

Decompõe-se.