Thursday, May 05, 2011
I just burned a CD with Pink Floyd’s Saucerful of Secrets followed by The Jackson 5’s ABC, from 1968 & 1970 respectively, as I imagined that millions of people in 1971 must have listened to these albums one after the other as cross- pollenization of these 2 groups was of course running rampant at the time. Also side bets involving syd barrett vs. Michael Jackson on who would be the most notoriously crazy person of the coming 3 decades. Barrett wisely took to the (deep) underground while MJ did, well, MJ stuff. McCartney/Syd might have produced some better tunes, but think about those thoughts or lack thereof that were had, in between & after solo albums wherein he sat on random floors staring at a camera or showing up to recording sessions looking vaguely confused. The brain baffles, batters, barters, and stews.
Live gets a lot of shit but I think they’re pretty good. But then I was also the person who proclaimed Def Leppard the greatest band of all time, so it’s probably true that I shouldn’t be listened to nor read. That being the fact, what are you doing her? (Hi, Mr. googlebot, Hi self, hi no one else, salud).
I could say something actually true or meaningful or about my life but 1982 is calling, and if I don’t produce the numbers, the game gets rigged against the elephants in all the rooms everywhere, and uncle Jackie gets cranky at the bar.
Ok maybe I’ll talk story for a sec, just cuz live’s playin, and it’s kind of atlantising me (putting me deep, deeper than, 2nd to None fans know what I’m talkin about, yah all 3 of you, they more poplar than yo). What was I gonna chat atcha on? I forget. Life is good. All I can complain about is piddlin stuff. Gratzi a supreme being nom de plum of which I don’t know and/or ponder yer existence, but if ya there, gratz, ya done me good, ju blessed me right, I canna whine, er, I can, but, well, the heavy stuff, it’s panned out, times tuff tuffed em out, ju, ju, gratz. Werd. And yes I am a 38 year old white man. Defense mechanism anonymous called they want their self-actualization back. Jurk storr.
I think I don’t like writing about anything that’s not random words meaning nothing in that someone might read it and go “yadda yadda that is awful” or "yadda yadda that is great" or “I am offended” or “that hurts my feelings” or “this guy is just horrible” or “Man this guy’s mustache must be scratchy” and I just can’t handle that kind of rejection or thought that I am causing pain to anyone, but I can, but then I think why, and then I wonder why not, and then I remember that it’s the negasphere & they have the right to wander away and go play charades with themselves, and I make the conscious decision to persevere in my infinite dramatic struggle against my monolithic imaginary opponent.