Monday, April 30, 2007

Sometimes I miss my home away from home.

"Little Fury Things"

Dinosaur Jr., 1987
from the album "You're All Over Me"
released by SST Records

Sunday, April 29, 2007

"In My Eyes"

Ian MacKaye, 1981

You tell me you like the taste
You just need an excuse
You tell me it calms your nerves
You just think it looks cool
You tell me you want to be different
You just change for the same
You tell me it's only natural
You just need the proof
Did you fucking get it?

It's in my eyes
And it doesn't look that way to me
In my eyes

You tell me that nothing matters
You're just fucking scared
You tell me that I'm better
You just hate yourself
You tell me that you like her
You just wish you did
You tell me that I make no difference
At least I'm fuckin' trying
What the fuck have you done?

It's in my eyes
And it doesn't look that way to me
In my eyes

Saturday, April 28, 2007

Friday, April 27, 2007

This is the ending scene from the movie The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, directed by Wes Anderson with the music of the Icelandic group Sigur Rós. Its a good movie, as most Bill Murray-starring films are.

Mont Saint-Michel

Another reason to go to northern France.

Mont Saint-Michel (English: Mount Saint Michael) is a rocky tidal island in Normandy, roughly one kilometer from the north coast of France at the mouth of the Couesnon River near Avranches.

Tech N9ne

Me and five or six other kids rode our bikes last summer fifty miles from one music festival in Copenhagen to get to this one, just outside the capitol city. Roskilde Festival 2006 was the biggest festival of the summer in Europe with 99,000 people and eight days of camping. We jumped the fence avoiding the $255.00 wristband price and found brand new abandoned tents inside, setting up camp. It was actually hell: drunk, rich Scandinavians pissing and puking on themselves for a week straight, hot as hell (had to walk around with sweatshirts due to our lack of armbands [we couldn't swim]) and a lot of shitty bands. There was an undrinkable amount of free beer, however, thanks to thousands of generous Danes and Swedes. I did see a lot of cool bands, some including Bob Dylan, Guns N' Roses, Deftones, Morrissey, Sigur Ros and Tech N9ne.

Being that I'm on this whole organizing my computer trip, I recently found this rather short video clip: Tech N9ne's first ever European appearance in Roskilde, Denmark last July. I think you can see my hand in there; look closely!


What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up

Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore----
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over----
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags

like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

Langston Hughes, 1951

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Festival Rock Oz'Arènes

This is "Lucky," performed by Radiohead at the Festival Rock Oz'Arènes that I got to experience in Avenches, Switzerland in August, 2006. The festival literally took place in an ancient Roman amphitheater in the French part of Switzerland. I went alone and got in for free. It was one of the best concerts I've ever been to.

"Teenage Lust"

"Teenage Lust"
originally released in 1992
by The Jesus and Mary Chain

from Good and Evil

Ed Templeton


Helen Marnie, 2005

I sent you out to play last night
The alarms went off at three.
Funny how I know nothing now
Loneliness the guarantee.

I sent you out to play last night
The alarms went off at three.
Funny how I'm not loving now
He's not coming home to me.

I sent you out to play last night
The alarms went off at three.
Funny how I know nothing now
He's not coming home to me.

Try to get out of the lease
And move out of love.
If only there was only no consequence
I'd watch it all turn to dust.

Hey can I go with you, my beauty number 2?
Hey can I go with you, when the rendezvous' over?

Monday, April 23, 2007

On that note, a concert that I missed.

Iggy Pop and the Stooges, live at the Warfield in San Francisco on April 19th, 2007.

Search and Destroy

Iggy Pop, 1973

I'm a street walking cheetah with a heart full of napalm
I'm a runaway son of the nuclear a-bomb
I am a world's forgotten boy
The one who searches and destroys

Honey gotta help me please
Somebody gotta save my soul
Baby detonate for me

Look out honey, cause I'm using technology
Ain't got time to make no apology
Soul radiation in the dead of night
Love in the middle of a fire fight

Honey gotta strike me blind
Somebody gotta save my soul
Baby penetrate my mind

And I'm the worlds forgotten boy
The one who's searching, searching to destroy
And honey I'm the worlds forgotten bot
The one who's searching, searching to destroy

Forgotten boy

Tuesday, April 17, 2007


Ladytron, 2002


Smashing Pumpkins, 1996

Monday, April 16, 2007


By STZA and No-Cash

no cash, you don't wanna fuck with me
i burn churches like persons in the 3rd degree
with the strike of a match hit the gasoline
drop pills! drugs kill, but it's worth the thrill
started in the nazo pits "quick to draw"
sharp like a blade, we'll cut you like a chainsaw
drink your blood by the pitcher until we feel drunk
grind your fucking bones to lace my fucking blunt, punk!
snap back crackle, pop! motherfuck the cops
always staying on my toes when i walk the block
and when i go up in the store i bring my own discount
cause i'm sick of paying money to suck corporate cock
yeah i know my Spanish is rusty but my English is old
40 down grab yourself an ice cold colt 45
feeling alive drunk as fuck in the daylight
i'm ready to die!

sometimes, sometimes i count the hours
when i'm alone, all alone with thousand downers
like thread it was just gonna stitch the seams
but now my body is soaked in gasoline

nazo step to this won't slit your wrist
cross you off the list unless you're gonna wanna
throw a punch it'll break your fist
man up duck down cause the caps won't miss
bust six shots on an undacova cop
they're all crooked mother fuckers and it ain't gonna stop
so held your ground down, run your own town
down with the man, let the drums sound
i'll hit you hard with accurate precision, split decision
yo, i'm sinning and i'm grinning fuck religion
fucked up got a vision so listen
do what makes me happy not for money or attention
flying on a forty that's how i get down!
you say you're the king but i'm wearing the crown
high on my throne sniffing lines making deals
got a chef in the kitchen, cooking my last meal

sometimes, sometimes i count the hours
when i'm alone, all alone with thousand downers
like thread it was just gonna stitch the seams
but now my body is soaked in gasoline

sometimes, sometimes to stay alive
to witness sickness on a cloudy sky
like thread it was just gonna stitch the seams
but now my body is soaked in gasoline

Thursday, April 12, 2007

November 11, 1922 - April 11, 2007

"Beware of the man who works hard to learn something, learns it, and finds himself no wiser than before... He is full of murderous resentment of people who are ignorant without having come by their ignorance the hard way."
Kurt Vonnegut, Cat's Cradle

"New knowledge is the most valuable commodity on earth. The more truth we have to work with, the richer we become."

Kurt Vonnegut, Breakfast of Champions

"We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be."

Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

A Need For Gardens

Richard Brautigan

When I got there they were burying the lion in the back yard again. As usual, it was a hastily dug grave, not really large enough to hold the lion and dug with a maximum of incompetence and they were trying to stuff the lion into a sloppy little hole.

The lion as usual took it quite stoically. Having been buried at least fifty times during the last two years, the lion had gotten used to being buried in the back yard.

I remember the first time they buried him. He didn't know what was happening. He was a younger lion, then, and was frightened and confused, but now he knew what was happening because he was an older lion and had been buried so many times.

He looked vaguely bored as they folded his front paws across his chest and started throwing dirt in his face.

It was basically hopeless. The lion would never fit the hole. It had never fit a hole in the back yard before and it never would. They just couldnt dig a hone big enough to bury that lion in.

“Hello,” I said. “The holes too small.”

“Hello,” they said, “No, it isn't.”

This had been our standard greeting now for two years.

I stood there and watched them for an hour or so struggling desperately to bury the lion, but they were only able to bury 1/4 of him before they gave up in disgust and stood around trying to blame each other for not making the hole big enough.

“Why don't you put a garden in next year? I said. ”This soil looks like it might grow some good carrots.“

They didnt think that was very funny.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

"Old Man"

Old man look at my life,
I'm a lot like you were.
Old man look at my life,
I'm a lot like you were.

Old man look at my life,
Twenty four
and there's so much more
Live alone in a paradise
That makes me think of two.

Love lost, such a cost,
Give me things
that don't get lost.
Like a coin that won't get tossed
Rolling home to you.

Old man take a look at my life
I'm a lot like you
I need someone to love me
the whole day through
Ah, one look in my eyes
and you can tell that's true.

Lullabies, look in your eyes,
Run around the same old town.
Doesn't mean that much to me
To mean that much to you.

I've been first and last
Look at how the time goes past.
But I'm all alone at last.
Rolling home to you.

Old man take a look at my life
I'm a lot like you
I need someone to love me
the whole day through
Ah, one look in my eyes
and you can tell that's true.

Old man look at my life,
I'm a lot like you were.
Old man look at my life,
I'm a lot like you were.

Neil Young, 1971.


I was a highwayman
Along the coach roads I did ride
With sword and pistol by my side
Many a young maid lost her baubles to my trade
Many a soldier shed his lifeblood on my blade
The bastards hung me in the spring of twenty-five
But I am still alive

I was a sailor
I was born upon the tide
And with the sea I did abide
I sailed a schooner round the Horn to Mexico
I went aloft and furled the mainsail in a blow
And when the yards broke off they said that I got killed
But I am living still

I was a dam builder
across the river deep and wide
Where steel and water did collide
A place called Boulder on the wild Colorado
I slipped and fell into the wet concrete below
They buried me in that great tomb that knows no sound
But I am still around
I'll always be around...
and around and around

I fly a starship
across the Universe divide
And when I reach the other side
I'll find a place to rest my spirit if I can
Perhaps I may become a highwayman again
Or I may simply be a single drop of rain
But I will remain
And I'll be back again, and again and again and again and again

Johnny Cash

"Silver Rocket"
Sonic Youth, 1988.
Lyrics by Thurston Moore

Snake in it
jack into the wall
TV amp on fire
blowin' in the hall
gun yr. sled
close yr. peeping toms
turbo organizer
crankin' on the knob

You got it
yeh ride the silver rocket
can't stop it
burnin hole in yr pocket

hit the power
psycho helmets on
you got to splice yr. halo
take it to a moon
nymphoid clamor
fuelling up the hammer
you got to fake out the robot
and pulse up the zoom

You got it
yeh ride the silver rocket
can't stop it
burnin hole in yr pocket

can't forget the flashing
can't forget the smashing
the sending and the bending
the ampisphere re-entry
You gotta have the time
Got a letter in your mind
Gotta heart injection
That you got yourself a line

You got it
yeh ride the silver rocket
can't stop it
burnin hole in yr pocket

Monday, April 9, 2007

Death in Vegas

"Hands Around My Throat"



by Sylvia Plath

For Susan O'Neill Roe

What a thrill ----

My thumb instead of an onion.
The top quite gone
Except for a sort of hinge

Of skin,
A flap like a hat,
Dead white.
Then that red plush.

Little pilgrim,
The Indian's axed your scalp.
Your turkey wattle
Carpet rolls

Straight from the heart.
I step on it,
Clutching my bottle
Of pink fizz. A celebration, this is.
Out of a gap
A million soldiers run,
Redcoats, every one.

Whose side are they one?
O my
Homunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to kill

The thin
Papery feeling.
Kamikaze man ----

The stain on your
Gauze Ku Klux Klan
Darkens and tarnishes and when
The balled
Pulp of your heart
Confronts its small
Mill of silence

How you jump ----
Trepanned veteran,
Dirty girl,
Thumb stump.


Saturday, April 7, 2007


Directed by Alfred Hitchcock
Released June 16th, 1960
Starring Anthony Perkins, Janet Leigh, and Vera Miles.

The happiest day -- the happiest hour

The happiest day -- the happiest hour
My sear'd and blighted heart hath known,
The highest hope of pride and power,
I feel hath flown.

Of power! said I? yes! such I ween;
But they have vanish'd long, alas!
The visions of my youth have been-
But let them pass.

And, pride, what have I now with thee?
Another brow may even inherit
The venom thou hast pour'd on me
Be still, my spirit!

The happiest day -- the happiest hour
Mine eyes shall see -- have ever seen,
The brightest glance of pride and power,
I feel- have been:

But were that hope of pride and power
Now offer'd with the pain
Even then I felt -- that brightest hour
I would not live again:

For on its wing was dark alloy,
And, as it flutter'd -- fell
An essence -- powerful to destroy
A soul that knew it well.

Edgar Allen Poe, 1827

Friday, April 6, 2007

A Forest

by The Cure
Performed live in Japan, 1984

Come closer and see
See into the trees
Find the girl
While you can
Come closer and see
See into the dark
Just follow your eyes
Just follow your eyes

I hear her voice
Calling my name
The sound is deep
In the dark
I hear her voice
And start to run
Into the trees
Into the trees

Into the trees

Suddenly I stop
But I know it's too late
I'm lost in a forest
All alone
The girl was never there
It's always the same
I'm running towards nothing
Again and again and again

Les Yeux des Pauvres

Ah! vous voulez savoir pourquoi je vous hais aujourd'hui? Il vous sera sans doute moins facile de le comprendre qu'à moi de vous l'expliquer; car vous êtes, je crois, le plus bel exemple d'imperméabilité féminine qui se puisse rencontrer.

Nous avions passé ensemble une longue journée qui m'avait paru courte. Nous nous étions bien promis que toutes nos pensées nous seraient communes à l'un et à l'autre, et que nos deux âmes désormais n'en feraient plus qu'une; -- un rêve qui n'a rien d'original, après tout, si ce n'est que, rêvé par tous les hommes, il n'a été réalisé par aucun.

Le soir, un peu fatiguée, vous voulûtes vous asseoir devant un café neuf qui formait le coin d'un boulevard neuf, encore tout plein de gravois et montrant déjà glorieusement ses splendeurs inachevées. Le café étincelait. Le gaz lui-même y déployait toute l'ardeur d'un début, et éclairait de toutes ses forces les murs aveuglants de blancheur, les nappes éblouissantes des miroirs, les ors des baguettes et des corniches, les pages aux joues rebondies traînés par les chiens en laisse, les dames riant au faucon perché sur leur poing, les nymphes et les déesses portant sur leur tête des fruits, des pâtés et du gibier, les Hébés et les Ganymèdes présentant à bras tendu la petite amphore à bavaroises ou l'obélisque bicolore des glaces panachées; toute l'histoire et toute la mythologie mises au service de la goinfrerie.

Droit devant nous, sur la chaussée, était planté un brave homme d'une quarantaine d'années, au visage fatigué, à la barbe grisonnante, tenant d'une main un petit garçon et portant sur l'autre bras un petit être trop faible pour marcher. Il remplissait l'office de bonne et faisait prendre à ses enfants l'air du soir. Tous en guenilles. Ces trois visages étaient extraordinairement sérieux, et ces six yeux contemplaient fixement le café nouveau avec une admiration égale, mais nuancée diversement par l'âge.

Les yeux du père disaient: «Que c'est beau! que c'est beau! on dirait que tout l'or du pauvre monde est venu se porter sur ces murs.» -- Les yeux du petit garçon:«Que c'est beau! que c'est beau! mais c'est une maison où peuvent seuls entrer les gens qui ne sont pas comme nous.» -- Quant aux yeux du plus petit, ils étaient trop fascinés pour exprimer autre chose qu'une joie stupide et profonde.

Les chansonniers disent que le plaisir rend l'âme bonne et amollit le c'ur. La chanson avait raison ce soir-là, relativement à moi. Non-seulement j'étais attendri par cette famille d'yeux, mais je me sentais un peu honteux de nos verres et de nos carafes, plus grands que notre soif. Je tournais mes regards vers les vôtres, cher amour, pour y lire ma pensée; je plongeais dans vos yeux si beaux et si bizarrement doux, dans vos yeux verts, habités par le Caprice et inspirés par la Lune, quand vous me dites: «Ces gens-là me sont insupportables avec leurs yeux ouverts comme des portes cochères! Ne pourriez-vous pas prier le maître du café de les éloigner d'ici?»

Tant il est difficile de s'entendre, mon cher ange, et tant la pensée est incommunicable, même entre gens qui s'aiment!

The Eyes of the Poor

Oh! You want to know why I hate you today. It will undoubtedly be less easy for you to understand than it will be for me to explain, for you are, I believe, the most beautiful example of feminine impermeability one could ever encounter.

We had spent together a long day that had seemed short to me. We had indeed promised that we would share all of our thoughts with one another, and that our two souls would henceforth be one -- a dream that isn't the least bit original, after all, if not that, dreamed of by all men, it has been realized by none.

In the evening, a bit tired, we wanted to sit down in front of a new café that formed the corner of a new boulevard, still strewn with debris and already gloriously displaying its unfinished splendors. The café was sparkling. The gaslight itself sent forth all the ardor of a debut and lit with all its force walls blinding in their whiteness, dazzling sheets of mirrors, the gold of the rods and cornices, chubby-cheeked page-boys being dragged by dogs on leashes, laughing ladies with falcons perched on their wrist, nymphs and goddesses carrying on their heads fruits, pies, and poultry, Hebes and Ganymedes presenting in out-stretched arms little amphoras filled with Bavarian cream or bi-colored obelisks of ice cream -- all of history and all of mythology at the service of gluttony.

Right in front of us, on the sidewalk, a worthy man in his forties was standing, with a tired face, a greying beard, and holding with one hand a little boy and carrying on the other arm a little being too weak to walk. He was playing the role of nanny and had taken his children out for a walk in the night air. All in rags. The three faces were extraordinarily serious, and the six eyes contemplated fixedly the new café with an equal admiration, but shaded differently according to their age.

The father's eyes said: "How beautiful it is! How beautiful it is! You'd think all the gold in this poor world was on its walls." -- The eyes of the little boy: "How beautiful it is! How beautiful it is! But it's a house only people who aren't like us can enter." -- As for the eyes of the smaller child, they were too fascinated to express anything other than a stupid and profound joy.

Song-writers say that pleasure makes the soul good and softens the heart. The song was right this evening, as regards me. Not only was I moved by this family of eyes, but I also felt a little ashamed of our glasses and our carafes, which were larger than our thirst. I turned my gaze toward your's, dear love, to read my thoughts there; I plunged into your so beautiful and so bizarrely gentle eyes, into your green eyes, inhabited by Caprice and inspired by the Moon, and then you said to me: "I can't stand those people over there, with their eyes wide open like carriage gates! Can't you tell the head-waiter to send them away?"

So difficult is it to understand one another, my dear angel, and so incommunicable is thought, even between people in love!

Charles Baudelaire 1864

Thursday, April 5, 2007

My Bloody Valentine, "Soon"

How Soon is Now?

I am the son
And the heir
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and heir
Of nothing in particular

You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way?
I am human and i need to be loved
Just like everybody else does

There's a club, if you'd like to go
You could meet somebody who really loves you
So you go, and you stand on your own
And you leave on your own
And you go home, and you cry
And you want to die

When you say it's gonna happen "now"
Well, when exactly do you mean?
See, I've already waited too long
And all my hope is gone

You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way?
I am human and i need to be loved
Just like everybody else does


L'Apres-Midi d'un Faune

August 6, 1919

I follow through the singing trees
Her streaming clouded hair and face
And lascivious dreaming knees
Like gleaming water from some place
Of sleeping streams, or autumn leaves
Slow shed through still, love-wearied air.
She pauses: and as one who grieves
Shakes down her blown and vagrant hair
To veil her face, but not her eyes--
A hot quick spark, each sudden glance,
Or like the wild brown bee that flies
Sweet winged, a sharp extravagance
Of kisses on my limbs and neck.
She whirls and dances through the trees
That lift and sway like arms and fleck
Her with quick shadows, and the breeze
Lies on her short and circled breast.
Now hand in hand with her I go,
The green night in the silver west
Of virgin stars, pale row on row
Like ghostly hands, and ere she sleep
The dusk will take her by some stream
In silent meadows, dim and deep--
In dreams of stars and dreaming dream.

I have a nameless wish to go
To some far silent midnight noon
Where lonely streams whisper and flow
And sigh on sands blanched by the moon,
And blond limbed dancers whirling past,
The senile worn moon staring through
The sighing trees, until at last,
Their hair is powdered bright with dew.
And their sad slow limbs and brows
Are petals drifting in the breeze
Shed from the fingers of the boughs;
Then suddenly on all of these,
A sound like some deep bell stroke
Falls, and they dance, unclad and cold--
It was the earth's great heart that broke
For springs before the world grew old.

William Faulkner

Wednesday, April 4, 2007

We do not play on Graves

Emily Dickinson

We do not play on Graves—
Because there isn’t Room—
Besides—it isn’t even—it slants
And People come—

And put a Flower on it—
And hang their faces so—
We’re fearing that their Hearts will drop—
And crush our pretty play—

And so we move as far
As Enemies—away—
Just looking round to see how far
It is—Occasionally—

ca. 1862

Tuesday, April 3, 2007

This is the beginning.

Hello everyone, welcome to Words Change the World, we're glad to have you. What may seem dismal now will quickly grow, so please bookmark us and make sure to check back often. If all goes to plan, an assorted collection of words will soon accumulate, making some kind of ultimate profound meaning. And it's this deep meaning in life that everyone should strive for.