2005-10-17

Bück dich!

"Das Gesicht int'ressiert mich NICHT!"

Ich will nur ficken,
Ich kann mich selbst schönen Briefen schicken,
Ich will dich hören,
Schrei, 'ber nur wärhend Augenblicken,
Mit 'nem riesenlauten Rammstein Lied.
Schneller Rythmus, kein Melodie,
Laut, lauft zu lang,
Fäng ich an zu kommen,
Ja das wird so gut,
Denn du riechst so gut,
Vom Hinter,
(nicht nur im Winter)
Die Sonne zwo-drei-vier
Komm mal hier,
Kuss mich und... dann... Bück dich.
Noch mal
Ich will alle
andere Pferden reiten.
Auch kein Nabel auf dem Bauch,
Auch keine Mutter,
Aber ich bin kein Zwitter
(I'm not that weird.)
Jetzt als es kalt wird,
Der kleiner Mensch stirbt,
Wo ist sein Engel?
Answer: in Hell
Mit 'm Teufel,
Hier, mein Tier,
Der mich nie verzweifelt,
Werd ich nie zufrieden sein?
Ich weiß was ich brauch: time.
"Feuer frei!"


2005-10-14

Ezekiel 25:17

Jools Winnfield's "cold-blooded shit to say to a motherfucker before I pop a cap in his ass":

The path
of the righteous man is beset on
all sides by the inequities of the
selfish and the tyranny of evil
men.  Blessed is he who, in the
name of charity and good will,
shepherds the weak through the
valley of darkness, for he is truly
his brother's keeper and the finder
of lost children.  And I will
strike down upon thee with great
vengeance and furious anger those
who attempt to poison and destroy
my brothers.  And you will know my
name is the Lord when I lay my
vengeance upon you.


Who cares?

I side with Maddox, please someone convince me I'm at least a little bit wrong.

What is the point of this "blogging" bullshit? It's not like I don't speak to 99.9% of my readers (if there aare any that... you people never leave any bloody comments so how the hell do I know???) anyway, and even then most of the time we speak about nothing and bullshit and the usual boring pointlessnesses. It's like in Pulp Fiction when Vincent Vega (John Travolta) and Mia Wallace (Uma Thurman) are in the restaurant (Jack Rabbit Slims ("A wax museum with a pulse.")) and they've just ordered and they're talking about the awkward silence that has just developed (I could go on forever with the details, I know that movie prety much by heart, plus this is the Internet.)

MIA
Don't you hate that?


VINCENT
What?

MIA
Uncomfortable silences.
Why do we feel it's necessary to yak about bullshit
in order to be comfortable?

VINCENT
I don't know.

MIA
That's when you know you found somebody special.
When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute, and comfortably share silence.

VINCENT
I don't think we're there yet. But don't feel bad, we just met each other.


Seriously, I reckon that even applies over the 'phone (The bit about "comfortably sharing silence".). Talking with nothing to say, I can stand it, I can just about understand it, but it's a shame really. It's not helped by pointless msn conversations that go (sic)

hey
hey
how r u
gd u
gd
ok (5 minutes or so go by)
soOoOoOo...
so
swdywtta?
eh?
so what do you want to talk about now?
oh
dunno
nefink * *I tried my hand at a little "txt-spk"
wha? nothing?
no anything
o
um...

And so on. That was a real "conversation" I had about a year ago (I was in red). I had just started using msn, after having been told and retold the miracles it could perform (Let's not start fellating Hill-Billy Gates just yet.). How dissapointing, eh? Put me right off that did. Anyway I kept it as proof of... hm I had a particularly sharp point to put at the end of this sentence but anyway I think you all get the gist of what I'm trying to say, and a fairly long time has passed since i was pretty pissed off at the world when I started writing this (Why does that always happen to me?).

On the other hand, I have had some really interesting discussions over the Net. And you can have loads of silly fun with webcams...

I suppose it just depends on the people really. Because I also find that my msn conversations often reflect my real-life conversations: anything from really cool funny deep whatever great feel-good discussions to hollow "hey - hey - gotta go -me too - see ya - bye" talks at school (although that's partly due to the hecticness of timetables and crowds and crap).

(And so smoothly the topic is brought circlingly back to where it started... long live structured essays!) Which brings me back to my original point. I think. Makes sense to me right now. Hm. Bleh who gives me any money about this being coherent at all? Most of the time people reading this type of blog (I don't have any illusions about the absolute standardness of this website - even in saying that I'm nothing special.) are usually happy for any kind of update at all, let alone a good one. But at least I think I'm not part of the large mass of REALLY shit blogs that Maddox had a really good (of course) pop at.

Apart from anything else (if there really is anything else to be a prat from), if I write too much on this small piece of webspace, I end up not having anthing to say (with my mouth) to the few people who'll listen (with their ears) (if they haven't already heard it, that is).


Who gives a fuck?

Or anything else for that matter? Everyone is selfish. It's human. Just acknowledge it, and the world will be a better place.

Tired, Tattered, Tortured &Torn.

"Fuck this shit I'm sick of it you're going down this is a war!"


It seems no matter what I try to write about, it always ends up coming out in rhymes, it's shite. It makes my texts sound a bit better (apparently- I'll take my English teachers' word on that one), ut then after a while I try to force mself to rhyme, and the mesage is slightly lost, and it takes longer, so I stop thinking about what comes next, and most of all it sounds corny. Not to mention the alliterations. But I can't help it. I'm almost obsessive-compulsive about it. And very quickly I start re-using the same tired old rhymes, which just sucks. That's why none of my songs are ever any good. Which is a real shame, because I really want to get good at that, but it seems that practise is bad for it, and everything is always less perfect than what came before. Maybe I'm just not one of those people who can just churn out songs like an elephant with diaorrhea moves shit. But then again, that's not what I want either, because what I'm after is more thought-out lyrics, with more meaning and depth and all that stuff (you know what I mean so I don't need to try and say it). Also, I must remember to write my material down more often, because sometimes I come up with really great stuff, and then forget it and regret it and never get it back. Bleh who gives a damn?

Twisted Sister

Why does she do that? It's just not right. I can't see the reason, and neither probably can she. Why am I not like that? The only difference I could see would have to the parents, but then why did it not happen to me? Spoiled maybe not by me. She expects too much, I won't let her get away with it. Mum and Dad won't do anything about it, she's so precious in their eyes, but I see straight through the disguise, won't be fooled by the lies, must stop talking in rhymes. Not my fault, but I get the consequences... I hate not her but what she has become, and what made it be so, but even then not all of it because I depend so much on it that I cannot afford to lose it. A world of her own, where she is alone, but that reduces my own. Pretty princess, not right, not fair, we fight, pull hair, but what does it achieve? Nothing, I believe. This strain I must relieve.

It's easy though, it's not that huge a deal on the scale of bigger things (nothing ever is).
Still I which it wasn't so, it could have been so mush better. Where did it go wrong? I don't want to have to keep on writing a song, each time we don't get along... This has gone on too long.

2005-10-10

Basketcase

"Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me..."

"Oh sod off, you nauseating adolescent!"

ahem...

I realise I sometimes get carried away.
It's fun. I like not being able to feel the ground. And I get to move around without any great movement on my part.

But seriously, sometimes my train of thought goes a bit off the rails, and crashes and gets a all messy and there are loads of innocent passengers... oh shit, how far can I push this metaphor do you thank?

Sarah: le bol!
Ça: ras le bol!
Ça rase le bord,
Le ras du bol.
Ce rat: si beau.
Ce vin nouveau.
Ce chat, ce veau.
Je me bats, tu me vaux.
Jeune et plat, tu m'avoues.
(Sarajevo)
Mes aveux, pas du sot.
Ras du seau, pas de sceau.
Rats du sol, pas de l'eau.
Passe de l'eau, vu de l'aube.

RRR - 666

RoadRunnerRecords (responsible for unleashing upn the mortal world such amsters as Nickelback, SlipKnot, Deicide, Murderdolls, to name but a few), for their 25th Anniversary ("that's half the lifespan of rock music itself") have come up with an absolute gem: Roadrunner United, The All-Star Sessions. 18 tracks of great metal, performed by arguably (I am of the position that that "arguably" means "probably not, but maybe" as opposed to "I think so but for legal reasons I can't say so and I still want it to sound like a positive fact"), the best in the business (Oh yes, even I use over used clichéd alliterations.)

The concept is simple, yet devilishly (oh how poignant) brilliant, even if it did take a year for the great admin over at RRR did take a year to get it going (the original idea dates back to August 2004).

4 "team" "captains" write a few songs, and get their favourite musicians to record it. Then they pick a singer, to whom the song is sort of adapted to begin with, who writes and records the lyrics. The result? Awesome, just (!) awesome.

Check out roadrunnerrecords.com for more details, and then go buy it!

I had first read about it in May or June, and ever since I've checking up regularly to find out hw they're coming along. When I found out that the European release date was today (one day before the US! (plus the time difference)), I didn't think for a minute (didn't need to with my new-found metalhead) before deciding to go buy it. Which also gave me an opporunity to buy my Bloc Party ticket, which was good.

!8 tracks, 77 minutes, 59 artists, only 4 of which appear more than once.
Does it get any heavier than this?

Viral-Vital

Now I am haunted,
By what is flaunted.
I never was daunted,
Until now.
I can see how,
But I won't have a cow.

Have I failed the test?
Am I just second best?
I can't have it all,
That would end in a fall.

I know what I need,
A bit more than a seed,
But I can't succeed,
Because I am a weed.
See how I bleed!
See how I bled,
As you fed, on all my bloodshed,
Now that you've wed?
But alone in your bed!
You should not have fled!
Now I beat in your head!
And you are now...
enough said.

2005-10-07

Marks, Marx, Marcs, Marks.

There are Deutschmarks, former currency of Germany and some bits of Yougoslavia. Not a Bad Thing, but the Euro is a Better Thing.

There was Karl Marx, the forefather of communism, a.k.a. Old Major in Animal Farm by George Orwell. Usually, called a Bad Thing.

I only ever knew one person called Marc, smashing fellow (Good Thing), he's in NY again now (Bad Thing).

But I want to talk about are school marks, or grades, as the yanks call them. In my country (p.s., having just re-read this whole thing, I know realise how old I sound. I'm so sorry.), there are all out of a possible (?) 20. So, in maths, for instance, there could be 20 questions, one point each, or some variant on that. Or in sports twenty shots at a goal one point per succes. But then comes the problem of languages. Specifically spelling-oriented tests (dictées as we used to call them), ok, one mistake = -1 and a bad mistake = -2 et cetera. ok. But we don't do those anymore (And a damn shame it is too, some of the spelling at our level is dreadful. Not to mention the fact that it saved my french average!), all we do nowadays are essays, opinions based on textual evidence, or even just personal experience and taste (Soon I will put up my first dissertation with the question, and you'll see what I mean.). How the hell are teachers supposed to state that one opinion is worth more than another? Surely this goes against what they are cramming into our brains every day? And I know that what they're actually marking is the way arguments are presented, the potency of the examples used and all that stuff, but surely that shouldn't count for nearly quite so much as it currently does? Surely, as one could reasonably expect, they should be looking at what is being said, as opposed to mereely how it is said? To me, content is worth much more than style, in that style is more eaily faked, but content is what really matters. Message over medium. I'm sure I'm not the only one who, in countless situations, has had a great idea shunned ignored, dereciated and ultimately nullified by some "teacher" who does not which to rethink their opinion in light of new data and observations postdating their own studies, in the name of conforming to rigid criteria set by someone who really doesn't know what they're on about. But enough of general rants, here's some pretty telling numbers about why I have no faith whatsoever in the system.

In 4eme, I went from 6 average in the first term, to 20 in the third, via 13. That's a steady increase of 7 points per term. One could think that I mst have gotten into shape pretty damn well that year, but in fact, the opposite is the case. At the end of the previous season, I had given up both my weekly judo AND football practise (all in all about 6 hours of sport per week). My general state of fitness was in considerable decline, despite my having taken up playing the drums (which honestly does not count as sport, really.) The way I achieved such a miracle on paper? A fluke. 2 in fact. Just after the first test (the very next lessn, actually), which I had failed miserably because it was endurance and I had a headache so I got 6 for, I did my ankle in. 2 months off. Second term went normal-ish, with the normal-ish sports like badminton and basketball. The third term, we did "expression corporelle", in which I got 20 because I'm so arty (and because my group's was the only one that was any good), and then in football I also got 20, through some freaky incident in which I managed to score both goals, not hit any traffic cones AND do the whole thing really quickly, for the first time ever. The very same lesson I broke my wrist as goalkeeper. And that's how I went from 6 to 20 in the same year.

Now, you could say that that was in collège, and that now it's different, but I move it's not.
Last year, in geography (more on that later... cor I've really got a lot to say about that class, and it's not just last year, it seems it's always going to be this crap... no!), I used to work pertty, hard until in the second term I got ana average of 9. This surprised me somewhat, in that I worked fairly hard (by my standards, which admittedly are pretty low), paid attention in class, took notes... the whole enchilada (mmm... mexican food...). Whereas everyone else basically did bog all the whole time and were pulling of 15s and 16s. So I decided the lazy-boy might work. Couldn't hurt, and I did it with all my other lessons, so why not? And of course, third term, I got 13.5 average. That's +4.5 in one term. In lycée.

So overall, Marks are Bad Things.

2005-10-04

Deftones

KNIFE PRTY

My knife - it's sharp and chrome
Come see inside my bones
All of the fiends are on the block
I'm the new king, I'll take the queen
'Cause in here we're all anemic
in here - anemic and sweet...so...

Go get your knife, go get your knife
And come in
Go get your knife, go get your knife
And lay down
Go get your knife, go get your knife
Now kiss me

Oooh...well I can float here forever
In this room we can't touch the floor
In here we're all anemic
In here - anemic and sweet...so...

Go get your knife, go get your knife
And come in
Go get your knife, go get your knife
And lay down
Go get your knife, go get your knife
Now kiss me

(Rodleen's screams)

Ohh... I could float here forever
Ohh... Anemic and sweet
Ohh... I could float here forever
Ohh... Anemic and sweet...so...

Go get your knife, go get your knife
And come in
Go get your knife, go get your knife
and lay down
Go get your knife, go get your knife
Get filthy
Go get your knife, go get your knife
And kiss me...