Youth: Zeitgeist Follies

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telia:

Merry Christmas (Auggie Wren’s Christmas Story)

Another Product Of My Drunken Profanity: Fuck You(, No More Star-Gazing)

You know what,

Fuck you for being so pretty,
Fuck you for being so witty,
Fuck me for being numbstruck-dumbstruck, love-strung, word-spitty

Fuck me! You’re amazing!
Fuck me, sky is blazing

(literally trillions of stars.
evidently, not a single one ours -
ever wonder if there’s love on Mars?)

And fuck you,
for it’s with you,
that I’d rather be grazing
and fear the subsequent brain-hazing

Thank you really,
(and it’s really a pity)
ruining the trillion-fold celestial mystery,
in favour of our brief new history,

Fuck me…
Fuck me?
Fuck you,

No More Star-Gazing

782
tylerknott:

Typewriter Series #430 by Tyler Knott Gregson

tylerknott:

Typewriter Series #430 by Tyler Knott Gregson

‘Rome is burning,’ he said, as he poured himself another drink, ‘yet here I am, knee-deep in a river of [meaningless] pussy.’

‘Here it comes,’ she thought, ‘another self-indulgent whiskey diet, trite about how great everything was in the past - and how all us poor souls born too late to see the Stones of Wherever or snort the “good coke” like they had at Studio 54.’
Well, we’d all just missed out on practically everything worth living for, and the worst part was, she agreed with him.

‘Here we are,’ she thought, ‘at the edge of the world, the very edge of western civilisation and all of us are so desperate to feel something, anything, that we keep falling into each other and fucking each other until the end of days.’

“Dee Dee [Ramone] is the best punk example of a rock and roll star in part because of that combination of his talent and his personal style, but especially because it’s hard to imagine that he could have succeeded at anything else. The Sex Pistols famously screamed “No future!” at the end of “God Save the Queen.” People made a big deal about how progressive it was that a hit band could sarcastically rage about social conditions. But the noteworthy thing to me about the “no future” subject isn’t the Sex Pistols’ anger about their boring prospects as citizens, but rather that the lack of a future is an unacknowledged foundation of rock and roll. There is no future in being an adolescent, and rock and roll is the music of adolescence.
Rock and roll is the only art form at which teenagers are not only capable of excelling but that actually requires that one be a teenager, more or less, to practice it at all. This is the way that “punk” uniquely embodies rock and roll. It explicitly asserts and demonstrates that the music is not about virtuosity. Rock and roll is about natural grace, about style and instinct. Also the inherent physical beauty of youth. You don’t have to play guitar well or, by any conventional standard, sing well to make great rock and roll; you just have to have it, have to be able to recognize it, have to get it. And half of that is about simply being young, meaning full of crazed sex drive and sensitivity to the object of romantic and sexual desire, and full of anger about being condescended to by adults, and disgust and anger about all the lies you’re being fed, and all the control you’ve been subjected to, by those complacent adults. And a deep desire for some fun. And, though rock and roll is about being cool, you don’t have to be cool to make real rock and roll - sometimes the most innocuous and pathetic fumblers only become graced by the way they shine in songs. And this is half of what makes the music the art of adolescence - that it doesn’t require any verifiable skill. It’s all essence, and it’s available to those who, to all appearances, have nothing.”

Richard Hell, from I Dreamed I Was A Very Clean Tramp (via rustbeltjessie)

26
                          ALVY'S VOICE-OVER 
		After that it got pretty late.  And we 
		both hadda go, but it was great seeing 
		Annie again, right?  I realized what a 
		terrific person she was and-and how much 
		fun it was just knowing her and I-I 
		thought of that old joke, you know, this-
		this-this guy goes to a psychiatrist and 
		says, "Doc, uh, my brother's crazy.  He 
		thinks he's a chicken." And, uh, the 
		doctor says, "Well, why don't you turn 
		him in?" And the guy says, "I would, but 
		I need the eggs." Well, I guess that's 
		pretty much how how I feel about 
		relationships.  You know, they're totally 
		irrational and crazy and absurd and ... 
		but, uh, I guess we keep goin' through it 
		because, uh, most of us need the eggs.

                          ALVY'S VOICE-OVER 
After that it got pretty late. And we both hadda go, but it was great seeing Annie again, right? I realized what a terrific person she was and-and how much fun it was just knowing her and I-I thought of that old joke, you know, this- this-this guy goes to a psychiatrist and says, "Doc, uh, my brother's crazy. He thinks he's a chicken." And, uh, the doctor says, "Well, why don't you turn him in?" And the guy says, "I would, but I need the eggs." Well, I guess that's pretty much how how I feel about relationships. You know, they're totally irrational and crazy and absurd and ... but, uh, I guess we keep goin' through it because, uh, most of us need the eggs.

Tagged: #Annie Hall

Beginners’ Classes:

me hiciste daño;
le hiciste daño;
te hiciste daño;

otra vez.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
you hurt me;
you hurt him/her;
you hurt yourself;

again.

Tagged: #spilled-ink

Response To A Prompt My Lecturer Gave:

     13-2-1.

 

Matted and free flowing
crocheted wool
hung loosely, at-ease,
from a patient chin.

Rule-lined and pressed
processed-factory-cotton
 – Scalped.
Conquered remains,
of a buzzing-restless-impatient blade.

                  _

Borrowed psychedelia:
A bright theme and variations on light,
of a bygone, by-going era
- yet, to be gone by again – in another time,
 in another place
By another race of sunburnt hearts.

(For they so loved the world…)

Traditions of traditions:
traditional renditions
of young men in blazers and dress-ties.

                   _

In 1969, thousands of Xhosa initiates
under the garb and comforting cover
of homogenous heavy blankets
made their way to ‘the mountain’,
the lighting way-up is truly incredible sometimes
 – on clearer crisper days,
as they made their way up,
like any other year.

The Summer of Love found thousands marching
in uniform drips-and-drabs
wearing the coats Nature gave them
under the cover of stars
It rained a bit - stopped - rained some more
An exceptional year - 1969.

                  _

Pluralists preach pulpiteer in unison
their faith
(in) their knowledge of all that matters.
(Voices pretending to know everything)

Soloist-advocates
wax on to the gathered
their knowledge
of nothing but love and the lack thereof.
(Voices pretending to know nothing)

             _

The ever-ready
greeting grins
of those loathsome-lovable
proprietors of sin. (To be disrobed:
rung-out and clean-pressed. On tuesday evenings
and sunday afternoon limbo, and other long dark
tea-times and come-downs of the soul.)

The omnipresence
of saluting shiny buttons
and doubly-sewn weighty badges.
(In every on-going field of war and on every street corner
big brothers, anywhere and everywhere,
To be watched by us.)

           _

At Thirty:
four parents
three more rungs on the ladder
two salaries
two more mouths to feed
a four-door
a lawn
a dog
one tennis-shoe-in-a-tumble-dryer heartbeat
one pair of open eyes at 3AM
one very constricting neck-tie
ten reasons to buy a new ’82 Pontiac and have an affair with an air-hostess.

At Thirty:
one moderately-priced “sports car”
one world illuminating idea
one dog
one plate
one pillow
one toothbrush
fourteen oversized and drafty dress-shirts with virgin top-buttons
any number of meaningless numbers in a phonebook.

                _

These self-defined and self-defining threads
 –thirteen to one –
comfort and encase
us all
.

Whispers of winter.

Whispers of winter
bite and pull at the seaming,
like bored children,
of my summer solitude.

Outside the lonely,
in deserting desperation,
discard their clothing for warmth.

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