A treasure

Today I found a box underneath my coal oven, it was almost hidden away, casually laying there, waiting to be spotted and taken out for examination.

when I opened the box I found dozens of tapes with various mixes and albums. some date back to 1998, maybe even earlier.

The only unintentional gift I found before of the previous inhibitor of my room was a Rolling Stones cassette in the purple stereo on the shelf. but this? this is astonishing!

She must have left in a hurry, leaving all that behind, never claiming it back.
All that history, her personal history!

I read the labels on the tapes, only a few were familiar, Tori Amos' "Little Earthquakes", Tom Waits' "Blue valentines" and "Mule variations" (the only indication of the last years in the entire collection).
she had lots of random Jazz and Punk compilations, some Hip Hop and Electronics, European 80's pop music and a very random David Bowie compilation.

"If they mated" galore : the unplugged series

and just like that the quality of the writing goes to hell.
so be it. it was a hell lotta fun making them up!

(Gaby S. Moses and I discussed them together, thanks mate).

Bad taste masses

this is what i consider to be sincere. it speaks somehow very clearly in all of its theatrical, melodramatic expression. but i believe it, I really do.



and I absolutely do not understand who allows this to happen.
popular television or culture or socio-anthropological phenomenas cause the common man to somehow accept or believe in the fake, the empty and absolutely tasteless imitation of a once existing emotion that is now long gone. I am afraid they're no longer able to tell the difference.
I wonder if they ever did.

Song for a future generation.

a part from The Strokes' - "The other side":

"I hate them all, I hate them all
I hate myself
For hating them
so I'll drink some more
I'll love them all
I'll drink even more
I'll hate them even more than I did before"

A friend of mine mentioned today this piece, which he considers to be great song writing, with top-notch lyrics, which he feels are superior to his.
it got me thinking.

The Strokes have "classic" written all over them.
in twenty years these songs will be for someone who was born yesterday what Iggy Pop is for me.
something from another dimension, untouchable, frozen in time, an eternal mystery.
how ridiculous this all is, generated by hype and wide, blank expressions. oouh!