Saturday, 7 September 2013

The Black Angel's Death Song

"Teenage emotional girls who aspire to one day be old enough to give One Direction a blowjob each"

Yes, Comrades

A trip to Comicon happened today. I'm completely joking, it didn't happen for reasons I'm too polite to bore you with. But I had promised myself I'd write about it here as that was a sufficient time gap from my last post. So, I seem to have done myself a bit of a disservice by not dragging my sorry arse to the convention filled with teenage emotional girls who aspire to one day be old enough to give One Direction a blowjob each; fat, spot-popping, workshy louts who masturbate over animated ponies and those strange men who watch too many Harold Lloyd films according to their fashion sense, sound like they're impersonating Snagglepuss when they talk and think "It's time I went a-wooing!" and go to Comicon (I'm sure I'm supposed to be saying Comic Con, but hey, fuck the police). Regardless, here's some drivel from yours truly to bridge the gap until the next one.

How many of you, dear droogs, tried to write a song when you were about 14, 15? If so, may I hazard a guess that it went along the lines of this: "There's a man, he's a lonely man. Take a look at him. He looks a bit like me!"? I bet it fucking did, didn't it? You just wanted to play it and for some well-informed peer of the opposite gender to go "My God, you're deep. My God, you are brilliant, aren't you? And that's about you, is it?" "Yeah, it is, yeah" I love all that. Then as you got older, you maybe had a go at it again, didn't you? You'd heard some Ramones and thought you were the fucking bollocks, so your song evolved into something like this: "The world's trying to take a piece of me! Ey, you think I’m going down and I’m coming back! I’m against the ropes! They tried to drag me down, they put me in this emotional prison! The man's on my back! They tried to take a piece of me!" Am I right? Of course the best part is you'd just love to go back in time and meet your little gobshite self and say "Who? Who's bringing you down? Who's trying to take a piece of you?" "Well, you know, parents and that, don't they, sometimes? The teachers"

On that subject, I have to share something fucking brilliant with you. I still remember a poem from my very early big school days. We all had to write a poem for English and to be fair, they were all pretty shite. But we mercilessly took the piss out of this lad, I won't say his name (no it wasn't fucking me!) because his was just...oh God, I still remember it after all these years. I'm convinced he just went to a thesaurus and stuck in some words he'd found that were synonymous with "brood". Anyway, here's how it went:

'The reason why,
The reason why,
The reason why
I had to die
Did I bleed
The blood of greed?
What was my destiny?'

We read this and we. Were. Laughing. And I swear, for about a year all we'd do around this lad was stroke our chin, looking skyward, scratching our head and saying "What was my destiny?" Fucking brilliant.

Hey, talking that shite actually took up more space than I thought it would. Nice one. Let me share this with you as well. It's a comment from a YouTube video which bloody floored me when I saw it. I can't censor one of the pics because it's a bit, you know, imperative to the humour. In this entry's Nameless But Never Shameless...

Thought I'd share some tunes with you too, found some interesting ones of late that you might not have heard. I've no plans to make a habit of this.

If you like My Bloody Valentine or any other shoegaze, Asobi Seksu (they're American - it's Japanese for 'playful sex') are masters of their craft.

The best album cover ever, is it not? Quickspace make repetitive stoner rock not unlike Pavement or Mogwai. They're not as brave as Pavement or as inventive as Mogwai (who I hate actually) but they're pretty fucking good. I'm sure that's a theremin I hear in there too, what more do you want?

Bubble Puppy were a 1969 one-kinda-hit-wonder, and this is that kinda-hit. It's very bluesy and catchy, that main riff is total tits as Eric Cartman might say.

In a bit.

The following is an excerpt from my Australia Journal 2008-09. Even if I'd written that poem above, which I most definitely did not, it couldn't equate to this level of shit.

Tuesday 6th January 2009

It is 3:25am. I'm hardly tired. There's a very realistic fake spider by my hand which cost me $5. A photo of me with a Koala chum also came into my possession. I met snakes, echidnas, kangaroos, emus, and other dodgy critters today also. Then straight home to whack away at Mark's curiously quiet drumkit for his Wii. More fun than it sounds. Dad wants Judy so much but of course won't admit it. Last night at Mark's, ever. That hits home I have to say. He's burning a copy of Spore for himself tomorrow. I imagine for the first time he'll be up before me, that's a bit strange too. My thongs have cut up my tootsie wootsies. I wasn't tired today.
"I won't forget a single day, believe me" 

No comments:

Post a Comment