segunda-feira, 18 de agosto de 2008

boring boring boring

That’s for you, secondary school teachers: I was in Honours English and Honours History and almost all of us "intelligent" kids were so damned bored with all of your "productive" assignments that we became unable of learning real history; just social studies, like how to get along with the Bantus in South Africa – and I have never even met a Bantu, so what the fuck? Anyway, we were so bored that we all did drugs: Speed, pot, mescaline, cocaine, peyote, LSD… For God's sake! Teach us real grammar and real political history. It was profoundly thwarting to be a former honour’s student in college and not understand the purpose of a preposition.

terça-feira, 5 de agosto de 2008

the funk soul brother


I was in this bar, a few months ago… a terrific bar – completely empty! And this song came on, it was called “the funk soul brother”. And I’ll never forget it, even because it was all of the lyrics. I suppose it was part of that school of song writing, you know… very easy on the words, in case they get wasted, or I don’t know what’s the shortage, really. But it sounded like a million fire engines chasing 10 million ambulances towards a war zone, and it was played in a volume that made the empty chair beside me bleed!
Anyhow, it went like, “the funk soul brother… right about now. Yeah… it’s the funk soul brother… check it out now. It’s the… well, it’s the funk soul brother. Yeah! He’s coming… it’s the funk soul brother” … And after a while I kinda began to penetrate the meaning of the song, you know. I settled for something like, someone was about to arrive… and everyone was TERRIBLY excited… maybe he’s bringing a cake or something… they didn’t say.
But, you see, the thing was HE WASN’T THERE YET! Ha-ha… That was the hook!
And I’m not saying it’s a bad song, or anything like this… no! All I’m saying is that if you covered a broom handle with oil and shoved it up my arse, then put me on a trampoline, in a lift, I could write a better song on the walls.