Futile Horn

05.20.2003 - 1:12 am (huevos)

I must admit to myself that I feel like giddy school girl every time I see the White Stripes perform on TV. Today at Virgin Records they had the new album on vinyl. I nearly peed myself but my will was good.

I usually hate music videos where they show the words written in some form ("Subterranean Homesick Blues" being a definite exception). Mostly because the videos which do this tend to have conspicuously piss poor lyrics. It reeks of "Hey, look at me I wrote something. I was emotional when I did it so it must be good." I heard it's the same thing with painters too. The crummier the artist, the bigger they sign their names.

Today was nice so I threw my books in my backpack and took a long walk around downtown. I wore the wrong jeans or the wrong underpants cus I nearly wore a hole in my scrotum. Anyways, I thought I'd go to the park to write some new stuff, and there was a guy a ways over playing and singing. His guitar was all right I guess, but each song he sang was more wussy than the last. If I heard one more word about his emotional pain I was gonna go give him some of the physical kind so he'd have something else to think about. Instead I just wrote a cruel line or two inspired by him. I swear when you are at a dead end, terrible people are the best kind.

Horace says:

pallida mors aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas
regumque terris (Car. I, 4, 13-4)

which means, "Pale death strikes with an equal foot at the hovels of the poor and the towers of kings" which was generally unimpressive to me until I read it out loud. All those p's simulate the banging sound, as they grow closer together the pounding becomes more insistent. Cool, huh.

Yeah, I'll stop now.

If you pee into a toilet with a tissue floating in the water, it looks like an inverted egg.

Born to play the funky céilí,
Futile Horn