since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a far better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
--the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says
we are for each other: then
laughleaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
-e.e. cummings
goddammit i am sick as a motherfucker. and these zinc tablets taste unbearable. all i do is cough, burp, cough. i am a foul foul foul soul this pm. originally i was going to fault my buddy jo jo for this plague, since she was hacking the other night while we were out boozin'. but upon reflection the blame for this lowly state should instead be sqaured ENTIRELY on the band i saw last night. ugh. alright close yer eyes. . .seriously. . . and work with me: tori amos and her twin brother (or boyfriend, cousin, whatever), both dressed up as marcel marceau, both wailing away like banshees, having the girl half of the duo smatter their songs with lines like "i want to fuck you in the ass" as if it were novel to have a girl utter something like that in a song. oh, and in the vision yer also stuck behind the one solid gold dancer that knows ALL THEIR FUCKING LYRICS, of course sings along, and dances like he's having a fucking grand mal seizure. why does that queef end up in front of me at every show???
what bugs me most is that this outfit was billed as punk cabaret. whatever that means. it was CERTAINLY neither. it was shite. utter shite. top to bottom. not even funny, novel shite. it made me sick - literally- and if you couldn't already tell from my rant, put my panties in a complete wad. the only good thing about the night was that the sound guys played the minutemen over the pa while setting up.
so here i am. sick sick sick. and some shyster duo is out there masquerading as a punk cabaret show . . .and they have my $12. bastards.
a pox on them.
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a far better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
--the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says
we are for each other: then
laughleaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
-e.e. cummings
goddammit i am sick as a motherfucker. and these zinc tablets taste unbearable. all i do is cough, burp, cough. i am a foul foul foul soul this pm. originally i was going to fault my buddy jo jo for this plague, since she was hacking the other night while we were out boozin'. but upon reflection the blame for this lowly state should instead be sqaured ENTIRELY on the band i saw last night. ugh. alright close yer eyes. . .seriously. . . and work with me: tori amos and her twin brother (or boyfriend, cousin, whatever), both dressed up as marcel marceau, both wailing away like banshees, having the girl half of the duo smatter their songs with lines like "i want to fuck you in the ass" as if it were novel to have a girl utter something like that in a song. oh, and in the vision yer also stuck behind the one solid gold dancer that knows ALL THEIR FUCKING LYRICS, of course sings along, and dances like he's having a fucking grand mal seizure. why does that queef end up in front of me at every show???
what bugs me most is that this outfit was billed as punk cabaret. whatever that means. it was CERTAINLY neither. it was shite. utter shite. top to bottom. not even funny, novel shite. it made me sick - literally- and if you couldn't already tell from my rant, put my panties in a complete wad. the only good thing about the night was that the sound guys played the minutemen over the pa while setting up.
so here i am. sick sick sick. and some shyster duo is out there masquerading as a punk cabaret show . . .and they have my $12. bastards.
a pox on them.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
and although is sounds like that punk cabaret thing blew ass, any chance to hear minutemen in a public place amounts to at least a semi-good night for me.
it's true.
feel better soon.