Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Bright Future In Sales
Sleeping on a planter at the Port Authority
Waiting for my bus to come
Seven scotch-and-sodas at the office party
Now I don't remember where I'm from
I think I had a black wallet
In my back pocket
With a bus ticket
And a picture of my baby inside
And if I make it home alive
I'm gonna get my shit together
'Cause I can't live like this forever
You know I've come too far
And I don't want to fail
I got a new computer
And a birght future in sales
Yeah, yeah
A bright future in sales
Yeah, yeah
Heading for the airport on a misty morning
Gonna catch a flight to Baltimore
Try to kill an hour with a whiskey sour
If there's time I might have just one more
I gotta do some quick reading
For the big meeting
But my head is spinning
And I can't quite open my eyes
As long as I don't have to drive
I'm gonna get my shit together
'Cause I can't live like this forever
You know I've come too far
And I don't want to fail
I got a new computer
And a bright future in sales
Yeah, yeah
A bright future in sales
Yeah, yeah
I had a line on a brand new account
But now I can't semm to find
Where I wrote that number down
I try to focus, I'm staring at the screen
Pretending like I know
What all these little flashing lights mean
I gotta do some quick reading
For the big meeting
But my head is spinning
And I can't quite open my eyes
I gotta get my shit together
'Cause I can't live like this forever
You know I've come too far
And I don't want to fail
I got a new computer
And a bright future in sales
Yeah, yeah
A bright future in sales
Yeah, yeah
Suggested read : Fountains of Wayne,lyrics
Suggested rythm : Fountains of Wayne - Bright Future In Sales
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Suggested read : Dylan Thomas
Suggested rythm : Easily - RHCP
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Suggested read : Dylan Thomas
Suggested rythm : Easily - RHCP
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Fleas interest me so much
Fleas interest me so much
that I let them bite me for hours.
They are perfect, ancient, Sanskrit,
machines that admit of no appeal.
They do not bite to eat,
they bite only to jump;
they are the dancers of the celestial sphere,
delicate acrobats
in the softest and most profound circus;
let them gallop on my skin,
divulge their emotions,
amuse themselves with my blood,
but someone should introduce them to me.
I want to know them closely,
I want to know what to rely on.
Suggested read : Pablo Neruda
Suggested rythm : tAi tOmAr Ananda AmAr par - Pankaj Mallik - Rabeendra Sangeeth
that I let them bite me for hours.
They are perfect, ancient, Sanskrit,
machines that admit of no appeal.
They do not bite to eat,
they bite only to jump;
they are the dancers of the celestial sphere,
delicate acrobats
in the softest and most profound circus;
let them gallop on my skin,
divulge their emotions,
amuse themselves with my blood,
but someone should introduce them to me.
I want to know them closely,
I want to know what to rely on.
Suggested read : Pablo Neruda
Suggested rythm : tAi tOmAr Ananda AmAr par - Pankaj Mallik - Rabeendra Sangeeth
Monday, October 02, 2006
A Suicidal Note
To Boddah
Speaking from the tongue of an experienced simpleton
who obviously would rather be an emasculated, infantile complain-ee.
This note should be pretty easy to understand.
All the warnings from the punk rock 101 courses over the years,
since my first introduction to the, shall we say,
ethics involved with independence and
the embracement of your community has proven to be very true.
I haven't felt the excitement of listening to as well as
creating music along with reading and writing
for too many years now.
I feel guity beyond words about these things.
For example when we're back stage and the lights go out
and the manic roar of the crowds begins.,
it doesn't affect me the way in which it did for Freddie Mercury,
who seemed to love, relish in the the love and adoration
from the crowd which is something I totally admire and envy.
The fact is, I can't fool you, any one of you. It simply isn't fair to you or me.
The worst crime I can think of would be to rip people off
by faking it and pretending as if I'm having 100% fun.
Sometimes I feel as if I should have a punch-in time clock before I walk out on stage.
I've tried everything within my power to appreciate it (and I do, God, believe me I do, but it's not enough).
I appreciate the fact that I and we have affected and entertained a lot of people. It must be one of those narcissists who only appreciate things when they're gone. I'm too sensitive. I need to be slightly numb in order to regain the enthusiasms I once had as a child.
On our last 3 tours, I've had a much better appreciation for all the people I've known personally, and as fans of our music, but I still can't get over the frustration, the guilt and empathy I have for everyone. There's good in all of us and I think I simply love people too much, so much that it makes me feel too fucking sad. The sad little, sensitive, unappreciative, Pisces, Jesus man. Why don't you just enjoy it? I don't know!
I have a goddess of a wife who sweats ambition and empathy and a daughter who reminds me too much of what i used to be, full of love and joy, kissing every person she meets because everyone is good and will do her no harm. And that terrifies me to the point to where I can barely function. I can't stand the thought of Frances becoming the miserable, self-destructive, death rocker that I've become.
I have it good, very good, and I'm grateful, but since the age of seven, I've become hateful towards all humans in general. Only because it seems so easy for people to get along that have empathy. Only because I love and feel sorry for people too much I guess.
Thank you all from the pit of my burning, nauseous stomach for your letters and concern during the past years. I'm too much of an erratic, moody baby! I don't have the passion anymore, and so remember, it's better to burn out than to fade away.
Peace, love, empathy.
Kurt Cobain
Frances and Courtney, I'll be at your alter.
Please keep going Courtney, for Frances.
For her life, which will be so much happier without me.
I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU!
Suggested read : Kurt Donald Cobain, 1967-1994
Suggested rythm : Nirvana - Smells Like Teen Spirit
Speaking from the tongue of an experienced simpleton
who obviously would rather be an emasculated, infantile complain-ee.
This note should be pretty easy to understand.
All the warnings from the punk rock 101 courses over the years,
since my first introduction to the, shall we say,
ethics involved with independence and
the embracement of your community has proven to be very true.
I haven't felt the excitement of listening to as well as
creating music along with reading and writing
for too many years now.
I feel guity beyond words about these things.
For example when we're back stage and the lights go out
and the manic roar of the crowds begins.,
it doesn't affect me the way in which it did for Freddie Mercury,
who seemed to love, relish in the the love and adoration
from the crowd which is something I totally admire and envy.
The fact is, I can't fool you, any one of you. It simply isn't fair to you or me.
The worst crime I can think of would be to rip people off
by faking it and pretending as if I'm having 100% fun.
Sometimes I feel as if I should have a punch-in time clock before I walk out on stage.
I've tried everything within my power to appreciate it (and I do, God, believe me I do, but it's not enough).
I appreciate the fact that I and we have affected and entertained a lot of people. It must be one of those narcissists who only appreciate things when they're gone. I'm too sensitive. I need to be slightly numb in order to regain the enthusiasms I once had as a child.
On our last 3 tours, I've had a much better appreciation for all the people I've known personally, and as fans of our music, but I still can't get over the frustration, the guilt and empathy I have for everyone. There's good in all of us and I think I simply love people too much, so much that it makes me feel too fucking sad. The sad little, sensitive, unappreciative, Pisces, Jesus man. Why don't you just enjoy it? I don't know!
I have a goddess of a wife who sweats ambition and empathy and a daughter who reminds me too much of what i used to be, full of love and joy, kissing every person she meets because everyone is good and will do her no harm. And that terrifies me to the point to where I can barely function. I can't stand the thought of Frances becoming the miserable, self-destructive, death rocker that I've become.
I have it good, very good, and I'm grateful, but since the age of seven, I've become hateful towards all humans in general. Only because it seems so easy for people to get along that have empathy. Only because I love and feel sorry for people too much I guess.
Thank you all from the pit of my burning, nauseous stomach for your letters and concern during the past years. I'm too much of an erratic, moody baby! I don't have the passion anymore, and so remember, it's better to burn out than to fade away.
Peace, love, empathy.
Kurt Cobain
Frances and Courtney, I'll be at your alter.
Please keep going Courtney, for Frances.
For her life, which will be so much happier without me.
I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU!
Suggested read : Kurt Donald Cobain, 1967-1994
Suggested rythm : Nirvana - Smells Like Teen Spirit
Thursday, September 28, 2006
You'll never die !!
I came to Vayalar with the first red rays of the morning - to meet you.
Those old days - days of commitment and sincerity,
in Cherthala when blood spread over the mud and loose sand.
When the flag was as red as blood, days of the martyrs.
I came looking for you on one of those days.
Amma served us rice porridge on that wooden patio
with the smell of flowers and snakes all around.
We ambled along those sandy lake shores.
One night Kalavamkodu Balakrishnan joined us - NSP Panicker too.
That night we wrenched out and broke one stupid idol
that stood by the algae filled green pond.
Years went by.....
You became the anthem of this land, our pride, our intoxication, our rythm.
Finally when you said 'so long' .....
those idols which never cried and we who only cried
- wept and wept for you.
You are the pride of this beautiful land, you'll always be.
You'll never die !!
Suggested read : Malayattoor Ramakrishnan, Vayalar RamaVarma
Suggested rythm : Chandrakalabham chartiyurangum theeram - Vayalar, Devarajan , kJY
Those old days - days of commitment and sincerity,
in Cherthala when blood spread over the mud and loose sand.
When the flag was as red as blood, days of the martyrs.
I came looking for you on one of those days.
Amma served us rice porridge on that wooden patio
with the smell of flowers and snakes all around.
We ambled along those sandy lake shores.
One night Kalavamkodu Balakrishnan joined us - NSP Panicker too.
That night we wrenched out and broke one stupid idol
that stood by the algae filled green pond.
Years went by.....
You became the anthem of this land, our pride, our intoxication, our rythm.
Finally when you said 'so long' .....
those idols which never cried and we who only cried
- wept and wept for you.
You are the pride of this beautiful land, you'll always be.
You'll never die !!
Suggested read : Malayattoor Ramakrishnan, Vayalar RamaVarma
Suggested rythm : Chandrakalabham chartiyurangum theeram - Vayalar, Devarajan , kJY
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Wines, Bottles and Plato
I knew that old wine in a new bottle is better
than an old wine in an old bottle but not as good
as a new wine in an old bottle. But to clear my doubt
whether the new wine in a new bottle is better
than a new wine in an old bottle, I invited Plato
for a drink. He took a bottle, drank the wine
and placed the empty bottle on the table and
showed me that what goes inside is the wine
and not the bottle. Any advice? I asked.
Make New Wines he said, not new bottles.
Suggested read : Pradeep Dhavakumar
Suggested rythm: Fountians of Wayne - Stacy's Mom
than an old wine in an old bottle but not as good
as a new wine in an old bottle. But to clear my doubt
whether the new wine in a new bottle is better
than a new wine in an old bottle, I invited Plato
for a drink. He took a bottle, drank the wine
and placed the empty bottle on the table and
showed me that what goes inside is the wine
and not the bottle. Any advice? I asked.
Make New Wines he said, not new bottles.
Suggested read : Pradeep Dhavakumar
Suggested rythm: Fountians of Wayne - Stacy's Mom
Monday, September 18, 2006
A Glimpse
A Glimpse, through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,
late of a winter night--And I unremark'd seated in a corner;
Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love,
silently approaching, and
seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;
A long while, amid the noises of coming and going--of drinking and
oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,
perhaps not a word.
Suggested read : Walt Whitman
Suggested rythm: Is there anybody out there ,Pink Floyd
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,
late of a winter night--And I unremark'd seated in a corner;
Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love,
silently approaching, and
seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;
A long while, amid the noises of coming and going--of drinking and
oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,
perhaps not a word.
Suggested read : Walt Whitman
Suggested rythm: Is there anybody out there ,Pink Floyd
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