i like to party fucking hard....
...i like my rock and roll the same.
don't give a fuck if i burn out.
don't give a fuck if i fade away.
so back to the motor league with me before i'm forced to face the wrath of a well-heeled buying public who live vicariously through tortured-artist college-rock and floor-punching macho pabulum.
back to the motor league i go.
once i thought i drew a lucky hand.
turned out to be a live grenade of play-acting "anarchists" and mommy's-little-skinheads, death threats, and sycophants and wieners drunk on straight-edge.
fuck you.
who cares?
i'd rather hi-lite trip-tiks than listen to your bullshit.
fuck off.
who cares about your stupid scenes, your shitty zines, the straw-men you build up to burn.
it never ceases to amaze me and as i'm suffering your perfection it reminds me of my own race to redress my own sad history of mouthed feet.
eaten hats.
teated bulls.
amish phone-books.
drunken brawls.
but what have we here?
fifteen years later it still reeks of 'swill and chickenshit conformists with their fists in the air; like-father, like-son "rebels" bloated on korn, eminems, and bizkets.
lord, hear my prayer: take back your amy grant mosh-crews and your fair-weather politics.
blow-dry my hair and stick me on a ten-speed.
back to the motor league.
i guess life is just a popularity contest.
sucess, the ability to perform within a framework of obedience.
just ask the candy-coated joy-cam rock-bands selling shoes for venture-capitalists, silencing competing messages, rounding off the jagged edges.
today is a good day to die.
ahh...what to do?
i have been bored out of my mind all day. i'm not going to work with WGAS the weather doesn't look too promising. my phone keeps ringing, but i know who's calling. i'm not going to pick up. last night nolan told me, "we need to have a talk"..ok...so talk, what are you going to tell me that i don't already know? same ol', same ol'...yeah, real flattering. please tell me you're going to give up one day, threaten me. i dare you. life does suck...it's true, you can't always get what you want. i've been wanting the same thing for the past seven years, and comes to find...i still can't have it. oh well, life goes on. some learn the hard way. sometimes it's not hard enough. ugghh, being a lop all day makes me argue with myself. i think i know what i want; no-one knows what they want. i continue to tell myself what i am going to do and what i'm not going to do...but for some reason i do everything i say i won't. maybe i don't know myself as well as i say and think i do. i have no idea where i am going and what i am doing, but maybe that's the fun part of life? maybe...who knows? because i sure don't.
don't give a fuck if i burn out.
don't give a fuck if i fade away.
so back to the motor league with me before i'm forced to face the wrath of a well-heeled buying public who live vicariously through tortured-artist college-rock and floor-punching macho pabulum.
back to the motor league i go.
once i thought i drew a lucky hand.
turned out to be a live grenade of play-acting "anarchists" and mommy's-little-skinheads, death threats, and sycophants and wieners drunk on straight-edge.
fuck you.
who cares?
i'd rather hi-lite trip-tiks than listen to your bullshit.
fuck off.
who cares about your stupid scenes, your shitty zines, the straw-men you build up to burn.
it never ceases to amaze me and as i'm suffering your perfection it reminds me of my own race to redress my own sad history of mouthed feet.
eaten hats.
teated bulls.
amish phone-books.
drunken brawls.
but what have we here?
fifteen years later it still reeks of 'swill and chickenshit conformists with their fists in the air; like-father, like-son "rebels" bloated on korn, eminems, and bizkets.
lord, hear my prayer: take back your amy grant mosh-crews and your fair-weather politics.
blow-dry my hair and stick me on a ten-speed.
back to the motor league.
i guess life is just a popularity contest.
sucess, the ability to perform within a framework of obedience.
just ask the candy-coated joy-cam rock-bands selling shoes for venture-capitalists, silencing competing messages, rounding off the jagged edges.
today is a good day to die.
ahh...what to do?
i have been bored out of my mind all day. i'm not going to work with WGAS the weather doesn't look too promising. my phone keeps ringing, but i know who's calling. i'm not going to pick up. last night nolan told me, "we need to have a talk"..ok...so talk, what are you going to tell me that i don't already know? same ol', same ol'...yeah, real flattering. please tell me you're going to give up one day, threaten me. i dare you. life does suck...it's true, you can't always get what you want. i've been wanting the same thing for the past seven years, and comes to find...i still can't have it. oh well, life goes on. some learn the hard way. sometimes it's not hard enough. ugghh, being a lop all day makes me argue with myself. i think i know what i want; no-one knows what they want. i continue to tell myself what i am going to do and what i'm not going to do...but for some reason i do everything i say i won't. maybe i don't know myself as well as i say and think i do. i have no idea where i am going and what i am doing, but maybe that's the fun part of life? maybe...who knows? because i sure don't.