step in!
NOTE:Bring along packets full of humor and a bagful of FUN with that delightful open-mind of yours when you're stepping into my little corner of the WORLD WIDE WEB.
I thought, ‘I have write about this’. I want people to know this part of me that surprised some people that aren’t close to me like my friends and family. Or maybe I’ll surprised them of my musical attachments and passion. The outgrown passion that I once longed for again. It’s like I was living in this bygone era and stifling with fears of the thought of moving on to something new because my thought kept saying what was is so much better than anything now. And feeling that I w as born too late to feel the golden days of it all. Maybe watching that movie had gripped me more by the neck than I’ve thought it had. Leaving it marks on my skin like little black tattoos of tear drops.
The thing im babbling away about is music of course. What else.
Oh I remembered the days where it was all music and nothing more, leaving and breathing it made me burned with so much passion that I got carried away into this world where none understood. My own little bubble where I happily roll around with the lot of em.
Like that song ‘Prison’, I felt that. It’s so much better to do something when you have your mate with you by your side. Nothing foolish that is. We’re not that cool for all those cancer sticks and fashion mayhem all to act upon the hype brought up by the media and older kids around the block.
‘But if their music was dying, wouldn’t they die with it? It had been the heart of their world for as long as Terry remember. Their music was more than a soundtrack- it was a life-support machine from childhood through adolescence and into what was passing for maturity. Perhaps they were all going to have to find other tings to live for, and the music would be just something they came back to now and again, like the memory of someone the you had lost’
That was one of the lines in Tony Parson’s Stories We Could Tell People book. It has been a journey and relief washed with a wave of nostalgia reading this book. I must stressed that none of the event occurred had happened to me, but the thought of music particularly rock and all it’s mishap made me flustered with exasperation because personally maybe that’s how it is. It’s just not the scene or anything because we all know that it has changed in time. But what it had brought you.
As I typed this, I’m listening to the beatles ‘let it be’, still awed by their words and music. I wouldn’t be a hippie just appreciating good music.
I remembered getting into them last year during the school holiday, 2 months of pure confusion but with this nice sunny days where I could just laughed it up.
I’m getting this feeling I can’t stay in one place for too long because I felt like my spirits caved into a dark hole somewhere in suburbia. This is all just fear. Fear of normalcy and not succeeding to their BIG EXPECTATIONS.
Then, now I must hold on to something for this is nothing and only the beginning. I know they will eat me alive so I think growing up with this awkward, intimate and freedom will constantly make me grounded of whatever happen. I wasn’t this brave nor was I talkative or confidence. But I can’t never curb that shyness and ignorance to the side because im a head case like that.
This book seems like a pretty good closure of understanding but a nice sweet beginning after a long time of weeping scrawling on my purple spiral bound book.
Now I understand that we need to let it fall down so it can rise from it ashes. To loved and let love go.
Because ‘the pieces don’t fit anymore’, that song goes out to my parents and their crumbled marriage or what’s left of it….I’m still wondering where are we going from here when it looked so miserable and unsolvable .
-James morrison -Jimi Hendrix -Thomas eract -Patrick fugit -Joseph Gordon levitt -Almost Famous -Donnie Darko -Brick -Little manhattan -lord of the rings 1,2 and 3 -Sixpence none the richer -Garbage -No doubt -Romeo -Shakespeare in love -Across the universe -one 3 hill -Charmed -sisterhood of the traveling pants -shopaholics series -nancy drew books -avril lavinge 1st album -Juno -Narnia -michelle branch -Vanessa carlton -Alicia keys -Alicia simmons -Gerard Arthur way -frank iero -ray toro -micheal james way -bob bryar -brian -bert mc cracken -jepha howard -quinn allman -brian with spiked pink hair and rancid t-shirt
Anyways that what I wanted to remembered, continuing the list before. More to come in other post.
my love for music had made me older, it made me wiser, it made me happier,it made wittier and most importantly it had thought me to savor every moment of life. without a doubt i am a happier fan but i think the time had came when i became more than that. i'm no longer the spectator and yuppie that salutes their behavior and found no flaw in it.
remember once in ALMOST FAMOUS, that mad journalist said "to love a piece of music or band,that it hurt so much"...
well,i had tasted that. got my fair share or sour.
yeah,so i no longer can listen to other music without being hit by that wave of starling nostalgia. you see,this is merely not because of the music,but the experienced and the people i had known during this little phase of my life. the bridge of adolescent is hard hitting and never ending. i believe that its never to darn late for anything. if you still wanna be that person in your dreams, so be it.
i don't think this is the ending even thought for everyone else it is, i think normalcy isn't our style.
anyways after this,i'm keeping an open mind to all sort of music,except new bands that sounds to fuking cliche. that i wouldn't tolerate . but i like to be proven wrong because i still have alot to learn. many many more. im not even 17,so why do we lost hope so easily these days? you know that answer.
so here some music i want to remember.
-the beatles -refused -regina spektor-the call -jason mrez -john mayer -flyleaf -track 16 on sis mix cd -yael naim -world inferno friendship society -ted leo and the pharmacists
i cant remember more,i really have a short memory.those are the musicians that i had listened to and forgotten,but they deserve more then to be listen. im writing it here so i wouldn't forget and i can look back and listen to old stuff.
i can't believe flyleaf made into mainstream radio...bizzare...well not really but still,been soo long since i heard lacy's sweet screaming powerful voice, i love it still.
links:
you know, listen to the beatles, when people were ranting and raving that they were good, they were wrong! they were great.
the beatles lyrics and arrangement of music from the ballads to the more edgier songs are perfect.
while Refused was the shape of punk to come,i think they own rock and roll that time. maybe i'm wrong but they stand for all the right reasons. the political issues that we face day by day as youth and later on as grown adults. their manifesto gripped me by the hand and caught my eye with and instant intense stare.
while the rest are just great for listening and dancing. with well written lyrics that inserts its meaning straight from the musicians heart.
what i know is
we go through the same things in different situation,and talking bout it,we can help each other from losing it entirely.
langkawi in one week. i am not amused. more awkwardness and family turmoil only in a better and beautiful place. i'm just going there to appriciate the nature and sun. i know for a fact, langkawi is a place begging to be photograph. i just wish we are going with a more responsive company. ah well,flight tickets had been booked, hotel rooms had been suited and all expanse paid trip by opah.
too bad they tried so much to making something out of nothing. we could try but i have that natural instinct that we're the one that 's going to be trying our best while the other sits there in their own world making us feeling like a fool.
pretty much fucked up.
i feel i should be as loud and pompous as i can. i'm going to shove my camera at their noses and make them crack a sincere smile, not that amused snickered smile.
sorry if no one get this post.but i don't feel that comfortable enough to tell the whole thing about my family and it 's delimas. it's something real personal to me. and knowing that random people can read this blog, made me alarmed. just bare with the random thoughts.
The worms of the senses ponder quickly towards destruction. Winning is not everything but in our elitist competitive society it is all that matters. Rice cakes for the people and caviar for the leaders who built our world around machines, money and matter. We were left out of the plan and our destination is set by the used car dealer or the factory boss. Bored we walk home with our heads hanging and our creativity stolen as an effect of capitalist gain. In a dream state there is nothing more than simple abstraction of the mind from the matter and the belief that work will somehow “macht frei”. The theory that Marx recognised from Feuerbach, and no we, the people, need to see the spectacle that binds us to our “destiny”. Alienation is not commodity, figures, statistics or make believe but very much a real tool of oppression and seclusion. If we can’t take our part then we must not take part. The faculties of the skull are another dimension of that which is sucking us dry. The imperialisation of the third world is dominant even in our taste for soft drinks and afternoon snacks. With dry wits and knuckles dragging the ground co-operations claim that profit is rightfully theirs and that the blood squeezed out of Africa, South America, Burma, The Baltic states and South Asia is nothing but market interest and public craving. Their products are death and they are salesmen of corruption and power abuse. They are the slave dealers of our time. They are the inquisition. They are the machine that must be stopped.
Turn the knob and wait for the liberating sound of ecstasy and revolution. Who pays the newsman and who owns the radio stations and who runs the record label? Who benefits from the de-politicizing in art and music and who benefits from the clean sound of the next pop wonder? Who runs the game show and who pays the salaries to the reporters? Here and now we offer you a taste of our liberation frequency, provided by us for your satisfaction and excitement. This is radio clash, 33 Revolutions Per Minute, our haven of thoughts and ideas. It could be yours too, if only you’d let yourself go and turn the knob and listen and love and sing and think.
Stuck by the deadly rhythm of the production line. Stuck by the conditions set by the capitalist market. Stuck by the necessities of living and forced to take part. If we are tired it is because we are supposed to be and if we are hungry it is because we have to be and if we are bored it is because it is expected of us. Bored and chained and stuck and dead. New forms of work camps are arranged and new ways of hiding the monotonous beat of slavery are being presented. The preliminary condition required for propelling the workers to the status of “free” producers and consumers of commodity was the violent expropriation of their own time. The spectacular return of time was made possible only after this dispossession of power. Urbanism is capitalism’s seizure of the natural and human environment; developing logically into absolute domination, capitalism can and must now remake the totality of space into it’s own setting. Time, work, environment and joy all have their norms set by modern ways of production.
The awkward youngster touches his poster and glances upon the stars and the heavens. The day seems neverending and there is a certain notion of innocence and childhood play. The mantra will be repeated and we will learn to obey and love and cherish the chosen few. Manners inconceivable and then we have to live. Ideals corrupted and echoes from the past about ideas once held true are shining like untouchable constellations. But we are all stars, shining and burning, cruising down the highway looking for the next stop and the next break from capitalised boredom and slavery. Then there is the option of summer holidays vs. punk routine. Then there is greed and money and fallen heroes. “We are all tired of dying”. So why not try and live for a change and turn that glimmering into bright shining creation through the realisation that you know everything and that you are you?
Must I paint you a picture about the way that I feel? This situation of Art vs. Life and the present elitism within the bourgeoisie and upper-class. The critics hold their heads high cause they know about the real suffering and the real work while we get the easy accessible forms of communication and entertainment, pinned down simple for us to comprehend. The lack of stimulants within art, politics and life lowers our standards which is why we settle for talkshows and MTV. We are not stupid, but if we are treated like ingrates we will start to act like children. The lack of challenging forms of expression and thoughts of fire and self-confidence gives us a passive and hollow nature. So reclaim art, take back the fine culture for the people, the working people, the living people and burn down their art galleries and destroy their fancy constructions and buildings. Cause we, unlike the bourgeoisie, have nothing to lose and therefore our expression will be the only honest one, our words will be the only challenging ones and our art will be the one revolutionary expression. We need new noise and new voices and new canvases to become something more than the last poets of a useless generation.
The credentials with which we call upon you are simple linguistics thrown and tossed liked flaming songs of discontent. The Refused party programme screams out not 1, not 2, not 3, not 4, not 5 but 6 opinions and 6 structures of change and 6 levels of liberation. All in all not mystical but direct and attractive and as we shout “Yeah” you’ll feel the same sensation best described by Tomas Paine: “Let them call me rebel and welcome, I feel no concern from it; but I should suffer the misery of devils, were I to make a whore of my soul...”. Here and now and all the time the mythical touch and the obvious message. Behold the wisdom of the party program. Pro (in favour) – attest (testify for).
The time is now and still we sit and wait for it to become the now that we think we need. The movement of protest has strong traditions and we are far from the first to recognise and use the power of the song and the words from the young poets. We are trembling from the taste of days gone to waste and there is inspiration and there is clarity. Phil Ochs stated firmly “If I have something to say I’m going to say it now” and still protest song 68 is nothing more than a pastiche, a blueprint of seduction of the echoes that once filled the corridors of dorms and boys/girls rooms in an era where rebellion and revolt was present in art and music. From the first until the last, from the taste of longing freedom to the shackles of oppression, the weapon of the artist has always been used.
Refused are fuckin dead that’s what the answering machine said, looks like this is it!!! They talked one to many shit about the upper-class and the government, did you hear what those faggots said in some fanzine someone else read. I heard they are a bunch of spoiled little rich kids who need to get their asses kicked. Fuckin ingrates! Fuckin pussies!! Refused are fuckin dead guaw huydsas kjhds aowedde (fighting sequence). Refused are fuckin dead by order of the postmaster general just like the panthers only this time for real because SAPO have tapped their telephones and the Umeå police raided their homes and they must have been killed.
Are you ready baby? For the shape of punk to come. Get the equipment together and we’ll meet at the show. It’s gruesome that someone so handsome should care. We all recognise the hint of the programme screaming at the top of his lungs that “We’re all dressed up and we got somewhere to go”. Like the rebellious swing kids of the 40’s or the crazy jazz heads of the 50’s to the stylish mods of the 60’s we all need to recognise that style in contradiction to fashion is necessary to challenge the conservatism of the youth cultures placed upon us. Strict in our style but with a touch of elegance and freedom and individualism. The uniform and the production of constructive challenges comes in the most unexpected of shapes, Ornette Coleman reinvented jazz altogether and we need a new beat to move to so grab your partner and ask: Do you want to go out with me, watch me get on my knees and bleed? This blind date might take you to places unknown and it will be new and scary and vital. But nonetheless there is no danger in exploration and searching. It never tasted this great to scream “yes” and you never had more enticing cavalier to hold hands with. The new teen hysteria of noise and kisses and politics and crazy entertainment and naked fun and beats and books and poetry and travelling and style. It’s never been safe to live in a world that teaches us to respect property and disregard human life. So drop your belongings and get on this soul train, dig the static sound and think that maybe this once there is just us, the kids, playing the day away, it’s just us kicking over statues and smashing windows of houses of parliaments, just to show them who has the real power. This blind date will take us anywhere we want.
A dream only lasts so long. Imagine the pyramids inhabited by aliens and the dark corridors and the dreams and the longing for better financial conditions. The sweat pours down your neck and you run and you run, heart beating, head pounding, alive tonight. The streets never sleep, they are glowing, vibrating with the echoes of laughter and joy, screams and curses. We just need to take the time and see what it can offer us and how we can break free from this boredom that the capitalist reign has forced upon us. Tonight we can be as mighty as tannhäuser and we can tumble excited down the labyrinths and the turns knowing that derive` is potent. So where do we go from here?
The Apollo programme was a hoax or so we say. The biggest lie was market economy that blinded us with the glory of prosperity and freedom. The deck was dealt and we all lost, on our knees in the dirt hoping for salvation and then we look and there are golden drops of dawn functioning as oral sagas, keeping us shackled, making glory of the lies that the spectacle provides us with. So as we sit tight and enjoy the soap operas that are designed to keep us bleeding out of our eyes and keeps us nodding and sighing, there is still hope in the petrol bomb and in it, the revolution. For in the destruction and the overthrowing there is a certainty of salvation. We need to destroy the museum and it’s old artefacts, we need to tear down the power structures that enslaves and then in revolution we can live and be alive. Yes, this is our hymn and our praise to the brave and bold stranger in the night, to the fed up worker and the angry wife. Hope, revolution and dedication. Fight fire with fire and everything will burn. Yeah.
This manifesto is very much for real.
they blew me away with their music, but evne more with their beliefs.
i will say more once my brother stop nagging me about using the laptop.
i have a penchant for silliness that will leave you skipping lightly on your step.
i have a knack for pain that will have you feeling punched in the stomach by the end of it.
i am here to write about things that move me about the day/week/month.
