SF, Christmas Eve...it's kind of difficult to remember that it's the holidays in this city, especially since it has not been raining as much in the winter for the past couple of years. It's nice out today and the ocean is a bit dreamlike for someone from Indiana. Happy Christmas, Hannakuh, etc.
Prior to the death of the original bassist (Billy "Bass Wolf") in 2005, Guitar Wolf made a spectacular zombie-horror filmed entitled Wild Zero. The movie involved potions of Japan, garage-punk rock, sex, blood, violence, beatniks, motorcycles, and fucking leather. The story is juicy, violent, and basically everything one could ask for from this truly magnificent trio!
I really enjoy this song because when Guitar Wolf screams Roaring Blood, it sounds like they are actually saying "fuck yo' blood!". Hahahahahaha...classic.
Like nearly every female has done before, I must binge a bit on Joy Division's Ian Curtis. He's not a dreamboat and so that's not why I am speaking of him, but he was quite talented, so I'm lamenting a bit on him checking out early. He is one of my favorite lyricists and he had a good pipe to back it up. I mostly feel a connection to him, I guess, because he was Epileptic like me! I cannot tell you how much you feel related to a person when they share that, erm, characteristic with you!
Hangman looks round as he waits, Cord stretches tight then it breaks, Someday we will die in your dreams, How I wish we were here with you now.
I used to hate my name. Then I got a bit more into Jimi. I think I like music so much because I feel as if the artist knew me, because a truly talented one can write as if they are describing everything I have gone through and feel, but will never describe. Goodness, I love this song! He describes absolutely everything about and even goes through the effort of mentioning my name! The pain, the agony!!
I love this song, dammit.
After all the jacks are in their boxes And the clowns have all gone to bed You can hear happiness staggering on down the street Footprints dressed in red And the wind whispers Mary
A broom is drearily sweeping Up the broken pieces of yesterday’s life Somewhere a queen is weeping Somewhere a king has no wife And the wind, it cries Mary
The traffic lights they turn up blue tomorrow And shine their emptiness down on my bed The tiny island sags downstream ‘Cause the life that lived is, is dead And the wind screams Mary
Will the wind ever remember The names it has blown in the past And with his crutch, it’s old age, and it's wisdom It whispers no, this will be the last And the wind cries Mary
