"hell is other people's music."

the song remains inane

you don't like me, i say it's mutual, but i don't think that's true — what is it i do that makes me so unlikable to you? i talk shit about you, did you hear what i said behind yr back? i'd say it was all in good fun, i don't just talk about anyone (you know).

the "cli" in cliché

ché guevara wore a beret, when i look at my t-shirt i see his face, oh he puts the "cli" in cliché.

eff the new indie rock

i said "art for art's sake" not "art for pleasure's sake," you make art that i don't even notice, when all i ever wanted was an object of contemplation, yr work put me to sleep it was so boring, oh; i said "art for art's sake" not "art for the artist's sake," you make art that makes me yr therapist, when all i ever wanted was an object of contemplation and all you did was talk about yr problems, oh; when i say "avant-garde" i don't mean what'll be in fashion tomorrow; if no one claimed to be "avant-garde" for a hundred years maybe we'd have an avant-garde in a hundred years; i said "art for art's sake" not "art for fashion's sake," you make ideology aesthetic, when all i ever wanted was an object of contemplation and all yr work did was promote inaction, oh.

i support our tropes

saint george saint george what makes you a saint? saint george what makes you a saint is when you killed the dragon; saint george you said the dragon breathes fire, yr word is yr bond but bonds are often broken; you made up a portfolio — tough sell, a junk bond traitor's got no truth to tell; you pulled an olive branch out of a stone and put yr sword into the hole, and "peace on earth" was all it said; saint george there really was no dragon was there? but you killed all those people pretending to get there, and "peace on earth" was all it said; "peace on earth" is all we'll say and "peace on earth" is all we'll write, we're gonna say it 'til we die and it's for you to decide if we fuck off or we die.

après gainsbourg/c'est la lutte finale (de lisle/pottier)

allons, enfants de la patrie, le jour de gloire est arrivé; contre nous de la tyrannie, l'étendard sanglant est levé, l'étendard sanglant est levé; entendez-vous dans nos campagnes, mugir ces féroces soldats? ils viennent jusque dans nos bras, égorger nos fils, nos compagnes; aux armes, citoyens, formez vos bataillons; marchons, marchands du sel; aux armes, et cætera, groupons nous et demain, l'internationale sera le genre humain.

translation: arise, children of our fatherland for the day of glory has arrived; let us battle tyranny, the bloody flag is raised, the bloody flag is raised; do you hear in the fields the howling of these fearsome soldiers? they are coming into our midst to slit the throats of our children and women; to arms, citizens, form yr battalions; let us, the sellers of salt, march; "to arms" and whatnot, if we rally together, tomorrow, the internationale will unite the human race.

my friendster profile

why did i not know the girls in high school who quoted john keats couplets on the covers of their notebooks? i missed out on teenage sex, i read and reread oedipus rex but the girls who read antigone, they didn't know me; my friendster profile says that i would like to meet marjorie perloff — i bet she'd make a hell of a girlfriend; "canon and loaded gun: feminist poetics and the avant-garde" is a good read but a mouthful; now that i'm older, i've reprioritised, the days are colder and my veins have filled with ice; i'm gonna marry an heiress, we're gonna honeymoon in paris, where she'll buy me a jean dubuffet and consume my heart away — consume my heart, it's gonna die anyway.

prep school back east

a young boy, seventeen years old, at a prep school back east, let's say choate, he made a few enemies along the way; he was arrogant all told and it rubbed some boys the wrong way so he got his comeuppance on the day he got a small envelope from princeton, waitlisted not early decision, and one boy in particular liked to rub it in his face; two boys in the courtyard after school met to fight a fistfight, schoolyard rules; the other boy was bigger, our hero was in trouble, five blows to the face, our hero got pummelled; you've got a big mouth christopher munro, but it's not the end of the world, you're seventeen years old and the mark on yr face, it will disappear someday, and yr ego will live, live to fight another day — i'm afraid it'll live to fight another day; he picked up a pen to write to the world, "i'm so embarrassed i could just die," then he unlocked his dresser drawer to stare for half an hour at his pocketknife; you've got yourself in a mess christopher munro, but it's not the end of the world, you're seventeen years old and yr daddy will buy yr way into a top school, and christopher my boy you'll see you will have won another duel — i'm afraid you will have won another duel.

dany heatley

dany heatley was born on august nineteenth, nineteen eighty-one, he knew he would become a superstar, he went to college on a full scholarship at age eighteen — so far so good, a star from the start; drafted second overall, class of two thousand, rookie of the year two thousand and one, scored four goals in the all-star game and won a car when they named him first star; dany heatley crashed his ferrari one night in september of two thousand three, when he was seventeen he drove into a concrete barrier on a bend with a car full of friends; he broke his car in half, dany heatley's best friend was in the front seat next to him, he broke open his head, dany heatley the hockey star, he broke his father's heart and went to jail instead of making four million dollars scoring goals for the atlanta thrashers; dany heatley crashed his ferrari one night in september of two thousand three, when he was seventeen he drove into a concrete barrier on a bend with a car full of friends, dany heatley crashed his ferrari in september of two thousand three.

three to fifteen years

vehicular homicide is not something i thought i'd ever run into; stop, i want to get off on involuntary manslaughter, please, i'll take any plea bargain you'll offer a wretch — like me; vehicular homicide is not something i thought i'd ever run into; stop, i want to get off on involuntary manslaughter, please, i'll take any plea bargain you'll offer; three to fifteen years, objects in mirror are closer — i'm not a murderer — closer than they appear.

rolando barthez

be my valentine sherrie levine, it's not just ballantine that we cast — we recast photographs; can you give me her number, louise lawler? i wouldn't dare to call her an author; is it okay or politically suspect to read this work as a text? sherrie levine, i only know how to make two kinds of references: the first and the second kind, respectively, are to art history and the simpsons — who's walker evans' non-union mexican equivalent? be my valentine sherrie levine, it's not just ballantine that we cast — we recast photographs; sherrie levine, i only know how to make two kinds of references: the first and the second kind, respectively, are to lit theory and the simpsons — rolando barthez: roland barthes' non-union mexican equivalent.

we built this city

go back where you came from, where you got that bad tan, where you got that mesh hat, go back to yr old friends; go back where you came from, where you got that bad tan, i don't want you near me, go back to yr old friends; go back where you came from, i see you've made new friends, i see you've met my friends, now you look just like them; go back where you came from, i see you've made friends here, these used to be my friends, you know i just left them; yr hand on yr door and you're closing it, you used to be an orientalist — now you hang yr rugs on the floor; yr hand on yr mouth and you're covering it, you used to say all kinds of shit and it'll start to come out more and more; go back where you came from, these used to be my friends, the things that they say now, i fucking hate them; yr hand on the door and you're closing it while i wonder what i'm going to miss — and what we'll build tomorrow; my hand on my mouth, it still surprises me when i see my old disguises on tv... and no one realises it.

nothing cold can stay

cufk tish sips

winter, 2004

it's snowing outside, i'm playing connect four and listening to "that's when ya lost," four bad years in a row is a lot; it's snowing outside and the island looks like an elaborate gingerbread neighbourhood with icing on the top; it was snowing outside and i was dying to tell you, but that was last year when i said, "i can but trust that good [things] shall fall"; i guess i was wrong, so blow yr head off christmas eve; the new year will come in six days whether you like it or not, i don't think it matters, this has been the worst christmas ever — i agree; i guess i was wrong, so blow yr head off christmas eve; the new year will come in six days whether you like it or not, i don't think it matters, this has been the worst decade ever; it's snowing outside and i know i know not anything but i heard someone say something, believe it or not, will at last — far off — but at last — to all — turn every winter to spring.