To Geezer Butler: (or how we all wish to be a bad ass when we are in our sixties)

i wonder what the argument was about... who's the better artist to slice your wrists to??
probably a toss up between Robert Smith and Robert Plant...
but oh god let's not forget Morrissey and Madonna...
i once had this dream that i had slit my wrists while listening to like a virgin...
that song has haunted me ever since that night in Cincinatti, Ohio

its not easy for spies like us,, just keep thinking of myself as Dan Aykroyd...
but in reality i'm more of a Bill Murray type character, with a huge imaginary fan base...
always on the run, always having to hide away like a folk family on cracker,,, or camper van beethoven.  yeah its true the song was sung by somebody else but all i ever see is them and you.

so here's to you mister butler... and this time i dont mean geezer
i meant rhett butler...  who is rhett butler??  mister rhett butler,
who are you and why did i just think of your name?

In honor of all things illuminated by the darkness at 2:45 in the morning

this moment you held her in your arms so tight she forgot the world

her lips this wickedness her tongue i bit in half and in the shadows i can hear her breathing
she is coming to claim another victim she is not leaving until she has had enough
the love tastes good when you burn the souls just right
crawls across your flesh like grasshopper drunken swine

the blood tastes like vintage clothing falling apart at the seams
you want to touch her flesh but shes so distant it seems
cant penetrate the fabric of our being
can't infiltrate the message of our dreams

where is this light crawling form my limbs were are the trees
in the forest at night all i see are flames where are you taking me?
why am i not afraid to follow your wings wherever they're taking the ash
there is nothing more sacred in this world than the lightning flash

the arms of god reaching down and up so fast our minds cannot begin to comprehend
just go to sleep my love go to sleep my love close your eyes now
go into the forest and wake up all the cows teach them how to sin
there is no tomorrow, there is no reason to pray... there are no gods in the theater
no need to pull the shades... nobody's watching us... nothing's stopping us.

(oh Billy Corgan.. Billy Corgan, where art thou Billy Corgan??)

I've been told that i have a limit of two video per night...

So with these two videos i would like to put forth a preposition:

do not do anything that may be implied by the following songs...
do not throw your arms around the world..
do not say welcome the this planet motherfucker...
do not say welcome to anybody... fuck them

in the immortal words of some junk science fiction writer named William something or another
"this is the space age and we are here to go!!"

this is however a psycho holiday and you are invited to join us in this trip
what a long strange trip it has been, just ask poor poor Cherry (whatshisname??)
turned into an ice cream for yuppies to devour by the spoonful
where is the love?? where is this acid rain we've been promised would come??

i love this guitar and my guitar wants to kill your drumstick...
touch me touch me touch me i'm sick to death of making out with mannequins
or as Moses once said... "fuck this river man... fuck this river."

Nelles' 2 picks (two videos for the night of January 27th, 2015)

First up, an example of how to do a fucking cover of a Black Sabbath song...
(tip: you do it justice or you dont fucking do it at all)


Happy Birthday Mike Patton!!

Second Video of the night... In honor of this little story i just read about L7 
reuniting for their first show in 15 years!! Viva La Grunge!! 

(but can we please stop calling it grunge??)

Ode to a Megadeth song spelled incorrectly because proper etiquette is for those who become commandos in the fall; only to complain about their cold, cold hearts.

writing a screenplay in the backseat of this car...
she took me for a ride and now im lost on mars
no life to be seen just a desert painted
i kissed the sky and nearly fainted from the thin air
with the snow falling from the sky; are you there??

a nuclear teardrop in my eye... but i am a man so i dare not cry,
i just keep writing scenes in my mind...
occasionally i write them down but mostly they just stay inside this time capsule...
a lonely place to be when your writing a screenplay for an actress who will never read..
you don't even know her forwarding address...
where is my dress?? where is my dress??

she has left this place in search of a yellow brick something or another...
the land of oozzing pus yes the kitten whispers atom heart fucker
you better open your nose to the sound...
carry me in your arms so my feet dont touch the ground
there is no time like the present to make your presense known...
it reminds me of the day Arlo Guthrie jumped off the empire state building...
of course he never really jumped but if he had im sure this is the song he wouldve sung

oh the cure of all curses to be remember for one thing and one thing alone
the vibration of the telephone woke her up just in time to watch him laughing
as he passed by the window of her apartment on the fourteenth floor...
yeah i admit robert smith is a rather odd name for an american idol..
so is kelly clarkson but i have to admit... there is this dream
there has been this dream i have been dreaming ever since i was ten years old...
i dont remember the details but there is a cat in the window...her name is cat

and oh yeah...

oh well... time to get back to writing my symphony of destruction.

Saturday in the park: because it was very much like a dream, that night i bumped into you in the dark.

once i stood beneath your stars and you used my body as if i was made to be your stairs
i was there to help you find your way home and it all exploded
leaving me there laughing up my lungs in a fit of blood and electrical noise..
you fed me to the monsters you threw me from theses heights and you figured,
"there's no way in hell he could have survived"

that trip from the spoon, this liquid makes me grow healthy bones
healthy bones like milk to beat upon the drums
make myself be seen by the eyes of those who dare to listen to the feedback of my soul...
i am a robot and you've lost all control...
no longer will i build this city...

i built this city... i built this city but now i'm bored and old...
nothing pleases me more than to feast upon your flesh;
a rat in the night i come to wipe the slate clean...
erase the pages... yellow submarine... yellow submarine...

It wasn't a permanent vacation - back on the journey: Including all the glitter that is a girl’s best friend and being a nobody under surveillance

As the roads of Arabia wind golden threads through hills of ancient lands, so my mind reaches and finds its way to the silk, the tea, the industrial revolution. I wrote that line and now we are in a file somewhere in a back office of a government building. I hope the agent has let the coffee in the cup get cold and that my file contains a string of pearls, ones like Jackie wore or someone from that classic era of Hollywood (don’t kid yourself girl, this is the classic era of Hollywood – I’m looking at you Transformers). Oh, and diamonds too, rubies – black opals cursed as the night. Be wary of beautiful AI robot aliens (cyborgs?) wearing too much jewelry, they are spies.

tomorrow we shall have a cup of tea and sing la la la la lola!!

the most important thing, i am told, to remember when operating on a patient,
any patient is to remember that you are operating on a patient..
that is you are in control, you determine the outcome...
their life is in your hands and at any time you can turn around and say, fuck this bitch...

she's always a cunt... everytime when she comes in for an appointment,
its like she has fifteen other things to do that are more important than listening to me,
i am, after all, just her doctor... well bitch today i am god...
but it does delight me to know that you are so freaking happy... really it does.

you see its as simple as that... i can drape a sheet over your head and make you a ghost...
the question is do you want to be a happy ghost or an old miserable sonuvabitch??
a sunuvabitch who, yes!! is still breathing.... but by all means of qualification is very much a ghost...
and theyre not even happy being a ghost... they're pised with denial, and anger.

somebody once held a knife and carved anger is a gift into a tree in the midddle of a forest..
nobody has ever encountered this tree for the forest is thick and full of holes....
suck you through the floor... welcome to the basement..
nothing good ever comes from the basement... nothing ever climbs those stairs...
just sits down here and begins to mold..."the smell of cheese makes mice out of men."

A much less serious post

trying to think of something to say to go along with this song...
two years ago it was stuck in my head for about a week;
a week within that period of about three weeks when i was really into electronic music...
yes it lasted three weeks... because three days was the morning... three lovers in three ways...
even when she landed; Jane never would stay...
i'm going off to Spain she would scream at the top of her lungs,
whats the point of traveling across the universe if you're not having any fun?...
(also i think that everybody should listen to Yoko Ono at least once in their life...)

maybe just once.

Moon Rivers and Sunbeams... (because every blog should have a serious moment now and then right??)

watched this news story a few minutes ago and it made me think...
my body still has not recovered from the bolt of lightning that occured
a few minutes ago when i thought a thought and the thought was thunk... what the funk??

that being said however, i understand the need of some people to believe and worship certain figures and beliefs... more power to them.  what i dont understand is why we cant all just worship what we want and get along with eachother.... i dont understand the my god is better than your god attitude.. its like two adolescent boys in the gym shower comparing penis sizes...

Mary Jane was a prostitute on the streets of Los Angeles... the first whiff of her vagina would make you have the munchies for dayz and end the end you would get absolutely nothing accomplished but man...  cherry fucking garcia...  irresistable to even the most lactose intolerant amongst us... the angels are still lost.... sorry im not home right now im walking in the spiderwebs...  yeah gwen stefani... oh yeah Gwen stefani!!

this shit IS bananas; religious intolerance sucks...  nobody knows the answers everything is just a (somewhat) educated guess.  why then do we as humans find it necessary to fight over beliefs??  makes me hope that soon, the extraterrestials, (or 'gods' if you want to call them that) will come down and tell us just how foolish we all have been to live our lives with hearts full of useless hatred and bigotry.

until then my friends just remember one thing...

and also remember this

and this as well

in closing and in the words of Tiny Tim...

  

"god bless us all.. every one of us!!"