Archive for September, 2009

My twentieth century

Posted in Gavin Friday, Song lyrics on September 20, 2009 by Bruno

I woke up this morning,
Dreading the thoughts of another, dull and boring day.
Hey! Woe is me.
I go out on the streets, north side of the city
I see the steel, the fading rust
And the fields I used to play in…
My friends are famous and all my foes live happy
Loved by lycra, fooled by velcro
And fucked by what they need…

But who am I to criticise? My pointing finger backfires
I hang my head down low.

I once believed in Jesus,
Now I can’t believe in rock’n’roll
From baptism to alcohol, in a land suffocatingly green
Hey! The myth is magic, do you know what I mean?
The politics of sin and of sex
Suffer the fools, pawn our jewels, will it ever change?

But who am I criticise? I’ve made my bed, I lie on it
And hold my head up high

My disbelief, my fake redemption
My twentieth century
My holy war, my self indulgence
My twentieth century
My human flesh, my sad dependence
My twentieth century
My apathy, my big decision.
My twentieth century

Any lethal shore

Posted in Song lyrics on September 4, 2009 by Bruno

If I was a blind man I’d
dress you all in white and
keep you in a white room
turn on the bright lights and
call you invisible, call you invincible
and I’d dream of white waves on a very lethal shore

if I was a sick man I’d
drink your bourbon and
drift into a blizzard or
any lethal storm and
emerge all windblown
cross-eyed and clothes torn
all just to see you on another lethal shore

If I was a strong man I’d
pull your curtains
down from the heavens, past
where the sky was born
kiss you in secret
right in your locket
and then I’d pull your house down like some very lethal storm

If I was a storm I’d
blow past your window
and linger in spirit
all around your face
and you’d never know, dear
the force that I bring
just to make your ears ring and keep you in a haze

If I was a bird I’d
orchestrate branches
into a chorus
only you would know
crash through your window
all just to see you
all just to meet you on another lethal shore

The scream

Posted in the mind wanders... on September 3, 2009 by Bruno

What artist could blame his public for not grasping the essence of his work? This painter could never fault some not-so-intelligent designer for your myopia. The blame lays entirely with the painting that has been presented to you. Every artist should dip his brush in his own soul, and paint his own nature into his pictures. But like some Dorian Gray picture, this expressionist gave you nothing more than a superfluous contour of reality that isn’t necessarily true.

A portrait with loud, shocking colours; with broad, thick brush strokes. Designed to repel rather than to attract. All about scandal. He’s been doing a lot of abstract painting lately, extremely abstract. No brush, no paint, no canvas. Just thinking of the concept. If nobody comes close, nobody can blemish this perfect picture; that was his most inspired thought. He thought himself out of happiness a million times, but never once into it.

Of course you ran out of his atelier, only mildly impressed. Sure, his master piece grabs the attention for a fleeting moment, but it isn’t captivating, hardly spell binding, mind blowing, not nearly soul capturing. It’s nothing to hang above your fireplace and contemplate on during those long winter nights. A must-see, granted. But just for the gimmick. No long term investment. Sotheby’s will not be coughing up for this one.

But think about this: maybe the artist hoped to find in you a restaurateur. Someone who’d peel away the layers, scratch the surface. Someone willing to search the splendour hidden beneath. Someone to restore the ancient masterpiece to its full wonder.

Then again, the artist should have provided a manual, a catalogue, some sort of clue. He didn’t, you didn’t and that may well be the end of it.

Thinking is overrated

Posted in Uncategorized on September 2, 2009 by Bruno

Does it break my heart? Of course, every moment of every day, in more pieces than my heart was made of.

I never thought of myself as quiet, much less silent. I never thought about things at all. But then everything changed, we changed, you changed or was it me.

The distance that wedged itself between me and my happiness wasn’t the world, it wasn’t the bombs and burning buildings. It was me, my thinking, the cancer of never letting go.

Is ignorance bliss? I don’t know, but it’s so painful to think, and tell me: What did thinking ever do for me, to what great place did thinking ever bring me? I think and think and think, I’ve thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.

I had to start thinking again…