It's The End Of David Byrne
The sound of style can be embodied by both lounge lizards and cherubs frae the weege. Style points. Watch Matti Nykanen all day. Living through a down period. In 1999 I came up with the phrase 'The dream Of the endless night is not available in certain places'. It probably belonged to someone else first. The silky sensational sinuously soulful sound of ...The Cosmic Rough Riders. Thae classics. Thae greats. Lincoln Fong. Roy Spong. Barrington Pheloung. I know them. Craig Wedren disappeared into the sound of shitty radio. What happened to me? Nothing. £1 per minute. Grubby PC splashed with 'spooge'/ 'paste'/ 'muck'. Justification. Pain relief is not acceptable. We're all in pain. Some 'present' as if they don't feel it. I can't stand that. All you folk frae the Spam Valleys of the world with your dad's Esperanto lessons and your own personal shrine to Sarah Cracknell. How did it work out like that? Tonight I listen to Kate Bush playing from next door, mystery Aussies making sucking noises through their teeth, late night dog-walking while drunk, acceptance and refusal, comings and goings just the way you thought they would happen and the final reminder of who you are and what you represent. The Sunday morning shag. The holding role. Me as a sexual being. Where does it start? Where does it end? How dramatic does it get? There's no real way to answer that. I try to 'think differently' in case that would effect a change. People 'can't take it anymore'. They go off on a great search for meaning. Of course they don't find it.
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