I'm listening to music out of only one side. The TV is mono.

The Stooges first album, now

The Velvet Underground and Nico.

Nothing but the clap track and Iggy on "No Fun" and no solo on "Sunday Morning".

You can see Nico singing. It sounds socially naked.

Reed's a better singer anyway.

Razorblade strings and idiosyncratic pieces of guitar and music/noise.

I want to rob the Convenient by my house.

I wish I could get paid to burn down fast food places.

Will you? I see clouds and Scottish fields of grass and women, waiting.

Pop sensibilities are funny when weird people have them.

I want to find a good review of a Matchbox 20 album and spit in the writer's face.

Or their naked crotch.

They don't know what I got.

Let's fuck.

If you don't listen to the Sex Pistols you're a moron.

Not just respect them for what they did (because they didn't) or acknowledge their spot in

"rock'n'roll history" but fucking listen to them and LOVE IT.

It's all warbled. kdhfkawhbfawjkbfhawio. I can't read that.

Don't skip out on me.

I don't play that right. It's beautiful. Must down-tune. I'll try.

I'll show them. Fun/fun/fun/fun/fun/fun/no it isn't.

Being the "crazy" kid isn't. Not crazy. Disturbed. Not disturbed. Fuck that.

Sometimes... listening to the happy music of the underculture... I wonder...

will I ever be on college radio?

I'm not cold, I'm comfortable; a cold-blooded reptile happily numb in death.

And a pea coat. Like The Jam. The only reason to live. The jam had pop sensibilities.

Some people don't know what cod-pieces are. In the light now, I'm cold. Lights out.

Germans are stupid. I'll sail with a plain noise on the radio.

Punk rock, punk rock, punk rock, punk rock.

Noise of painful joy and ill repute I will never own or know enough of to comprehend the world,

myself, or anything that's good because I'm too tired.

An ass of brass that's got sass without grass.

I'm a wasto-junkie of infinite wisdom and power.

I can puke without getting any on your couch. Invite me to your parties.

Metal guitarists are surf rock guitarists whose pop sensibilities are controlled by the devil.

I'm catholic, I know these things. Applaud now. Thank you.

Give me bass and sawlike violent guitars.

Hit the snare.

Drone, drone, drone. repeat.

I'll yell through an orange cone. I know my sex, you know yours

LET'S FUCK.

D.M./B. split E.P. calls you an asshole. We'll all hold hands and see what happens.

I strain and cry and scream "WORDS!!!"

Johnny thunders didn't write all his words. Richard Hell

co-wrote "Pirate Love" and others. I wanna be Richard Hell.

The biggest asshole. Ignored, save a song.

Now I can see I should've ended it long ago but here I am, still at it.

I'll build something out of wood and burn it.

Maybe a church or a school or a Chevy Nova.

Full scale. I'll give it to you, you'll get in, maybe bring some friends and family and

then I'll burn you alive. Word to the wise: don't accept gifts from me. You only think you

want me to stay. Oboes. Rock-a-billy solos.

I take solace in the fact that I owe a lot of people money and that my word means shit.

I'd wear a cowboy hat if country bands broke more glass in their songs.

Joe Strummer's only achievement in life was writing "Janie Jones".

Joe Bennett's not a patriot.

He won't register to vote because then he might have to do jury duty.

Joe's homeschooled and knows Christ is his savior so he's fine. I'm doomed.

You're doomed.

Joe is fine.

The drummers will outlast us all.

Shaving your head, dying your hair pink and shimmying around the stage will save you from heroine abuse.

Got any?

Abuse or heroine.

I'm not too keen on abuse but i'd like to try heroine:

The Drug Of Kings. Got a dollar? I don't.

People don't tell me I'm witty but if they did I'd tell them they were fucking idiots.

They'd be amused by that though so I'd be back at square - goddamn-one.

I want to be entertained.

I don't want to be the center of attention.

Yes I do.
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I want to wear sunglasses and chain-smoke while getting a blowjob on a televised interview.

My entourage will all scowl at the interviewer while i spout out nonsense and sip martinis.

At the end of the blowjob, the girl'll get up and spit my cum at the camera lens after

I throw my glass at the cretin journalist's face. Aaah, the good life.