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Tommy Jun 2017
All I’ve ever wanted,
is to live my life to the point that
I can die with no regrets.
Live to the point where when I’m
on my deathbed,
I won’t have to wonder “what if?”
I want to live recklessly,
I want to get in trouble, get hurt, and
smile the whole **** time.
I want to make wrong choices,
get high, and party for days.
I want to stumble into my room at
3 a.m. drunk and high,
thinking about good times with
even greater people.
I want to drive to another state,
while smoking with a friend,
talking about anything and everything.
Hell, I want to take a train ride to
Colorado with my sister one day,
and spark a blunt while we stare out the
window at the pine forests and rain.
I want to take risks that are incomprehensibly
stupid.
Cause I just want to burnout young.
I don’t want to die of old age because I lived
a “safe life.”
I want to die before my heart can give out,
maybe of drug use,
probably just a dumb decision,
or maybe die of heartbreak cause
God knows one of these nights I’ll
drink to much...
But that’s okay, it’s alright in fact it’s pretty perfect
don’t cry for me cause
I wrote this to let you know it’s just what I
wanted.
No I’m not suicidal I just
want to die living life,
not just surviving,
because in the end I’ll be nothing but
a story.
But I plan to make it a good one cause
I won’t be remembered like Hendrix,
or missed like Prince,
Hell this ode could never even compare
to the mark of The Rolling Stones.
But I’ll say it again.
It’s okay, it’s alright,
just promise you won’t cry if I don’t
make it back one of these nights.
Cause I promise I was smiling in the end, thinking
“this ending is perfect, I loved this life, and lived every second of it.”
True, all this heartbreak and drinking
will catch up to me one day,
all these drugs and bad decisions
will turn on me one day.
But I’ll be happy when it happens,
cause I’m living life like the Great Ones,
a life full of ***, drugs, and rock n roll,
a life full of love, hate, and sadness,
but never full of regret.
And I want to go out just like them,
whether it’s accident, overdose, heartbreak,
or maybe these **** cigarettes,
my death will be perfect
and I will be content.
Cause what more could I ask for
than to burnout young,
having fun.

~ t.g.
"No, I ain't scared of livin'
'Cause it's all we've got
What are we breathin' for if we ain't living?
And I don't want your love
I just wanna feel like I'm still livin'
And if there is no god
I know the day I die, I lived through heaven
And that I gave it hell
And if it hurt, oh well
Atleast that's living
That's all I want"

~ EDEN "rock + roll"
Apachi Ram Fatal Jun 2017
interfere journey body sweaty mastermind dust
dummy\
inhale shale bond reason oxidize crummy
read write swell\
ready curve encrypt slime minus shell heady set
flow sacrifice\
believe alter oceanic shelf killing part of Hell split Earth lent
mayhem vent\
outspent wipe well being clean provoke Cain uphold Able
mean mug\
dump cornmeal unicorn convulsing mend restitution advertently
spiel indent\
hand over to pilot retribution intend empty zeal rummage
destitution\
Hasidic inside the writ spirit fly guide escape unravel ways of
savage\
lives out the side Pegasus soar glide abide Nein but fine rhyme
hymns\
Clarity of KMFDM
Ronny Elliott Mar 2017
On the road trying to make a few bucks, it's not like the old days. A lotta' miles and not many big hits since he and Myra parted ways. He's still mean as a snake and smart as a fox. He still plays like his soul's possessed. He's asleep next door, passed out on the floor. It's time to get him sober and dressed.

There'll be another show tonight, a whole lotta' shaken' and maybe a few hillbilly tunes. Whether he knocks 'em dead and leaves them yelling for more depends on pills and liquor consumed. There will be a hole in his heart and the tears will start when the lights go black. The King has gone, he's taken his songs and he's not coming back.

Aw, man, we started the whole ****** thing, didn't we? We made Sun shine bright from that hole in the wall in Memphis, Tennessee.

Now, stop and think and pour him a drink. Sit him up in bed. Give him the word, tell him what we just heard. Tell him Elvis Presley's dead.

Somebody go wake up Jerry Lee Lewis. Get that ******* hillbilly out of the bed. Wait till he looks you straight in the eye and tell the Killer the King is dead.
ConnectHook Feb 2017
Drums in the darkness: a jungle clearing
fetish masks and gibbering lips
grass skirts, headdresses, face-paint leering
nocturnal trances, gyrating hips.

A medicine man, by spirits possessed,
grunts while the powers invade his mind;
the dancers shriek, as if distressed
by a presence in shadow not yet defined.

It’s only Rock’n’Roll
REVOLUTION  BABY!
Up against the wall, burn all it down girl, smash the state, armed love, light my fire, here comes the new order, impending chaos, a new dawn, when all is one and one is all, etc, etc.
Oh yeah, man. Rock’n’Roll is so REVOLUSHUNARY ! It’s all about, like, Freedom … and Change…  and – uh…

But let us pause for a moment and consider: spoiled sons and daughters of the upper and middle classes, children of the land of plenty gyrating in the psychedelic sun or cavorting in nocturnal cavern-clubs; masses of ****** teens chanting in arenas, banging their heads to guttural nonsense – raving narcissistic drugged-out youth, flaunting their rebellion and paying good money to confuse their brains while they do it in the road, mocking the ****** standards of anterior generations while projecting bad attitude and donning costumes of calculated shock-value – self-anointed anarchist prophets, metal-head barbarian wannabees and metro-queer Gothic prettyboys… these are certainly interesting cultural phenomena (symptoms?) to study. But PLEASE don’t call it revolutionary change. Revolutionary change would mow down these bourgeois decadents and ridiculously-attired hipsters with machine-gun fire and then herd the rest into reeducation camps. Revolution is organized death at the hands of tyrants, thugs, and bureaucracies… Rock n’Roll is about – uh… downloading tunes to your i-pod, getting high and disobeying authority figures. To hell with Rock and Roll. It’s just a lot of syncopated slave music at its “get your groove on” heart. (I mean “slave” in the greater Greco-Roman and Nietzschean sense of the word – not in the recent context only. Think Hellenistically for a moment). Rock’n’Roll and all of it’s “shock the bourgeoisie/anti-patrician” offshoots is music of the lower chakras, gut-music, 3 or 4 chord fuzzed-up anthems to carnality punctuated by ******* grunts, plebeian hoots, hillbilly yells, ****-strutting shrieks, lecherous leering slavering animality, and undulating serpentine harlotry. Ooooooh – how revolting it truly is – because it commodifies revolt, repackages the same old inarticulate teenage rebellion OVER & OVER & OVER, intensifying it slightly each time, tweaking it for each distinct youth subculture and acting as if it actually had more significance than it does (remember – I also love the music – bear with me -we’re analyzing here…). Rock music is an opportunistic infection – and a power-aggrandizing freak show. It monopolizes your attention with its pounding adrenaline-rushing excitement but then can’t figure out what it wants to say to you. You mistake its verses for Wisdom and Truth – especially when you’re high or drunk or tripping. But in the end, it’s just words and rhythms with a lot of “ooh yeah” and “woah baybeh” and “c’mon now child” – or worse. It messes up your diastolic cardiac-rhythms and induces slight panic and disorientation that you mistake for liberation and enlightenment. Then you go out and BUY the GOODS ! Lucifer is reliving his glory days as the instigator of an abortive coup attempt against Heaven and God Almighty. He is mumbling in the *****-blocked tracheae of dead false prophets and departed drummers. He is strutting on the glittering stage amidst cheap pyrotechnics at a show where no one gets in for free – and no one gets out alive. The Prince of this World is bringing out his new product line next spring. The ****** androgynous freak – the glowering little dictator (the ghost of a dead insect) tries to convince himself that he is alive by cultivating the adoration of godless youth who salute him in unison like a bunch of **** faithful at a fascist rally. Rock and Roll is stupid when you think about it.  I’m ashamed I like it so much. Classical music is probably better for your mind in the long run.
The Night Ten to the crescent way,
                   and I'm followin' followin'

Pieces of, -the night or a day,
                 still followin' and followin'

On the Line yeah the sailor's say,
                  Luna come, followin' followin'

And ye-e-eah, ye-e-eah, YEAH! -we're watchin' WATCHIN' -watching every day!

The Night Ten to the crescent way,
                   and I'm followin' followin'

Pieces of, -the night or a day,
                 still followin' and followin'

On the Line yeah the sailor's say,
                  Luna come, followin' followin'

AND IT'S A PLACE OUTS-I-I-I-I-DE, HE'S PLAYING; MR. SHADE!

The Night Ten to the crescent way,
                   and I'm followin' followin'

Pieces of, -the night or a day,
                 still followin' and followin'

On the Line yeah the sailor's say,
                  Luna come, followin' followin'

* AND NO ONE CAN PLAY,
                  -play like Mr. Shade!

The ancients solved Longitudinal navigation by plotting a position against the moon and any one of ten major stars that can be found on the ecliptic at night. Who really believes that four thousand years of moon tablets in Sumer/Shinar are just time tables or astrology?
Brent Kincaid Apr 2016
When I was young high school kid
I wasn’t doing very well with girls
I didn’t know what to say to them
But I really wanted to give it a whirl.
So, when Mama saw me struggling
She saw me blowing my chance
She told me, “They’ll come around,
All you have to do is learn to dance.”

So, she showed me some rather easy
Stylish steps from her jitterbug days
I took them and danced to the music
That the deejays chose to play.

Mama taught me jitterbug
And that helped quite a bit
She won awards as a teen
I heard she was quite a hit.

I rocked and I rolled and bounced
My shoes got to moving with the beat.
Then I was snapping my fingers and
My body went along with my feet.
I twirled the girls I danced with and
Held them snuggly up close and tight.
And the girls started asking me to dance
Right away from that very first night.

Mama taught me jitterbug
And I very glad she did
It turned a geeky wallflower
Into a much more popular kid.

I learned the Stroll and Hully Gully
The UT and the Electric Slide
With a changing bevy of beauties
Dancing along right by my side.
This was before Twist showed up
Which everybody could learn to do
But even then I found that I could
Teach them another trick or two.

Mama taught me jitterbug
And that helped quite a bit
She won awards as a teen
I heard she was quite a hit.
Dreams of Sepia Nov 2015
love, dreams, music, revenge, rock, leather, beer
& a certain actor's eyes
is all my head can think of
tired out from rocking out to New York dolls
& watching movies all night
& yes now it's getting light
I guess there's no point
going to bed
when you've long decided
sleep is for the dead
& while you're still here
you may as well
burn that candle
fan girl
put on that lipstick
bright red
& with nowhere to go
polish your bitten nails
as if something
still matters
This is a war
Of crowds drunk
With their fists pounding in the air
One ominous heartbeat
As they turn their ears away
From deafening music
Of undiscriminating souls
They turn it to the real music
And turn it to rock and roll
July 15, 2013
1:45 a.m.
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