Barely Awake in Frog Pyjamas, snazz music blog I bumbled into via fellow British Columbian blog Good Rockin' Tonight, wrote a nice piece today that got me thinking, as good writing does. Piece is about death.
Bloggers go on and on about death. Just like all writers. Do it myself. You know what death is? Death is a motherfucker, motherfuckers.
I prefer to write about walking my dog. That is what makes this space a little different than most blogs. Not too much death talk.
Fuck death.
The dead guy in this instance wrote the lyrics to a few well known John Cougar songs. One of them, natch, is about death. I clicked the link to listen to the song.
What fucking crap! That is the downside to having been exposed to a lot of great music that did not get played on the radio back when people gave a shit about John Cougar and played his songs at weddings and such. I do not have the same appreciation of what has come to be known as '80s rock as most of my fellows.
It is fucking near all shit.
1 comment:
"I do not have the same appreciation of what has come to be known as '80s rock as most of my fellows."
It is like that exchange in in 'The Wrestler' - a great film - between Mickey Rourke and his female co-star:
"I fuckin' loved the 80s... What a fabulous decade."
Well. Rourke himself, out of character, may well wax enthusiastically on that era before his face got put through the meat grinder. The Cocaine. The fucking around on the advertising set which was '9 1/2 Weeks'. Even the spandex.
There is not much about the '80s which gets me staring wistfully into my beer. The corners of my mouth tucked up. Curled.
"It is fucking near all shit."
Yes. I'm glad it's been over for quite some time. A living death, for the most part, it was nearly all unsubtantial bloat. Inflated self-esteem. Cornball emoting. Music for hedge fund brokers administered by talcum powdered cocks.
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