muse

MUSIC: folk, punk, folkpunk, new wave, postpunk, gothic rock, classic country/western, folk rock, soft rock, rock, grunge, thrash metal, power metal, gothic rock, art punk, and like every other genre of rock under the sun. TALK TO ME - I'm friendly ! I love making music buddies.

Band/Musicians I especially love:

The Birthday Party, Specimen, Jackson Browne, James Taylor, The Eagles, The Replacements, The Cure, The Clash, Fugazi, Nick Drake, Willie Nelson.

Films I Love:

The Outsiders, Rumble Fish, Lost Boys, Drugstore Cowboy, Trainspotting, The Goonies, and music films like Instrument or Woodstock.

Misc:

Poetry (Especially of Patti Smith or Lizzy Mercier Decloux), playing guitar, talking too much about my interests.

I've never seen a real withdrawal

I've got it in my blood with Jethro Tull and catholic confessions so I figure it's something hysteric,

like schizophrenic butterflies gnawing at my stomach when I turn over and retch

It's something I think about when I kick paint cans down the sidewalk and think about how people huff that trash and burn cigarettes in their arms and that's the only time I feel like I get my family is when they're so strung out I can't ever touch it

And i think about the great, hulking behemoth,

And the cross he hangs on a foot in diameter ungratefully hung in every nun cranny and looming in the bathroom to catch your body sinless as the cans of paint and lifeless like nicotine

The best people in my life are like idle minds

flighty and weighted like heavy and damning carols

carols in big glaring blue lights for Christmas

carols against the kind that give headaches and harbinge family freak-outs

against ugly gleaming pigs of

fat and feigning bus fares 

against glaring like cut seams from gaping wounds

Rikodeine ribs peeking out like real mice,

against real, thick-gauge pianowire-sculpture,

since they can afford that. 

Shorter, shorter,

The best people in my life are dogs to mourn,

reeling and raving and pushing

pulling your teeth out for some kind of treat,

having forlorn that last sort of you in any kind of recognition in sites so

damned and clammy in destruction and