Harridan...

...a strict, bossy, or belligerent old woman.

Merry Christmas!

The Joy Thieves - This Will Kill That

I try to maintain

A victim of my own lucidity

And when I try to stay sane

All the madness just crawls right out of me

When I throw on the light

My body in relief, it’s clinical

A corpse dying of fright

The movement in the mirror is minimal

Bet you never thought that this would kill that

Bet you never thought, bet you never thought

I never thought

You’re trying to do what?

Make this one kill that

Trying to do what you were always scared of

To focus is hard

For lips that never move to communicate

And I’m always on guard

The object of the force to terminate

It’s a throw away life

My body and my thoughts just vaporize

And I’m covered in bites

By a madness that remains still weaponized

A maze that’s mine

A blade so fine

Bet you never thought, bet you never, never, never thought.

Bet you never thought, I never thought, I never thought.

This will kill that

This will kill that

Trying to do what you were always scared of

This will kill that

Trying to do what you were always scared of

This will kill that

Trying to do what you were always scared of

Bet you never thought that this would kill that

Trying to do what you were always scared of

Glory

Sweet Shoshana

Five Times August

11-11@11

La Bruja

Dweebs in Hamburg

Laibach - I Want to be German...

Asking

Asking for a Friend

[Verse 1]
I don't want to say that I'm afraid to die
I'm no good at goodbyes, I can't apologise
And if I don't stop now, will it follow me down?
I guess I have to try, it's the art of getting by

[Chorus 1]
'Cause I sunk some ships with selfish lips
And it all came back to me
I was terrified, I never told them why
And the songs I wrote 'bout hearts I broke
Would never come for free
I cheated and I lied, but I meant it when I cried

[Verse 2]
So what do you say when you lose your way?
The past is in the past, it isn't meant to last
But if I can't let go, will you carry me home?
Can we celebrate the end? I'm asking for a friend

[Chorus 2]
'Cause I filled my bed with my regrets
But it hasn't killed me yet
None of it mattered, none of it mattered
And the mess we made on Fridays
Gave me Sundays on my knees
But you still matter, you still matter

[Bridge]
You still matter
You still matter
You still matter
You still matter
You still matter
You still matter
You still matter
You still matter

[Verse 3]
I don't want to say that I'm afraid to die
The past is in the past, it isn't meant to last
But if I can't let go, will you carry me home?
Can we celebrate the end? I'm asking for a friend

[Outro]
Home
Can we go?
Can we go?
Can we go?
Home
Can we go?
Can we go?
Can we go?
Home
Can we go?
Can we go?
Can we go?
Home
Can we go?
Can we go?
Can we go?

Russian Style

Who Needs Heroes?

Better than I Used to

...other 'Lost Objects'...

Tim Minchin Reacts to Bo Burnham's "Inside"....

Watching Bo Burnham’s special (Inside) reminded me that, back when I was worrying about getting stuck in the comedy pigeonhole, I wrote a song which addresses the issue of a “comedian” trying to do work that doesn’t have laughter as its only currency. So I did a little home record for yez. 

-Tim Minchin

Beauty is a harlot

She will dance with any bastard

She's undiscerning in her choice of partners

I could have her of course if I wish

But I object to her promiscuousness

Beauty just doesn't suit me

For beauty is a harlot

An easy lay for lazy artists

I won't be fooled by her vulgar charm

It is the easiest trick in the book

Music's the worm and beauty's the hook

And I know you would swallow her whole

But I'm not here to pander to souls

For beauty is a siren

Trying to draw me from my chosen mission

I won't be tempted by her seductive singing

On principle I refuse to be party to her abuse

It is not my job to squat in the gutter

Sharing the teat with you beauty drunk suckers

You paid to see satire and rage

I swear I won't let beauty set foot on this stage

For beauty is a siren

A spotlight hungry superficial harlot

She will toy with your defenceless heart and leave you

Tear streaked when the lights come on

You look around to find her gone

And despite your sighs you've not a clue

That as you fell for her, she stole from you

For beauty is a harlot

She will lie with any two bit artist

And for all those other bastards

She seems to come so easily

But she comes too hard for me

Bedhead

Arguing with the dead
I'm not alone but it sure feels like someone left
Deaf notes and talking heads
Carrying on your debt
Blood on the bed head and volumes you left unsaid
Let 'em talk and let it habit, now I'm afraid you're alone

[Chorus]
Oh, my God
Let me relinquish and start to distinguish my past, and my time
You and I are oil and fire, so
Oh, my God
Let me extinguish the habit, the sequence, the loss in my mind
Now I believe in the ghost
Ghost

[Verse 2]
Clawing against your skin
Clutching my neck said, "It's all supposed to end like this"
You and I are panoramic
Now I'm afraid of the ghost

[Chorus]
Oh, my God
Let me relinquish and start to distinguish my past, and my time
There is only love and fire, so
Oh, my God
Let me extinguish the habit, the sequence, the loss in my mind
Now I believe in the...



[Bridge]
Right by the entrance, you broke
Finally, reality's taking its hold
You're not who you were, but you can't let it go
You're not where you're from, but you're always alone
So I stick a flag in the ground
I think I know who I'm living for now
I am what I am, same above as the ground
It's not what I want, but I'm figuring it out

[Chorus]
Oh, my God
Let me relinquish and start to distinguish my past, and my time
You and I are holy fire, so
Oh, my God
Let me extinguish the habit, the sequence, the loss in my mind
Now I believe in the ghost
Ghost
Gho—
Ghost

[Outro]
"...he was teasing around the town and cried, 'Wolf, wolf!'
Everybody came to help, but there was no wolf"

When the Music Stops... Think it Over

Bowie...

Bubble

Re-Imagining Vivaldi

...with ALL the life sucked out of it.

Bo Burnham... What?

Future Islands, "Glada"

New canopies arise 

From the crumbling framework 

The remnants of fire 

And you came as you are 

And they said, 

“Heaven’s a mystery, 

unless you’re a star.” 

“Unless you’ve a crown.” 

But they’re wrong 

And you can walk this head around 

and gone 

Or we can fly 

——— 

Who am I? 

Do I deserve the sea again? 

The slow lapping waves 

Bathing my face in light 

In the night 

Long after summer winds 

In the last, diving in 

Finding love and a friend 

In the dawn 

——— 

The blueberries arrive 

Round the purpling nettles 

The ramsons' empire 

And you came from the stars 

And you said, 

“We are the prey that we seek in the dark” 

———  

But who am I? 

Do I deserve the sea again? 

Slow lapping waves 

Bathing my face in light

In the dawn 

For far and long, as I have been 

The last time around

 Now finding a friend 

Who am I? 

Why do I deserve the sea again? 

After all I’ve done 

And finding love in the end

Love in the end...

Edward Teach Flag

In an interview at Beat Route singer Samuel T. Herring explains that a glada is a common bird (know as a Red Kite in English) in Southern Sweden where he living with his partner.

“They’re just these beautiful birds that swoop over the fields. They don’t really ever flap their wings, they just kind of soar around. Every once in a while, you’ll see them turn and that’s when you see the flash of red on the back. I was always drawn to these birds; they’re just really beautiful to me."

The name also means “happy” in Swedish.

Kaliadne

Inordinary

Reality Check

Lon Cheney Jr, Alone at Home

Just Waiting on a War...

...Lachecism?

The Painter
BY JOHN ASHBERY

Sitting between the sea and the buildings
He enjoyed painting the sea’s portrait.
But just as children imagine a prayer
Is merely silence, he expected his subject
To rush up the sand, and, seizing a brush,
Plaster its own portrait on the canvas.

So there was never any paint on his canvas
Until the people who lived in the buildings
Put him to work: “Try using the brush
As a means to an end. Select, for a portrait,
Something less angry and large, and more subject
To a painter’s moods, or, perhaps, to a prayer.”

How could he explain to them his prayer
That nature, not art, might usurp the canvas?
He chose his wife for a new subject,
Making her vast, like ruined buildings,
As if, forgetting itself, the portrait
Had expressed itself without a brush.

Slightly encouraged, he dipped his brush
In the sea, murmuring a heartfelt prayer:
“My soul, when I paint this next portrait
Let it be you who wrecks the canvas.”
The news spread like wildfire through the buildings:
He had gone back to the sea for his subject.

Imagine a painter crucified by his subject!
Too exhausted even to lift his brush,
He provoked some artists leaning from the buildings
To malicious mirth: “We haven’t a prayer
Now, of putting ourselves on canvas,
Or getting the sea to sit for a portrait!”

Others declared it a self-portrait.
Finally all indications of a subject
Began to fade, leaving the canvas
Perfectly white. He put down the brush.
At once a howl, that was also a prayer,
Arose from the overcrowded buildings.

They tossed him, the portrait, from the tallest of the buildings;
And the sea devoured the canvas and the brush

As though his subject had decided to remain a prayer.