Stretch say hi… bees are necessary until one of them stings you and then you say “Fuck”
“Exterminate the brutes!”
Ah, an entire generation of journalistos will constantly reference Joseph Conrad, much to the bemusement of a fickle public, fed on a diet of amateur dramatics and folly.
Thinking a lot about drugs lately. Wanna but don’t do nowt now, life is weird enough. Back in the way back when, the choices of music I would put to different drugs were very odd. When I smoked hashishash, I had a ritual of bathing and listening to Mazzy Star’s She Hangs Brightly, then splaliff two would be
Slint’s Spiderland , watch some TV and then Nick Cave’s Your Funeral My Trial which would send me off to sleep with my last joint on my lips, only to wake minutes later with enormous burns on my skin. I lived in a crypt.
While doing speed, I couldn’t listen to anything but the theme tunes to annoying Nintendo or Sega games. It was ridiculous. Ol’ Mama and Papa Stretch used to wonder why a rapid child jingle was playing at 9,000 decibels from my room. They would walk in to find me jogging furiously (like Ian Curtis) in a circle screaming, “Next level! Must reach next level!” Destroyed our relationship.
Acid was a difficult one. Nothing really worked, until I tried movie soundtracks. There was always an evocative moment in a movie which would suit my disposition. In Jackie Brown, the bar that Jackie meets Ordell is one of the places I will want to go in my life. Not the Grand Canyon, not Machu fucking Picchu, but that bar. The same goes for the bar in Repo Man where Circle Jerks play.
Essentially it was bars I wanted to go to. Although, there seems to be a qualification. The bars must have low lighting and red velvet chairs or little tables with lamps on them. If possible with a barman like in Pulp Fiction who says,
“My name is Paul, this is between y’all!”
Ohm splutter, spit, speaking of Repo Man, click here. The laziest piece of journalism (apart from my own) I have come across in a long time. Fucking morons. When I heard Repo Men was coming out, I knew this type of stupid mistake would be made, but I thought journalists could go on to IMDB and do two seconds of fucking research. Stupid Stretch. The two movies have completely different plots for the love of the baby Buddha!
I did ecstacy once, waited for five minutes, fell flat on my face and never did it again. Friends tried to get me to do it again, but you learn your lesson. Whatever makes your face and the floor copulate should be avoided at all costs. Listening to Art Attacks right now and drinking a vat of rum, later to the big town to see the Fall. Now, how to get there.
Anyway, the greatest songs of all time usually sound a little like this…