I suppose of all the lovers one can have, music would be one of the most generous and probably one who is the closest to being completely incapable of jealousy.
She will let you think about other things, she doesn’t mind if your mind drifts away towards other memories, towards other images and towards other worlds. She will let you go and never demand that you give her all your attention.
She will remain so generous, so giving. If you want, she will take you in and take you so far away.
And yet, there is a side of her that you have to crawl to reach. A delicate, hidden side which is not for everyone.
Went for a show of these guys:
Has to be one of best things I have seen, or rather experienced, in a while. It was under an open sky and there was a gentle, cold breeze and every time the bulbs would brighten, the sky would fade away and all you could see were these tiny men in these red boxes and a shadow on the stage egging the music on. Absolutely superb.
And then there was this one part where the chaps were banging away at these massive drums and I swear I could see armies falling and crashing against each other in the middle of the dessert.
And when that chap started playing one of those mouth instruments, I could feel the desert sand under my feet.
I guess if one must live, then one must have adventures. The adventure is out there!
I saw Return of the King after a while. All those battle scenes made me wonder where I would stand if I was in one of those armies. Probably somewhere in the back, scratching my bum and wishing I hadn’t worn those elastic chaddies.
So far at the back that when the king or whatever was giving his cheerleader-ish speech, I would be straining this way and that, desperate to try and understand what the fuck was happening in the front. Nudging the people around me, “what’d he say? Eh? Charge from the right?”
I wonder if the armies of olden days had people who smoked up before going to war. Like an entire division of ganjerias. They would probably be sent in first, with portable drums and hippie like hair. Infiltrate the enemy lines and set up drum circles and hotbox stations.
Oh but then what if the enemy sent in its own Ganjeria Division. Fuck. Warring hippies. There is something so funny about that. “Hey man, that’s not cool man” versus “Hey man, thats not cool man”.
Shit. I was clearly born in the wrong millennium.
The only problem with the manganiya concert was an over-abundance of hipsters, the only kind of people who are even worse than hippies.
I don’t like hipsters. All big-framed glasses and multi-coloured jackets and designer un-designer looks. Sala. I mean the only thing worse than a bunch of losers are a bunch of wanna-be losers.
At least hippies you can just ban from entering your club cause they stink or whatever. But hipsters? You can’t even do that. They are like rich hippies. Yucks.
The great thing about variety in the human race is that it just gives you so many options for hating. Its like you can be “Hate one group a day” kinda guy. (HOGAD)
Calling forth all Hogads! Answer me, your King.
Today, we shall hate……..social media experts.
I mean seriously. Thats like being an expert on pelican porn.
Who gives a fuck.