Created with mySpace Profile Editor
DISTORDED VISION 02==> OUT NOW
Seven Storey Moutain, The Rebel Assholes, Stonybroke, Moderat, Generic, Minus the Bear, Ghinzu, Tom Gabel, Evan Dando... Plus de dérives et d'anecdotes foireuses, plus de voyages et de sueur, plus de cul, d'amour, de faux espoirs... sur fond de punk rock mélo, d'emo old school, d'electro underground, de folk viscérale et de powerpop épidermique. Plus corsé, arrabica premier choix. Toujours gratuit.
DISTORDED VISION 01==> OUT NOW
Boss Tuneage, The Toxic Avenger, In bed with Nasty Samy, 7 weeks, Vulgaires Machins, 64 Dollars Question, Phinius Gage, Exit Wounds, MGMT, Old Time Relijun, Guerilla Poubelle, Jimmy Eat World, the Robocop Kraus, Anticon... Premiers essais hasardeux et tatonnements, considérations bassement métaphysiques et philosophie de comptoir. Dans une brasserie de banlieue vidée de sa clientèle.
Receptionnez cette merde à l'heure grâce à nos amis postiers. J'envoie tout ça avec amour et passion sur demande. Un petit mail sympa et warf, ça débarque aussi sec!
La rémunération est laissée à votre appréciation: mot doux, ticket restaurant, bon pour une bière tiède, fond de poche...
We born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Alone, always alone. And even when we fuck, we are alone. Alone with our flesh, alone with our lives, wich is like a tunnel, impossible to split. Older we are, more lonely we feel, against memories of a whole life destroyed as one goes along. Life is like a tunnel. And everybody got his own. And in the end of the tunnel, there's not even a light. There's nothing. The olds really know it. A small life, small economies, small retirement and a small grave. And all of that is useless. Purely useless. Even children are useless. When their parents don't have anything more to give, they put them in a almshouse to see them die alone, and in silence. Even children don't give a shit. Filial love doesn't exist. It's a myth. You only love your mother when she gives you some milk. And your father when he gives you money. But when your mother's boobs are drew out, when ther's no milk to drag anymore or when your father's pockets are empty, then there's just to put them in a far-off closet, hoping that they'll die of a cheap and fast disease. It's like that. It's the law of life. It's only when there's a heritage to receive that children seem to be nice. But when the heritage is just a TV and a fridge, it's useless to fake anymore. Or only the minimum, just to have a conscience, during a while. Making a call, one time a mont, few tears during funerals and we are cleared with our duty. Love, friendship, it's a try-on. These are illusions. Illusions coming from youth we keep going to hide that human connections are just small business. Talking about friendship and love makes our lives easier, but just to figure. Reality is much more venal. You love your mother because she feeds you and stops you from dying. Your friend, you love him because he finds you a job that feeds you and stops you from dying. And your whore, you love her because she cooks, drains your ballocks and makes you children who will have to protect you when you'll be too old. When you'll be affraid to die. But it suffices to beat your kid one time to suffer the revenge when you'll be old. In fact, that slap helps him hugely. And when he'll screw you in a hospice, it will be a pretext to gloss the natural disinterest that everybody meets with their genitors. No, fucking is not a good calculation. It even costs a lot. But it kills time. And when the lust is gone, we realize that we don't have a place in that world anymore. Et that finally, there never had been anything else in that god damn life. Just a breeding program written in our guts, and that we feel obligated to follow. To born unwilling, eat, shake his dick, help to born and die. Life is a big blank. It always had been and it will be forever. A big blank that could perfectly set without me. I don't want to play that game anymore. No, it's over. I want to live a self centered thing. Something really intense. I don't want to be the last interchangeable bolt of an enormous machine. When I'll die, I don't want to think I have lived the same bullshit as the billions of jackass crowd in that fucking planet. In sum, what I have lived, every asshole have lived that too. I must find a reason, a pretext, randomly, whatever, to find a reason to live the next twelve years. If I could restart an existence, I should make porn. It is clear, at least. Those who do it, they have understood everything about our species. Either you born with a dick and you are usefull if you behave as a big dick really tough that fucks holes, or you born with a pussy, and you will be usefull if you are sticked. In each case, you are alone. Yeah, I am a dick. That's it. I'm a measly dick. And to enforce, I will have to stay really tough.
