Wealth

I wrote this song late the other night in a fit of inspiration. Like a lot of songs I write, I had just spent about 2 hours writing a piece of crap that ended up sounding like something else. I should stop writing late at night. I'm losing sleep.

Wealth by olidevlin

As a matter of fact this is the single most intellectual lyric I've written, stemming from a thought I had about extremely driven, successful people; perfectionists; and the irony that their uber-success could possibly be hidden to them, but nonetheless fuelled by a massive lack of self-esteem, or a sense of inadequacy or whatever. A comforting thought for us plebs that success must come with a cost, or is only an attractive concept from the outside.

more to come, including work by my digital alter-ego "Sponge"

Heres the finished song

Bitch; Please

Bitch; Please have their second gig this friday, which is rather exciting. Me and steven had a race to make a poster. Were using the artwork to decorate our bandcamp which will feature some tracks were gonna record in anticipation of our set at camp. Very exciting times friends.

Lonely Mother Futter

Its like its sad forgotten little sister

"Hey, man, you know what I get angry about! That fucking Catina band song from star wars! Its so goddamn annoying! Like a fucking steel drum and synth bass paper cut! Jesus, I mean... John Williams is cool, but... sweet James thats some disrespect."

"...which one?"

"Oh? The song...you know, it goes "dun-dah dun-dah dudat duh-!

"What you mean, the first one?"

"...what?"

"The first one. There's two songs."

"...Really?"

"Yeah, that one; the one you just sang, that's the first one."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Didn't know that."

"I guessed...you know, I bet that other song feels kinda bad when you group them together like
that."

"...Yeah, I guess it would"

"Like, they're two separate songs. Even though their main distinction is just order."

"..Like B1 and B2"

"Exactly!"

"There just two dudes...gettin' on with it."

"They're bananas..."

"-Yeah, well two bananas then..."

"In pijamas."


"So how does this song #2 go then?!"

"Like THIS!"





"......that's still pretty shit"

"Probably worse."

"...Fuck."

"tell me about it"

"Did I just waste five minutes of my day listening to that?"

"You sure did"

"Fuck this, I'm going outside."

"...You want to go watch Star Wars?"

"Yeah, okay."

Ol' Possum's inappropriate grope

Each Cat has Three names;

1. One fancy
2. One not quite as fancy
3. One as a criminal alias that is known to the united organisation of cats under the moniker: A.C.G.C.T.F- or the All Cats Gotta' Come Together Front; an Inter-continental conglomerate of Super-Top secrecy dedicated to the acquisition and decriminalisation of Cat-Burglars , Cat-Nappers, Delinquent Spies, and Cat-Fighters, in International Court, SPCA gallows or otherwise. Can't freaking believe TS Eliot wrote that.
   

acatdistracted
A Poem

A cat distracted is scarcely a cat at all.
When intended to spend its Sundays cat-
Napping or carpet-scratching
An absent cat is a bad cat,
very nearly my Dad at that.
Then,
My cat is a cat often but never always,
Instead it busies itself with breaks,
Breaking ordinance, but never complete absence.
Replaced abruptly by a decidedly Mum-like creature
Decidedly cat-napping and back-scratching
Happily instead.

Quent's Advice

I sometimes like to follow the good advice of a friend of mine who I call Quents.
He is a HUGE film fan, so huge, my brother and I like to think he's the only person in the world who saw and liked the movie Speed Racer. He's got loads of good advice but the nougat that stuck with me was something about personalising art. Like;

"You gotta put yourself into your art! Otherwise whats the C&*9t-F#@!&g
point you S8*@ licking a$$ toothp&^%$.... you digg??"

His words struck a chord in my not-yet-fully-developed frontal cortex, the kind of advice I imagine my Wise-Uncle-Ben would give me, if only I had a Wise Uncle Ben... I got a Sassy-Auntie-Annie, which is close. Quentie makes a point about specificity, which is quite trite.

You can make a choice in your art, to make something general, in an effort to reach someone, or possibly a vain attempt to hide yourself from your audience. Or else you can be so personal, so specific; out of left field and culled from the chasm of your own life experience, that it relates not to the cultural mass, but the human condition.
I'm generally too terrified to achieve something so specific. It's private stuff, and so easy to hide in coyness or fashion. Yet beware the hollow ring of an empty appropriation, more often than not a bastardisation than a tribute, you can't really copy something that is so personal.

Thanks Quents. "No problem Oli!"