Sick as a dog this morning, actually started a few days ago, and even after calling in sick to work on Friday, sleeping all day, still feel like shit. Saturday was miserable, but today, at the moment, there is light at the end of the tunnel. Anyway, enough of that whining. My pal Big Shawn up in Pelican Rapids Minnesota has bigger fish to fry (photo above), with all the snow he’s got to attend to…it not common for us here to get feet of snow here, but other places in the world don’t fuck around. I hope where ever you are, my practically invisible audience, you have the occasion to get warm and cozy…
In yellow shoes
I get the blues
So I walk the streets
In my plastic feet
And my blue velvet trousers make me feel pink
There’s a kind of stink about blue velvet trousers
In my paisley shirt I look a jerk
And my turquoise waistcoat is quite outta sight
But oh, woah, my haircut looks so bad
Vegetable man, where are you?
So I change my hair
And I buy my jeans
And I cover them up with a lettuce cup
My pants and socks with water and epoxy
Don’t take long about my old socks
We’ll wash my watch with a plant base, outta date,
In a little hole there all alone
It’s what I got
It’s what I wear
It’s what you see
It must be me
It’s what I am
I’ve been looking all over the place for a place for me
But it ain’t anywhere
It just ain’t anywhere
Vegetable, vegetable man
He’s the kind of fellow you’ve just got to see if you can
A middle aged survivor is what I am, or that was the conclusion I came to on the last post (one I revived after some an interest in a fellow, Frankie Glitterdoll, who I don’t think was destined to survive…live fast die young, ya know, punk rock philosophy 101). I did survive, and now what? After turning 50 with my burnt out mind and broke down body, kind of in that middle aged funk. Whelp, my pal Bjorn (a better friend there is not), sent me the 1st pressing of this record and I couldn’t be more stoked. My birthday was on the 7th, it came a few days before and with my resolution not to buy records in 2020, it was a wonderful surprise…do ole’ Mustard a solid and send me records, support my habit…hahaha. French punk rock in ’84, dig it! Thanx B…
Ya ever cry because a song is that fucking good…Spathic!
Revisited MB’s Spathic by chance and like I said, it brought tears to my eyes, went through and listened to a couple studio versions, the Peel Session and then several live renditions. Was reading through the comments, I didn’t see any negative ones, and ran across the lyrics. Well fucken eh, I’ve never read the lyrics to my favorite song of theirs (Tapir’s Flown Away comes a very close second) and I’ll be damned if Yasuko doesn’t fucking slay, absolutely amazing…
Show me samples…
The fuse has set in my brain.
Slack flashback, on a hat rack.
That slain insect obtains a cheap pain,
So I stick a daisy through his head.
He sneezes just a little bit,
And I squeeze that socket
In my left pocket.
I cry out my ancient name,
Sticky, tricky, creaky, freaky flit.
Dig it out, pick it out, cut it out.
That plain impact contains a free strain.
No sign is shown at all.
No pilot came back at last.
My fuse clicks, I try to hold.
In my left side of my brain.
Its tragic, and I lie again!
So clear, false eyes pop out,
I take them for my hat;
Pure, black, tears dropped from them.
I try to swear, but I don’t have a God.
Clash! The fuse has set in my brain.
Its just a pint of b-right.
Its so cheap,
But no claim or complaint.
Then I feed that tiny thing some peas;
He coughs just a little bit.
I don’t have any pills;
I wonder why not.
I found out I lost my ancient hands.
He tells me which side to flit?
He’s too tiny, and just clicking wings split.
Where’s my false eyes?
Next ones could be mine.
Watch your head.
It’s heading straight to you!
Spathic, flit to the clash!