nightsalonewithmycrophone

Days, noons, nights
As you wait for the mood to strike...
For you to flip a page in a daze as you write a song
Yet to be alone.
To be alone...

EAT SHIT

ITS NO BIGGIE EVERYDAY YOU EAT SHIT MAY AS WELL CHOOSE YOUR FLAVOR INSTEAD OF SOMEONE ELSE PICKIN IT OUT...

REAS AOK/RIS whole NYC subway car, mid-80s.

Jean-Luc Godard Defends an Accused Internet Pirate

Film Director Comes to the Defense of a Convicted Internet Pirate

“There is no such thing as intellectual property... Copyright really isn’t feasible,” Mr. Godard said. “An author has no rights. I have no rights. I have only duties.”

Preach!

ALONE SHAKING IN DARK

Religion may be laziness, but laziness is also laziness.

Angular plots.

Pig-head.

I was never really a child, and therefore something in the nature of childhood will cling to me always, I'm certain. I have simply grown, become older, but my nature never changed. I enjoy mischief just as I did years ago, but that's just the point, actually I never played mischievous tricks. Once, very early on, I gave my brother a knock on the head. That just happened, it wasn't mischief. Certainly there was plenty of mischief and boyishness, but the idea always interested me more than the thing itself. I began, early on, to look for deep things everywhere, even in mischief. I don't develop. At least, that's what I claim. Perhaps I shall never put out twigs and branches. One day some fragrance or other will issue from my nature and my originating, I shall flower, and the fragrance will shed itself around a little, then I shall bow my head, which Kraus calls my stupid arrogant pig-head. My arms and legs will strangely sag, my mind, pride, and character, everything will crack and fade, and I shall be dead, not really dead, only dead in a certain sort of way, and then I shall vegetate and die for perhaps another sixty years. I shall grow old. But I'm not afraid of myself. I couldn't possibly inspire myself with dread. For I don't respect my ego at all, I merely see it, and it leaves me cold. Oh, to come in from the cold! How glorious! I shall be able to come into the warmth, over and over again, for nothing personal or selfish will ever stop me from becoming warm and catching fire and taking part. How fortunate I am, not to be able to see in myself anything worth respecting and watching! To be small and to stay small. And if a hand, a situation, a wave were ever to raise me up and carry me to where I could command power and influence, I would destroy the circumstances that had favored me, and I would hurl myself down into the humble, speechless, insignificant darkness. I can only breathe in the lower regions.