Thursday, August 14, 2008

An introduction to not-so-obscure music

Don't believe what you hear
Don't believe what you see
If you just close your eyes
You can feel the enemy
When I first met you girl
You had fire in your soul
What happened your face of melting in snow?
Now it looks like this
And you can swallow
Or you can spit
You can throw it up
Or choke on it
And you can dream
So dream out loud
You know that your time is coming 'round
So don't let the bastards grind you down

No, nothing makes sense
Nothing seems to fit
I know you'd hit out
If you only knew who to hit
And I'd join the movement
If there was one I could believe in
Yeah I'd break bread and wine
If there was a church I could receive in
'Cause I need it now

To take the cup
To fill it up
To drink it slow
I can't let you go
I must be an acrobat
To talk like this
And act like that
And you can dream
So dream out loud
And don't let the bastards grind you down

Oh, it hurts baby
What are we going to do? Now it's all been said
No new ideas in the house and every book has been read

And I must be an acrobat
To talk like this
And act like that
And you can dream
So dream out loud
And you can find
Your own way out
And you can build
And I can will
And you can call
I can't wait until
You can stash
And you can seize
In dreams begin
And I can love
And I can love
And I know that the tide is turning 'round
So don't let the bastards grind you down

[Notes from Max: Lyrics stolen from a Flikr site I forgot to write down. Sorry dude. They are probably wrong. That would be the fault of the guy I stole them from, so please don't bother calling errors to my attention. You will be hard-pressed to find anyone who would care less. Also, I DO realize that this post has shit to do with British Culture that Americans might care about. But the book is almost finished, so wtf, right? Finally, I realize that the picture is not from U-2. So don't bother bringing that up either. If at all possible, just make your comments generally about pub food. Primarily Bangers and Mash, if you don't mind. Or chips with onion gravy. This is because I HATE this kind of music, but I LOVE pub food. Just sayin'.]


  1. Man I totally HATE when my face melts in the snow. It ruins my whole day!

  2. I like a Shandy every now and then ...

  3. Hey ettarose. Yeah. That's pretty much what Redbeard said too, only he called me an ass. Look. It's a long story. Do you have time? Of course you do. Or do you want me to wait until you get to work tonight so you can get paid for listening?

    The explanation is quite convoluted and only semi-interesting. Has to do with my blog friend Soubriquet and Latin.

    This is turning you off, right? Let me know... :)

  4. i.blossom, hello again. Shandy? I get that you are referring to my little comment below the comment, here, but if you want one, you will have to go across to the pub, K? Just click on the black square box in the sidebar on the right. They will fix you up. Then come back later (quite a bit later-have several Shandys and a bottle of wine on the house) to "Law of the Jungle" after I have had a chance to get your comment there translated. Thanks. :)

  5. does this mean i'm getting kicked out of play group??

    or am i just supposed to show up sloshed and malleable ....

    actually one shandy would do the trick - i'd be snoozing before my feet crossed the threshold.


  6. i.blossom - Does this mean you are being kicked out of the play group? Just the opposite - our real play group meets in the Slap & Tickle pub, one of our sister blogs. I was merely referring you over there and telling you where to find the link to travel there.

    You are welcome there or here, as you choose, or at any of our other blogs the little dog and his colleges operate. :)

    Shandys - and play groups - are simply better served in the environs of a friendly and lively Public House. Nothing more. :)

  7. I've never been a big U2 fan, should I run now?

  8. This comment has been removed by the author.

  9. Knowing now how much you dislike latin, I'm a bit cautious as to how to tell you that this quote has nothing whatsoever to do with the ever-odious U-2, and its front man Bono.
    Nil Illegitimi Carborundum is not, in fact Latin, it's so-called 'dog-latin', or fake latin.
    It goes back as far at least as WWII, but I was introduced to it in the 1970s, when my brother-in-law's entry of officer training candidates at RAF Cranwell adopted it as their motto, got ties and badges made, Nil Illegitimi Carborundum mixes some dubious latin with a trade name for corundum abrasives, to create a motto generally translated as "Don't Let the Bastards Grind You Down",
    I'm sure there are lots of groups who have adopted it.
    One of those military in-jokes that escaped.
    Another one i love is FUBAR...
    meaning "Fucked Up Beyond All Repair".

  10. p.s
    plural of shandy is shandies
    ("change the y into i, and add 'es', as Miss Travis used to say)

  11. Chica, me neither. George Bush is, I guess. At least he seems to sleep with Bono. But I wasn't pushing U-2, honest. I was just searching for that "Latin" phrase and this song came up. Hope you are doing ok, Chica. Sad to see your blog die. I was a fan. :)

    Comment Deleted, I was starting to do the required research on mirrors. Sometimes it takes time. Don't be impatient. :)

    Soub, I don't dislike Latin. I detest Latin. There is a difference. :) Anyway, I was only trying to track down that phrase, and you have answered that for me now. Sort of like the American WWII military slang "SNAFU" which found its way into the language. At least in this country. "Situation Normal -- All Fucked Up." PS-Yeah, My Miss Travis too. Wasn't sure if that rule applied to a name of something like that. Still aren't. :)

  12. Snafu.... there was a band of that name in the seventies....I remember seeing them, I think as support act for the Doobie Brothers.

    Also... Capt.Beefheart, "Aint no snafu, no fo-de-rol..."

    As for shandy, its the kindest thing to do to a lemonade, but a mean insult to a beer.

  13. The One-Year-Old Lemon

    by W. S. Di Piero

    Its small celestial reach stops
    where the counterweight, the first
    tough green fruit, pulls earthward
    and returns the brazen, almost rank perfume
    of blossoms now six months gone.

    The slurred odor of its leaves
    calls back that long evening’s end:
    we shivered in the cool light
    a northerly sun bent against the world
    into the hands of friends

    who helped clear the outdoor supper’s
    sharp debris—forks, tin plates,
    balled napkins and bone nests.
    The lemon blossoms throbbed. The air
    slowed with so much young life,

    the fragrance quickened in our veins
    the common, too surprising wish
    to hold, just then, another,
    whoever stood nearest, whatever charm
    would bind us to the lowering light.

    Then someone said, “Let’s eat the tree”—
    Tear apart the bole, raid the green heart,
    devour remembrance with one moment’s
    hunger and eat the nature of things.
    Scraped plates, laughter, glasses refilled ...

    Our sweet anger urged and gathered us
    around the young tree’s tub, made us
    tamp the wet soil and drink fast
    the clear smell of unseen yellow fruit
    in time we ourselves might never know.

    - W. S. Di Piero,
    “The One-Year-Old Lemon Tree” from The Dog Star. Copyright © 1990



Related Posts with Thumbnails