Saturday, 5 April 2014


Now I remember why I was never a musician. (You know, a drummer.) Well, also because I have no pitch and no sense of rhythm, but mainly, because I spook at the sound of noise. And there are people who handle this a whole lot better than I could.

He did this philosophical beat performance, explaining his story, how he got to stand before us. Some stuff was fairly scary (how he studied to be a mechanic and his colleagues killed another boy, half unintentionally, by accusing him of pederastry and pushing a compression pipe into his .... I think in real life this wasn't as much as a hate crime as a couple of boy fooling around without realising how dangerous it is. But I wasn't there, so...). Other stuff was mainly angry and, as his title refers, beaty. He used sentences such as: ..And there I learnt one thing: philosophers (or intellectuals, I don't remember rightly) can't dance, so they do their thinking sitting down!.... / ... Garbage sites are archaeological sites of human stupidity of the modern age! ... / I liked the story in which he is going to wipe his behind with old newspaper and noticed an old poem by Bukowski, about how to write better - in it the first thing you must do is find a large typewriter.) As at the time he was living on a garbage disposal site and constructing his instruments of statement from garbage. He found one pretty quickly. I'd believe that. It's something you'd quickly find in a dump site.

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