Why do I keep coming back to this place? Why pick that scab? Why do I always return, just to be irritated and saddened? And more importantly where does such a fat person get trousers that baggy?

the fat man-child and his offending pantaloons are at the bar, he booms with undeserved authority about the iphone, unsupported DVX files and other such geek trivialities, clearly enjoying being the smartest person there, which isn’t much achievement considering the people he is surrounded by are either the nodding deaf, their hearing destroyed by years of speaker hugging gigs and random blows to the head. Or burnouts, wandering specters of the almost dead scene, haunting this same bar cave they’ve been going to for close to a couple of decades.

At least the rock cultures inclusive, more an enclave of the marginalised than a cultural elite, I suppose the rock scenes always been a great leveler, the uniform hides class and affluence much better than a school uniform ever did, music provides a common ground and focus, while the expected attitude and posturing is the reaction and vent at the position of outsider we found ourselves in and made our own. Where else can the unattractive and nerdy hold court like Robber Barons, the awkward hold themselves like warriors and the normal trappings of material wealth be dismissed as irrelevant?


I took this on a day trip to London, its not really relevant but i noticed that the place was a little text heavy of late

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Now playing: The Doors – Woman Is a Devil [*]
via FoxyTunes

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