Then; "Best Debut Of The Year, that right there."
Noddin the head, "It's incredible, yeah, beautiful a record as we coulda hoped for. But what of Willy Mason? What of Where The Humans Eat?"
Plato, brow all wrapped 'round the bridge a the nose, all munchin on the ponders.
Then, a shrug. "Meh, best give 'em both a pat on the prostate, well done, you both won the fuck out this non-contest."
(TXT Says; "Oh come on, Where The Humans Eat is by far the better record, ain't no-one gonna scourge your gums for 'mittin it xoxox")
"So what's the trouble, arse?" he's askin.
"The trouble, y'unnerstann, is that I'm all but dead an what have I done? Tell me that, sayin now, what the hell have I to show for a couple decades worth a takin up space? 2006 it says right there on the calendar I never took out the cellophane, 2006, an seems like no time since a fella was hidin in a bus-shelter on account of The Millennium was fixin to kill us every one by way a the unspeakable digital catastrophe. Six years past like a post-shit sigh, an what have I done in those weeks an months? I'll tell you what, less than fuck-all, is what."
"You're only 23, by fuck's whiskers, the hell's the matter with you? Didn't I say? Didn't I say way back when, ain't a damn thing a man says 'fore he's fifty that's worth the time it takes to listen?"
Maybe so, Plato, maybe so for you Greek types rollin around the B.C. in the glow a your own brains, but in the here an now, ain't no room for any banter a the sort. Fifty? Fifty my arse-hole, I'll be lucky if I see forty, an luckier still if I can recognize it through the haze a senility an eyeball-cancer.
Because the questions never addressed when you an your pals were sat round park-benches debatin justice till the syllables bled black, the questions never made it past the gates, here they are;
How old was Conor Oberst when he made Letting Off The Happiness? How old was Shane MacGowan when he was spittin "Gabriel" into the faces a fuck-fried scenesters boiled in the grot a Camden's pavings? How old are those Arctic Monkey cats all concerned about the trendy lyin bastards wi the San Fran accent picked out a tramp's back-arse in Slough? How old was Sid Vicious when he shat his smack-grilled last cross the concrete?
Article comments
1 - DJRadiohead
Masterful, Duke. Masterful. The crisis, if you will, very well described. It has all the resonance in the world when you've crossed to the other side of that line.
Now a word of encouragement and motivation for you, from Sir Robert of Zimmerman:
It's not dark yet but it's gettin there
You still have time 'fore that vision of you I had few months back comes to pass.
2 - DJRadiohead
And it might be worth mentioning that while I will likely agree with you on Cold Roses it's more than a bit possible that 29 is givin said brilliance a run for it's money.
3 - Greg Smyth
What if... Joyce did end of the year lists?
Heh. Another piece of effortless confused brilliance from Mondo Towers. Hope 2006 works out for you my friend.
4 - DJRadiohead
Filth of the Year... a category not showing up in many critical lists these days.
5 - Aaron, Duke De Mondo
DJ an Sir Smyth, thanks for the kind words. An Sir Smyth, similar sentiments in the direction of yours truly.
DJ, Filth Of The Year is, alas, an overlooked category. I'm hopin the Grammy's might incorporate it next year.
My own Ryan Adams troubles stemmed from deciding twixt Cold Roses an Jacksonville City Nights. End a the day, Cold Roses is the one has the most depth for me, Jacksonville at times feels like, say, Small Time Crooks by Woody Allen. all the fun in the world, but a wee bit slight, nonetheless. but it's still a beautiful album, just that Cold Roses has more goin on, far as i'm concerned.
29 is takin a while for me, as i've discussed elsewhere with your good self. but it's gettin there, like that ol' darkness Bobby Z talks about in your comment up yonder.
Incidentally, the Dylan line stickin in my head wi most resonance these days is from My Back Pages;
"Ah but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now"
6 - Aaron Fleming
Wonderful writing, a perfect end to a year of such prose.
"let me die an be reborn someplace in the slanty thing o'er the e."
Haha, what excellent imagery there, I can just visualise it in its full technicolour.
7 - Aaron, Duke De Mondo
Sir Fleming, thank you! Sadly this is far from the full-stop i had intended it to be, an far too flabby by far. but what can one do? screech till the eyes burst their bollocks, an then carry on anew.