I’m starting to realize why so many musicians reach a point where they feel as if so much of their time, money, and effort has been wasted. Everyone plays guitar. Everyone has a better opinion. Nobody goes to shows. Nobody worth noticing gets noticed. Lazy east coast venues try to get you to work for free. Your band will always sound like someone else’s. Band members will tear each other apart. People will hate you just for trying.
(Source: observando, via whiskeyandcigarettes)
Rocky Gap, September 2011. I’d like to go back.
(Source: gifmovie, via whiskeyandcigarettes)
Michael Moore: Do you know that on the day of the Columbine massacre, the US dropped more bombs on Kosovo than any other day?
Marilyn Manson: I do know that, and I think that’s really ironic, that nobody said ‘well maybe the President had an influence on this violent behavior’ Because that’s not the way the media wants to take it and spin it, and turn it into fear, because then you’re watching television, you’re watching the news, you’re being pumped full of fear, there’s floods, there’s AIDS, there’s murder, cut to commercial, buy the Acura, buy the Colgate, if you have bad breath they’re not going to talk to you, if you have pimples, the girl’s not going to fuck you, and it’s just this campaign of fear, and consumption, and that’s what I think it’s all based on, the whole idea of ‘keep everyone afraid, and they’ll consume.’
(via whiskeyandcigarettes)
Paging doctor Benway
He took us, aimlessly out into the snagged elbow wound, jagged stone and decaying mortar walls of the steel enclosed, arranged and organized, coexisting dependency on rapid thought. The alleyways of the demon junkies, the spoon burnt vagabonds, some missing lower jaws and…other important things. He took us on a carefully guided, yet often trampled the former living, flesh shell, still oozing earthly colors; all swollen cosmic dust. Grinding bones asymmetrically protruding out of ectoplasm and nerves that used to be hands. Clawing on concrete like colored chalk, like the kids draw with, just down the street from here. Maybe that’s why it was never noticed, the sharpening of chipped, splintered hard candy, marrow dripp’d sidewalk. He’s drawing a picture, he says.
He looks at me…
“Remove the heart.”
(Source: robotsriot, via whiskeyandcigarettes)
He took us, aimlessly out into the snagged elbow wound, jagged stone and decaying mortar walls of the steel enclosed, arranged and organized, coexisting dependency on rapid thought. The alleyways of the demon junkies, the spoon burnt vagabonds, some missing lower jaws and…other important things. He took us on a carefully guided, yet often trampled the former living, flesh shell, still oozing earthly colors; all swollen cosmic dust. Grinding bones asymmetrically protruding out of ectoplasm and nerves that used to be hands. Clawing on concrete like colored chalk, like the kids draw with, just down the street from here. Maybe that’s why it was never noticed, the sharpening of chipped, splintered hard candy, marrow dripp’d sidewalk. He’s drawing a picture, he says.
He looks at me…
“Remove the heart.”
