Merriweather Poist Pavilion

wat

lol the guy holding the camera is a moronsecret texts


Edited by Shakespeare - February 25 2009 at 18:29

Pnoom! wrote: lul

My friend who goes there lol'd heartily at the situation.

lul

Lyrics approved.

Situations

Turns out my dad is visiting and I can't record tonight lawlalwlalw. Tomorrow for sure.

Here's some of the lyrics I pulled together for this project. I think Folly would good at writing more sh*t like this. If anyone else wants to contribute (Itsy, Jake, Dylan, Harry), you're more than welcome.

She said her name was Lolita. But I knew she was lying. In my time I met my share of Lolitas, and this was no Lolita. She was a Cynthia. I’d bet my reputation on it, and Lord knows that’s quite a wager, at a time like this.

She took me to a little place she knew, down by the docks. It was getting late, now: the sun just veiled behind smog and the ash of last night’s fire. The docks were bad news, I knew, but I needed this job. And I was in trouble, by Jove.

A brigade of armour clad street police and government indoctrinated militia ran by us as we made our way to the waterfront. One of these burly men broke formation to approach me, solemnly kneeling and presenting me with a crimson letter. He said, “Your mother wants you home,” and shed a lonely tear.

Cynthia called him batty and moved on. I asked him where he and his soldier pals were headed. "To the war," he replied, and returned to the perpetually moving wave of black leather and plastic and metal and meat and chemicals. That was a soul eating sea. Identities and memories were stirred and made communal in the cruel contempt for thought instilled in them by years of corporate brainwashing.

Lolita tapped me on the ear. She leaned in close and whispered something sexy. My brain wasn’t functioning them. All I heard was a featureless static, like a malfunctioning radio. The kind you see in the old movies.

It occurred to me then. The soldiers were all on my side. Their minds are a pathway devoid of hindrance yearning my mythic yarns and flagrant mysticism. I laughed and said aloud “I am your chemicals.” I must have done something right.



Edited by Shakespeare - February 25 2009 at 17:32

an idiotic kind

I'll upload just the drums now so you can record some gtr to go with it and if Jake wants to still be in the band he can record some bass, otherwise we're a duo. Plus itsy and folly and all the rest.

U HUR ME JAK U R FIRD