IN HOC SIGNO VINCIS -MaRCo g. -

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

S€⁄X Pis†ºL •••••••••••

"I dON'T mind The ThiNgs ThaT yOu say
I dON'T eveN miNd gOing OuT Of my way
I Try TO dO These ThiNgs fOr yOu
Why shOuld I dO iT? I'm always uNTrue!

Well, I did yOu NO wrONg
I did yOu NO wrONg...
GOiNg OuT Of my head!"
(Lydon-Cook-Jones-Matlock)

When you get to realize how much the opening riff of that song psyches me up, strikes a chord and even turns me on for deviant behavior, then you will grasp the deranged concept behind my endeavors.
You need to pick up a fucking guitar, crank the volume all the way to 11, feel the goddamn surge crawl up your fingers and just play the 3 or 4 fucking "Chuck Berry" chords you just learned the other day. The possibilities are endless and vile with just 1 plain and simple motion of 3 fingers. And that's when you realize it's so good to be fucking alive, and breathe the air because you can't burn without oxygen. String scars on my finger tips... dumbell marks on the palm of my hands... a heeled gash on my wrist... caffeine overdose... fingers bleeding down the frets... sweat running down my brows... and a twisted grin having a ball..

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