Friday, June 02, 2006

The Dixie Chicks

Dixie Chix blocking pop-ups etc.

The Dixie Chicks crashed our broadband, without apology or anything, they just made the whole thing swing, and then the screen collapsed on itself, the sound sputtered and spattered like a red hot stir fry, the picture failed and I asked them to send an error report.

The Kings of Leon broke my I.pod, they melted down the little clever twisty bits, a string of hits, some nonsense and rock and roll, too much for these small circuits to control, in the end I was beyond consolation, little ear plugs full of frustration.

Confushion fused my video, black and white and tartan effects, guitar solos behind the shed, along the shore with rotting wrecks, he does the stunts himself, I can tell, confusion and all that and now my video’s not so well.

The crows invaded my garden and so the crow wars began, first two then three then seventeen, a black cloud of feathers and feeding frenzy and Mafia manners at the feeding table, get back to your own sky, your Burger King car parks, your roosts and nooks high up in somewhere else. This isn’t road kill; this is fine dining for the aviators.

Out of the Bedroom messed up my bed, songs and noise, home to late to sleep, out too late for whatever happens the next day, invariably a Friday. Now I’m an insomniac, afraid of the dark, and the Cannons’ Gait, where they lurk.

The city froze my soul. I was warm looking up but when I looked down my shoes were imbedded in blocks of nice, not nice. Cardboard cups of hot coffee couldn’t thaw me out, that’s what the city is all about, taking you down and stretching your neck, to see the sights and quickly forget.

Coke and a Cake made me late, for something, listening, thinking, then I was somewhere else in the other place that is on time, late by the hands of the clock, or the radio Jock, or microwave messages bleeping from LCD heaven with there never wrong numbers.

Girls Aloud made me feel a little proud of not really discovering them, or their hidden depths and talents on X-Factor or Sex-Factor or Celebrity House in the Apprentice Country Fame Game. But I like them just the same in some intelligent but ironic postmodern kind of existential no nonsense way.

Impossible Songs proved me wrong, life is good and does move on, impossible is possible and not really a real thing at all just some stretched concept that keeps you in check because it will all come round and suddenly be strangely achievable.


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