A band sprung out of a dirty highway returns to the scene of the crime tonite when the clock strikes midnight in Ioannina, a town just southeast of Texas and northwest of Koutselio. Do yourself a favour and catch a gig yet to be legendary just like those which preceded it.
" Well, I had the carburetor, baby, cleaned and checked with her line blown out she's hummin' like a turbojet. Propped her up in the backyard on concrete blocks for a new clutch plate and a new set of shocks. Took her down to the carwash, check the plugs and points. Well, I'm goin' out tonight. I'm gonna rock that joint..." (Boss)
Well, it's 9th and Hennepin All the donuts have names that sound like prostitutes And the moon's teeth marks are on the sky Like a tarp thrown all over this And the broken umbrellas are like dead birds And the steam comes out of the grill Like the whole goddam town is ready to blow And the bricks are all scarred with jailhouse tattoos And everyone is behaving like dogs
And the horses are coming down Violin Road And Dutch is dead on his feet And all the rooms they smell like diesel And you take on the dreams of the ones who have slept there And I'm lost in the window And I hide in the stairway And I hang in the curtain And I sleep in your hat
And no one brings anything small into a bar around here They all started out with bad directions And the girl behind the counter has a tattooed tear One for every year he's away she said Such a crumbling beauty Ah, there's nothing wrong with her a hundred dollars won't fix She has that razor sadness that only gets worse With the clang and the thunder of the Southern Pacific going by And the clock ticks out like a dripping faucet Till you're full of rag water and bitters and blue ruin And you spill out over the side to anyone who'll listen
And I've seen it all I've seen it all through the yellow windows of the evening train
He wrote me: I will have spent my life trying to understand the function of remembering, which is not the opposite of forgetting, but rather its lining. We do not remember, we rewrite memory much as history is rewritten. How can one remember thirst? He didn't like to dwell on poverty, but in everything he wanted to show there were also the 4-Fs of the Japanese model. A world full of bums, of lumpens, of outcasts, of Koreans. Too broke to afford drugs, they'd get drunk on beer, on fermented milk. This morning in Namidabashi, twenty minutes from the glories of the center city, a character took his revenge on society by directing traffic at the crossroads
«Το Λονδίνο είναι φιλόξενη πόλη», μου λέει ο Κούρδος ιδιοκτήτης του «Rose Supermarket». Βλέπω την ταμπέλα στην είσοδο του μαγαζιού του: «Αγγλικό- τουρκικό- ελληνικό- αφρικανικό- καραϊβικό μαγαζί τροφίμων». Ο ιδιοκτήτης χαμογελά με την επισήμανσή μου. «Σκέφτομαι να προσθέσω και πολωνικό φαγητό», λέει. «Τώρα μένουν αρκετοί Πολωνοί στη γειτονιά μας». Εκτός από τον δήμο, και πριν από αυτόν, την πολυπολιτισμικότητα εδώ τη ρυθμίζει η αγορά, που τρέφει και τρέφεται από τους μετανάστες. Αναρωτιέμαι εάν όλοι αυτοί οι πολιτισμοί συνυπάρχουν μεταξύ τους ή υπάρχουν απλώς ο καθένας για λογαριασμό του.
A band sprung out of a dirty highway returns to the scene of the crime tonite when the clock strikes midnight in Ioannina, a town just southeast of Texas and northwest of Koutselio. Do yourself a favour and catch a gig yet to be legendary just like those which preceded it.
