"People see Rock N' Roll as youth culture, and when youth culture becomes monopolized by big business, what are the youth to do? Do you have any idea?"

I think we should destroy the bogus capitalist process that is destroying youth culture... the first step to do is destroy the record companies.

a different name changes everything

cambiame el nombre
cambiamelo enseguida
que desde hace ya varios días
comparto manías y lunares
y esa posición de los rasguños en la mano.

dejame el nombre que tengo por las noches
sólo por las noches -que llueva-
que ya hace más de un año que tomamos un baño.

JCC Quote

the fucking cops are fucking keen

to fucking keep it fucking clean

the fucking chief's a fucking swine

who fucking draws a fucking line

at fucking fun and fucking games

the fucking kids he fucking blames

are nowehere to be fucking found

anywhere in chicken town

--------------------------------------------

the fucking scene is fucking sad

the fucking news is fucking bad

the fucking weed is fucking turf

the fucking speed is fucking surf

the fucking folks are fucking daft

don't make me fucking laugh

it fucking hurts to look around

everywhere in chicken town

--------------------------------------------

the fucking train is fucking late

you fucking wait you fucking wait

you're fucking lost and fucking found

stuck in fucking chicken town

--------------------------------------------

the fucking view is fucking vile

for fucking miles and fucking miles

the fucking babies fucking cry

the fucking flowers fucking die

the fucking food is fucking muck

the fucking drains are fucking fucked

the colour scheme is fucking brown

everywhere in chicken town

--------------------------------------------

the fucking pubs are fucking dull

the fucking clubs are fucking full

of fucking girls and fucking guys

with fucking murder in their eyes

a fucking bloke is fucking stabbed

waiting for a fucking cab

you fucking stay at fucking home

the fucking neighbors fucking moan

keep the fucking racket down

this is fucking chicken town

--------------------------------------------

the fucking train is fucking late

you fucking wait you fucking wait

you're fucking lost and fucking found

stuck in fucking chicken town

--------------------------------------------

the fucking pies are fucking old

the fucking chips are fucking cold

the fucking beer is fucking flat

the fucking flats have fucking rats

the fucking clocks are fucking wrong

the fucking days are fucking long

it fucking gets you fucking down

evidently chicken town

Irwin Barbé Quote

because when you were nineteen

didn't YOU ever want to create something beautiful and pure
just so that one day you could set it on fire
and then watch the city light up as it burned?
Didn't you want to do that every day of your life?

Nothing should be forever.
Bands should do one single and then split-up,
fanzines finish after one flawless issue,
lovers leave in the rain at 5am and never be seen again -
Habit and fear of change are the worst reasons for ever doing ANYTHING.

We want to burn in bright colours and go pop,
to be giddy, impulsive and silly,
to kiss people in new places -
EXQUISITELY
- and dare to tear things apart.

The first act of revolution is destruction
and the first thing to destroy is THE PAST.
scary
like falling in love
it reminds us we're alive

Irwin Barbé 

Con un carajo

Aquí ya está
una mancha
que me combina
todo este noséqué
con tu quiensabecuando.

Por doquier te me partes
invisible, fracturada;
por doquier te me coagulas
y es que cada vez estoy más cerca de tu hombro
y otra vez -nosequé- es esto que me aconsejan los suspiros
y de nuevo -quiensabecuando- pero me marea el esofago
me seca las pestañas
y me vomitan los dedos del pie
con tal de no salirse -con un carajo- de aquí.

À bout de souffle quote

 J'aime une fille qui a un cou bien, de beaux seins, une belle voix, des poignets agréable, un beau front, le genou bonne. 

Mais elle est si lâche.

Arranca piel a este cabrón que le vio fosforescencia -cinemártir- a aquella noche.

Se me insinúa inventar un alma a partir de mi visión del cuerpo como un parásito.

Se me pretende construir todo -ojalá se vaya la luz- a veintinueve centímetros por debajo de mis ojos, donde un whiskey se mueve minuciosamente en mi bolsa estomacal, la sangre ajena se me pudre, y el hombro derecho se me vuelve a formar tras el té derramado en 

mi espalda.

Se me da la sensación de estarme repitiendo incontables veces en la memoria retenida de una individuo que, según yo, es ciego.

Y es que ¿Quéesloquemepasa, testigo?, que no encuentro donosa la cenestesia provocada por la afasia de la charlatanería; y otros sí.