Our heroes are dying away, just getting old, really old, the ones with the eternal, really eternal youth are becoming dinosaurs and dying. Sadly, often with no last good word, but nothing but bloody suffering, lying in their own juice, disappearing full of drugs and pain and no smart words left to say before the last breath wastes away. They’ve been there for you, since forever you could thought, fought the fights side on side with you, they were your life, in your life. You fell in love with their god damn picture on the motherfucking wall. And now: dinosaurs.


To be honest: James Dean never has been alive. Neither Peter Doherty..but he seems to be a Dinosaur since the last 10 years, really sadly. He was the punk. And he did everything to make it disappear out of himself. Bloody him. Give you back to my life, asshole, you think. And wondering what kind of true Rock and Roll should happen now. This ass faces of DJ’s seem to make music that is okay, but there is one really problem with them: they are not music, not a piece of a Drum or a Beat is written in their face like Bob Dylan. Nothing like that. And you stand there, wondering where to go with you pining yourself over for desire for the something that fills the cracks in you, where all the shit is getting in, for one who shows how to give a shit, go on and how to keep your head up high anyway, and staying confident and easy going whatever shit happening. And you can go out of this exploding shit and saying: he or she never ever could have done this better, for gods sake.


Where and when did it disappear. And where to believe in now between the fake lights, the fake worlds in all of your hands, the fake musicians, the fake fakes, and where to get with our love, the small moments of wondering what to do with a moment of time. Going to bed with eyes wide open, looking at the wall, listening to the breathing on our shoulder and rethink everything instead of being in a blue-light world of how others could present so much better, have better bodies, far more beautiful friends, better grades… just to visit them and bore yourself to hell. To go out and buy a bottle of wine. Listen to really old tapes. And doing nothing else. Dancing alone. Singing these songs. And give a shit.

With this slightly tone of being pessimistic.