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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Outlawscumfuc's LiveJournal:

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Wednesday, January 9th, 2008
11:44 pm
Misty Morning Albert Bridge
I dreamt we were standing
By the banks of the Thames
Where the cold grey waters ripple
In the misty morning light
Held a match to your cigarette
Watched the smoke curl in the mist
Your eyes, blue as the ocean between us
Smiling at me

I awoke alone and lonely
In a faraway place
The sun fell cold upon my face
The cracks in the ceiling spelt hell
Turned to the wall
Pulled the sheets around my head
Tried to sleep, and dream my way
Back to you again

Count the days
Slowly passing by
Step on a plane
And fly away
I'll see you then
As the dawnbirds sing
On a cold and misty morning
By the Albert Bridge
Sunday, June 10th, 2007
10:33 pm
The Old Main Drag
When I first came to London I was only sixteen
With a fiver in my pocket and my ole dancing bag
I went down to the dilly to check out the scene
But I soon ended up upon the old main drag

There the he-males and the she-males paraded in style
And the old man with the money would flash you a smile
In the dark of an alley you'd work for a fiver
For a swift one off the wrist down on the old main drag

In the cold winter nights the old town it was chill
But there were boys in the cafes who'd give you cheap pills
If you didn't have the money you'd cajole and you'd beg
There was always lots of tuinol on the old main drag

One evening as I was lying down by Leicester Square
I was picked up by the coppers and kicked in the balls
Between the metal doors at Vine Street I was beaten and mauled
And they ruined my good looks for the old main drag

In the tube station the old ones who were on the way out
Would dribble and vomit and grovel and shout
And the coppers would come along and push them about
And I wished I could escape from the old main drag

And now I'm lying here I've had too much booze
I've been spat on and shat on and raped and abused
I know that I am dying and I wish I could beg
For some money to take me from the old main drag
Thursday, February 8th, 2007
1:54 pm
The Band Played Waltzing Matilda
When I was a young man I carried my pack
And I lived the free life of a rover
From the Murrays green basin to the dusty outback
I waltzed my Matilda all over
Then in nineteen fifteen my country said Son
It's time to stop rambling 'cause there's work to be done
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun
And they sent me away to the war

And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we sailed away from the quay
And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the cheers
We sailed off for Gallipoli

How well I remember that terrible day
When the blood stained the sand and the water
And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter
Johnny Turk he was ready, he primed himself well
He shot us with bullets, he rained us with shells
And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell
Nearly blew us right back to Australia

And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we stopped to bury our slain
We buried ours and the Turks buried theirs
And it started all over again

Now those who were living did their best to survive
In that mad world of death, blood and fire
And for seven long weeks I kept myself alive
While the corpsed around me piled higher
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over tit
And when I woke up in my hospital bed
And saw what it had done, Christ I wished I was dead
Never knew there were worse things than dying

For no more I'll go waltzing Matilda
To the green bushes so far and near
For to hang tent and pegs, a man needs two legs
No more waltzing Matilda for me

So they collected the cripples, the wounded, the maimed
And they shipped us back home to Australia
The legless, the armless, the blind, the insane
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla
And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay
I looked at the place where my legs used to be
And thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me
To grieve and to mourn and to pity

And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As they carried us down the gangway
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared
Then turned all their faces away

And now every April I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me
I see my old comrades, how proudly they march
Reliving the dreams of past glory
I see the old men, all twisted and torn
The forgotten heroes of a forgotten war
And the young people ask me, "What are they marching for?"
And I ask myself the same question

And the band plays Waltzing Matilda
And the old men still answer the call
But year after year their numbers get fewer
Some day no one will march there at all

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
Who'll go a waltzing Matilda with me?
Monday, November 7th, 2005
4:57 am
Listen to the sounds of her broken heart flowing from the transistor radio

This little device fits the palm of her hand
Built to take anywhere she wants to go
She searches for the signal with a swift flick of the dial
Living in an age of technological advances
Is this little simple pleasure that always makes her smile
And now it's made me smile

Seems like she only gets AM tuning out these dated songs
But Carly Simon's always been a guilty pleasure
So I start to hum along
And for a second I start to feel ashamed
I remember verses one and two of You're So Vain
I look around to see if anybody's watching
And start to laugh from the thought

You could write it off as nostalgia, outdated, kitcy cool novely
It's not the same
Can't you hear the tone that's so pissed off and alone
That aims straight for the jugular vein?

I really love these moments that are so quirky and absurd
As I sit here watching her mouth off all the words
Within the range of radio frequencies
A song that is played for you and me


Listen to the sounds of her broken heart flowing from the transistor radio
Listen to the sounds of her broken heart flowing from the transistor radio
Listen to the sounds of the transistor radio
Sunday, October 30th, 2005
1:26 pm
Layin' on my back
In the newly mown grass
Rain is coming down
But I know the clouds will pass
You bring me tea
Say "the babe's a-sleepin'"

Lay down beside me
Love ain't for keeping

Black ash from the foundry
Hangs like a hood
But the air is perfumed
By the burning firewood
The seeds are bursting
The spring is seeping

Lay down beside me
Love ain't for keeping

Lay down my darling
Love ain't for keeping
Thursday, October 20th, 2005
5:25 am
Wasted Again
1, 2, 3, 4!

I've got a brand new bag
The old one was such a drag
I'm going to the void
I'm gonna get destroyed

Sweeping floors working nine to five
Working for the weekend just to stay alive
Streets are dead but I'm totally wired
It's 4 am and my soul is on fire!

And I'm wasted again
Tanked up on the juice and gin
Wasted again
All right!

We're going to the disco
We're going to the bar
We're going in the snowplough
We're gonna take it far

Sweeping floors working nine to five
Working for the weekend just to stay alive
Streets are dead but I'm totally wired
Dude it's 4 am and my soul is on fire!

And I'm wasted again
Tanked up on the juice and gin
Wasted again
All right!

You know I'm wasted again
I'll never ever feel this good again
Wasted again
Fuck yeah!

So won't you meet me in the twilight zone
'Cause I'm the boy that nobody owns and
My body is a temple
My body is a temple
My body is a temple
And tonight I'll tear it down!

Wasted again
Tanked up on the juice and gin
Wasted again
All right!

You know I'm wasted again
I'll never ever feel this good again
Wasted again
Fuck yeah!

I'm the boy that nobody owns
I'm the boy that nobody owns
I'm the boy that nobody owns
And I'm wasted!
Monday, October 10th, 2005
1:14 am
Rock & Roll is so great, people should start dying for it. You don't understand. The music gave you back your beat so you could dream. A whole generation running with a Fender bass...
The people just have to die for the music. People are dying for everything else, so why not the music? Die for it. Isn't it pretty? Wouldn't you die for something pretty?
Perhaps I should die. After all, all the great blues singers did die. But life is getting better now.

I don't want to die.
Do I?
Friday, August 26th, 2005
6:23 am
I wanna get drunk and pass out on the floor
Work myself into convulsions, beat my head against the door
I wanna cut my skin, cut it until I bleed
I wanna feel pain, it's the life that I lead

Abuse myself
I...I...I...I wanna abuse my body

Cut it deep
Make it bleed
Throw my guts out on the floor
Cut my face until I fuckin' die

I wanna die before I get old
Get fucked up
Destroy

I wanna die, die, die
I wanna die
Kill me, motherfucker
You've never died before
Bury me under the floor

Stick me in the heart, I ain't got one anyway
Stick me in the ass, that's the best part of me
Because I don't care if I live or die
It just don't matter, kill me anyway

I wanna abuse myself, yeah
Shoot me, stab me, cut my throat
Hit me with a fuckin' axe
I just won't croak

Look me in the eyes, hey what do you see
Stab me in the eyes, you can piss on me
Kick me in the balls, I just don't care
Rip out my brains, pull my fucking hair

Abuse me, kick me, cut me 'til I bleed
Fuck me, kick me, shit on me
I just don't care you see

Destroy me
I wanna destroy you

I wanna die, I don't wanna get old
I don't wanna die old, I wanna die young
I wanna be a scumfuc and I wanna die young

I don't wanna play in no fucking sixties band

Kill me, rape me, do with me what you will
I'm gonna fuck a girl who doesn't take the pill
Maybe she'll have a little boy, maybe a little girl
I really don't give a fuck, 'cause I'll be dead in another world

That's right, abuse me, kick me, cut me, stab me, axe me
Knife me, fork me, fuck me, suck me, beat me, fuck me
Blow me, eat me, stab me
Abuse my body
Abuse my body
Friday, August 12th, 2005
6:45 pm
Wasted Fest October 8/9
LineupCollapse )



So who wants to go with me?
Monday, August 1st, 2005
12:46 am
Johnny R U Queer?
Johnny what's the deal boy
Is your love for real boy
When the lights are low
You never hold me close
Now I saw you today boy
Walking with them straight boys
God you hurt me so
Now I gotta know Johnny are you queer?

'Cause when I see you dancing with your friends
I can't help wondering where I stand

I'm so afraid I'll lose you
If I can't seduce you
Is there something wrong?
Johnny come on strong.

Why are you so weird, boy?
Johnny are you queer boy?
When I make a play
You're pushing me away
So Johnny are you queer?

'Cause when I see you dancing with your friends
I can't help wondering where I stand

Johnny you've forsaken
A love you could be takin'
I want to give it to you,
But you never come through

Oh, why are you so weird, boy?
Johnny are you queer boy?
When you asked for a date
I thought that you were scared.
But Johnny are you queer?

Johnny are you queer boy?
Johnny are you queer boy?
Johnny are you queer boy?

Hey Johnny.. Johnny are you.. you know...

Current Mood: rejected
Wednesday, May 25th, 2005
11:07 am
Who Killed Rock'n'Roll?
by Gene Sculatti

Who's the perp? Somebody must've done this. The victim's been lying there on life-support for years. Once a big, strapping music, light on its feet, unstoppable in its ability to move and shake all kinds of listeners, it fades in and out of consciousness, listless and unfocused.

Even without invoking the golden days of two and three decades ago, popular music today - an enervating mix of a-melodic R&B, lachrymose little-girl songwriter shlock and brutish fratboy b.s. - and posing, ever more posing - pales against any measurement standard.

As the wise solon Andy Kim once inquired, "Baby, how'd we ever get this way?"

Well, some folks suspect corporate-driven record companies, others point to research-run radio. Those two've done their damage, sure, but I think the real culprit are myths. For almost 30 years, rock music's been a prisoner of some powerful, essentially bogus "natural laws" that have shaped artists' and audiences' perceptions and behavior. Unchecked and unchallenged, these myths have resulted in an ever-narrowing definition of what R&R is and how it works; they've gutted its vocabulary, limited its expressiveness and left us with the soul-numbing jive that now surrounds us.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, let's meet our myths...
Myth #1: Rock Is Art

This nifty bondage outfit dates back to 1967. That's when the mainstream media declared legit the music it had dissed for more than a decade. Sgt. Pepper was, of course, High Art; no less a cultural court than Newsweek, in its review of the album (6/26/67), declared the Beatles the equal of Wordsworth, Eliot, Tennyson, Harold Pinter, Donald Barthelmew, Charlie Chaplin and Edith Sitwell.

OK, rock did do some real growing up in the 60s: "Like A Rolling Stone" one of the 20th Century's true cosmos-rattling works - was surely no "Teen Angel." But then "White Room" and "Marrakesh Express" were no "Like A Rolling Stone."

The Rock Is Art myth was largely institutionalized by the late '60s/early '70s advent of rock journalism: If rock was legit enough to be written about, it must be Saying Something. And unless it was Saying Something, it wasn't rock. Since the principal means of saying anything is words, the gradual ascent of lyrics over sound was assured (Rolling Stone found little to evaluate in the output of such lyrically irrelevant acts as Slade, T. Rex, the Dolls or Ramones - just as it would've been speechless on Big Joe Turner or the Trashmen or, for that matter, the Marcels). In time, audience and artists alike came to assume that pop music was supposed to carry content.

Which meant that, before long, you had only to present yourself as a poet - the jasmine-sniffing psychedelic clods, the prog-rockers, smug-ass solo Lennon or the gifted seer Jimbo M - to be taken as one. The Lizard King, in fact, created the Tortured Artist template for all who've followed. See his intense gaze and self-absorption, his irrefutable claim to be dropping science big-time, in Stipe and Sting, in Amos, Bono, Badu, and Vedder, and Ndegeocello and hundreds of others.

The irony is that now, after 30 years of Myth No. 1's dominance, the thousands of kids who yearly make pop music a career choice (you could've gotten committed for this in pre-Beatles days) probably think their songs (or "works") are going to change the world.

Either that or they're paying obeisance to ...
Myth #2: Rock Is Rebel Music

"Everything is so tame and so driven by corporations. But it hasn't been possible for them to take over and use the images of serial killers. It's the only thing that's still truly underground and alternative." -James, publisher of PopSmear magazine, quoted in the L.A. Times, 8/4/99

But of course. The fallout from Myth No. 2 is everywhere; you can't walk anywhere without stepping in it. Its origins, too, lie deep in the mainstream's earliest attempts to understand the music - i.e., Catholic and fundamentalist-clergy denunciations of r&r as a soundtrack for juvenile delinquency, Sinatra's pronouncements against Presley, racist tirades about the rise of "jungle music."

And, as with the music's '60s adolescence, there's truth here: to old-line publishers, promoters and broadcasters, this new thing really was wild and threatening. It wasn't until the '60s and '70s that the rock=rebellion myth was institutionalized and, it often seems, stamped into the genetic code of almost everyone who would ever listen to the music. Key players include Stones manager Andrew Oldham, who shrewdly marketed his act as the anti-Beatles, and, later, the rock-crit establishment. Pop-music histories of the '70s, '80s and '90s tell and re-tell the tale of rock's rebel routes - for example, reserving major props for Gene Vincent (pain-addled, pill-addicted, died poor) while skimming over Fats Domino (mild-mannered family man, made some of the most joyous r&r the world's ever heard). (In the liner notes to a recent Faces reissue, Dave Marsh feverishly recalls the band's concerts: "They took the stage the way a teenage gang takes over a corner." Careful with that truncheon, Roddy.)

By now, rock's parade of self-proclaimed rebels resembles a clogged freeway. Stuck in traffic: Jefferson Airplane and the MC5 (raised-fist leftist rants signifying nothing), the Metal nation (30 years of taking Halloween seriously), country-rock's "outlaw movement" (millionaire songwriters revolt against bridges and choruses), and first-gen punks (did anyone really expect Western society to slip into anarchy?). In the driver's seat today: gangsta rap (endless tales of unsavory behavior, inspired by fascinating "real life" experiences) and the "hard music" wing of Alternative Nation (white guys' tales of unsavory behavior, often inspired by an endless fascination with Chuck Manson). Memo to James of PopSmear: Don't flatter yourself: Ford and GMC will one day use images of Gacy and Dahmer to move tough trucks.)

The net effect of these two myths has been a gradual strangulation of rock 'n' roll, ever tightening the popular definition of the music. An aesthetic freeze-out now rules: If the music you're making isn't Serious (self-fixated, "poetic" proclamations: Morissette is Jewel is Rollins) or Dangerous (NIN, Marilyn Manson, Korn, Rage), you're engaged in frivolous activity - in a word, "pop." (Fear of the p-word is epidemic: Dig the way so many alt-rock bands craft catchy-as-hell melodies, then sing them with deliberately "off" vocals - to make sure you know they're not trying to be Anka or Astley.)

I'm not saying there's no room for introspection or anger. The drag is that the new rock orthodoxy excludes so many other elements that have made the music so enjoyable over the years: exuberance (over calculated provocation), wit (over misogyny), heart (over histrionics), aspirations to beauty ("We made sure Public Enemy was going to keep portraying ugly music" - canny marketeer Chuck D, in the L.A. Times, 7/25/99). What audience niche/ radio format today would embrace "Be My Baby," Pet Sounds, "Peggy Sue," "Shout," "Blitzkrieg Bop," or "Wooly Bully"?

So, with the patient hanging on by a thread, is there a chance of recovery? Maybe. If artists can break the myth-mold and restore the musical vocabulary, they might find the inspiration to revive the old dame.

As a listener, I know that my favorite rock 'n' roll CDs lately are albums that were either produced before the rule of Myths 1 and 2, or, because of cultural lag-time, transcend them altogether. Norton's reissue of Detroit soulster Gino Washington's lost catalog is a pre-myth monster: melodic, celebratory, so raggedly noisy it's almost out of control. Bossa Cubana, by Cuba's '50s/early '60s vocal group Los Zafiros, is sublimely beautiful (if Happy Days stereotyping has stood in the way of your appreciating the soul and sonic sculpture of doowop, try this). Gear Blues, by Japan's contemporary four-piece Thee Michelle Gun Elephant (one theory suggests the name's a misreading of "Machine Gun Etiquette"), relentlessly rocks out with Dictators/MC5 fury - and you needn't understand a syllable to catch the fire.

Are any of these records Saying Something about life today or man's fate? Probably not. Are they dangerous acts of rebellion? In a world so suspicious of spontaneity, unfaked emotion and fun, you bet they are.
Thursday, March 3rd, 2005
2:15 am
Garbage Dump
Oh garbage dump, oh garbage dump
Why are you called a garbage dump
Garbage dump, oh garbage dump
That sums it up in one big lump

When you're livin' on the road
And sometimes think you're starvin'
Get off that trip my friend
Get in them cans and start carvin'

There's a market basket and an A & P
I don't care if the boys are starin' at me
I don't give a shit who wins the war
I'll be livin' behind my favorite store

Garbage dump, oh garbage dump
Why are you called a garbage dump
Garbage dump, oh garbage dump
Why are you called a garbage dump
Garbage dump, oh garbage dump
That sums it up in one big lump
Wednesday, November 24th, 2004
2:06 am
Punk Rock Explained
You start out with a punk rock band just trying to have fun
Your lousy 7 inch is not impressing anyone
You get your first show and you're ready to go
When you're stopped by the fire chief
Do not pass go
Do not collect your 10 bucks gas money

But pretty soon you're playing almost constantly
You buy a crappy rusted out old van
You move out of your mom's house, happy to be on your own
Move in with the rest of your band

You get a record deal with a big label on the coast
You feel important as you eat your ramen and your toast
Your money is spent
You can't pay the rent
But you're having a gay old time
You don't have cash for food but you still get drunk every night

The local fanzines start wanting interviews
Then you're in Maximum Rock N Roll
The record starts to sell and you get paid for it
The fun's just starting
Now hit the road

Your merchandise is selling out
You're the talk of the scene
Your profit margins far exceed your most orgasmic dream
But touring seems wrong when fans are shouting out songs
Or punching you in the mouth
The one's that don't want your autograph scream at you that you've sold out

You wonder why you ever got involved in this
You find yourself despising all your fans
Your appointments with accountants and lawyers are more important than your stupid punk band

You come out with a half assed record made too fast
You hate your band and they think you're a jerk
Suddenly you're not the hottest thing around
It's time for a career in spoken word
Tuesday, November 23rd, 2004
1:51 am
Vegas was awesome
The Murder Junkies were awesome

The GG songs I can still remember that they played were


Take aim and fire
Sister Sodomy
Bite it you scum
Die when you die
Drink fight and fuck
Hanging out with Jim
I kill everything I fuck
I'm gonna rape you
Legalize murder
OutlawScumfuc
Raw brutal rough & bloody


The End
Thursday, November 18th, 2004
2:40 am
Sin City
So spin that wheel
Cut that pack
and roll those loaded dice
Bring on the dancing girls
and put that champagne on ice!

I'm going in....to sin city!!!
I'm gonna win....in sin city!!!


but first.....the murder junkies!
Monday, November 8th, 2004
12:15 am
So Bush won the election. For real this time.
I'm not gonna be stupid and say it's the end of the world or this country is gonna be hell cause it's not, it's not really gonna have any effect on me at all. Sure Bush isn't qualified to be president but neither was Kerry.
It's like asking the question
what smells better dog shit or cow shit? They both smell like shit.

I voted for the green party if you're interested.
Tuesday, November 2nd, 2004
12:22 am
Rock N Roll
oh God
oh man I had alot of fun this weekend....except for the end of saturday night, it's not fun to be downtown on a saturday night when the next day is halloween

I thought our shows went good. I know we didn't sound very good but I had a super awesome time at both of them so that's all that matters. I even impressed myself with my sexy body
Wednesday, October 20th, 2004
1:28 am
Upcoming ROCK N ROLL shows everybody in san diego should attend
October 29 - Proper Villains - Some party downtown
This show and

October 31 - Proper Villains - Somewhere in Mission Valley
are gonna be awesome!! Because I'm playing!
The halloween show costs 10 dollars and the ticket says where it exactly is
and the one on halloween is gonna be the best so if you wanna see me almost fully naked come to that one!


November 9 - The Dwarves - Casbah

November 18 - The Murder Junkies - Brick By Brick

December 19 & 20 - Turbonegro - LA House of Blues
Tuesday, October 5th, 2004
3:07 am
Well....I'm shipping off to War this weekend.
If you believe in any sort of higher power, please pray that I'll come back alive.
Tuesday, September 21st, 2004
12:51 am
Salt Lake City
There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you
Except the one thing that you want me to
We went across the mighty Rio Grande and saw Disneyland
and the sea, you and me

But there's one thing I'll never do
Not even for you
No, not even for you
Not even for you

I'm not going to Salt Lake City
I'm not going to Salt Lake City
I'm not going to Salt Lake City

There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you
Except to walk among the Osmond crew
I know you're planning for a latter day
and you can't betray what you know, in Provo

But there's one less town on the globe
and if you must go there
You're going alone
Not even for you
Not even for you
Not even for you

I'm not going to Salt Lake City
I'm not going to Salt Lake City
I'm not going to Salt Lake City

Even if they tell me I can stay
Even if they resurrect my brain
I don't wanna go there
I don't wanna go insane

I'm not pure and I'm not pretty
and I'm not going to Salt Lake City
I'm not living in Hello Kitty
and I'm not going to Salt Lake City
I'm not
oh no no
I'm not
Well I'm not



Everybody go buy the new Dwarves album!
It's the greatest thing I've heard in a long long time
This is my favorite song on the album which strangely is the only one that isn't vulgar to the extreme....but like Blag says on the first song

"Every fucking track is a motherfucking hit"
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