Pedro's Corner

Holy shit.

just on the side of the road man i just walked up to them

vocaroo.com/1dXhG0BKgjkh

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8IDOSnZiz7I[/youtube]

Federico Guglielmo. You love him and you hate him.

I’ll tell you this, though. I never liked the organ until I heard Albinoni. I hated it. That includes Bach. I can only listen to Bach’s organ pieces played on a guitar. Maybe that’s what was on his soul when he wrote for it, the guitar.

Most organs sound like dust.

Albinoni, he can make it sound like breath.

Huh. I guess there’s no organ in there. There’s some kind of weird wind instrument.

Am I crazy? Does anyone else hear it?

Is it an organ, is it a wind? At the very beginning, it sounded like an organ, then immediately changes to sounding like a wind… what’s that about? :-s

Well, you know what I’m saying, at bottom an organ is a wind, so I was thinking maybe it’s some kind of pre-organ, some simpler pipe-instrument. But no such thing is listed in the video description. Two possibilities:

#1 There is an organ or some kind of wind instrument and it is not listed, maybe because it doesn’t have a renowned artist playing it,

#2 Some of the bassier strings are played so very well that they sound like wind.

I am inclined to #1. Certain note shifts just have that… pipe noise to them.

Yeah, I mean, just the opening. That has to be an organ, by God and the Virgin.

thats what she said

You must be crazy, what else did that bitch tell you?

all of it

Well just don’t tell anyone else.

ill do my best

We used to live in an age of individuals, and those who in their hearts were part of a collective had a bad time. Now we live in an age of collective, and those who in their hearts are individuals will have a bad time. It is not, on its face, unfair.

Eventually, individuals will rise again. The tragedy is that they will not have the benefit of the inheritance of the accumulated wisdom of this dying age of individuals. They will start from scratch.

Not that there isn’t any hope, period. And many of us will go down swinging. But the odds are not good.

And, of course, Nietzsche may have been right. We may have seen the last dancing star. But it is still, on its face, not unfair.

Pedro says:

“It is not, on its face, unfair”

meno says :

“The fairness of the individual lost in a commune does rarely present a fair face”

Here’s a poem
A poem with blood and omens
Shoot first and ask questions of the corpses
Pretend to be dying while you fondle the nurses
Life is good, not all is bad
A collection of fruit and child’s dreams on a slab
Take a stab at undressing her
But all the while I’m just thinking of Mehico
Sun swinging down like a pendulum picking up initiates like Remulus
Remember the time you said my miracles were strenuous?
I sense a tide rolling over all the pensive pentacles
My tentacles
My sensual collectibles
And sensibly discerning like a son of Alcibiadus
My priapus
Is telling all the ladies I’m agreeable
But deep inside the cages are my vehicles
Ready to relay the message “it’s forseeable”
Step into my office I wax lyrical
And police never find me, apolitical
Bring the salad bowl
All my mates are spread around assembling catapults
No, I’m not a legend, I’m a manifold
Archanimal
Send for my 11 I’m in cantankerous

I eat the cheese
Nothing to sneeze
Check out these bees
I’m crossing my T’s
I’m crossing the street
Holding your teeth
Holding the beef
I squish it indeed
I’m surfing the seas
I’m riding a steed
Correcting the method
I’m starting a creed
They know me in Bali
They know me in Leeds
My life is a breeze
The bitches are peas
And I am a pond
They’re making me wheeze
A house in Belize
Bitch nigga please
Get lost in the weeds
Got scabs on her knees
I stab a police
For messing with me
I’m Ali Baba
I’m perched on a tree
Fantastically
Spitting prophecy
Oh my, oh me
This acrimony
This matrimony
Between fate and me
No you don’t know me
You just wish you did
My thoughts are obscene
Got whores on my deed
These bitches are special
They making me bleed

They’re making me bleed
These bitches are special
100 degrees
100 corrections
An addict: disease
Polemic ovation
Poetic with ease
I perspirate grease
I put it on Jeeves
Put X on her feed
Put eggs on my steak
Or else I might break
Another of these
Poor fuck enemies
I’m your inner me
I’m urine in mead
I’m curing your breed
I’m spurious need
I’m serious
Pussy in a bowl
I eat it like cereal
You’re pussy, I’m bored
I kill you like serial
She says I’m mercurial
Said no, I’m imperious
Put it in my drawer
And go hit the streets again
Swinging my sword
I’m making that history

there’s an old rap group from the 90s called brotha lynch hung, that had 1 hit called “rest in piss” that you should check out. the shit is raw af.