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Sunday, 03 December 2006 |
 the bondage jukebox: the best bdsm music and bondage songs
A Mylene Farmer cd cover. I found a myspace tribute page to her. Her
music is like most 80's metal: easy
listening music with drums and distorted guitar. Lots of thick synth
pads, too ... kind of Enya with hairly legs, but in a good way. Mylene is
clearly endowed with amazing talents. A HUGE star in Europe.
One of may artists featured on the Bondage Jukebox::::
The French Madonna makes like Joan Jett crossed with Catherine Deneuve
in some of the most amazing bdsmy concerts you've never seen, in which
she prances in latex hobble dresses, steel-cage ponygirl attire and
other visual delights while cooing ethereal over a heavy-metal
soundtrack. She even managed to sneak a naughty song ("L'Histoire d'une
fÈe, c'est..." the last two words of which translate phonetically into
"fessee," French for spanking) onto the soundtrack for Rugrats In
Paris. (more on the flipflop)
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Thursday, 07 December 2006 |
Here is a little bootleg of John singing "Working Class Hero" with a heavily phase-shifted guitar. Very cool.
Don't know what else to say, except I still miss him after all this time.
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Tuesday, 09 January 2007 |
A tale from the wild-n-wooly days of the internets
I met Bonnie in the early days of
usenet mail groups. She came to my defense as I was being viciously flamed
by an asshole who was, he said, a published author, a lyricist for a rock
band: a self-promoting digerati jerk of the highest caliber, involved with
a lot of rapidly developing Internet issues, a self-proclaimed shaman, and
always had a sig file that quoted J.P. Barlow, founder of the Electronic
Freedom Foundation. Do I think it was the great Bloviator himself? Yes, but I can't prove it. As I said, the guy was too chickenshit to reveal his identity. More about Barlow some other day.
In her well-written defense of me, Bonnie mentioned that she wore size five underwear, was 28 years old,
and was a single mom living in New Jersey and that the anonymous guy who
was too chickenshit to reveal his name could pick on her, too.
I was impressed, in more ways than one.
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Sunday, 13 May 2007 |
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I remember a sunny Berkeley afternoon some thirty-plus years ago.
Sitting in the living room at Ashby House
(first house on the right, heading downhill, after Claremont Ave.;
it's still there, but not as nice:
they added the ugly addition and removed all the leaded glass windows),
listening to Radioactivity, the new Kraftwerk album with my hippie friend, Russell.
Drinking beer, smoking dope and Camel cigarets,
as was the order of of the day every day at Ashby House.
Antenna came on the stereo.
Halfway through the song, Russell started shouting:
"That IS NOT music! I don't know what it is, but it IS NOT MUSIC!"
I'm not sure what he meant. It's my favorite Kraftwerk song.
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Tuesday, 21 November 2006 |
My mother cried
When president Kennedy died
She said it was the communists
But we knew better
We were born
Born in the fifties
Born, born in the fifties
—The Police, "Born in the Fifties"
Jackie Kennedy
cradles her husband after bullets shot by snipers on the grassy knoll
blew half his head off. This act of war against the United States, of high treason, changed the
course of American history. The assassination, and the failure of our
country's leaders to bring the killers to justice was, and remains, the
central fact, the darkness at the core of our American Republic.
I was in eighth grade when John Kennedy was killed. I remember
standing in the cafeteria with the whole student body as a teacher told
us that John Kennedy was dead in Dallas. I will never forget
that day, the shock, the sadness: who among us of my generation will? We loved John Kennedy and
the great promise of America, for all Americans, not
just the few, that he embodied. If you were not there, you cannot
really know how exciting it was—the killers killed so much more than a
man that day.
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