Names of bands draw my interest more than it probably should. The game that words play with me saunters me along into a world of my own. By what the research department here has revealed to me; Otherkin describes a subcommunity of individuals that collectively believe they are not human. Well, the music kills any objection I may have to the choice of band name. These punks from Dublin crack the rack with 8 balls for me. Enough said.
“To begin depriving death of its greatest advantage over us, let us adopt a way clean contrary to that common one; let us deprive death of its strangeness, let us frequent it, let us get used to it; let us have nothing more often in mind than death… We do not know where death awaits us: so let us wait for it everywhere.”
“To practice death is to practice freedom. A man who has learned how to die has unlearned how to be a slave.”
Oh, how bad are the flowers of opium? Not as bad as this band from Los Angles, I dare say. Bad of course, in a good way in meaning towards this band. I love how the young use bad as a compliment. I love how the young can display the middle finger to each other and adore it with love as the old look on astonished with disgust and confusion. That to me is at the heart of rock and roll. It in a way separates it from the blues a little. Hip Hop flourishes to a degree with that same middle finger to the old who are hardened by the ritual daily habits of respectability and responsibility. It’s not that these virtues are bad, but too much of any virtue seems a bad thing. Too much virtue can turn a beautifully exciting painted canvas of living into a boring stretched out tater sack. Sin a little to give virtue meaning. Never grow so old that a soaped mouth is never near. Live a little.
“Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heartache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Every man, when he gets quiet when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. there is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, only to discover what is already there.”
― Henry Miller