In the mood for Underworld

Ever so often, I find myself "back in the days".
When the rest of the world (boys in boys school took a slight view of the rest outside the school fence) was listening to Axl Rose and co., Red Hot Chilli Peppers and U2, Pixel-P and I were weaned on Portishead and Underworld.

Choose life. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electric tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit and arrange the fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wonder where the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch, watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable hole, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats that you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life.






But why would I want to do a thing like that?


I chose not to choose life.

I chose something else.

And the reasons?

There are no reasons.





Who needs reasons when you've got heroin.

Drive boy, dog boy Dirty numb angel boy In the doorway boy She was a lipstick boy She was a beautiful boy And tears boy And all in your innerspace boy You had hands girl boy And steel boy You had chemicals boy I've grown so close to you Boy and you just groan boy She said comeover comeover She smiled at you boy Drive boy dog boy Dirty numb angel boy In the doorway boy She was a lipstick boy She was a beautiful boy And tears boy And all in your innerspace boy You had Hands girl boy And steel boy You had chemicals boy I've grown so close to you Boy and you just groan boy She said comeover comeover She smiled at you boy.

Let your feelings slip boy But never your mask boy Random blonde bio high density rhythm Blonde boy blonde country blonde high density You are my drug boy You're real boy Speak to me and boy dog Dirty numb cracking boy You get wet boy Big big time boy Acid bear boy Babes and babes and babes and babes and babes And remembering nothing boy You like my tin horn boy and get Wet like an angel

Derail

You got a velvet mouth You're so succulent and beautiful Shimmering and dirty Wonderful and hot times On your telephone line And god and everything On your telephone And in walk an angel And look at me your mom Squatting pissed in a tube-hole at Tottenham Court Road I just come out of the ship Talking to the most Blonde I ever met Shouting Lager lager lager lager Shouting Lager lager lager lager
Shouting... Lager lager lager Shouting Mega mega white thing Mega mega white thing
Mega mega white thing Mega mega Shouting lager lager lager lager Mega mega white thing Mega mega white thing So many things to see and do In the tube hole true Blonde going back to Romford Mega mega mega going back to Romford Hi mom are you having fun And now are you on your way

To a new tension headache


So why did I do it?

I could offer a million answers, all false.

The truth is I'm a bad person. But that's going to change. I'm going to change.
This is the last of that sort of thing. I'm cleaning up and moving on. Going straight and choosing life.

I'm looking forward to it already. I'm going to be just like you.
The job.
The family.
The fucking big television. The washing machine. The car. The compact disc and electric tin opener. Good health. Low cholesterol. Dental insurance. Mortgage. Starter home. Leisure wear. Luggage. Three-piece suite. DIY. Game shows. Junk food. Children. Walks in the park. Nine to Five. Good at golf. Washing the car. Family Christmas. Index pension. Tax exemption. Clearing gutters.

Getting by.

Looking ahead to the day you die.