Marilyn Manson

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Ima svasta, ali ne mogu nista da pricam, jer moram da idem. A ne idem cak ni vani, nego jednostavno moram da idem odavde. Sa kompjutera. Ne svidja mi se ta rabota, ali nemam apsolutno nikakvu kontrolu nad njom. Oh well. Until next time, take care of yourself and each other.
 
xexexe izgleda da se danas pratimo :p:p:p :wink:
preporucio bih ti od Klimt 1918 "Pale Song" , "Because of you,tonight" i "Parade of Adolescence" to je nesto novo-sto se tice mene i dosta je qL

ps kad vec slusas NW poseti njihovu temi,evo bas sam sad poslao post :roll:

Poz...
 
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marilyn ispred svog dela .
 
Da, stvarno, gde?
A o`aj.. kazu Pogo nije sad u bendu. Otisao je kuci zbog licnih problema.. cini mi se. ..To me rastuzuje. :( Nasao sam (duh) sajt za njega i ima isecak iz knjige Mr Mansona o njihovom upoznavanju. E`o ga. Nemam nista pametnije da radim, ne.

:: How Pogo Met Manson ::
Taken from Long hard road out of hell
-written by Marilyn Manson (1998 )

"One Friday I arrived at the club with a friend from theatre class, Brian Tutunick. I was decked out in a navy blue trench coat with "Jesus Saves" painted ont he back, striped stockings and combat boots. At the time I thought I looked cool, but in retrospect, I looked like an asshole. ("Jesus Saves"?) As we walked in, we noticed a blond guy (Pogo) leaning against a pillar with a Flock of Seagulls haircut hanging in his face. He was smoking a cigarette and laughing. I thought he was laughing at me, but when I passed by e didn't even turn his head. He was just staring into space, cackling like a madman..."

"I spotted a girl with black hair and huge breasts (which when there were on a Goth girl like her , we called Dracula biscuits). Shouting over the music, I explained to her that I had a hotel room and tried to convince her to come up with me. But for the 99th time that summer, I was denied because she had come to the club with a date, which turned out to he laughing boy (Pogo). She brought me to his pillar, and I asked him what he was laughing about. His response came in the form of a tutorial on the proper ways to commit suicide, which included essential details like the exact angle to hold the shotgun at and what type of ammunition to use. The whole time he had a strange way of laughing at everything he said. He'd just start cackling, and within that cackle he'd repeat what he had just said-a word like twelve-gauge or cerebral cortex-so that both you and he knew what was so funny.

His name was Stephen, but, he explained in the ensuing seminar, if anyone called him Steve, it pissed him off. If anyone spelled his name with a "v" instead of a "ph", it pissed him off too..."

"I didn't get laid that night, which pissed me off, though it was nothing new. But I did exchange numbers with Stephen. He called me the next week and said he wanted to make me a cassette of Songs About *******(Big Black) and bring me something else he thought I'd be extremely interested in. He wouldn't say what it was. He just wanted to come over and give it to me.

Instead of Big Black, he brought me a tape of a band called Rapeman, and he spent several hours extemporizing on the lineage between the two bands, rocking back and forth autistically all the while. I later learned that he had a problem with hyperactivity as a child, which his parents had treated with Ritalin. Now that he wasn't on medication, he often turned into a babbling blur that was dizzying to watch. His mystery surprise was a rusty can of spiced sardines that had expired in June 1986. He never offered an explanation for it, and I never figured it out. Maybe he thought I was going to pull an Andy Warhol and make silk screens out of it.

We began spending a lot of time together, hanging out at my poetry readings and going to concerts by shitty South Florida bands that I thought were halfway decent at the time. After a show one night, we came back to my house and pawed through poems I wanted to turn into songs and lyrical scraps I had written. I was hoping he played an instrument since he seemed to know everything there was to know about all things electrical, mechanical, and pharmaceutical. So I asked. The answer came in the form of a long-winded monologue about how his brother was a jazz musician and played a variety of reed, keyboard and percussion instruments.

Eventually he confessed, "I can play drums, heh, heh, heh, drums, heh, heh-sort of-heh, heh,sort of,heh."

But my vision didn't include drums. I wanted to start a rock band that used a drum machine, which seemed somewhat novel at the time since only industrial, dance and hip-hop bands used drum machines. "Just buy a keyboard and we'll start a band,"I told him..."
 
Manson je samo jos jedan muzicar sa filozofijom : "Mozes da me volis ili mrzis,ali nemozes da me ignorises..." Ljudi koji su ga pljuvali su ga ucinili poznatim.Zato ga treba samo ignorisati.
Licno ga ne smatram za nekog umetnika jer je umetnost nesto drugo...
 
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