Friday, November 24, 2006

Period Late Soft Cervix -before -hard



rows on my third day of work in Whitchurch Psychiatric Hospital children's ward today.

I paid my Llodra zippar work by causing them to fall on my knees and this fflasho pair of pink knickers and fancy to the top of my nghoesa small group of anorexic girls, sgitsophrenig and bi-polar.

Owff the embarrassment and ruddy cheeks ...

... not only in the facial region I presume!

Monday, November 20, 2006

Church Anniversary Program Cover

Glafoeri

He has arrived.

is resting on my lap in the world stares on me and I almost glychu'n itself from all the action and waited.




long-awaited album New Tom Waits. Three CDs of musical perfection by the only man who can reduce me to tears with just the sound of his voice.

Can it natural thing a girl as young worship something so ugly 'boat?

Here's a review of the 'box set' by ANTI -

"Orphans: Crawlers, Bawlers and Bastards lower and spectacular musical journey, sydd am Visits Most yn genre of American song Tradition.

The Diverse 56-song , 3-disc collection captures The Full Scope of Tom Waits' Shamanic Powers mp and vocalist, literary lyricist, Romantic melodist, Pioneer of Innovative arranger and Sonic worlds.

This deluxe limited edition release, written and produced by Waits and his longtime collaborator and wife, Kathleen Brennan contains 30 new and never before heard recordings, plus rare songs taken from collaborations with artists in film, literature and music—complete with a 94-page handmade booklet of lyrics and rare photos. The set, which took over three years to compile and record, is grouped by genre with songs guaranteed to move and shake the heart, the body, the mind and most unquestionably the soul.

Each of the CD’s are separately arranged and sub-titled – “Brawlers,” “Bawlers” a nd “Bastards” to encapsulate the full range of Waits’ nomadic scope of musical styles.

Brawlers is packed with full throated juke joint stomp, boogies and riotous blues. It’s roadhouse Waits,..He chugs, whistles and screams. It’s primal steaming surreal blues. He channels the Stones, Beefheart, Muddy Waters and T-Rex. One new one, “Low Down” is raw garage rock with Waits’ 20 year old son, Casey on drums and San Francisco’s white trash blues icon, Ron Hacker, on guitar.

Bawlers – Lonesome ballads about the sadness at the end of the road are framed by tender songs of innocence and green hope. The plaintive hill country laments of, “Tell It To Me” and the cautionary tale, “Fannin Street” blend poignantly with saloon songs of betrayal and despair (“The World Keeps Turning”) Celtic waltzes and bitter cabaret torch songs like, “It’s Over” and “Little Drop Of Poison”, all of which explore what the heart gives and what it takes away.

Bastards – explores the strange and unusual side of Waits, who is peculiar by nature. Contained here is experimental music and scary tales. There are uncategorizable diversions into this dark side. It tunnels beneath the city with spiels, rants, mouth rhythms, including a poignant reminiscence of car ownership, a Ramones cover and a version of Daniel Johnston’s, “King Kong,” a disturbing bedtime story,(not for children faint of heart),and a poem by Charles Bukowski. It has insects, murder, drowning and insanity. Or as ma says, the full dinner menu."

A dyma syniadau y dyn ei hun am yr hyfrytbeth sydd bellach yn atodiad parhaol i'r chwarewr CD acw -

"When I was small I always thought that songwriters sat alone at upright pianos in cramped smoky little rooms with a bottle and an ashtray and everything came in the window blew through them and came out of the piano as a song…and in a weird way that is exactly what happens.

What’s Orphans? I don’t know. Orphans is a dead end kid driving a coffin with big tires across the Ohio River wearing welding goggles and a wife beater with a lit firecracker in his ear.

At the center of this record is my voice. I try my best to chug, stomp, weep, whisper, moan, wheeze, scat, blurt, rage, whine, and seduce. With my voice, I can sound like a girl, the boogieman, a Theremin, a cherry bomb, a clown, a doctor, a murderer…I can be tribal. Ironic. Or disturbed. My voice is really my instrument.

Kathleen and I wanted the record to be like emptying our pockets on the table after an evening of gambling, burglary, and cow tipping. We enjoy strange couplings, that’s how we got together. We wanted Orphans to be like a shortwave radio show where the past is sequenced with the future, consisting of things you find on the ground, in this world and no world, or maybe the next world. Whatever you imagine that to be.

If a record really works at all, it should be made like a homemade doll with tinsel for hair and seashells for ears stuffed with candy and money. Or like a good woman’s purse with a Swiss army knife and a snake bite kit.

Orphans contains songs for all occasions. Some of the songs were written in turmoil and recorded at night in a moving car, others were written in hotel rooms and recorded in Hollywood during big conflamas. That’s when conflict weds drama. At any rate these are the ones that survived the flood and were rescued from the branches of trees after the water’s retreat.

Gathering all this material together was like rounding up chickens at the beach. It’s not like you go into vault and check out what you need. Most of it was lost or buried under the house. Some of the tapes I had to pay ransom for to a plumber in Russia. You fall into the vat. We started to write just to climb out of the vat. Then you start listening and sorting and start writing in response to what you hear. And more recording. And then you get bit by a spider, go down the gopher hole, and mak e a whole different record. That was the process pretty much the last three years.

Then we met Karl Derfler, a wizard engineer who works at Bay Side Studios in Richmond, CA, in the science fiction part of town. A battlefield medic, he did a Lazarus on a number of the songs and recorded all the new material.

On Orphans there is a mambo about a convict who breaks out of jail with a fishbone, a gospel train song about Charlie Whitman and John Wilkes Boothe, a delta blues about a disturbing neighbor, a spoken word piece about a woman who was struck by lightening, an 18th century Scottish madrigal about murderous sibling rivalry, an American backwoods a cappella about a hanging. Even a song by Jack Kerouac and a spiritual with my own personal petition to the Lord with prayer…There’s even a show tune about an old altar boy and a rockabilly song about a young man who’s begging to be lied to.

I Think You Will Find more singing and dancing here until Usual. Ond Hope fans of more growling, more warbling, more Barking, more screeching Will not what disappointed either. "

Ohoho, Stop true man. ... Would you too excited

Saturday, November 18, 2006

Why Does The Bake Of My Knee Hurt

Coesa red cheeks pink pissing

it is high time fresh blog for now. A cup of tea to stimulate writing.

I addawis to fashion our bedroom once we've Finished done at home, and by that he feels "at home" now here you ...




There's a lot of mice over there now. Here one finds a small brown sitting in a small bucket in the kitchen yesterday urine over it goesa and looked up pleased with the three massive head staring n'ol it. And because Delyth who insist on using this kind of traps, Delyth got the job of carrying the mouse to the cemetery wall in the rain with Mr. Blobby is wrapped around the lid of the bucket in case the lygoeden terror (I'll gneud I saw this on a Discovery channel documentary on the Safari to stop lino scare). We offer accommodation must be worthwhile because the mouse to the creatures here are so completely that he was not able to walk as much as he rolled on his stomach everywhere. To hide under dead leaves his history to dry piss off her little pink goesa.

There's still more to I Rama. This was not the black rat and I did a little running back from under the couch to sit in the square in front of the TV screen during the program Bandit, extending its velvety waves chlustia small Pearly ALL and shook her little pink nose of the slug nose mustache infant under Aled in the performance of the Cowboys, is it true. This was an old thing cyfryws and end credits are rolling, dymai'n nods her head on me in a small silent agreement of satisfaction on the program before dashing off to the couch back to their nest without a care in the world bygyr back at my presence. And this far, that has annwybyddu'r trap full of chocolate on top of the ffrij. This is a waiting game, you see, Victory Bydd mine ...

The 'Orphans' by Tom Waits out Monday. The aim is toning my trilby head morning and go to town to buy all of Copp before spending dwrnod drinking Bourbon and cheap talk heather in listening to the voice of God at work. Ow, it will be fun!