warrig nachtelijk aangeschoten bolletje wol

We sat on our own star and dreamed of the way that we were
And the way that we were meant to be
Then we sat on our own star and dreamed of the way that I was for you
And you were for me
And then we danced the night away
And turning to each other, say i love you, I love you
The way that young lovers do

Ah, de liefde. Zij heeft mij de afgelopen tijd weer interessante ontmoetingen geschonken. Welke mij uiteraard aan het piekeren gezet hebben.
Heb ik iemand nodig die net als ik is, of moet ik het zoeken bij iemand die totaal van mij verschilt. dat zou wellicht verstandiger zijn, aangezien ik zo'n warrige chaoot ben. maar als ik zou gaan samenwonen met een nette kerel die zijn financien op orde heeft en elke dag zijn twee ons fruit en groente netjes inneemt? hij zou me na een week al op straat zetten joh. terwijl ik graag van hem zou leren weetje. ik vraag mij af wat ik nodig heb. moet je uberhaupt een man zoeken op deze gronden. dan blijft er weinig over van spontane ontmoetingen en liefde op het eerste gezicht kun je ook wel vergeten... Romantisch ben ik hè.
wat is gezond? wat heeft de meeste kans van slagen?

marcus: je moet gewoon iemand vinden die net zo fucked up is als jij.
en dan samen elkaar in een rolstoel richting een cliff duwen.
en dan is het gewoon een kwestie van tijd tot je de rand van de afgrond bereikt en samen naar beneden stort. (nét zo romantisch als ik, dat broertje van mij..)

okay marcus. een gecompliceerde man dus? die zich eenzijdig voed en niet kan ophouden met zingen, alles kwijt is, altijd te laat komt, verslavingsgevoelig is en bovendien een hopeloze dromer die altijd vergeet om wc papier te kopen.
zucht...zet die rolstoel daar maar vast neer, schat.

Van films heb ik gelukkig nog wel verstand! Niet iedereen is het met deze uitspraak eens, maar tegen hen zeg ik "jawel!"
Om het trauma van the wicker man te verwerken heb ik deze week The Hurricane (veel te laat) en Capote gekeken. kwaliteit gebaseerd op ware feiten. eigenlijk kun je er als de naam phillip seymour hoffman bij staat wel van uit gaan dat de film je zal raken, en dat doet capote ook. denzel washington speelt overtuigend de rol van the hurricane, en ik heb ook het gelijknamige prachtige nummer van bob dylan ontdekt, dat hij ten tijde van dit drama schreef.

Pistol shots ring out in the barroom night
Enter patty valentine from the upper hall.
She sees the bartender in a pool of blood,
Cries out, my god, they killed them all!
Here comes the story of the hurricane,
The man the authorities came to blame
For somethin that he never done.
Put in a prison cell, but one time he could-a been
The champion of the world.

Three bodies lyin there does patty see
And another man named bello, movin around mysteriously.
I didnt do it, he says, and he throws up his hands
I was only robbin the register, I hope you understand.
I saw them leavin, he says, and he stops
One of us had better call up the cops.
And so patty calls the cops
And they arrive on the scene with their red lights flashin
In the hot new jersey night.

Meanwhile, far away in another part of town
Rubin carter and a couple of friends are drivin around.
Number one contender for the middleweight crown
Had no idea what kinda shit was about to go down
When a cop pulled him over to the side of the road
Just like the time before and the time before that.
In paterson thats just the way things go.
If youre black you might as well not show up on the street
less you wanna draw the heat.

Alfred bello had a partner and he had a rap for the cops.
Him and arthur dexter bradley were just out prowlin around
He said, I saw two men runnin out, they looked like middleweights
They jumped into a white car with out-of-state plates.
And miss patty valentine just nodded her head.
Cop said, wait a minute, boys, this ones not dead
So they took him to the infirmary
And though this man could hardly see
They told him that he could identify the guilty men.

Four in the mornin and they haul rubin in,
Take him to the hospital and they bring him upstairs.
The wounded man looks up through his one dyin eye
Says, whad you bring him in here for? he aint the guy!
Yes, heres the story of the hurricane,
The man the authorities came to blame
For somethin that he never done.
Put in a prison cell, but one time he could-a been
The champion of the world.

Four months later, the ghettos are in flame,
Rubins in south america, fightin for his name
While arthur dexter bradleys still in the robbery game
And the cops are puttin the screws to him, lookin for somebody to blame.
Remember that murder that happened in a bar?
Remember you said you saw the getaway car?
You think youd like to play ball with the law?
Think it might-a been that fighter that you saw runnin that night?
Dont forget that you are white.

Arthur dexter bradley said, Im really not sure.
Cops said, a poor boy like you could use a break
We got you for the motel job and were talkin to your friend bello
Now you dont wanta have to go back to jail, be a nice fellow.
Youll be doin society a favor.
That son of abitch is brave and gettin braver.
We want to put his ass in stir
We want to pin this triple murder on him
He aint no gentleman jim.

Rubin could take a man out with just one punch
But he never did like to talk about it all that much.
Its my work, hed say, and I do it for pay
And when its over Id just as soon go on my way
Up to some paradise
Where the trout streams flow and the air is nice
And ride a horse along a trail.
But then they took him to the jailhouse
Where they try to turn a man into a mouse.

All of rubins cards were marked in advance
The trial was a pig-circus, he never had a chance.
The judge made rubins witnesses drunkards from the slums
To the white folks who watched he was a revolutionary bum
And to the black folks he was just a crazy nigger.
No one doubted that he pulled the trigger.
And though they could not produce the gun,
The d.a. said he was the one who did the deed
And the all-white jury agreed.

Rubin carter was falsely tried.
The crime was murder one, guess who testified?
Bello and bradley and they both baldly lied
And the newspapers, they all went along for the ride.
How can the life of such a man
Be in the palm of some fools hand?
To see him obviously framed
Couldnt help but make me feel ashamed to live in a land
Where justice is a game.

Now all the criminals in their coats and their ties
Are free to drink martinis and watch the sun rise
While rubin sits like buddha in a ten-foot cell
An innocent man in a living hell.
Thats the story of the hurricane,
But it wont be over till they clear his name
And give him back the time hes done.
Put in a prison cell, but one time he could-a been
The champion of the world.