Aggroculture
Track #1
AM work prep. News. Shower. Closetful of clothes but wear the same 10 pieces. Start whistling a song. What was that? Something stuck way in the back of my brains. A mattress store jingle? Pop song from the radio? Is it Bieber? Bruno? Something else that starts with a B? I keep whistling. Not sure what this is. Am I really carrying on about this? Damn. I used to pour over the latest edition of Maximun Rock and Roll – digging into punk, fresh, obscure. Is this whistle mess Beyonce? Fuck.
Late AM. Still whistling. Quietly. People here at work probably know this song. I begin to justify. John Lennon admired the perfect pop song. The Beach Boys nailed it. They’re pioneers! Whatever I am whistling, the lyrics must be a disaster ‘cause I won’t utter them. Must regroup.
Early PM. Listen to NPR to get enlightened about figs and a book I want to read and already forgot the title and the author’s name. Shit. The whistle returns. Shit.
Mid PM. Whistling in the checkout lane at the grocery store. Buying a six pack, store brand chips, chicken from the deli and yogurt (for show). The Clash starts playing from the grocery sound system. What the…??? Here? Really? Joe must be flipping this place off from somewhere. Wait. No. Even the Clash can conjure up and jam a pop song. I walk out of the store singing the whistle mystery “We-EEEE are never, ever, ever getting back together”. I swiftly motor home to drink beer and see if Maximun Rock and Roll exists in internet form.
Vowel Pellet
Track #1
AM work prep. News. Shower. Closetful of clothes but wear the same 10 pieces. Start whistling a song. What was that? Something stuck way in the back of my brains. A mattress store jingle? Pop song from the radio? Is it Bieber? Bruno? Something else that starts with a B? I keep whistling. Not sure what this is. Am I really carrying on about this? Damn. I used to pour over the latest edition of Maximun Rock and Roll – digging into punk, fresh, obscure. Is this whistle mess Beyonce? Fuck.
Late AM. Still whistling. Quietly. People here at work probably know this song. I begin to justify. John Lennon admired the perfect pop song. The Beach Boys nailed it. They’re pioneers! Whatever I am whistling, the lyrics must be a disaster ‘cause I won’t utter them. Must regroup.
Early PM. Listen to NPR to get enlightened about figs and a book I want to read and already forgot the title and the author’s name. Shit. The whistle returns. Shit.
Mid PM. Whistling in the checkout lane at the grocery store. Buying a six pack, store brand chips, chicken from the deli and yogurt (for show). The Clash starts playing from the grocery sound system. What the…??? Here? Really? Joe must be flipping this place off from somewhere. Wait. No. Even the Clash can conjure up and jam a pop song. I walk out of the store singing the whistle mystery “We-EEEE are never, ever, ever getting back together”. I swiftly motor home to drink beer and see if Maximun Rock and Roll exists in internet form.
Vowel Pellet
