Adrian Buz

A squashed chameleon on the road.

Later edit.

If ya think I’m shitting you finger follow the fuck storm as it goes.

Braindrops by Tropical Fuck Storm

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Yeah, rise and shine, you’re fine man
Even if you’re feeling kinda wonky on your legs
If you’re wondering who woke up, you woke up
We just have not figured out which you yet

You ain’t dreaming
That means what’s not you is beyond you
You’ll see only what it represents
But now you’ve gotta get up
Cause time is nagging more than ever
Like a dog humping your leg
So get up

(Get up, get up, now)
(Get up, get up, now)
Get up (Get up, get up, now)
(Get up, get up, now)

So get dressed, get out
The worst is over now
You picked an odd time to start feeling strange
And when all’s said and done
You’re just a massive cunt
So stop acting like your problems
All jumped out of a cake

The sun is blazing, man
It’s too bright to see
What washed ashore past midnight on Victoria Street
So we’re gonna buy some shades
Keep it under wraps
Not making eye contact with Pikachus or moaning cats

I remember a time life was simple like a glass of water
Simple like a glass of water
And now it’s crystal clear as any bathroom mirror
Crystal clear as any bathroom mirror

You’re like a snake with its arse up its head man, stop thinking
It’s enough dealing with this heat and stink
School bus, street pus, the crushed skulls of watermelons
Flowing down a drain the color of Indian ink

And there Marcel snoozin’ after doing some boozin’
Having one them dreams where you’re losing your teeth
He’s sleeping in the door of what was Thy Thy
Snoring ‘neath a sign saying its up for lease

And then a tram thunders along
Going ding ding dong
The driver staring through the windscreen in a trance
The hours are way too long
But then the pay is shit
I hear he’s saving all his money for a hair transplant

The hours are long, but
The hours are long, but
The hours are long, but
The hours are very very long

Look at that gak head chew, high as a panzer crew
Some Soccer mummy’s introduced him to the pigs
Her horse is higher than a junky’s
But like everybody else here she’s buying everything on tic

And there’s Veronica, waiting on blah blah blah
He left her filing her nails in the car
Man, beauty got a raw deal there it ain’t fair
And you can hear it in her laugh
It jars, she’s so unhappy

You’ll find him most mornings ‘neath the grocery awnings
Making sure the only arrests round here are cardiac
He’s got your back, he’ll ask you if you’re Jason
Then send your money to some cam girl up in Seminyak

I remember a time life was simple like a glass of water
Simple like a glass of water
But now it’s crystal clear as any bathroom mirror
Crystal clear as any bathroom mirror

And there’s the snort of Nguyen’s old Subaru on laughing gas
He says he hasn’t lost a patient yet
He smokes it up around the corner where you gave up trying to guess
What goes on in other peoples heads

It’s hard to tell
How far you are from knowing your heart
It’s hard to tell
How far you are from knowing your heart
It’s hard to tell

Under the stars and the sun
You feel it all coming undone
You can pretend it’s a game
Under a brand new pair of shades
You can pretend it’s a game
A pressure drop in your brain

And now we’re gonna buy those shades
We’re coming in to land
And straight away the man’s proposing that the world is flat
It’s also square and it ain’t going anywhere
Well we can see it’s full of squares
Not gonna argue with that
And now we’re laughing in the window of his old bong shop
Selling cheap shit sham knock off hand bags brands
And he’s explaining how we’re living in a simulation
So why not buy a pair of Chinese Ray Bans?

How far you are from knowing your heart
It’s hard to tell
How far you are from knowing your heart
How far you are from knowing your heart
How far you are from knowing your heart
How far you are from knowing your heart
It’s really hard to tell
How far you are from knowing your heart
How far you are from knowing your heart
How far you are from knowing your heart

Note din bodegă (de subpt pămînt, pentru un spin dostoievsquian)…
Sau: Nihilismul istoric mioritic…
Sau: Întîlnirile de vineri sera cu domnul Bong…
Cu oaia Miorița pe cap… sau în cap (pe veci)… destinul unui popor anistoric. Care oaie, cu toată povestea ei neverosimil de nefirească – măcar de-ar fi o socoteală originală!, L îmi suflă din culise că există la toate popoarele născute din îndeletniciri păstorești -, doar la rumîni a ajuns un fel de par în cur axiomatic, născător de amețeli exotice. În paranteză fie spus, o poveste care-ți zgîrie nervii cu nefirescul ei, fatalismul/ inmovilismul sună mai degrabă ca o expresie e unei infirmități mintale, un diagnostic. Cică păstorul delicat se nuntește transcedental, în timp ce doi bandiți îl fac la buzunare. Cică. Vrăjeala ca scuză.
Oaia – globulă albă metafizică cu care-și apără neterminarea speriată, veșnic aspirantă.

După 100 de ani de științe ale creierului, mai mult ca niciodată, sună tragic a looney-ballooney. Sau, ca să rămînem în schema interpretativă a vechiului desen animat rusesc, ex-păstorul ajuns cetățean cu drept de vot e un nihilist pur sînge. Îl omoară pe Dumnezeu cu fiecare privire piezișă, cu fiecare privire întoarsă din fața micilor adevăruri strîmbe care-l bat peste ochi și îl eternizează într-un nicăieri demn mai degrabă de un ospiciu decît de zeitgeistul mileniului 3. Cum să-l mai cauți pe Dumnezeu înarmat cu un pachet de miciuni care nu-s altceva decît dezordinea unor lumi vechi – timpurile ți-au plantat o cocoașă ca o extensie a creierului? Unde mai e adevăr în boală, frumos în delir?

Condamnat de biologia care la nivel semnificativ nu-l desparte de gîndacul de bucătărie (în ciuda endoscheletului), dar umblînd cu mintea după Dumnezeu – mașinăria perfecțiunii absolute, a perfecțiunii absolutului…
Ce altceva e infernul dacă nu spectacolul acestui animal scremut, beat de sine în puținătatea înțelegerii propriei lui naturi…? Cu o umbră de conștiință suficient de elastică cît să-i suporte dualitatea, să-i traducă biologic presimțirile unei perfecțiuni despre care nu știe nimic.
Cu o mînă strînge de gît tot ce-l silește, cu cealaltă își șterge mucii (fizici și metafizici).

Evoluția e o afacere insuportabilă… o teorie a conspirației în epoca funny money…