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Post by allers on Jun 11, 2005 4:34:41 GMT -5
A quote from a banned Czech group called the Plastic People of the Universe(1968)
"They are afraid of the old for their memory,
They are afraid of the young for their innocence
They afraid of the graves of their victims in faraway places
They are afraid of history. They are afraid of freedom.
They are afraid of truth. They are afraid of democracy.
So why the hell are we afraid of them? ... For they are afraid of us."
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Post by workerscommunes on Jun 15, 2005 4:35:04 GMT -5
I heard about these guys on a radio programme about Lou Reed a few years ago, Havel was talking about how influential they were to the Velvet Revolution. It sounds like an amazing story. I also reckon I've got a version of Patti Smith doing a reading of that particular lyric, or at least a modified version of it. As for Ginsberg, the man can do no wrong as far as I'm concerned.  |
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Post by righteousnesous on Jun 17, 2005 1:04:56 GMT -5
Nothing riles me up like a bit of Mindnight Oil.
Hey, hey-hey hey
There’ll be food on the table tonight
Hey, hey, hey hey
There’ll be pay in your pocket tonight
My gut is wrenched out it is crunched up and broken
A life that is led is no more than a token
Who’ll strike the flint upon the stone and tell me why
If I yell out at night there’s a reply of bruised silence
The screen is no comfort I can’t speak my sentence
They blew the lights at heaven’s gate and I don’t know why
But if I work all day at the blue sky mine
(there’ll be food on the table tonight)
Still I walk up and down on the blue sky mine
(there’ll be pay in your pocket tonight)
The candy store paupers lie to the share holders
They’re crossing their fingers they pay the truth makers
The balance sheet is breaking up the sky
So I’m caught at the junction still waiting for medicine
The sweat of my brow keeps on feeding the engine
Hope the crumbs in my pocket can keep me for another night
And if the blue sky mining company won’t come to my rescue
If the sugar refining company won’t save me
Who’s gonna save me?
But if I work all day...
And some have sailed from a distant shore
And the company takes what the company wants
And nothing’s as precious, as a hole in the ground
Who’s gonna save me?
I pray that sense and reason brings us in
Who’s gonna save me?
We’ve got nothing to fear
In the end the rain comes down
Washes clean, the streets of a blue sky town
(midnight oil)
Dedicated to bastards that exploit workers everywhere. And, in particular, to the asbestos victims of James Hardy, who for 30 yrs allowed its miners to work with a product they KNEW caused aggresive and incurable lung cancer. Even that mongrel John Howard was forced to freeze their assets. Anyway, the Oils are the best motivater I've yet found.
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Post by allers on Jun 18, 2005 5:07:36 GMT -5
Trust(a bit of nostaly here) hard rock in french(the original) Tu bosses toute ta vie pour payer ta pierre tombale, Tu masques ton visage en lisant ton journal, Tu marches tel un robot dans les couloirs du métro. Les gens ne te touchent pas, il faut faire le premier pas. Tu voudrais dialoguer sans renvoyer la balle. Impossible d'avancer sans ton gilet pare-balles. Tu voudrais donner des yeux à la justice Impossible de violer cette femme pleine de vices. Antisocial, tu perds ton sang-froid. Repense à toutes ces années de service. Antisocial, bientôt les années de sévices, Enfin, le temps perdu qu'on ne rattrape plus. Ecraser les gens est devenu ton passe-temps. En les éclaboussant, tu deviens gênant. Dans ton désespoir, il reste un peu d'espoir Celui de voir les gens sans fard et moins bâtards. Mais cesse de faire le point, serre plutôt les poings, Bouge de ta retraite, ta conduite est trop parfaite Relève la gueule, je suis là, t'es pas seul Ceux qui hier t'enviaient, aujourd'hui te jugeraient. Antisocial, tu perds ton sang-froid. Repense à toutes ces années de service. Antisocial, bientôt les années de sévices, Enfin, le temps perdu qu'on ne rattrape plus. Tu bosses toute ta vie pour payer ta pierre tombale, Tu masques ton visage en lisant ton journal, Tu marches tel un robot dans les couloirs du métro. Les gens ne te touchent pas, il faut faire le premier pas. Tu voudrais dialoguer sans renvoyer la balle. Impossible d'avancer sans ton gilet pare-balles. Tu voudrais donner des yeux à la justice Impossible de violer cette femme pleine de vices. Antisocial, antisocial, antisocial, antisocial... in english You're a train ride to no importance You're in love with hell existence Money is all you desire Why don't you pack it in and retire ? It's common nature, you can't fool me; I'm just the money that you can't let free. Rainy day genius clouds your mind, Don't you realize the blind lead the blind ? You're anti, you're antisocial (x4) Oh Mister Times, will you ever unwind Or just rebuild on a new design ? Your claim to fame is law and order : The rich get rich and the poor get poor. You put a price-tag on what you see : This one's for you and that's for me. If that's winning, then i'd rather lose Why don't you listen to my senseless views ? You're anti, you're antisocial (x4) You're a train ride to no importance You're in love with hell existence Money is all you desire Why don't you pack it in and retire ? It's common nature, but you can't fool me; I'm just the money that you can't let free. Rainy day genius clouds your mind, Don't you realize the blind lead the blind ? You're anti, you're antisocial (x4) Antisocial, antisocial, antisocial, antisocial Antisocial... www.emp3world.com/to_download.php?id=70984Trust was a good band,i think L'elite(the elit) was their best song in french Tes procès on le sait ne sont pas fondés Dans tes camps on le sait on supprime sans gants Elle se dit l'élite des peuples civilisés Elle pourrait arborer sans aucune gêne la croix gammée Elle a pour principe de protéger les gens De leur littérature de leurs pensées de leurs chansons Elle dit que c'est fondé sur l'esprit de liberté Elle ne fait que parjurer les traités déjà signés L'élite est entrée sans prévenir Devant ses chars d'assaut vous n'aviez que des idées Renforçons l'amitié proclament vos slogans Amitié enfermant des gens nommés dissidents Elle fut scandalisée en voyant ce génocide Elle a combattu et vaincu quel homicide La seule leçon qu'elle ait su en tirer C'est de financer des états policiers Refrain i'll try to translate this one....Hard work |
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Post by allers on Jun 18, 2005 5:17:49 GMT -5
and this one
84(remember this was 1984)
If arrogance can be blind
I ain't surprised wen looking around
The golden calf, the political stand
Where givers take when giving a hand
The voters who relate, demonstrate
Put down then, by the media men
Computers catch a coded name, a loaded game
Man we've come a long long way, but tell
Me where we're goin'
No one seems to know it for sure, hey tell
Me where are we goin'
Imagine me a fantasy and show it on a video
Yeah modern days, have modern ways
But is this the way we should go
Eighty four - coming on
Eighty four - this is the one
Eighty four - been waiting for
Eighty four - that's for sure
Eighty four - coming on
Eighty four - this is the one
Eighty four - been waiting for
Eighty four - say no more
An' woman's lib's getting bold
Emancipate is the courtesans call
The chauvinists are they going to seed
A looking glass supply all their needs
The digital brain is comin' out of the rain
Super micro chips give no lip
Scandal again, a government man
The U.S.A. and U.S.S.R. goin' nowhere fast
Man we've come a long long way
But tell me where we're goin'
No one seems to know it for sure
Tell me where are we goin'
Imagine me a fantasy and show it on a video
Yeah modern days, have modern ways
But is this the way we should go
Eighty four - coming on
Eighty four - this is the one
Eighty four - been waiting for
I can't say no more, it's nineteen eighty four
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Post by allers on Jun 18, 2005 5:35:58 GMT -5
and this one
FIREBALL
Somebody help
Somebody think
Listen around when you're having a drink
One old man he's pretty stoned and he's startin' a riot
And everyone's sold on his song of love
The eagle's going vicious and it's killing the dove
The more they see, the more that they want
You don't believe it, see if they don't
It's coming' closer closer closer so close, so come on
Come out of your corner
Get out of your seat
Out of the shadows, get up on your feet
Come out of your corner
Hey don't you recall
If it's comin' for one, it's comin' for all
When the roulette rolls, the numbers spin
There's nothin' you can do, accept if you can
Agression is the game, you really ready to play
You don't have second option the first is the last
The old man's a joker, that'll be that
So what do you do, rien ne va plus
Hangin' round ain't helping you
Get off you asses and get into the news
Come out of your corner
Get out of your seat
Out of the shadows, get up on your feet
Come out of your corner
Hey don't you recall
It's a party for one, and a party for all
Fireball, fireball, fireball
You wanna try in Europe, here's what you do
Just hang about and Europe could make it to you
Exceeding expectations coming down with the storm
When millions of souls are washed down with the rain
And heroes in the ashes are blown in the wind
Let ashes be ashes, and stone into stone
And honour still be honour and people alone
And let not the mighty dictate to the weak
If money can pay let it pay for the peace
If circumstances accuse and condemn
Would this still be true when it's said of a friend
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Post by workerscommunes on Jun 20, 2005 5:41:50 GMT -5
An proto-anarchist classic... ;D
The Mask of Anarchy
Written on the occasion of the massacre at Manchester.
by Percy Bysshe Shelley 1819
As I lay asleep in Italy
There came a voice from over the Sea,
And with great power it forth led me
To walk in the visions of Poesy.
I met Murder on the way—
He had a mask like Castlereagh—
Very smooth he looked, yet grim ;
Seven blood-hounds followed him :
All were fat ; and well they might
Be in admirable plight,
For one by one, and two by two,
He tossed them human hearts to chew
Which from his wide cloak he drew.
Next came Fraud, and he had on,
Like Lord Eldon, an ermined gown ;
His big tears, for he wept well,
Turned to mill-stones as they fell.
And the little children, who
Round his feet played to and fro,
Thinking every tear a gem,
Had their brains knocked out by them.
Clothed with the Bible, as with light,
And the shadows of the night,
Like Sidmouth, next, Hypocrisy
On a crocodile rode by.
And many more Destructions played
In this ghastly masquerade,
All disguised, even to the eyes,
Like Bishops, lawyers, peers, and spies.
Last came Anarchy : he rode
On a white horse, splashed with blood ;
He was pale even to the lips,
Like Death in the Apocalypse.
And he wore a kingly crown ;
And in his grasp a sceptre shone ;
On his brow this mark I saw—
‘I AM GOD, AND KING, AND LAW!’
With a pace stately and fast,
Over English land he passed,
Trampling to a mire of blood
The adoring multitude.
And with a mighty troop around
With their trampling shook the ground,
Waving each a bloody sword,
For the service of their Lord.
And with glorious triumph they
Rode through England proud and gay,
Drunk as with intoxication
Of the wine of desolation.
O’er fields and towns, from sea to sea,
Passed the Pageant swift and free,
Tearing up, and trampling down ;
Till they came to London town.
And each dweller, panic-stricken,
Felt his heart with terror sicken
Hearing the tempestuous cry
Of the triumph of Anarchy.
For from pomp to meet him came,
Clothed in arms like blood and flame,
The hired murderers, who did sing
‘Thou art God, and Law, and King.
‘We have waited weak and lone
For thy coming, Mighty One!
Our purses are empty, our swords are cold,
Give us glory, and blood, and gold.’
Lawyers and priests a motley crowd,
To the earth their pale brows bowed ;
Like a bad prayer not over loud,
Whispering—‘Thou art Law and God.’—
Then all cried with one accord,
‘Thou art King, and God, and Lord ;
Anarchy, to thee we bow,
Be thy name made holy now!’
And Anarchy, the Skeleton,
Bowed and grinned to every one,
As well as if his education
Had cost ten millions to the nation.
For he knew the Palaces
Of our Kings were rightly his ;
His the sceptre, crown, and globe,
And the gold-inwoven robe.
So he sent his slaves before
To seize upon the Bank and Tower,
And was proceeding with intent
To meet his pensioned Parliament
When one fled past, a maniac maid,
And her name was Hope, she said :
But she looked more like Despair,
And she cried out in the air :
‘My father Time is weak and gray
With waiting for a better day ;
See how idiot-like he stands,
Fumbling with his palsied hands!
‘He has had child after child,
And the dust of death is piled
Over every one but me—
Misery, oh, Misery!’
Then she lay down in the street,
Right before the horses feet,
Expecting, with a patient eye,
Murder, Fraud, and Anarchy.
When between her and her foes
A mist, a light, an image rose.
Small at first, and weak, and frail
Like the vapour of a vale :
Till as clouds grow on the blast,
Like tower-crowned giants striding fast,
And glare with lightnings as they fly,
And speak in thunder to the sky.
It grew—a Shape arrayed in mail
Brighter than the viper’s scale,
And upborne on wings whose grain
Was as the light of sunny rain.
On its helm, seen far away,
A planet, like the Morning’s, lay ;
And those plumes its light rained through
Like a shower of crimson dew.
With step as soft as wind it passed
O’er the heads of men—so fast
That they knew the presence there,
And looked,—but all was empty air.
As flowers beneath May’s footstep waken,
As stars from Night’s loose hair are shaken,
As waves arise when loud winds call,
Thoughts sprung where’er that step did fall.
And the prostrate multitude
Looked—and ankle-deep in blood,
Hope, that maiden most serene,
Was walking with a quiet mien :
And Anarchy, the ghastly birth,
Lay dead earth upon the earth ;
The Horse of Death tameless as wind
Fled, and with his hoofs did grind
To dust the murderers thronged behind.
A rushing light of clouds and splendour,
A sense awakening and yet tender
Was heard and felt—and at its close
These words of joy and fear arose
As if their own indignant Earth
Which gave the sons of England birth
Had felt their blood upon her brow,
And shuddering with a mother’s throe
Had turned every drop of blood
By which her face had been bedewed
To an accent unwithstood,—
As if her heart cried out aloud :
‘Men of England, heirs of Glory,
Heroes of unwritten story,
Nurslings of one mighty Mother,
Hopes of her, and one another ;
‘Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number.
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you—
Ye are many—they are few.
‘What is Freedom?—ye can tell
That which slavery is, too well—
For its very name has grown
To an echo of your own.
‘’Tis to work and have such pay
As just keeps life from day to day
In your limbs, as in a cell
For the tyrants’ use to dwell,
‘So that ye for them are made
Loom, and plough, and sword, and spade,
With or without your own will bent
To their defence and nourishment.
‘’Tis to see your children weak
With their mothers pine and peak,
When the winter winds are bleak,—
They are dying whilst I speak.
‘’Tis to hunger for such diet
As the rich man in his riot
Casts to the fat dogs that lie
Surfeiting beneath his eye ;
‘’Tis to let the Ghost of Gold
Take from Toil a thousandfold
More than e’er its substance could
In the tyrannies of old.
‘Paper coin—that forgery
Of the title-deeds, which ye
Hold to something from the worth
Of the inheritance of Earth.
‘’Tis to be a slave in soul
And to hold no strong control
Over your own wills, but be
All that others make of ye.
‘And at length when ye complain
With a murmur weak and vain
’Tis to see the Tyrant’s crew
Ride over your wives and you—
Blood is on the grass like dew.
‘Then it is to feel revenge
Fiercely thirsting to exchange
Blood for blood—and wrong for wrong—
Do not thus when ye are strong.
‘Birds find rest, in narrow nest
When weary of their wingèd quest ;
Beasts find fare, in woody lair
When storm and snow are in the air.
‘Horses, oxen, have a home,
When from daily toil they come ;
Household dogs, when the wind roars,
Find a home within warm doors.’
‘Asses, swine, have litter spread
And with fitting food are fed ;
All things have a home but one—
Thou, Oh, Englishman, hast none !
‘This is Slavery—savage men,
Or wild beasts within a den
Would endure not as ye do—
But such ills they never knew.
‘What art thou, Freedom ? O ! could slaves
Answer from their living graves
This demand—tyrants would flee
Like a dream’s imagery :
‘Thou are not, as impostors say,
A shadow soon to pass away,
A superstition, and a name
Echoing from the cave of Fame.
‘For the labourer thou art bread,
And a comely table spread
From his daily labour come
In a neat and happy home.
‘Thou art clothes, and fire, and food
For the trampled multitude—
No—in countries that are free
Such starvation cannot be
As in England now we see.
‘To the rich thou art a check,
When his foot is on the neck
Of his victim, thou dost make
That he treads upon a snake.
‘Thou art Justice—ne’er for gold
May thy righteous laws be sold
As laws are in England—thou
Shield’st alike both high and low.
‘Thou art Wisdom—Freemen never
Dream that God will damn for ever
All who think those things untrue
Of which Priests make such ado.
‘Thou art Peace—never by thee
Would blood and treasure wasted be
As tyrants wasted them, when all
Leagued to quench thy flame in Gaul.
‘What if English toil and blood
Was poured forth, even as a flood ?
It availed, Oh, Liberty.
To dim, but not extinguish thee.
‘Thou art Love—the rich have kissed
Thy feet, and like him following Christ,
Give their substance to the free
And through the rough world follow thee,
‘Or turn their wealth to arms, and make
War for thy belovèd sake
On wealth, and war, and fraud—whence they
Drew the power which is their prey.
‘Science, Poetry, and Thought
Are thy lamps ; they make the lot
Of the dwellers in a cot
So serene, they curse it not.
‘Spirit, Patience, Gentleness,
All that can adorn and bless
Art thou—let deeds, not words, express
Thine exceeding loveliness.
‘Let a great Assembly be
Of the fearless and the free
On some spot of English ground
Where the plains stretch wide around.
‘Let the blue sky overhead,
The green earth on which ye tread,
All that must eternal be
Witness the solemnity.
‘From the corners uttermost
Of the bounds of English coast ;
From every hut, village, and town
Where those who live and suffer moan
For others’ misery or their own,
‘From the workhouse and the prison
Where pale as corpses newly risen,
Women, children, young and old
Groan for pain, and weep for cold—
‘From the haunts of daily life
Where is waged the daily strife
With common wants and common cares
Which sows the human heart with tares—
‘Lastly from the palaces
Where the murmur of distress
Echoes, like the distant sound
Of a wind alive around
‘Those prison halls of wealth and fashion.
Where some few feel such compassion
For those who groan, and toil, and wail
As must make their brethren pale—
‘Ye who suffer woes untold,
Or to feel, or to behold
Your lost country bought and sold
With a price of blood and gold—
‘Let a vast assembly be,
And with great solemnity
Declare with measured words that ye
Are, as God has made ye, free—
‘Be your strong and simple words
Keen to wound as sharpened swords,
And wide as targes let them be,
With their shade to cover ye.
‘Let the tyrants pour around
With a quick and startling sound,
Like the loosening of a sea,
Troops of armed emblazonry.
‘Let the charged artillery drive
Till the dead air seems alive
With the clash of clanging wheels,
And the tramp of horses’ heels.
‘Let the fixèd bayonet
Gleam with sharp desire to wet
Its bright point in English blood
Looking keen as one for food.
‘Let the horsemen’s scimitars
Wheel and flash, like sphereless stars
Thirsting to eclipse their burning
In a sea of death and mourning.
‘Stand ye calm and resolute,
Like a forest close and mute,
With folded arms and looks which are
Weapons of unvanquished war,
‘And let Panic, who outspeeds
The career of armèd steeds
Pass, a disregarded shade
Through your phalanx undismayed.
‘Let the laws of your own land,
Good or ill, between ye stand
Hand to hand, and foot to foot,
Arbiters of the dispute,
‘The old laws of England—they
Whose reverend heads with age are gray,
Children of a wiser day ;
And whose solemn voice must be
Thine own echo—Liberty !
‘On those who first should violate
Such sacred heralds in their state
Rest the blood that must ensue,
And it will not rest on you.
‘And if then the tyrants dare
Let them ride among you there,
Slash, and stab, and maim, and hew, —
What they like, that let them do.
‘With folded arms and steady eyes,
And little fear, and less surprise,
Look upon them as they slay
Till their rage has died away.’
‘Then they will return with shame
To the place from which they came,
And the blood thus shed will speak
In hot blushes on their cheek.
‘Every woman in the land
Will point at them as they stand—
They will hardly dare to greet
Their acquaintance in the street.
‘And the bold, true warriors
Who have hugged Danger in wars
Will turn to those who would be free,
Ashamed of such base company.
‘And that slaughter to the Nation
Shall steam up like inspiration,
Eloquent, oracular ;
A volcano heard afar.
‘And these words shall then become
Like Oppression’s thundered doom
Ringing through each heart and brain.
Heard again—again—again—
‘Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number—
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you—
Ye are many—they are few.’
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