Un petit coucou, comme une bouteille a la mer, apres des mois de silence. Pas de nouvelles chroniques cependant. Pour cela, vous le savez, rendez-vous sur Pinkushion pour se tenir au jus de l'actualite musicale independante, o combien foisonnante, en cette rentree.

Non, juste une petite precision strictement pratique : j'ai retire de la liste d'"amis" ce qui y etaient inscrits, et ceux qui me le demandaient recemment. N'y voyez la aucune saute d'humeur, ni aucune sanction aleatoire! Simplement, je n'en peux plus de recevoir tous ces messages dans la boite de reception du blog, des lors qu'un "ami" ecrit un article. Comme, apparemment, on ne peut pas desactiver cette option - comme si on n'etait pas capable de naviguer seul, au hasard des articles, sur les blogs qui nous interessent! - j'ai tranche!

Mais je continue a vous lire regulierement.

Bonne continuation!

Les"> His father was a drinker and his mother cried in bed Folding John Wayne’s t-shirts when the swingset hit his head The neighbors they adored him For his humor and his conversation Look underneath the house there Find the few living things, rotting fast, in their sleep Oh the dead 27 people Even more, they were boys, with their cars, summer jobs Oh my God Are you one of them? He dressed up like a clown for them With his face paint white and red And on his best behavior In a dark room on the bed he kissed them all He’d kill ten thousand people With a slight of his hand, running far, running fast to the dead He took off all their clothes for them He put a cloth on their lips, quiet hands, quiet kiss on the mouth And in my best behavior I am really just like him Look beneath the floor boards For the secrets I have hid