Southbound again, suddenly home is where the hatred is

Nov 09, 2017

I tried to summarise my troubles to money and plots for the sake of brevity. Criminology is an interesting topic. Crime is the basis for history and literature, according to prison director Lewis Lawes of Sing Sing, USA (as famous as Alcatraz maybe).

Child With The Blues

I just feel so confused: no summer for me since 2001. I know I got no patience, and I’m sick of complacence. But how can I save my little boy? And what about the teenage in me?

You could think of different stages of a person’s life and wonder how to save him or her. Severe and cruel hearts have contaminated the world. Let’s cheer things up a bit with that song because some might say life is severe and cruel until death.

Emergency on Planet Earth

“Cosmik Debris” is a song by American composer Frank Zappa, from his 1974 album Apostrophe (‘). It concerns a typical guru or psychic, offering to help the narrator reach nirvana for a regular fee. A kind of pusherman.

The song was popular on the Dr. Demento Show in the 1970s, and in Zappa’s concerts, with memorable guitar solos from Zappa, also featuring George Duke on keyboard and Napoleon Murphy Brock on sax.

References of previous songs are frequent in many Frank Zappa songs, and this is where an artist universe really is important. This song was also a b-side to the single “Don’t Eat the Yellow Snow”, another hilarious Zappa song.

Apostrophe (‘) remains Zappa’s most commercially successful album in the United States. It was certified gold in 1976 and peaked at number 10 (a career-high placement) on the Billboard 200 chart in 1974. Continuing from the commercial breakthrough of Over-Nite Sensation (1973), this album is a similar mix of short songs showcasing Zappa’s humour and musical arrangements.

The record’s lyrical themes are often bizarre or obscure, with one  exception, a song which is an extension of Zappa’s feelings on racism featured on his earlier song “Trouble Every Day”. Zappa’s work was characterised by nonconformity, free-form improvisation, sound experiments, musical virtuosity, and satire of American culture.

His career spanned more than 30 years, and he composed in different styles (rock, pop, jazz, jazz fusion, orchestral and musique concrete). This last style is a form of experimental music, that exploits acousmatic listening, sounds one hears without seeing an originating cause.

Man of Mystery

It comes as no surprise: there are vital points in the human body that every warrior knows about. One day, I slept underwater and I discovered very strange things: there is absolutely nothing to see here. No fish, no ancient vestige of the past (Roman, Greek, Persian).

Identity is a complex thing and even Amin Maalouf managed to write about it. I guess if you’re lazy you could just have a look at someone’s face. If you want to be a little more subtle, you could see the scars in detail, as if you were performing an autopsy.

I can feel a change is coming, but I wonder if it’s going to be a sweet release. The structure of my fantasy is completely absurd but I have a political solution to the crisis that humanity is facing. If we are 6 billion people on Earth, it is time to stop looking down but up.

That’s why I will make a proposal, that every human being should be taught astronomy (not astrology) and that he should contribute 1 hour every day of his life to that matter. Make no mistake, one day the sun will stop to shine and then humanity will face a big challenge, even bigger than water.

Don’t look surprised, we buttered our bread and it is fair we should stare at the sun and the other stars. Here in urban areas, people forgot about nature and going to parks as soon as the sun is shining is a vulgar “patch and paint” strategy.

Dust and Bones

When muscles are unable to absorb a shock, like the discovery that the Earth is not the centre of the universe, it is transferred to bones. I know what I’m talking about: once I had a stress (or fatigue) fracture. Michels can confirm that and he sent me to do radio analysis: decompression sickness.

Radiohead did an album on that subject, called The Bends. You might not believe me but I think it is one of the greatest music album of all-time. OK Computer is also wonderful but I stopped listening after. Except maybe “Everything in its Right Place”.

Decompression sickness (also known as divers’ disease, the bends or caisson disease) describes a condition arising from dissolved gases coming out of solution into bubbles inside the body on depressurisation. It most commonly refers to problems arising from underwater diving decompression (i.e., during ascent), but may be experienced in other depressurisation events.

Instead of losing our minds, let’s have a look at that complex identity that I will relate to dignity. We are not gross and perverted, it’s just a silly phase humanity is going through. I think the priority is education, because, as weird as it might seem, I am still suffering from the miseducation I received and I’m thinking of awakening ability.

When I was young, I was listening to a song and suddenly I started to cry. I was maybe 11 years old. I guess this dust on my hand is starting to make me wonder if it is gold or just another brick in the wall. I set a goal for this blog: by 2020, I want 200,000 people reading my posts and donating what they want.

What You Won’t Do For Love

Does lack of lucidity or excess of alarmism can really hurt humanity? Everybody witnessed the crime of the century in 2001. As if 1945 was already forgotten. I really hope some people like their children because it might be the basis of all problems.

Maybe your fantasy gave you up? Maybe your lover didn’t shelter you enough? Don’t look surprised, I’m also asking myself that kind of question. But I have the solution: everything except Baghdad. You get the picture.

I will realise that, if I think too much, existentialism will give me nausea. There’s a fun part in everything, but maybe WW2 was a bit too much for humanity. How come this war didn’t spare civilians? As if you were playing Carmageddon, a computer racing game where you could also hit pedestrians and you would get bonuses.

That game was marketed as intended for the chemically imbalanced. My thoughts and prayers go to people who do not learn from playing on a computer. A computer game is fun because it allows you to escape, not give you ideas to do the same in real life.


Just learned that, in Canada, drugs were very common. Maybe it’s time I reveal what kind of drugs I did: CrazySexyCool. Try summarising your brand name in 3 adjectives (another marketing trick it seems). Do not try this at home though.

While I was skimming through monstrous love, one thing I recall: treachery and treason, there’s always an excuse for it; when I find the reason, I can’t get used to it. I’m such a fool to worry like I do, but I guess some people find that sexy. After all, at my age, some people should listen to me.

I got stuck in a moment, I can’t get out of it. The memory of 1945 activates again the menace and, in a strange self-fulfilling prophecy, I feel I can’t win. Therefore I know I must lose. Do not ask me what kind of game I played. I’ll give you a hint: karmageddon.

Jung once opined on unresolved emotions and the synchronicity of karma: “when an inner situation is not made conscious, it appears outside as fate”. When you have a karmacoma or a karmageddon, tighten up your panties. They got me by the balls: confusion and illumination after so much years spent with habits even I can’t explain.

Another night in Tunisia, and the melody (maybe the memory) still lingers on. I swear on grandma’s grave, it’s the last time I hesitate that much on important issues. Let’s kill all the bankers, and a few other people (mostly people that insult me). I guess that’s food for thought, or maybe material to laugh and sing.

Food for Thought

In this bright future, I can’t forget the past. While I pointed my finger, someone else was judging me. Isn’t that ironic? Frightened of what I would become, I move carefully, walking a fine line between the horizon and the stars.

I participated in an experience where it was confirmed that gravitational waves existed. The protocol was very simple: listen to that song and call me. She promised she’ll be there with a love that would shelter me. But I have still issues: should I erase my memory or should I grow? Right now, my limbic system is working overtime.

A part of the brain doesn’t stop from growing during life: face recognition. What is a face except an identity? I’m looking for a perfect body with a perfect face. And I must expect that kind of promise from me. I made a lot of promises that I was soon forgetting, but there’s one that my heart is forcing me to fulfil.

The heart is an involuntary muscle and one solution is sublimation (in other words, justice and modesty). Post-Freudian Melanie Klein (1882 – 1960), an Austrian-British psychoanalyst, saw fixation as inherently pathological – a blocking of potential sublimation by way of repression.

I had an idea, not a dream: what if what used to bring us down is saving our lives today? The facts are simple: those animals are creating an environment where you blame your neighbour for something he is not responsible for.

Same Side

People from all walks of life, we gotta have diversity. And Lebanon is a good example, if we can make sure that security remains in the hands of a legit force. A part of the brain monitors intense efforts: in Beirut, this is hell for that kind of effort.

Usual suspects are our neighbours and proxy wars. I thought a lot about Afghanistan lately, and how guts put me on the righteous path of friendship and diplomacy. Afghanistan and Lebanon have something in common: a civil war started in the ‘70s and cold wars actors that jumped on the bandwagon.

When peace comes to town, we will stop making promises that we will forget. And every promise will be remembered. Someone is not human, when he or she takes a lower role, and my role is to write what’s on my mind, whether people like it or not.

For an unknown reason, I expect this blog to take off by 2020. It was about time I honour my promise to a dear friend I lost too early in my life. She died in an accident and left me alone, for a long time.

Me and Mr Jones

Careful not to build expectations too high nor too low. Just the moon and the stars. With the oil of Aphrodite, and the dust of the Grand Wazoo, we will make it. You might not believe me but I have a solution for curing asthma (a common long-term inflammatory disease of the airways of the lungs).

The universe is so vast, I hear people here on Earth saying they have enough down here. I guess it’s a perfect place to start but we might not have a choice. We are 6 billion people on Earth, and governments see people like numbers: +15% crime since last year, 22% more children since 10 years.

People who experienced loneliness know the value of humanity. I know I can make more money as a banker, but don’t waste your time on me: I’ve had my London headache, my Kabul misunderstanding, my Milky Way in Syria. Is this nature’s way? Have you ever tried to find a new religion?

If you liked that post or more generally my blog, don’t forget to go to my about page for details on “like, share, comment and donate”. In other words, this sounds serious and I might give up before being seriously injured by sailing into the mystic.

The Mystery Man came over
An’ he said: “I’m outa-site!”
He said, for a nominal service charge,
I could reach nervonna t’nite
If I was ready, willing ‘n able
To pay him his regular fee
He would drop all the rest of his pressing affairs
And devote His Attention to me
But I said . . .

Look here brother,
Who you jivin’ with that Cosmik Debris?
(Now who you jivin’ with that Cosmik Debris?)
Look here brother,
Don’t you waste your time on me

The Mystery Man got nervous
An’ he fidget around a bit
He reached in the pocket of his Mystery Robe
An’ he whipped out a shaving kit
Now, I thought it was a razor
An’ a can of foamin’ goo
But he told me right then when the top popped open
There was nothin’ his box won’t do
With the oil of Afro-dytee
An’ the dust of the Grand Wazoo
He said:
“You might not believe this, little fella,
but it’ll cure your Asthma too!”
An’ I said . . .

Look here brother,
Who you jivin’ with that Cosmik Debris?
(Now what kind of a geroo are you anyway?)
Look here brother,
Don’t you waste your time on me
Don’t waste yer time . . .

I’ve got troubles of my own, I said
An’ you can’t help me out
So take your meditations an’ your preparations
An’ ram it up yer snout
“BUT I GOT A KRISTL BOL!,” he said
An’ held it to the light
So I snatched it
All away from him
An’ I showed him how to do it right

I wrapped a newspaper ’round my head
So I’d look like I was Deep
I said some Mumbo Jumbos then
An’ told him he was goin’ to sleep
I robbed his rings
An’ pocket watch
An’ everything else I found
I had that sucker hypnotized
He couldn’t even make a sound
I proceeded to tell him his future then
As long as he was hanging around,
I said
“The price of meat has just gone up
An’ yer ol’ lady has just gone down . . . “

Look here brother,
Who you jivin’ with that Cosmik Debris?
(Now is that a real poncho or is that a Sears poncho?)
Don’t you know,

You could make more money as a butcher,
So don’t you waste your time on me
(Don’t waste it, don’t waste your time on me . . . )
Ohm shonty, ohm shonty, ohm shonty-ohm

Nicolas Sursock

Nicolas is a musician. His work now focuses on digesting 10000 songs of jazz, blues, soul, rock, funk and electronic. He plays the guitar if he's not blogging!