Some day all the boomers will be dead. Some day…
(I guessed this poor woman had lupus just by looking at her face. Steroids suck.)
The passive-aggressive pacifist on scarily pretentious, rage-filled drug-addled boorish lout David Crosby, whose jizz was used by Melissa Etheridge and her person-mate (who’s since quit lesbianism but let’s not let that stop us from likening being gay to being black) to spawn their little personlings.
“David was more than a mess. His health had deteriorated, which hardly seemed possible. He was freebasing around the clock. He was filthy, always sickly, irrational, covered in sores. And blisters—he and Jan would nod off while using a torch to light their pipe and were constantly burning their furniture and bodies. He had trouble speaking because his windpipe was coated.” (…)
Most lamentable aspects of the 60s:
a) Roman Polanski wasn’t home when Tex Watson and the girls came calling.
b) No one thought to carpet-bomb the Woodstock festival.
And, c) Not enough drug overdoses!
And so if you were still around at the moment, would you play Glastonbury?
PS: No, I’d refuse, it’s a bloody hippy business.
I know it’s a nice family day out, but fuck that, I want nothing to do with family days out with rock stars. Joe used to go, but Joe was a bit of a hippy anyway. But that’s fine. Live and let live. It doesn’t mean I have to go there.
But you know, I’d go to Notting Hill carnival, that’s more my speed to be honest, culturally, musically, fashion-styly.
I know it’s ridiculous to have these thoughts, but I can’t help it. I grew up in a whole different generation, as you say, a quarter of a century ago, so you can’t blame me.
But you still hate hippies 25 years later?
PS: Well I don’t hate them, but I would rather not socialise with them.
