i always think of birds.

people are barbaric. i saw a man spit next to a baby carriage yesterday. i saw a woman alternate between sticking french fries and a menthol cig into her filthy, twisted maw. i heard them slur, smelled their stink, and had to acknowledge their rightful place as heirs to this wretched land.
barbarians.
but not quite.
there is no savagery in their actions. no passion. no real hate. just an uncomprehending, cancerous, nothingness in all their actions.
i can respect a barbarian with blood on his axe.
i cannot respect the slothful children he brings his bloody mounds of meat to.

there is savagery and grace to lou reed's 'metal machine music'. there is grace because i put it there. it may be a joke lou has played on us, on me. to make me seem like a pretentious fool. and that is savage.

it's just noise. but i always think of birds.

he claims in the liner notes that no one has ever listened to it in his entirety.
i have.
but i have also spent time in the hospital.
as has lou, receiving electo-shock treatment.
in that context, this album is probably the most personal album he, or perhaps anyone, has ever recorded. 4 sides of unrelenting feedback, squeals, screeches, and static.
and birds.
i can swear i hear birds.

so beautiful. this outpouring of hate, and anger, and sadness, and despair. and i sit and listen. and absorb it. and send it back. and it creates a loop. a horrible whistling, an animal whine, a bestial wail.
the birds.
i always think of birds.