of Sue Rynski
End of the night
These pics are horny and bad. Fuck if you were a normal person from a normal place you would look at this shit and say what the fuck are these people trying to do. These people are seeking truth in a place where there is none. I fucking like it, beer bottles and all. Though it’s kind of sad to picture it passing into the dust of time and disappearing greasy hair and all down some black hole.
These people you are looking at were the backbone of rock and roll in its last gasps, its last years. Now it’s long fucking gone. They are not the smartest, not the prettiest, definitely not the most sophisticated or even the coolest. Just the most real and in a weird way, the best. I played a weeks stand at this place, and I can tell you it was funky and down. People took their sex and their music and their cool very seriously and one wrong move or word would finish you and that was that, and all the bullshit on earth wouldn’t help.
Sometimes you have to get up, go out and prove something, and this is where these people went to accomplish that and to get rather drunk and stoned.
Cars in a corn field… kids in a row
In the middle of nowhere, milling in circles Detroit Nocturne
Bad liars, crippled in society
Unable to cheat or scheme smoothly
Given only the gifts to see clearly and be natural
Detroit Nocturne hard headed parents
Belligerent sexual sullen Negroes in the background crops of children
factories of children pyramids of children knuckleheaded fuckups
Ready to do anything and much much worse
Where are they going?
Straight to old age and bitterness
Prone to fantastic wrong turns subject to sad decay worthy of love
Condemned to rock
Bookies. Fucking bookies.
Cool. I love it.
IGGY POP, born James Jewell Osterberg
Chevalier dans l’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres (2003)