Two of the final scenes
My relationship with the neighborhood had a cut rock marking the birth of Argentina as Boris literature for two scenes of violence.
The previous one was a recital. Viejas Locas had separated for two or three years and the Pity was giving one of the first concerts with Intoxicated (say the second or third) in Lacroze Theater, featuring "Good day", a record at that time was more promising, and that tests on Fridays we used to plagiarize by 50%. The day was going to get tickets with my friend Tate, grabbed me in fisticuffs the school gate, and a fateful direct hook to the jaw of the poor idiot who had later-and still do not think you want to fight, I took off my shoulder instead. The humiliation did not even interest me that the concert was a dung, Pity bombardment, was angry hastily broke the guitar (I think from a TV), and all ended at Garcia.
The other was a recital of the 25 in Cement, also with Tate. Flares vitiate all the air, but by the delirium of lice in microstage of Gimnasia y Esgrima de La Plata, was a gilada. And yet we lasted two or three issues in the classroom stage. Some peaches were placed to light Roman candles and throwing to the floor as buscapié. People were jumping stupidly because it was impossible to see when you come. One gave me right at the ankle, got warm and went to hell. But we stayed at the bar, watching it on the screen, sitting at the table of environmental boards. The other half of the concert began shitting peach to pineapple, we got everyone to the table, they would set and turning around the long banquet table. At some point they got bored, stopped fighting and began to dance rock like that, and chocolates as they were. From then on I began to inflate the balls.
years or do not know the exact times of these two events is likely to be a good time difference between each other, and that has continued even after going to some concerts. But those are the scenes that come to mind in this regard.
The ritual, mysticism, the monad
If I think of other scenes of rock and flares to me is a recital of The Lice Atlanta.Casi court suspended by rain, but stopped in the afternoon and did the same. The field was all muddy and did not have that coverage cheta that put you at River. So an hour after the announced for the beginning of the show (The lice were delayed, by the clock, three hours behind the official start, was punctual in his tardiness) and were bored, peaches began a war of mud inevitably fun, would last about an hour and a half, reducing the area alternately poguera the fence and re-expand to cover almost half court at its most uncontrolled. In this recital
spent what was always plenty of flares that were lit and if you do not have you stoked and passed very near cagabas you burning with sparks flying in all directions. I remember that for two reasons. First, because obviously it was a day out, after the war of mud, the rain was constant flares, two, three, four times a subject opened the corridor from your back and forth a swinging raved a flare, sometimes more than one raved. The pogo was special in that slippery floor and soft to the monkeys that did not stop ever, and it was difficult avivarte of flares so I followed cagabas burning. In one of these left the crowd, I went back for air, a couple of songs tranquis. And it starts to sound
Arco, a kid next to me pulled to the floor a bunch of flares and friends begin to grasp. Needless to say over and if I give away. Garments, and we move on.
The road was opened only a diagonal from the bottom right of the stage. We were like monkeys to the jumps, the flare is not burning me, because it reaches with Rebol for the sparks of shit go the other way and the fire is not I give you. The crowd opened out, and took a touch to close earlier. It was ritual, and I remember how I got almost to the fence in seconds, glowing fire everywhere.
The way of thinking
Last week, on Thursday last-page supplement to No 12 came a cover story called "Bengal rotten" by the death of Miguel Ramirez. That review was accompanied on the one hand, to the right for views of several leading rock bands. I am happy to appear as the Goat types of Las Manos de Filippi, speaking of the blame for the failures of the capitalist system. I also causes much grace, because blaming the capitalist system in the abstract is a bit useless, especially when he was an idiot who was a flare, which the views of Mono Kapanga seem more accurate. But if there must be blame in this, in ignorance of these rituals, the persistence of risky practices, a forum, to shake, delivery, if there has to be blamed "can get us off? Did not pour over all, is not a dominant ideologema fubolera a society like this? And last, what the fuck (poetic license) is "the sense of what was the rock" to be recovered, as proposed Corvater Hell?
the other, left of the main note, there is an opinion column Mariano Blejman talking about what may or may not make a band, how some bands after Cromagnon asked from the stage that went out flares. But above all is a note to throw shit to the Indian because it was never against and even said it was a very strong aesthetic image, epic. Or to praise ironically now suspend her performance and said in the statement that we are going to their concerts we refrain from fireworks. He also said somewhere that we all had to reflect on this. I do not know, in any case seems to me, if you have to hit Indian Dad, you have to hit him.
Now we know that the Indian date was delayed to September. In Junin is going to be fine cap, maybe even have many controls, it may even be worse because as we know nobody likes the police, not so much control to enter a recital. But at some point it seems that our society outside of the police. My old man says: "What folly, imagine that you one day you go to a concert and kill you and with a flare and not come back." And I think the same goes for any big turd of a human being: you step on a car, a Guachito you click on the street because he does not want to mp3, or that the train derailed because the skinny fell asleep. Unjustifiable and make mistakes when guilt is poured over the company returns as police, because the drunk will not see a rock has a high-end car passes red light. So what remains is to remove those epic moments to take care of, and is well maintained. But what the hell do we do with all this?
I reflect, I have no drama, missing about three months for the recital. But again, what the hell do. The kid who threw it will go to jail, and could one day learn to not fuck with the flare, but still have guns in the street and a lot of shit everywhere. And perhaps it is the capitalist system. And perhaps humans, this animal may be an idiot.
