Cigarette butts

We guys have it real good, we guys are pretty lucky. We’re a bunch of rich, taken care of, lucky bastards. Not instagram rich rich, but still, even if we’re pretty much shit at dealing with money. But we have it real easy. We know no big drama except for the rare « Grandpa died » thing, and « my parents are divorced » thing, but really, we kinda don’t know shit about anything. 

Yeah, some of us worked during summer to pay for I don’t really know what technologic gadget who died six months later when you sat on it. Some us went through rough times but like cuts they’re mostly self-inflected and we have nobody but us to blame for ‘em.

I guess that’s why we go to the movies, that’s why we try a bunch of drugs one or twice (or more cause we’re rich), that’s why we fuck friends while drunk or strangers while sober or both. We’re all running after emotions which explains why I fucking love music and Charli XCX’s Blood Orange remix. We’re just buying emotions just like we buy beers by half a dozen. Feelings. That’s why we smoke, that’s why we quit smoking (the pain, the excruciating pain), that’s why we run and hurt ourselves, that’s why we’re driven mad in the subway because there are so many girls, and so little time, and what if we took our chances? And we fuck our brains out with regrets in advance and what ifs and what nots.

But once in a while, I guess we can be pretty happy, for moments. Like when a girl puts on your shirt and just catwalks with her boobs perking underneath, just catwalks towards you with a look that asks for more. For more dreams more bed more drugs more lust more lies more head more love more fear more fun more pain more flesh more stars more smiles more fame more sex, like Cure used to sing.

I like One for Kenny, the third track of Idjut Boys new album because it slowly builds a momentum of emotion. Lost between broken disco, jazz and balearic whatever (this just means sun-kissed sun-goldened music), the first three minutes just hang there like sounds from a broken record player. They're just there and the rythm just goes on but nothing happens but my foot claps. It’s a track as danceable as an epilepsy crisis, until it decides to be something : suddenly you’re in a piano bar and 20 dollars cocktail are piling up on the table and it sounds like a cavalcade and a rush of adrenaline. Some of it is extremly good and some of it will raise a few eyebrows. Perfection may just be a synonym for lifeful : three minutes of waiting, drum beats like irregular heartbeats, three minutes of thinking and hesitation and then the jump. Three minute to gather your strenght, and three to get the girl, and the last seconds to kiss her. Go tiger.