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[sybelle]

ни у кого не сохранились?
смешная вещь была...

[бк]

sybelle,
сохранились - причём всех четверых

[бк]

а как поживает сергейсергеич

[sybelle]

четверых? четверых не читала... ты не мог бы прислать личкой? или на мейл?..
жаль, не пятерых...

[Гость]

sybelle,
Толи круто стартанул - толи опустился.
Бывает раз в год в России. Был у Ваятта в гостях - сдружился с Катлером.
Сейчас играет(ал) в Израиле в какойто религиозной джаз-банде. Стал верующим после экспериенсед с ЭлЭсДи.....................
И во всём один я виноват............

[бк]

май майнд из гоуин....
Из воспоминаний о Вас осталось в памяти одно из сидеий на ЭсЭнСи радио.

[роман шебалин]

[Tisha]

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Week One

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Monday
Got up, had a bath. Thought that the water looked a dark colour - then realised I still had my aviator sunglasses on. Listened to the radio and felt a bit alienated. Wrote another concept album on video recorders as I realised I'd already done TV and radio. Had lunch and the postman turned up. A letter from mum reminding me that it's Uncle Bob's birthday next week. The power she still wields...will I never be free?? Beat my fists against the wall in anger and frustration for about 20 minutes. Decided to have a cup of tea. Milk had gone off. I detect the hand of David Gilmour in this.
Tuesday
Got up. Thought about the war and the market forces destroying the world for an hour or so. Felt a bit depressed so I decided to put on my black jeans, black T shirt, black casual jacket and aviators. Felt much better and decided to go out for some milk and card for Uncle Bob. Nearly got out the door before I realised I hadn't rolled up the sleeves of my casual jacket!! Narrow escape there.
Wednesday
Got up, suddenly realised that my father was dead and that no-one understood my alienation as a musical genius. Burnt down the new conservatory in an angst ridden rage. Man next door tried to engage me in conversation about someone called "Gazza" before I torched his too. He is a pleb and I am an artist. He was leaning on the fence watching me. I feel there might be a large scale concept piece in this about the gulf between the artsists and the philistine masses. Couldn't think of a physical symbol to hang the work around and snagged my casual jacket on a nail sticking out of the fence. Asked the pleb if he had seen a man answering David Gilmours description hammering the nail in but he'd obviously paid the pleb off.
Thursday
Got up, message from Dave on the ansaphone asking me to get back together with the band again. Rang Eric Clapton and asked him to send Dave's wife some flowers thanking her for the wonderful nights they spent together. That should fuck him up. Felt so good I came up with a great lateral thinking idea on the new album - The Fence!! I could stage it at the whitehouse, or even the moon!! Thought I should probably play myself, but who for Mum and Uncle Bob?? Sinead? Van? Madonna? Phoned Bob Geldof to see if he wanted to get involved. He told me to "fook off". Felt bad, nearly wrote another album but decided to forgive Bob and went round to join him and we both beat our fists against the wall for a couple of hours.
Friday
Got up, then went back to bed as I couldn't face the day - can't anyone else see our lives are revolving around TV?? For god's sake, it should be my musical genius it revolves around!! Mum rang at night tosee if I was OK. She came round with some chicken soup - I didn't eat it as it might have those mind controlling drugs in it but at least she got my other black casual jackets back from the dry cleaners. When will this woman stop controlling my life!!
Saturday
Rang Sinead. Apparently she has to tidy her room for the forseeable future. Van rang, but it was difficult to tell wether he was interested or not as there was so much background noise - all bottles clinking and horseracing. Madonna didn't ring back. I detect the hand of David Gilmour in this.
Sunday
Project in tatters. Postman came and the first letter was my royalties from Pink Floyds latest tour. I'm sure it's Ј1 short. Letter from mum - Uncle Bob was killed by a bus yesterday. I feel a large scale concept album about the perils of public transport in a monopolistic state coming on. Finished it in time to watch MTV before bed. Saw David Gilmour dancing with Madonna!!! I detect the hand of my mother in this!!

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Week Two

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Monday
Got up. Had a bath. Doctor came round - said they would have to operate to remove my sunglasses. Decided to give it a miss - after all, I've never seen Dave Gilmour in shades. Postman arrived with my 55 volume box video set of the first world war. Couldn't see my dad in it, but there was a guy who looked like him. The bleeding hearts came round in the afternoon - apparently Snowy has started taking lessons from Dave himself. We jammed for a bit until someone pointed out I couldn't sing. Threw them all out in a huff.
Tuesday
Meeting with the guys at Sony. Apparently they are objecting to my new 3 CD concept album roughly entitled "Record companies screw the life out of creative geniuses worse than Maggie Thatcher did to the miners". Philistines. They calmed down a bit when they realised it wouldn't be out for another three years by which time the concept would have changed beyond all recognition anyway. Talked about poor album sales. This one had better be good they said, get some good guitarists. They suggested Dave Gilmour - I suggested they fuck off.
Journalist phoend to ask when I would tour next. Told him as soon as Hades drops below 0 degrees and it's moisture crystalises in to a solid - or if more than a few hundred people buy tickets. He didn't understand the first part but I think he got the message.

Wednesday
Phoned Eric Clapton - but his mum said he can't come out to play with me anymore as I depress him. Talked to her about the war for a bit till she hung up. Mothers - they're all the same. Went in the studio and met some guy called Steve Vai - apparently he plays guitar. Asked him to put some stuff over my demos but he just warmed up for an hour, asked if it was OK and left. Dave and the guys were in the studio next door and sent through a demo they were working on to see if I would put some lyrics on it. I did, it went like this -


Fuck off Dave Gilmour
And the rest of you too
Keep your sodding ferraris
Your mums smell like poo

You got the floyd name
but I know your game
It's all metaphysics
And I write better lyrics

Not my best work but I thougt it appropriate under the circumstances. Phoned my lawyer and asked him to phone Dave's lawyer and say that Dave was a wanker. And anyway, didn't I get a restraining order??

Thursday
New album going well - should be finished in about 40 odd remixes and several title changes. Did some more work on the opera. Finally found the kind of music for me - you don't need to sing!! You get a big fat woman to do it for you. At least it makes a change from Paul Carrack. Sinead came round for a while and we both moaned about how hard it was to be misunderstood artistic genuis's. She asked if she could do a bit for the new album - said we'd already got someone to make the sandwiches.
Friday
Dave phoned again. Apparently he wants to borow my casual jacket. Couldn't find one without the sleeves rolled up so I bought a brand new one. It was worth it after I'd sewn some prawns into the lining and filled the collar with itching powder. Saw Dave later wearing it on Top Of The Pops - he's not playing as well as he used to!! Mum came tound and asked me if I wanted to go to dinner with her and the wife. You mean I'm married??
Saturday
Phoned the Ministry Of Defence again and asked them why my dad had to die in the war. Got standard reply from snotty receptionist - "because he was shot through the head by a german, Mr Waters". Typical. Wrote a song about the snooty girl called "I send people off to die and I don't care (Potzdamer Mix)".
Had lunch with my manager. Apparently the Floyd are to be honoured at some big awards and Dave and the boys are going. Said I would go for a laugh. Phoned the wife to see if she wanted to go but she said Dave had already invited her. Bugger.

Sunday
Drove by Daves house at 3.00 in the morning playing the Final Cut really loud - Dave came out and threw a guitar at me. Said it was the best thing he'd done with a guitar since The Wall. Drove off really quick after he threatened not to sing any more songs I had the rights to.
Decided not to go to the awards - sent a Gerald Scarfe cartoon of myself instead. MTV vj said that they nearly didn't recognise me without the casual jacket & shades but I certainly has more charisma than usual. Got really depressed and decided to sell the pics of Dave shagging Kate Bush to the News Of The World. Now that's what I call a discovery!!


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Week Three

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Monday
Got up, had a bath. Decided to have a cup of tea. Milk had gone off again. Made a mental note to shoot Dave Gilmour. Went for a walk in the park. It was a nice day, lot's of mothers with their children on the swings etc. No fathers around - maybe they all died in the war. Couldn't stay long - the police turned up and took me to the station. Got questioned for two hours on why a middle aged man dressed all in black with sunglasses on should hang around the playground. Talked to the officers about the war and how my father was killed. Got let off with a caution and a promise to see a shrink. On way home had a brilliant idea - a ouija board!! Went straight to the shop and bought one. On the way back I bought another thousand copies of ATD with my Floyd royalties - got to keep the boys at Sony happy and Snowy in guitar lessons.
Tuesday
Felt really bad this morning so stayed in bed making anonymous and abusive phone calls to Maggie Thatcher and Ronald Reagan. That will teach them to ruin peoples lives, start wars and promote a soap opera state. But how do they always know it's me?? Called Dave for a laugh - shame he wasn't in, put on my Kate Bush voice and left message saying I was pregnant and was sure the baby was his.
Contact!!! After 3 hours I think I am in touch with my father!! Asked loads of questions with yes or no answers which he got right!! Eventually asked the BIG ONE, what should I do with my life... message came back: S..T..O..P....F..U..C..K..I.N..G....M..O..A..N..I..N..G!! Went to bed early with a cup of cocoa after beating my fists bloody against the wall.

Wednesday
BBC phoned up to ask if I would take part in a documentary - Daves doing it they said. Decided to do it after BBC man assured me we would be recorded on seperate days. Next door came round to ask me to stop beating on the wall - gave them a copy of the album so they could understand. They came back two hours later and asked me to sign it - I did and they left looking puzzled. Heard the man muttering "Shit...I thought he was Dave Gilmour...who IS Roger Waters anyway?" under his breath. Had a cup of black coffee and went to bed. Decided to give the beating my fists against the wall a miss tonight.
Couldn't sleep, decided to make a list of things that keep me awake at night -



Thinking about the war.
Thinking about my father/mother/the war.
Going round Daves house at 3:00AM and singing "and when the band you're in starts playing different tunes" at the top of my voice.
Being repeatedly beaten over the head with a rubber chicken.
Thinking about market forces and the soap opera state.
Going round Daves at 4:00AM, running thru his garden and singing "the lunatic is on the grass" at the top of my voice.
Thinking some more about the war.
Wondering just what I'm going to do to Dave if he comes round and starts any of that rubber chicken shit tonight.
Lying awake writing lists.
Fell asleep before I could do number 10.

Thursday
Got up late, must get more sleep in future. Decided to work on a new album but couldn't think of a good concept. Listened to all my albums (INCLUDING The Final Cut) in a row and decided to kill myself due to the sheer futility of it all. Couldn't go through with it without writing a new album about what it feels like to want to commit suicide. Finished it and felt a lot better. Sent it to Sony by local courier company - which is trangely called Fat Daves. I always get a kick out of calling and saying "Hello, Fat Daves?? Yeh Roger here, I need you to run an errand for me you fat talentless bastard". Went to BBC documentary and it turned out to be a tribute to Dave!! And he was there!! According to them one of his new business ventures is a courier company!! Said lots of uncomplimentary things about him on camera but he just ran around laughing behind me making finger gestures behind my head. Eventually he collapsed in a fat heap on the floor covered in sweat. Made a mental note to send him another 400 cream cakes and some of my Grecian 2000. Looks like he didn't like the wig I sent him either.
Friday
Got up late again, head still sore from the rubber chicken. Message from Sony on the ansaphone - apparently all the account execs killed themselves this morning. I detect the hand of... er... best not think about that one, Phoned and asked if they had a chance to listen to the album - receptionist hung up on me. Stormed round the garden for a couple of hours in an angst ridden torment. Pleb next door kept staring at me, told him I'd put my Paul Carrack CD on full blast if he didn't fuck off. He did. Continued storming for a bit till it got dark and I banged my shins on the bar-B-Q. Next time I do it in the dark I'll take the aviators off.
Message on ansaphone from some anonymous woman telling me to stop being such a miserable nutcase and to pull myself together. Sounded like my mother. Recorded new ansaphone message:

"Hi, this is Roger 'I'm outta my mind, me' Waters, I can't take your call as I am far too busy writing large scale concept albums with outrageous stage shows that will never be performed due to poor ticket sales. ALRIGHT, LOOK... MY FATHER DIED IN THE WAR YOU KNOW!! AND I WAS PERSECUTED BY MY MOTHER FROM AN EARLY AGE!! I THINK THAT GIVES ME THE RIGHT TO BE A MISUNDERSTOOD CREATIVE GENIUS!! Right, OK, and I'm a miserable bugger. Leave your message after the tone. Oh yeh, I said I would tour if ATD sold 2 million copies and to date it's only sold 1.3 million, so get off my back about that one as well. Thanks."
Saturday
Got up early- it's my birthday!! Mum came round with presents - a pint of milk and a fridge. Uncle Bob didn't even send a card!! Dave sent some singing lesson vouchers - bastard!! Made mental note to send him my new book "Writing successful concept albums based around music and good lyrics rather than some crap with a couple of guitar solos in it" if I ever get the bugger published. For some reason all the publishers think it's a bit hypocritical. Had a tantrum as mum forgot the jelly and ice cream. Sat in my room in the dark for a bit and then called Snowy. Told me he couldn't come round to play as he's joined David as rythm guitarist on his solo album!! Phoned Jehovas Witnesses pretending to be in deep spiritual crisis and gave them Daves adress. Went to bed but had to get up 2 hours later as Dave had sent the Moonies round. Got rid of them by talking about the early years with Syd Barret and playing them Interstellar Overdrive.
Sunday
Decided to make it up with Dave - dropped by his house and offered to do some lyrics for his solo project, with no mention of the war/soap opera states/alienation etc. Wrote a great song called "The Bravery of being Ronald Reagan behind a big large thing almost like a Wall that shields your feelings at The Anzio Bridgehead whilst on TV". Dave didn't like it so promised to go home and write another one,
Got home and decided I din't feel like being nice to him anymore. Sent him these lyrics instead:



My dad went off to a great big battle
The TV satellites watched from Seattle
He fought the buggers left and right
Then the cameras panned to a dreadful sight
As some German Kraut
Snuffed his life right out
Bugger

And a monkey sat on Daves old bones
Buggered his ferraris and wrecked his homes
And Billy chipped in with Radio Waves
Shot right up the arse of fat old Dave
For good lyrics he'll forever hunt
'Cause that Dave Gilmour, well
He's just a cunt
Yeah
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In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me

[sybelle]

о, Tisha, спасибо, это именно то, что я искала.

[роман шебалин]

угу.. да-да....
вот бы кто это ЦЕЛИКОМ ВСЁ перевёл на рус.яз................
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[Tisha]

[роман шебалин]

всё непонятно. буковки почти вроде знакомые, а вот когда они в слова (там ведь слова были, да) складываются - фигня какая-то выходит....
нет, ничего не понятно......... (при всеё моей несказанной любви к РОУ)
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[Madcap]

Tisha, Классный стих про Гилмора в конце, прикольно...

[роман шебалин]

ну.... слов нет... кто-то очень сиьно оттянулся....
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[Madcap]

Бред сумасшедшего просто, я не знал что Уотерс такой укурок... (если конечно это не чьё-то соченение, хотя если это так то хотел бы я познакомиться с этим челом)
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Wined and dined, oh it seemed just like a dream!
Girl was so kind.
kind of love I'd never seen