My Pet Shop Boys Blog: A Loving Tribute To Neil Tennant & Chris Lowe

The Man With the Triangle Eyes. I'm not a big fan of the disco scene In fact, I avoid it whenever I can But on this Friday night, I was keen On meeting a striking young man. I didn't have to look very far Even though I am quite hard to please. He was standing in front of the bar And his smile son put me at ease. I had just broken up with my significant other So my emotions were all over the place. He'd been less of a lover and more of a brother Still, the pain was so hard to erase. I left home when I was just fifteen years old My father and I had become strangers But I knew in my heart that he had to be told Parental rejection was just one of the dangers. Perhaps I  would be among the lowest of the dead I was persona non grata from that moment on. Still, I had just escaped from cold and empty bed  And just like that, life as I knew it was gone. Did I do the right thing? Will anyone else be harmed? These questions burned holes in my he

Well, I've certainly seen weirder, more outlandish and ridiculous tour riders, but this one, for the boys' Nightlife tour is after my own heart: Lots of alcohol,chocolate, a bowl of fruit and and 1 litre of fruit juice. Now that's my kind of rider! There's Madonna---front and centre as always Neil, speaking quickly and urgently "You don't understand. We were supposed to meet up with you five hours ago. It's not as if we have a tight schedule, but this is ridiculous. I have no idea where we are, Chris is getting antsy and if you had any sense of decency then you wouldn't be pulling this crap.  Oh, isn't this Bill Howard? Sorry, I guess I have the wrong number." Neil quickly hung up the phone. Neil looking happy and contented. A nice change from the ultra-serious face he and Chris favour I've learned a lot of life's lessons from Bugs Bunny. Here's an example of the cartoon lapin separating Canada from America

I Wish I Had Never Dreamed Of Machines    Live By the Gun Die by the gun. A neverending tragedy Showing no signs of abating. Your country's marred By flagrant displays Of rampant weapon worship. And a country reeking of death. It's likely far too late for stricter rules Shooting after shooting Is ample proof of one thing                                                                         You don't want to change. There's a pervasive heaviness of Reservation, resigning oneself to The inevitable war machines Is this how we are going to destroy ourselves.                                            When your leaders fail to save you. When loud-mouthed idiots Want a gun in every pot. But the saddest thing of all Is your indifference to the dead This outpouring of so-called concern Is already yesterday's news. I wrote these two poems this past summer,  before the Presidential debates between Hillary Clinton and that

                           Attrition Sinking into the life  I thought I craved It was a huge mistake. Why didn't I follow my instincts? And why didn't I take your now sadly moot advice? Paradise was quickly transformed into a frightening sinkhole Food was bad and scant. We all work for fifteen plus hours Everyday keeps me so busy. People around me are Dropping from starvation and the unrelenting It's Paradise Lost. Why did things go so terribly bad? Our bizarre captor was drowning in drugs, drinking And popping mood-altering  tablets leading him into a psychotic Break from reality.  He droned on every night so sleep was as scarce As the watery, maggot-infested birds of prey. Am I able to leave this jungle hell? Will those twisting arms Snake around me, just like uncontrolled cancer? Can White Knights arrive magically and save us From tyranny? Of course it was just a mirage. Next we earn the sickening act of mass baby killing. Yes, this was heaven on