Definition of Rock

Rock, in addition to being a definition of a certain lifestyle, it’s a term with a precise pronunciation : rɒk.

Rock is a heavy load that crosses your room on Saturday Afternoon.

Rock is Lou Reed with yellow hair, black sunglasses, dressed entirely in black, junkie-ways, who sings a song from Berlin in a concert somewhere in Denmark in a 1974 tour .

Rock is Johnny Cash at Folsom Prison (California, USA) who starts with: "Hello , I'm Johnny Cash".

Rock is a pretty damnation, a viral unleashing of the senses, do not give in, strong self-destruction, rebellion, abandon, fall ill, protest, dance, walk, jump, standing in the middle of a street and do not know what to do.

Rock is a dense and junkie travel within yourself and then you realize that you are the only person alive on earth at 4:32 in the morning and that the world out is ready for another day of total boredom: better burn out than slowly fade away Neil Young said - keep on rockin’ in the free world .

Rock is to take yourself and go far from home and say hello to Mom & Dad while pushing the car as much as possible on a bumpy road on the other side of the world and stop in a motel in the middle of a foreign country and put a chair and a table behind the door before going to sleep because the murderer of the room next to you is not making you a greeting in the middle of the night .

Rock are the gently deadheads and their beautiful secular religion made ​​of freedom, tolerance, open-mindedness, respect, civility, affection, love and so much.

Rock are the punks, stoned and bones and little flesh, towering on the end of the Seventies.

Rock are the arrows of Grace Slick in her dream-state and glacial vowels while she’s watching Janis Joplin with the three hundredth bottle of Jim Beam.

Rock is Jimi Hendrix who will never meet Miles Davis for a super jam session.

Rock is to take your Les Paul with big old strings and make it play in your acoustic Marshall.

Rock is every single day that you buy a record and when you put it on you're high and you read The Brothers Karamazov in a few hours and you think that it’s stuff nearly one hundred and fifty years ago. Terrible deal, Fedor .

Rock are thousands of black and white photographs made ​​on the road in the most unthinkable moments, not to respect the traffic light, to waste the fuel as quickly as possible, to have a caboose crammed till exhaustion with beers and whiskey crates ready to use.

Rock is ramble on for thousands of clubs to listen to your own blues and stand on the sidewalk outside the door, until they reopen, only for another round, one more round, please.

Rock is Woodstock with the rain and the mud and lot of peace and love, brothers and sisters.

Rock are the Beatles so opposed to the Stones and you know: the ones made ​​the music, the others are the greatest rock band in the world .

Rock are dozens of magazines with glossy covers discussing guitar heroes or of the best hundred albums of all time. Sgt Pepper's always wins (maybe The White Album).

Rock is a beard growing for three months at least and think of Creedence or Canned Heat.

Rock is The Last Waltz to not forget The Band Rock of Ages.

Rock is your stereo on for seven days a week, is an incredible amount of pills, doses, mixed stuff and so on.

Rock is the cover of Horses and a photo of Patti Smith with Robert Mapplethorpe.

Rock is wanting strongly a woman and then have another one in your bed.

Rock is a girl just came of age - or thereabouts, that you would like she visits you in your sacerdotal rooms .

Rock is Duane Allman fishing in singlet, Eric Clapton seated  in front of various bottles or Jimmy Page with dragons on the jacket and the Gibson at Madison Square Garden, 1973, year ab incarnatione domini nostri Jesu Christi.

Rock are The Who with Roger Daltrey throwing the microphone in the air while Pete Townshend rolls right arm on SG - Teenage waste land of rock desert.

Rock are the tattoos of Johnny Winter and his fifty records preciously kept in a quiet place in your home, the cut finger of Jerry Garcia, Bob Dylan who sizzles the harmonic in D, the patient voice of Leonard Cohen, the crackling thuds of Tom Waits, the schizoid-hieratic deeds of St. Nick Cave, the dark side of the moon Pink Floyd, Elton John singing Bennie and the Jets, the Doctor John get stuck in a cajun swamp, the intros of the Doors, the riffs of Deep Purple, David Bowie with his rock 'n' roll suicide, the fake darkness of Black Sabbath, whitewashed nostrils of Stevie Nicks, Jeff Beck’s vests, the monstrous roll of John Bonzo Bonham and the dreadful earthquake of Keith Moon, the “give peace a chance” of John Lennon.

Rock is a coherent, weird, overflowing vision that makes you get up in the morning and put on Stevie Ray Vaughn with Texas Flood or a Roy Buchanan’s forgotten album.

Rock is your woman that is gone with another woman and you hope she won’t be back.

Rock are shelves full of records to take and burn as a sacrifice to the mighty god of music.

Rock is the one thing that can change your life, that may be the way of salvation or escape.

Rock is physically a physical state, is human distraction, is violence in its purest form .

Rock is all the rest.

Clifton's

Of course I do not know
if it was the proper summer
or the summer that was coming

but only my father
that was back to write
after months, years

a long period
in which no one
couldn't see him

through those books
he read in the shelter
to which he had set on fire

after the absence from the scenes
what he wanted to tell us
what they wanted to say to him

after my mother
he asked
divorce & food

& decided to never come back
she had left him with a letter
abandoned on the cupboard

the last time I saw them
at a table, together
was at Clifton's.

You know, days divide nights

with apprehension the father
looked at her daughter's face
beyond the backlit glass

I am lonely on this road
& it is not a joyful sunday
it is not the peace of the lord

he says to her through the glass
& she will ignore him because of this inertia
& forget him & make of him an icon

he was bent on the ashtray
& he unloaded the wet & curled ash
of the cigarette & that tasted of tequila

nothing new
squeezing lemons in his mouth
pouring whiskey, before it was [...]

sao paulo do brazil
east chicago
downtown detroit

he was talking to himself & he was repeating
that they recommended, with frequency on television
& of this he was absolutely sure

that after several hours
the important was only:
keep your hands on the wheel

at 5.00 a.m. behind a glass
that once went up in flames
while she was counting

she was telling herself, while calculating,
that she just needed
another stroll around

a sign, huge for those times
the square of tar was bleached
by the low light of the neon

& not of that the stuff on the radio
jazz, that reminded her
so obstinately her mother

& their part-time factotum
who washed the cars of those who passed
or of those got one (the soft parade)

the following year
his brother
published four books

but he failed
to become a writer
under indefinite time contract

he became a bloody nose
on the acropolis of a shopping center
with disinfectant into nostrils

she saw his brother
only as a debt
cost without end

he was a number
that she could not put in a column
exact words

a decapitated budget item
without beginning or an end
an unrelated sign to the accounting

but he remained
one of the attractions of the place
he was the man who was washing cars

he was the man who knew
about engines, transmission, steering, tires
he was their part-time worker

it came naturally
tell the patrons
it's very nice to know you're here

we are at your complete service
although this would involve allusions
in the state of intuition of the people who are here

it would have led to inevitable consequences, they
in their beds where they were hardly fucking
in the showers where they rinsed, touching, all the way down

she took care
also
of personnel management

people who came
from disparate parts of the world
crossing the border illegally

& this excited her
almost as much as
his brother

when his brother
got chicks
she went into adjoining rooms

she heard & while drinking
she made to herself not bad services
lasting some hours

she felt that wilderness
his father was a fuck
a fucking dying paralytic

but he was still a good man
& she was always close to him
after the mother had gone

he did not,
his brother followed her mother
up in the city, in various cities

until she died of cancer
age 45
& he began to roam

then when
for various reasons
he seriously risked life & limb

he showed up
in front of her sister
50 pounds lighter

she bent down & put his head
pressing between the stomach & pubis of him
& she began to smell & she told him

we will do anything you want
you only have to wash cars
occasionally .