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Tuesday, July 11, 2006

roscoe

Attempting to embed a YouTube player on here is always more trouble than it's worth, so just click here. It's good.

Edit: This isn't the band's official video for "Roscoe", it's just a fan video that I thought was cool.

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11 comments:

Blogger Dodge said...

disappointing and lazy for such a great song. much less than what i hoped for.

6:40 PM  
Blogger Chris said...

i forgot to mention, it's a fan video, not the band's official video. i hope you feel bad now, dude.

6:52 PM  
Blogger craig said...

hey just an fyi, with blogger when I embed a youtube video, it always gives me some lame but scary warning...I've been told to just ignore it and check the box below it and post the dang thing and that always works for me

7:39 PM  
Blogger Joey said...

I thought it was an interesting video. Almost like a mock of evolution.
But a dry idea.

3:00 AM  
Blogger Dodge said...

now knowing it is a fan video, i rescind my statement. i respect anything a fan does for the love of a good band.

8:42 AM  
Anonymous jared said...

hmm... maybe you should edit the post. i also assumed it was official until just now when i checked the comments. and if it was, i'd be agreeing with dodge's first statement. of course, as it is now, i'm agreeing with his second.

2:13 PM  
Blogger Chris said...

good call, i just edited it.

2:30 PM  
Anonymous Basti said...

Roscoe

And he was a decent craftsman living near a mountain, in a beautiful cedar house. He never got out of bed until after noon. He never stayed up later than midnight.

In 1880 he set out for the great civil war. He wrote his way through this war. Instead of slaving away in the trenches he wrote propaganda, very effective propaganda. Some people say he was responsible for at least a dozen victories through his writing. His pen was indeed mightier than his sword. Even more so when you know that the only person he ever wounded with his sword was himself. Out looking for stones one evening, he came across a big cedar tree. One of the branches of this cedar tree had grown wild in the shape of a beautiful woman. He only needed to tilt his head a little to the left to see the wonderful hourglass figure made of wood. So he set about cutting the branch off with his sword to take it back to the camp. He found cutting a branch with a sword is nigh impossible so he started hacking the wood instead. Chips flew up and about around his head; some of them disappeared in his long copper coloured hair. When he almost hacked through the base of the branch he caught a glimpse of the end: the head of it was in agony. As if it had a human face; tears were rolling down its cheeks…her cheeks. He gasped and lost his grip. About to tumble down he grabbed hold of the branch, the bosom part, and snapped it in half. He landed on the soft grass with a big thud and the sword pierced its way through his thigh. If only he were made of wood as well he thought.

In 1881 he came back from the war, to his beautiful cedar house. Every morning he got out of bed at the crack of dawn. He never stayed up later than midnight but it always took him hours to fall asleep. One day he bought himself a typewriter, just like the one he had in the war, and he started making pamphlets again. But instead of writing about the victories of his army he wrote about the woman in the cedar tree. He wrote great adventures with the woman going to far off places and meeting strange new people. And every time she would meet one of them she would weep profusely. And she would climb a cedar tree and throw herself down. And she would land with a big thud and snap in half. Her bottom half would remain there and be forgotten but her top half, her bosom, would be taken by many people. They would take it into town and shave pieces off which they would each keep separately in little boxes lined with velvet.

In 1882 he planted the seeds of a cedar tree in the front yard of his house. After that he married a local woman from the whorehouse. She gave him three children: two boys and one baby girl. He named each of them roscoe. Every afternoon he would write a pamphlet and then he would go to the garden at the back of his cedar house and let his children read it. Then he would take them to the front yard where he planted the seeds. He would point at the soil and tell his children that after he died they should each have three children of their own. Then he told them the story of how he wounded himself on his own sword. His children swore to come back to the cedar tree after they each had three children of their own. They swore to be very productive.

In 1891 his wife died of syphilis. He went into town and left her body at the whorehouse. After the great war he got a little mixed up. He thought he was a little like her, and a little like his children. In fact, he was neither. Around this place, with its cedar houses and its cedar trees, he had no one to stay with. He only had his typewriter and his adventures. The next day he took his children and sat them down in the garden and gave them a pamphlet. Then he took his typewriter and sat it down next to the cedar tree. He took some gasoline, the little that he had, and splashed it against the outside of his cedar house.

The match that he had in his pocket was one with a green and yellow head. It was the only one in the country and he had gotten it from a brilliant Greek man he fought with in the great war. His name is Aiantas. The Greek was a few years older than him and late at night he would tell stories about his home country. During one of his stories he took out a match with a green head and put it down on the grass and ran away.

Instead of raising alarm, or shooting the Greek in the back for being a traitor, he took the match and stuck it in his pocket. He held it there until 1891 when he finally took it out and used it to burn his house down. And through the flames he could see the mountain top reaching for the sky. His children roared from laughter but soon turned to bawling. They cried big, thick, oily tears with little flakes of ash in them. The tears dropped down on the soil where the cedar tree was growing.

It was the day of Deciduous Roscoe.

4:37 AM  
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1:19 AM  
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2:57 AM  

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