Playlist:
Dragon Prowl - Free Moral Agents
She's Going Down - The Balcony Stars
Shock Your Feet - DeLix
Friendly Fires - Section 25
The Room - Purple Heart Parade
Paris Is Bored - Mark Spence
Minsato Le Mi Dayihome - Orchestre Poly-Rythmo
Loose Cartilage - The Black Seeds
My Autumn's Done Come - Lee Hazlewood
Mediocre Poetry - Skeleton Suite
One Girl One Knife - The Ruminaters
Kwamununga - Jagari Chanda
Old Man From London - Frazer King
Firewalker - Jungle Fire
It Tolls For Thee - The Bicycle Boys
Uncertainty - Jagwar Ma
Girls - Death in Vegas
Maybe The Boy Who Cried Wolf Was Just Paranoid - Sugar Army
Management Stinks - Lost Generation
Totally Wired - The Fall
Sweet Rene - Zach Deputy
I Don't Want Nobody - Eddie Harris
More Love - Extra Love
Purple Aki - Suzuki Method
Flight of the Ancients - Shaolin Afronauts
Poem:
A Tombless Epitaph
by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
'Tis true, Idoloclastes Satyrane !
(So call him, for so mingling blame with praise,
And smiles with anxious looks, his earliest friends,
Masking his birth-name, wont to character
His wild-wood fancy and impetuous zeal,)
'Tis true that, passionate for ancient truths,
And honouring with religious love the Great
Of elder times, he hated to excess,
With an unquiet and intolerant scorn,
The hollow Puppets of an hollow Age,
Ever idolatrous, and changing ever
Its worthless Idols ! Learning, Power, and Time,
(Too much of all) thus wasting in vain war
Of fervid colloquy. Sickness, 'tis true,
Whole years of weary days, besieged him close,
Even to the gates and inlets of his life !
But it is true, no less, that strenuous, firm,
And with a natural gladness, he maintained
The citadel unconquered, and in joy
Was strong to follow the delightful Muse.
For not a hidden path, that to the shades
Of the beloved Parnassian forest leads,
Lurked undiscovered by him ; not a rill
There issues from the fount of Hippocrene,
But he had traced it upward to its source,
Through open glade, dark glen, and secret dell,
Knew the gay wild flowers on its banks, and culled
Its med'cinable herbs. Yea, oft alone,
Piercing the long-neglected holy cave,
The haunt obscure of old Philosophy,
He bade with lifted torch its starry walls
Sparkle, as erst they sparkled to the flame
Of odorous lamps tended by Saint and Sage.
O framed for calmer times and nobler hearts !
O studious Poet, eloquent for truth !
Philosopher ! contemning wealth and death,
Yet docile, childlike, full of Life and Love !
Here, rather than on monumental stone,
This record of thy worth thy Friend inscribes,
Thoughtful, with quiet tears upon his cheek.
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