Catologue of Blog
Christ. Parties. Concerts. Oi. Blugh.
Cutting curtains and star-crossed bonanzapans. I need to learn to remember faces and names. I swear. Guh. This is why I need no more booze. Maybe my memory will come back. And maybe my glory hole will open with the hymns of the heaven's legions and my farts will smell like cinnamon buns. The world will find me again.
A noose runs round the poor and paid-for while the rich men giggle, grounded and gotten by coffins and nails.
Bought and bent, made for the tree. The swingers swing singing for hope and disease.
Definately no crowds. Nuh-uh. No more crowds please.
Compassion is an underrated human sensibility. Life, on the other hand, is cheap.
They wrote down something I said tonight. "when you're living in the dorms, Mr. Boston is like gold." I am really not a very profound person. In fact, I could probably count the intelligent-original things I've thought on the digits of shiva. That's like... 30 or 40 things, isn't it.? Then there's always toes. Well, we all like rating ourselves a little higher than we deserve some days.
Pagans. I wonder what they're doing right now.
Hmmm.... I have a very silly short film idea. The final quote of the film will be "Abortion: There are more lives than yours at stake". You won't be able to guess the beginning. I will tell you if you ask me nicely though.
Anyway, it certainly has been a day and a night and a day and a night again. I still have found no deeper meaning. I still cannot get myself to write even the most semi-coherent prosaic style thought. I still can't sleep. And actually, I'm feeling okay tonight.
---Originally written at 5:30 AM this morning
Currently reading :
Short Cuts: Selected Stories
By Raymond Carver
Release date: By 14 September, 1993
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Saturday, February 24, 2007
3-2-1 Rewind ~ dniweR 1-2-3
It took me, like, 10 minutes to find the frikkin' tilde key. yeesh.
If anyone actually reads this, let me know how the story ("The Harvest" which is down below by a day or five) finished up for you. First coherent short story in a while and is worth knocking down a peg or two from it's obvious outlandish ego. Have fun.
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Wasted nights
Guh. I don't remember much. I hate it when I drink even if nothing bad happens, drinking just isn't good for me. But I do have the perfect hangover cure.
1. Drink 4 large glasses of water with 3 excedrin migraine (they have the caffeine) and a good multi-vitamin
2. Eat a breakfast of dry burnt toast and a yogurt with live bacterial cultures. mmmm.
3. Scrape down your pieces and have the resin
After that, the deed is done. Even after a night of five different types of beer, three different liquors, two halves of a cigarette and a 7:00 AM wakeup, I feel great.
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Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Food for thought (insomnia)
tendrils of Sleep and long ribbons of dreams
smoke sway through my nostrils
slide Itself into the cracks in my skull
and curl to purr in the crags of my brain
there's food for Thought
but thoughts are cheaper than dreams
buzz buzz of the static flow Television glows
Mary Tyler Moore shows the world adventures
They never had much but sedation is the next best thing
the unrealization of the Real World is enough
there's food for Thought
but thoughts are cheaper than dreams
wars are marketed with the on-off pitter patter of gunfire merchandising
commercials streak in warplane formation separating Us
from Them and the conflict where living means dying and
Here where living means hardly anything at all
there's food for Thought
but thoughts are cheaper than dreams
Sleep rots in the top of my pulse thumping with the dead fruit falling
roots and vines rust with the iron of my blood scraping out my veins
hollow
thunderclaps of heartbeats snap branches, needles, broken bottles to clot my head
a Candy-Colored Clown, junk-sick for fantasy or something, nothing, anything at all
there's food for Thought
but thoughts are cheaper than dreams
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Stationary relation
Diggity iggity biggity boo. Awkward is me and boring are you. We sit in our house with nothing to do. Diggity iggity biggity boo.
Higgldy piggldy sniggldy shy. Pretending to live so long till we die. Pantomime love with tears in our eyes. Higgldy piggldy sniggldy shy.
Ipsy pipsy puddin n junk. We sit here again sticking forks in our lunch. Touching our lips with the force of a punch. Ipsy pipsy puddin n junk.
Leaves and trees on this new year's eve. Falling so late what's now the need? But the trees are now bare and we both have to leave. Leaves and trees on this new year's eve.
Testing. Testing. Time for tales to tell. Stories to spin with threads made of whispers. Someone make contact. -- I'm the guy with the blue hair.
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Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Harvest
Back on the farm I was told everyone was having a lovely time. Uncle Remmy had come to visit and the Dreskin brothers were just starting up their annual batch of hangman's cider; a beverage not unlike hot turpentine with effects much the same. It was a rare occasion that they got to vend their wares, but honing such a skill was worth it for a time when such things are handy. A lively evening was expected, and after all, it was indeed a time to celebrate.
Everyone was there as usual, dressed in summer best. Tiny Nike boxes smelling of imitation leather piled up in their closets as storage for toys, old shoes and baseball cards. Every summer, they became little time capsules for the next age, reminding others of who had come before and the importance of continuing on. All the joys and life in the world could be tucked away in a little cardboard box, scenting memories with a touch of leather and a swoosh logo. And every time I saw it, it amazed me as a miracle.
The drive upstate was not an unpleasant one, though it was lonely indeed. Things passed as things go, making me think childish things. I remembered such simple questions about trees, about life and all things. There is something divine in that, the ability to see things simply; asking whether trees know themselves, what God looks like, what is the taste of life? I suppose that's where innocence lies. In the pondering of a question. By erasing from yourself the assumptions of adulthood.
Pain is inevitable, we teach them. But pain is only a momentary advancement towards a higher state. Slowly, life robs from them the fundamental spirit with which they were born and that this is the only way to get it back. And for it, they love us. They learn to love themselves and God. So we teach them to be happy, not just in this life but the next and how to achieve God's grace and to rise above to dance within his stars.
Every twelfth year, the comet passes over us, filling the air with an amber magic that stills the soul with the tremble of an earthquake and the cold heat of a broken heart. We have been chosen, it speaks us, to remain and to survive. We have been fated, it screams, to bring them back to their light. Their light is being poisoned and washed away for every moment that they remain under our sky.
They love us, though they don't say it. We have taught them to love us, coached them to need us and disciplined them for the time at hand. It breaks us to blind them from the world, to keep them from its guiles. But we must, it is preordained. Little arms and little legs, trapped up by bracelets of steel and necessity; broken bodies shelling such precious beaming souls waiting for the next arrival of the heavens.
They need no eyes where they belong, no tongue to voice and no legs to stand. We prepare them for the eternity to come when the body means nothing and only effortless joy awaits. And they love us for it, though they can't say so, words caught in voiceless throats so weary of their time on earth. Tears well for our love of God's in sockets that are empty and still.
The path is much shorter now and the time is at hand. Soon, I will be there and will perform my rights to God and it will show me that what I have done is for the good, not the evil. The evil is forcing them to stay. The evil is letting them slumber dormant for so long. Soon, there will be another visit from the star and I will bear my burden once more, gently feeding them their farewells.
But these thoughts pass as inevitably as childhood. Their beaks open, they teeter over blindly, yearning for one last insight to the last grace as they fall, inevitably, innocent and intact. The life burns from the chalice and harvest begins again.
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Cont.
There are times that you simply cannot help someone. If a friend has been through a particularly bad breakup. When someone needs a ride but you just don't own a car. Or if a woman who has given birth recently asks for help to stop her breasts from leaking. The world is a difficult place to live in.
A Stupid Conversation Between Lovers over the Phone
*ringing* Rubberband bunhug. Gumbender renegade landmine. Shoe... Shoe... Oscilascope peghead landmine? Bug. Bug! Toejam headlice. Beef dance. Dance. Landmine desk. Dance. *click*
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Friday, February 16, 2007
I am Who.
I've put a camera monitor on myself for some reason. Like a bad observer, always watching but never analyzing so I am left to analyze in its place. It feels really awful. Neizchi said something to the point of the person who despises himself still respects himself as someone who despises; and there I am.
I am not removing it.
Currently watching :
Stranger Than Paradise
Release date: By 05 September, 2000
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Saturday, February 10, 2007
skritch scratch
let me go let me go let me go
I've been with you for too too too long so
please, oh please let me go let me go
But please hold me tight as I leave
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Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Icontenentia Buttox
When I first got 360, I thought my life was over. But now with the spam-intensiv (tm) digital recourse pill, I have chemically saturated my testicles with dangerously corrosive agents and watched as I gained days of my life back through the loss of my reproductgive organs. I now spend my time screaming from the confines of a hospital burn-ward but hot-damn is life fun with a mass of scar tissue for a penis. It's new name is Kelloid.
Meat diaper? S'what it sounds like to me!
Things are hopping round these parts. Haven't had a cigarette in days and not really suffering that much for it. got a computer back (I can get contacted over the interweb digital resource conglomerator now!) until it breaks again. Still feeling absolutely odd in the skin of this state.
Movies seen and that people should almost definately see: Schizopolis (everyone, Chelsea and James in particular), Bad Lieutenant (Zack and everybody who hates cops but loves Harvey Keitel), Blue Velvet (everyone and particularly those who hate David Lynch), My Own Private Idaho (James), The Pledge (nobody), Pan's Labarynth (EVERYBODY), Mirror Mask (Adrienne) and etc. etc. etc.
More and more ideas on films and stories in my head just being fiddled around with. My skull feels like the old Warner Bros. cartoons where all the books come to life and get into fights with eachother. Kind of like an entertaining form of schizophrenia except instead of enterainment, its frustration and instead of schizophrenia it's pretension
Abel Ferrerra has to be one of the most brilliant directors I have ever studied.
I will be here through next fall, it looks like. I hate it i hate it i hate it i hate it. All I want to do all i have to do now is to leave. That makes almost a year of this shit left to go.
On April twentieth, I will more than likely be hosting an event for the up-and-coming of Athens and Atlanta In celebration of a myriad of achievements on my part including, but not limited to, finishing probation, being the coolest pothead in the city, saving the lives of all those in the fire of building 114, etc. Everyone is pretty much invited. Judging by the date, I'm sure many of you can guess the theme so dress up as your favorite 420 character (This could be anything: a joint, a pot leaf, Bob Marley, Hitler, etc. Just make sure it has to do with the date) and bring refreshments if you can. In all hopes, I will be able to spring for a keg as well as some other produce but please please please offer a dollar or two to the ante. I am not a rich man though my appearance disguises me as such.
Regardless, that's pretty much it. Or very far from it but that's all I feel like blathering.
-T.O.
I watched a movie on the Iraq war the other night and I realized something: I am totally and utterly disaffected by the entire thing. I've been living in a nation hemmoraging money and trauma like a hemopheliac menstruation and.... I don't know where I'm even going with this anymore.
I've been writing massive verses of poetry in my head. Lots of freestyle. Figured out how to juggle. Quit smoking (not crack of course). Going crazy crazy crazy mad.
I must have watched twenty or so movies already this week. I sang Karaoke once recently.
Things are fine fine fine
fine fine fine
She speaks in rivers that run the length of my seam
streaming my conscious a dull red flood.
Blood drips from her neck like Marie Antoinette
and she giggles
The heads do roll.
Teeth in the sky like dark diamonds
black out the light and strafe guns across clay
Pocking the landscape with napalm love and patriot rain
Oh Maria, when I've a song to sing
To bring the tears again like rain
and bleed you free of love again
I'll cut off your wedding ring
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Wednesday, January 24, 2007
blegh
Category: Writing and Poetry
i have met a Blind Man.
i have met the Sky.
Neither one could reason
and neither one deny.
One saw me a forest,
One saw me a sound,
Both held me for comfort
and both held to the ground.
My Father called me lazy
my Mother calls me sad
the Others call me nothing
and i've stopped from calling back.
They threw a coat for comfort
They gave a shoe for sole
They packed me full of trinkets
and sent me off alone.
Love left in the springtime
while my mind left in the night.
The Darkness comes in morning
and the Mourning comes in time
Currently watching :
Grand Illusion - Criterion Collection
Release date: By 23 November, 1999
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Friday, January 19, 2007
Ludacris
Well, seeing as I'm skipping class and time is short, I'll make this a relatively curt suaree into the realm of all that is awesome enough to be me.
I really am engulfed with this idea about a prince (Prince Bladlud) who is sent away from his kingdom by his father (King Lud, who, consequently, is the basis for the title character of King Lear) because of a fair, though ill-advised rule on banishing anyone stricken with a terrible disease. At the time there were all sorts; the black plague, smallpox, cholera, syphillus, and so on but the prince had a particularly gruesome one in his affliction of leprosy.
His father didn't exactly want to send him out into the absolute wilds of what was then an untamed and uncivilized barbaric type of Britain, but he had to; the kid was fatally diseased and could spread it to others. So he decided to give him some of their livestock for his journey. But remember, this is old-school U.K. so they didn't really have many dogs or whatnot to act as guardian-companions so they had to make due with what they had. So what was even smarter than a dog, way bigger and twenty times as brutal? Wild boars. He sends this kid out with a platoon of the things to protect him and hunt for him on his journey to anywhere else he can find.
But in the end, he was ejected from the castle walls despite the kind nature of his father and is sent off with all these 300, 400 pound swine. So imagine your state of mind after being a prince. Royalty. Top of the pile when you get a life-ending, crippling and mutilating disease and are sent out to the edge of the world with a bunch of fucking pigs to keep you company. So he's been kind of clusterfucked but has to go his way into the wilderness, and does.
As time goes on (nobody is sure quite how long, but at least a manner of years) he travels with his pigs and meets various tribes. At this point in time, the Romans haven't been around to introduce a universal language or religion so these people are absolute foreigners to eachother and consequently come to blows. With 30-40 guard pigs at your side, you can kick some serious ass, though, so these pigs eventually get a taste for human meat and Lud gets a taste for bloodshed.
As I said before, these pigs are used for hunting as well as bodyguards and go out to capture game and produce for the expelled Prince Lud. But the pigs can't exactly differentiate each meat from its distinct counterparts and ends up bringing supplies in the form of human corpses. Though Lud just lets the pigs dine on these, he eventually joins in himself making it into a sort of pagan ritual about devouring the power of one's enemy. He continues living in this fashion, succumbing to excruciating pain and total mental collapse as his body degenerates from his disease. Eventually, he loses feeling in many parts of his body and (in my story) becomes exceedingly violent and apparently an unstoppable monster.
If you have read some medical research in the past 30 years or so, you would find how animals are being, used due to their similar beahviors and anatomies, in research about the human body and how it functions. Pigs, in particualr, have offered significant insight into the funtions of the human systems as it's heart, digestive system and skin are all relatively alike to those of homo sapiens. This poses a problem, however, in that if the skin is so terribly similar to that of humans and they can get infected in similar ways. Though leprosy is a difficult disease to define, most believe is is spread orally through droplets of saliva. When Lud fed with the pigs, they became infected with his disease. He was now travelling with a bang of leperous pigs who screamed and wailed from pain in the night while he slept.
His terrible riegn he waged through his journies continued until in late winter, he found himself at a spring boiling forth through the rocks at blood temperature (between 125 and 150 degrees celcius) and staining the rock red with minerals. Now not only was this incredible due to the raw heat of the water which Lud would never have witnessed without the assistance of an open flame, but the minerals in the spring stained the rocks blood red with oxidized iron and other trace elements.
Again, try to recollect this is a time without hot running water or television. Hell, it was a time before clothing dye had become readily available. Seeing red was a rare occasion when someone happened upon a flower patch or saw a sunset. To see a small lake tinted blood red and steaming would be almost maddening. But luckily for Lud, he was already pretty fucking nuts.
So while Lud is looking at this anomoly of a lake, his herd of pigs instinctually wades in. When they emerge they are, to Lud's surprise, completely cured of their affliction. He, himself walks into the waters and finds himself also, miraculously cured of the disease. He deems the place sacred and begins setting up camp.
Like I said, time is short so I'll finish the story on another day. Adios.
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Saturday, January 13, 2007
updizzle
Things:
New phone. 706-461-1737. I have none of your phone numbers, my old cell was replaced by a melted wad of butter. True story, apparently though I can't exactly fill in the blanks. Ask Erica.
Have like nine stories running around in my head. One about a leper, a heard of giant pigs and the founding of the city of bath. Another about a city/town self-sustaining as the world's perfect prison. etc. etc. and so on.
A quote from the second story:
"You mean we've been stuck here our entire lives and never even knew about it? That's... that's just fucking fascist!"
"True, but it does wonders for the community."
Uhm... I have massive amounts to say but I don't really feel like typing them right now.
Cutting curtains and star-crossed bonanzapans. I need to learn to remember faces and names. I swear. Guh. This is why I need no more booze. Maybe my memory will come back. And maybe my glory hole will open with the hymns of the heaven's legions and my farts will smell like cinnamon buns. The world will find me again.
A noose runs round the poor and paid-for while the rich men giggle, grounded and gotten by coffins and nails.
Bought and bent, made for the tree. The swingers swing singing for hope and disease.
Definately no crowds. Nuh-uh. No more crowds please.
Compassion is an underrated human sensibility. Life, on the other hand, is cheap.
They wrote down something I said tonight. "when you're living in the dorms, Mr. Boston is like gold." I am really not a very profound person. In fact, I could probably count the intelligent-original things I've thought on the digits of shiva. That's like... 30 or 40 things, isn't it.? Then there's always toes. Well, we all like rating ourselves a little higher than we deserve some days.
Pagans. I wonder what they're doing right now.
Hmmm.... I have a very silly short film idea. The final quote of the film will be "Abortion: There are more lives than yours at stake". You won't be able to guess the beginning. I will tell you if you ask me nicely though.
Anyway, it certainly has been a day and a night and a day and a night again. I still have found no deeper meaning. I still cannot get myself to write even the most semi-coherent prosaic style thought. I still can't sleep. And actually, I'm feeling okay tonight.
---Originally written at 5:30 AM this morning
Currently reading :
Short Cuts: Selected Stories
By Raymond Carver
Release date: By 14 September, 1993
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Saturday, February 24, 2007
3-2-1 Rewind ~ dniweR 1-2-3
It took me, like, 10 minutes to find the frikkin' tilde key. yeesh.
If anyone actually reads this, let me know how the story ("The Harvest" which is down below by a day or five) finished up for you. First coherent short story in a while and is worth knocking down a peg or two from it's obvious outlandish ego. Have fun.
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Wasted nights
Guh. I don't remember much. I hate it when I drink even if nothing bad happens, drinking just isn't good for me. But I do have the perfect hangover cure.
1. Drink 4 large glasses of water with 3 excedrin migraine (they have the caffeine) and a good multi-vitamin
2. Eat a breakfast of dry burnt toast and a yogurt with live bacterial cultures. mmmm.
3. Scrape down your pieces and have the resin
After that, the deed is done. Even after a night of five different types of beer, three different liquors, two halves of a cigarette and a 7:00 AM wakeup, I feel great.
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Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Food for thought (insomnia)
tendrils of Sleep and long ribbons of dreams
smoke sway through my nostrils
slide Itself into the cracks in my skull
and curl to purr in the crags of my brain
there's food for Thought
but thoughts are cheaper than dreams
buzz buzz of the static flow Television glows
Mary Tyler Moore shows the world adventures
They never had much but sedation is the next best thing
the unrealization of the Real World is enough
there's food for Thought
but thoughts are cheaper than dreams
wars are marketed with the on-off pitter patter of gunfire merchandising
commercials streak in warplane formation separating Us
from Them and the conflict where living means dying and
Here where living means hardly anything at all
there's food for Thought
but thoughts are cheaper than dreams
Sleep rots in the top of my pulse thumping with the dead fruit falling
roots and vines rust with the iron of my blood scraping out my veins
hollow
thunderclaps of heartbeats snap branches, needles, broken bottles to clot my head
a Candy-Colored Clown, junk-sick for fantasy or something, nothing, anything at all
there's food for Thought
but thoughts are cheaper than dreams
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Stationary relation
Diggity iggity biggity boo. Awkward is me and boring are you. We sit in our house with nothing to do. Diggity iggity biggity boo.
Higgldy piggldy sniggldy shy. Pretending to live so long till we die. Pantomime love with tears in our eyes. Higgldy piggldy sniggldy shy.
Ipsy pipsy puddin n junk. We sit here again sticking forks in our lunch. Touching our lips with the force of a punch. Ipsy pipsy puddin n junk.
Leaves and trees on this new year's eve. Falling so late what's now the need? But the trees are now bare and we both have to leave. Leaves and trees on this new year's eve.
Testing. Testing. Time for tales to tell. Stories to spin with threads made of whispers. Someone make contact. -- I'm the guy with the blue hair.
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Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Harvest
Back on the farm I was told everyone was having a lovely time. Uncle Remmy had come to visit and the Dreskin brothers were just starting up their annual batch of hangman's cider; a beverage not unlike hot turpentine with effects much the same. It was a rare occasion that they got to vend their wares, but honing such a skill was worth it for a time when such things are handy. A lively evening was expected, and after all, it was indeed a time to celebrate.
Everyone was there as usual, dressed in summer best. Tiny Nike boxes smelling of imitation leather piled up in their closets as storage for toys, old shoes and baseball cards. Every summer, they became little time capsules for the next age, reminding others of who had come before and the importance of continuing on. All the joys and life in the world could be tucked away in a little cardboard box, scenting memories with a touch of leather and a swoosh logo. And every time I saw it, it amazed me as a miracle.
The drive upstate was not an unpleasant one, though it was lonely indeed. Things passed as things go, making me think childish things. I remembered such simple questions about trees, about life and all things. There is something divine in that, the ability to see things simply; asking whether trees know themselves, what God looks like, what is the taste of life? I suppose that's where innocence lies. In the pondering of a question. By erasing from yourself the assumptions of adulthood.
Pain is inevitable, we teach them. But pain is only a momentary advancement towards a higher state. Slowly, life robs from them the fundamental spirit with which they were born and that this is the only way to get it back. And for it, they love us. They learn to love themselves and God. So we teach them to be happy, not just in this life but the next and how to achieve God's grace and to rise above to dance within his stars.
Every twelfth year, the comet passes over us, filling the air with an amber magic that stills the soul with the tremble of an earthquake and the cold heat of a broken heart. We have been chosen, it speaks us, to remain and to survive. We have been fated, it screams, to bring them back to their light. Their light is being poisoned and washed away for every moment that they remain under our sky.
They love us, though they don't say it. We have taught them to love us, coached them to need us and disciplined them for the time at hand. It breaks us to blind them from the world, to keep them from its guiles. But we must, it is preordained. Little arms and little legs, trapped up by bracelets of steel and necessity; broken bodies shelling such precious beaming souls waiting for the next arrival of the heavens.
They need no eyes where they belong, no tongue to voice and no legs to stand. We prepare them for the eternity to come when the body means nothing and only effortless joy awaits. And they love us for it, though they can't say so, words caught in voiceless throats so weary of their time on earth. Tears well for our love of God's in sockets that are empty and still.
The path is much shorter now and the time is at hand. Soon, I will be there and will perform my rights to God and it will show me that what I have done is for the good, not the evil. The evil is forcing them to stay. The evil is letting them slumber dormant for so long. Soon, there will be another visit from the star and I will bear my burden once more, gently feeding them their farewells.
But these thoughts pass as inevitably as childhood. Their beaks open, they teeter over blindly, yearning for one last insight to the last grace as they fall, inevitably, innocent and intact. The life burns from the chalice and harvest begins again.
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Cont.
There are times that you simply cannot help someone. If a friend has been through a particularly bad breakup. When someone needs a ride but you just don't own a car. Or if a woman who has given birth recently asks for help to stop her breasts from leaking. The world is a difficult place to live in.
A Stupid Conversation Between Lovers over the Phone
*ringing* Rubberband bunhug. Gumbender renegade landmine. Shoe... Shoe... Oscilascope peghead landmine? Bug. Bug! Toejam headlice. Beef dance. Dance. Landmine desk. Dance. *click*
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Friday, February 16, 2007
I am Who.
I've put a camera monitor on myself for some reason. Like a bad observer, always watching but never analyzing so I am left to analyze in its place. It feels really awful. Neizchi said something to the point of the person who despises himself still respects himself as someone who despises; and there I am.
I am not removing it.
Currently watching :
Stranger Than Paradise
Release date: By 05 September, 2000
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Saturday, February 10, 2007
skritch scratch
let me go let me go let me go
I've been with you for too too too long so
please, oh please let me go let me go
But please hold me tight as I leave
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Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Icontenentia Buttox
When I first got 360, I thought my life was over. But now with the spam-intensiv (tm) digital recourse pill, I have chemically saturated my testicles with dangerously corrosive agents and watched as I gained days of my life back through the loss of my reproductgive organs. I now spend my time screaming from the confines of a hospital burn-ward but hot-damn is life fun with a mass of scar tissue for a penis. It's new name is Kelloid.
Meat diaper? S'what it sounds like to me!
Things are hopping round these parts. Haven't had a cigarette in days and not really suffering that much for it. got a computer back (I can get contacted over the interweb digital resource conglomerator now!) until it breaks again. Still feeling absolutely odd in the skin of this state.
Movies seen and that people should almost definately see: Schizopolis (everyone, Chelsea and James in particular), Bad Lieutenant (Zack and everybody who hates cops but loves Harvey Keitel), Blue Velvet (everyone and particularly those who hate David Lynch), My Own Private Idaho (James), The Pledge (nobody), Pan's Labarynth (EVERYBODY), Mirror Mask (Adrienne) and etc. etc. etc.
More and more ideas on films and stories in my head just being fiddled around with. My skull feels like the old Warner Bros. cartoons where all the books come to life and get into fights with eachother. Kind of like an entertaining form of schizophrenia except instead of enterainment, its frustration and instead of schizophrenia it's pretension
Abel Ferrerra has to be one of the most brilliant directors I have ever studied.
I will be here through next fall, it looks like. I hate it i hate it i hate it i hate it. All I want to do all i have to do now is to leave. That makes almost a year of this shit left to go.
On April twentieth, I will more than likely be hosting an event for the up-and-coming of Athens and Atlanta In celebration of a myriad of achievements on my part including, but not limited to, finishing probation, being the coolest pothead in the city, saving the lives of all those in the fire of building 114, etc. Everyone is pretty much invited. Judging by the date, I'm sure many of you can guess the theme so dress up as your favorite 420 character (This could be anything: a joint, a pot leaf, Bob Marley, Hitler, etc. Just make sure it has to do with the date) and bring refreshments if you can. In all hopes, I will be able to spring for a keg as well as some other produce but please please please offer a dollar or two to the ante. I am not a rich man though my appearance disguises me as such.
Regardless, that's pretty much it. Or very far from it but that's all I feel like blathering.
-T.O.
I watched a movie on the Iraq war the other night and I realized something: I am totally and utterly disaffected by the entire thing. I've been living in a nation hemmoraging money and trauma like a hemopheliac menstruation and.... I don't know where I'm even going with this anymore.
I've been writing massive verses of poetry in my head. Lots of freestyle. Figured out how to juggle. Quit smoking (not crack of course). Going crazy crazy crazy mad.
I must have watched twenty or so movies already this week. I sang Karaoke once recently.
Things are fine fine fine
fine fine fine
She speaks in rivers that run the length of my seam
streaming my conscious a dull red flood.
Blood drips from her neck like Marie Antoinette
and she giggles
The heads do roll.
Teeth in the sky like dark diamonds
black out the light and strafe guns across clay
Pocking the landscape with napalm love and patriot rain
Oh Maria, when I've a song to sing
To bring the tears again like rain
and bleed you free of love again
I'll cut off your wedding ring
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Wednesday, January 24, 2007
blegh
Category: Writing and Poetry
i have met a Blind Man.
i have met the Sky.
Neither one could reason
and neither one deny.
One saw me a forest,
One saw me a sound,
Both held me for comfort
and both held to the ground.
My Father called me lazy
my Mother calls me sad
the Others call me nothing
and i've stopped from calling back.
They threw a coat for comfort
They gave a shoe for sole
They packed me full of trinkets
and sent me off alone.
Love left in the springtime
while my mind left in the night.
The Darkness comes in morning
and the Mourning comes in time
Currently watching :
Grand Illusion - Criterion Collection
Release date: By 23 November, 1999
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Friday, January 19, 2007
Ludacris
Well, seeing as I'm skipping class and time is short, I'll make this a relatively curt suaree into the realm of all that is awesome enough to be me.
I really am engulfed with this idea about a prince (Prince Bladlud) who is sent away from his kingdom by his father (King Lud, who, consequently, is the basis for the title character of King Lear) because of a fair, though ill-advised rule on banishing anyone stricken with a terrible disease. At the time there were all sorts; the black plague, smallpox, cholera, syphillus, and so on but the prince had a particularly gruesome one in his affliction of leprosy.
His father didn't exactly want to send him out into the absolute wilds of what was then an untamed and uncivilized barbaric type of Britain, but he had to; the kid was fatally diseased and could spread it to others. So he decided to give him some of their livestock for his journey. But remember, this is old-school U.K. so they didn't really have many dogs or whatnot to act as guardian-companions so they had to make due with what they had. So what was even smarter than a dog, way bigger and twenty times as brutal? Wild boars. He sends this kid out with a platoon of the things to protect him and hunt for him on his journey to anywhere else he can find.
But in the end, he was ejected from the castle walls despite the kind nature of his father and is sent off with all these 300, 400 pound swine. So imagine your state of mind after being a prince. Royalty. Top of the pile when you get a life-ending, crippling and mutilating disease and are sent out to the edge of the world with a bunch of fucking pigs to keep you company. So he's been kind of clusterfucked but has to go his way into the wilderness, and does.
As time goes on (nobody is sure quite how long, but at least a manner of years) he travels with his pigs and meets various tribes. At this point in time, the Romans haven't been around to introduce a universal language or religion so these people are absolute foreigners to eachother and consequently come to blows. With 30-40 guard pigs at your side, you can kick some serious ass, though, so these pigs eventually get a taste for human meat and Lud gets a taste for bloodshed.
As I said before, these pigs are used for hunting as well as bodyguards and go out to capture game and produce for the expelled Prince Lud. But the pigs can't exactly differentiate each meat from its distinct counterparts and ends up bringing supplies in the form of human corpses. Though Lud just lets the pigs dine on these, he eventually joins in himself making it into a sort of pagan ritual about devouring the power of one's enemy. He continues living in this fashion, succumbing to excruciating pain and total mental collapse as his body degenerates from his disease. Eventually, he loses feeling in many parts of his body and (in my story) becomes exceedingly violent and apparently an unstoppable monster.
If you have read some medical research in the past 30 years or so, you would find how animals are being, used due to their similar beahviors and anatomies, in research about the human body and how it functions. Pigs, in particualr, have offered significant insight into the funtions of the human systems as it's heart, digestive system and skin are all relatively alike to those of homo sapiens. This poses a problem, however, in that if the skin is so terribly similar to that of humans and they can get infected in similar ways. Though leprosy is a difficult disease to define, most believe is is spread orally through droplets of saliva. When Lud fed with the pigs, they became infected with his disease. He was now travelling with a bang of leperous pigs who screamed and wailed from pain in the night while he slept.
His terrible riegn he waged through his journies continued until in late winter, he found himself at a spring boiling forth through the rocks at blood temperature (between 125 and 150 degrees celcius) and staining the rock red with minerals. Now not only was this incredible due to the raw heat of the water which Lud would never have witnessed without the assistance of an open flame, but the minerals in the spring stained the rocks blood red with oxidized iron and other trace elements.
Again, try to recollect this is a time without hot running water or television. Hell, it was a time before clothing dye had become readily available. Seeing red was a rare occasion when someone happened upon a flower patch or saw a sunset. To see a small lake tinted blood red and steaming would be almost maddening. But luckily for Lud, he was already pretty fucking nuts.
So while Lud is looking at this anomoly of a lake, his herd of pigs instinctually wades in. When they emerge they are, to Lud's surprise, completely cured of their affliction. He, himself walks into the waters and finds himself also, miraculously cured of the disease. He deems the place sacred and begins setting up camp.
Like I said, time is short so I'll finish the story on another day. Adios.
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Saturday, January 13, 2007
updizzle
Things:
New phone. 706-461-1737. I have none of your phone numbers, my old cell was replaced by a melted wad of butter. True story, apparently though I can't exactly fill in the blanks. Ask Erica.
Have like nine stories running around in my head. One about a leper, a heard of giant pigs and the founding of the city of bath. Another about a city/town self-sustaining as the world's perfect prison. etc. etc. and so on.
A quote from the second story:
"You mean we've been stuck here our entire lives and never even knew about it? That's... that's just fucking fascist!"
"True, but it does wonders for the community."
Uhm... I have massive amounts to say but I don't really feel like typing them right now.