(no subject)
03 Jun 2007
Holy kamakaze tangential thought, Batman!
Pot doesn't make me paranoid. The fact that you all want me to drain myself out into petri dishes makes me paranoid. My boredom makes me paranoid. My broken-record thought process makes me paranoid. My parents make me paranoid. The police make me extremely paranoid. Bartenders who ask for ID make me paranoid. Old people make me paranoid. Cracks in the sidewalk make me paranoid. Broken glass in my bootheel makes me paranoid. Money makes me paranoid. Women make me extremely paranoid. Aging makes me paranoid. My inabilities make me paranoid.. My name makes me paranoid. Handwriting things makes me paranoid. Computers make me paranoid. God makes me extremely paranoid. Roaches make me paranoid.
*hint: look for highlights.
Currently Watching :
American Beauty (Widescreen Edition)
Release date: By 24 October, 2000
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This is a public service message. Do not adjust your screen.
I'd stake my life on the spike of your cynicism. Crtics always stick the plants where they need to be so the best of the best tend to rest on their feet. I, however, am flat and unfounded. An earth gone wrong on the prospect of simplicity. Sphere? Pishaw. Who needs curves when the point is so profound? Ground should be flat while the sun spins around.
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At least this is a productive drunk (fact)
Jenny jenny jenny. A magical Jenny eddied in the tide of my imaginations. Come and gone Jenny rushes in and leaves writing in the sand the language of the periodical currents. Jenny is rushed in the salt-water of tears and rusts, warm and wet inside of the blood and guts of joy. The world is a levee and Jenny is to break. Jenny is a many and well-versed article of life and, undenably, a lusty curiosity. She is unattainable and will as run wild as the waters twist their cells.Jenny is too good for the tempers of time and regularity. Jenny is an image to behold. No one can have Jenny here for here Jenny's growing old.
*insert translation, dedication and sight. I trust we are both reading. Trade truth for parenthetical and the run-on lasts for life.
Currently Watching :
American Beauty (Widescreen Edition)
Release date: By 24 October, 2000
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02 Jun 2007
Not as clever as it sounds right now. A first in a while attempt at prose.
You could set the time of day by his quakes. The shudders and convulsions ticked into the notches of his moments so that the creaks in the boards and pains running down his body were as steady as pendulum swings. Pure Einstein, they sat edged by small corners of sleep and inactivity where misery was plentiful but words could seldom explain why. These trapped little lifelines expanded into days where the sun had no hold and the moon was only sister to a miserable, comotose boil. He emptied his bowels into a plastic dish under his ass yet the world became stuck on some radical new revolution with him as the pinhead, angels dancing in his locks. Consciousness all nonsense now, he had no hold on himself or his body while his grasp was held firm on the globe.
She, beautiful, tended to his needs. Like some black-eyed Loki banished from the Asgard of his physical life, he screamed her curses in the language of his silence while the poison she dished from him day after day after day. She told him stories and read him Great Words. He only answered with the poison of his insides and the tumors of his unconscious loathing.
Motionless. Still. She waits in the corner for his call.
Currently Watching :
Barton Fink
Release date: By 20 May, 2003
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Everybody poops
Nail-snags of personality drag long ragged marks across the back of my hand. Each time I notice a watchhand stirring, my eye cannot help but catch the time marked by white-pink hash-bars of my mistakes. The hall I wander is sticky and peeling from the walls. The light is a seizure of fluorescent blue, humming with the dull intensity of a migraine headache. Bored ghosts watch, pushing the tacks from the walls in either a divine lesson of karmic retribution or some base prank meant to confuse. There is a doorway but the walls close themselves in before I break through.
Currently Watching :
Barton Fink
Release date: By 20 May, 2003
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Practical medicine for the plights of life
750 mL straight Ancient Age Kentucky Bourbon
1 badly misused hangover-emergency resin ball
A pisspoor cure for wounded pride.
Currently Reading :
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
By Mark Haddon
Release date: By 18 May, 2004
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Badabing!
Excited! Excited! Excited! Excited!
I have never been this happy this easily withut the physical presence of (or prospect of obtaining) pot and liquor. What a good day. I want a soda.
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01 Jun 2007
When lonliness sets in--
Make Mexican food! By coupling this with several shots of tequila, a case of mediocre Mexican brew and a good quick spin of an old Choking Victim album you too can sit at home making romances with the various toppings you may have selected for your dining experience.
"How are you today, corn-shelled pile of spiced meat? There's a couple I would really like you to meet, they're names are refried beans and cheese. Salsa may come over later to say hello, so be sure to save some room in your home for them. Then? Oh, well after they stop over, there's wine and cheese, some tea and then you all get to die and burn in the waste factories of my ever-expanding gut."
I would cut myself and drain the skin to hold every last one of your tears. My insides could rot for ever and ever if only a shred of your lifetime is left unsquandered that wasn't once before. My heart beats in seizures at the sound of your voice, tossing itself on the sanscrit babel of your velvet tongue. Forgive me if I can never understand you, but believe me when I say that I will always always care.
Currently Listening :
No Gods, No Managers
By Choking Victim
Release date: By 30 March, 1999
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28 May 2007
School in a minute
and I hate you and you and you. You know what? I fucking hate everybody if for nothing else than a matter of self-satisfaction and efficiency. Yeah, you can all suck on my five-haired over-ticklish teet and die of lactose poisoning for all I care. Ooooh. Aaaah. I fucking hate you. (raspberry tongue sound).
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27 May 2007
Boo boos for Bandaids
Some things are good where you left them. Context is important. Memories are better. Putting people on like old clothes for bedtime and drenching yourself in the fiber of their eccentricities. This, strangely, becomes therapy in its way. Doses of old habits creeping into the good parts of your dreams while the corners of consiousness left in a box somewhere emerge from the attic cradled as old quilts and photographs. We are lonely, yes. But now we are warm.
Bill Murray rocked back in the day, not that he doesn't now. But I mean, c'mon. He's the man. Little Shop of Horrors, Ghostbusters and all. 9 pounds of herb through O'Hare. Hardcore man. Hardcore.
Frank Oz should also be recognized here for making one of the only two musicals I can even partially stomach.
I am working now. 2 days done. Much much muckledee muck in the burgs of Better Suburbia. Working working soda jerking for family-friends-relations. Somebody thought it'd be a good idea to give me a bottle of boozeand a license to kick ass. I felt like I had been called upon by the eye of thundara and some guilt-sexy catgirl were sprawled naked at my feet. Ohh-ahh. Feel the tingle. So clean. so clean. My arms now luxurious, akimbo bracing my pelvic thrust to the vagina of eternity.
But yeah, I kicked ass as a bartender. Who knew? I was also pretty decent as a busser and I never stole any liquor so I'm pretty happy with myself for that and I think I can keep that up. The father of the bride (I think) said I was the best worker there which means a bit since I hope he's talking to the other inlaws (one being the owner of the catering company... or something).
But lets get down to brass tax: Sixteen hours split between a total of twenty-eight on my first two days. I am bathing the insides of my feet in liqor to numb the pain of a ten hour day. Procedure involving and upright position, bottle of booze, eyes to the sky, mouth open, pour. It'll hit toe eventually.
Currently Reading :
Leaving Las Vegas
By John O'Brien
Release date: By 1990
Road trip to prehistory
The truth!
Somebody. Anybody. We have to go see this.
Currently Reading :
Laughter in the Dark
By Vladimir Nabokov
Release date: By 30 September, 2006
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25 May 2007
Clever clever
Also, why the hell does everybody have to be so goddamned cute with their myspace name thing? It's either really irritating or I'm particularly jealous.
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In case my phone runs out of batteries...
..any ladies wanting some hot hot Teddy-bear lovin' should leave a detailed message for me to masturbate to.
Picking ikons and idols from the back of my fingernailsI feel like a bulb of static electricity, getting myself fat on cupcakes and that sweet sweet honey of good company and conversation. I can picture you a picture nifty as can be with illustrator, now. Learning graphic design again and liking it very very much. It makes computers into clay goo that you can stick your hands into. Rearrange the shit, bugging fingers on hot wires and electricity., wiping them under the couch with patches of crusted up boogers and semen-stain.
I hope this just goes to show the decency of Macintosh computers as compared with your average Toshiba laptop (insert buggery).
The forests are burning, the forests are burning. The clowns pass buckets tucked tight in four-finger gloves, spashing confetti and spreading the ashes. Termites sizzle and pop, crackling Geronimos trip the light fantastic on their fall down down down down. Tsshhhhhh! Hiss! Piss-rant and protest erupt from popped air-pocket shells of their insect selves. While the summer sings "Renew! Renew!" calling you from whip and from chain, heat burning the lice from your coils of brain. Baptised by fire, we rise from the pyre a woodpile burning again.
Currently Watching :
Following
Release date: By 11 December, 2001
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23 May 2007
Dunno
I have looked so long
There in my eyes
Waiting for some
One who is whole
Oh you are heaven sent
Angel above
Where have you been?
I have your love
I've stood and waited here
Three years on end
Finished and then
Wait to begin
But when you blink its gone
Back to the shed
Blankets of webs
Keep you from cold
And when I say someday
I mean right now
Don't ask for more
I don't know how
When we speak and say
I am alone
You are a part
You make me whole
Do you remember when
I told you this
Sealed with a kiss
I love you still
So don't abandon me
Here in my room
Playing my harp
Breaking my heart
I'll be there soon
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21 May 2007
For all the lovely women in my life
No matter what you think
Oh mine are yours and
Yours are mine and
I cannot handle alone
Currently Listening :
Suffer
By Bad Religion
Release date: By 06 April, 2004
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17 May 2007
Non-cents
I am in summer school. Isn't that special? Sure is. Uh-huh. Brain fractures manufactured by seizured neural response to question number two: after what then comes why so what do you do? I am actually liking the class a lot. It's like sticking your hands into a bowl full of bread dough and twisting it between your fingers until you can trick the world that your logo can not only attract customers, but exist as an artistic work and get rid of your acne for good.
baby baby no baby no.
slave labor favors the easily fooled
dink winston made a tropical noise-hood done bang doogie-houser.
Currently Watching :
Jesus' Son
Release date: By 22 July, 2003
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13 May 2007
Cranking Cable
Left my phone in a Mexican restaurant many miles away south of the border and close to my heart. Calls will be missed. I will not.
Heartburn fuckin' kills.
Tiny creatures crawiling, mewling
Scamper up my shin
Their claws
Their tails and ragged nails
Try desperate to dig in
It's good to see the parentals. Soon will see sister and celebrate returns. Churning stomachs run amok in the wee wee hours of the morn but online porn and Voltron Force suffice to stem the accursed gut rutted and sliced with mexican food, red meat and liquor. Kaboom. Rooms run red with violet croovey, groovy scene for intestinal wranglers and meat-made noose-hangers banging and fucking in the muck of my colon. I shat my last shit so a cork is the cost. Man am I a mess, my words wallow lost. (thoughts on temporary constipation)
Currently Watching :
The Science of Sleep
Release date: By 06 February, 2007
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07 May 2007
Streetwalkin' cheetah with a heart fulla napalm
Something smells bad in my apartment
I need more tortillas
Too much booze
Never enough herb
I seriously handle my drugs better than most; and this is sad... especially seeing as I can't spell
Venture Brothers is as good as Evan said it was
Something smells in my apartment
I am, like, 212 times cooler than the average person in Athens
I am no longer a felon
It took me almost 2 months to realize a bottle of hair "enhancer" was actually NOT a bottle of wood polish I stole from the Hilton in Miami. This is devastating to me and also very embarassingly true.
I'm very irritated at the lack of fireworks sales in this town
Every wedding dress should be called a "little white lie"
Wow, T.O.. That's a huge joint you rolled for no reason.
Hah.
I kill myself
-Wordperioddotdot
Bitches.
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01 May 2007
Head-facts: The Man With Brain Go Boom
Too too much study
To befuddle the head
Nose rose-red and runny
Blast of brains being bled
Pick parts plug the holes
(To me tampons work best)
Tip your head back and hold
Make Mom mop up the mess
Chug-chug til chugged chugging
Jumped ship for the floor
Fled far for the lugging
Useless facts through the door
Tiny train of old memory
Squeaks meek on the tracks
Don't have left the energy
No room to take back
Hither and thither
The fun flies up-up
Childhood rises
But can't bank like a buck
But broke head full of learning
Split center and seam
Smells like feathers burning
With the whisper of dreams
Toss sweet tender and time
Lose your art to make space
Putting them in for mine
Makes for good letter-grades
Beg bark for a biscuit
Obedience sells
Place facts over fiction
Cash register bells
Test taken, take tampons
Sneeze loud hard and long
Splatter parts cross the scantron
Let them head-facts run gone
Currently Watching :
Last Days
Release date: By 25 October, 2005
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26 Apr 2007
shazam! shazam! shazam!
Paper paper paper paper
Twenty-two pager paper
Fill in a crater paper
Dealing with you later paper
Safer staying home
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23 Apr 2007
Intrusion
Become the true intruder
Broke through the bounds and borders
Dead dancing in on orders
You shiver
Break the bone
Speak only if the truth hurts
Lies leave us with an exit
Don't do unless we let it
You shudder
Welcome home
Freed from confrontation
Hip holsters swing with ray guns
We smile so we stay numb
Weapons drawn
Silence kills
We exist as obligation
Backs broken til the day comes
No pain in machination
Stick 'em up
Become still
Currently Reading :
Film and Literature: An Introduction and Reader
By Timothy Corrigan
Release date: By 30 November, 1998
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Ever wish you were half a man?
Really, that girl sawed in half in the waiting room of Beetlegeus is pretty hot. That's wrong isn't it? Yeah, that's wrong? Yeah. I'm pretty much sure that that's wrong.
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18 Apr 2007
Hear that thumping?
Head Against Wall
Numerically dissected
Done up and chemically tested
Soul suckered and mother approved
Fed and bred into plastic tubes
Infected injected
Electro-shocked and bed-rested
Messed up family
But who gives?
We have pills for pain
And we're paid to live
Soothed and smoothed over
Used like tissues
And tossed
Lost in current
Affairs that care
'Bout the big picture
Profit and loss statement
Not just to make rent
Gimmick gimmick glimmer and joy
Life ain't quite life
Not without some new toy
Days spent selling hours
Silent stares in chemical showers
Glowering clockhands
Stand for
Is
This
The
End?
Currently Watching :
Naked Lunch - Criterion Collection
Release date: By 11 November, 2003
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14 Apr 2007
My name's Wilson...
Four new movies in one day, one of which I watched twice and another which I watched three times, once with director's commentary. There's something very very right about a day allowing me to do that.
Currently Watching :
The Limey
Release date: By 20 February, 2001
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13 Apr 2007
More crap not to be read
I am in a wonderful mood today. 1 day left of community service, 3 interviews with people much more important than I am about film and a new paper topic on a Cronenberg film. GOD DAMN! DON'T FUCK WITH ME TODAY!
WILT
She is one of wonder
Mixes sugar, blood and salt
Hiding heavy footsteps
In the rhythm of her waltz
Pay tithe to the angel
The girl who reads the wind
Who's telling of the ending
Before the tale begins
She's there dancing testing
And tasting of the air
Touching tongue to finger
Finding lightning inside there
Broken, old and battered
Laying clattered around
So she's tipping up the bottles
Pouring sadness inside-out
She's the sound of silence
Such a silly little thing
She knows something of nothing
'Cause she's loving everything
LISTENER
You know it doesn't matter
But you buy it anyway
I'll give you what I've gotten
As long as you will
Stay
Shake shaking shatter
Tender brittle bones break
Like the bubbles in the bottle
Shake it up
Pouring out the puddles
The tears still stay to stain
Then you sop 'em up and stop 'em
And tell me my
Way
Take taking proper
Ode for better circumstance
Turn the tables over
Spill me out
Currently Listening :
Sloppy Seconds, Vol. 2
By Cunninlynguists
Release date: By 13 December, 2005
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12 Apr 2007
Let Them Eat Cake
There is this man.
This man stands in windowpanes
Selling himself and his shame for a dime
Of amnesia and pain
Can't get a job
So he lobs bombs over fences
Green grass landings
And on false pretences
The cops cuff and capture
The Terrorist Threat
And yet...
The Terror continues
In venues of fleshy green handshakes
Real life is taken and broken
Choked on whatever it is
When there is No Smoking
In bars and busses and palaces and streets
Displacement seemed the logical thing to do
Let them eat cake
And as for the man from the windowpane
The game's been played
Into the Iron and Concrete cage
Boils of puss and rage bubble up
And dissolve themselves in glass pipes
Spiked veins and rocks
The sign on the door says:
Villains Made Here.
Currently Listening :
Frizzle Fry
By Primus
Release date: By 23 April, 2002
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09 Apr 2007
Quit Calling Me
I want to take my veins and ravage them with the insane
Honesty which worlds forgot
Oooooooooh. You don't know a fucking thing
All you do is sing
While the ringing in your ears
It's supposed to tell something
LA! LA! LA!
Listen! You're out of tune! Dipshits.
And isn't insight supposed to be integral to this?
Couples who never kiss wish they could
They are so fucking boring
Snoring in the morning til 2 PM
And pretending to be your friend
Without extending an open heart
Just tools to trade their common lives
For the life of lives apart
They know nothing
And their dreams are stupid dull
Brains full of small ideas
Think they're big
Another trick so…
Dig dig dig
You end in no no meaning
Nothing to me
If you think that
This is about You
This is
About You
You have nothing left to add
So fuck off.
Just so you know, I am out of the game. Even my "friends" not involved are making their way off my list of good numbers. For the most part, you can all go to fuck. Don't call me. Don't say hello. Whether for sake money, drugs or amusement, you are villains using my life for yourselves.
Caitlin is awesome. Nick and Kim are awesome. Brian, Andrew and Kelly are awesome. Liz is awesome. There are a few people else who are awesome but there are a few, and more than likely you know who you are. The rest of you can fuck off. Anybody got any Motown?
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07 Apr 2007
Fever dreams
Is it just me or has the world become so totally self-obsessed with education that the self-esteem of many American young people has slowly but surely come to revolve around a false measuring system of grade inflation, SAT scores and tuition payments? The level that this has gotten to, especially in a state as incestuous as good ol' GA, seems readily apparent in the recent acceptance issues at Ivy league schools. Observe
Harvard turned down 1,100 student applicants with perfect 800 scores on the SAT math exam. Yale rejected several applicants with perfect 2400 scores on the three-part SAT, and Princeton turned away thousands of high school applicants with 4.0 grade point averages. Needless to say, high school valedictorians were a dime a dozen.
It was the most selective spring in modern memory at America's elite schools, according to college admissions officers. More applications poured into top schools this admissions cycle than in any previous year on record. Schools have been sending decision letters to student applicants in recent days, and rejection letters have overwhelmingly outnumbered the acceptances.
Stanford received a record 23,956 undergraduate applications for the fall term, accepting 2,456 students, meaning the school took 10.3 percent of applicants.
Harvard College received applications from 22,955 students, another record, and accepted 2,058 of them, for an acceptance rate of 9 percent. The university called that "the lowest admit rate in Harvard's history."
Applications to Columbia numbered 18,081, and the college accepted 1,618 of them, for what was certainly one of the lowest acceptance rates this spring at an American university: 8.9 percent.
"There's a sense of collective shock among parents at seeing extraordinarily talented kids getting rejected," said Susan Gzesh, whose son Max Rothstein is a senior with an exemplary record at the Laboratory School, a private school associated with the University of Chicago. Max applied to 12 top schools and was accepted outright only by Wesleyan, New York University and the University of Michigan.
"Some of his classmates, with better test scores than his, were rejected at every Ivy League school," Ms. Gzesh said.
The brutally low acceptance rates this year were a result of an avalanche of applications to top schools, which college admissions officials attributed to three factors. First, a demographic bulge is working through the nation's population - the children of the baby boomers are graduating from high school in record numbers. The federal Department of Education projects that 3.2 million students will graduate from high school this spring, compared with 3.1 million last year and 2.4 million in 1993. (The statistics project that the number of high school graduates will peak in 2008.) Another factor is that more high school students are enrolling in college immediately after high school. In the 1970s, less than half of all high school graduates went directly to college, compared with more than 60 percent today, said David Hawkins, a director at the National Association of College Admission Counseling.
The third trend driving the frantic competition is that the average college applicant applies to many more colleges than in past decades. In the 1960s, fewer than 2 percent of college freshmen had applied to six or more colleges, whereas in 2006 more than 2 percent reported having applied to 11 or more, according to The American Freshman: National Norms for Fall 2006, an annual report on a continuing long-term study published by the University of California, Los Angeles.
"Multiple applications per student," Mr. Hawkins said, "is a factor that exponentially crowds the college admissions environment."
One reason that students are filing more applications is the increasing use of the Common Application, a form that can be completed and filed via the Internet.
The ferocious competition at the most selective schools has not affected the overall acceptance rate at the rest of the nation's 2,500 four-year colleges and universities, which accept an average of 70 percent of applicants.
"That overall 70 percent acceptance rate hasn't changed since the 1980s," Mr. Hawkins said.
But with more and more students filling out ever more applications, schools like the California Institute of Technology received a record number of applications this year - 3,595, or 8 percent more than last year - and admitted 576 students. Among so many talented applicants, a prospective student with perfect SAT scores was not unusual, said Jill Perry, a Caltech spokeswoman.
"The successful students have to have shown some passion for science and technology in high school or their personal life," Ms. Perry said. "That means creating a computer system for your high school, or taking a tractor apart and putting it back together."
The competition was ferocious not only at the top universities, but at selective small colleges, like Williams, Bowdoin and Amherst, all of which reported record numbers of applications.
Amherst received 6,668 applications and accepted 1,167 students for its class of 2011, compared with the 4,491 applications and 1,030 acceptance letters it sent for the class of 2002 nine years ago, said Paul Statt, an Amherst spokesman.
"Many of us who went to Amherst three decades ago know we couldn't get in now; I know I couldn't," said Mr. Statt, who graduated from Amherst in 1978.
This is absurd. Education is inevitably reverting back to a process of self-indoctrination and control. After going through years and years of public schooling where I was told what a horrible person I would be if I did not go to college (exemplified by the actions of Nick Bilz his senior year and the conversations I overheard between him and Mrs. Martin) can anyone really be expected to retain any sense of self when the elitism of educators constructs egos around letter grades, obedience and sucking up? I can't stand it. This cannot be the way things are going.
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02 Apr 2007
Rambozo
A clown is a clown when the lights are around
The sound of the stage and the soft, earthen ground
A performer for fun, for fans and delight
But where are the bright colors when the lights don't ignite?
A joke is a joke when it jumps from your throat
A jackrabbit joy to love and elope
All the laughter and glee while life has a lack
But what is it called when it waits at your back?
Smiles are smiles when they're tricks without guile
Cages of teeth to try to tease tender trials
To easier leaps and things we can beat
But is a smile a smile when you're down on your knees?
A clown is a clown when the spotlights go out
With a frown or a smile, the color's too loud
With no tales to tell or hands to hold
A clown's still a clown though the joke's growing old
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31 Mar 2007
et cetera
I am laughing at you.
28 Mar 2007
Stain
Left foot right foot left foot right foot
A dangerous refrain beat beat beat
From mountaintops into city blocks
Footsteps line in line - thought in thought
But not one left with the wild inside
Just footprints that we left behind
A stain of what's forgot
Ring ring ring of a satellite singing
Songs bringing one to one
(for a summary fee)
You can be you - in reference to me
A contract came in exchange for your name
Just sign along the dotted line
A stain of what's forgot
Bravery for honest fault
Fled for failure finding light
We might bring the moon to pierce the night
Stifled sun soon blinds the eye
While men still shun the sinful shade
A stain of what's forgot
Kids stand behind in desert heat
Waving lines to disguise while one by one
They boil and fall to their knees
Child by child, sin by sin
Winds dust the ashes to begin again
A stain of what's forgot
Boy Meets Girl
Things slow change
An old lady with a thousand coins
Saving face
A penny palmed will bring such boundless joy
Buck up girl and be glad you were not born a boy
Wake up man and quit dreaming that you're born a god
Seas still race
But in traffic things are standing still
Strung on bait
But around the line the ocean swells
Stay young boy and don't tear away the tales they tell
Run off girl and still wonder at the wishing well
Paper paid
Made a bribe to be a bigger man
Ticker tape
Tames the tides away from burning sand
So be glad boy for the time it takes to scar the hand
Be brave girl for no sanity can understand
Trade for time
Lust for lifetime we've had all along
Buying fate
While fate laughs and leaves us all alone
Buck up girl and be glad you were not born a boy
Wake up man and quit dreaming that you're born a god
Currently Listening :
Angel Dust
By Faith No More
Release date: By 16 June, 1992
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27 Mar 2007
Peter O'Tool sucks
Meryl Streep sucks. Madonna sucks. Ashton Kutcher sucks. Demi Moore kinda sucks. Jane Fonda rocks sometimes but sucks ass the rest. Brittany Murphy sucks. Lord of the Rings sucks immensely as a movie trilogy. Michael Moore sucks. Paul McCartney has sucked for a while. Jamie Lee Curtis sucks. Peaches sucks. Grrl rock sucks in general. Jenny McCarthy sucks. Val Kilmer sucks. The Warchowski brothers suck. And Pi still sucks no matter how much I try to like it.
Currently Watching :
David Lean Boxed Set (Lawrence of Arabia/The Bridge on the River Kwai, Widescreen Editions)
Release date: By 29 August, 1995
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26 Mar 2007
A poem for my cat
A pillowcase denizen
Claws of four, eight, ten and then
The runt of the litter
A hisser and spitter
Tossed to the trash so we got to get her
I have your teeth dug deep in my arm
But that was always the charm
My girl
If I remember, I was just three
You grew up so much faster than me
Tearing new tracks up the family tree
I remember the hammock
Rocking back with the yowl of a cat
And a flurry and you were gone
My girl
Furious for powder made dust clouds in the air
A cat with no fleas and matted, white hair
Ears laid flat back
You hissed and you spat
But soon the track changed
My girl
Life ended changing in distance and time
Dug into deep south with bulldawgs on the mind
We'll stay still for now just to keep you from cars
Large as you get from staying indoors
We got you a yard didn't we?
Eventually
My girl
Hefty as a bag, we could drag you along
But you kept your four legs stable and strong
Despite new cards from the deck being drawn
You're the queen bitch
And best not forget
My girl
Little tiny invasion with not many brains
Brazen on toes and slightly insane came
And broke the daze
But you blazed on through
And did as you do
My girl
Finally seventeen and skinny
Bitch's bark now gone more personality winning
A purr gets a pet and you've not many left
A few last days of love as the time had been set
You knew, through your actions
It was time to go
So you walked to the forest
We watch out the door
My girl
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25 Mar 2007
R.I.P. Tippy the cat
Tippy died day before yesterday. She walked into the woods and never came out. She was 17, I think. And that's all there is to say about that.
Goodbye Miss Tip. You'll be missed.
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Los Angeles --or-- Radio is Dead
Category: Writing and Poetry
They say that women were a curse on the land
So they cruised along in caravans
Chancing for a spot of gold on the horizon
The sun they saw was the City of Angels
They sent out their men, boys poised to build a monument
Walled with light and glory spent
They dug in their high heels, squealing the bandwagon to a halt
Here their fancy boots made roots to keep the world together at the fault
The Big Shake wasn't to take their debut
Starlets drifted down, dancing on sandbags and rafters
They counted a half-dozen
Actresses with silent laughter pirouetting on a pinhead
Seamed and sewn together in silver
Beams bouncing off blank canvass with fame that makes like money
Running cups over in nonsense that tastes like wine
The angels turned their back to God with one finger up
"That's where you can stick it." Said she with the heart full of love
The sting lingered for a moment or more
But before better steps could be chosen among others
The clouds chained the gates with rattling rain
Staining them with alkylides and misery
The men below looked up to the glow of sunlight
Squinting to glimpse up the skirts of their saviors
They waved dirty dollars like cheap Sunday pimps
"Be somebody" And always, sooner or later
They were
So they shorn their wings for a shot at top billing
While a wonder beat blood into clouds
He yelled as loud as His word
But nobody heard him
Because radio is dead
Currently Listening :
Another Day In Paradise: Music From The Larry Clark Film
By Various Artists
Release date: By 12 January, 1999
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For my hardships
I write stupid whiney shit almost every other day
I sigh and try to explain it in several different ways
I do it through bad poetry, I do it with a blog
I write cryptic and artistically, I sing it now in song
I'm a whiney blogger with an emo-do
I'd like an online stalker just to complain to
Abstain from conversation, I've some fat to chew
Because my life is hard and I'm much smarter than you
Long days ahead and I'll tell you for real
There's no stopping me and there is no appeal
Because melancholy bullshit has a world to reveal
It's my bread and butter, yeah my favorite meal
I'm a whiney blogger with an emo-do
I'd like an online stalker just to complain to
Abstain from conversation, I've some fat to chew
Because my life is hard and I'm much smarter than you
My mommy and my daddy pay me to stay alive
And not go veering off the road when I'm on 285
Though people would be cheering when I go for that drive
Until then I'll have to cheese you with a glass full of whine
I'm a whiney blogger with an emo-do
I'd like an online stalker just to complain to
Abstain from conversation, I've some fat to chew
Because my life is hard and I'm much smarter than you
I got an education and too much time on my hands
So I'll recite my revelations to anyone who can stand
So come and sing the chorus, you're a part of the band
They can't do nothing for us so let's all stand and chant
I'm a whiney blogger with an emo-do
I'd like an online stalker just to complain to
Abstain from conversation, I've some fat to chew
Because my life is hard and I'm much smarter than you
Teh done
Currently Listening :
Both Sides of the Brain
By Del tha Funkee Homosapien
Release date: By 11 April, 2000
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Pulling point on potty patrol
PULLING POINT ON POTTY PATROL
Autopsy tour for Anna Nicole. I mean, I could've cared less if she died but what the hell?! Watched Ebert (Replaced by some attractive lady name Kim Morgan) and Roeper. Really?! Geezus. I hate everything, I can't even find the words to talk about it.
"BIBBITS AND THE NOD" or… "JONESIN' FOR A GIRL NAMED L__"
N-n-n-n-nerves d-d-dancing
Rap tap on top my b-b-brain
N-n-n-n-nerves t-t-turning
t-t-t-to someone/thing i-i-i-i-i
please baby.
W-w-w-w-what's my name?
She t-t-t-touched me
Or him or w-w-who or…
What's going on?
M-m-m-my parts
b-b-b-been broken
M-m-m-my heart's long gone
B-b-b-but b-b-b-baby
Why why why you tell me so
When I kn-n-n-now
I know nothing 'cept
I-i-i-i blown it long ag-g-go-go-go
D-d-dopin' on dead thoughts of love
Despite the following paragraphs, Miami is a beautiful place. It's like everything was an excavation site of fancy hotels, unearthed from four decades of beach sand to make a safe-haven for Frankie, the rat pack and their broads. It's old school Vegas without the gambling or free drinks. Our bathroom has a hot tub in it.
This vacation was supposed to be relaxing, but unfortunately all it's done is allow me an opportunity to think without distraction. This may seem silly, but averting myself from the world is the only way to keep me regular. I am going crazy trying to make friends with the random people around here. Friendliness is practically a character flaw with massive throngs of prepubescents sitting in circles and asking "are you a cop" of a guy with blue fucking hair.
Maybe it's just the east coast, but these people make me feel like the world should fucking burn. Malignancy is not a word, but a veritable state of mind.
How do you circumcise a redneck?
Kick his sister in the chin.
Conversations go like this (and yes, I am quoting exactly):
"Hey are there any interesting local brews around here?"
"No."
Bartender hands me a 43.50 tab (with included gratuity) for a total of one bloody mary, one jack daniels double, and one beer.
"Hey kids, can I chill with you guys?"
"How do we know we can trust you?"
"What? Um… I guess the fact that I'm not a cop and I have blue hair. Want some whiskey?"
(secluded whispering amongst group)
"Sorry, we go to church."
… !?what?! …
I see 2 guys. One carrying a basket, one with a flashlight on his head.
"Hey guys, whatcha looking for?"
"Flatfish."
"Flatfish? Fuckin' a. What for?"
"Fuck off cabrone" (spelling on that one is probably off)
This pretty much extends itself into every attempt at conversation I've made in Miami. I feel like a tool but I don't know… Jesus. Am I really that terrible to say hello to?
As a result, I went around looking for any beach merchandise not tied down and switched the hotels they belonged to. Didn't solve much but it felt better. It sucked not being able to deny the bartender a tip for his pissiness. He made a shitty ass bloody mary too.
I think I should quit drinking and smoking and start doing heroine. At least then there's some honesty in the community surrounding. No pretence of truthfulness with dope. A very American drug. It lies straight to your face and digs itself burrows in your veins.
I'm falling in love with almost every beautiful woman I see. Maybe it's the lack of clothing around here, but spring has definitely taken a hold of my brain.
That isn't the point though. Not at all. I realize I just want to be recognized in the same way I recognize them. I want to be wanted as egotistical as I know it is. I want to be wanted by someone I want just as much. I want to be on a level with who I desire. Which is virtually any skinny girl with a good story and eyes that don't remind me of mine.
Seriously. She can bitch and moan and spend my money as long as she cares. And has lots of good sex. Full of good sex, caring and reasonably intelligent. I can deal with the rest for the most part.
Oh, and she has to shave her legs and armpits. And she can't be into grrl rock. But these are discussion points to come up after all of the good sex obviously.
I think the only person I'll ever have loved is Caitlin. The part of me that could believe in emotional sincerity left a while after she did. Slowly but surely, the experiences separate themselves into a mass of unsatisfactory moments with myself as the star of the asshole parade and her as… well, back then I thought she was perfect. I was a tool, but if I was still who I was then at least I could quit pretending I was okay and be miserable when I needed to be. I didn't know what about, but I used to let myself just be miserable for a while. I felt miserable until I could be happy for a few beautiful, cleansing inhales of life. And then…
One track mind. Having dreams occasionally. Nebuchadnezzar broke the bottle in the bonfire and our ship burned burned burned burned.
The bathwater here is green before I get into it. I got to wash my ass with a bidet for the first time, it makes pooping fun.
I need to leave here. Not just Georgia-here but the east coast-here. And is it's the world that's the matter, then fuck it. I'll become the worst thing it has ever fucking seen. This country is a manufactory of villains. There is no choice but money. Just a bunch of white guys grabbing eachothers' dicks for a size comparison.
No wonder fratboys play bagtag and get business majors.
I'll write something bitchy to fix everything. You may now call me the dimestore savior. I'll give you a Tylenol for your tumor and pour whiskey with a straight-razored vein
I swear, I can make movies. And if I can't, I'll die trying.
LATER ON THAT WEEK
It's my grandmother's 90th birthday celebration and one of the first major family reunions we've ever had. My job is to be as absolutely weird as possible so that I can maybe, just maybe, not have anyone ask me about my fucking hair again.
It's great seeing everyone, though. Relatives I can't even classify and most of them entertaining out the bejeezus.
Saw 300. If that movie had lost every last attempt at dialogue, then it would have been perfect. Don't try and start acting when your movie's strong points revolve around dismemberment and arterial spray.
So much good beer. I am averaging 9 or so a day or tasty tasty wonderbrew. My body is not happy with me.
Currently Watching :
Run Lola Run
Release date: By 06 June, 2000
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08 Mar 2007
This makes me feel funny inside
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05 Mar 2007
I cant think of any good titles for things.
Jesus don't care, expecially about Britain
"Good God!" I exclaimed
Naming the blameless but always the blamed
Little has happened, everything changed
Perspectives particular to the size of the shame
No need look away from an invisible grief
To the death of the insect who lay underneath
Boogie Men
"Never ever never ever never ever!"
She shook her hair in golden parades
The waves trickling down to tickle her neck
beneath her
soft... soft....
Silk gown.
She says "no."
Yes?
Some shpeel about guns and stuff
Upon the conclusion of a vicious gun-battle of some sort or another:
Tissue surrounding the immediate area of a gunshot wound can seizure at such a speed that its movement is invisible to the human eye.
HE POKES ONE OF THE WOUNDS WITH THE END OF A LARGE FIELD KNIFE
The trauma inflicted by such a fierce, foreign and unexpected type of threat is almost impossible for the human body to cope with on any significant level. The destructive force of an exit wound is much more severe, however...
THERE IS GROANING AS HE STRESSES, ROLLING THE BODY OVER ON ITS SIDE
as the bullet has undergone many of a series of possible changes in its travels through the human body.
HE TAPS THE BROKEN WALL OF THE EXIT WOUND AT THE LOWER LEFT OF THE BODY'S BACK
It typically bursts the shell of musculature impeding its outward path from the target. But despite this level of ballistic carnage, the biology of a human being will allow a target to live for quite a long time after the incursion of such an injury.
HE PICKS UP A SHOTGUN FROM BESIDE THE BODY WHICH IS NOW BEGINNING TO STRUGGLE WEAKLY
One must disenfranchise themselves from the damage they cause or learn to enjoy it.
HE PLACES THE ENTIRE BARREL OF THE SHOTGUN INTO THE BODY'S EXIT-WOUND
Are you enjoying the pain now, Victor?
VICTOR SCREAMS AND EXPLODES FROM THE INSIDE AS THE SHOTGUN BARREL IS FORCED INTO HIS CHEST CAVITY AND IS DISCHARGED.
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03 Mar 2007
$XXX$
Okay, now I've not seen a television program outside of a drinking establishment in almost three or so months now. But did anyone know there's an erotic home shopping network? It has to be the funniest thing I've ever seen.
My dad drinks terrible booze. I want something better to steal.
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02 Mar 2007
So I AM an american.
If anyone needs me I'll be in Atlanta - that phantom from the past. Last place expected but necessary and definately a very unnerving position to be in. I hate this place and yet return again and again. necessity moslty but maybe just a toasty warm place to stick my toes for a night or two beofre they turn frozen blue. I don't know. Free cable.
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01 Mar 2007
Notes on a haircut I didn't have today (or... P.S. Roger, has the swelling gone down?)
Clip clip clip clip. Nothing more terrifying
Than the sound of scissors
A crisp sheath of sound
Sharp as the steel of its teeth
Snip snip...
I feel like I'm gonna get whacked.
Currently Listening :
Neon Golden
By The Notwist
Release date: By 25 February, 2003
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28 Feb 2007
Buggery
Intense amount of bad things happening that are really not much within my control. Call me and leave messages. My phone will be off for the week. Also, Cunninglynguist show on friday night in atlanta. So fucking stoked. Leave messages. Seriously. I need to keep myself away from people to make sure this necessary bullshit attitude passes over private life. Leave messages. I will not be answering calls.
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25 Feb 2007
Addendum
And also, it's not that I'm ignoring you. My hearing is just shit and I haven't had a decent pair of glasses in ages. Plain and simple, my body is making sure that all I can do is best guess at a muffled voice and blurred face. And then I start drinking. I feel mean for being sensibly defective.
I've been going through my terrible CDs today. A whole spindle of bad taste that came before I heard "Kid A" playing in my sister's bedroom. Oh my god, was it beautiful. That album turned me onto music like Fight Club turned me on to movies. Anyway, the bad CDs include:
SOUNDTRACKS: Last Action Hero, Can't Hardly Wait, Wayne's World II, End of Days (fucking rediculously terrible Gov movie. I decided to buy the DVD for a dollar), Killer Kuts: the killer instinct soundtrack, Command and Conquer: Red Alert, both the Mortal Kombat movies and like 9 different Star Wars things.
Wow... that's... pretty bad.
Movies! Come watch them with me! Everyone is invited! I like watching movies!
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Good show so-so. crowds make T.O. go "woah..."
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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24 Feb 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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21 Feb 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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20 Feb 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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Holy kamakaze tangential thought, Batman!
Pot doesn't make me paranoid. The fact that you all want me to drain myself out into petri dishes makes me paranoid. My boredom makes me paranoid. My broken-record thought process makes me paranoid. My parents make me paranoid. The police make me extremely paranoid. Bartenders who ask for ID make me paranoid. Old people make me paranoid. Cracks in the sidewalk make me paranoid. Broken glass in my bootheel makes me paranoid. Money makes me paranoid. Women make me extremely paranoid. Aging makes me paranoid. My inabilities make me paranoid.. My name makes me paranoid. Handwriting things makes me paranoid. Computers make me paranoid. God makes me extremely paranoid. Roaches make me paranoid.
*hint: look for highlights.
Currently Watching :
American Beauty (Widescreen Edition)
Release date: By 24 October, 2000
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This is a public service message. Do not adjust your screen.
I'd stake my life on the spike of your cynicism. Crtics always stick the plants where they need to be so the best of the best tend to rest on their feet. I, however, am flat and unfounded. An earth gone wrong on the prospect of simplicity. Sphere? Pishaw. Who needs curves when the point is so profound? Ground should be flat while the sun spins around.
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At least this is a productive drunk (fact)
Jenny jenny jenny. A magical Jenny eddied in the tide of my imaginations. Come and gone Jenny rushes in and leaves writing in the sand the language of the periodical currents. Jenny is rushed in the salt-water of tears and rusts, warm and wet inside of the blood and guts of joy. The world is a levee and Jenny is to break. Jenny is a many and well-versed article of life and, undenably, a lusty curiosity. She is unattainable and will as run wild as the waters twist their cells.Jenny is too good for the tempers of time and regularity. Jenny is an image to behold. No one can have Jenny here for here Jenny's growing old.
*insert translation, dedication and sight. I trust we are both reading. Trade truth for parenthetical and the run-on lasts for life.
Currently Watching :
American Beauty (Widescreen Edition)
Release date: By 24 October, 2000
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02 Jun 2007
Not as clever as it sounds right now. A first in a while attempt at prose.
You could set the time of day by his quakes. The shudders and convulsions ticked into the notches of his moments so that the creaks in the boards and pains running down his body were as steady as pendulum swings. Pure Einstein, they sat edged by small corners of sleep and inactivity where misery was plentiful but words could seldom explain why. These trapped little lifelines expanded into days where the sun had no hold and the moon was only sister to a miserable, comotose boil. He emptied his bowels into a plastic dish under his ass yet the world became stuck on some radical new revolution with him as the pinhead, angels dancing in his locks. Consciousness all nonsense now, he had no hold on himself or his body while his grasp was held firm on the globe.
She, beautiful, tended to his needs. Like some black-eyed Loki banished from the Asgard of his physical life, he screamed her curses in the language of his silence while the poison she dished from him day after day after day. She told him stories and read him Great Words. He only answered with the poison of his insides and the tumors of his unconscious loathing.
Motionless. Still. She waits in the corner for his call.
Currently Watching :
Barton Fink
Release date: By 20 May, 2003
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Everybody poops
Nail-snags of personality drag long ragged marks across the back of my hand. Each time I notice a watchhand stirring, my eye cannot help but catch the time marked by white-pink hash-bars of my mistakes. The hall I wander is sticky and peeling from the walls. The light is a seizure of fluorescent blue, humming with the dull intensity of a migraine headache. Bored ghosts watch, pushing the tacks from the walls in either a divine lesson of karmic retribution or some base prank meant to confuse. There is a doorway but the walls close themselves in before I break through.
Currently Watching :
Barton Fink
Release date: By 20 May, 2003
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Practical medicine for the plights of life
750 mL straight Ancient Age Kentucky Bourbon
1 badly misused hangover-emergency resin ball
A pisspoor cure for wounded pride.
Currently Reading :
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
By Mark Haddon
Release date: By 18 May, 2004
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Badabing!
Excited! Excited! Excited! Excited!
I have never been this happy this easily withut the physical presence of (or prospect of obtaining) pot and liquor. What a good day. I want a soda.
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01 Jun 2007
When lonliness sets in--
Make Mexican food! By coupling this with several shots of tequila, a case of mediocre Mexican brew and a good quick spin of an old Choking Victim album you too can sit at home making romances with the various toppings you may have selected for your dining experience.
"How are you today, corn-shelled pile of spiced meat? There's a couple I would really like you to meet, they're names are refried beans and cheese. Salsa may come over later to say hello, so be sure to save some room in your home for them. Then? Oh, well after they stop over, there's wine and cheese, some tea and then you all get to die and burn in the waste factories of my ever-expanding gut."
I would cut myself and drain the skin to hold every last one of your tears. My insides could rot for ever and ever if only a shred of your lifetime is left unsquandered that wasn't once before. My heart beats in seizures at the sound of your voice, tossing itself on the sanscrit babel of your velvet tongue. Forgive me if I can never understand you, but believe me when I say that I will always always care.
Currently Listening :
No Gods, No Managers
By Choking Victim
Release date: By 30 March, 1999
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28 May 2007
School in a minute
and I hate you and you and you. You know what? I fucking hate everybody if for nothing else than a matter of self-satisfaction and efficiency. Yeah, you can all suck on my five-haired over-ticklish teet and die of lactose poisoning for all I care. Ooooh. Aaaah. I fucking hate you. (raspberry tongue sound).
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27 May 2007
Boo boos for Bandaids
Some things are good where you left them. Context is important. Memories are better. Putting people on like old clothes for bedtime and drenching yourself in the fiber of their eccentricities. This, strangely, becomes therapy in its way. Doses of old habits creeping into the good parts of your dreams while the corners of consiousness left in a box somewhere emerge from the attic cradled as old quilts and photographs. We are lonely, yes. But now we are warm.
Bill Murray rocked back in the day, not that he doesn't now. But I mean, c'mon. He's the man. Little Shop of Horrors, Ghostbusters and all. 9 pounds of herb through O'Hare. Hardcore man. Hardcore.
Frank Oz should also be recognized here for making one of the only two musicals I can even partially stomach.
I am working now. 2 days done. Much much muckledee muck in the burgs of Better Suburbia. Working working soda jerking for family-friends-relations. Somebody thought it'd be a good idea to give me a bottle of boozeand a license to kick ass. I felt like I had been called upon by the eye of thundara and some guilt-sexy catgirl were sprawled naked at my feet. Ohh-ahh. Feel the tingle. So clean. so clean. My arms now luxurious, akimbo bracing my pelvic thrust to the vagina of eternity.
But yeah, I kicked ass as a bartender. Who knew? I was also pretty decent as a busser and I never stole any liquor so I'm pretty happy with myself for that and I think I can keep that up. The father of the bride (I think) said I was the best worker there which means a bit since I hope he's talking to the other inlaws (one being the owner of the catering company... or something).
But lets get down to brass tax: Sixteen hours split between a total of twenty-eight on my first two days. I am bathing the insides of my feet in liqor to numb the pain of a ten hour day. Procedure involving and upright position, bottle of booze, eyes to the sky, mouth open, pour. It'll hit toe eventually.
Currently Reading :
Leaving Las Vegas
By John O'Brien
Release date: By 1990
Road trip to prehistory
The truth!
Somebody. Anybody. We have to go see this.
Currently Reading :
Laughter in the Dark
By Vladimir Nabokov
Release date: By 30 September, 2006
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25 May 2007
Clever clever
Also, why the hell does everybody have to be so goddamned cute with their myspace name thing? It's either really irritating or I'm particularly jealous.
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In case my phone runs out of batteries...
..any ladies wanting some hot hot Teddy-bear lovin' should leave a detailed message for me to masturbate to.
Picking ikons and idols from the back of my fingernailsI feel like a bulb of static electricity, getting myself fat on cupcakes and that sweet sweet honey of good company and conversation. I can picture you a picture nifty as can be with illustrator, now. Learning graphic design again and liking it very very much. It makes computers into clay goo that you can stick your hands into. Rearrange the shit, bugging fingers on hot wires and electricity., wiping them under the couch with patches of crusted up boogers and semen-stain.
I hope this just goes to show the decency of Macintosh computers as compared with your average Toshiba laptop (insert buggery).
The forests are burning, the forests are burning. The clowns pass buckets tucked tight in four-finger gloves, spashing confetti and spreading the ashes. Termites sizzle and pop, crackling Geronimos trip the light fantastic on their fall down down down down. Tsshhhhhh! Hiss! Piss-rant and protest erupt from popped air-pocket shells of their insect selves. While the summer sings "Renew! Renew!" calling you from whip and from chain, heat burning the lice from your coils of brain. Baptised by fire, we rise from the pyre a woodpile burning again.
Currently Watching :
Following
Release date: By 11 December, 2001
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23 May 2007
Dunno
I have looked so long
There in my eyes
Waiting for some
One who is whole
Oh you are heaven sent
Angel above
Where have you been?
I have your love
I've stood and waited here
Three years on end
Finished and then
Wait to begin
But when you blink its gone
Back to the shed
Blankets of webs
Keep you from cold
And when I say someday
I mean right now
Don't ask for more
I don't know how
When we speak and say
I am alone
You are a part
You make me whole
Do you remember when
I told you this
Sealed with a kiss
I love you still
So don't abandon me
Here in my room
Playing my harp
Breaking my heart
I'll be there soon
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21 May 2007
For all the lovely women in my life
No matter what you think
Oh mine are yours and
Yours are mine and
I cannot handle alone
Currently Listening :
Suffer
By Bad Religion
Release date: By 06 April, 2004
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17 May 2007
Non-cents
I am in summer school. Isn't that special? Sure is. Uh-huh. Brain fractures manufactured by seizured neural response to question number two: after what then comes why so what do you do? I am actually liking the class a lot. It's like sticking your hands into a bowl full of bread dough and twisting it between your fingers until you can trick the world that your logo can not only attract customers, but exist as an artistic work and get rid of your acne for good.
baby baby no baby no.
slave labor favors the easily fooled
dink winston made a tropical noise-hood done bang doogie-houser.
Currently Watching :
Jesus' Son
Release date: By 22 July, 2003
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13 May 2007
Cranking Cable
Left my phone in a Mexican restaurant many miles away south of the border and close to my heart. Calls will be missed. I will not.
Heartburn fuckin' kills.
Tiny creatures crawiling, mewling
Scamper up my shin
Their claws
Their tails and ragged nails
Try desperate to dig in
It's good to see the parentals. Soon will see sister and celebrate returns. Churning stomachs run amok in the wee wee hours of the morn but online porn and Voltron Force suffice to stem the accursed gut rutted and sliced with mexican food, red meat and liquor. Kaboom. Rooms run red with violet croovey, groovy scene for intestinal wranglers and meat-made noose-hangers banging and fucking in the muck of my colon. I shat my last shit so a cork is the cost. Man am I a mess, my words wallow lost. (thoughts on temporary constipation)
Currently Watching :
The Science of Sleep
Release date: By 06 February, 2007
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07 May 2007
Streetwalkin' cheetah with a heart fulla napalm
Something smells bad in my apartment
I need more tortillas
Too much booze
Never enough herb
I seriously handle my drugs better than most; and this is sad... especially seeing as I can't spell
Venture Brothers is as good as Evan said it was
Something smells in my apartment
I am, like, 212 times cooler than the average person in Athens
I am no longer a felon
It took me almost 2 months to realize a bottle of hair "enhancer" was actually NOT a bottle of wood polish I stole from the Hilton in Miami. This is devastating to me and also very embarassingly true.
I'm very irritated at the lack of fireworks sales in this town
Every wedding dress should be called a "little white lie"
Wow, T.O.. That's a huge joint you rolled for no reason.
Hah.
I kill myself
-Wordperioddotdot
Bitches.
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01 May 2007
Head-facts: The Man With Brain Go Boom
Too too much study
To befuddle the head
Nose rose-red and runny
Blast of brains being bled
Pick parts plug the holes
(To me tampons work best)
Tip your head back and hold
Make Mom mop up the mess
Chug-chug til chugged chugging
Jumped ship for the floor
Fled far for the lugging
Useless facts through the door
Tiny train of old memory
Squeaks meek on the tracks
Don't have left the energy
No room to take back
Hither and thither
The fun flies up-up
Childhood rises
But can't bank like a buck
But broke head full of learning
Split center and seam
Smells like feathers burning
With the whisper of dreams
Toss sweet tender and time
Lose your art to make space
Putting them in for mine
Makes for good letter-grades
Beg bark for a biscuit
Obedience sells
Place facts over fiction
Cash register bells
Test taken, take tampons
Sneeze loud hard and long
Splatter parts cross the scantron
Let them head-facts run gone
Currently Watching :
Last Days
Release date: By 25 October, 2005
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26 Apr 2007
shazam! shazam! shazam!
Paper paper paper paper
Twenty-two pager paper
Fill in a crater paper
Dealing with you later paper
Safer staying home
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23 Apr 2007
Intrusion
Become the true intruder
Broke through the bounds and borders
Dead dancing in on orders
You shiver
Break the bone
Speak only if the truth hurts
Lies leave us with an exit
Don't do unless we let it
You shudder
Welcome home
Freed from confrontation
Hip holsters swing with ray guns
We smile so we stay numb
Weapons drawn
Silence kills
We exist as obligation
Backs broken til the day comes
No pain in machination
Stick 'em up
Become still
Currently Reading :
Film and Literature: An Introduction and Reader
By Timothy Corrigan
Release date: By 30 November, 1998
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Ever wish you were half a man?
Really, that girl sawed in half in the waiting room of Beetlegeus is pretty hot. That's wrong isn't it? Yeah, that's wrong? Yeah. I'm pretty much sure that that's wrong.
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18 Apr 2007
Hear that thumping?
Head Against Wall
Numerically dissected
Done up and chemically tested
Soul suckered and mother approved
Fed and bred into plastic tubes
Infected injected
Electro-shocked and bed-rested
Messed up family
But who gives?
We have pills for pain
And we're paid to live
Soothed and smoothed over
Used like tissues
And tossed
Lost in current
Affairs that care
'Bout the big picture
Profit and loss statement
Not just to make rent
Gimmick gimmick glimmer and joy
Life ain't quite life
Not without some new toy
Days spent selling hours
Silent stares in chemical showers
Glowering clockhands
Stand for
Is
This
The
End?
Currently Watching :
Naked Lunch - Criterion Collection
Release date: By 11 November, 2003
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14 Apr 2007
My name's Wilson...
Four new movies in one day, one of which I watched twice and another which I watched three times, once with director's commentary. There's something very very right about a day allowing me to do that.
Currently Watching :
The Limey
Release date: By 20 February, 2001
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13 Apr 2007
More crap not to be read
I am in a wonderful mood today. 1 day left of community service, 3 interviews with people much more important than I am about film and a new paper topic on a Cronenberg film. GOD DAMN! DON'T FUCK WITH ME TODAY!
WILT
She is one of wonder
Mixes sugar, blood and salt
Hiding heavy footsteps
In the rhythm of her waltz
Pay tithe to the angel
The girl who reads the wind
Who's telling of the ending
Before the tale begins
She's there dancing testing
And tasting of the air
Touching tongue to finger
Finding lightning inside there
Broken, old and battered
Laying clattered around
So she's tipping up the bottles
Pouring sadness inside-out
She's the sound of silence
Such a silly little thing
She knows something of nothing
'Cause she's loving everything
LISTENER
You know it doesn't matter
But you buy it anyway
I'll give you what I've gotten
As long as you will
Stay
Shake shaking shatter
Tender brittle bones break
Like the bubbles in the bottle
Shake it up
Pouring out the puddles
The tears still stay to stain
Then you sop 'em up and stop 'em
And tell me my
Way
Take taking proper
Ode for better circumstance
Turn the tables over
Spill me out
Currently Listening :
Sloppy Seconds, Vol. 2
By Cunninlynguists
Release date: By 13 December, 2005
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12 Apr 2007
Let Them Eat Cake
There is this man.
This man stands in windowpanes
Selling himself and his shame for a dime
Of amnesia and pain
Can't get a job
So he lobs bombs over fences
Green grass landings
And on false pretences
The cops cuff and capture
The Terrorist Threat
And yet...
The Terror continues
In venues of fleshy green handshakes
Real life is taken and broken
Choked on whatever it is
When there is No Smoking
In bars and busses and palaces and streets
Displacement seemed the logical thing to do
Let them eat cake
And as for the man from the windowpane
The game's been played
Into the Iron and Concrete cage
Boils of puss and rage bubble up
And dissolve themselves in glass pipes
Spiked veins and rocks
The sign on the door says:
Villains Made Here.
Currently Listening :
Frizzle Fry
By Primus
Release date: By 23 April, 2002
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09 Apr 2007
Quit Calling Me
I want to take my veins and ravage them with the insane
Honesty which worlds forgot
Oooooooooh. You don't know a fucking thing
All you do is sing
While the ringing in your ears
It's supposed to tell something
LA! LA! LA!
Listen! You're out of tune! Dipshits.
And isn't insight supposed to be integral to this?
Couples who never kiss wish they could
They are so fucking boring
Snoring in the morning til 2 PM
And pretending to be your friend
Without extending an open heart
Just tools to trade their common lives
For the life of lives apart
They know nothing
And their dreams are stupid dull
Brains full of small ideas
Think they're big
Another trick so…
Dig dig dig
You end in no no meaning
Nothing to me
If you think that
This is about You
This is
About You
You have nothing left to add
So fuck off.
Just so you know, I am out of the game. Even my "friends" not involved are making their way off my list of good numbers. For the most part, you can all go to fuck. Don't call me. Don't say hello. Whether for sake money, drugs or amusement, you are villains using my life for yourselves.
Caitlin is awesome. Nick and Kim are awesome. Brian, Andrew and Kelly are awesome. Liz is awesome. There are a few people else who are awesome but there are a few, and more than likely you know who you are. The rest of you can fuck off. Anybody got any Motown?
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07 Apr 2007
Fever dreams
Is it just me or has the world become so totally self-obsessed with education that the self-esteem of many American young people has slowly but surely come to revolve around a false measuring system of grade inflation, SAT scores and tuition payments? The level that this has gotten to, especially in a state as incestuous as good ol' GA, seems readily apparent in the recent acceptance issues at Ivy league schools. Observe
Harvard turned down 1,100 student applicants with perfect 800 scores on the SAT math exam. Yale rejected several applicants with perfect 2400 scores on the three-part SAT, and Princeton turned away thousands of high school applicants with 4.0 grade point averages. Needless to say, high school valedictorians were a dime a dozen.
It was the most selective spring in modern memory at America's elite schools, according to college admissions officers. More applications poured into top schools this admissions cycle than in any previous year on record. Schools have been sending decision letters to student applicants in recent days, and rejection letters have overwhelmingly outnumbered the acceptances.
Stanford received a record 23,956 undergraduate applications for the fall term, accepting 2,456 students, meaning the school took 10.3 percent of applicants.
Harvard College received applications from 22,955 students, another record, and accepted 2,058 of them, for an acceptance rate of 9 percent. The university called that "the lowest admit rate in Harvard's history."
Applications to Columbia numbered 18,081, and the college accepted 1,618 of them, for what was certainly one of the lowest acceptance rates this spring at an American university: 8.9 percent.
"There's a sense of collective shock among parents at seeing extraordinarily talented kids getting rejected," said Susan Gzesh, whose son Max Rothstein is a senior with an exemplary record at the Laboratory School, a private school associated with the University of Chicago. Max applied to 12 top schools and was accepted outright only by Wesleyan, New York University and the University of Michigan.
"Some of his classmates, with better test scores than his, were rejected at every Ivy League school," Ms. Gzesh said.
The brutally low acceptance rates this year were a result of an avalanche of applications to top schools, which college admissions officials attributed to three factors. First, a demographic bulge is working through the nation's population - the children of the baby boomers are graduating from high school in record numbers. The federal Department of Education projects that 3.2 million students will graduate from high school this spring, compared with 3.1 million last year and 2.4 million in 1993. (The statistics project that the number of high school graduates will peak in 2008.) Another factor is that more high school students are enrolling in college immediately after high school. In the 1970s, less than half of all high school graduates went directly to college, compared with more than 60 percent today, said David Hawkins, a director at the National Association of College Admission Counseling.
The third trend driving the frantic competition is that the average college applicant applies to many more colleges than in past decades. In the 1960s, fewer than 2 percent of college freshmen had applied to six or more colleges, whereas in 2006 more than 2 percent reported having applied to 11 or more, according to The American Freshman: National Norms for Fall 2006, an annual report on a continuing long-term study published by the University of California, Los Angeles.
"Multiple applications per student," Mr. Hawkins said, "is a factor that exponentially crowds the college admissions environment."
One reason that students are filing more applications is the increasing use of the Common Application, a form that can be completed and filed via the Internet.
The ferocious competition at the most selective schools has not affected the overall acceptance rate at the rest of the nation's 2,500 four-year colleges and universities, which accept an average of 70 percent of applicants.
"That overall 70 percent acceptance rate hasn't changed since the 1980s," Mr. Hawkins said.
But with more and more students filling out ever more applications, schools like the California Institute of Technology received a record number of applications this year - 3,595, or 8 percent more than last year - and admitted 576 students. Among so many talented applicants, a prospective student with perfect SAT scores was not unusual, said Jill Perry, a Caltech spokeswoman.
"The successful students have to have shown some passion for science and technology in high school or their personal life," Ms. Perry said. "That means creating a computer system for your high school, or taking a tractor apart and putting it back together."
The competition was ferocious not only at the top universities, but at selective small colleges, like Williams, Bowdoin and Amherst, all of which reported record numbers of applications.
Amherst received 6,668 applications and accepted 1,167 students for its class of 2011, compared with the 4,491 applications and 1,030 acceptance letters it sent for the class of 2002 nine years ago, said Paul Statt, an Amherst spokesman.
"Many of us who went to Amherst three decades ago know we couldn't get in now; I know I couldn't," said Mr. Statt, who graduated from Amherst in 1978.
This is absurd. Education is inevitably reverting back to a process of self-indoctrination and control. After going through years and years of public schooling where I was told what a horrible person I would be if I did not go to college (exemplified by the actions of Nick Bilz his senior year and the conversations I overheard between him and Mrs. Martin) can anyone really be expected to retain any sense of self when the elitism of educators constructs egos around letter grades, obedience and sucking up? I can't stand it. This cannot be the way things are going.
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02 Apr 2007
Rambozo
A clown is a clown when the lights are around
The sound of the stage and the soft, earthen ground
A performer for fun, for fans and delight
But where are the bright colors when the lights don't ignite?
A joke is a joke when it jumps from your throat
A jackrabbit joy to love and elope
All the laughter and glee while life has a lack
But what is it called when it waits at your back?
Smiles are smiles when they're tricks without guile
Cages of teeth to try to tease tender trials
To easier leaps and things we can beat
But is a smile a smile when you're down on your knees?
A clown is a clown when the spotlights go out
With a frown or a smile, the color's too loud
With no tales to tell or hands to hold
A clown's still a clown though the joke's growing old
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31 Mar 2007
et cetera
I am laughing at you.
28 Mar 2007
Stain
Left foot right foot left foot right foot
A dangerous refrain beat beat beat
From mountaintops into city blocks
Footsteps line in line - thought in thought
But not one left with the wild inside
Just footprints that we left behind
A stain of what's forgot
Ring ring ring of a satellite singing
Songs bringing one to one
(for a summary fee)
You can be you - in reference to me
A contract came in exchange for your name
Just sign along the dotted line
A stain of what's forgot
Bravery for honest fault
Fled for failure finding light
We might bring the moon to pierce the night
Stifled sun soon blinds the eye
While men still shun the sinful shade
A stain of what's forgot
Kids stand behind in desert heat
Waving lines to disguise while one by one
They boil and fall to their knees
Child by child, sin by sin
Winds dust the ashes to begin again
A stain of what's forgot
Boy Meets Girl
Things slow change
An old lady with a thousand coins
Saving face
A penny palmed will bring such boundless joy
Buck up girl and be glad you were not born a boy
Wake up man and quit dreaming that you're born a god
Seas still race
But in traffic things are standing still
Strung on bait
But around the line the ocean swells
Stay young boy and don't tear away the tales they tell
Run off girl and still wonder at the wishing well
Paper paid
Made a bribe to be a bigger man
Ticker tape
Tames the tides away from burning sand
So be glad boy for the time it takes to scar the hand
Be brave girl for no sanity can understand
Trade for time
Lust for lifetime we've had all along
Buying fate
While fate laughs and leaves us all alone
Buck up girl and be glad you were not born a boy
Wake up man and quit dreaming that you're born a god
Currently Listening :
Angel Dust
By Faith No More
Release date: By 16 June, 1992
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27 Mar 2007
Peter O'Tool sucks
Meryl Streep sucks. Madonna sucks. Ashton Kutcher sucks. Demi Moore kinda sucks. Jane Fonda rocks sometimes but sucks ass the rest. Brittany Murphy sucks. Lord of the Rings sucks immensely as a movie trilogy. Michael Moore sucks. Paul McCartney has sucked for a while. Jamie Lee Curtis sucks. Peaches sucks. Grrl rock sucks in general. Jenny McCarthy sucks. Val Kilmer sucks. The Warchowski brothers suck. And Pi still sucks no matter how much I try to like it.
Currently Watching :
David Lean Boxed Set (Lawrence of Arabia/The Bridge on the River Kwai, Widescreen Editions)
Release date: By 29 August, 1995
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26 Mar 2007
A poem for my cat
A pillowcase denizen
Claws of four, eight, ten and then
The runt of the litter
A hisser and spitter
Tossed to the trash so we got to get her
I have your teeth dug deep in my arm
But that was always the charm
My girl
If I remember, I was just three
You grew up so much faster than me
Tearing new tracks up the family tree
I remember the hammock
Rocking back with the yowl of a cat
And a flurry and you were gone
My girl
Furious for powder made dust clouds in the air
A cat with no fleas and matted, white hair
Ears laid flat back
You hissed and you spat
But soon the track changed
My girl
Life ended changing in distance and time
Dug into deep south with bulldawgs on the mind
We'll stay still for now just to keep you from cars
Large as you get from staying indoors
We got you a yard didn't we?
Eventually
My girl
Hefty as a bag, we could drag you along
But you kept your four legs stable and strong
Despite new cards from the deck being drawn
You're the queen bitch
And best not forget
My girl
Little tiny invasion with not many brains
Brazen on toes and slightly insane came
And broke the daze
But you blazed on through
And did as you do
My girl
Finally seventeen and skinny
Bitch's bark now gone more personality winning
A purr gets a pet and you've not many left
A few last days of love as the time had been set
You knew, through your actions
It was time to go
So you walked to the forest
We watch out the door
My girl
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25 Mar 2007
R.I.P. Tippy the cat
Tippy died day before yesterday. She walked into the woods and never came out. She was 17, I think. And that's all there is to say about that.
Goodbye Miss Tip. You'll be missed.
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Los Angeles --or-- Radio is Dead
Category: Writing and Poetry
They say that women were a curse on the land
So they cruised along in caravans
Chancing for a spot of gold on the horizon
The sun they saw was the City of Angels
They sent out their men, boys poised to build a monument
Walled with light and glory spent
They dug in their high heels, squealing the bandwagon to a halt
Here their fancy boots made roots to keep the world together at the fault
The Big Shake wasn't to take their debut
Starlets drifted down, dancing on sandbags and rafters
They counted a half-dozen
Actresses with silent laughter pirouetting on a pinhead
Seamed and sewn together in silver
Beams bouncing off blank canvass with fame that makes like money
Running cups over in nonsense that tastes like wine
The angels turned their back to God with one finger up
"That's where you can stick it." Said she with the heart full of love
The sting lingered for a moment or more
But before better steps could be chosen among others
The clouds chained the gates with rattling rain
Staining them with alkylides and misery
The men below looked up to the glow of sunlight
Squinting to glimpse up the skirts of their saviors
They waved dirty dollars like cheap Sunday pimps
"Be somebody" And always, sooner or later
They were
So they shorn their wings for a shot at top billing
While a wonder beat blood into clouds
He yelled as loud as His word
But nobody heard him
Because radio is dead
Currently Listening :
Another Day In Paradise: Music From The Larry Clark Film
By Various Artists
Release date: By 12 January, 1999
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For my hardships
I write stupid whiney shit almost every other day
I sigh and try to explain it in several different ways
I do it through bad poetry, I do it with a blog
I write cryptic and artistically, I sing it now in song
I'm a whiney blogger with an emo-do
I'd like an online stalker just to complain to
Abstain from conversation, I've some fat to chew
Because my life is hard and I'm much smarter than you
Long days ahead and I'll tell you for real
There's no stopping me and there is no appeal
Because melancholy bullshit has a world to reveal
It's my bread and butter, yeah my favorite meal
I'm a whiney blogger with an emo-do
I'd like an online stalker just to complain to
Abstain from conversation, I've some fat to chew
Because my life is hard and I'm much smarter than you
My mommy and my daddy pay me to stay alive
And not go veering off the road when I'm on 285
Though people would be cheering when I go for that drive
Until then I'll have to cheese you with a glass full of whine
I'm a whiney blogger with an emo-do
I'd like an online stalker just to complain to
Abstain from conversation, I've some fat to chew
Because my life is hard and I'm much smarter than you
I got an education and too much time on my hands
So I'll recite my revelations to anyone who can stand
So come and sing the chorus, you're a part of the band
They can't do nothing for us so let's all stand and chant
I'm a whiney blogger with an emo-do
I'd like an online stalker just to complain to
Abstain from conversation, I've some fat to chew
Because my life is hard and I'm much smarter than you
Teh done
Currently Listening :
Both Sides of the Brain
By Del tha Funkee Homosapien
Release date: By 11 April, 2000
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Pulling point on potty patrol
PULLING POINT ON POTTY PATROL
Autopsy tour for Anna Nicole. I mean, I could've cared less if she died but what the hell?! Watched Ebert (Replaced by some attractive lady name Kim Morgan) and Roeper. Really?! Geezus. I hate everything, I can't even find the words to talk about it.
"BIBBITS AND THE NOD" or… "JONESIN' FOR A GIRL NAMED L__"
N-n-n-n-nerves d-d-dancing
Rap tap on top my b-b-brain
N-n-n-n-nerves t-t-turning
t-t-t-to someone/thing i-i-i-i-i
please baby.
W-w-w-w-what's my name?
She t-t-t-touched me
Or him or w-w-who or…
What's going on?
M-m-m-my parts
b-b-b-been broken
M-m-m-my heart's long gone
B-b-b-but b-b-b-baby
Why why why you tell me so
When I kn-n-n-now
I know nothing 'cept
I-i-i-i blown it long ag-g-go-go-go
D-d-dopin' on dead thoughts of love
Despite the following paragraphs, Miami is a beautiful place. It's like everything was an excavation site of fancy hotels, unearthed from four decades of beach sand to make a safe-haven for Frankie, the rat pack and their broads. It's old school Vegas without the gambling or free drinks. Our bathroom has a hot tub in it.
This vacation was supposed to be relaxing, but unfortunately all it's done is allow me an opportunity to think without distraction. This may seem silly, but averting myself from the world is the only way to keep me regular. I am going crazy trying to make friends with the random people around here. Friendliness is practically a character flaw with massive throngs of prepubescents sitting in circles and asking "are you a cop" of a guy with blue fucking hair.
Maybe it's just the east coast, but these people make me feel like the world should fucking burn. Malignancy is not a word, but a veritable state of mind.
How do you circumcise a redneck?
Kick his sister in the chin.
Conversations go like this (and yes, I am quoting exactly):
"Hey are there any interesting local brews around here?"
"No."
Bartender hands me a 43.50 tab (with included gratuity) for a total of one bloody mary, one jack daniels double, and one beer.
"Hey kids, can I chill with you guys?"
"How do we know we can trust you?"
"What? Um… I guess the fact that I'm not a cop and I have blue hair. Want some whiskey?"
(secluded whispering amongst group)
"Sorry, we go to church."
… !?what?! …
I see 2 guys. One carrying a basket, one with a flashlight on his head.
"Hey guys, whatcha looking for?"
"Flatfish."
"Flatfish? Fuckin' a. What for?"
"Fuck off cabrone" (spelling on that one is probably off)
This pretty much extends itself into every attempt at conversation I've made in Miami. I feel like a tool but I don't know… Jesus. Am I really that terrible to say hello to?
As a result, I went around looking for any beach merchandise not tied down and switched the hotels they belonged to. Didn't solve much but it felt better. It sucked not being able to deny the bartender a tip for his pissiness. He made a shitty ass bloody mary too.
I think I should quit drinking and smoking and start doing heroine. At least then there's some honesty in the community surrounding. No pretence of truthfulness with dope. A very American drug. It lies straight to your face and digs itself burrows in your veins.
I'm falling in love with almost every beautiful woman I see. Maybe it's the lack of clothing around here, but spring has definitely taken a hold of my brain.
That isn't the point though. Not at all. I realize I just want to be recognized in the same way I recognize them. I want to be wanted as egotistical as I know it is. I want to be wanted by someone I want just as much. I want to be on a level with who I desire. Which is virtually any skinny girl with a good story and eyes that don't remind me of mine.
Seriously. She can bitch and moan and spend my money as long as she cares. And has lots of good sex. Full of good sex, caring and reasonably intelligent. I can deal with the rest for the most part.
Oh, and she has to shave her legs and armpits. And she can't be into grrl rock. But these are discussion points to come up after all of the good sex obviously.
I think the only person I'll ever have loved is Caitlin. The part of me that could believe in emotional sincerity left a while after she did. Slowly but surely, the experiences separate themselves into a mass of unsatisfactory moments with myself as the star of the asshole parade and her as… well, back then I thought she was perfect. I was a tool, but if I was still who I was then at least I could quit pretending I was okay and be miserable when I needed to be. I didn't know what about, but I used to let myself just be miserable for a while. I felt miserable until I could be happy for a few beautiful, cleansing inhales of life. And then…
One track mind. Having dreams occasionally. Nebuchadnezzar broke the bottle in the bonfire and our ship burned burned burned burned.
The bathwater here is green before I get into it. I got to wash my ass with a bidet for the first time, it makes pooping fun.
I need to leave here. Not just Georgia-here but the east coast-here. And is it's the world that's the matter, then fuck it. I'll become the worst thing it has ever fucking seen. This country is a manufactory of villains. There is no choice but money. Just a bunch of white guys grabbing eachothers' dicks for a size comparison.
No wonder fratboys play bagtag and get business majors.
I'll write something bitchy to fix everything. You may now call me the dimestore savior. I'll give you a Tylenol for your tumor and pour whiskey with a straight-razored vein
I swear, I can make movies. And if I can't, I'll die trying.
LATER ON THAT WEEK
It's my grandmother's 90th birthday celebration and one of the first major family reunions we've ever had. My job is to be as absolutely weird as possible so that I can maybe, just maybe, not have anyone ask me about my fucking hair again.
It's great seeing everyone, though. Relatives I can't even classify and most of them entertaining out the bejeezus.
Saw 300. If that movie had lost every last attempt at dialogue, then it would have been perfect. Don't try and start acting when your movie's strong points revolve around dismemberment and arterial spray.
So much good beer. I am averaging 9 or so a day or tasty tasty wonderbrew. My body is not happy with me.
Currently Watching :
Run Lola Run
Release date: By 06 June, 2000
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08 Mar 2007
This makes me feel funny inside
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05 Mar 2007
I cant think of any good titles for things.
Jesus don't care, expecially about Britain
"Good God!" I exclaimed
Naming the blameless but always the blamed
Little has happened, everything changed
Perspectives particular to the size of the shame
No need look away from an invisible grief
To the death of the insect who lay underneath
Boogie Men
"Never ever never ever never ever!"
She shook her hair in golden parades
The waves trickling down to tickle her neck
beneath her
soft... soft....
Silk gown.
She says "no."
Yes?
Some shpeel about guns and stuff
Upon the conclusion of a vicious gun-battle of some sort or another:
Tissue surrounding the immediate area of a gunshot wound can seizure at such a speed that its movement is invisible to the human eye.
HE POKES ONE OF THE WOUNDS WITH THE END OF A LARGE FIELD KNIFE
The trauma inflicted by such a fierce, foreign and unexpected type of threat is almost impossible for the human body to cope with on any significant level. The destructive force of an exit wound is much more severe, however...
THERE IS GROANING AS HE STRESSES, ROLLING THE BODY OVER ON ITS SIDE
as the bullet has undergone many of a series of possible changes in its travels through the human body.
HE TAPS THE BROKEN WALL OF THE EXIT WOUND AT THE LOWER LEFT OF THE BODY'S BACK
It typically bursts the shell of musculature impeding its outward path from the target. But despite this level of ballistic carnage, the biology of a human being will allow a target to live for quite a long time after the incursion of such an injury.
HE PICKS UP A SHOTGUN FROM BESIDE THE BODY WHICH IS NOW BEGINNING TO STRUGGLE WEAKLY
One must disenfranchise themselves from the damage they cause or learn to enjoy it.
HE PLACES THE ENTIRE BARREL OF THE SHOTGUN INTO THE BODY'S EXIT-WOUND
Are you enjoying the pain now, Victor?
VICTOR SCREAMS AND EXPLODES FROM THE INSIDE AS THE SHOTGUN BARREL IS FORCED INTO HIS CHEST CAVITY AND IS DISCHARGED.
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03 Mar 2007
$XXX$
Okay, now I've not seen a television program outside of a drinking establishment in almost three or so months now. But did anyone know there's an erotic home shopping network? It has to be the funniest thing I've ever seen.
My dad drinks terrible booze. I want something better to steal.
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02 Mar 2007
So I AM an american.
If anyone needs me I'll be in Atlanta - that phantom from the past. Last place expected but necessary and definately a very unnerving position to be in. I hate this place and yet return again and again. necessity moslty but maybe just a toasty warm place to stick my toes for a night or two beofre they turn frozen blue. I don't know. Free cable.
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01 Mar 2007
Notes on a haircut I didn't have today (or... P.S. Roger, has the swelling gone down?)
Clip clip clip clip. Nothing more terrifying
Than the sound of scissors
A crisp sheath of sound
Sharp as the steel of its teeth
Snip snip...
I feel like I'm gonna get whacked.
Currently Listening :
Neon Golden
By The Notwist
Release date: By 25 February, 2003
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28 Feb 2007
Buggery
Intense amount of bad things happening that are really not much within my control. Call me and leave messages. My phone will be off for the week. Also, Cunninglynguist show on friday night in atlanta. So fucking stoked. Leave messages. Seriously. I need to keep myself away from people to make sure this necessary bullshit attitude passes over private life. Leave messages. I will not be answering calls.
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25 Feb 2007
Addendum
And also, it's not that I'm ignoring you. My hearing is just shit and I haven't had a decent pair of glasses in ages. Plain and simple, my body is making sure that all I can do is best guess at a muffled voice and blurred face. And then I start drinking. I feel mean for being sensibly defective.
I've been going through my terrible CDs today. A whole spindle of bad taste that came before I heard "Kid A" playing in my sister's bedroom. Oh my god, was it beautiful. That album turned me onto music like Fight Club turned me on to movies. Anyway, the bad CDs include:
SOUNDTRACKS: Last Action Hero, Can't Hardly Wait, Wayne's World II, End of Days (fucking rediculously terrible Gov movie. I decided to buy the DVD for a dollar), Killer Kuts: the killer instinct soundtrack, Command and Conquer: Red Alert, both the Mortal Kombat movies and like 9 different Star Wars things.
Wow... that's... pretty bad.
Movies! Come watch them with me! Everyone is invited! I like watching movies!
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Good show so-so. crowds make T.O. go "woah..."
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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24 Feb 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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21 Feb 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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20 Feb 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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