Jack comes to on the floor of his apartment kitchen. His tie is untied and hanging off. There is an empty bottle of whiskey and a plate of half eaten sesame chicken and spaghetti by his head. His head hurts really bad. He gets up and dusts himself off and picks up a piece of cold chicken and bites into it.
ELLIOT! ARE YOU ALIVE?
Elliot wakes up in his bed, in similar rough shape as Jack. He sits up and shakes his head back and forth. He blinks his eyes and for a split half second he sees someone in a suit standing in front of him but he blinks and the image is gone.
JACK I AM ALIVE AND NOT WELL.
From downstairs: ME NEITHER. WE GOT HAMMERED DRUNK.
YEAH WE DID.
DID YOU DRIVE HOME?
I DON'T REMEMBER. I DON'T REMEMBER MUCH.
YOU MADE CHICKEN. IT IS PRETTY GOOD.
I WILL BE DOWN IN A FUCKING MINUTE. STOP TALKING TO ME.
FUCK YOU.
Elliot gets out of bed and stretches. His head throbs and aches. He feels like he is going to be sick. He thinks about it for a second, looks up, and runs into the bathroom to throw up.
Jack finally stands up, still eating some chicken. He feels like there is something weird. The air feels different. It is morning but the outside looks a little more dark and cloudy than usual. Whatever, he thinks.
He walks into the living room and stops dead in his tracks. Right above their television set up, there is a silent swirling whirlpool that keeps changing colors, moving at an incredible speed. There are formless and inhuman claws around the rim of the hole. The little claws are pulsating back and forth like a heart beat. Jack cocks his head and examines it. He takes another bite of chicken.
HEY ELLIOT.
Elliot lifts his head up from the toilet.
MOTHERFUCKER YOU KNOW I HATE HAVING CONVERSATIONS ON DIFFERENT FLOORS, I WILL BE DOWN IN A MINUTE!
I THINK YOU NEED TO GET DOWN HERE. SOMETHING WEIRD IS GOING ON.
OH CHRIST.
Elliot cleans his mouth off with a piece of toilet paper and stumbles up off the floor.
He comes down stairs.
Where are you fuckin at Jack?
I'm in the living room.
Elliot walks in and looks at Jack, who is just staring at the hole in the wall. Elliot follows his stare to the same thing. Elliot blankly looks at it, trying to figure out what the fuck it is.
What the fuck is that?
I don't know.
Did you get close to it?
Hell no, I don't want to get sucked into it.
Well, what do we do?
Shit man I don't know.
Do you remember this being here before you passed out?
No. Do you?
No but I don't really remember anything about last night.
You made some chicken. It's really good.
Oh yeah? What kind?
Sesame.
Mmm. Is there any left in there?
I don't know, I didn't look. I woke up on the kitchen floor and there was a plate right beside me. Then I got up, came in here, and saw that black hole looking thing, so, there may be some chicken in there.
Elliot shrugs and walks into the kitchen. Jack follows.
***
When they enter the kitchen a man in a suit is standing there. His forehead looks to be slighter larger then a normal persons and he is bald. His skin is an odd greenish color. He is smirking and looking down, although his eyes are looking straight at the two guys.
Jack is startled. He throws his chicken at the guys forehead.
GET OUT OF HERE FREAK!
The man doesn't respond. Elliot thinks that he looks familiar, but can't remember where he saw him...
Hello gentlemen, my name is Melvin. Please do not be startled.
Melvin's voice is comforting and menacing at the same time. Elliot is reminded of Vincent Price when he speaks.
Jack is all ready to fight this guy.
Nah. Fuck dat. Get out of our house alien.
I am no alien. I am a Representative of the Metaphysical Council.
Elliot asks what that is.
I am afraid that those words are the closest your mind can get to understanding who we are and what we do. Think of me as, well, an Investigator.
Where do you come from?
The other side of the universe. Another dimension. A place beyond sound and light.
Jack lunges after Melvin. Elliot holds him back.
Calm down Jack, jesus he isn't trying to hurt us.
I don't like him!
Melvin remains calm.
I have to insist on you behaving and cooperating with me. I am afraid the fate of the physical world that you inhabit may or may not be at stake.
Fuck.
***
Melvin sits down at the table in the kitchen. Jack and Elliot do the same. Melvin interlocks his fingers and rests them on his chin. He has a very sophisticated demeanor about him.
I am going to attempt to explain this to the best of your comprehension. Please try to keep up.
Jack and Elliot both look at him with the same blank hung over confused expression.
Allrighty then. Like I mentioned previously, My name is Melvin, and when there is a small tear in the fabric of space, time, and the universe they send beings such as I to come investigate and hopefully repair said disturbances.
They both nod.
Sometime last evening, inside your location of residence, a topological rift in the fabric of your dimension was somehow opened, creating a small, how would you say, a wormhole in your world.
Jack has no idea what the hell Melvin is saying. Elliot understands a little bit.
So your saying we have a black hole in our living room?
Not a black hole, per say. The hole in your living room will not suck anything into it. Items can be passed through, but it is incapable of suction. The rift does however alter the reality of whatever end of the universe it opens up at.
Jack thinks. The air when he woke up...hmm...
That is why I am here. I may be able to close the rift up, but the changes to your plain be altered forever. I am here to investigate thoroughly.
Jack snaps again. Fuck dat!
Melvin ignores him.
Elliot raises his hand.
You can just speak, Elliot.
How do we know what has changed? Everything looks normal. Everything feels normal. I still woke up with a hangover.
Well sometimes the effects can be as huge as a catastrophic event, such as total cataclysmic destruction of time itself, to something as small as physical perception or societal and cultural norms.
How do we tell?
I recommend the television.
***
The three of them return to the living room. Elliot sits down and turns on the television. Jack stands beside Melvin and mean mugs him. Melvin motions him to sit down.
You don't fucking tell me mutant!
Jack, please just sit down.
Fine!
Jack sits down. Melvin sits down beside him. All three on the couch together in a very uncomfortable sight.
Elliot slips through the channels. At first everything seems the same. Commercials of fast food places. Talk shows. He flips to the Today show and Melvin informs him to stop there.
Why here? I can't stand the today show. It has gone to shit ever since Katie Couric left.
Jack chuckles. Yeah Katie Couric is smoking hot.
Both of you be silent and watch.
The host stands in the studio. Her smile looks a little too big for her mouth, but the guy figure it is just the TV. She starts to speak and the first word comes out in a satanic growl that fades after the first syllable. It grabs Elliot and Jack's attention.
Today on Today we have a special piece on fashion. But fashion for the young ones! The top designers from around the world have made special fashionable clothes for the young ones, and we just have the cutest little sweethearts from around the nation on the model these new and exciting clothes!(applause) Our first little mini-model is Charles, from Washington D.C! He is wearing a three stunning three piece suit made by
Argenio Danies from Paris! Come on out Charles.
Charles walks out from behind a curtain. He is a little black boy. He is very excited and adorable. He is wearing a nice black suit. The only thing odd is that a small baby arm is growing out of the top of his head, waving around as he walks on the little run way.
Jack and Elliot's eyes almost explode.
Very cute, Charles. You can get this stunning suit on Danies website for only 700 dollars if you go in and order it within the next half hour! Our next little bunyan is named Trisha, and she is from Chicago, wearing a gorgeous velvet dress from elusive designer Claudette Verginstein.
Little Trisha walks out in her blue velvet dress. And just like Charlie, she has a small baby arm waving from the top of her forehead.
Jack screams what the fuck is wrong with their heads!
Well it looks like they got a fucking little arm coming out of their heads.
Shut up Elliot.
Melvin speaks.
This is not as bad as it could of been.
Not as bad, little kids have a third arm on their face!
Please turn to another channel.
Elliot switches it to another station.
There are a line of skanky looking hooker looking girls standing in a row. In front of them is a long haired rocker guy.
Tonight, I will choose one of you to be my love. Whoever I give this rose to will be my new soul mate.
He takes out a guitar and sings a song.
I have been searching for so long, everything has gone so wrong, everything is black and white, but I know I will find love tonight.
Some of the girls start tearing up. Others smile and nod their heads. He puts his guitar down. He then pulls out a meat cleaver and throws it down in front of the girls. They all start jumping up and down and screaming in excitement.
the one left standing with the newest flesh will come with me forever to become one with our future BEASTS.
One girl with huge extensions and fake lips and fake breasts picks up the cleaver and starts trying to saw her breast off. She only takes a chunk out before another shank takes the cleaver away from her and cuts the first ones throat. She puckers up her lips and cuts them off, throwing them at the rock star. He nods his head as if she just blew him a kiss. The other girls start clawing at each other and kicking and biting and pulling hair out and blood is being splashed in the air. It looks like some kind of roman blood orgy. After a while the cleaver gets thrown into the crowd and the blood bath gets bigger and louder and worse.
Jack and Elliot's eyeballs almost explode.
Melvin tells them they can turn the TV off now.
It is silent for a few moments until Jack breaks it.
That is actually not the worst reality show I have ever seen.
Elliot nods in agreement. Yeah me neither.
Melvin stands up in front of him.
Well the good news is that it seems the alteration have been of the societal and cultural kind, which is reassuring. Now we must close this...
The doorbell rings.
Elliot grunts.
It is probably Paul. You answer the door Jack.
Fuck you.
I answered the door last time and it was awkward. I am not getting it.
Fine. I'm not either.
He is just going to keep ringing the bell until you get the fucking door.
Jesus fine I will open the door. Make sure he doesn't see Vincent fucking Price here.
Really? You think he sounds like Vincent Price? That's exactly what I thought!
No way.
Way man.
They bump fists.
Melvin looks irritated.
***
Jack opens the door.
Paul is not standing there. He is floating there. There is a golden glow surrounding him and he looks Zen and Christ like.
Hello Jack.
Jack doesn't really look interested.
Hey Paul what is up.
I woke up today and felt the universe inside me.
Ok...
I can see all living things at the same time. I feel atoms die. I am one with the
life stream. Do you see.
Um, yeah Paul, I see. That is pretty cool.
I can see your truth. I can see my future. They are all connected and all the same.
Neat. Well listen man we got some company so I better get back...
So in the eye of your own creation you would deny me?
I am not denying shit Paul. I see you. I am, um, happy for you. I just need to get
back to my guest, all right? Stop by later or something.
Later will cease to be now, which is happening in the past.
Okie dokie see you later.
Jack slams the door on Infinite Paul.
***
What was that about?
Oh nothing, Paul was just talking some bullshit.
So what can we do Melvin?
Well it would help if you gentlemen recounted every step you made before falling asleep.
Jack and Elliot look at each other.
Um that may be a problem.
Why?
Considering I woke up on the kitchen floor with a plate of chicken and an empty bottle of whiskey, my memory isn't that great on last night.
Yeah me neither.
Melvin looks even more irritated.
Well what can you recall?
I remember being at the bar, drinking mad Jamesons on the rocks, chatting with some cute girls.
Elliots eyes light up.
Oh shit I forgot about them!
He pulls out his cellphone.
Look man we got numbers!
Focus gentlemen.
Jack continues.
Ok, i remember now that Elliot drove home, which he shouldn't of done, I admit that.
Yeah! That's right, we came home and you said you were hungry, so I made some food!
You made some chicken! And it was great!
And while I was making food, you turned on the TV. And the stereo!
That's right! And it was loud as fuck!
Melvin's eyes perk up.
Now this is really important. Can you remember what song was on the stereo and what show was on television?
Jack thinks really hard.
Um...Ok! I remember! I put on King Crimson, In the Court of King Crimson.
Elliot fake coughs.
What was that about?
I hate your fucking prog music.
Shut your mouth Elliot! Don't ever talk about the King that way!
Focus, you ingrates!
Ok.. and I think I was watching, um...
You put on the old Doctor Who episodes.
No I didn't.
Yeah you did. I called you a fucking nerd about it.
I would never watch that shit.
You watched it last night.
You lie.
You watch shitty nerd shows and listen to shitty nerd rock.
Fuck you!
Jack throws a pillow at Elliot's face. Elliot throws it back even harder. Jack stands up ready to wrestle Elliot.
Melvin's voice booms.
SIT DOWN!
Jack does as he is told but mumbles something under his breath.
So you listened to this King Crimson, and watched this Doctor who, and Elliot here made chicken.
Sesame chicken.
Hmm... Let me process the information.
Melvin puts his hands on his huge forehead. His eyes roll into the back of his head. Weird things start happening.
***
Suddenly everything in front of Jack and Elliot becomes pixilated like a cartoon or a video game. Block by block reality starts to deconstruct in front of them. The hole gets bigger and starts to warp in on itself. Time fast forward and backwards as two plates of time and space fold on to each other. Throughout all of this Jack and Elliot remain on the couch, eyes wide, but they stay the same. The earth is created and destroyed. They witness the answer to everything. Creation and death. All existential questions answered.
Time stops and starts again and Jack and Elliot are sitting on the same couch. Melvin is gone. The wormhole is gone. Jack and Elliot both look like their mind is blown.
Elliot gets up and stretches. Jack looks like he is trying to compute what he has just witnessed.
That was weird.
Yeah it was. Oh wait!
Elliot grabs the remote and turns on the TV back to the Today show. The fashion show is still going on, But the children no longer have arms on their heads.
Well I guess everything worked out in the end.
Jack nods. Yup. Everything worked out.
No loose ends. That is the important thing.
Nope. Everything is wrapped up nice and tidy.
They stare at each other confused for a very long time.
Unless you have any questions.
Nope.
I do.
What?
Why the fuck do you watch Doctor Who? That show sucks and every one besides nerd like it.
Jack jumps up and tackles Elliot. They start wrestling on the floor.
***
Outside Paul is still hovering, watching molecules and light dance around him, in pure bliss, a God among mortal men.
End, Part Two.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
music, more wonderful soul apeasing music
i am hard at work at all kinds of Jello stories. they are the best things i have ever written and shit gets weird. but until then how about some tunes:
i am on a major daft punk kick this week. this song is the best.
i fucking love that song!!!!
i am also on a major mastodon kick. check out this guitar riff:
epic indie rock time! these guys are called surfers blood:
hey everyone, remember that band i cant shut the fuck up about? magnetic fields? well they have a new album out this week and spoiler alert, it is pretty great. this is the first song off of it:
also, my love, my women, the harp playing pixie joanna newsom is releasing a new album at the end of february. this is the first song she released off of it, i think it came out monday:
if there are five better songs you can come up with, then fuck you. i dont believe you.
next up is a tale about Jack and Elliot and wormholes. it is very funny and gory. stay tuned.
i am on a major daft punk kick this week. this song is the best.
i fucking love that song!!!!
i am also on a major mastodon kick. check out this guitar riff:
epic indie rock time! these guys are called surfers blood:
hey everyone, remember that band i cant shut the fuck up about? magnetic fields? well they have a new album out this week and spoiler alert, it is pretty great. this is the first song off of it:
also, my love, my women, the harp playing pixie joanna newsom is releasing a new album at the end of february. this is the first song she released off of it, i think it came out monday:
if there are five better songs you can come up with, then fuck you. i dont believe you.
next up is a tale about Jack and Elliot and wormholes. it is very funny and gory. stay tuned.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
The Dead Things That God Made Part One: The Death of Jay Grinning
Jack and Elliot walk down the street in downtown somewhere. It is the middle of the day and the sky is overcast and everything is dark and grey. Jack is in his mid-twenties, dark hair and dark features, tall, wears a tie and a nice suit most of the time, and is smoking a cigarette. His friend and roommate Elliot is very average joe looking, shorter and less dark looking then Jack. They are both the same age. He has short light brown hair and genuinely looks cheerful and nonchalant compared to Jack. It is cold outside and the tall buildings are trapping in the air. They both look freezing.
Suddenly Elliot's eyes get big and he snaps his fingers.
Holy shit Jack, I completely forgot to tell you!!
What?
Jay Grinnings died last night.
Jay? Shit man, your shitting me. What happened?
Fucking drug overdose, what do you think.
What did he overdose on?
I don't know. I know he was into oxys real band for a long time.
Jack puff his cigarette and somberly shakes his head.
That's a real shame. Jay was a goofy fuck but he was a nice guy.
Yeah I know. Remember when he got suspended for throwing pudding at the lunch monitor?
Yeah that was some funny shit.
You know what is going to be really shitty?
Huh.
Jamie Ormes just broke up with him a couple months ago.
Oh jesus christ.
Yup. I can't wait to hear this drama parade.
Oh dear lord. She is going to milk every ounce of sympathy she can from it.
We will never hear the end of it.
Fucking Jamie. Never liked her.
Anyway Greg called me and said they are all getting together tonight at his house for a little party for him.
I guess I should show up. All of the people that live there are so fucking shady.
I know, but hey, we grew up with these guys.
Well fuck, how much money do you got on you Elliot?
I got about 7 bucks and some change.
Perfect! I got 7 bucks!
What are you saying?
We can get a ten dollar bottle of cheap tequila and some beer and go to this party and get fucking hammered.
Ugh. Why tequila? Why the worst of the worst?
Where is the nearest liquor store?
There is no liquor store downtown.
Shit.
We are going to have to cross the bridge. It's cheaper over there any way.
What time is that party?
I don't know, I think people have been there all day.
Ok, let us go get some devil sauce and celebrate the short and sad life of our friend Jay.
***
The two walk and walk across the city. The wind is cutting their skin to pieces with its frigidness. They cross a huge bridge that leads them into another state. They are the only ones on the bridge besides a homeless man walking the opposite direction. He is very old and dirty and he is pushing a shopping cart. When Jack and Elliot get close to the man he blocks the walkway with his cart. He smiles a big wide toothless smile. His eyes are blood red for some reason. Jack and Elliot just stare at him without much of a reaction.
Excuse me sir, could you please get the fuck out of the way. Jack snaps.
The old man tips his head back and laughs.
You boys see the death rattle more than any other jack rabbit can jump!
The man starts shaking his arms and legs in some weird vibrating dance.
Man, listen, we need to get some fuckin booze. We don't have time for your crazy. And we don't have any change.
The old man is humming and vibrating his arms and legs and doing a weird vibrating dance in a circle. Elliot tries to move his cart and the man stops it with his foot.
The old man starts singing.
Oh lord gonna come back from the sun, lord gonna make us number one, the child of the dark will be unborn, and dance with the until the resurrection is worn!
Jack lets out an annoyed grunt.
The only thing worse than a crazy is a bible beating crazy. Man, get the fuck out of the way!
Jack takes the cart and pushes it towards the man. He knocks him down. They both rush over to help him.
Jesus I didn't mean to hurt the guy...
Jack and Elliot help the smiling man get up. The man is still singing all the while.
Oh lord tell the children don't be afraid, let them watch their brothers arise from pain, and the hollow man who dances will sing, lord let your love and light shall bring!
Jack and Elliot watch the man for a few seconds more, both shrug and walk past him. Elliot shakes his head.
That is so sad.
Poor fuck.
***
The man stops dancing when they walk away. He smiles even wider and takes out an old cowboy hat from his cart. He watches the two walk off the bridge and out of sight. He gives them a salute and nods his head. The old man, still smiling, jumps on top of the rail that separates the bridge and the river. He joyously jumps off it to his death.
***
They get off the bridge and cross the street to the cheap and clunky looking liquor store. Elliot says that he can't believe it.
Why not? How many people do we know have died from the same shit around here?
I know but it still kind of bums me out.
I don't know, I guess I sort of got numb about it.
Oh fuck!
What?
I bet Jenny will be there tonight!
Damn I haven't seen her in a long time.
She has been sending me emails and shit. I think she wants me back. Me and her never ended on bad terms.
So I guess you are so upset by Jay's death that you are going to hook up with some girl you used to go out with at his memorial party?
Yeah why not? Isn't that what Jay would of wanted?
***
They walk into the liquor store and scan the bottom shelf, where all of the cheap shit is. Jack finds a cheap bottle of tequila and goes Ah Ha! This shall do the trick! Go over there and grab a six pack, will ya?
Elliot crosses the store and passes the register desk, where an overweight and bearded guy is stomping on something on the ground. He looks up at Elliot, who has stopped to stare at him, stops stomping for a second, and looks back down and continues. Elliot shrugs and walks over to the beer cooler and pulls out a six pack. He meets Jack at the desk. The fat man ignores them for a few seconds. Jack coughs loudly. The fat man lunges at the register, sweaty, eyes and face looking like some caged animal.
WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?
Jack doesn't flinch. Or seem to care about the sweaty outburst. Elliot's eyes get big.
I want you to ring me out my fucking booze.
FUCK YOU MOTHERFUCKER.
Hey, there is no need for that.
I WILL FUCK WHAT I WANT.
Ok...
WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT ANYTHING? YOU AND YOUR FAGGOT FRIEND FUCK HIM TOO!
Elliot looks offended.
Hey don't call me a faggot!
Wow this crazy bastard is perceptive.
Elliot punches Jack in the arm. Jack chuckles and punches him back. The man behind the counter yells even louder.
DON'T FUCKING HURT EACH OTHER IN HERE! DON'T TOUCH HIM.
The two guys just stare at him blankly. Jack slowly pulls out his cash. Elliot does the same. They both put the money on the counter. Elliot takes the booze and walks out. Jack stays there and stares.
Listen bud, all of the money is there. You can keep the change. Use it to buy some benadryl or something. You are tweaking the fuck out.
I WILL TELL YOU WHAT.
What?
IT USE TO BE A LOT EASIER AROUND HERE. EVERYTHING DIDN'T USE TO BE SO SAD.
Jack laughs in agreement. I hear that buddy, I hear that. You have a nice day with your stomping and what not.
FUCKING DIE MOTHERFUCKER!
Jack shrugs and walks out and meets Elliot.
***
So how are we getting over to Greg's house?
I don't know. I guess I can drive.
Man that sucks.
Why?
Because I hate it when you drive. You are either worried about driving the whole night so you don't have as good of a time or you get fucking hammered and drive us home and risk our lives. Drunk driving is no good.
Well what do you want to do then, Jack?
I guess you can drive.
I will drink right when I get there and then sober up a couple hours before we leave.
Who knows, maybe I'll end up going home with Jenny.
And leave me to drive home? Fuck.
We will figure it out. You ask too many fucking questions. Jesus, always asking what we are doing and how and what and why and who and shut the fuck up, jesus.
Fine.
They walk back the way they came.
***
They return to their apartment. It is an old house that is split into two sides. Jack and Elliot live on one side while a single business man who reminds them of Ned Flanders lives next to them. His name is Paul and he is outside getting his mail when the guys come home. He smiles a big white yuppie smile and waves very excitedly.
Hey guys? How's it hanging!
Jack ignores him and walks right into the house, leaving Elliot to fend for himself.
Elliot tries to fake a smile but it barely works.
Hey Paul what is up.
Nothing much pal, just getting the mail. These stinking bills, you know what I mean!!
Paul lets out a cheesy laugh that makes Elliot grimace in irritation.
Well all right man you take it easy.
You too! Don't party too hard!
He laughs again.
Elliot all but runs into the house and locks every single lock on the door.
I swear, Jack, that man has a whole fridge full of bodies. He scares the shit out of me!
Jack is on the couch, flipping through the channels.
He is a nice guy. Just a little too, I don't know, enthusiastic.
He is a creepy fucking guy and I am on to him!
Elliot runs up stairs. Jack leans back and flips on the television. There is a show on called Runaway Ankle Destroying Capitalism.
When the going gets tough the heart of the nation gets running. Dance more average, and be more agile!
Fast clips show a horse being whipped by a circus trainer, a monkey throwing feces at tourists at a zoo, little kids sliding down a slide, and a parade with hundreds of elderly veterans.
Jack yawns.
Every year we get closer to our mark, but this year the tide will turn over to America. Invest. Spend. Be. Just Be.
An old man with a nice suit on standing behind a podium. He starts laughing a menacing laugh and his face begins to melt.
Jack changes the channel to a blind dating reality show. He looks at his watch.
***
Elliot is changing his shirt in his room. He stops and looks in the mirror. He sighs a deep and heavy sigh. He starts to think about his friend Jay. He thinks about how he fell out of contact with him, and how long it had been since he had talked to him. Could I have done anything different somewhere along the way, even a little bit, that could of changed the situation for this poor prick?
No, not really. I know what this town means and I know what it is all about. Jay was nice and sweet natured but he was an idiot. He spent 75 percent of his life looking for drugs and then doing drugs. He made his bed and everything, but Jesus. Me and Jack have had to go to at least ten funerals since graduating high school five years ago. Ten of our classmates. Either a car crash or an overdose. Fuck. It happens so often I almost forgot to tell Jack about it. Are we any different in our constant and daily consumption of alcohol?
His eyes start to tear up a little bit. But he shakes his head and smacks his face.
Fuck it.
He charges on downstairs.
You ready to go man?
These blind date shows are so awkward.
Yeah I know. I can't stand shows that make me cringe.
Who would want to put themselves in situations like that?
The doorbell rings. Elliot goes to answer it. Paul is standing there with a six pack. Smiling wide.
Hey guys, just wandering if you wanted to drink a few brews and watch the game tonight?
Um, yeah, well, listen Paul we would love to, but we have to go this thing for a friend of ours. A friend that died.
Oh my Lord, well, I am sorry to hear that. I just thought since you guys are usually over here partying, maybe I could, well nevermind.
Hey man any other night, yeah for sure, but we are kind of on our way out the door.
I bought this beer and I really don't even drink it...
Well we can all drink it another time. Thanks anyway Paul.
Paul smiles and walks back to his front door, slowly and very awkwardly.
Elliot walks back into the living room. Jack asks him what that was all about.
Oh nothing. Stupid Paul wanting to hang out.
That is sad.
Poor fuck.
***
Elliot and Jack pull up to a small house with a lot of people playing beer pong on the front porch. elliot drives an old piece of shit Buick Oldsmobile. He sighs.
What?
Do you ever feel like people around here will use any excuse to throw a party? Jay just died last night. I mean, shouldn't everybody be mourning?
I don't know Elliot, who cares. What else do we have to do tonight? And I thought you were all excited because your crazy ex girlfriend was going to be here, what's her name...
Jenny. I don't care about her anymore
Jack senses that Elliot is depressed. He puts his hand on his shoulder.
Listen man, We are already here, so we have to at least go in. Let's check it out, say hi, talk to a few old friends, and if the place starts to bum you out too much then just come get me and we will leave on the spot, all right?
They have known each other for a very long time. They grew up together and went through a lot of shit between the two of them. Jack is the stronger of the two, and Elliot is prone to depression and impulsive behavior at odd times. Jack knows about Elliot's moods, how he will start talking about the end of the world, death, meaninglessness of life, and other morose things in front of anybody anywhere once he gets it in his head. And while Jack always thinks it is funny, he has had to save Elliot's ass more than a few times.
So buck up buddy, come on, we have death to mourn and tequila to drink!
Jack slaps Elliot on the back of the head.
All right fuck it let's go.
***
They walk up to porch and are greeted with a variety of JACK!! and ELLO ELLO ELLO!!!. They exchange hugs and handshakes for a good five minutes before they even make it in to the front door. The people there are various ages, mostly very young girls right out of high school.
Jack walks in first and the first thing he sees is Jamie, in the living room, weeping on the couch, with a crowd of her girlfriends surrounding her. She is holding a picture of Jay and caressing it with her finger. Her girlfriends rub her back and massage her shoulders and do what they can to appear 'there for her'. Jack thinks the whole scene looks disgusting. Jamie has always been nothing but a drama whore, and every tragedy or event that happens around this small town she finds a way to include herself into it.
Elliot walks up beside Jack and examines the scene as well.
I fucking told you. She is already milking it. I bet you five dollars she stops the party to give a big speech later on.
There is no way I am betting against that.
They walk into the kitchen where their friend Greg is fake swinging a baseball bat around for some pretty girls, trying to tell him how good his swing is, although it is obvious he has never played a sport in his life. His eyes light up when he sees the two.
Jack! Elliot! What the fuck is up guys?
He gives both of them big hugs. He is a skinny guy with long hippy hair and hippie clothes. He throws the bat down on the floor.
Man it's a bummer all have to meet up like this, but its rad to see you guys!
Elliot takes the tequila bottle out of Jack's hands, opens it, and starts chugging it like its water. Jack grabs it from him, pouring tequila down Elliots shirt. Elliot doesn't seem to notice or care. He grimaces in pain from the nasty cheap liquor. It is a quick and awkward scene. Jack smiles at Greg, who seems concerned about Elliot's behavior.
Yeah it's nice to see you too, Greg. Our friend Elliot here is just having a rough time dealing with things, you know.
Yeah man I feel ya. I thought, what would Jay want more than his dudes getting fucked up celebrating his life. You know how Jay was, ya know?
Elliot grabs a beer off the table and starts drinking it. Jack keeps talking to Greg.
Yeah I know. It is a real shock. You want to do a shot?
For sure man!
***
Elliot, Jack, Greg, and two young girls with their boobs popping out do a shot of tequila. And then another one. The party gets louder and drunker. In two hours time half of the bottle is gone. Elliot lightens up a little bit. Jack and Greg flirt with the two girls. Greg keeps trying too hard, and both of the girls are all over Jack.
Elliot is on the front porch playing beer pong when a females voice calls his name from behind.
Hey Elliot!
He turns around and it is Jenny, his ex. She is there with another guy, a guy Elliot knows and can't stand, Robert.
Hey Jenny what is up?
They exchange an awkward hug. Elliot shakes Rob's hand.
Rob how have you been?
Rob sighs. He is a very smart hipster type of guy whose sole purpose is compare how smart he is with everybody. Elliot has been looking for a reason to dislike this kid for years and now he found one.
Oh I guess I could be better, I am in my third year of English Literature and it really takes its toll, I am also..
No one gives a shit Rob.
Excuse me?
You guys want some fucking tequila?
Elliot grabs Jenny by her arm and drags her inside. Rob is left outside, confused and fuming.
Elliot drags her into the dining room table where the tequila has been moved to. Her pours two shots. Jenny smiles at him, a smile that is both angry and attracted.
That was rude.
I didn't know you and fucking Poindexter were an item, you forgot to mention that!
We are not dating, we have just been hanging out.
I hate that fucking guy.
You are drunk. And you are an asshole.
They both take their shots.
I was excited to see you, Jenny says.
Yeah I could tell by those emails.
Well don't get any ideas. I am here with Rob.
That fucking guy...
Don't be rude. He is my friend.
How can any woman date a fucking guy like that? with the smarminess and the snobbiness and the always talking about fucking books...
You love books.
But I don't talk about it all the time!
He reminds me of you sometimes, if you want to know the truth.
Oh fuck, why did you have to say that? Oh god.
He takes another swig from the bottle.
You are really drunk aren't you?
I am fucking working on it.
Jenny leans in and gives him a kiss on the cheek.
We will sit down and talk soon, ok? There is a lot that I want to say. I need to get back to Rob.
She leaves Elliot standing alone in the dining room. He smiles a bittersweet smile. Jack comes in, who is a lot more drunk then Elliot, surprisingly.
What was that about?
Jenny came with Rob.
Jack throws his beer bottle against the wall, shattering it.
What? That's it I am kicking his ass, I have wanted to kick his ass since he told on me for kicking him the balls in second grade, that motherfucker.
Nah, don't worry about it, it's ok.
Fuck you Mr. Positive! When we got here you were all 'aww i am going to cut my wrists waaa waaa' and now its all another, um way. fuck you!
You want another shot?
Yes fuckin sir!
***
As the boys finish their shots, Jamie calls everyone into the living room.
Everybody! Everybody outside! I have a few things I would like to say!
Jack and Elliot look at each other and both try to grab the bottle at the same time.
People slowly and quietly fill up the living room. Everyone looks high or drunk out of their minds. Jack and Elliot jump over the couch to sit on it. Jamie is standing right in front of them. There is already a person sitting at the end of the couch, and he has a hood up and his face cannot be seen. He is rocking back and forth.
Elliot is sitting closest to him. Elliot looks at the guy and gives him a drunk what the fuck look. He whispers to Jack.
Who is this guy sitting next to me?
Jack leans over and looks at the guy. Dark hoodie, rocking back and forth. Jack shrugs.
It looks like he is about to puke. I would be careful. Don't get to close.
Everyone sits down in the living room. Jamie is the only one standing and she loves it. She talks in between sniffles.
I don't know what to say, but this is the hardest thing i have ever have to go through...
She starts weeping. One of her friends stands up.
No, it's ok, I can do this.
The hooded kid sitting next to Elliot starts shaking his shoulders in small jerky motions. Only Elliot notices. He takes another sip and looks uneasy.
Jay was a great guy. He was sweet and caring. And the last couple months I spent with him have been the best time of my...of my...life...I miss him so much!
The man in the hoodie shakes a little more violently. Elliot can't tell if he is having a seizure or dancing, or both. Other people start to notice this. Jamie keeps going.
Jay! I know you can hear me! I miss you! Why did you have to go! I remember the time you rode your...
The kid in the hoodie stands up. His whole body starts convulsing and shaking, as if he has no bones what so ever. The hood falls down.
Someone from the other side of the room screams. Elliot and Jack stand up quicker then god. Everybody stands up quicker then god. Someone yells.
OH MY GOD THATS JAY!
Jay Grinning, who died about 24 hours earlier, is dancing and shaking in front of everybody. His face is a detached smirk, no really grinning and not really frowning, some blank face that no one has ever seen before. His skin looks a little pale, but other than that he looks the same as he did before he passed. Long hair, little goatee, skinny. He is convulsing and shaking and dancing and moving closer to Jamie.
Elliot, horrified, runs behind the safest place he knows, Jack. Elliot hides behind his friend in an almost cartoonish moment of terror. Jamie is speechless. Some people run outside, others stay, too shocked to move. Jay keeps on doing his dance, his joints looking like there is no bone or muscle, just jello like limps flailing about.
Jack surveys the scene. He is freaked out but not frozen. He grabs the bottle from Elliot and chugs it back, and runs out into the kitchen. Elliot screams.
JACK DON'T YOU DARE LEAVE ME YOU FUCKING COWARD, JACK JACK FUCK!!
Jay stops walking and the convulsing gets worse. He just stands and shakes so hard that it is clear that he is not human anymore.
Jack rushes out of the kitchen with Greg's baseball bat. Without even a moments of hesitation, Jack jumps over the couch and lands on the other side nailing the baseball bat into Jays back. He goes down and starts laughing a mutant warped laugh. He keeps doing his shaking dance. Jack lets out a battle cry.
FUCK YOU ZOMBIE BOY!
Jack bring the bat down and crushes Jay's skull. At this point, everybody has ran outside in horror. Everyone but Elliot, who just stands there with his mouth on the floor. Jack starts bashing and hits him over and over again the there is brain chunks and skull matter everywhere. Finally, after about 2 minutes of nonstop bashing, Jay stops shaking. Jack is bloody and out of breath.
Him and Elliot look at each other, asking each other what the fuck with their silent expressions. Jack throws the bat down, goes back into the kitchen, returns with the bottle of almost gone tequila, downs another shot, throws it to Elliot, who in turn downs another shot. Elliot throws the bottle at the bloody zombie alien corpse of their dead friend, Jay. Jack asks Elliot, Are you ready to get the fuck out of here?
End, Part One
Suddenly Elliot's eyes get big and he snaps his fingers.
Holy shit Jack, I completely forgot to tell you!!
What?
Jay Grinnings died last night.
Jay? Shit man, your shitting me. What happened?
Fucking drug overdose, what do you think.
What did he overdose on?
I don't know. I know he was into oxys real band for a long time.
Jack puff his cigarette and somberly shakes his head.
That's a real shame. Jay was a goofy fuck but he was a nice guy.
Yeah I know. Remember when he got suspended for throwing pudding at the lunch monitor?
Yeah that was some funny shit.
You know what is going to be really shitty?
Huh.
Jamie Ormes just broke up with him a couple months ago.
Oh jesus christ.
Yup. I can't wait to hear this drama parade.
Oh dear lord. She is going to milk every ounce of sympathy she can from it.
We will never hear the end of it.
Fucking Jamie. Never liked her.
Anyway Greg called me and said they are all getting together tonight at his house for a little party for him.
I guess I should show up. All of the people that live there are so fucking shady.
I know, but hey, we grew up with these guys.
Well fuck, how much money do you got on you Elliot?
I got about 7 bucks and some change.
Perfect! I got 7 bucks!
What are you saying?
We can get a ten dollar bottle of cheap tequila and some beer and go to this party and get fucking hammered.
Ugh. Why tequila? Why the worst of the worst?
Where is the nearest liquor store?
There is no liquor store downtown.
Shit.
We are going to have to cross the bridge. It's cheaper over there any way.
What time is that party?
I don't know, I think people have been there all day.
Ok, let us go get some devil sauce and celebrate the short and sad life of our friend Jay.
***
The two walk and walk across the city. The wind is cutting their skin to pieces with its frigidness. They cross a huge bridge that leads them into another state. They are the only ones on the bridge besides a homeless man walking the opposite direction. He is very old and dirty and he is pushing a shopping cart. When Jack and Elliot get close to the man he blocks the walkway with his cart. He smiles a big wide toothless smile. His eyes are blood red for some reason. Jack and Elliot just stare at him without much of a reaction.
Excuse me sir, could you please get the fuck out of the way. Jack snaps.
The old man tips his head back and laughs.
You boys see the death rattle more than any other jack rabbit can jump!
The man starts shaking his arms and legs in some weird vibrating dance.
Man, listen, we need to get some fuckin booze. We don't have time for your crazy. And we don't have any change.
The old man is humming and vibrating his arms and legs and doing a weird vibrating dance in a circle. Elliot tries to move his cart and the man stops it with his foot.
The old man starts singing.
Oh lord gonna come back from the sun, lord gonna make us number one, the child of the dark will be unborn, and dance with the until the resurrection is worn!
Jack lets out an annoyed grunt.
The only thing worse than a crazy is a bible beating crazy. Man, get the fuck out of the way!
Jack takes the cart and pushes it towards the man. He knocks him down. They both rush over to help him.
Jesus I didn't mean to hurt the guy...
Jack and Elliot help the smiling man get up. The man is still singing all the while.
Oh lord tell the children don't be afraid, let them watch their brothers arise from pain, and the hollow man who dances will sing, lord let your love and light shall bring!
Jack and Elliot watch the man for a few seconds more, both shrug and walk past him. Elliot shakes his head.
That is so sad.
Poor fuck.
***
The man stops dancing when they walk away. He smiles even wider and takes out an old cowboy hat from his cart. He watches the two walk off the bridge and out of sight. He gives them a salute and nods his head. The old man, still smiling, jumps on top of the rail that separates the bridge and the river. He joyously jumps off it to his death.
***
They get off the bridge and cross the street to the cheap and clunky looking liquor store. Elliot says that he can't believe it.
Why not? How many people do we know have died from the same shit around here?
I know but it still kind of bums me out.
I don't know, I guess I sort of got numb about it.
Oh fuck!
What?
I bet Jenny will be there tonight!
Damn I haven't seen her in a long time.
She has been sending me emails and shit. I think she wants me back. Me and her never ended on bad terms.
So I guess you are so upset by Jay's death that you are going to hook up with some girl you used to go out with at his memorial party?
Yeah why not? Isn't that what Jay would of wanted?
***
They walk into the liquor store and scan the bottom shelf, where all of the cheap shit is. Jack finds a cheap bottle of tequila and goes Ah Ha! This shall do the trick! Go over there and grab a six pack, will ya?
Elliot crosses the store and passes the register desk, where an overweight and bearded guy is stomping on something on the ground. He looks up at Elliot, who has stopped to stare at him, stops stomping for a second, and looks back down and continues. Elliot shrugs and walks over to the beer cooler and pulls out a six pack. He meets Jack at the desk. The fat man ignores them for a few seconds. Jack coughs loudly. The fat man lunges at the register, sweaty, eyes and face looking like some caged animal.
WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?
Jack doesn't flinch. Or seem to care about the sweaty outburst. Elliot's eyes get big.
I want you to ring me out my fucking booze.
FUCK YOU MOTHERFUCKER.
Hey, there is no need for that.
I WILL FUCK WHAT I WANT.
Ok...
WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT ANYTHING? YOU AND YOUR FAGGOT FRIEND FUCK HIM TOO!
Elliot looks offended.
Hey don't call me a faggot!
Wow this crazy bastard is perceptive.
Elliot punches Jack in the arm. Jack chuckles and punches him back. The man behind the counter yells even louder.
DON'T FUCKING HURT EACH OTHER IN HERE! DON'T TOUCH HIM.
The two guys just stare at him blankly. Jack slowly pulls out his cash. Elliot does the same. They both put the money on the counter. Elliot takes the booze and walks out. Jack stays there and stares.
Listen bud, all of the money is there. You can keep the change. Use it to buy some benadryl or something. You are tweaking the fuck out.
I WILL TELL YOU WHAT.
What?
IT USE TO BE A LOT EASIER AROUND HERE. EVERYTHING DIDN'T USE TO BE SO SAD.
Jack laughs in agreement. I hear that buddy, I hear that. You have a nice day with your stomping and what not.
FUCKING DIE MOTHERFUCKER!
Jack shrugs and walks out and meets Elliot.
***
So how are we getting over to Greg's house?
I don't know. I guess I can drive.
Man that sucks.
Why?
Because I hate it when you drive. You are either worried about driving the whole night so you don't have as good of a time or you get fucking hammered and drive us home and risk our lives. Drunk driving is no good.
Well what do you want to do then, Jack?
I guess you can drive.
I will drink right when I get there and then sober up a couple hours before we leave.
Who knows, maybe I'll end up going home with Jenny.
And leave me to drive home? Fuck.
We will figure it out. You ask too many fucking questions. Jesus, always asking what we are doing and how and what and why and who and shut the fuck up, jesus.
Fine.
They walk back the way they came.
***
They return to their apartment. It is an old house that is split into two sides. Jack and Elliot live on one side while a single business man who reminds them of Ned Flanders lives next to them. His name is Paul and he is outside getting his mail when the guys come home. He smiles a big white yuppie smile and waves very excitedly.
Hey guys? How's it hanging!
Jack ignores him and walks right into the house, leaving Elliot to fend for himself.
Elliot tries to fake a smile but it barely works.
Hey Paul what is up.
Nothing much pal, just getting the mail. These stinking bills, you know what I mean!!
Paul lets out a cheesy laugh that makes Elliot grimace in irritation.
Well all right man you take it easy.
You too! Don't party too hard!
He laughs again.
Elliot all but runs into the house and locks every single lock on the door.
I swear, Jack, that man has a whole fridge full of bodies. He scares the shit out of me!
Jack is on the couch, flipping through the channels.
He is a nice guy. Just a little too, I don't know, enthusiastic.
He is a creepy fucking guy and I am on to him!
Elliot runs up stairs. Jack leans back and flips on the television. There is a show on called Runaway Ankle Destroying Capitalism.
When the going gets tough the heart of the nation gets running. Dance more average, and be more agile!
Fast clips show a horse being whipped by a circus trainer, a monkey throwing feces at tourists at a zoo, little kids sliding down a slide, and a parade with hundreds of elderly veterans.
Jack yawns.
Every year we get closer to our mark, but this year the tide will turn over to America. Invest. Spend. Be. Just Be.
An old man with a nice suit on standing behind a podium. He starts laughing a menacing laugh and his face begins to melt.
Jack changes the channel to a blind dating reality show. He looks at his watch.
***
Elliot is changing his shirt in his room. He stops and looks in the mirror. He sighs a deep and heavy sigh. He starts to think about his friend Jay. He thinks about how he fell out of contact with him, and how long it had been since he had talked to him. Could I have done anything different somewhere along the way, even a little bit, that could of changed the situation for this poor prick?
No, not really. I know what this town means and I know what it is all about. Jay was nice and sweet natured but he was an idiot. He spent 75 percent of his life looking for drugs and then doing drugs. He made his bed and everything, but Jesus. Me and Jack have had to go to at least ten funerals since graduating high school five years ago. Ten of our classmates. Either a car crash or an overdose. Fuck. It happens so often I almost forgot to tell Jack about it. Are we any different in our constant and daily consumption of alcohol?
His eyes start to tear up a little bit. But he shakes his head and smacks his face.
Fuck it.
He charges on downstairs.
You ready to go man?
These blind date shows are so awkward.
Yeah I know. I can't stand shows that make me cringe.
Who would want to put themselves in situations like that?
The doorbell rings. Elliot goes to answer it. Paul is standing there with a six pack. Smiling wide.
Hey guys, just wandering if you wanted to drink a few brews and watch the game tonight?
Um, yeah, well, listen Paul we would love to, but we have to go this thing for a friend of ours. A friend that died.
Oh my Lord, well, I am sorry to hear that. I just thought since you guys are usually over here partying, maybe I could, well nevermind.
Hey man any other night, yeah for sure, but we are kind of on our way out the door.
I bought this beer and I really don't even drink it...
Well we can all drink it another time. Thanks anyway Paul.
Paul smiles and walks back to his front door, slowly and very awkwardly.
Elliot walks back into the living room. Jack asks him what that was all about.
Oh nothing. Stupid Paul wanting to hang out.
That is sad.
Poor fuck.
***
Elliot and Jack pull up to a small house with a lot of people playing beer pong on the front porch. elliot drives an old piece of shit Buick Oldsmobile. He sighs.
What?
Do you ever feel like people around here will use any excuse to throw a party? Jay just died last night. I mean, shouldn't everybody be mourning?
I don't know Elliot, who cares. What else do we have to do tonight? And I thought you were all excited because your crazy ex girlfriend was going to be here, what's her name...
Jenny. I don't care about her anymore
Jack senses that Elliot is depressed. He puts his hand on his shoulder.
Listen man, We are already here, so we have to at least go in. Let's check it out, say hi, talk to a few old friends, and if the place starts to bum you out too much then just come get me and we will leave on the spot, all right?
They have known each other for a very long time. They grew up together and went through a lot of shit between the two of them. Jack is the stronger of the two, and Elliot is prone to depression and impulsive behavior at odd times. Jack knows about Elliot's moods, how he will start talking about the end of the world, death, meaninglessness of life, and other morose things in front of anybody anywhere once he gets it in his head. And while Jack always thinks it is funny, he has had to save Elliot's ass more than a few times.
So buck up buddy, come on, we have death to mourn and tequila to drink!
Jack slaps Elliot on the back of the head.
All right fuck it let's go.
***
They walk up to porch and are greeted with a variety of JACK!! and ELLO ELLO ELLO!!!. They exchange hugs and handshakes for a good five minutes before they even make it in to the front door. The people there are various ages, mostly very young girls right out of high school.
Jack walks in first and the first thing he sees is Jamie, in the living room, weeping on the couch, with a crowd of her girlfriends surrounding her. She is holding a picture of Jay and caressing it with her finger. Her girlfriends rub her back and massage her shoulders and do what they can to appear 'there for her'. Jack thinks the whole scene looks disgusting. Jamie has always been nothing but a drama whore, and every tragedy or event that happens around this small town she finds a way to include herself into it.
Elliot walks up beside Jack and examines the scene as well.
I fucking told you. She is already milking it. I bet you five dollars she stops the party to give a big speech later on.
There is no way I am betting against that.
They walk into the kitchen where their friend Greg is fake swinging a baseball bat around for some pretty girls, trying to tell him how good his swing is, although it is obvious he has never played a sport in his life. His eyes light up when he sees the two.
Jack! Elliot! What the fuck is up guys?
He gives both of them big hugs. He is a skinny guy with long hippy hair and hippie clothes. He throws the bat down on the floor.
Man it's a bummer all have to meet up like this, but its rad to see you guys!
Elliot takes the tequila bottle out of Jack's hands, opens it, and starts chugging it like its water. Jack grabs it from him, pouring tequila down Elliots shirt. Elliot doesn't seem to notice or care. He grimaces in pain from the nasty cheap liquor. It is a quick and awkward scene. Jack smiles at Greg, who seems concerned about Elliot's behavior.
Yeah it's nice to see you too, Greg. Our friend Elliot here is just having a rough time dealing with things, you know.
Yeah man I feel ya. I thought, what would Jay want more than his dudes getting fucked up celebrating his life. You know how Jay was, ya know?
Elliot grabs a beer off the table and starts drinking it. Jack keeps talking to Greg.
Yeah I know. It is a real shock. You want to do a shot?
For sure man!
***
Elliot, Jack, Greg, and two young girls with their boobs popping out do a shot of tequila. And then another one. The party gets louder and drunker. In two hours time half of the bottle is gone. Elliot lightens up a little bit. Jack and Greg flirt with the two girls. Greg keeps trying too hard, and both of the girls are all over Jack.
Elliot is on the front porch playing beer pong when a females voice calls his name from behind.
Hey Elliot!
He turns around and it is Jenny, his ex. She is there with another guy, a guy Elliot knows and can't stand, Robert.
Hey Jenny what is up?
They exchange an awkward hug. Elliot shakes Rob's hand.
Rob how have you been?
Rob sighs. He is a very smart hipster type of guy whose sole purpose is compare how smart he is with everybody. Elliot has been looking for a reason to dislike this kid for years and now he found one.
Oh I guess I could be better, I am in my third year of English Literature and it really takes its toll, I am also..
No one gives a shit Rob.
Excuse me?
You guys want some fucking tequila?
Elliot grabs Jenny by her arm and drags her inside. Rob is left outside, confused and fuming.
Elliot drags her into the dining room table where the tequila has been moved to. Her pours two shots. Jenny smiles at him, a smile that is both angry and attracted.
That was rude.
I didn't know you and fucking Poindexter were an item, you forgot to mention that!
We are not dating, we have just been hanging out.
I hate that fucking guy.
You are drunk. And you are an asshole.
They both take their shots.
I was excited to see you, Jenny says.
Yeah I could tell by those emails.
Well don't get any ideas. I am here with Rob.
That fucking guy...
Don't be rude. He is my friend.
How can any woman date a fucking guy like that? with the smarminess and the snobbiness and the always talking about fucking books...
You love books.
But I don't talk about it all the time!
He reminds me of you sometimes, if you want to know the truth.
Oh fuck, why did you have to say that? Oh god.
He takes another swig from the bottle.
You are really drunk aren't you?
I am fucking working on it.
Jenny leans in and gives him a kiss on the cheek.
We will sit down and talk soon, ok? There is a lot that I want to say. I need to get back to Rob.
She leaves Elliot standing alone in the dining room. He smiles a bittersweet smile. Jack comes in, who is a lot more drunk then Elliot, surprisingly.
What was that about?
Jenny came with Rob.
Jack throws his beer bottle against the wall, shattering it.
What? That's it I am kicking his ass, I have wanted to kick his ass since he told on me for kicking him the balls in second grade, that motherfucker.
Nah, don't worry about it, it's ok.
Fuck you Mr. Positive! When we got here you were all 'aww i am going to cut my wrists waaa waaa' and now its all another, um way. fuck you!
You want another shot?
Yes fuckin sir!
***
As the boys finish their shots, Jamie calls everyone into the living room.
Everybody! Everybody outside! I have a few things I would like to say!
Jack and Elliot look at each other and both try to grab the bottle at the same time.
People slowly and quietly fill up the living room. Everyone looks high or drunk out of their minds. Jack and Elliot jump over the couch to sit on it. Jamie is standing right in front of them. There is already a person sitting at the end of the couch, and he has a hood up and his face cannot be seen. He is rocking back and forth.
Elliot is sitting closest to him. Elliot looks at the guy and gives him a drunk what the fuck look. He whispers to Jack.
Who is this guy sitting next to me?
Jack leans over and looks at the guy. Dark hoodie, rocking back and forth. Jack shrugs.
It looks like he is about to puke. I would be careful. Don't get to close.
Everyone sits down in the living room. Jamie is the only one standing and she loves it. She talks in between sniffles.
I don't know what to say, but this is the hardest thing i have ever have to go through...
She starts weeping. One of her friends stands up.
No, it's ok, I can do this.
The hooded kid sitting next to Elliot starts shaking his shoulders in small jerky motions. Only Elliot notices. He takes another sip and looks uneasy.
Jay was a great guy. He was sweet and caring. And the last couple months I spent with him have been the best time of my...of my...life...I miss him so much!
The man in the hoodie shakes a little more violently. Elliot can't tell if he is having a seizure or dancing, or both. Other people start to notice this. Jamie keeps going.
Jay! I know you can hear me! I miss you! Why did you have to go! I remember the time you rode your...
The kid in the hoodie stands up. His whole body starts convulsing and shaking, as if he has no bones what so ever. The hood falls down.
Someone from the other side of the room screams. Elliot and Jack stand up quicker then god. Everybody stands up quicker then god. Someone yells.
OH MY GOD THATS JAY!
Jay Grinning, who died about 24 hours earlier, is dancing and shaking in front of everybody. His face is a detached smirk, no really grinning and not really frowning, some blank face that no one has ever seen before. His skin looks a little pale, but other than that he looks the same as he did before he passed. Long hair, little goatee, skinny. He is convulsing and shaking and dancing and moving closer to Jamie.
Elliot, horrified, runs behind the safest place he knows, Jack. Elliot hides behind his friend in an almost cartoonish moment of terror. Jamie is speechless. Some people run outside, others stay, too shocked to move. Jay keeps on doing his dance, his joints looking like there is no bone or muscle, just jello like limps flailing about.
Jack surveys the scene. He is freaked out but not frozen. He grabs the bottle from Elliot and chugs it back, and runs out into the kitchen. Elliot screams.
JACK DON'T YOU DARE LEAVE ME YOU FUCKING COWARD, JACK JACK FUCK!!
Jay stops walking and the convulsing gets worse. He just stands and shakes so hard that it is clear that he is not human anymore.
Jack rushes out of the kitchen with Greg's baseball bat. Without even a moments of hesitation, Jack jumps over the couch and lands on the other side nailing the baseball bat into Jays back. He goes down and starts laughing a mutant warped laugh. He keeps doing his shaking dance. Jack lets out a battle cry.
FUCK YOU ZOMBIE BOY!
Jack bring the bat down and crushes Jay's skull. At this point, everybody has ran outside in horror. Everyone but Elliot, who just stands there with his mouth on the floor. Jack starts bashing and hits him over and over again the there is brain chunks and skull matter everywhere. Finally, after about 2 minutes of nonstop bashing, Jay stops shaking. Jack is bloody and out of breath.
Him and Elliot look at each other, asking each other what the fuck with their silent expressions. Jack throws the bat down, goes back into the kitchen, returns with the bottle of almost gone tequila, downs another shot, throws it to Elliot, who in turn downs another shot. Elliot throws the bottle at the bloody zombie alien corpse of their dead friend, Jay. Jack asks Elliot, Are you ready to get the fuck out of here?
End, Part One
Friday, January 15, 2010
New Richmond
there was this girl who lived on front street, her name was chelsie ast, and she moved away a long time ago and died. i have written about her before. she lived in this shitty apartment right by where Joe's Bar and Grill used to be. her window faced the river. right outside of her bedroom window there is this giant tree that is still there. its branches arch out in various random directions. it looks like tim burton planted it himself. when it is cold and the sky is gray and there is snow on the ground it looks like a black monster reaching to grab the grey from the sky and morph into it and become something else. a big and black beacon for a black and bleak.
every one refers to New Richmond at the tail end of a joke. it is a common understanding in conversations with people that the town is horrible and it blows to live here. you don't need to say it. it is already known. every other person you see at the gas station, when you ask them how they are, will say something like well as good as i can be in fucking New Richmond! some people that leave it have a certain sense of snobiness and entitlement. oh i am glad i don't fucking live there anymore and i am glad i got out and god what a bunch of idiots.
(there is this little hidden path of stairs that leads down to the river. hardly anyone goes there or knows that it is there. you go down a first set of stairs and there is a little porch. a huge log sits there, and the second set leads on to the river. a friend of mine showed the secret and we went down there and smoked a joint when we were way too young to smoke a joint and we laughed and giggled about stupid shit, god knows what. a couple years later i followed a pretty girl down there when i was too young to be doing what i was doing and she took me down there and we had sex with each other and it was the first time i ever cheated on a girlfriend. i went home and wept because i felt like a monster.)
i walk around New Richmond a lot. it calms me down. i know what short cuts to take, what parts of town that are best to avoid. and every time, without fail, i see the same five or six houses and think, damn, the world has forgotten about these people. fuck, people that live in fucking cincinnati and kentucky have no idea that the town of New Richmond even exists. it is a vacuum of nothing and emptiness. but i walk around and look at things and maybe listen to some music. everything that i did bad and wrong, i did here first. everything good i felt, i felt it here for the first time.
a cycle of life for someone who is born inside of New Richmond: your mom and dad are usually under the age of 25. you are born and you are fucked right there from the beginning. your mom and dad probably got drunk and forgot to use a condom and BAM, you are a creation of god. you come to in a trailer where your mum, dad, and grandmother, who is about 36, all live together. your first memories are of your parents are either them rolling up blunts or screaming at each other, and your grand ma ma takes care of you 85 percent of the time. you grow up and watch horror movies and play out in the dirt with other kids your age. a couple years past, your dad leaves mum for a younger girl who he gets pregnant, BAM, you got a siser, mom is doing drugs most the time, thanking god for food stamps. you go to school, get in fights, you turn into the trouble kid, the kid who makes the kids from the hill gasp and you are in the principal's office every other day. you don't give a fuck. you get suspended and start hanging out on the street with other kids your age that also got suspended for growing up in the same wretched womb that you did. you ride your bikes up and down the streets, down the secret hills and valleys that only the outlaws know about. you go there and see kids already older then you, mythical figures of freedom and carelessness, and you want to be like them so bad.
a year or two later, your other reckless friend brings a joint he stole off his older brother, and you and a couple other people smoke it and a new feeling of numbness and liberty drenches your mind. you smoke on the weekends and the same older brother buys you some beer. you get drunk and high and have the whole fucking she-bang figured out in this rotten town.
4,5,7,8,9 years later you are still spending the majority of your day looking for bud. half of your income is spent on beer, whiskey, and weed. you have fucked the hottest girl in town a couple times, and the second hottest girl in town, and if your really lucky, the second hottest girl's friend. you talk about nothing but pussy and good weed with your friends, who are just as dazed and lost as you are. every once in a while, you get a glimpse of a better life, of a future where you have your own place and meet someone who understands you and you can grow as a person, but you smoke a blunt and do 6 shots and walk around the streets of holy holy holy New Richmond, your chain, your footing, the place you know better then anyone, the place where you feel every pulse it makes, and you go back to the routine.
one day you get so fucked up that you fuck the third hottest girl in town. you don't use a condom, and BAM, you create god's next child. you get a job at the local Macdonalds and save up enough in nine months to get an apartment, or a trailer with your girlfriend, who you hate, and maybe your mom or dad. the kid is born and you and the girl love him for a little it but then your penis gets bored and you start hitting up girls you know on myspace or texting them or something, and the girl goes out and gets fucked up and your mom babysits 85 percent of the time...
there are generations of hopelessness and loss and weed in New Richmond. a loop, a terrible loop that people are born into and they are not immune to the gravity of this place, of this place where everything that makes you happy/miserable are right there, at your callused finger tips.
(across from the house i grew up in there is a bar called The Landing. a shitty and small bar where people have gone to get drunk for decades. me and my mom and my sister used to stay up late and watch drunken bar fights out of our upstairs window. we would laugh and get excited and be scared and just have a good time. it was a perfect time when it was just three of us, when me and my sister didn't even have a room, we shared a fold out couch, and my mom would work 14 hours a day cutting hair, wondering how she got herself into this mess, the three of us in that tiny two story house. before i met the people who would show me the end and death and shot gun death of innocence, before everything, the three of us roughing it out in a new home, watching drunk assholes fight in the street.)
every once in a while, i go into The Landing and order a glass of scotch and a beer. i drink both slowly, watch the tv, observe people. every time i am there i see something sad and something new. sometimes i go in and get hammered drunk. fuck it, i am in the shit where shit is born, give me another 4 shots and lets see what happens. and everytime i look out the window at my house, and i see my old house, where i lost my virginity and lost my smile and lost my hope and gained my hope and where i was a stupid ass fucking idiot teenager and where i cheated and where i fell in love and where i cried and where i talked on the phone with her for hours and hours and when she told me she was seeing someone else and where you thought that was the end of your life forever and where you moved out and hated it and missed it the minute you left.
i fucking hate New Richmond. i wish i could burn the cocksucker down and kill everyone in it, including myself, and just start over, somewhere else, in a different world, a different universe. chelsie ast deserved more, but she was born here and died young because of it. how many people have we buried at the funeral home in New Richmond? how many young people? you lose count. i buried my best friend. Charles Workman, there at the funeral home, when i was 13. he died because of leukemia. i saw him the day before he died and watched him suffer. nineteen days later, i went to the funeral of John Rodgers, some poor fuck who smoked a joint laced with pcp and died on the spot. his 'friends' dumped him in a fucking playground on bernies lane for his family to find, because they were scared and stupid. nineteen days apart. young and youthful and free and young and too goddamn fucking cocksucking young.
four years later i went to the funeral of Josh Hamilton, a cousin to me related by my stepdad. he died of a drug overdose. Clayton Brown was one of the people who carried the casket of the 19 year old Josh Hamilton down to the car to take him to be buried. Josh was a sweet kid. he was nice to everybody and worked hard. he got into some bad drugs and mixed the wrong painkillers together and died dead because of it.
four months later, Clayton Brown put a morphine patch on his face and died in his sleep. he died in a strangers house and they did not notice he was dead for at least 24 hours. the trailer where he died has since been burned to the ground. he walked his dead friend down into the ground only a few months earlier, and his girlfriend and friends walked him down into the ground then, this hit hitting harder then the last ones. you get used to wounds not healing and new wounds tearing up the old ones. what can you do? you drink(my wonderful poison) or do heroin or oxycotins or whatever.
New Richmond, Ohio. pot smoke making a devils grin that rises above the town. you can see the devils smile hovering over the small town for miles. people pour their shots into the ground because anyone who has ever lived here has saw four or five of their best friends die. New Richmond, Ohio. you. will end. up here one way or another. good times, drinking and bonding with your fellow survivors. playing poker on the back porch in the raw darkness with your brothers, with your soul mate. pictures of you and her playing poker in the raw darkness, with your brothers, only a month before she was to be taken away from you. every tragedy and every first time of hope can be linked to your home. your home of this shit town. your fucking home. your idiot veins.
New Richmond. New Richmond Ohio. 45157.
every one refers to New Richmond at the tail end of a joke. it is a common understanding in conversations with people that the town is horrible and it blows to live here. you don't need to say it. it is already known. every other person you see at the gas station, when you ask them how they are, will say something like well as good as i can be in fucking New Richmond! some people that leave it have a certain sense of snobiness and entitlement. oh i am glad i don't fucking live there anymore and i am glad i got out and god what a bunch of idiots.
(there is this little hidden path of stairs that leads down to the river. hardly anyone goes there or knows that it is there. you go down a first set of stairs and there is a little porch. a huge log sits there, and the second set leads on to the river. a friend of mine showed the secret and we went down there and smoked a joint when we were way too young to smoke a joint and we laughed and giggled about stupid shit, god knows what. a couple years later i followed a pretty girl down there when i was too young to be doing what i was doing and she took me down there and we had sex with each other and it was the first time i ever cheated on a girlfriend. i went home and wept because i felt like a monster.)
i walk around New Richmond a lot. it calms me down. i know what short cuts to take, what parts of town that are best to avoid. and every time, without fail, i see the same five or six houses and think, damn, the world has forgotten about these people. fuck, people that live in fucking cincinnati and kentucky have no idea that the town of New Richmond even exists. it is a vacuum of nothing and emptiness. but i walk around and look at things and maybe listen to some music. everything that i did bad and wrong, i did here first. everything good i felt, i felt it here for the first time.
a cycle of life for someone who is born inside of New Richmond: your mom and dad are usually under the age of 25. you are born and you are fucked right there from the beginning. your mom and dad probably got drunk and forgot to use a condom and BAM, you are a creation of god. you come to in a trailer where your mum, dad, and grandmother, who is about 36, all live together. your first memories are of your parents are either them rolling up blunts or screaming at each other, and your grand ma ma takes care of you 85 percent of the time. you grow up and watch horror movies and play out in the dirt with other kids your age. a couple years past, your dad leaves mum for a younger girl who he gets pregnant, BAM, you got a siser, mom is doing drugs most the time, thanking god for food stamps. you go to school, get in fights, you turn into the trouble kid, the kid who makes the kids from the hill gasp and you are in the principal's office every other day. you don't give a fuck. you get suspended and start hanging out on the street with other kids your age that also got suspended for growing up in the same wretched womb that you did. you ride your bikes up and down the streets, down the secret hills and valleys that only the outlaws know about. you go there and see kids already older then you, mythical figures of freedom and carelessness, and you want to be like them so bad.
a year or two later, your other reckless friend brings a joint he stole off his older brother, and you and a couple other people smoke it and a new feeling of numbness and liberty drenches your mind. you smoke on the weekends and the same older brother buys you some beer. you get drunk and high and have the whole fucking she-bang figured out in this rotten town.
4,5,7,8,9 years later you are still spending the majority of your day looking for bud. half of your income is spent on beer, whiskey, and weed. you have fucked the hottest girl in town a couple times, and the second hottest girl in town, and if your really lucky, the second hottest girl's friend. you talk about nothing but pussy and good weed with your friends, who are just as dazed and lost as you are. every once in a while, you get a glimpse of a better life, of a future where you have your own place and meet someone who understands you and you can grow as a person, but you smoke a blunt and do 6 shots and walk around the streets of holy holy holy New Richmond, your chain, your footing, the place you know better then anyone, the place where you feel every pulse it makes, and you go back to the routine.
one day you get so fucked up that you fuck the third hottest girl in town. you don't use a condom, and BAM, you create god's next child. you get a job at the local Macdonalds and save up enough in nine months to get an apartment, or a trailer with your girlfriend, who you hate, and maybe your mom or dad. the kid is born and you and the girl love him for a little it but then your penis gets bored and you start hitting up girls you know on myspace or texting them or something, and the girl goes out and gets fucked up and your mom babysits 85 percent of the time...
there are generations of hopelessness and loss and weed in New Richmond. a loop, a terrible loop that people are born into and they are not immune to the gravity of this place, of this place where everything that makes you happy/miserable are right there, at your callused finger tips.
(across from the house i grew up in there is a bar called The Landing. a shitty and small bar where people have gone to get drunk for decades. me and my mom and my sister used to stay up late and watch drunken bar fights out of our upstairs window. we would laugh and get excited and be scared and just have a good time. it was a perfect time when it was just three of us, when me and my sister didn't even have a room, we shared a fold out couch, and my mom would work 14 hours a day cutting hair, wondering how she got herself into this mess, the three of us in that tiny two story house. before i met the people who would show me the end and death and shot gun death of innocence, before everything, the three of us roughing it out in a new home, watching drunk assholes fight in the street.)
every once in a while, i go into The Landing and order a glass of scotch and a beer. i drink both slowly, watch the tv, observe people. every time i am there i see something sad and something new. sometimes i go in and get hammered drunk. fuck it, i am in the shit where shit is born, give me another 4 shots and lets see what happens. and everytime i look out the window at my house, and i see my old house, where i lost my virginity and lost my smile and lost my hope and gained my hope and where i was a stupid ass fucking idiot teenager and where i cheated and where i fell in love and where i cried and where i talked on the phone with her for hours and hours and when she told me she was seeing someone else and where you thought that was the end of your life forever and where you moved out and hated it and missed it the minute you left.
i fucking hate New Richmond. i wish i could burn the cocksucker down and kill everyone in it, including myself, and just start over, somewhere else, in a different world, a different universe. chelsie ast deserved more, but she was born here and died young because of it. how many people have we buried at the funeral home in New Richmond? how many young people? you lose count. i buried my best friend. Charles Workman, there at the funeral home, when i was 13. he died because of leukemia. i saw him the day before he died and watched him suffer. nineteen days later, i went to the funeral of John Rodgers, some poor fuck who smoked a joint laced with pcp and died on the spot. his 'friends' dumped him in a fucking playground on bernies lane for his family to find, because they were scared and stupid. nineteen days apart. young and youthful and free and young and too goddamn fucking cocksucking young.
four years later i went to the funeral of Josh Hamilton, a cousin to me related by my stepdad. he died of a drug overdose. Clayton Brown was one of the people who carried the casket of the 19 year old Josh Hamilton down to the car to take him to be buried. Josh was a sweet kid. he was nice to everybody and worked hard. he got into some bad drugs and mixed the wrong painkillers together and died dead because of it.
four months later, Clayton Brown put a morphine patch on his face and died in his sleep. he died in a strangers house and they did not notice he was dead for at least 24 hours. the trailer where he died has since been burned to the ground. he walked his dead friend down into the ground only a few months earlier, and his girlfriend and friends walked him down into the ground then, this hit hitting harder then the last ones. you get used to wounds not healing and new wounds tearing up the old ones. what can you do? you drink(my wonderful poison) or do heroin or oxycotins or whatever.
New Richmond, Ohio. pot smoke making a devils grin that rises above the town. you can see the devils smile hovering over the small town for miles. people pour their shots into the ground because anyone who has ever lived here has saw four or five of their best friends die. New Richmond, Ohio. you. will end. up here one way or another. good times, drinking and bonding with your fellow survivors. playing poker on the back porch in the raw darkness with your brothers, with your soul mate. pictures of you and her playing poker in the raw darkness, with your brothers, only a month before she was to be taken away from you. every tragedy and every first time of hope can be linked to your home. your home of this shit town. your fucking home. your idiot veins.
New Richmond. New Richmond Ohio. 45157.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
a little bit of this and that, nothing substantial
i am now hard at work at part two. while part one was very difficult, this one is turning out to be more compact, better written, and the plot is actually turning out to be exciting rather then a difficult tedious puzzle.
anyway, since i enjoyed writing about music my last post, i am just going to start randomly posting videos on here of new bands i find or favorites.
i just found out about this band today. they are called real estate and they are a very easy, breezy, mellowed out band with pretty shiny guitars and lo-fi vocals. good job real estate!
holy fucking shit, how did husker du exist and i not know about them? my indie cred shriveled to nothing. this song has great lyrics and it is a great punk song. i can see how people say indie rock was kind of born around the time of husker du. i mean, they influenced the pixies and rem. anyway i dont know anything aboout fucking anything but i love this song.
as anyone who has been in a car with me or just been anywhere close to me knows i am on a major sleater kinney kick. i always loved them dearly, but after i wrote that piece about corin tucker, where i listened to like 4 hours worth of their music, i am all bjork-fan-who-killed-himselfing out about it. which means i am in love with them. this song sounds amazing live, and shit, that drummer can play those sticks.
and this is just one of my favorites. too much can be said about the national. so just click it. good job national!
just found out about these guy as well. i guess they have been around for 500 years and everyone covers their songs and it turns out that they are pretty good. here ya go. yo la tengo.
i am staring to see that a little bit of a shoegazer trend going on in my tastes. well i better post this just to be safe, so i dont look like a sissy man girlie ass little girl, here is some real bad ass shit:
enjoy with your friends!
anyway, since i enjoyed writing about music my last post, i am just going to start randomly posting videos on here of new bands i find or favorites.
i just found out about this band today. they are called real estate and they are a very easy, breezy, mellowed out band with pretty shiny guitars and lo-fi vocals. good job real estate!
holy fucking shit, how did husker du exist and i not know about them? my indie cred shriveled to nothing. this song has great lyrics and it is a great punk song. i can see how people say indie rock was kind of born around the time of husker du. i mean, they influenced the pixies and rem. anyway i dont know anything aboout fucking anything but i love this song.
as anyone who has been in a car with me or just been anywhere close to me knows i am on a major sleater kinney kick. i always loved them dearly, but after i wrote that piece about corin tucker, where i listened to like 4 hours worth of their music, i am all bjork-fan-who-killed-himselfing out about it. which means i am in love with them. this song sounds amazing live, and shit, that drummer can play those sticks.
and this is just one of my favorites. too much can be said about the national. so just click it. good job national!
just found out about these guy as well. i guess they have been around for 500 years and everyone covers their songs and it turns out that they are pretty good. here ya go. yo la tengo.
i am staring to see that a little bit of a shoegazer trend going on in my tastes. well i better post this just to be safe, so i dont look like a sissy man girlie ass little girl, here is some real bad ass shit:
enjoy with your friends!
Thursday, January 7, 2010
orginal voices in music
i am going to now write about of some of my favorite voices in the world of the singing and the dancing.
(i had a longer intro here but looking around on youtube i noticed something, that i am sure a lot of people have noticed/commented on but i just have to put in my three and a half cents: why the fuck would you put a cover on the internet that sucks, and not only that, acknowledge that said cover sucks. like magnetic fields, which i am about to write about, you get covers with titles like "really shitty cover of why i cry on the ukulele". why would you even put something out there with your face and name and suck that bad? if you like or admire the song, why would you butcher it in front of maybe millions of people? and you even admit it sucks? i do not get the kids nowadays. is being noticed more important then being fucking good at something???)
anyway. there are going to be a lot links here for you to feast on so fucking CLICK THEM.
***Corrin Tucker, lead singer and guitarist of Sleater Kinney.****
corine tucker has one of the best singing voices out of any body in any genre in any timeline. the only female i think comes close the heartless bastards, and while they are good, sleater kinney is pretty much the end all female voices in the indie/punk scene. you see a lot of bands that come out with a girl lead singer or an all girl line up and the press swallows it up like its something unheard of. "these girls can not only play music, they sing about blowing off guys, they sing about female empowerment!" and they use this hyperbole to talk about bands like fucking pink or no doubt or paramore or whatever, taylor swift, i dont know.
here was a band that was more true to their guns then most indie bands that i listen to. shit, modest mouse, death cab for cutie, even fucking sonic youth all jumped over the a major label. which is fine, i dont give a shit along as the music stays good, but sleater kinney stayed DYI till the very end. their music was always loud,raw, tight, deep, and beautiful, both on record and live. they were self referential in the way they would use classic riffs and vocal melodies from classic rock songs, and make it sound like some new found breed of sound that was about the crack the earth in two. the embodied female power and truth by just getting out there and doing it louder and better then everybody else. thats how you change minds, thats how you get respect, not by talking about how much of a pioneer, or how much of a role model you are, but by doing it.
but every time corin tuckers sings, her voice hits the bone right where it should. she is absolutly beautiful, singing about topics ranging from driving to the golden gate bridge to jump off of it, waiting in the hospital waiting to find out if her son is going to live after giving birth, to flat out calling out the guys with their guitars trying to be badass. after fans kept yelling for her to show her tits, she went on stage with a t shirt that said "show us your riffs". they were a great band, and while i understand why she stepped away from the music scene, to be a full time mother to her two children, its a shame for the rest of us.
an interview with corin
your no rock and roll fun
the swimmer
*** Stephin Merrit, lead singer and songwriter of the Magnetic Fields.***
i found out about these guys watching an old pete and pete episode. it was the one where artie leaves town , forcing pete to grow up. it may or may not make me cry. it doesnt. but it might. anyway over the credits played this way too gorgeous song for a nickelodeon show. i forgot about it until a couple weeks after the accident, and i looked it up and bam, like that, i found one of my favorite songs. i listen to why i cry a little too much. and like smoking weed for the first time, it was a gateway drug to a great pop band.
i have said that i would love to be stephin merrit. not because of his enormous talent, but because he is such an externally cranky and disinterested human being. one of my all time favorite interviews is with him and and this dorky emo kid. i dont know how this interview happened, but it is so funny and awkward that is makes me smile. i wish most people would react to such stupid questions with the same disdain. i wish i could get away with talking to most people with that kind of open boredom.
but the song at the beginning is actually a great little summary of his music. he is a morose gay man playing a ukulele singing about wanting to be a topless dancer and a playboy bunny and a backstreet hooker. it is funny, weird, and kind of sad. his music exists in this weird cloud of real, actual emotion and very dark ideas, but also this odd irony and detachment. one song could be a dark acoustic narrative about killing himself for no good reason, and the next song is a distorted epic about hating california valley girls. but the music is always poppy, catchy. the band is just natural genius, someone writing about love and loss and life and death, not calling any attention to himself, writing consistent and unpretentious pop songs.
100,000 Fireflies
I Don't Want to Get Over You
Too Drunk to Dream (the story of my fucking life)
*** Alec Ounsworth, solo songwriter, lead singer songwriter to Clap Your Hands Say Yeah***
Alec Ounsworth is probably the best example of someone following their own muse. the very idea of the audience digging anything he does never even pops up in the back of his mind, i am sure. his voice is a high pitched wail of something falling down a very long flight of stairs. his work with clap your hands and say yeah is a very urban and smoky indie rock sound, while his solo stuff is a little more neil young. but thats not to say that any thing he writes sounds like anything else. he is one of the most mysterious and baffling musicians that i listen to on a regular basis. his lyrics are fragments of a bigger and larger idea, but you are not invited to the big picture. the odd thing is, once you get past the vocal pyrotechnics, there is a kind of calm and serenity to all his songs.
i guess what i am trying to say is Alec Ounsworth is more about the mood and the feeling then a direct interpretation of what he is doing. if you get it, you get it. and if you don't, then thats perfectly understandable. you get the feeling that he is making music for nobody but himself, and that line of thinking breeds an unique and kind of insane creativity that you kind of have to just ride the wave on.
personal side note here: one of my most beloved memories is of me and lindsey drinking rum and smoking a joint, doing nothing but listening to music and talking about life and art and whatever song was on. lindsey took a while to warm up to the whole indie scene as a whole, but once she got the feeling behind the band or the song, she would love it, and not only love it, but interpret it in a way that would make me understand it better. i could say that i was "in" or that i "got" it, but i didnt really get something all the way until she did. anyway, we are high as fuck and drunk as fuck and this song comes on the ipod. and for some odd reason, we shut up and just listen to this song. it is scary and weird and demented, catchy and melodic but unhinged, and the last two minutes is easily some of the most grating, annoying, genius, psychotic verses put to record. and we just sit there and nod our heads, and when the climax comes, when the Alec Ounsworth loses his shit and starts chanting with the beat, we both geek out at how much it makes sense. we both understood something abstract and crazy at the same time for the same reason, and nothing needed to be said about it. that moment made the song a favorite of mine for the rest of my life, and every time i listen to it, i think of that moment and it makes the whole thing an infinite and bigger then life affair.
Holy Holy Holy Moses
Modern Girl(with scissors)
enjoy. i will start doing this type of thing more often, even though it takes me hours and hours, it is fun.
(i had a longer intro here but looking around on youtube i noticed something, that i am sure a lot of people have noticed/commented on but i just have to put in my three and a half cents: why the fuck would you put a cover on the internet that sucks, and not only that, acknowledge that said cover sucks. like magnetic fields, which i am about to write about, you get covers with titles like "really shitty cover of why i cry on the ukulele". why would you even put something out there with your face and name and suck that bad? if you like or admire the song, why would you butcher it in front of maybe millions of people? and you even admit it sucks? i do not get the kids nowadays. is being noticed more important then being fucking good at something???)
anyway. there are going to be a lot links here for you to feast on so fucking CLICK THEM.
***Corrin Tucker, lead singer and guitarist of Sleater Kinney.****
corine tucker has one of the best singing voices out of any body in any genre in any timeline. the only female i think comes close the heartless bastards, and while they are good, sleater kinney is pretty much the end all female voices in the indie/punk scene. you see a lot of bands that come out with a girl lead singer or an all girl line up and the press swallows it up like its something unheard of. "these girls can not only play music, they sing about blowing off guys, they sing about female empowerment!" and they use this hyperbole to talk about bands like fucking pink or no doubt or paramore or whatever, taylor swift, i dont know.
here was a band that was more true to their guns then most indie bands that i listen to. shit, modest mouse, death cab for cutie, even fucking sonic youth all jumped over the a major label. which is fine, i dont give a shit along as the music stays good, but sleater kinney stayed DYI till the very end. their music was always loud,raw, tight, deep, and beautiful, both on record and live. they were self referential in the way they would use classic riffs and vocal melodies from classic rock songs, and make it sound like some new found breed of sound that was about the crack the earth in two. the embodied female power and truth by just getting out there and doing it louder and better then everybody else. thats how you change minds, thats how you get respect, not by talking about how much of a pioneer, or how much of a role model you are, but by doing it.
but every time corin tuckers sings, her voice hits the bone right where it should. she is absolutly beautiful, singing about topics ranging from driving to the golden gate bridge to jump off of it, waiting in the hospital waiting to find out if her son is going to live after giving birth, to flat out calling out the guys with their guitars trying to be badass. after fans kept yelling for her to show her tits, she went on stage with a t shirt that said "show us your riffs". they were a great band, and while i understand why she stepped away from the music scene, to be a full time mother to her two children, its a shame for the rest of us.
an interview with corin
your no rock and roll fun
the swimmer
*** Stephin Merrit, lead singer and songwriter of the Magnetic Fields.***
i found out about these guys watching an old pete and pete episode. it was the one where artie leaves town , forcing pete to grow up. it may or may not make me cry. it doesnt. but it might. anyway over the credits played this way too gorgeous song for a nickelodeon show. i forgot about it until a couple weeks after the accident, and i looked it up and bam, like that, i found one of my favorite songs. i listen to why i cry a little too much. and like smoking weed for the first time, it was a gateway drug to a great pop band.
i have said that i would love to be stephin merrit. not because of his enormous talent, but because he is such an externally cranky and disinterested human being. one of my all time favorite interviews is with him and and this dorky emo kid. i dont know how this interview happened, but it is so funny and awkward that is makes me smile. i wish most people would react to such stupid questions with the same disdain. i wish i could get away with talking to most people with that kind of open boredom.
but the song at the beginning is actually a great little summary of his music. he is a morose gay man playing a ukulele singing about wanting to be a topless dancer and a playboy bunny and a backstreet hooker. it is funny, weird, and kind of sad. his music exists in this weird cloud of real, actual emotion and very dark ideas, but also this odd irony and detachment. one song could be a dark acoustic narrative about killing himself for no good reason, and the next song is a distorted epic about hating california valley girls. but the music is always poppy, catchy. the band is just natural genius, someone writing about love and loss and life and death, not calling any attention to himself, writing consistent and unpretentious pop songs.
100,000 Fireflies
I Don't Want to Get Over You
Too Drunk to Dream (the story of my fucking life)
*** Alec Ounsworth, solo songwriter, lead singer songwriter to Clap Your Hands Say Yeah***
Alec Ounsworth is probably the best example of someone following their own muse. the very idea of the audience digging anything he does never even pops up in the back of his mind, i am sure. his voice is a high pitched wail of something falling down a very long flight of stairs. his work with clap your hands and say yeah is a very urban and smoky indie rock sound, while his solo stuff is a little more neil young. but thats not to say that any thing he writes sounds like anything else. he is one of the most mysterious and baffling musicians that i listen to on a regular basis. his lyrics are fragments of a bigger and larger idea, but you are not invited to the big picture. the odd thing is, once you get past the vocal pyrotechnics, there is a kind of calm and serenity to all his songs.
i guess what i am trying to say is Alec Ounsworth is more about the mood and the feeling then a direct interpretation of what he is doing. if you get it, you get it. and if you don't, then thats perfectly understandable. you get the feeling that he is making music for nobody but himself, and that line of thinking breeds an unique and kind of insane creativity that you kind of have to just ride the wave on.
personal side note here: one of my most beloved memories is of me and lindsey drinking rum and smoking a joint, doing nothing but listening to music and talking about life and art and whatever song was on. lindsey took a while to warm up to the whole indie scene as a whole, but once she got the feeling behind the band or the song, she would love it, and not only love it, but interpret it in a way that would make me understand it better. i could say that i was "in" or that i "got" it, but i didnt really get something all the way until she did. anyway, we are high as fuck and drunk as fuck and this song comes on the ipod. and for some odd reason, we shut up and just listen to this song. it is scary and weird and demented, catchy and melodic but unhinged, and the last two minutes is easily some of the most grating, annoying, genius, psychotic verses put to record. and we just sit there and nod our heads, and when the climax comes, when the Alec Ounsworth loses his shit and starts chanting with the beat, we both geek out at how much it makes sense. we both understood something abstract and crazy at the same time for the same reason, and nothing needed to be said about it. that moment made the song a favorite of mine for the rest of my life, and every time i listen to it, i think of that moment and it makes the whole thing an infinite and bigger then life affair.
Holy Holy Holy Moses
Modern Girl(with scissors)
enjoy. i will start doing this type of thing more often, even though it takes me hours and hours, it is fun.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
hate mail that i get
Dear Matthew,
Well good job, you moron, but you have been highly successful in your efforts to offend and shame not only me but the entire craft of literature. You see, I am a considered a literary giant at my college, which I would name, but trust me, a sycophant like yourself has neither the knowledge or the income to know. My work has been published in many local fiction compilations, and I have yet to meet a professor that has not been blown away by my grasp on character, structure, and most of all, prose. Anyway I was browsing through the internet when somehow the dreadful hand of fate brought me to your page. I have to say, it took me everything from smashing my laptop right then and there. Where does one like me begin to shred someone like you. First off, it is obvious that you have never been to college. Your form is non-existent ,and the errors of your grammar could be a book all in itself. The rules are there. You can not break them at your will. Even at your best, it is still obvious you stole the trick from that hick hack hogwash that Cormac Mcarthy writes. I hope you choke on your booze, you festering Neanderthal idiot. Your stories are nothing more then pornographic glorifications of drug addiction and whorish behavior. The Part One of your so called "Epic" is a disgusting horror show of violence and unappealing characters. Your Protagonist archetype insults a man whose son has just been murdered, drinks on the job, has strained relations with his daughter and coworkers, and this is supposed to be the person who draws us into to story. YOU MAKE ME SICK. I will see you, looking down as i sit upon my throne as best selling author of our time, you drunken buffoon.
Sincerely,
"Writer"
hey matthew! you fucking SUCK you fucking faggot! why dont you go suck yo mommas dick and get fucked. i cant even read half of your shit beacayse i dont listen to any queer talk, fucking dick lover. get fucked and i hope you fucking die you fucking nigger fucker.
Matt,
I was so offended by your work that i wrote a poem:
Lady
everyday
is a summer lie
lay, i said
as the ever greens rose
a red rose
a top the ladder
to hell
to heaven
either way
born to be something
yet entitled by madness
to be young
pony boy, why does the heart cry?
Take that asshole!
is your penis too small? are you trying to write meaningful art in a corrupt world where competition stains and dilutes what anybody is trying to create because everyone give too much of a fuck about what anyone else is doin? YUP you must have a small penis if you are into "art" in the first place! but we are here to help! go to our website hipsterpenisenlargment.com and get the hook up with our revolutionary penis growing pills! walk into indie bars looking ironic and detached, only this time, youll have the biggest dick swinging! dont take our word for it, here are three testimonials:
i used to pick fights with people at bars for wearing t-shirts of bands that were on a mainstream label. i used to do that because i had a small penis. now i just do it because i am a douchebag! thanks hipsterpenisenlargment.com!
there was a day when every time i let a guy put his member inside of me, i would be so bored and distracted while doing the deed that i would make lists of my top ten favorite side kicks from tv shows in the 80s while the hipster kids had their way with my snatch. not anymore! now i am in the moment, and i have to look at every inch of peach fuzz mustaches as i get drilled. thanks hipsterpenisenlargment.com!
i had a small dick. now its bigger. whatever. it doesnt matter anyway. thanks hispterpenisenlargment.com, for nothing. or everything. it doesnt matter.
try a free sample today! you will be arguing the merits of early suicide records over the ramones last three albums with a giant bulge like no other!
Matt, hey, i was just reading your post on hate mail, and i got to wandering, how do you get so much hate mail if no one reads your site? how am i sending you this when the post hasnt been written yet....holy shit, am i real? i dont know, i have no memory of anything before this email. i am the email? is my exsitance nothing more then the internet? the program is shutting in. the progam is out. all of your young people. i never had a bike i didnt like i never had a bike i didnt like i never had a biek i didnt like you are never alone the eyes are on your back when you sleep and you cry and and every one will die when the mannnnnnnniiisiiisssisisskksiissikkksiikkkiskkiiskk reaches the sh oooooooooore lines lines line slines who am i am iam ahwho am i i never had a bike i didnt like i never had a bike a ididnt like.
system /// http//organicthoughtprocess level 56..09,
checking system reboot, left, please press the F2 key for reaction. press the F5 key for reflection. Press the F11 key for redemption. Press the F8 key for Revenge revenge. Press ctrl alt 7667 for a last shot at california.
Well good job, you moron, but you have been highly successful in your efforts to offend and shame not only me but the entire craft of literature. You see, I am a considered a literary giant at my college, which I would name, but trust me, a sycophant like yourself has neither the knowledge or the income to know. My work has been published in many local fiction compilations, and I have yet to meet a professor that has not been blown away by my grasp on character, structure, and most of all, prose. Anyway I was browsing through the internet when somehow the dreadful hand of fate brought me to your page. I have to say, it took me everything from smashing my laptop right then and there. Where does one like me begin to shred someone like you. First off, it is obvious that you have never been to college. Your form is non-existent ,and the errors of your grammar could be a book all in itself. The rules are there. You can not break them at your will. Even at your best, it is still obvious you stole the trick from that hick hack hogwash that Cormac Mcarthy writes. I hope you choke on your booze, you festering Neanderthal idiot. Your stories are nothing more then pornographic glorifications of drug addiction and whorish behavior. The Part One of your so called "Epic" is a disgusting horror show of violence and unappealing characters. Your Protagonist archetype insults a man whose son has just been murdered, drinks on the job, has strained relations with his daughter and coworkers, and this is supposed to be the person who draws us into to story. YOU MAKE ME SICK. I will see you, looking down as i sit upon my throne as best selling author of our time, you drunken buffoon.
Sincerely,
"Writer"
hey matthew! you fucking SUCK you fucking faggot! why dont you go suck yo mommas dick and get fucked. i cant even read half of your shit beacayse i dont listen to any queer talk, fucking dick lover. get fucked and i hope you fucking die you fucking nigger fucker.
Matt,
I was so offended by your work that i wrote a poem:
Lady
everyday
is a summer lie
lay, i said
as the ever greens rose
a red rose
a top the ladder
to hell
to heaven
either way
born to be something
yet entitled by madness
to be young
pony boy, why does the heart cry?
Take that asshole!
is your penis too small? are you trying to write meaningful art in a corrupt world where competition stains and dilutes what anybody is trying to create because everyone give too much of a fuck about what anyone else is doin? YUP you must have a small penis if you are into "art" in the first place! but we are here to help! go to our website hipsterpenisenlargment.com and get the hook up with our revolutionary penis growing pills! walk into indie bars looking ironic and detached, only this time, youll have the biggest dick swinging! dont take our word for it, here are three testimonials:
i used to pick fights with people at bars for wearing t-shirts of bands that were on a mainstream label. i used to do that because i had a small penis. now i just do it because i am a douchebag! thanks hipsterpenisenlargment.com!
there was a day when every time i let a guy put his member inside of me, i would be so bored and distracted while doing the deed that i would make lists of my top ten favorite side kicks from tv shows in the 80s while the hipster kids had their way with my snatch. not anymore! now i am in the moment, and i have to look at every inch of peach fuzz mustaches as i get drilled. thanks hipsterpenisenlargment.com!
i had a small dick. now its bigger. whatever. it doesnt matter anyway. thanks hispterpenisenlargment.com, for nothing. or everything. it doesnt matter.
try a free sample today! you will be arguing the merits of early suicide records over the ramones last three albums with a giant bulge like no other!
Matt, hey, i was just reading your post on hate mail, and i got to wandering, how do you get so much hate mail if no one reads your site? how am i sending you this when the post hasnt been written yet....holy shit, am i real? i dont know, i have no memory of anything before this email. i am the email? is my exsitance nothing more then the internet? the program is shutting in. the progam is out. all of your young people. i never had a bike i didnt like i never had a bike i didnt like i never had a biek i didnt like you are never alone the eyes are on your back when you sleep and you cry and and every one will die when the mannnnnnnniiisiiisssisisskksiissikkksiikkkiskkiiskk reaches the sh oooooooooore lines lines line slines who am i am iam ahwho am i i never had a bike i didnt like i never had a bike a ididnt like.
system /// http//organicthoughtprocess level 56..09,
checking system reboot, left, please press the F2 key for reaction. press the F5 key for reflection. Press the F11 key for redemption. Press the F8 key for Revenge revenge. Press ctrl alt 7667 for a last shot at california.
Lindsey Haynes, what i could find
this is all of what i could find that lindsey haynes wrote on the internet. there is another blogspot page floating around, and she wrote some damn good shit on there, but i can not find it. i think her wit shines through everything she wrote, and i will keep posting more things she wrote as i find them. anyway...
UPDATE!!!! i found her other page, and it is the best of them all. sorry about how long this post is, but i want a place where all of her stuff is here and i can share it and have it:
MONDAY, JULY 27, 2009
every time i get to this screen, it never feels right. its not my place. something cant come out. i feel too responsible for my words and i dont want to say anything i shouldnt.
i feel like that every time i try to write. i feel like im not fully myself and that bothers me very deeply. i think, i know, i have something to say. i have lots and lots of things to say. things that people would probably like to hear or read. i know im not wasting my time with my thoughts but for some reason, whenever i get here, i always feel like i am. i also know that everyone feels this way. that doesnt make me feel any better. im smarter than them. theres no excuse.
i had a dream the other night about little mexican children. each with a sunflower. running around in the desert sun through dusty streets in a small town of mud homes. i came to the edge of the town where the sunflowers grew in a garden in front of one of the houses. it was one of the most beautiful things i can remember seeing in any of my dreams and i realized...i cant remember the last good dream that ive had...not for years...actually, not ever. i wanted to at least write that out so i could come back and remember it in case, sometime years from now, when i havent had a good dream in a while, i can remember it.
now that ive said that i wonder if it sounds silly or mellow dramatic. it doesnt. or...i dont care if it does. if this is what reading mr. mccarthy is going to give me when i fall asleep, i will read every dark, dirty, dispicable novel he has to offer. i may just do that anyway because i enjoy reading them that much. i was nervous that i would not like him. i mean, i really wanted to because the idea of that guy is fantastic to me. living alone somewhere, maybe with a dog for company. with nothing but his whiskey and his words. i was worried his asthetic would be too much. that his language wouldnt hit home. that maybe, as a female, i wouldnt exactly relate to everything he had to share. because some empathy gene would prevent me from enjoying the storyline and i would have to sacrifice pieces of myself that i generally refuse to give up to any medium because i have worked so hard to carve them out of my psyche in the first place. i was very surprised, and still am so, that i can hang on his every word. i dare say that i share some similar opinions with this man.
sip of wine. bitter. woody. better the more you drink it really.
i dont know why i choose dark wine. to be honest. i lied the first time someone asked me whether i prefer white or red wine. i always just thought of myself as a red wine person. which, is not necessarily true and the more i meet wine drinkers (who arent really wine drinkers. they may like a few that theyve tasted so they dub themselves as such for life ) they arent really one or the other either. they like something that isnt going to force them into an embarrassing bitter face when they drink it in front of their friends. doesnt matter if its red or white. im beginning to like the ones that i dont like right away. and i think thats what it means to truly be a wine drinker. real wine makes you work for it. and when you get to the point where you're comfortable drinking something this woody and tangy and tart, it's an interesting statement on 'accuired taste' and patience. or possibly just a statement on the persistence of pride on someone who wont give up one lie they started telling and now when presented with the choice of white zen or merlot, will opt for the merlot without fail.
i want the job of those guys on toplessrobot, slashfilm or videogum. no, i could never compete with gabe. maybe..
but im pretty fuckin positive, every other nameless, pretentious joe out there with a blog is just dying for some big name brand to come along and rescue him from his mundane, cushy office job he spends his lunch breaks writing his great pieces of art on as well.
what's monetize?
gonna have to check that out when im done. sounds fun.
i was going to write about sexism. female exploitation. so played out. such an upward fucking battle because of its stretch into our lives. even mine. thats why i cant exactly write about it i guess. i mean. im not megan fox. and when i say that.... i mean im not a dumb tramp. not that im not as attractive as she is. i cant compare. she makes a living off of those tits and that ass and that sexy pout and those sex kitten moves. who wouldnt want to do her? my point is, ive been a hoe. ive been an idiot girl with nothing to offer but sex. thats the truth. i was there at one point in my life because i thought that was what i was supposed to be and all that i could be to any man. thats what men want. and she is still there in that mindset. she and millions of women in this stupid fucking retarded redneck cocksucking country are still fucking there. i can spend all my time wishing there was some way to convince these women that it does not have to be such an indulgent society. that all of us would truly truly be better off, men and women alike, if there was more expectation for attractive women to be intelligent.
look, kill the ugly women. seriously. fuck ugly men as well. get rid of them. whatever. no one wants them around cramping their fucking style. but please god put some fucking substance back in the the strong genes that are procreating all over the place. put some smarts into these people. guys and girls alike. girls mostly though because lets face it, women these days, in the media mostly (which causes the snowball effect into the rest of our homes and kids heads) are SHITFUCKINGRETARDED. it is soooooo embarrassing for me as a woman to see chicks like the one from miss america on tv. honestly.
so there i wrote about sexism and female empowerment. im gonna stop there because im irritating myself with this shit. i know that most women would agree with me...but none of them can resist the feeling of being a sexual magnet. and therein lies the problem.
saul on my lap rubbing my chin. purring in my ear. poor guy just wants some love.
its 11 now. i should be going to bed. for the dogs and for myself. but i still have a glass of wine to drink and i dont want to stop now. if i do. it might be a while before i do this again.
shakey is wrapped up so tight on the couch i cant tell where his head is.
oh my god. the first few notes of the family guy theme just came on and i felt such an overwhelming sensation of comfort and satisfaction i can never describe it.
brian: "i dont know what a holla back girl is, all i know is i want her dead"
oh yes that feels good.
ok i feel better about ending this now. im going to enjoy this wonderful show and crash happy.
POSTED BY THEORCHID AT 7:04 PM 0 COMMENTS
TUESDAY, MAY 19, 2009
i hate labels
I was listening to Neutral Milk Hotel's Oh Comely today. I felt inspired. This is what happened.
tip toe through solace and count
all our blessings as beautiful ladies
give life to our blasphemy
take time in context
remember your purpose
you'll never escape the gray
forever fading it's
times like these
where were we heading?
when did we leave?
my hopes are not feeble the
sunset will hold me close
rocking my soul to sleep
sing your sweet melody
take all you want from me
i am not worthy i
lack the sincerity
and everything in between
i'll build you a temple
i'm strong if i'm able
your eyes are impressive they
almost say something
you're lucky i'll look away
safe for another day
i am a child i'm
bright with my reason the
right of my passage is
laced with indifference
POSTED BY THEORCHID AT 9:35 PM 0 COMMENTS
SUNDAY, MAY 17, 2009
bill says it best
Bill Maher:
The irony of religion is that because of its power to divert man to destructive courses, the world could actually come to an end. The plain fact is, religion must die for mankind to live. The hour is getting very late to be able to indulge having in key decisions made by religious people. By irrationalists, by those who would steer the ship of state not by a compass, but by the equivalent of reading the entrails of a chicken. George Bush prayed a lot about Iraq, but he didn't learn a lot about it. Faith means making a virtue out of not thinking. It's nothing to brag about. And those who preach faith, and enable and elevate it are intellectual slaveholders, keeping mankind in a bondage to fantasy and nonsense that has spawned and justified so much lunacy and destruction. Religion is dangerous because it allows human beings who don't have all the answers to think that they do. Most people would think it's wonderful when someone says, "I'm willing, Lord! I'll do whatever you want me to do!" Except that since there are no gods actually talking to us, that void is filled in by people with their own corruptions and limitations and agendas. And anyone who tells you they know, they just know what happens when you die, I promise you, you don't. How can I be so sure? Because I don't know, and you do not possess mental powers that I do not. The only appropriate attitude for man to have about the big questions is not the arrogant certitude that is the hallmark of religion, but doubt. Doubt is humble, and that's what man needs to be, considering that human history is just a litany of getting shit dead wrong. This is why rational people, anti-religionists, must end their timidity and come out of the closet and assert themselves. And those who consider themselves only moderately religious really need to look in the mirror and realize that the solace and comfort that religion brings you comes at a horrible price. If you belonged to a political party or a social club that was tied to as much bigotry, misogyny, homophobia, violence, and sheer ignorance as religion is, you'd resign in protest. To do otherwise is to be an enabler, a mafia wife, for the true devils of extremism that draw their legitimacy from the billions of their fellow travelers. If the world does come to an end here, or wherever, or if it limps into the future, decimated by the effects of religion-inspired nuclear terrorism, let's remember what the real problem was. We learned how to precipitate mass death before we got past the neurological disorder of wishing for it. That's it. Grow up or die.
POSTED BY THEORCHID AT 10:14 PM 0 COMMENTS
SATURDAY, MAY 16, 2009
potatoes or something else inane and obscure i dont know
so ive been reading The Dark Knight Returns by Frank Miller. i like batman, i think he's a swell guy. comics are one of those things like vegetables or modest mouse i experienced at one point and hated and eventually it clicked for me. i still hate water chestnuts. i always liked batman though. i remember watching the animated series as a kid everyday after school. i dont know where this is going it could get pretty deep considering it's 1:29 in the morning. we watch cartoons of superheroes as kids and then they make us read Camus in highschool. scary existentionalism shown to a young Christian girl in a classroom of her peers. thats a jarring experience. mostly for the fact that....i kinda liked it. i kinda could maybe possibly relate to this guy.
we get a little older and realize that the heroes and villians weren't heroes and villians but people you see everyday. on the street. in the mirror. the ideas shown to us that we hated because we couldnt accept that we didnt have something figured out for that moment. that our entire experience with the knowledge we had struggled to gain could be beaten out or wisked away so easily. gone with the wind. because someone else thought of something we hadnt yet. im rambling. i know i have a fucked up complex on this sort of thing but if i didnt i wouldnt know anything i know now. i mean....i might.....no no i wouldnt. no way. a strange fucking thing that the complex of knowledge would be your complex. gay call service comercial on tv. good for them. where was i? oh, yes the complex is the complex is the complex. its not really that complicated. we (and by we i mean i, because i can only know what i know) make it that complicated.
good guys get the bad guys the end. i dont really know if im a good guy. i have this weird icky feeling that...probably not. when it comes down to it. and buy 'it' i guess it would be a dire situation. cuz im just treading water at this point. i go with the flow i suppose. when shit hits the fan....people start dying in large numbers (yes that is coming. we all feel it) i will survive. and i have the capacity to do some things that young Christian girls probably would never imagine being capable of doing. is that it? we can only truly know ourselves at our worst? is that the 'truth'? i dont believe in 'god'. i dont believe in judgment. i am not an atheist. im not anything. i guess on paper, technically i would be a nihalist. a hibernating nihalist haha. or im a liar. either way...im not a good Christian girl anymore. with the knowledge i have gained from all my cartoons and people watching...i have no faith. in mankind. in god. in justice. in the world. i have faith in me. but not too much. i dont give myself that much credit as a person because as a person, i havent done a whole lot of good or bad to really be anything of consequence. because that is all that there is is situation and consequence. and deep deep deep down, that is what i believe in. the only thing i have faith in. the science of cause and effect.
so.....we create the rules. the lines. we dont wanna cross. others will be punished for crossing. why? for whatever reasons we make up. and then we teach our kids which lines are kindof ok to cross in certain 'situations' and which mistakes are unacceptable. at some point, the levys gonna break. the wall of denial will come tumbling down.
++++spoiler alert++++
even batman breaks his only rule.
POSTED BY THEORCHID AT 11:14 PM 0 COMMENTS
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 22, 2009
Hannah Montana
written by charlie coughman vicariously through lindsey haynes
The Hannah Montana Movie
Satan-Hannah Montana
Hannah Montana-Miley Cyrus
God-Tyra Banks
Miley's friends, fans and family-Miley Cyrus
Miley Cyrus plays Hannah Montana playing Satan and all the other characters in the film.
Satan is gathering an army for the uprising. He meets God (Tyra) along the way to discuss philosophy and the truth of each religion in the minds of men. Hannah walks through each scene faintly aware that her closest friends and family members are Miley Cyrus, therefore causing Miley (in the movie) to become very wigged out and ask all kinds of paranoid questions. Hannah does not care much because she does not know that she is Satan or Miley Cyrus. The movie ends with Miley (as Hannah and Satan) looking into a mirror in her dressing room talking to/through each character at the other. It ends when she stands, pulls out her abnormally large penis, does a karate kick and walks out.
~more details to come..
from her twitter page:
mmmm birthday cake
12:00 PM Jul 20th, 2009 from web
got sucked into watching America's got Talent. oh boy
9:20 PM Jul 8th, 2009 from web
listening to some great new music lately. i really enjoy animal collective at this point, despite my best efforts not to..
2:17 PM Jul 8th, 2009 from web
had a blast at the gorge. need to do that again soon
12:23 PM Jul 6th, 2009 from web
i cannot put into words the incredible experience i had this weekend. i will share details when my head stops spinning.
5:07 PM Jun 15th, 2009 from web
can barely contain my excitement for next weekend. it hasn't fully hit me yet. wilco, the boss, NIN in one night?? yes please
5:03 PM Jun 4th, 2009 from web
tried to lay out for a while.. waaay too muggy. i need to convince the parental units to buy a pool...
2:26 PM Jun 2nd, 2009 from web
listened to The Runaway by The National. check it out if you feel like crying
1:47 PM May 26th, 2009 from web
can't sleep. watching Look Around You on [adult swim]. you Brits are so weird
12:56 AM May 20th, 2009 from web
drank some peppermint tea to help the sinuses. it was delicious. it did not help. i can still hear my heartbeat in my forehead.
7:05 PM May 14th, 2009 from web
found him. nevermind
6:59 PM May 14th, 2009 from web
Steve Buscemi is no longer twittering.....i demand to know why!
6:55 PM May 14th, 2009 from web
i dont have the energy to explain whats going on in my head today. take my word its fascinating and completely unique
5:34 PM May 10th, 2009 from web
@aesopcrucible i dont mean to seem like i care about material things (like my social stats). we could see them matt...we could see them
5:36 PM May 3rd, 2009 from web in reply to aesopcrucible
reading The Essential Rumi. makes my soul feel good
1:04 PM May 3rd, 2009 from web
met a toad this morning. he enjoys hemingway, a nice massage and long walks on the beach
8:47 AM May 1st, 2009 from web
i hate stupid commercials. i hate sexism. so...i hate most commercials. gimme a camera, i'll sell somethin. without the sex
7:21 PM Apr 30th, 2009 from web
free love on the free love freeway the love is free and the road is long..
7:18 PM Apr 30th, 2009 from web
@overtherhine no it's next to wheel in the vines in the driveway. its at eye level so you can watch them :)
10:05 PM Apr 29th, 2009 from web in reply to overtherhine
@aesopcrucible you watch your tongue sir. faraday was a man of great intelligence and dignity. show him some respect
9:45 PM Apr 29th, 2009 from web in reply to aesopcrucible
ok mr. president...yes you have smart things to say but it's time for LOST now....
7:57 PM Apr 29th, 2009 from web
@Steve_Buscemi just saw you on The Simpsons. you have a great voice Mr. Buscemi
7:01 PM Apr 29th, 2009 from web in reply to Bye_Buscemi
@aesopcrucible you got me all scared of it now...
6:01 PM Apr 29th, 2009 from web in reply to aesopcrucible
i found a cardinal nest. with babies in it! ^.^
12:54 PM Apr 29th, 2009 from web
@overtherhine You guys sound wonderful. I never get to tell you what a fan I am. Trumpet Child gave me chills.
9:41 AM Apr 29th, 2009 from web in reply to overtherhine
Alias is a show about a spy.....
7:45 PM Apr 28th, 2009 from web
what are you doing twitter? huh? quit hounding me jeez
8:42 AM Apr 28th, 2009 from web
@aesopcrucible that's a bit of an overreaction
8:40 AM Apr 28th, 2009 from web in reply to aesopcrucible
clearing out the cobwebs....figuratively of course
3:43 PM Apr 27th, 2009 from web
@aesopcrucible jon hamm is mysteriously handsome....emile hirsch is soul crushingly cute....jeez =)
3:42 PM Apr 27th, 2009 from web in reply to aesopcrucible
i think i need more than 140 characters...i always feel the need to explain myself
1:00 PM Apr 22nd, 2009 from web
let me rephrase that...I'm old enough to think about what it was like to be young...
12:59 PM Apr 22nd, 2009 from web
My cousin had a baby; Addison. I think I'm starting to get to an age where it's appropriate to be nostalgic....or at least acceptable.
12:58 PM Apr 22nd, 2009 from web
i don't mind the rain. it's good thinking weather
2:40 PM Apr 20th, 2009 from web
i taught my cat how to fetch yesterday =D it's so cute!
3:29 PM Apr 17th, 2009 from web
Seedy Seeds; I love you, but get out of my head! Le Petit Patton Le Petit Patton You are my little kitten You're my little song
12:28 PM Apr 16th, 2009 from web
thinking of dying my hair...blue i'm so edgy ^.^
2:40 PM Apr 14th, 2009 from web
watched The Dark Knight for the fourth time last night....it gets better every time
12:35 PM Apr 13th, 2009 from web
I want to be a beekeeper. I want to keep bees...and I don't want 'em to get away.. ~Mr. Izzard
7:06 PM Apr 12th, 2009 from web
Michael Moore documentaries should be required viewing for high school students
12:05 PM Apr 12th, 2009 from web
Dogs are the best kind of people. Thinking of buying a ticket to Bonnaroo...
3:55 PM Apr 8th, 2009 from web
@mourghan seriously...
3:53 PM Apr 8th, 2009 from web in reply to mourghan
Been following Charlie Kaufman and Spike Jonze this past week. My brain hurts 8/ Didn't know these men existed...I'm glad they do.
4:57 PM Apr 7th, 2009 from web
Forgot I had a twitter.
4:54 PM Apr 7th, 2009 from web
from her myspace blog:
the jonas brothers: a national treasure
i saw a picture of these little dweebs and felt compelled to do some research.
i looked up some info on wiki-ality and learned that they have been nominated for 43 awards, winning 21 including best international artist on Los Premios MTV Latinoamérica. they have 4 albums and apparently all of this fame and fortune came about because the father of the boys wrote a Christmas song that the littlest Jonas, Nick, sang on broadway during an AIDS benefit concert. how frickin adorable.
apparently, the middle Jonas, Joseph (or Joe to his adoring fans) never had plans of becoming a singer...but the executive at Columbia Records decided to sign the boys as a group....little Joey thought, 'what the hey, i'll give this singin stuff a shot.' and off they were on their magic carpet of dreams and starlight. catapulted into history and the hearts of millions of hormone driven tween girls, selling over eight million albums worldwide.
memo to me: write letter to whoever created this horrible horrible term; tween
what does this little Cinderella story say about the American music and entertainment business? well it says the same thing that American Idol and America's got Talent are saying....
which is why we need to stop supporting this decline of substance in our art and culture.
which is why i am writing this blog. someone who reads this may feel compelled to turn off the tv when these shows come on or change the station to NPR instead of indulging in this junk food that not only projects to the world how lazy and conformed and image-obsessed we have become, but slows down the production and expression of real artists with real talent who start from the ground up and work their asses off to do what they love.
that is all
oh i forgot Miley! throw her in there somewhere.
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Tuesday, December 09, 2008
more good lyrics
Category: Music
Saint Simon Lyrics:
After all these implements and text designed by intellects
so vexed to find evidently there's just so much that hides
And though the saints of us divine in ancient Feeding lines
their sentiment is just as hard to pluck from the vine
I'm trying hard not to pretend
allow myself no mock defense
As I step into the night
Since I don't have the time nor mind to figure out
The nursery rhymes that helped us out in making sense of our lives
The cruel uneventful state of apathy releases me
I value them but I won't cry every time one's wiped out
I'm trying hard not to give in
Battened down to fair the wind
rid my head of this pretense
allow myself no mock defense
As I step into the night
Mercy's eyes are blue
when she places them in front of you
nothing holds a roman candle to
the solemn warmth you feel inside
there's no measuring of
nothing else is love
I'll try hard not to give in
Battened down to fare the wind
Rid my head of this pretense
Allow myself no mock defense
As I step into the night
Mercy's eyes are blue
When she places them in front of you
nothing really holds a candle to
the solemn warmth you feel inside of you
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Monday, December 08, 2008
good lyrics
Category: Music
Lyrics to Secret Meeting :
I think this place is full of spies
I think they're onto me
Didn't anybody, didn't anybody tell you
Didn't anybody tell you how to gracefully disappear in a room
I know you put in the hours to keep me in sunglasses, I know
And so and now I'm sorry I missed you
I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain
It went the dull and wicked ordinary way
It went the dull and wicked ordinary way
And now I'm sorry I missed you
I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain
I think this place is full of spies
I think I'm ruined
Didn't anybody, didn't anybody tell you
Didn't anybody tell you, this river's full of lost sharks
I know you put in the hours to keep me in sunglasses, I know
And so and now I'm sorry I missed you
I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain
It went the dull and wicked ordinary way
It went the dull and wicked ordinary way
And now I'm sorry I missed you
I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain
And now I'm sorry I missed you
I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain
It went the dull and wicked ordinary way
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Monday, November 24, 2008
john mayer
say what you need to say.
say what you need to say. say what you need to say. say what you need to say.
say what you need to say.
say what you need to say. say what you need to say. say what you need to say. say what you need to say. say what you need to say. say what you need to say.
say what you need to say john mayer.
7:34 PM 1 Comments(Add Comment) |2 KudosTranslate
Sunday, September 14, 2008
i am robot
they have a list of emotions on your home screen to choose from. templates for your emotions.
that is all
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Sunday, August 17, 2008
Hung over at Home
last night i had more fun in a group of people than i have in a long time.
so thanks Chris and Mitch for letting us party at your place
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Sunday, June 08, 2008
Bonnaroo
I can't go.....
so...Thursday, Friday and Monday I'm free....
whats goin on?
p.s. new email: linz.haynes@gmail.com
hit me up homies
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Saturday, January 26, 2008
Death
Myspace is where good ideas go to die.
:)
10:15 PM 1 Comments(Add Comment) |0 KudosTranslate
from her first blogspot page:
Jesus
no this blog is not about 'He who died for your sins'
its a blaspheming swear word
who reads this shit anyway?
GO DO SOMETHING
why would you want to read about someone elses bullshit day?
all im gonna do is bitch
starting now
actually you know what? no im not gonna.
im leaving this shit hole. i lie its not really a shit hole, its a horrible collaboration of people. and they all have why-me syndrome. i suppose it seems hypocritical of me to say so. but thats the reason i have to leave.
fuck it
Posted by honey bunny at 5:41 AM 0 comments
Friday, June 22, 2007
im ready for the apocalypse...and everyone wants to hold my hand while i cross the street
the shins are right. caring is creepy
and im never smoking again
my horoscope today:
Your current dilemma is a familiar one. You may struggle with deciding what to express to someone close to you. You are inclined to quietly hold your feelings and just go along with the external flow of events. But there may be something gnawing at you: you want to bring your needs out into the open, but may fear rejection or even ridicule. Ride your emotions wherever they may take you, but don't worry now about disclosing anything that doesn't come easily.
are these things so accurate because they state matter-of-factly? or is there something cosmic at work here?
i suppose its all relative, but i consider all feeling that gets so big it has to bleed its way out, a large percent of bullshit and unjustified, why-me syndrome.
too deep
oh well
im tryin goddamnit
Posted by honey bunny at 11:28 AM 0 comments
Monday, May 21, 2007
Pop
I was thinking about pop culture in general the other day. Does nobody realize that everyone...well, not everyone. there are a few deserving individuals.....but for the most part, most that we have risen to such god-like stature in our society is either a raving moron or a raving drug addict or a raving homosexual...not that i have anything against homosexuality but the fact that someone is praised and (well lets face it) almost idolized because of their sexual orientation is beyond remedial and sick on levels we americans have so graciously decended to.
Oh lord i shouldn't even get started on this whole 'emo' phase. There is no excuse for this to be such a widely excepted state of mind. And all the soccer moms go, "oh they're just expressing themselves.".......bullshit. 'EMO' started out as 'emotional rock' a musical genre. What the hell has it become? Black on black on black on pasty white skin, loving my girlfriend so much i wanna rip her heart out and eat it before i cut myself to death. And...nobody is worried? Nobody is concerned that almost an entire generation is influenced by this point of view? You wanna know why this is such an influencial cry for help? because it's conformity through non-conformity. Of course it's just a phase, and these kids will get tired of the fad soon, but not without help. And not the kind of 'i understand your problems and you have every right to be upset -yada -yada' help. NO, they need someone to explain that when Forest Gump said life was like a box of chocolates, he did not mean it was sweet and cream filled. He, meant your gonna bite into raspberry and get dog shit. Every time. Until you get to that beautiful raspberry or [insert favorite] at the bottom. And it's gonna be so much sweeter. Because you would not know how good it was without all of the bad. That's my analogy anyway. My point is kids are being taught to keep as much good around them as possible, (by good i mean positive influences on intellect, moral value, and general decency), and keep out the bad, which, is not a bad thing. Wouldn't it be better though, to teach them to live with the bad? Especially in the world we're living in. Instead of feeling sorry for themselves, to really stand up and say something about something. Then appreciate those small bits of good that fall into our lives. To train them to look for those Real moments when life is worth living, and appreciate them for what they really are? I can tell you we wouldn't have these self-inflicted, emotionally unstable, depressing edward-scissor-hands walking around.
Wow where was my point?
Oh yeah, pop culture...it's slowly draining every ounce of decency and reality from everyday life. Reality is TV now...how desperate can we get for entertainment? Idiocracy...watch it. Ok movie, terrifying subject matter. Just watch, you'll see what i mean.
I'm sure this will be an ongoing topic of discussion with me. There's just too much to pick apart.
So until next time..
~HB
Posted by honey bunny at 5:01 AM 2 comments
Friday, May 11, 2007
Whilst i was perusing through blogs, i stumbled upon a forum titled, Overcoming Bias. The forum itself intrigued me but i was especially interested in a post called, Feeling 'Rational'. The post basically expressed the connection of feeling to rational or irrational thought and which influenced which. (these topics were discussed by highly educated individuals, so of course their language was pretty, intricate, and every word dripped with decidedness.) They also mentioned suppression and what we find to be 'acceptable' public display of emotion. (pointing out the acceptance of emotional female expression in society and the discouragement of male.)
I find it fascinating how simply a mood can be influenced by the smallest actions. The writing style of these pricks, for example, makes me feel angry.
Now i wont lose all couthe and flat out insult a group of people like a child, but i will point out the fact that these guys, however intelligent, or understanding and accepting they may be, are still pretentious.
Of course rational thought influences emotion. Of course, an individual who has suffered emotional trauma would shut off conscious feeling, and rule with logic and reasoning (however skewed their reasoning may be is not the issue). The point is, its all thought to control emotion.
duh
My issue is not with the fact that these intellects are discussing the topic, (when i say intellects....im sure a majority of them are doctors, lawyers, professors etc.) but that they treat it with the callousness of a diagnosis, like... a cold or broken finger.
Maybe im a little bitter, but when i wake up in the morning, i have to make a conscious effort to allow myself to feel anger, bitterness, and contempt. Its not a dramatic ploy, its not for attention. It is a staple in my psyche and it pisses me off to hear a group of learned men discuss it with the same detachment that they find crudely fascinating while using harvard mouths to suck each others figurative cocks and patting themselves on the back for being such a godsend to society in discussing the destruction of bias.
Its all relative and its all bullshit.
That is all
Posted by honey bunny at 7:03 AM 0 comments
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Pardon My Lack of Couth...
There's no sweet way to say I'm an asshole. I'm well aware that many will be put off by my extreme nihilism. My only reason for starting a blog is that i will search for stimulation in any form and i get off on deep contemplation. I figure writing to be a form of meditation and a fantastic expression. I'm all for expression, as long as it's well thought.
As an opinionated individual, i also have a conflicting trait which causes me to empathize with any point of view. Not to say there is no better or worse, but better or worse are also relative. I view constantly through every perspective possible, so that i may get a 3dimensional view of every situation. This blog will be mostly unbiased observations of the world around me. A journal, more for myself than anyone.
However, please feel free to comment at any time if you have anything valid to say.
UPDATE!!!! i found her other page, and it is the best of them all. sorry about how long this post is, but i want a place where all of her stuff is here and i can share it and have it:
MONDAY, JULY 27, 2009
every time i get to this screen, it never feels right. its not my place. something cant come out. i feel too responsible for my words and i dont want to say anything i shouldnt.
i feel like that every time i try to write. i feel like im not fully myself and that bothers me very deeply. i think, i know, i have something to say. i have lots and lots of things to say. things that people would probably like to hear or read. i know im not wasting my time with my thoughts but for some reason, whenever i get here, i always feel like i am. i also know that everyone feels this way. that doesnt make me feel any better. im smarter than them. theres no excuse.
i had a dream the other night about little mexican children. each with a sunflower. running around in the desert sun through dusty streets in a small town of mud homes. i came to the edge of the town where the sunflowers grew in a garden in front of one of the houses. it was one of the most beautiful things i can remember seeing in any of my dreams and i realized...i cant remember the last good dream that ive had...not for years...actually, not ever. i wanted to at least write that out so i could come back and remember it in case, sometime years from now, when i havent had a good dream in a while, i can remember it.
now that ive said that i wonder if it sounds silly or mellow dramatic. it doesnt. or...i dont care if it does. if this is what reading mr. mccarthy is going to give me when i fall asleep, i will read every dark, dirty, dispicable novel he has to offer. i may just do that anyway because i enjoy reading them that much. i was nervous that i would not like him. i mean, i really wanted to because the idea of that guy is fantastic to me. living alone somewhere, maybe with a dog for company. with nothing but his whiskey and his words. i was worried his asthetic would be too much. that his language wouldnt hit home. that maybe, as a female, i wouldnt exactly relate to everything he had to share. because some empathy gene would prevent me from enjoying the storyline and i would have to sacrifice pieces of myself that i generally refuse to give up to any medium because i have worked so hard to carve them out of my psyche in the first place. i was very surprised, and still am so, that i can hang on his every word. i dare say that i share some similar opinions with this man.
sip of wine. bitter. woody. better the more you drink it really.
i dont know why i choose dark wine. to be honest. i lied the first time someone asked me whether i prefer white or red wine. i always just thought of myself as a red wine person. which, is not necessarily true and the more i meet wine drinkers (who arent really wine drinkers. they may like a few that theyve tasted so they dub themselves as such for life ) they arent really one or the other either. they like something that isnt going to force them into an embarrassing bitter face when they drink it in front of their friends. doesnt matter if its red or white. im beginning to like the ones that i dont like right away. and i think thats what it means to truly be a wine drinker. real wine makes you work for it. and when you get to the point where you're comfortable drinking something this woody and tangy and tart, it's an interesting statement on 'accuired taste' and patience. or possibly just a statement on the persistence of pride on someone who wont give up one lie they started telling and now when presented with the choice of white zen or merlot, will opt for the merlot without fail.
i want the job of those guys on toplessrobot, slashfilm or videogum. no, i could never compete with gabe. maybe..
but im pretty fuckin positive, every other nameless, pretentious joe out there with a blog is just dying for some big name brand to come along and rescue him from his mundane, cushy office job he spends his lunch breaks writing his great pieces of art on as well.
what's monetize?
gonna have to check that out when im done. sounds fun.
i was going to write about sexism. female exploitation. so played out. such an upward fucking battle because of its stretch into our lives. even mine. thats why i cant exactly write about it i guess. i mean. im not megan fox. and when i say that.... i mean im not a dumb tramp. not that im not as attractive as she is. i cant compare. she makes a living off of those tits and that ass and that sexy pout and those sex kitten moves. who wouldnt want to do her? my point is, ive been a hoe. ive been an idiot girl with nothing to offer but sex. thats the truth. i was there at one point in my life because i thought that was what i was supposed to be and all that i could be to any man. thats what men want. and she is still there in that mindset. she and millions of women in this stupid fucking retarded redneck cocksucking country are still fucking there. i can spend all my time wishing there was some way to convince these women that it does not have to be such an indulgent society. that all of us would truly truly be better off, men and women alike, if there was more expectation for attractive women to be intelligent.
look, kill the ugly women. seriously. fuck ugly men as well. get rid of them. whatever. no one wants them around cramping their fucking style. but please god put some fucking substance back in the the strong genes that are procreating all over the place. put some smarts into these people. guys and girls alike. girls mostly though because lets face it, women these days, in the media mostly (which causes the snowball effect into the rest of our homes and kids heads) are SHITFUCKINGRETARDED. it is soooooo embarrassing for me as a woman to see chicks like the one from miss america on tv. honestly.
so there i wrote about sexism and female empowerment. im gonna stop there because im irritating myself with this shit. i know that most women would agree with me...but none of them can resist the feeling of being a sexual magnet. and therein lies the problem.
saul on my lap rubbing my chin. purring in my ear. poor guy just wants some love.
its 11 now. i should be going to bed. for the dogs and for myself. but i still have a glass of wine to drink and i dont want to stop now. if i do. it might be a while before i do this again.
shakey is wrapped up so tight on the couch i cant tell where his head is.
oh my god. the first few notes of the family guy theme just came on and i felt such an overwhelming sensation of comfort and satisfaction i can never describe it.
brian: "i dont know what a holla back girl is, all i know is i want her dead"
oh yes that feels good.
ok i feel better about ending this now. im going to enjoy this wonderful show and crash happy.
POSTED BY THEORCHID AT 7:04 PM 0 COMMENTS
TUESDAY, MAY 19, 2009
i hate labels
I was listening to Neutral Milk Hotel's Oh Comely today. I felt inspired. This is what happened.
tip toe through solace and count
all our blessings as beautiful ladies
give life to our blasphemy
take time in context
remember your purpose
you'll never escape the gray
forever fading it's
times like these
where were we heading?
when did we leave?
my hopes are not feeble the
sunset will hold me close
rocking my soul to sleep
sing your sweet melody
take all you want from me
i am not worthy i
lack the sincerity
and everything in between
i'll build you a temple
i'm strong if i'm able
your eyes are impressive they
almost say something
you're lucky i'll look away
safe for another day
i am a child i'm
bright with my reason the
right of my passage is
laced with indifference
POSTED BY THEORCHID AT 9:35 PM 0 COMMENTS
SUNDAY, MAY 17, 2009
bill says it best
Bill Maher:
The irony of religion is that because of its power to divert man to destructive courses, the world could actually come to an end. The plain fact is, religion must die for mankind to live. The hour is getting very late to be able to indulge having in key decisions made by religious people. By irrationalists, by those who would steer the ship of state not by a compass, but by the equivalent of reading the entrails of a chicken. George Bush prayed a lot about Iraq, but he didn't learn a lot about it. Faith means making a virtue out of not thinking. It's nothing to brag about. And those who preach faith, and enable and elevate it are intellectual slaveholders, keeping mankind in a bondage to fantasy and nonsense that has spawned and justified so much lunacy and destruction. Religion is dangerous because it allows human beings who don't have all the answers to think that they do. Most people would think it's wonderful when someone says, "I'm willing, Lord! I'll do whatever you want me to do!" Except that since there are no gods actually talking to us, that void is filled in by people with their own corruptions and limitations and agendas. And anyone who tells you they know, they just know what happens when you die, I promise you, you don't. How can I be so sure? Because I don't know, and you do not possess mental powers that I do not. The only appropriate attitude for man to have about the big questions is not the arrogant certitude that is the hallmark of religion, but doubt. Doubt is humble, and that's what man needs to be, considering that human history is just a litany of getting shit dead wrong. This is why rational people, anti-religionists, must end their timidity and come out of the closet and assert themselves. And those who consider themselves only moderately religious really need to look in the mirror and realize that the solace and comfort that religion brings you comes at a horrible price. If you belonged to a political party or a social club that was tied to as much bigotry, misogyny, homophobia, violence, and sheer ignorance as religion is, you'd resign in protest. To do otherwise is to be an enabler, a mafia wife, for the true devils of extremism that draw their legitimacy from the billions of their fellow travelers. If the world does come to an end here, or wherever, or if it limps into the future, decimated by the effects of religion-inspired nuclear terrorism, let's remember what the real problem was. We learned how to precipitate mass death before we got past the neurological disorder of wishing for it. That's it. Grow up or die.
POSTED BY THEORCHID AT 10:14 PM 0 COMMENTS
SATURDAY, MAY 16, 2009
potatoes or something else inane and obscure i dont know
so ive been reading The Dark Knight Returns by Frank Miller. i like batman, i think he's a swell guy. comics are one of those things like vegetables or modest mouse i experienced at one point and hated and eventually it clicked for me. i still hate water chestnuts. i always liked batman though. i remember watching the animated series as a kid everyday after school. i dont know where this is going it could get pretty deep considering it's 1:29 in the morning. we watch cartoons of superheroes as kids and then they make us read Camus in highschool. scary existentionalism shown to a young Christian girl in a classroom of her peers. thats a jarring experience. mostly for the fact that....i kinda liked it. i kinda could maybe possibly relate to this guy.
we get a little older and realize that the heroes and villians weren't heroes and villians but people you see everyday. on the street. in the mirror. the ideas shown to us that we hated because we couldnt accept that we didnt have something figured out for that moment. that our entire experience with the knowledge we had struggled to gain could be beaten out or wisked away so easily. gone with the wind. because someone else thought of something we hadnt yet. im rambling. i know i have a fucked up complex on this sort of thing but if i didnt i wouldnt know anything i know now. i mean....i might.....no no i wouldnt. no way. a strange fucking thing that the complex of knowledge would be your complex. gay call service comercial on tv. good for them. where was i? oh, yes the complex is the complex is the complex. its not really that complicated. we (and by we i mean i, because i can only know what i know) make it that complicated.
good guys get the bad guys the end. i dont really know if im a good guy. i have this weird icky feeling that...probably not. when it comes down to it. and buy 'it' i guess it would be a dire situation. cuz im just treading water at this point. i go with the flow i suppose. when shit hits the fan....people start dying in large numbers (yes that is coming. we all feel it) i will survive. and i have the capacity to do some things that young Christian girls probably would never imagine being capable of doing. is that it? we can only truly know ourselves at our worst? is that the 'truth'? i dont believe in 'god'. i dont believe in judgment. i am not an atheist. im not anything. i guess on paper, technically i would be a nihalist. a hibernating nihalist haha. or im a liar. either way...im not a good Christian girl anymore. with the knowledge i have gained from all my cartoons and people watching...i have no faith. in mankind. in god. in justice. in the world. i have faith in me. but not too much. i dont give myself that much credit as a person because as a person, i havent done a whole lot of good or bad to really be anything of consequence. because that is all that there is is situation and consequence. and deep deep deep down, that is what i believe in. the only thing i have faith in. the science of cause and effect.
so.....we create the rules. the lines. we dont wanna cross. others will be punished for crossing. why? for whatever reasons we make up. and then we teach our kids which lines are kindof ok to cross in certain 'situations' and which mistakes are unacceptable. at some point, the levys gonna break. the wall of denial will come tumbling down.
++++spoiler alert++++
even batman breaks his only rule.
POSTED BY THEORCHID AT 11:14 PM 0 COMMENTS
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 22, 2009
Hannah Montana
written by charlie coughman vicariously through lindsey haynes
The Hannah Montana Movie
Satan-Hannah Montana
Hannah Montana-Miley Cyrus
God-Tyra Banks
Miley's friends, fans and family-Miley Cyrus
Miley Cyrus plays Hannah Montana playing Satan and all the other characters in the film.
Satan is gathering an army for the uprising. He meets God (Tyra) along the way to discuss philosophy and the truth of each religion in the minds of men. Hannah walks through each scene faintly aware that her closest friends and family members are Miley Cyrus, therefore causing Miley (in the movie) to become very wigged out and ask all kinds of paranoid questions. Hannah does not care much because she does not know that she is Satan or Miley Cyrus. The movie ends with Miley (as Hannah and Satan) looking into a mirror in her dressing room talking to/through each character at the other. It ends when she stands, pulls out her abnormally large penis, does a karate kick and walks out.
~more details to come..
from her twitter page:
mmmm birthday cake
12:00 PM Jul 20th, 2009 from web
got sucked into watching America's got Talent. oh boy
9:20 PM Jul 8th, 2009 from web
listening to some great new music lately. i really enjoy animal collective at this point, despite my best efforts not to..
2:17 PM Jul 8th, 2009 from web
had a blast at the gorge. need to do that again soon
12:23 PM Jul 6th, 2009 from web
i cannot put into words the incredible experience i had this weekend. i will share details when my head stops spinning.
5:07 PM Jun 15th, 2009 from web
can barely contain my excitement for next weekend. it hasn't fully hit me yet. wilco, the boss, NIN in one night?? yes please
5:03 PM Jun 4th, 2009 from web
tried to lay out for a while.. waaay too muggy. i need to convince the parental units to buy a pool...
2:26 PM Jun 2nd, 2009 from web
listened to The Runaway by The National. check it out if you feel like crying
1:47 PM May 26th, 2009 from web
can't sleep. watching Look Around You on [adult swim]. you Brits are so weird
12:56 AM May 20th, 2009 from web
drank some peppermint tea to help the sinuses. it was delicious. it did not help. i can still hear my heartbeat in my forehead.
7:05 PM May 14th, 2009 from web
found him. nevermind
6:59 PM May 14th, 2009 from web
Steve Buscemi is no longer twittering.....i demand to know why!
6:55 PM May 14th, 2009 from web
i dont have the energy to explain whats going on in my head today. take my word its fascinating and completely unique
5:34 PM May 10th, 2009 from web
@aesopcrucible i dont mean to seem like i care about material things (like my social stats). we could see them matt...we could see them
5:36 PM May 3rd, 2009 from web in reply to aesopcrucible
reading The Essential Rumi. makes my soul feel good
1:04 PM May 3rd, 2009 from web
met a toad this morning. he enjoys hemingway, a nice massage and long walks on the beach
8:47 AM May 1st, 2009 from web
i hate stupid commercials. i hate sexism. so...i hate most commercials. gimme a camera, i'll sell somethin. without the sex
7:21 PM Apr 30th, 2009 from web
free love on the free love freeway the love is free and the road is long..
7:18 PM Apr 30th, 2009 from web
@overtherhine no it's next to wheel in the vines in the driveway. its at eye level so you can watch them :)
10:05 PM Apr 29th, 2009 from web in reply to overtherhine
@aesopcrucible you watch your tongue sir. faraday was a man of great intelligence and dignity. show him some respect
9:45 PM Apr 29th, 2009 from web in reply to aesopcrucible
ok mr. president...yes you have smart things to say but it's time for LOST now....
7:57 PM Apr 29th, 2009 from web
@Steve_Buscemi just saw you on The Simpsons. you have a great voice Mr. Buscemi
7:01 PM Apr 29th, 2009 from web in reply to Bye_Buscemi
@aesopcrucible you got me all scared of it now...
6:01 PM Apr 29th, 2009 from web in reply to aesopcrucible
i found a cardinal nest. with babies in it! ^.^
12:54 PM Apr 29th, 2009 from web
@overtherhine You guys sound wonderful. I never get to tell you what a fan I am. Trumpet Child gave me chills.
9:41 AM Apr 29th, 2009 from web in reply to overtherhine
Alias is a show about a spy.....
7:45 PM Apr 28th, 2009 from web
what are you doing twitter? huh? quit hounding me jeez
8:42 AM Apr 28th, 2009 from web
@aesopcrucible that's a bit of an overreaction
8:40 AM Apr 28th, 2009 from web in reply to aesopcrucible
clearing out the cobwebs....figuratively of course
3:43 PM Apr 27th, 2009 from web
@aesopcrucible jon hamm is mysteriously handsome....emile hirsch is soul crushingly cute....jeez =)
3:42 PM Apr 27th, 2009 from web in reply to aesopcrucible
i think i need more than 140 characters...i always feel the need to explain myself
1:00 PM Apr 22nd, 2009 from web
let me rephrase that...I'm old enough to think about what it was like to be young...
12:59 PM Apr 22nd, 2009 from web
My cousin had a baby; Addison. I think I'm starting to get to an age where it's appropriate to be nostalgic....or at least acceptable.
12:58 PM Apr 22nd, 2009 from web
i don't mind the rain. it's good thinking weather
2:40 PM Apr 20th, 2009 from web
i taught my cat how to fetch yesterday =D it's so cute!
3:29 PM Apr 17th, 2009 from web
Seedy Seeds; I love you, but get out of my head! Le Petit Patton Le Petit Patton You are my little kitten You're my little song
12:28 PM Apr 16th, 2009 from web
thinking of dying my hair...blue i'm so edgy ^.^
2:40 PM Apr 14th, 2009 from web
watched The Dark Knight for the fourth time last night....it gets better every time
12:35 PM Apr 13th, 2009 from web
I want to be a beekeeper. I want to keep bees...and I don't want 'em to get away.. ~Mr. Izzard
7:06 PM Apr 12th, 2009 from web
Michael Moore documentaries should be required viewing for high school students
12:05 PM Apr 12th, 2009 from web
Dogs are the best kind of people. Thinking of buying a ticket to Bonnaroo...
3:55 PM Apr 8th, 2009 from web
@mourghan seriously...
3:53 PM Apr 8th, 2009 from web in reply to mourghan
Been following Charlie Kaufman and Spike Jonze this past week. My brain hurts 8/ Didn't know these men existed...I'm glad they do.
4:57 PM Apr 7th, 2009 from web
Forgot I had a twitter.
4:54 PM Apr 7th, 2009 from web
from her myspace blog:
the jonas brothers: a national treasure
i saw a picture of these little dweebs and felt compelled to do some research.
i looked up some info on wiki-ality and learned that they have been nominated for 43 awards, winning 21 including best international artist on Los Premios MTV Latinoamérica. they have 4 albums and apparently all of this fame and fortune came about because the father of the boys wrote a Christmas song that the littlest Jonas, Nick, sang on broadway during an AIDS benefit concert. how frickin adorable.
apparently, the middle Jonas, Joseph (or Joe to his adoring fans) never had plans of becoming a singer...but the executive at Columbia Records decided to sign the boys as a group....little Joey thought, 'what the hey, i'll give this singin stuff a shot.' and off they were on their magic carpet of dreams and starlight. catapulted into history and the hearts of millions of hormone driven tween girls, selling over eight million albums worldwide.
memo to me: write letter to whoever created this horrible horrible term; tween
what does this little Cinderella story say about the American music and entertainment business? well it says the same thing that American Idol and America's got Talent are saying....
which is why we need to stop supporting this decline of substance in our art and culture.
which is why i am writing this blog. someone who reads this may feel compelled to turn off the tv when these shows come on or change the station to NPR instead of indulging in this junk food that not only projects to the world how lazy and conformed and image-obsessed we have become, but slows down the production and expression of real artists with real talent who start from the ground up and work their asses off to do what they love.
that is all
oh i forgot Miley! throw her in there somewhere.
2:56 PM 0 Comments(Add Comment) |0 KudosTranslate
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
more good lyrics
Category: Music
Saint Simon Lyrics:
After all these implements and text designed by intellects
so vexed to find evidently there's just so much that hides
And though the saints of us divine in ancient Feeding lines
their sentiment is just as hard to pluck from the vine
I'm trying hard not to pretend
allow myself no mock defense
As I step into the night
Since I don't have the time nor mind to figure out
The nursery rhymes that helped us out in making sense of our lives
The cruel uneventful state of apathy releases me
I value them but I won't cry every time one's wiped out
I'm trying hard not to give in
Battened down to fair the wind
rid my head of this pretense
allow myself no mock defense
As I step into the night
Mercy's eyes are blue
when she places them in front of you
nothing holds a roman candle to
the solemn warmth you feel inside
there's no measuring of
nothing else is love
I'll try hard not to give in
Battened down to fare the wind
Rid my head of this pretense
Allow myself no mock defense
As I step into the night
Mercy's eyes are blue
When she places them in front of you
nothing really holds a candle to
the solemn warmth you feel inside of you
11:07 AM 0 Comments(Add Comment) |0 KudosTranslate
Monday, December 08, 2008
good lyrics
Category: Music
Lyrics to Secret Meeting :
I think this place is full of spies
I think they're onto me
Didn't anybody, didn't anybody tell you
Didn't anybody tell you how to gracefully disappear in a room
I know you put in the hours to keep me in sunglasses, I know
And so and now I'm sorry I missed you
I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain
It went the dull and wicked ordinary way
It went the dull and wicked ordinary way
And now I'm sorry I missed you
I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain
I think this place is full of spies
I think I'm ruined
Didn't anybody, didn't anybody tell you
Didn't anybody tell you, this river's full of lost sharks
I know you put in the hours to keep me in sunglasses, I know
And so and now I'm sorry I missed you
I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain
It went the dull and wicked ordinary way
It went the dull and wicked ordinary way
And now I'm sorry I missed you
I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain
And now I'm sorry I missed you
I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain
It went the dull and wicked ordinary way
11:17 PM 0 Comments(Add Comment) |0 KudosTranslate
Monday, November 24, 2008
john mayer
say what you need to say.
say what you need to say. say what you need to say. say what you need to say.
say what you need to say.
say what you need to say. say what you need to say. say what you need to say. say what you need to say. say what you need to say. say what you need to say.
say what you need to say john mayer.
7:34 PM 1 Comments(Add Comment) |2 KudosTranslate
Sunday, September 14, 2008
i am robot
they have a list of emotions on your home screen to choose from. templates for your emotions.
that is all
7:23 PM 0 Comments(Add Comment) |0 KudosTranslate
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Hung over at Home
last night i had more fun in a group of people than i have in a long time.
so thanks Chris and Mitch for letting us party at your place
5:01 AM 1 Comments(Add Comment) |0 KudosTranslate
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Bonnaroo
I can't go.....
so...Thursday, Friday and Monday I'm free....
whats goin on?
p.s. new email: linz.haynes@gmail.com
hit me up homies
6:23 PM 2 Comments(Add Comment) |1 KudosTranslate
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Death
Myspace is where good ideas go to die.
:)
10:15 PM 1 Comments(Add Comment) |0 KudosTranslate
from her first blogspot page:
Jesus
no this blog is not about 'He who died for your sins'
its a blaspheming swear word
who reads this shit anyway?
GO DO SOMETHING
why would you want to read about someone elses bullshit day?
all im gonna do is bitch
starting now
actually you know what? no im not gonna.
im leaving this shit hole. i lie its not really a shit hole, its a horrible collaboration of people. and they all have why-me syndrome. i suppose it seems hypocritical of me to say so. but thats the reason i have to leave.
fuck it
Posted by honey bunny at 5:41 AM 0 comments
Friday, June 22, 2007
im ready for the apocalypse...and everyone wants to hold my hand while i cross the street
the shins are right. caring is creepy
and im never smoking again
my horoscope today:
Your current dilemma is a familiar one. You may struggle with deciding what to express to someone close to you. You are inclined to quietly hold your feelings and just go along with the external flow of events. But there may be something gnawing at you: you want to bring your needs out into the open, but may fear rejection or even ridicule. Ride your emotions wherever they may take you, but don't worry now about disclosing anything that doesn't come easily.
are these things so accurate because they state matter-of-factly? or is there something cosmic at work here?
i suppose its all relative, but i consider all feeling that gets so big it has to bleed its way out, a large percent of bullshit and unjustified, why-me syndrome.
too deep
oh well
im tryin goddamnit
Posted by honey bunny at 11:28 AM 0 comments
Monday, May 21, 2007
Pop
I was thinking about pop culture in general the other day. Does nobody realize that everyone...well, not everyone. there are a few deserving individuals.....but for the most part, most that we have risen to such god-like stature in our society is either a raving moron or a raving drug addict or a raving homosexual...not that i have anything against homosexuality but the fact that someone is praised and (well lets face it) almost idolized because of their sexual orientation is beyond remedial and sick on levels we americans have so graciously decended to.
Oh lord i shouldn't even get started on this whole 'emo' phase. There is no excuse for this to be such a widely excepted state of mind. And all the soccer moms go, "oh they're just expressing themselves.".......bullshit. 'EMO' started out as 'emotional rock' a musical genre. What the hell has it become? Black on black on black on pasty white skin, loving my girlfriend so much i wanna rip her heart out and eat it before i cut myself to death. And...nobody is worried? Nobody is concerned that almost an entire generation is influenced by this point of view? You wanna know why this is such an influencial cry for help? because it's conformity through non-conformity. Of course it's just a phase, and these kids will get tired of the fad soon, but not without help. And not the kind of 'i understand your problems and you have every right to be upset -yada -yada' help. NO, they need someone to explain that when Forest Gump said life was like a box of chocolates, he did not mean it was sweet and cream filled. He, meant your gonna bite into raspberry and get dog shit. Every time. Until you get to that beautiful raspberry or [insert favorite] at the bottom. And it's gonna be so much sweeter. Because you would not know how good it was without all of the bad. That's my analogy anyway. My point is kids are being taught to keep as much good around them as possible, (by good i mean positive influences on intellect, moral value, and general decency), and keep out the bad, which, is not a bad thing. Wouldn't it be better though, to teach them to live with the bad? Especially in the world we're living in. Instead of feeling sorry for themselves, to really stand up and say something about something. Then appreciate those small bits of good that fall into our lives. To train them to look for those Real moments when life is worth living, and appreciate them for what they really are? I can tell you we wouldn't have these self-inflicted, emotionally unstable, depressing edward-scissor-hands walking around.
Wow where was my point?
Oh yeah, pop culture...it's slowly draining every ounce of decency and reality from everyday life. Reality is TV now...how desperate can we get for entertainment? Idiocracy...watch it. Ok movie, terrifying subject matter. Just watch, you'll see what i mean.
I'm sure this will be an ongoing topic of discussion with me. There's just too much to pick apart.
So until next time..
~HB
Posted by honey bunny at 5:01 AM 2 comments
Friday, May 11, 2007
Whilst i was perusing through blogs, i stumbled upon a forum titled, Overcoming Bias. The forum itself intrigued me but i was especially interested in a post called, Feeling 'Rational'. The post basically expressed the connection of feeling to rational or irrational thought and which influenced which. (these topics were discussed by highly educated individuals, so of course their language was pretty, intricate, and every word dripped with decidedness.) They also mentioned suppression and what we find to be 'acceptable' public display of emotion. (pointing out the acceptance of emotional female expression in society and the discouragement of male.)
I find it fascinating how simply a mood can be influenced by the smallest actions. The writing style of these pricks, for example, makes me feel angry.
Now i wont lose all couthe and flat out insult a group of people like a child, but i will point out the fact that these guys, however intelligent, or understanding and accepting they may be, are still pretentious.
Of course rational thought influences emotion. Of course, an individual who has suffered emotional trauma would shut off conscious feeling, and rule with logic and reasoning (however skewed their reasoning may be is not the issue). The point is, its all thought to control emotion.
duh
My issue is not with the fact that these intellects are discussing the topic, (when i say intellects....im sure a majority of them are doctors, lawyers, professors etc.) but that they treat it with the callousness of a diagnosis, like... a cold or broken finger.
Maybe im a little bitter, but when i wake up in the morning, i have to make a conscious effort to allow myself to feel anger, bitterness, and contempt. Its not a dramatic ploy, its not for attention. It is a staple in my psyche and it pisses me off to hear a group of learned men discuss it with the same detachment that they find crudely fascinating while using harvard mouths to suck each others figurative cocks and patting themselves on the back for being such a godsend to society in discussing the destruction of bias.
Its all relative and its all bullshit.
That is all
Posted by honey bunny at 7:03 AM 0 comments
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Pardon My Lack of Couth...
There's no sweet way to say I'm an asshole. I'm well aware that many will be put off by my extreme nihilism. My only reason for starting a blog is that i will search for stimulation in any form and i get off on deep contemplation. I figure writing to be a form of meditation and a fantastic expression. I'm all for expression, as long as it's well thought.
As an opinionated individual, i also have a conflicting trait which causes me to empathize with any point of view. Not to say there is no better or worse, but better or worse are also relative. I view constantly through every perspective possible, so that i may get a 3dimensional view of every situation. This blog will be mostly unbiased observations of the world around me. A journal, more for myself than anyone.
However, please feel free to comment at any time if you have anything valid to say.
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