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!

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:

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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.

one follower

i see at the side of my blog page there is this mysterious follower who i do not know. i tried clicking on the name and shit but i can't get a solid lead out of it. who are you, nameless and anonymous fan of mine? where do you come from? how did you get to this place, the bottom of the internet well? do you know me? if you do, do you dislike me a little bit? just a bit? like, you may say hi to me in public and give me a nice hello and a handshake, maybe even a hug, but when i leave to aisle you say to your loved one:

"that guy is a fucking prick, he has always been a self serving egotistical monster who thinks he is better then everyone else just because, well, i am not sure why, i am going to college for _____ and all he has done in the past four years is drink and drink and drink and drink and then drink some more. fuck him. actually honey, you should go over to the cheap wine section(where i am sure he is at) and beat the fuck right out of him. thats right, beat that curley hair faggot's ass or this dick/pussy is going under lock and key until Saturday, and its fucking MONDAY. just think about that. i tell you what, one time, he told my ____ that ___ was a stupid ___ in front of my ____ and then later on, ended up fucking my ____ and then __ right inside of my ___ and my dog couldnt ___ for a week."


or you just stumbled upon my site and dug my stuff. either way, i want to know who you are. either way, let me know, you masked fan of doom.

the seedy seeds and life and death

short little story here. two weeks after lindsey had her accident, me and my very best friend went out to see this local and great band called the seedy seeds. they write unique and beautiful pop/indie/dance/folk music.

i am at this bar and waiting for them to go on, drinking quite a bit. i think my friend did something to piss me off so i was zoning out thinking about the horror, the guilt and sadness, guilt because i was here without her, and horror at the whole situation as a whole.

anyway, here i am at this bar, lindsey still in a coma, me drinking because i dont know what else the fuck to do, dread seeping out through my pores. nothing good and nothing hopeful at all.

the seedy seeds are three people. a very cute female lead singer/guitarist/accordian, a crazy mustached banjo player, and a badass drummer who lays it down. the beats are half him and half programmed video games beats.

they come on and start playing and a small wave of comfort splashes over me.

about half way through, they pull out kazoos and dance and kazoo this beautiful melody, and for a short amount of time, maybe 30 seconds or a minute, i understand pure joy. i see it. i see what real and unfiltered happiness and optimism sounds like and looks like. in the midst of the absolute bottom of where i have ever been, i see what real beauty looks like. by some folk disco band. playing fucking kazoos.

i dont understand it. but it happened.