Sunday, December 30, 2007

The Paramedic Called The Press And Sold Me Like A Loaf Of Bread.

Some bird is making the fucking most bat-shit insane noises outside my window. Take a hint, no one's up this late.


Common Facts

Mislabeled as stereotypes/false rumors. Stereotypes (& FR) held by only one person.


- There's no need to bother talking to anyone with a monroe piercing.
- Divorced women with prominent, straight and even-lengthed lower teeth are sexually affluent.
- Vanity has dominated politics since its birth, though the ugliest mutts succeed ten-fold.
- The back half of your upper arm abides no rules in terms of natural skin texture/hair growth.
- All dominant expression is in the eyebrows.
- The black underneath your eyes is liquid, and could possibly be punctured with a needle, releasing a copious amount of blood.
- No one liked the kid that came to school in shorts and a long sleeve shirt.


Ever feel a fear that's too stupid for conversation? For any logical assessment of its nature or even a profoundly accurate example? I've had this ever creeping fear that I can notice the subtleties that are accumulating into what will sadly be me 'aging' or becoming 'adult'. They're almost entirely little smudges of daily life, hardly noticed and passed infinitely throughout the week. They range from the dark peaks of sexual stimulus to the tragically laughable valleys of comfort.

Now it all seems a joke, me writing these examples, but at the specific time they were just cause for concern on where my life is headed. The other day a friend of mine got excited over the ease and helpfulness of paying for something with a gift card. No longer was it a novelty monetary system, it was well suited for its task. He got excited over the receipt, showing the balance of the card. I laughed at how ordinary it all was, but it was funny how not but a few days ago I had considered to start keeping receipts. More so just to see how much money I spend on the worst of shit than anything else, but it still struck me as such a elderly and strange desire. More personal was a sexual thought about this girl I had seen, but I stopped my mind from wandering into heated mental masturbation when I realized all of the angles in this pseudo encounter were...well no easy way to put this, but filmed as if she was an older lover, or even a wife. It was all so cashmere, so JC Penney. It felt like the Olan Mills of pornographic theater. It's hard to put into any steady conscious string of words, but it scares me. Even the lightest of things strikes that still-spooked nerve. Like a new found love of action movies. I've always been a fan of the over blown action movie, it's a boyhood love, but now it's almost as if it's culminating into that sit-around-and-drink-a-few watch a flick and whistle at women sort of life style they parody on every fucking sitcom.

It's overthinking, and it's damn easy.

Saturday, December 29, 2007

Of Fear And Pleasure

My thoughts of the outside world are as follows:

Konfidence In My Kraft

I experienced an unnatural amount of synchronicity tonight on my drive home. The night prior I had been driving home and noticed a insipid late '80s sports sedan blandfuck car pass in the opposite lane on the highway. The only thing memorable really was that its headlights and fog lights were on, but only the top right headlight and bottom left foglight were working. Anyway as I thought about this particular car, lo and behold, it starts heading towards me in the opposite lane, around the same time at night.

It was like a call and demand sort of affair, I mention its name, and it comes like an obedient dog.

From a distance and oncoming, it looked more akin to two motorcycles tailgating one another, almost abiding the 12" rule. It cast a sensationally tremendous order of luminance. The memory casts a thunderbolt of disturbing strength vertically down the stair-stepped structure of my vertebraeic column. Someone said I needed heftier words if I was to have my current subtitle. Fuck this.

Anyway, so yeah it looked cool in the dark.

Friday, December 28, 2007

Loosen Thread/Sleeper Hit

I learned how to make a twitch-up snare for catching rabbits today. It'd be great to humanely catch them and play with them, and this is not that way. I'm aware I have the mindset of a child. Though no nice way to seize the little fuckers has been placed in my lap, of all the dirty scheming ways, catapulting their limp mammalian bodies skyward seems satisfying enough.

Read: I actually dig animals, would not consider actually using this snare.

Still though..

I really need to sleep.

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Cutis Anserina

Give me Monolake, a schedule akin to that of a bloodsucking transylvanite, and I'll start drawing nipples.

Wan Dence

I drove home using only my left hand. I was curious about how difficult it'd be to be crippled in such a way and still do daily chores. Morbid training I guess. Every store I passed I checked to see if it was open, if lights were on. The holiday season's shut in most of society due to cutting off our ties with the outside world: consuming. With nothing to purchase I drive towards the heavy dark woods of the city outside the city. The pine-wood architecture of the surrounding forest cuts clear definitions in the night sky. On a moonless night, the syrupy molasses construction of the woods stands in contrast to the near perfectly dark sky. It's impenetrable. Radial skeletons of poorly executed geometric patterns consume most of the mass that makes up the lines between dark and darker. There's a stretch of straightaway deeper down the two lane drive that I've got a score with. Alone and bored it's easy to start speeding up down the line. A blue-green light, filtered through tree limbs is visible throughout the duration of this stretch. It conjures up thoughts of a low altitude search team sent out to find and execute those escaped from a clinic or prison. Cold cylinders of steel and aluminum, cast black with chambers built for shells resting on their laps. The just-passed pseudo residential area comprised of four over-weathered homes, filled with elder black folk must be the source for the eerie emission. Fear builds in that brights-on-something-moving-in-the-corner-of-your-eye sort of way, but pure enjoyment takes over as I continue pushing down. Nearing the turn I consider leaving my foot cemented, confident in control, until the sharp snap of cymbals from the Motorbass song strike reality in my spine. I lightly tap the brakes, slowing for the turn. I'm nearing my driveway, as the windshield begins to bathe itself in fog. Like a lens dilating, my view becomes warped and docile, clouds consuming the dark exterior. A notion of concern pings in my nervous system as I approach the drive, neighbor's dogs are out, their blackened silhouettes taken unkindly by the windshield's newfound love for obscurity. I slow rapidly, fearing canine contact. No mutts found, sleeping or already under the wheel of previous passer-byes. The gates opened, and the reflective ruts of puddles from previous weather guide my vehicle through the autumnal crunch of red and yellow deciduous. Empty chairs line the outer edges of a man-made pond, ducks silently cutting holes in the black empty that makes up what must be liquid. A monolithic white structure opposes the temptation of the surrounding black forest.

Sometimes you'll want to think like this.

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

Sax Wanking

My stepfather bought me a karaoke set for Christmas. It's such a gift for himself it's not even funny. I unwrapped it, said thanks, and haven't touched the thing since. My mom and him just opened it up a while ago.

Now the fuckers are singing Unforgettable, that terrible song they chose to dance to during their wedding. I'll never use the damn thing and I've got to put up with them loudly acting like fools.

Whatever makes 'em happy though, I owe it to them.


'enough' has the strangest spelling.

who the fuck said gh was equivalent to f.

Record Review: Sean Lennon "Friendly Fire"

Here's a record that was well received by most reviewers, but I think it still didn't get the credit it truly deserved. A swell album full of immensely brilliant chord changes, track order, and open but
well penned lyrics. If it weren't for the heaviness of this boy's last name, I'm sure he would've garnered a lot more attention, or at least had the spotlight shining on him in a different way.

Sean Lennon, oh what a last name that is. A great deal of musical history in just two syllables and a handful of letters. Born to John Lennon and Yoko Ono, the mop-topped brit with sharp eyes somehow beat the odds of artists-born-of-artists and wrote himself a lovely record. It's good enough that it makes up for the musical career of Julian Lennon. I'm not one to really dog people, but holy fuck, Too Late For Goodbyes? That song is the audible equivalent of being gang raped softly while having a what-you-hated-in-the-'80s enema. I realize it was during a time when a great deal of pop rock acts blew horse cock, but that takes the cake really.

Anyway, Sean's Friendly Fire is incredibly wonderful in my unhumble opinion. Let us tour the tracks for what they're worth.

"Dead Meat" A strange strange start, for the better though. An acoustic opener with perfectly placed strings, and lyrics that sound like they were written by a grade school bully with the voice of an angel. Wonderful coming from the soft spoken Lennon.

"Wait For Me" Fucking ace vocals on this track, and the lyrics are spot on John sounding. Nice little solo too.

"Parachute" Ah the start of three sublimely perfect badass sad songs. The switch off to the chorus is intense, with nice little guitar lines, 'la la' vocals. Great.

"Friendly Fire" A the mark of a great composition, fucking cool chord change when the chorus comes in, sort of weak for the title track, very sparse, but enjoyable overall.

"Spectacle" Okay, fuck this. This song is just oozing with that saccharine sweetness of a terrible love song, but it's pulled off so well. The kicker for me in this song is most definitely the 1) cellos and 2) the "oooh-eee" guitar bends that follow Lennon's voice during the chorus. Also, at the end, as the song starts its descent towards an outro, it hits this awesome minor descending riff, and he brings back the whole band to play around with it. Nicely done, the bastard.

"Tomorrow" Oh no. Alright, the only track that really doesn't stand out. Written almost too perfectly, y'know, like some bastard in a LA studio penned it for some pop idol to sing at the MTV music awards. But yeah, it's still well done, nice break from thinking too much over how well the last few songs were orchestrated.

"On Again, Off Again" Soft awkward paced acoustic guitar, a little piano tinkering. Not my favorite, but still has its nice moments. One of which is not when he rhymes "ocean" with "motion."

"Headlights" Trippy lyrics, but not in a groan sort of way. Great beefy acoustic guitar, nice harmonies. Oooh and contains the great remark of "life is only slowly dying" right before there's a little acoustic interlude with nice spacey noises in the background. And I'm curious as to how the hand-clapped rhythm was done, I seriously doubt they got a group to clap in perfect unison for nearly three minutes.

"Would I Be The One" Oh this is class. Weird little reverb synth with guitar flutters in the background (also appear in Dead Meat) Nice change up when it goes to the chorus. Goes absolutely fucking ballistic later out, a lot of solo-y things, space boops and beeps.

"Falling Out Of Love" Good choice for an ending track, a lot of building up slowing down all of that sort, starts off with some pretty blah chord-age but gets golden later.


Overall a stand out album that sort of slinked its way under the radar, and was given the open-mouthed yawn by a lot of people due to the name on its cover. Doesn't hurt that Yuka Honda of Cibo Matto fame plays on the album (they were lovers once [ain't it know...the whole...Lennon/Asian girlfriend thing...nevermind.])

Speaking of 'friendly fire' a room mate of my friend's was telling us of Andrew Jackson, the bonafied badass of presidential history, caused the most casualties to the American side during the Battle of New Orleans. The fucker sat atop horseback and shot any of his men that ran away from battle. Awesome. (please question my historical accuracy, I'm reciting a story I heard nearly a week ago in a bad state of mind)

True Blue

I think I've fallen in love with the color of Lever 2000 soap.

Monday, December 24, 2007


Van She, James Murphy,

Come clean, and by that I mean please refer somewhere to how you got the idea for a song.

By this I mean please validate I'm not looney for hearing other songs in your songs.

Listen to Van She's "Mission" off their EP, and just try and tell me you're not reminded of the Car's "Don't Cha Stop" off their eponymous debut.

And the other subject I'm trying to rat out, who's probably more of a candidate for this, is James Murphy of LCD Soundsystem. Get out your Kraftwerk collection and and play "The Robots" from their Man-Machine album. What's that? Yes! It's "Get Innocuous!" from LCD's Sound Of Silver album.

Funny how they're both opening tracks, eh?

So what if this is rambling, I'm sticking to it, and will find more soon enough.

[Side Note...or Bottom Note rather: is it wrong of me that when I was a kid (See: just a while back) I always thought eponymous meant something along the lines of 'magnum opus' or something similar. Glad that was straightened out.

Wouldn't it be fun to name your son Magnum Opis? 'Cept the bit about trying to explain to your other kids how he's not your favorite and you don't do favorites and all of that.]

I'll Ask Nicely

I demand that all streetlight manufacturers consider programming their warning lights to flash at 120 Beats Per Minute. This also applies to all automotive designers and their turning signals.


So that being said, I've already noticed I'm going to abuse the ease of posting in this.

First subject: Timing.

One of the smallest things in life that excites me to no end, and it goes unnoticed almost immediately after it's occurred. Perhaps it's got a lot to do with my love for dance music, or just rhythm. Maybe that's just human nature.

What I'm talking about is when you're talking to some girl or something like that, and as you're talking you take your eyes off her for just a second or so, and out behind her you see a guy fall flat on his face, meandering his drunk ass down a set of stairs like a greased sea lion. For whatever reason you just happened to look up at the right time.

That sort of shit excites me far too much. Take my example of today; I was driving home from my father's house, just gazing out the windows as if the car needs no assistance in driving my distracted person home. I look to the right of the highway and laugh at this group of black kids playing basketball in a driveway, as there must've been at least a dozen or so on a pitiful cracked single car drive.

For whatever reason I adjusted my view to the exact opposite side of the road, and saw this giant pine rising high above all the others, but still just ordinary as ever looking. I then look up at a branch and see this hawk just perched up there, cleaning his wings with his little hawky tongue. (I actually have no idea how birds clean their feathers, look it up) So yeah...that's about all that happened. But I was amazed! Maybe I've just become some over-analyzing dolt, but for me to out-of-the-blue cock my head and see a hawk, that makes my day.

I also saw a dead dog moments later, way down a disheveled looking hunting path.

Disclaim Her

Oh and as it's to be my online little journal baby thing, beware it will be updated in an awful lots-of-posts-at-one-time and hasn't-written-shit-in-weeks way. Be wary if you so happen to find any of this interesting in the least.


I keep about three small moleskines around my person on a usual basis, due to my fear of forgetting utterly mundane things I deem important at that moment in time. To cope with the fact that I have a bit of a problem finding decent pens and how much I dislike my handwriting (mind you most of these notes are penned in either an altered state or just after waking up/being with countless women in my personal harem) I decided I needed an easy to access and simple to write in journal to detail thoughts and notions.

Most of this will be very vague, horribly obtuse, and generally pointless. Take it as such.