Some Distance

#50

2008-11-17T00:05:00.001-05:00

So Today,

2008-11-17T00:03:00.001-05:00

Got robbed. Suxked.

Can't complain though, i've met some nice people and this cute girl.

Dog & Pear

2008-03-26T20:10:00.002-04:00

I'd say I've been busy, but then I'd be lying. I've more so been working myself in such a way that I never have a decent amount of time to convince myself I can crawl out of my cave and socialize with others. Instead, I gorge myself on back histories of made for T.V. movies and put together semi-adorable pop songs. This one's part of the latter.

I present to you my new musical project, an underfed overloved little something.

Dog & Pear

It's called that due to the two little passions Nick and I have. I've got a ever blooming affection towards pups, Nick loves pears. Haven't seen his musical genius juice up, but I'm expecting it soon.

Southern Axe Scent

2008-03-09T04:18:00.001-04:00

It's like biting your lip in a movie, it's like hugging your dad with your fly down, it's like pulling a cork apart.

It's feeling warm because it's cold.

Platonic

2008-03-07T07:30:00.001-05:00

I need my camera, I'm fighting these urges.

It's raining it's morning and they're burning a forest outside my house.

フランスの家

2008-02-18T12:08:00.003-05:00

Haven't posted in a good while, but there's an inverse relationship between the amount I post and the amount of social interaction I have with the outside world. In essence, I've been having a really heavy loaded week, a very good week. First up, big fucking news is there's a new Bangalter track circling the net like a baguette-eating vulture eyeying the thoroughly fucked carcass of a bedazzler. It's simply titled "Love" and has all that creamy filter house goodness.
Download Here
Many an interview has been had with DJ Falcon, a damn mysterious man, but nowhere near as Howard Hughesean as Bangalter, and Falcon has said that Roulé will in fact be coming back in 2008. Seems the whole crunchy French electro the Banger crew has been making has piched interest in a new house renaissance of sorts.

Alright, happy reading all of that? Well here's the thing. That Love track was dug into, and the true source was uprooted. Seems it's some up and coming, though super unknown Brit by the name of Louis La Roche, and he's getting all the flak for having his song distributed under the Bangalter pretense. I say that regardless of its origins, if there's new disco house being produced, it's awesome no matter its creator. So what if you've got to get it out by tacking on a big name to get some airplay.

Ixnay

2008-02-09T18:00:00.000-05:00

Attention, please no more indie pianoy/acousticy artists with the forename Ben.

Please.

The Sad Existence Of Joseph Toomey, III

2008-02-09T17:25:00.000-05:00

If you listen to James Murphy & Pat Mahoney's Fabriclive 36, which you do, you'll notice a wonderfully antiquated but amazing song, "I Love Music." This song, was written by an artist named JT. His full name, is Joseph Toomey, III. He's never written another song. The irony of poor Joseph, is that in his great and only song "I Love Music" he discusses in his lyrics that when his mother asked what he'd do when he grew up, he responded that couldn't she see, he "loved music." The assumed logic here is that young aspiring Toomey went out and started a fruitful and bright music career. He didn't. He released one song. His entire life... is 6:36 long. He probably works as an accountant or a barber somewhere. Sorry JT.

Zipperhead

2008-02-03T20:00:00.000-05:00

How do you cope with a reputation that's unbashedly untrue and at the same time so awfully weird it's too funny not to play up?

This is what happens when you fall out of the loop for too long.

I think I'm also addicted to the free listings on craigslist. A broken car jack? A twelve pack of pepsi? Don't mind if I do.

Radio Mix 1 - or- Audible Caramel

2008-01-31T21:17:00.000-05:00

First radio show mix is finally up! Expect much better, brighter, butter-drenched things from Nick & I in upcoming shows, as Nick wasn't such the optimist and didn't put together anything for our show yesterday. Due to Nick's incompetence, this is a less mind-blowing single hour of music.

Starting now, every 3 to 5 P.M. on Wednesday, check out Cofc Radio and listen to a live stream of our two hour set. Will you like it? To that I say, "If you like beer." (Out of context, as it is seen by most everyone save for five other people, that comment seems fucking stupid.)

A better assessment of how much you will like it? It's better than crawling.

If you have something better to do during that time, which most likely you do, you can come here and I'll post an mp3 of the set whenever I get around to it, with badass artwork included.

Click the image for a nice marine-mammal sized version.

Download Here!

Tracklist:

01. Cut Copy - Bright Neon Payphone
02. SebastiAn - Walkman
03. Roger Troutman - So Ruff, So Tuff
04. Justice - Never Be Alone (DJ Hell's Bavarian Remix)
05. Lipps Inc. - All Night Dancing
06. Toronto - Electric Toothbrush
07. Twenny Nine With Lenny White - Citi Dancin'
08. Matthew Dear - Dog Days
09. Capsule - Feeling You
10. Casco - Cybernetic Love
11. Nicolas Vallée - New New York
12. Metro Area - Read My Mind
13. Victor - Go On Do It
14. DJ Pui Pui - Simple Life
15. The Immortals - The Ultimate Warlord
16. Château Flight - Baltringue
17. Dynasty - Strokin'
18. Data - 7 Months To Forget

Oriental Magpie Robin

2008-01-30T00:27:00.000-05:00

I need to stop falling for the same girl.

But she's everywhere.

Irritant

2008-01-29T15:10:00.000-05:00

In the usual fashion of public bathing, this morning's bathroom rituals blew ass. Of all the things I truly hate in this world, and the list is damn small, I just can't handle Dial soap. It's the fucking devil incarnate, and I'd rather bathe with rancid lobster bisque caked with mummified dog semen than touch that malicious yellow bar against my skin. But that's all I could find and I hadn't the patience to pull my pants back on and go buy a bar of something decent.

Window Shopper

2008-01-28T12:48:00.000-05:00

This is in no way a cry for help.

Ever feel as if one day you'll come back to your hometown and you'll be forgotten? A moment in the past of other's that is all too corroded, the green penny inside the air vent you can't reach. That's what the last two days have felt like. I've run into several people I used to know (and technically, y'know, still know) but no one seems to acknowledge each other's presence. In my account it was more of me giving a brief glance, or a smile, but they're never returned, always stuck in the peripheral vision.

Maybe it's the loss of a distinguishing facial feature, or maybe I'm no good with acquaintances.

More On That

2008-01-24T21:01:00.000-05:00

On January 24, 2008, Stortz was found shaved in his third-floor room on St. Phillips St. in the less church-surrounded area of Charleston. According to his roommate Nick, Stortz appeared fully bearded as he arrived home at approximately 4:30 p.m. EST with plans of mindlessly surfing the internet, entered the bathroom at about 4:45 p.m. to piss, and as he returned, found Stortz still severely fur-faced, with a puma track jacket, and grey beanie. Beard Trimmer "Conair" arrived at approximately 6:30 p.m. to give Stortz a cleaner look, and when he did not emerge by 6:40 p.m., negotiated sensible shaving ideas with no answer. Conair entered the bathroom, began to shave some thicker patches, and tried to style Stortz's face. Conair called actress Mary-Kate Olsen, whose number was very much not programmed in Stortz's cell phone. She replied she would have no part in talking to an inanimate object. After again attempting to just barely shorten Stortz's beard, Conair called Olsen again, and at 6:48 p.m. realized he had cut far too close, and had rather fucked up his beard in a severe way. Medical workers moved Stortz to the floor, used a pair of scissors and razor, and pronounced Stortz clean-shaven and baby-faced at 6:52 p.m.

Lab partners said they found the new look to be sad and worrisome, and that there were "no obvious signs" of losing a bet. An initial beardtopsy later that night proved inconclusive at determining Stortz's cause of clean shavedness. The medical examiner's office stated it will take about 10 days to have a decent stubble.

-----------------------------------

I can too easily see the phone conversation.

"Hello?"
"Hi... who's this?"
"Oh, er... well it's Heath's masseuse..."
"Why have you got his phone?"
"Hahah oh! Um... well he's sleeping and won't wake up, you do anything to him?"
"No, haven't seen him in ages, is he alright?"
"Yeah! Well I guess, perhaps I should try and wake him up again... Nope, still nothing"
"Have you tried, oh I don't know, calling an emergency medical unit instead of calling a twenty one year old blonde chimp-faced trash bag with legs?"
"Er, well...no. Totally fun talking to you though!"

The masseuse definitely called Mary-Kate out of pure star-strucked-ness, why the fuck wouldn't you call 911 first.

You Kissed Shannyn Sossamon, You've Had Your Run

2008-01-22T22:30:00.000-05:00

Death Toll / Family Outting / Brownout

2008-01-22T00:13:00.000-05:00

How well does the imitation or view of historical events stand next to fact? I was reading a lot about how film makers are the most influential visual historians of our time, and how their decisions on what we're shown have a searing impact on how we identify with moments of time. Take for example, Oliver Stone's JFK. I remember renting that movie for research when I did a biography on Kennedy for 4th grade. Still remember my mother cringing as the word 'fuck' was used in rapid semi automatic succession during a scene with a wigged man.

Anyway, that movie totally blew the Kennedy conspiracy up in the air for an entire generation, after it had taken forever to settle all of those decades. The fucker Stone makes out Jim Garrison as some hero trying to claw his way into the impenetrable facade of corrupt American government. In actuality, Garrison was a fucking kook who tried his damnedest to argue his point with the thinnest of connections. But that movie made me such a believer! Sure I was only ten or so, but fuck did I get that fear that something was wrong with our politics, and turned into a little pseudo liberal yoo-hoo loving dinosaur collector.

All of the hysteria and conspiratorial hissy fitting after JFK's assassination on Soviet involvement and other more outlandish bullshit just makes me think of how godawful the media was post-September 11th, everyone sniffing out as many loose ends as possible and filling in the cracks with their own concoctions of what went down.

Flemish Humor

2008-01-17T16:11:00.000-05:00

Went to put on a clean plaid shirt I had in my closet today, but before leaving for class, noticed a decent sized tear under the left arm pit. Was thoroughly pissed, but thought it could be easily mended. Turns out it's more of a tennis ball-sized hole, left there after my damn mutt of a dog ate through it during a nervous breakdown when I left her alone at home for the day a few days before leaving for downtown.

I can't tell if it's her semi-subtle way of getting back at me for leaving her, 'cause she chews on my clothing in areas where my scent would be strongest, like my boxers and the under arms of shirts. Maybe I taste good, but vanity most likely isn't the answer here.

Notice how once in the plaid mood, I had to find and wear the now-crippled shirts twin.

Also notice how my left eye is a festering cess pool of gooky pink-eye-dom. Somehow contracted viral conjunctivitis, very unhappy. Constantly go cross-eyed and can't for the life of me focus on anything even slightly bright. Went to the school's health department with little solution. Fuck.

MAY0208CMB3

2008-01-15T23:50:00.000-05:00

Can we end the teaching of how to make things bold and size 40 to teenage girls?

Skinny Girls

2008-01-15T20:18:00.000-05:00

There are too many girls I want to paint, but I always end up painting dogs or swiss cheese meets semi-automatic mountainscapes.

Daughters

2008-01-15T16:02:00.000-05:00

Once you pass the age of 18, do you feel weirded out about 18 only porn sites?

Thomas Hobbes, Limousines, & Nepal

2008-01-14T18:26:00.000-05:00

Nothing gets much under my skin, well nothing other than my own doing or saying, self reflection and all that. I'm not impenetrable though, there's a soft fleshy under belly that doesn't heal all that well if reached. I'm also not one to cause bad blood, but somethings just need to be said and done. Not everything slips by.

Over the weekend a good and endearing friend of mine had their birthday, and their ensuing celebratory party started out all well and chipper, but then a shit ton of that "parade rain" esque gloom covered it thicker than fuck. A thick fuck at that.

The perpetrator knows well who he is, and most likely will never read this, though I'd wish he would, however indifferent he'd be. Mostly I'd like to point out that however many times you throw yourself at people, seething with that unbridled calculated apathetic snarl, you're cutting your ties with humanity more so than trying to improve it. You shout and bark for acceptance, and play all of the well worn and ragged cards of the socially inept middle school weirdo. Stilts drawn and towering over your crowd of spectators, all crowded in a corner, incapable of escaping your malicious intent. While we're looking the other way, you shout down how we're all elitists, near-spitting that we'd might as well have our entourage of servants laugh for us (to save us from exhausting our fat gloating throats) at how much superior our caviar stained lives are.

Well you're fucking right they are.

I'd well choose to be slightly more socially inclined, somehow markedly more mentally stable, ten fold greater in the accomplishment field than just be a caricature of what was once a person. You say elitist and mumble bastardized comments of your views on people, and then puppy-eye beg for acceptance and rationality. If you'd like to be accepted, consider friendly engagements, consider not talking down to someone as soon as your glazed over view semi-focuses on most of their face.

I wasn't fully and utterly pissed about the fucked up actions at said party until they soaked in after a few days of sobered realization and discussion with friends. You don't fucking come to someone's party, disassociate yourself with everyone, and then vocally slander them. This is more than one person. It's someone's fucking birthday, not just another place to get drunk. I know myself and others are notoriously retained and away from others at parties, but we don't group up and bash people. This is all too whiny and bitch sounding, but for fuck sakes it needed to be vented.

Some of you are still alright.

Dark Tide

2008-01-10T23:58:00.000-05:00

Some times gratuitous amounts of illegal music, social anxiety and a dry week are all you need.

Today I thought of how awful life would be if I saw someone get killed in front of me.

Fragile.

Packaging Tape Is The Loudest Sound On Home Video

2008-01-09T15:00:00.000-05:00

I have time on my hands, and thought I didn't aim near enough the multitude of stereotypical blog related posts during this month, one being a re-cap of highs and lows of the past year.

This is damn hard for me because I've got a bad habit of not being able to consider much anything earlier than a few months ago. So this might be asymmetrically weighed on the more recent than pre-summer 2007. But 'fuck cares, right?

Anyway, an thoughtfully uncategorized selection of 'bests' & 'worsts'.

Anything vague or stupid sounding is there to protect my standings as a decent human being.

-----------------------------------------

Best New Album Cover: Danger's "09/14/2007" EP

Worst New Pet Peeve: iTunes fucking stopping a currently playing album cause you're browsing around artists. (Probably fixable, but fuck)

Weirdest New Necessity: Having to miss every reflective bump on the road when changing lanes.

Best New Purchase: Laser Disc of Videodrome (Not true, as this was done like... a week ago, after New Years. (But again, fuck)

Best All Encompassing Experience: Eating corn in a bar with a drunk couple and shy poor postured English student in the depths of Montreal's night-life side.

Worst Luck: Leaving my bike on the side of town where a female cop said "hell I go to church by there, but I'd never leave my bike outside." Fucking fuckers. Fuck.

Best DJ Set Experience: Tie between Geoff playing The Cardigans more than once at a party, and SebastiAn being lifted above his decks by fellow Bangers to float above the crowd at the Daft Punk Afterparty.

Worst Smell: Whatever the fuck kind of perfume my mom puts on in excess (noticeable in car and in parent's bathroom)

Favorite New Dog: German Shepherd. (& this weird 1/2 sized brown husky thing this Asian kid walks around campus all the time.)

Worst New Powdered Medication To Obsess Over: Gold Bond Extra Strength Medicated Powder

Best Girl Experience: Finding an excuse to increase relationship status with two different girls in the same room a month apart.

Newly Respected Artist/Person: Tony Sinclair, Juan Maclean, Tom Hanks, Michael Mann

Most Adorable Text Message: My mom trying to figure out how to text, here's the message as it originally appears, to prove its cuteness:

"Hi john i miss you would you like to go out for a quick dinner wednesday and i can get your dirty clothes and mdOO ggg v giv df give you the shejkjj5 shelves you need for the baa coffee pot this is my first text message by myrself iljjj ill get better please call me love you mom uf"

Worst/Coolest Scene: Watching a dead discarded dog in someone's yard get slowly smaller and smaller in substance due to the large buzzard population near my house.

Favorite New Cereal: Quaker Oatmeal Squares. (Fucking unbelievable)

Most Desired eBay Items: '50s era helicopter pilot helmet, nice wooden laserdisc player, New Wave single, plain-backed black cafe racer jacket & Stephen Hawking's Hot Air Balloon if it were still up for bid.

Most Desired Transportation Device: A Honda Motocompo, or a Honda c50.

Newly Acquired Taste In Noise To Wake Up To: Fake rain from one of those Brookstone-y sound machines.

Nina Beneath The Drying Octopus

2008-01-09T11:35:00.000-05:00

Back downtown, and a new sense of enjoyment comes out of rearranging our room. The whole nestling effect is so true, putting a chair or coffee pot in a new corner is unnecessarily satisfying.

My fears of insomnia cultivated last night, when (through the wonders of my thoroughly fucked schedule) I fell asleep at midnight, woke up around 4 AM, and didn't fall back asleep until thirty minutes before my alarm went off. P. Diddy has never scared the living shit out of me so much.

During all of my attempts of finding sleep I did one of the least proactive things, which was to start deeply considering the implications of having the ability to stop (or infinitely slow down) time. A lot of thought concentrated on how I'd abuse it to up my income, and how I'd also use it for terribly mundane benefits, like having really witty comebacks.

I might write a short story on it. Genies may or may not be involved. Space genies. Or like, the monolith from 2001. But in a lamp.

Hmm..

LIke Some Herd Of Strippers

2008-01-06T19:27:00.001-05:00

Saw a family of eastern screech owls last night, as I turned down my drive at 6 in the morning.

Good friends though, and bisquick.

Classes start soon.

This has been the first shit post on this, I am deeply sorry.

& I don't want to get vague about things.

I'm buying my mother's Christmas present eleven days too late because I'm a selfish spoiled stuck-in-own-asshole son.

That's only if I can part with money that's not even mine.

I'm baking her a cake with the present though.

She loves coconut.

Retro Decay

2008-01-04T11:13:00.000-05:00

I have a personal vendetta against Oakland Athletics now, due to a watch with their insignia on it chipping my lower front tooth, cause it has a push-in back and I need to change the battery.

Oh vanity.

Heavy Aching / Necessity To Crack Wrist

2008-01-04T06:02:00.000-05:00

No reported death from clinically described insomnia has ever occurred. I can barely make it past 36 hours as it is, even with a thoroughly fucked up schedule. Apparently the longest recorded time of someone staying awake was 449 hours.

That's over 18 days.

Two and a half fucking weeks.

I am thoroughly baffled by the human body time and time again. Insomnia is a funny thing, as it's overly name-checked and cried by the majority of teendom as a condition so many suffer from, when in reality people just bitch about all of the distractions we put ourselves in front of. Fucking yes you won't go to bed at a decent hour if you've got a plethora of useless knowledge sitting five feet from your bed, plugged into your wall and connected to world.

Sleeping is a large part of natural life though, as it's pretty damn necessary for functioning at a relatively normal rate. A scary and relatively fucking secret disorder is FFI, which apparently is more rare than The Neverhood and the Butcher Cover combined.

You apparently just... don't sleep. Your homeostasis is disrupted, your body doesn't dig the new schedule, and within a few months, you're dead.

I think it's strange how this sort of information is so readily available to us all. Think of when it was first found in the early '70s. No one outside a very limited medical community was probably aware of this disease. Especially no one outside of the general region. Now here, a few decades later, I'm exposed to another fearful medical issue that has no way of harming me, but just lacing my already over thoughtful mind with new matter.

Myodesopsia

2008-01-04T05:39:00.000-05:00

I see these. A lot. I've lived most of my life with these hauntingly faint and transparent bits of string floating aimlessly about my vision. For years I would attempt explanation with friends and peers, but no one seems to have them as well. Wikipedia seems to disagree, saying it's apparently not all that uncommon.

I'd spend a great deal of time in a state of distraction on my drives home from my dad's house trying to focus on them, or when I'd find myself staring up at the sky.

Maybe some day I'll draw the prominent one I have.

Bells & Percussion

2008-01-04T05:25:00.000-05:00

With Corn In The Field & Wheat In The Bins

2008-01-04T03:45:00.000-05:00

One of the worst feelings, and a sadly common one, especially in a smaller city, is the chance happening of running into, or being in the general same vicinity of someone you're no longer acquaintances with. That awkward stiff glance at each other, with an uneasy knowledge that you both saw each other, and have nothing to say. You know deep down you'd like one of two things. A chance to make up what ever fissure of bullshit has made this interaction unbearable, or the ability to shoot their hopefully very dead corpse into the sun, never to be seen again.

Since one is a little more than your budget can handle, and the other out of reach, the heavy grudge (or lack of common public mingling) rests in the air about the whole place. Not to solve this in any easy way, but as a reminder of the countless lost friendships we will all endure over our life, I devised a device to keep our conscience buoyant in the sea of regret. At least to help show a little empathy towards each other.

The apparatus would just hang on your wall, as nondescript or homely as a coat rack. Out in the open, a constant reminder of a human no longer present in your daily thoughts. Yeah, you've got a lot of other things to think about these days, but it's still funny how people slip out of your limited abilities for compassion or decent amounts of thought. A plaque on the corner of the device's hanger would read the person's name, and a brief history of their importance or portrayal in your life.

It would attach to your face, and stay put with adjustable straps, four to be exact. They'd connect to a hoop, that was attached to a veritably infinite flexible tube. Inside this tube would be a reflective metallic-like surface, that would act as a mirror. Little perforations would run down the length of the tube, acting as air holes and lighting the interior.

The other end of this tube would be connected to an identical apparatus. This one would be in the possession of the person who you've fallen out of contact with. In essence, any given time you would look inside the tube, a distorted reflection of the person would be looking back at multiple angles inside. This is on the chance occurrence the person is trying to get in contact, or at the very least thinking of you as well. In a perfect representation, one would have an entire hallway dedicated to these people, in hopes of remembering or reconnecting their broken ties.

This way fuckers could never again act like they've never met you before, when you used to spend the night over at their place. The people whose mother's still ask how they're doing, and you know you have no idea.

I Always Try To Bring Irony To A Firefight

2008-01-02T19:29:00.000-05:00

My future plans of reversing my sleep schedule and becoming fully nocturnal are not too far off. It'd never amount to anything but horribly fucked up unless I had a group of others to rely on and stay up with though. Some day it will happen, something close to vampirism. With the opening of a 24/7 Walmart and a great length of activity to do each night, it's not out of the question.

Currently my schedule is set to falling asleep around 2:00 PM, waking up around 6:30 PM. With my hair now shaved close, I'm closing in on being a very streamlined human specimen.

New sleep schedules mean new dreams, as I hold to it that dreams come off more extreme if you have them without any sense of when you went to sleep, like this afternoon.

Though I've got shit dedicated to dreaming, might as well post the peaks of the misty remembrance of what went on during my sleep:

- Was on an elevated train for a good deal of dream, big cityscape.
- Visited a collectors store, argued the price of a Gene Simmons talking wall plaque.
- Had to say good bye to (apparently) a girl I loved, as it was very heartfelt, her leaving the train in semi-tears. (Good thing I have no clue who the fuck this was.)
- Two instances of having an "Iron Chef" cook off with friends, one dish of mine being French Bread pizza.
- Dismantled a very tall satellite relay tower in the offskirts of city, met a very attractive and sad android.
- Nearly fell off said tower.
- Had to fight enraged girl who's school was apparently massacred by a large group of androids, as she believed previously stated android girl was part of it.
- Fell down multiple stories of street level after earth-shattering air-strike called on section of city.
- Knelt under a train, waiting for this friend of a friend, who had recently turned into a dope fiend.

Overall, you can tell I need to get outdoors. Fast. At least I'm not seasonally affected yet (or was it anymore?)

Oh and on the subject of sleep, fuck sleep paralysis, my only real fear when it comes to awkward sleep patterns.

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

2007-12-30T04:58:00.000-05:00

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

Oh.

Common Facts

2007-12-30T04:46:00.000-05:00

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

Monotypes?

- 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.

Vanilla

2007-12-30T04:04:00.000-05:00

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.

Of Fear And Pleasure

2007-12-29T05:34:00.000-05:00

My thoughts of the outside world are as follows:

Konfidence In My Kraft

2007-12-29T04:04:00.000-05:00

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.

Loosen Thread/Sleeper Hit

2007-12-28T03:35:00.000-05:00

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.

Cutis Anserina

2007-12-26T06:44:00.000-05:00

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

Wan Dence

2007-12-26T03:23:00.001-05:00

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.

Sax Wanking

2007-12-25T18:53:00.000-05:00

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.

Gnógr

2007-12-25T04:36:00.000-05:00

'enough' has the strangest spelling.

who the fuck said gh was equivalent to f.

Record Review: Sean Lennon "Friendly Fire"

2007-12-25T01:28:00.000-05:00

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.

(8.5/10)

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 weird...you 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

2007-12-25T00:45:00.000-05:00

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

Seraglio

2007-12-24T17:06:00.000-05:00

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

2007-12-24T17:01:00.001-05:00

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.

Alright

2007-12-24T16:48:00.000-05:00

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

2007-12-24T16:46:00.000-05:00

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.

Eve

2007-12-24T16:39:00.000-05:00

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.