Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Skinny Girls
There are too many girls I want to paint, but I always end up painting dogs or swiss cheese meets semi-automatic mountainscapes.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Thomas Hobbes, Limousines, & Nepal
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Dark Tide
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.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Packaging Tape Is The Loudest Sound On Home Video
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.
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:
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
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..
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..
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