| (no subject) |
[Mar. 9th, 2006|06:26 am] |
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Babe, I wish to come thru to you like a pure mountain river flowin thru yer warm heart.... |
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| Don't believe the hype! |
[Mar. 9th, 2006|05:52 am] |
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Never listen to what a white(y) man sez about rap music. They don't know shit. Most of them only see the service. There's some good rap out there. Public Enemy for example. Their early shit is fuckin intense. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 3rd, 2006|03:09 am] |
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evil laughter, crowd scattered chatter, too much pickering, god will be sending assassin for the shit storm...these bastards deserve it; god bless travis bickle...total trash and the sonic distortion blazin thru my head. living in a daydream nation. i'm talkin delusions but i'd rather be closer to true heart's core than deal with the garbage and bullshit that raves thru most of my life. |
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| ain't talking, merely typing |
[Mar. 3rd, 2006|02:42 am] |
ain't talking, merely typing; working my thoughts out loud
fruit medley is good juice...drinking less pop, more juice, more tea...saving the odd brew for the deserved moment; get thrashed when i deserve it. Can't wait til the school year ends. It's gonna be a big celebration, babe. I'm gonna be hanging off the ledge with an empty bottle in my hand and my head bobbling around staring up in the stars. God damn will I be free...
Visions of a Zeus dressed in a swan suit fuckin a blonde woman from behind. He could be sodomizing her.
2 dykes taught me how to financially survive in the art world. I thought I heard those women were singing the blues beneath their breath. I got enough blues. Thinking about my lower middle-class lifestyle is a bummer. I'm making movies to get away from that shit...to cannonball into the depths of my imagination, and share that with others who hope to do the same.
Dylan's singing "I want you...I want you...I want you sssooo bad"...that wild thin mercury sound banging into my eardrums. "I want you...I want you...yes I want you sssooo bad." So badly, babe. Blonde on Blonde is by far one of the greatest albums ever made, man. Leave me on a deserted island and I could survive with that one album. Rainy Day Women #12 & 35, Visions of Johanna, Stuck Inside of Mobile with The Memphis Blues Again, Just Like a Woman, 4th Time Around and on and on...his words, his imagery, man...it's wild, imaginative, it always gets me excited and inspired. How could it not make a poet out of you?
"....Aww, mama, could this really be the end?
To be stuck inside of Mobile
with the Memphis Blues again?"
Songs like that, they're so cinematic. He sings these pictureshow narratives for verses, then bring it back home with the melody. Rarely does he do the verse-chorus-verse tradition. If you know music, then you know that this is a rare musicial gift. And that's what excites me when I hear Dylan. He's one of a fuckin kind, man.
Frankly, I prefer hearing Dylan's blues than Dylan's folky stuff. As much as he's renown for the folk stuff, I dig his ol' style slinky blues more.
Alright, new direction...how bout some sonic youth... |
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| Happy birthday, stranger |
[Mar. 1st, 2006|04:49 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Rocks Off - The Rolling Stones | ] |
The city is covered with another blanket of soft snow. It's my birthday today. I haven't got much planned. Called off my shift at work. The reason isn't being that it's my birthday, but I need more time to finish off this english essay. Nobody at work knows it's my birthday. Maybe I'll save my birthday plans for the weekend. Ain't like I'll be doing much then. More work, more studying, more strain. This grind never stops. I want all of it to end. The only way to get through it & finish the shit I gotta do. I'm not gonna crack...I'm not gonna fuckin crack.
(Poor Nick Carraway, man. With all that drama in the plaza, you finally realized that it was yer birthday. If you told me that it was yer birthday today, I would've bought you a gift & cake. Some cake would be niice right about now.)
I remember when I turned 16, I was living in an hotel room. That's what I think of every time my birthday comes around. |
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| A superhero's aphorism |
[Feb. 21st, 2006|04:33 pm] |
"It's not who I am underneath, but what I do that defines me."
- Batman |
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| Porphyria's Lover - Robert Browning |
[Feb. 18th, 2006|03:00 am] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | magic toy missing - meat puppets | ] |
THE rain set early in to-night,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
And did its worst to vex the lake:
I listen'd with heart fit to break.
When glided in Porphyria; straight
She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneel'd and made the cheerless grate
Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
And laid her soil'd gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
And, last, she sat down by my side
And call'd me. When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,
And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
And all her yellow hair displaced,
And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me—she
Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour,
To set its struggling passion free
From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
And give herself to me for ever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
For love of her, and all in vain:
So, she was come through wind and rain.
Be sure I look'd up at her eyes
Happy and proud; at last I knew
Porphyria worshipp'd me; surprise
Made my heart swell, and still it grew
While I debated what to do.
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
In one long yellow string I wound
Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
I warily oped her lids: again
Laugh'd the blue eyes without a stain.
And I untighten'd next the tress
About her neck; her cheek once more
Blush'd bright beneath my burning kiss:
I propp'd her head up as before,
Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
That all it scorn'd at once is fled,
And I, its love, am gain'd instead!
Porphyria's love: she guess'd not how
Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
And all night long we have not stirr'd,
And yet God has not said a word! |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 16th, 2006|09:43 pm] |
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narcissus is revisited amongst these mutant scions... |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 16th, 2006|03:13 am] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Candle - Sonic Youth | ] |
Woke up naked on her bed. We had quick morning sex before I had to jet to work. Didn't shower nor brushed my teeth, so i was feelin like a scrub all day. It wasn't botherin me that much. Who is there to impress anyways? Work, work was pleasant, really dead. Sarah the waitress only had one table & one take-out. I didn't have much to clean, just made fries fresh from scratch, then blanched 'em. Also read Death of a Salesman in between my shift; it has to be read for my english class. It's prolly the 3rd time readin it. Gives me an opportunity to see the play in entirely different dimensions. It's one of the most important pieces ever written...if you haven't read it yet, do so soon. Don't let yer high school english teachers deprive you of great material. I remember I had to read April Raintree in my h.s. english class. I'd've like to strangle my teacher for wasting my fuckin time & endangering me and the others into becoming screw-ups. Don't be dumpin local trash into our brains when we could be reading something worthwhile like Portrait of an Artist or the Communist Manifesto or something....After work, returned home to do laundry. Sore shoulders from carryin loads of dirty towels. When you're walkin & liftin 2 or 3 loads at once, its feels like you're walkin while survivin the vulcan nerve pinch. Or somebody's fingers dippin down into yer shoulder blades. Fuckin hurts....Also begun reading Robert Browning poems outta boredom. Ma also taught me how to make necklaces & thrifty jewelry. It could come very handy, who knows.
Sandman's nibblin on my ear, I better get to bed... |
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| A Valentine's Day Love Letter to the Lonely Hearts out there... |
[Feb. 14th, 2006|09:23 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | George Thorogood - One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer | ] |
Boohoohoo...st valentine day, me so lonely boohoohoo wah wah! Nobody will fuck me boohoohoo!....
(3 hours later...)
mmmmm...rye, mmmmm...cures tha loneliness (burp!) (hiccup!)
(8 hours later...)
I woke up with my head sore on the toilet seat. my vomit is floatin next to my big whoppin hungover hollow head. My mouth feels like an ashtray. what have i been puttin into my system....whatever it is i still feel lonely
boohoohoo...grow up you fuckin emos! |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 14th, 2006|12:08 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Isis - Bob Dylan | ] |
Fell asleep reading T.S. Eliot, woke up from a dream where I was on an island with dinosaurs...like the Lost World! Only except that this island was part of a resort at a mall, virtual reality I think or maybe it was a movie we were part-taking in. Also woke up with a fuckin sore back. Fuckin futon. Need new bed. I miss the old one. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 8th, 2006|02:34 am] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Powderfinger - Neil Young & Crazy Horse | ] |
Mid-terms this week. Been loosely prepared, but I don't think I've studied enough. Hopefully I've passed my bio & anthro. Psychology should be a sinch. My mind's been so wrapped up with work & school, I haven't got to think about much else. Except for Shakespeare sonnets - been reading those lately. Use to think Shakespeare was overrated, but there's no other poet can teach you more bout life than the Bard.
Trying to keep a happy medium with my weariness. My mind tends to dwell into the grey when I'm so fuckin beat. How do the Beats do it?
(RE: Shakespeare's Sonnet #27)
----
Whenever I take off my headphones at campus, the first thing I hear is bickering. Brats' bickering. blah blah blah blah oh ya? YA! YA? YAAA! Whoa! teeheehee...it disgusts me. I know thats pretty cynical but so are some of these campus kids. They're here to learn though I don't feel like they really are...just lookin for some SECURITY, however it is. Bah, gettin self-righteous, i'll keep it to myself. (mutter mutter) ya fuckin brats!...why can't my headphones work?!?
In English, they got me reading absurdist theatre. Krapp's Last Tape, Beckett. I totally dig it. Would be nice to write & produce an absurdist play. Something smirkin at our reality, something surreal. Maybe something based on the bickerings exchanged in the halls. Hhhmmm...
If Andy Warhol did theatre instead of film, would he be doin a whole play consisting of an hour-long blow-job or a 12 hour glance of a building? Anything passes for art if its ambitious. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 29th, 2005|05:25 am] |
Why another girl...why another relationship...another distraction, cure to relieve my loneliness. I can feel my interiors shed some layer when i'm wailing and moaning about wanting to held, wanting to embraced. Narcissus in disguise. Let go. Go on. Masturbate as much as you can, then go on. Tell your friends your filthy habits - revolt them, let em go. Go on. Feel unloved. Be alone. Realize what you got left, and maybe you'll find who means most to you. Mom, Josh. Dad's voice on the phone. The last blood string, this is your family. These are the people who mean most to you. Protect them, adore them, and keep an open mind. Why repress?...wherever you're trying to escape won't take you very far. Picture how far you'd go to convince a girl to sleep with you. How much will it cost? How much shame will it take? How many time do you have to hear other people's sex lifes before you can't contain it anymore. The only way to destroy this distraction is create another distraction. Where else can i get my jollies?
Gonna be working all of my waking Saturday. Gonna be spent leaning over the sink, washing, scrubing, moving around the kitchen, serving, cleaning, and maybe some time to smoke and read...if the manager doesn't see me. It's ironic, I can smoke but they won't tolerate me reading my Dostoevsky when I have nothing to do. Gotta show that I'm being productive. I need another job. Another distraction. |
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| "Cheapness is her one object in life - to live as cheaply as possible, and she talks of nothing... |
[Jul. 22nd, 2005|04:16 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  chipper | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Crippled Inside - John Lennon | ] |
...but farthings."
Hockey lives again! About fucking time. I'm sick of hearing nothing but business in sports. Just put the guys on the ice, fuck the money fuck everything else...we can't afford to go the games anyways, many of us need to something to do on saturday night. Next fall, it'll be time to crack open the beer for some Hockey Night in Canada. It sounds absurd, we've been deprived of a cultural phenomenon this past year.
Reading Dostoevsky's The Idiot right now. Nothing beats the summer with a lil bit of thick, rambling Russian existential literature. 19th century Russian boys and girls, even the bourgeosie, must've looked like tacky klingons. Why is that the Russians in stories have names I can't pronounce? But! all the Russian hockey players seem easier to pronounce? - i.e. Sergei Fedorov, Pavel Bure, Nikolai Khabibulin (K's silent). Empathy is so difficult when your name is a sentence, or jibberish on surface.
Everyone's telling me the tales of their relationships. My jealousy hides behind a smooth feign interest. (Nervous chuckle)....But my sympathy ain't phony though. I miss Nina.
I think I had a flashback in my dreams. The playback felt very vivid. I was in elementary school again, I was back in Strathearn, at that old untarnished gymnasium. I was in my old grade 6 class, with all of my good pals - Jordan, Sergio, Hank, Rob, everybody...we were playing an intense floor hockey game. Holy shit, can't believe that's still in my memory. After that, my dream drifted into Oedipus territory which I ain't gonna bother explaining. It's so unimaginable, I dunno how my head would project that upstream.
Someday, everybody's gonna treat Scarlett Johansson like a swan, if they haven't yet. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 20th, 2005|05:39 pm] |
| In a Past Life... | 
You Were: A Gorgeous Astrologer.
Where You Lived: Turkey.
How You Died: Suicide. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 18th, 2005|02:36 pm] |
You need love.
You are a pretty normal, well-rounded person
that just craves that fairy tale love where you
will be swept off your feet and live happily
ever after. Chances are that you fantasize or
dream about it so much that you either see all
the guys/girls as unromantic or you tell
yourself that anyone could be your soulmate.
You long to have someone by your side and you
want to give back on the romance part too, not
just give.
What Do You Need in Your Life? [dark pics]
brought to you by Quizilla |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 18th, 2005|02:32 pm] |
Your wise quote is: "Our greatest glory is not
in never falling, but in rising everytime we
fall" by Confucius.
Yes indeed, you see true strenght can only be
seen when a person has "fallen". Only
then one can tell how they will handle it. Just
don't make others fall so you can know who they
really are. You on the other hand may be a very
quick recoverer and don't let people bring you
down. You are your own, and you're find with
that. Emotional issues is something you handle
rather nicely.
What wise quote fits you?(pics) UPDATED
brought to you by Quizilla |
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