TRENDWATCH!
Hello all and wellcome the first installment of trendwatch. Today's focus is on the latest craze called FREE DANCING. Free dance was created over two years ago when an enterprizing young man realized during an erratic body spazam that sometimes your body may prefer a to be in a certain unwarranted position for no reason at all. This led to the concept of free dance. The tenets of the dance are that your body goes to whatever position it wants to be in at that particular moment, your mind is not in charge of the dance (so you don't have to feel self consious as the movements are natural) no one free dances any better than anyone else, you don't have to dance to the rhythm of the music and in fact that you don't have to dance to any music at all. We at the trendwatch department research team have forcasted that THIS is the dance craze to watch for in the new millenium. Next time, APPARELL!
20030730
It is noon. I feel that sleep is on the way, again. Chills, occasionaly seeing stars, weak legs, struggling to keep my drooping eyelids from staying shut, it is almost as if just being at work is forcing me into hibernation under my desk. The real problem is my god forsaken insomnia. It has been days since I have just fallen asleep at a normal hour. Just yesterday I left work an hour early because I felt like I could fall asleep driving home in the rush hour gridlock. No coffee today as yesterday it made me jitter and quake with every step. I am permanantly in that haze like when you just wake up when your friend calls you and you realize you have to go to work to make that batch of 400 blintzes when in reallity it is 5pm, you just got home from work, napped for an hour and you have never even eaten a blintz much less made one because you work in a mailroom.
20030729
I wanna make a movie about a college music teacher, a full-fledged Ph.D. He doesn't listen to popular music. He composes esoteric, oddly inscrutable pieces that premier in obscure locations throughout the world. He makes his students attend an annual 4-hour festival of music like his. He instills fear into them; fear of pop culture and the "real world". He likes his job. He was a dork in high school and now all the cool kids take his class. One day while walking to the parking lot he hears a song on someone's car stereo. It's pretty. He quickly walks on by. He gets to the faculty parking lot and hears the same song playing in another teacher's car. He rolls up his window and drives home. When he gets there he finds his son, whom he does not get along with, listening to the same song. His blood begins to boil a bit, but he manages to ask his son, "Would you please turn that down? I have papers to grade." All throughout the rest of the evening, the song sticks in his head. He makes up reasons not to like it. He uses his musical knowledge to thoroughly deconstruct the song and scientifically determine why he shouldn't like it.
He wakes up that night a bit hot, sweaty, and sad. Ex-wife. Can't talk to the kid. Other things. Old regrets. The song comes to him. It helps him. He must find it. He hurries into his office/study, turns on his radio, frantically trying to find a pop station. The dial breaks of in his hand. He turns on the computer. They have internet radio nowadays. Nothing. Nothing. MTV at 3:30a.m. is no help either. He suddenly remembers an old transistor radio buried in the closet. Soon the room is covered with debris from the closet. The teacher pulls out a suitcase and a stack of boxes spills onto the floor. The old radio slides across the floor and underneath a desk. His current wife and son, awoken by the noise, find the teacher curled up on the floor of his study, the small transistor radio pressed tightly to his ear, tears streaming down his cheeks.
He wakes up that night a bit hot, sweaty, and sad. Ex-wife. Can't talk to the kid. Other things. Old regrets. The song comes to him. It helps him. He must find it. He hurries into his office/study, turns on his radio, frantically trying to find a pop station. The dial breaks of in his hand. He turns on the computer. They have internet radio nowadays. Nothing. Nothing. MTV at 3:30a.m. is no help either. He suddenly remembers an old transistor radio buried in the closet. Soon the room is covered with debris from the closet. The teacher pulls out a suitcase and a stack of boxes spills onto the floor. The old radio slides across the floor and underneath a desk. His current wife and son, awoken by the noise, find the teacher curled up on the floor of his study, the small transistor radio pressed tightly to his ear, tears streaming down his cheeks.
They oughta make a Grand Theft Auto IV. It'd be a lot like GTA III and Vice City, but the only point of the game would be to run around killing people and blowing things up. That's all I usually do anyways. Fuck the missions, I want bigger and better weapons. Graphic, XXX encounters with prostitutes. And the ability to torture my enemies to a screaming, horrifically painful death.
20030728
Another restless night. I love/hate it when you're on that edge of sleeping when inspiration hits. Your mind starts racing and each idea comes and goes so quickly you couldn't write it down fast enough. You wake up and turn on the light... the really bright light. You find the pen and paper and write.
Last night I decided to write a 17 minute musical piece. My goal is to destroy modern classical music forever. It's title will be:
Art becomes Science
Something gained yet something lost
Musical Haiku
Last night I decided to write a 17 minute musical piece. My goal is to destroy modern classical music forever. It's title will be:
Art becomes Science
Something gained yet something lost
Musical Haiku
20030723
...He was beautiful. The perfect picture of a noble savage, untouched by civilization.
His dirty blonde, unkempt hair fell to his shoulders in great waves. Almost the color of the sand upon which I stood, it appeared as though his hair was sculpted with it. Beneath the tiny outcropping of hair that would have been his bangs was a high forehead creased with heavy lines, probably from squinting in the bright sunlight and straining to see on moonless nights. His forehead rested upon a heavy brow, thick with bright bushy hair. Set directly beneath were two smoldering eyes, the deepness of their fiery green startled me. As I stared, open-mouthed, I could see the flash of intelligence as he sized me up as clearly as I did him. Below his eyes, the bridge of his nose sloped suddenly revealing a large but elegant snout, the tip of which pointed toward the ground ever so slightly. I noticed his large lips suddenly twitch in what began as a slow smile, revealing his toothy mouth. His dimpled chin sat proudly at the point of which the sides of his faced converged, the perfect exclamation point to the character that stood before me.
He was a tall, lean man. But he was far from skinny. His arms, roped with muscle, swished elegantly by his sides as he began to move toward me. I noticed two large scars on his chiseled legs. He continued walking until he was within arms reach of me. Once satisfied with the distance between us, he slowly raised one of his powerful arms. He extended his hand, palm outward. I marveled at the contrast of the whiteness of his palm compared to the dark brown hue of the rest of his body. He opened his mouth to speak. I held my breath...
[to be continued]
His dirty blonde, unkempt hair fell to his shoulders in great waves. Almost the color of the sand upon which I stood, it appeared as though his hair was sculpted with it. Beneath the tiny outcropping of hair that would have been his bangs was a high forehead creased with heavy lines, probably from squinting in the bright sunlight and straining to see on moonless nights. His forehead rested upon a heavy brow, thick with bright bushy hair. Set directly beneath were two smoldering eyes, the deepness of their fiery green startled me. As I stared, open-mouthed, I could see the flash of intelligence as he sized me up as clearly as I did him. Below his eyes, the bridge of his nose sloped suddenly revealing a large but elegant snout, the tip of which pointed toward the ground ever so slightly. I noticed his large lips suddenly twitch in what began as a slow smile, revealing his toothy mouth. His dimpled chin sat proudly at the point of which the sides of his faced converged, the perfect exclamation point to the character that stood before me.
He was a tall, lean man. But he was far from skinny. His arms, roped with muscle, swished elegantly by his sides as he began to move toward me. I noticed two large scars on his chiseled legs. He continued walking until he was within arms reach of me. Once satisfied with the distance between us, he slowly raised one of his powerful arms. He extended his hand, palm outward. I marveled at the contrast of the whiteness of his palm compared to the dark brown hue of the rest of his body. He opened his mouth to speak. I held my breath...
[to be continued]
For some reason I woke up on a deserted island. A deserted, tropical island. The sand on the beach was white and there was a rushing stream that ran from the edge of a lush jungle, through palm trees, and on into the ocean. All I had with me were the clothes on my back- a t-shirt, polyester slacks, shoes and socks.
I decided that the first thing to do was to make a trek of the island and assess the situation as best I could. I wanted to know if I would be able to find food, where I would sleep, whether or not the island was inhabited, and whether or not there was any possibility of me swimming to civilization. I would use the stream as a guide, letting it lead me along its winding path through the dense forest.
I had followed the stream for perhaps an hour when I saw him.
[to be continued]
I decided that the first thing to do was to make a trek of the island and assess the situation as best I could. I wanted to know if I would be able to find food, where I would sleep, whether or not the island was inhabited, and whether or not there was any possibility of me swimming to civilization. I would use the stream as a guide, letting it lead me along its winding path through the dense forest.
I had followed the stream for perhaps an hour when I saw him.
[to be continued]
I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this.
Okay, I feel better.
I'm at work and it's getting to me.
I was talking to the receptionist on my way out to lunch. She's pretty cute but she acts young. I think she is. She was telling me how bored she gets up there. I asked her if she emailed her friends or played games on the internet. She said yes and it doesn't help. I was about to suggest she visit Consumption Junction when some mid-level manager rudely interrupted our conversation to ask if the mail had gone out. I left without saying anything. I only wish I could have told him that one day, if I ever become a mid-level manager, I shall have my revenge. Not by doing what he does, but by doing exactly the opposite: showing my "subordinates" respect and what should be common human courtesy.
Experience has shown me that people like him are not born that way. Someone treated him the way he now treats others. When it's my turn, I will eliminate the possibility of inadvertantly creating another one like him by not establishing the conditions in which people like him come into existence.
It's nothing humanitarian on my part. It's not so much that I don't want people to have to suffer poorly house-trained people like him. In a cosmic sense, it's simply the best revenge I can think of, served ice cold. I think of Michael Corleone: "It's nothing personal Sonny. It's strictly business." You make my day unpleasant, I will eliminate you. And others like you. Whenever, wherever I can.
Okay, I feel better.
I'm at work and it's getting to me.
I was talking to the receptionist on my way out to lunch. She's pretty cute but she acts young. I think she is. She was telling me how bored she gets up there. I asked her if she emailed her friends or played games on the internet. She said yes and it doesn't help. I was about to suggest she visit Consumption Junction when some mid-level manager rudely interrupted our conversation to ask if the mail had gone out. I left without saying anything. I only wish I could have told him that one day, if I ever become a mid-level manager, I shall have my revenge. Not by doing what he does, but by doing exactly the opposite: showing my "subordinates" respect and what should be common human courtesy.
Experience has shown me that people like him are not born that way. Someone treated him the way he now treats others. When it's my turn, I will eliminate the possibility of inadvertantly creating another one like him by not establishing the conditions in which people like him come into existence.
It's nothing humanitarian on my part. It's not so much that I don't want people to have to suffer poorly house-trained people like him. In a cosmic sense, it's simply the best revenge I can think of, served ice cold. I think of Michael Corleone: "It's nothing personal Sonny. It's strictly business." You make my day unpleasant, I will eliminate you. And others like you. Whenever, wherever I can.
I am a failure... again.
I failed to do my work
I could not control it
My predecessor did not do his job
The product's company did not do their job
I assumed the parts were good
Why should I think otherwise?
My excuses are worthless
Terrorists can shake our tallest buildings
But I cannot vibrate my unit
Or else it will fail
I will fail
I failed to do my work
I could not control it
My predecessor did not do his job
The product's company did not do their job
I assumed the parts were good
Why should I think otherwise?
My excuses are worthless
Terrorists can shake our tallest buildings
But I cannot vibrate my unit
Or else it will fail
I will fail
Moral Objections to the Casual Use of Marijuana (Or Lack Thereof)
Exterior:
Fade into shot of mass produced office building. Boxes representing important offices stacked on top of other boxes, bleached white walls, and stupid looking "Southwestern" trim dominate shot.
Interior:
Slowly enter lobby. Typical: fake plants, stupid "Welcome!" rug, smiling plastic receptionist.
Move into hallway past serious looking people moving very quickly.
Round corner. Cut to shot of back of woman's head. Woman typing quickly at a keyboard.
Slowly zoom out until we see the entire cubicle. Man rounds the corner and enters after slightest knock. Women turns around.
Jill:
Hey Steve. What's up?
Steve:
Jill, do you smoke marijuana?
Jill:
[Looks around] Well, yes. Yes I occasionally enjoy a bowl or two. Why do you ask?
Steve:
[Scrunches up face] It seemed like maybe you did, and I was just wondering why you smoke marijuana.
Jill:
Well, Steve. I suppose I smoke weed because it makes me feel good. I think it's fun and interesting. Do you have a problem with that?
Steve:
Well...yeah...I mean, it's bad.
Jill:
It's "bad?"
Steve:
Yeah, it's illegal.
[to be continued...]
Exterior:
Fade into shot of mass produced office building. Boxes representing important offices stacked on top of other boxes, bleached white walls, and stupid looking "Southwestern" trim dominate shot.
Interior:
Slowly enter lobby. Typical: fake plants, stupid "Welcome!" rug, smiling plastic receptionist.
Move into hallway past serious looking people moving very quickly.
Round corner. Cut to shot of back of woman's head. Woman typing quickly at a keyboard.
Slowly zoom out until we see the entire cubicle. Man rounds the corner and enters after slightest knock. Women turns around.
Jill:
Hey Steve. What's up?
Steve:
Jill, do you smoke marijuana?
Jill:
[Looks around] Well, yes. Yes I occasionally enjoy a bowl or two. Why do you ask?
Steve:
[Scrunches up face] It seemed like maybe you did, and I was just wondering why you smoke marijuana.
Jill:
Well, Steve. I suppose I smoke weed because it makes me feel good. I think it's fun and interesting. Do you have a problem with that?
Steve:
Well...yeah...I mean, it's bad.
Jill:
It's "bad?"
Steve:
Yeah, it's illegal.
[to be continued...]
I sit here, giddy with excitement, as I have just spent the last hour or so mentally beating the shit out of myself. I managed to convince myself that the person that is me is pathetic and weak. So why am I so happy? Well, after I admitted to myself that the above statement was true, I realized it was true only to an extent.
You see when I first meet someone I am very afraid of hir. I have a problem with shallow social interaction. That is to say that I'm not very good with greetings, pleasantries, salutations, and compliments. But, once I get past that point of an interaction, and I begin to feel more comfortable, there is a part of me that begins to assert itself. I know this has to be true because I have more than a few very close friends, and I have also had girlfriends in the past.
A good example of what I'm trying to say is the gradual progression of my interactions with the people I work with. I work at Starbucks, and when I first started there, I was mortified of everybody and everything. I clung to my friend Mary (the manager). I tried to be polite to my co-workers, but I didn't dare ask them a question or get in their way.
A week after I started working there, Mary was transferred to another store, and I was stuck in a store I wasn't used to, with people I didn't know, and a new manager whom I knew nothing about. For someone like me, that is a fate worse than death.
But after a few weeks I began to get used to the processes, the people, and the customers. It was at this point, that I now notice, that I began to assert myself socially. It was a gradual process, but I eventually came to a point where I could start to fuck with people. I could make fun of them (in jest, of course) when they did something stupid. I could say weird things and see how they reacted. I could touch them casually (not to be confused with sexually). But, most importantly, I got to a point where I could make fun of myself for making stupid mistakes. I could listen to them say weird things and not feel uncomfortable. And, they could touch me casually and I wouldn't freak out.
Now that I have been there for a few months, I notice that I know how to act around each and every person I work with. That's not to say that I'm being fake around anybody, just that, when I'm around Alan, for instance, I know that I can keep him interested in a conversation if I talk about music, weed, or life's annoying little problems. Around Beth I can talk about philosophy, Radiohead, and Lord of the Rings. With Tommy I have to be a practical joker, full of sarcasm, and courageous enough to drink the disgusting concoction that Nancy whipped up for a dare.
This brings me to the point of my essay, and that is, when I meet somebody, I am afraid. I am weak and pathetic in front of them. But once I get to know them, I learn how to cater to them. And after I've known them for quite a long time, I learn to control them. Just like all of my friends. Ha! Ha! Little bitches. I control you all. I am your master. You are my slaves. One day I will rule the world!
Damn, I love apples.
You see when I first meet someone I am very afraid of hir. I have a problem with shallow social interaction. That is to say that I'm not very good with greetings, pleasantries, salutations, and compliments. But, once I get past that point of an interaction, and I begin to feel more comfortable, there is a part of me that begins to assert itself. I know this has to be true because I have more than a few very close friends, and I have also had girlfriends in the past.
A good example of what I'm trying to say is the gradual progression of my interactions with the people I work with. I work at Starbucks, and when I first started there, I was mortified of everybody and everything. I clung to my friend Mary (the manager). I tried to be polite to my co-workers, but I didn't dare ask them a question or get in their way.
A week after I started working there, Mary was transferred to another store, and I was stuck in a store I wasn't used to, with people I didn't know, and a new manager whom I knew nothing about. For someone like me, that is a fate worse than death.
But after a few weeks I began to get used to the processes, the people, and the customers. It was at this point, that I now notice, that I began to assert myself socially. It was a gradual process, but I eventually came to a point where I could start to fuck with people. I could make fun of them (in jest, of course) when they did something stupid. I could say weird things and see how they reacted. I could touch them casually (not to be confused with sexually). But, most importantly, I got to a point where I could make fun of myself for making stupid mistakes. I could listen to them say weird things and not feel uncomfortable. And, they could touch me casually and I wouldn't freak out.
Now that I have been there for a few months, I notice that I know how to act around each and every person I work with. That's not to say that I'm being fake around anybody, just that, when I'm around Alan, for instance, I know that I can keep him interested in a conversation if I talk about music, weed, or life's annoying little problems. Around Beth I can talk about philosophy, Radiohead, and Lord of the Rings. With Tommy I have to be a practical joker, full of sarcasm, and courageous enough to drink the disgusting concoction that Nancy whipped up for a dare.
This brings me to the point of my essay, and that is, when I meet somebody, I am afraid. I am weak and pathetic in front of them. But once I get to know them, I learn how to cater to them. And after I've known them for quite a long time, I learn to control them. Just like all of my friends. Ha! Ha! Little bitches. I control you all. I am your master. You are my slaves. One day I will rule the world!
Damn, I love apples.
20030722
So my cousin sends me this link. I thought it was funny for a few seconds. Then it dawned on me that the article seems to be lementing the recent loss of sodomy laws, albeit in a humorous way. As if getting the government out of our bedrooms is a bad thing.
Then I thought, "What about me?" I don't consider myself homosexual, but I love sodomy. It's one of the coolest things I've ever done in bed. The anal ring is pretty darn tight and it feels different than the vagina, in a most pleasing way. I will always love the vagina; speaking from a strictly physiological standpoint, it feels very good and stimulating it seems far more likely to induce orgasm in a woman than sodomy. But I really don't see anything wrong with buttstuff. If I meet someone I jive with, I wanna do everything with them. If I ever get married, you can damn well bet that any wife of mine is gonna take it up the butt AND on her chin. I would go to any lengths to keep my beloved happy. Am I wrong to hope for the same in return? Stick your fingers up my butt, stick a dildo up there; I'll let you know what feels good. Let's get to know each other, baby.
I think that only when something is put on a shameful, mysterious pedestal, given an old testament label like "sodomy", demanded by callow guys, and denied by frightened, inexperienced women would it become the taboo that sodomy is.
So fuck you, Bob from accounting. Fat guys with tattoos in big trucks spit at me because they think I'm gay anyways; what do I have to hide?
Besides, your daughters got an ass and a cunt too; be nice or I'll fill them both. AT THE SAME TIME.
Then I thought, "What about me?" I don't consider myself homosexual, but I love sodomy. It's one of the coolest things I've ever done in bed. The anal ring is pretty darn tight and it feels different than the vagina, in a most pleasing way. I will always love the vagina; speaking from a strictly physiological standpoint, it feels very good and stimulating it seems far more likely to induce orgasm in a woman than sodomy. But I really don't see anything wrong with buttstuff. If I meet someone I jive with, I wanna do everything with them. If I ever get married, you can damn well bet that any wife of mine is gonna take it up the butt AND on her chin. I would go to any lengths to keep my beloved happy. Am I wrong to hope for the same in return? Stick your fingers up my butt, stick a dildo up there; I'll let you know what feels good. Let's get to know each other, baby.
I think that only when something is put on a shameful, mysterious pedestal, given an old testament label like "sodomy", demanded by callow guys, and denied by frightened, inexperienced women would it become the taboo that sodomy is.
So fuck you, Bob from accounting. Fat guys with tattoos in big trucks spit at me because they think I'm gay anyways; what do I have to hide?
Besides, your daughters got an ass and a cunt too; be nice or I'll fill them both. AT THE SAME TIME.
20030721
THANKS FOR PLAYING!
you need cash for wheels,
and your microwave meals.
you're dressed up like a tool,
like your parents want you to.
you don't like the game,
but you play it everyday.
your hair is short and straight,
to help you get a date.
but they never seem to work,
you've got to many quirks.
you don't feel you can win,
too late to start again.
and if you do not place
at least you get a taste.
try being a part of a team
and take comfort in routine.
at least you get some pay,
at the end of the business day.
and doctor says
"cut back on fats,
or the next one that hits
will be your last!"
and you'll loose the game.
(but you will anyway)
so thanks for playing our game,
that you can't win at all,
so you might as well stall,
but don't look down
if you fall.
when you fail.
you need cash for wheels,
and your microwave meals.
you're dressed up like a tool,
like your parents want you to.
you don't like the game,
but you play it everyday.
your hair is short and straight,
to help you get a date.
but they never seem to work,
you've got to many quirks.
you don't feel you can win,
too late to start again.
and if you do not place
at least you get a taste.
try being a part of a team
and take comfort in routine.
at least you get some pay,
at the end of the business day.
and doctor says
"cut back on fats,
or the next one that hits
will be your last!"
and you'll loose the game.
(but you will anyway)
so thanks for playing our game,
that you can't win at all,
so you might as well stall,
but don't look down
if you fall.
when you fail.
Virds
Words, words, words
Just like little turds
Floating through my head.
Do I have the time
To attempt a stupid rhyme?
Poetry has long since been dead.
Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts
Thinking that they ought
To afford my daily bread.
But life is very fun.
Just look at everyone
Waiting to be told what to dread.
Words, words, words
Just like little turds
Floating through my head.
Do I have the time
To attempt a stupid rhyme?
Poetry has long since been dead.
Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts
Thinking that they ought
To afford my daily bread.
But life is very fun.
Just look at everyone
Waiting to be told what to dread.
People are promoted to their level of incompetence.
He was a great worker, so he was promoted to supervisor.
He was a fine supervisor, so he was promoted to foreman.
He was a decent foreman, so he was promoted to manager.
He is a shitty manager so he STAYS a manager. Who would promote such a shitty manager?
He was a great worker, so he was promoted to supervisor.
He was a fine supervisor, so he was promoted to foreman.
He was a decent foreman, so he was promoted to manager.
He is a shitty manager so he STAYS a manager. Who would promote such a shitty manager?
The Show
His eyes met her gleam from across the floor. Her pull was magnetic. He had to go to her; to touch her. To hold her.
The palm of his hand gently stroked the back of her neck, as if he was unsure of where to start. His fingers began to move slowly, mechanically. His other hand grazed her belly and sent electric signals up her spine.
She was at his command.
His fingers began to move wildly, yet always in intricate patterns. He began to shift his hand up her neck, increasing the tension. His other hand strummed and played more violently at her midsection.
They watched him in awe from afar. Amazement betrayed their composure as they realized the intensity with which he controlled her. It was a feat that surely, they themselves, could not perform.
His hand continued to creep up her neck. His fingers flying more violently with every heartbeat. Always moving. Always increasing the pressure. His other hand nearly pounded at her midsection. He began to grind his pelvis into her back, gyrating seductively.
His hand, still moving up her neck, flew quickly now. The tension was unbearable. She began to squeal a shrill tortured cry. His hand beat and banged, his groin still grinding into her back, as his other hand finally reached the top of her neck. He held her there as she let out an orgasmic scream, a sustained cry of pleasure. And then they collapsed together.
They clapped.
He bowed.
His eyes met her gleam from across the floor. Her pull was magnetic. He had to go to her; to touch her. To hold her.
The palm of his hand gently stroked the back of her neck, as if he was unsure of where to start. His fingers began to move slowly, mechanically. His other hand grazed her belly and sent electric signals up her spine.
She was at his command.
His fingers began to move wildly, yet always in intricate patterns. He began to shift his hand up her neck, increasing the tension. His other hand strummed and played more violently at her midsection.
They watched him in awe from afar. Amazement betrayed their composure as they realized the intensity with which he controlled her. It was a feat that surely, they themselves, could not perform.
His hand continued to creep up her neck. His fingers flying more violently with every heartbeat. Always moving. Always increasing the pressure. His other hand nearly pounded at her midsection. He began to grind his pelvis into her back, gyrating seductively.
His hand, still moving up her neck, flew quickly now. The tension was unbearable. She began to squeal a shrill tortured cry. His hand beat and banged, his groin still grinding into her back, as his other hand finally reached the top of her neck. He held her there as she let out an orgasmic scream, a sustained cry of pleasure. And then they collapsed together.
They clapped.
He bowed.
DOM ON DREAMS
I am much more interesting asleep than awake and here is why...
Whenever I dream it involves one of these main topics, many of them violent and/or disturbing:
Fighting a HUGE battle for my backyard.
Being chased by bad guys, hellecoptors or "robotic sharks"
Finding a place to live...underground.
Buying or getting something very interesting of monetary worth and only after the first minutes of being awake do I realize that I didn't really get it. For example: Neil Young's guitar with bottle caps stuck to it or that lunar rover with the lowrider wheels (1 of only 5 made mind you).
Music. Very pretty music played by very dirty people.
Being interviewed and vomiting on my interviewer because I'm supposed to be some artistic "genius".
There are certain things however that remain consistant:
I can fly if I really need to yet when I do most topography looks like MS Flight Simulator.
Somehow fish (robotic sharks) are involved usually in an aquarium or large body of water. Often I have to save them from dying by putting dried fish into a bucket of water. Just like reconstituted onions in a fine packaged broth.
I can't run normally, but if I move my legs slowly and push off very hard I can bound for great lenghts, thus outpacing my opponent/would be murderer.
I don't look anything like myself. Rather I am a much better looking person with a completely different voice.
I know kung fu.
I am much more interesting asleep than awake and here is why...
Whenever I dream it involves one of these main topics, many of them violent and/or disturbing:
Fighting a HUGE battle for my backyard.
Being chased by bad guys, hellecoptors or "robotic sharks"
Finding a place to live...underground.
Buying or getting something very interesting of monetary worth and only after the first minutes of being awake do I realize that I didn't really get it. For example: Neil Young's guitar with bottle caps stuck to it or that lunar rover with the lowrider wheels (1 of only 5 made mind you).
Music. Very pretty music played by very dirty people.
Being interviewed and vomiting on my interviewer because I'm supposed to be some artistic "genius".
There are certain things however that remain consistant:
I can fly if I really need to yet when I do most topography looks like MS Flight Simulator.
Somehow fish (robotic sharks) are involved usually in an aquarium or large body of water. Often I have to save them from dying by putting dried fish into a bucket of water. Just like reconstituted onions in a fine packaged broth.
I can't run normally, but if I move my legs slowly and push off very hard I can bound for great lenghts, thus outpacing my opponent/would be murderer.
I don't look anything like myself. Rather I am a much better looking person with a completely different voice.
I know kung fu.
Almost a week ago I broke up with my girlfriend. I am sad and lonely. I think it was the right thing to do.
A few days ago we did the mutual exchange of belongings. She gave me back a mix CD I made for her. I wrote "Chansons de l'amour pour ma petite amie, si belle..." on it.
It hurts to look at it, but the songs are so good I just can't help but be proud- Otis Redding, Al Green, Lauryn Hill, The Strokes, 50 Cent, The Doors, The Beatles...
A few days ago we did the mutual exchange of belongings. She gave me back a mix CD I made for her. I wrote "Chansons de l'amour pour ma petite amie, si belle..." on it.
It hurts to look at it, but the songs are so good I just can't help but be proud- Otis Redding, Al Green, Lauryn Hill, The Strokes, 50 Cent, The Doors, The Beatles...
This is my new "thrash metal" song. I'm quite proud of it. It's called:
Go To Hell
Kill yer dog; Drink its blood. (fast)
Masturbate; Pound yer pud.
Tell Jesus Christ to suck yer dick
And his flock of sheep to eat your shit.
GO TO HELL! (half time)
GO TO HELL!
Fuck yer brother; Fuck yer mom.
Hit a church with a home made bomb.
Drop acid every other night
Find a priest and pick a fight.
GO TO HELL!
GO TO HELL!
(Guitar solo)
Steal a car; Kill a cop.
Sit around and eat a lot.
Stab a child with a hunting knife.
Covet every neighbor's wife.
GO TO HELL!
GO TO HELL!
Go To Hell
Kill yer dog; Drink its blood. (fast)
Masturbate; Pound yer pud.
Tell Jesus Christ to suck yer dick
And his flock of sheep to eat your shit.
GO TO HELL! (half time)
GO TO HELL!
Fuck yer brother; Fuck yer mom.
Hit a church with a home made bomb.
Drop acid every other night
Find a priest and pick a fight.
GO TO HELL!
GO TO HELL!
(Guitar solo)
Steal a car; Kill a cop.
Sit around and eat a lot.
Stab a child with a hunting knife.
Covet every neighbor's wife.
GO TO HELL!
GO TO HELL!
20030720
"No longer empty and frantic like a cat tied to a stick"
My wife's friend was just dropped off at our house, crying as we met her. Her boyfriend had verbally assaulted her on the car drive over to the point where she jumped out of a (slowly) moving car. Her desire not to listen to Rage Against the Machine was the culprit this time. Instead of a weekend trip to the zoo, she is without a car, respect, and probably boyfriend and roommate. I once jumped out of a moving car from a verbal lashing. I got three cuts on my arms and shoulders, as well as ruined my wallet, a gift from my family. It really sucked, but life moved on. I never respected the person the same way though. The person was not my lover, but a long time friend. I don't know how much of a glutton for punishment this girl is, but this isn't the first time, and if given another chance, it probably won't be the last.
My wife's friend was just dropped off at our house, crying as we met her. Her boyfriend had verbally assaulted her on the car drive over to the point where she jumped out of a (slowly) moving car. Her desire not to listen to Rage Against the Machine was the culprit this time. Instead of a weekend trip to the zoo, she is without a car, respect, and probably boyfriend and roommate. I once jumped out of a moving car from a verbal lashing. I got three cuts on my arms and shoulders, as well as ruined my wallet, a gift from my family. It really sucked, but life moved on. I never respected the person the same way though. The person was not my lover, but a long time friend. I don't know how much of a glutton for punishment this girl is, but this isn't the first time, and if given another chance, it probably won't be the last.
20030718
I believe that beat driven music has been the future of music for some time now, at least 50 or 60 years or so. None of my teachers at SDSU seem to understand this. I don't mean that it's just the future of popular music, I mean it's the future of serious composition as well. This is what I've been realizing over the past few months. The beat complexity in some new music is just as complex and thought out as any Bach melody.
I shouldn't have to justify this but given my current surrounding I feel I do. I also feel that my commentary is old news to a lot of people- hey, at least I'm getting with the program, better late than never. What I'm really trying to do is predict the future of music. It appears that all new music of value is scorned by the old school because it is too simplistic and can be explained away even to a non-musician in a matter of hours. That opinion, to me, is the height of naivete at best and at worst, the height of elite arrogance.
I shouldn't have to justify this but given my current surrounding I feel I do. I also feel that my commentary is old news to a lot of people- hey, at least I'm getting with the program, better late than never. What I'm really trying to do is predict the future of music. It appears that all new music of value is scorned by the old school because it is too simplistic and can be explained away even to a non-musician in a matter of hours. That opinion, to me, is the height of naivete at best and at worst, the height of elite arrogance.
The world is a snail, crawling across the pavement on a rainy day.
With instinct, it rushes into the great unknown
Maybe it will be better this time
Maybe there is more to life than standing still
Getting fat off the land
Hiding safely in the planter, eating flowers
The snail fears the summer heat
But he is fooled by the gentle rain
It sees its window of opportunity and charges
Foolish, foolish snail
You could not get out of the way of my shoe
With instinct, it rushes into the great unknown
Maybe it will be better this time
Maybe there is more to life than standing still
Getting fat off the land
Hiding safely in the planter, eating flowers
The snail fears the summer heat
But he is fooled by the gentle rain
It sees its window of opportunity and charges
Foolish, foolish snail
You could not get out of the way of my shoe
20030717
FUTILITY ON THE MOVE
As I sit here and ploddingly chip away at the leaning tower of items in my inbox waiting to be shipped all over the country, I ponder the stupidity of what I get paid for. Things arive, stay a while and then eventually go back to whence they came. I am just a layover in a vast pointless loop around the country. In New York someone signs a paper, sends it here to San Diego, someone looks at it and possibly stamps it PRIORITY, it ends up on my desk (in reality a dowdy folding picnic table with a computer on it) and I send it back. Many times I have wondered about typing a shipping slip, wrapping myself up and send myself along on a journey arriving at some dumfounded idiot's door punching them in the face affix a return slip to my forehead and arrive home the next day refreshed.
As I sit here and ploddingly chip away at the leaning tower of items in my inbox waiting to be shipped all over the country, I ponder the stupidity of what I get paid for. Things arive, stay a while and then eventually go back to whence they came. I am just a layover in a vast pointless loop around the country. In New York someone signs a paper, sends it here to San Diego, someone looks at it and possibly stamps it PRIORITY, it ends up on my desk (in reality a dowdy folding picnic table with a computer on it) and I send it back. Many times I have wondered about typing a shipping slip, wrapping myself up and send myself along on a journey arriving at some dumfounded idiot's door punching them in the face affix a return slip to my forehead and arrive home the next day refreshed.
20030716
Last night a man got stabbed across the street from my apartment. I'm not blaming George W. Bush for it but I think he's making harder for me to move out of the fucking neighborhood.
I read in Time magazine that Donald Rumsfeld says we're spending 3.9 billion dollars a month to occupy Iraq. Meanwhile the government is decreasing education funding to such an extent that some of the classes I need to graduate are no longer being offered.
How am I supposed to persue happiness when a rich man takes part of my wages and uses it to fund a war, rather than my education?
I can't help but feel that if we weren't still slaves to a master, subjects to a monarch, serfs to a tsar, our soldiers would stop fighting and come back to their homes.
I read in Time magazine that Donald Rumsfeld says we're spending 3.9 billion dollars a month to occupy Iraq. Meanwhile the government is decreasing education funding to such an extent that some of the classes I need to graduate are no longer being offered.
How am I supposed to persue happiness when a rich man takes part of my wages and uses it to fund a war, rather than my education?
I can't help but feel that if we weren't still slaves to a master, subjects to a monarch, serfs to a tsar, our soldiers would stop fighting and come back to their homes.
20030709
Bj's gay porno crazed ramblings?
Whenever I'm in a relationship, I freak out. I feel trapped when I can't communicate with the person I'm with. I was expressing this to Greg earlier today. He made me laugh despite myself:
De : DOUZON Gregory
A : tom amans
Objet : RE:______La_dinde_va_passer_à_la_casserole_:))
Get your pussy out of my seat !! I don't remember to who I spoke in these words (the words you taught me of course Hé hé hé) Was it Aaron or maybe Ray ?? I can't remember !
I see she is the one who tries to kill you by fucking over and over again... Pretty tough Thomas... A year of extreme fucking and still alive ?!!! Dammit !!! That's good !!
De : tom amans
A : DOUZON Gregory
Objet : RE:______La_dinde_va_passer_à_la_casserole_:))
No it's the opposite! I think I fuck her too much.
It's almost impossible to be subtle with that woman. If I want something from her I have to ask her very bluntly, many times. By the time she understands, I'm already very pissed off. Communication breakdown.
You said that to Bob. He still remembers it because he got totally destroyed!
De : DOUZON Gregory
A : tom amans
Objet : RE:______La_dinde_va_passer_à_la_casserole_:))
Oh Yeah Bob...
Ok I got it. You want to have the anus experience, right ? Well don't ask...and say you are sorry after...I mean when she stop howling STOOOOOOOOP
I need to go home and stop saying obscenities
I'm sure it's because Marilyn Manson..Be obscene..Be obscen..I like
this song..M Hé Hé Hé
Have a nice day Tom !
And don't forget : "Le mieux est l'ennemi du bien" !!!!
De : tom amans
A : DOUZON Gregory
Objet : RE:______La_dinde_va_passer_à_la_casserole_:))
Greg, you're...amazing.
De : DOUZON Gregory
A : tom amans
Objet : RE:______La_dinde_va_passer_à_la_casserole_:))
I hope I am amazingly funny and not amazingly thick ;-)))
Love
A bientôt !!
Whenever I'm in a relationship, I freak out. I feel trapped when I can't communicate with the person I'm with. I was expressing this to Greg earlier today. He made me laugh despite myself:
De : DOUZON Gregory
A : tom amans
Objet : RE:______La_dinde_va_passer_à_la_casserole_:))
Get your pussy out of my seat !! I don't remember to who I spoke in these words (the words you taught me of course Hé hé hé) Was it Aaron or maybe Ray ?? I can't remember !
I see she is the one who tries to kill you by fucking over and over again... Pretty tough Thomas... A year of extreme fucking and still alive ?!!! Dammit !!! That's good !!
De : tom amans
A : DOUZON Gregory
Objet : RE:______La_dinde_va_passer_à_la_casserole_:))
No it's the opposite! I think I fuck her too much.
It's almost impossible to be subtle with that woman. If I want something from her I have to ask her very bluntly, many times. By the time she understands, I'm already very pissed off. Communication breakdown.
You said that to Bob. He still remembers it because he got totally destroyed!
De : DOUZON Gregory
A : tom amans
Objet : RE:______La_dinde_va_passer_à_la_casserole_:))
Oh Yeah Bob...
Ok I got it. You want to have the anus experience, right ? Well don't ask...and say you are sorry after...I mean when she stop howling STOOOOOOOOP
I need to go home and stop saying obscenities
I'm sure it's because Marilyn Manson..Be obscene..Be obscen..I like
this song..M Hé Hé Hé
Have a nice day Tom !
And don't forget : "Le mieux est l'ennemi du bien" !!!!
De : tom amans
A : DOUZON Gregory
Objet : RE:______La_dinde_va_passer_à_la_casserole_:))
Greg, you're...amazing.
De : DOUZON Gregory
A : tom amans
Objet : RE:______La_dinde_va_passer_à_la_casserole_:))
I hope I am amazingly funny and not amazingly thick ;-)))
Love
A bientôt !!
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