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Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Paper thin Perforation

I received a Pepsi pen at work today.

It was not a very good pen.

I am still in utter bemusement as to how Pepsi, an international multi-conglomerate giant, can possess the ability to concoct a liquid candy but cannot for the life of them create a written utensil that dispenses peoples basic blood soaked dreams!

Pepsi, your sugared stench boils my blood so hot, that my eyes have ceased to focus on these written needs. I want to lash out at you with my staggered dagger of prose. I want to burn and maim your syllabled court! Your quill is unkempt Pepsi, your marker is nibbed. I want you to know, that your inadequacies share no secrets with me. So misfired fountains, leave me be.

P.S: The Bic Cristal was the SHIT.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

Hallucinations.

I once heard a story. A story of these ticky tacky creatures who like to plod on around inside people’s head. They often like to dance a prance that spark cobblestones underneath their cotton hooves. Free to fly they move with frantic beats to the cadenced sound erupting in an infinity near to this day.

Come Dancer, come Vixen their thousand hushed whispers began to cry. For there, beyond the rise of draped dreams sits a man hollow in the empty shell of his chest. There he waits for the clocks to strike their boom while unstirred beams discharge him from his creatures final dreams.

Monday, November 23, 2009

Here is to you Spindler. You will be missed.

Its with an aching heart that I begin this long overdue ramble about my beloved, Spindler. I have written about her in previous posts and as unfortunate as it sounds this shall be my last farewell to a beast that not only served as my penis extension on the road but also a release mechanism for all of my emotions for the past couple of years. Will another come?

My Spindler, how I will always love you. My friend, my lover, my one. A perfect fit you and I were, a combination that had rarely graced the pavement stone. A naive young man saddled on his perfect black dragon. Always sitting still while the world whipped by at perfect speeds.

She rode with such ferocity that I often wondered how such a beautiful machine had the audacity to grace my life. So many fine tuned beats throbbed through her metallic heart that with every dip and turn my Hallelujah's screamed stronger within the chamber of our dualistic synchronicities. Every time we flashed past, I saw tongues dribbling spit at our machiavellian madness. Nothing was lost and nothing gained while our gleaming black bodies becoming figments of others thoughts long lost.

I will miss you. Forever.

And so a gear clicked, a wrist turned and a man wept.

Goodbye.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Today.

We are the light that travels into space.

Bob Villa - The Trials.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

I want an art tablet.

So I can draw lots of pretty pictures.
Sketches and paintings, oh what a nice thing that would be.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

I think I might have to winterize my motorcycle.

Its a sad sad day when I have to say goodbye to this beauty. I had an amazing ride with you a few days ago. Oh how we roared down the road, you gurgling your orgasmic cry while I grinned my toothy delight. Even in this frigid cold we somehow managed to lay down some tread in this town. Or slightly out of. Whatever :)

Damnit. Damn it all.
You will be missed.

*sad face in this shit.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

I am writing alot today.

There remains no honor in bearing responsibility that others create through many illusions.

-Bob Villa. The Trials.

Craigslist rants section is pretty fucking cool.

I think I might post there more often.

If you were a science experiment.

Would people consider your life in accordance to this experiment?
Would they willing fuck you over for their own pleasure?

Probably.
It would really really suck to be a science experiment.

A love delusion shattered.

Ms. P, here is a letter to you:

Floating in space, running your race.
The finish line it approaches for you Ms. P:

The end,
it resides underneath your feet.
Bring down the rains, shatter the rooftops.

Begin your march again on a new road.
Cause your end Ms. P,
is here.

What happens before the days we die die die?

Do we try to fashion all of our experiences into one forgetful blimp? Or do we compress everything into one blissful moment of utter purity? Do we forget our life and attempt to rename our slate for that next moment of nothing? Are we all striving for peace in this infinitesimally small moment or are we satisfied with resignation?

Is that what our final evolution is? Nothing for something? Or everything for nothing?

Either way, its change. Boat loads of change.

How do we even give any semblance to the life that precedes it if everything collapses into the end. Atheist, god fearing...nihilism at its finest. Oh Sisyphus, where are thou? :)

Anywhich way I look at it though its always peace and love. Always always fucking love.

Saturday, October 31, 2009

Thursday, October 29, 2009

For there to exist the finite.

The infinite must exist. For the infinite to exist, there must be a full grasp of the finite. Like black and white, like dicks and whores, One must always exist with the other.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

I posted on craigslist again.

Im not sure what to think.
>.>

I am no longer farting, but instead need to poop.

Now I am not usually one to make a mention of the timings of my bowel movements but here I am empty screen at hand while the cursor blinks maniacally. WRITE its screaming, WRITE.

Where does poo come from mommy? Well it seems to originate right underneath the ribs and just above the pelvic region. Thundering rumbles rippling up a vacant chest only to send chills to an otherwise heated spine. Blup. Blup.

The bubbles rise above the trashing sea of acid only to float momentarily before they collapse in a graceful surrender. Sundering balls existing only for moments before exploding into sound.

Now to be completely honest, this movement is not unlike the many which have preceded it but somehow it has compelled me to write this non-nonsensical ramble.

So there.
Next topic: Elephants, the mysterious loggers.

The arthritis, it burns.

My knees hurt and my gray hair is starting to wilt. I suspect the rains will come earlier than usual this year. Do you remember many moons ago when it poured relentlessly on this city? 28 DAYS IN A ROW! Oh what a time it was! Kids jumping in puddles and the swing sets roared with tired sounds.

If only I could live once again in those fruitfull days of hoodies, great dress and rock and roll! Oh what fun! Melancholy girls littered the pavement while tattooded skin and blue barbed helmets perspired in the crying mist. This was the age of kings my friend!

Granville was teeming with partying young hoodlums and commercial was actually bellowing with interesting people! At every twist and turn there remained great adventure still to be found! Bums littered the doorsteps of art galleries and junkies named Bob occasionally asked me for money in exchange for harmonic renditions of overplayed sonatas. This was a city where grammatical errors were not seen as big deals, and No5 Orange was still the #1 hotspot for gangland executions.

Oh those were the days. The olympics were upon me then. Glossy lights and boys in Ed Hardy tee-shirts roamed the streets prouncing about in jovial moods. Perhaps it was just a simpler time. A momentary lapse of infinity where no game was needed to date the unsuspectingly beautiful girls of Vancouver. Where prissy wanna be gangsters thought they owned a town where in most cases they would be laughed at in every turn.

Oh the memories.

But now I sit alone in my chair while crows squawk in bemusement at the shattered wanderings of a lazy elf. Oh to be young again.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

A good sandwhich.

Consists of the following:

Mayo: The Miracle kind.
Chips: All dressed and crushed into bite size.
Relish: Green and sweet baby.
Beets: Sliced and thin.
Bread: Chiabatta or if you are poor, a hotdog bun.

Mix and fucking enjoy.

*Beets optional.

Friday, October 2, 2009

Click and Clack.

I find it sort of amusing that I feel the need to give an interview to try and explain the whirling chaos that surrounds my life. Hell, its probably a pretty solid reflection on the state of the world in which we live when a discussion with a single soul can't be enough. I hate to go off on a emo rant about the decrepit society and mass ignorance but lets face it, it is an interesting topic to ponder. I am a very happy dude (most of the time), BUT:

*Insert sad face*

Why can't I find comfort in just being able to spill my guts by my lonely self onto a blank canvas? Why is it I feel the need to have another party sitting across from me who HAS to ask me questions to reach the pits of my soul? Why can't those questions be asked BY myself TO myself? Maybe that goes back to our evolutionary roots. Maybe thats how sociology forced itself into our biology. Maybe thats why relationships exist in the first place. Just a mechanism to better explore our own personal universe.

Perhaps we can never solely exist for ourselves because we HAVE to exist for another. Atleast thats what my science is starting to tell me.

Mmmm. Random rants is a good thing at 12:02 in the morning.

Monday, September 28, 2009

I want to recognize the violence in your heart.

I want to sit and stare at the turmoil twirling its cane. I want to gasp in awe at the rocks heaving themselves off the cliff and onto the matted sugar canes.

I want to cry.

I want to cry at the blunders of the tiny men who have yet to finish building your aching heart. I want to cry with the mothers who remain huddled in the doorsteps of a serenading part. I want to sing.

Sing for infamy. Sing for embrace.

Sing to the crows who hover underneath the palacade walls while the sleeping dragons cascade the empty halls.

Breath they cry.
Breath.

There remains grandeur in your opulence.
There remains beat to your drum.

Blackened hearts rejoice, for there remains light in your flame of none.

Sing your songs young ones
because it is only there that I want to recognize the violence in your heart.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Look what I did.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

I re-installed counterstrike today.

Best web based decision* I have made in a long long time. This is most likely the catalyst for the resurgence of my nerd fetish and truthfully I am enjoying wallowing in the taped glasses and pocket protector lifestyle once more. Concurrent to that, I am also REALLY starting to enjoy my increasingly blatant and fervored nerd rage.

I really do love the game but when I start to get violent and throw inane insults at the computer screen is when a lifestyle choice becomes a problem. Not to say that there are no good times, for let me assure you there are many. I could go on for hours about the metallic clicks of my deagle or the heavy thuds of a perfect grenade. There are also times when I silently rejoice in the spattered arcs left by my exiting bullets. Smoldering comets flying through the air only to be crushed by the soft bodies standing in their wake.

Can you imagine what it would be like to live a life inside a video game such as this? An entire existence based upon an indifference to the barrage of life and death flowing around hushed faces. Limbo at its finest.

Perhaps I get too metaphysical about Counter Strike, but then again why not ya? It is one of the worlds most popular online multiplayer games and its march does seem to strike some sort of cadence with the mass psyche. How I even found some sort of metaphysical merit within this game blows me away and perhaps sheds some light on the discourse of our very own permanence. It seems to me, that this game encapsulates our lives perfectly within its 2 minute rounds of violence. Machiavellian ghosts out to take another life.

*Sorry bejeweled. You have been dethroned.

Monday, August 31, 2009

This is what happened to Mr. Rogers when he got fired.



This video is pretty creepy and has turned me off Ice tea forever.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Oh Jerusalem

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Some asshole told me my writing sounded forced today..


You know what Mr. Asshole? How about I force this fist ==: (yes thats a fist don't even try to deny that shit) up your ass? Or how about I just punch you in the face instead? Wait wait...you are an asshole right? So why don't we take this pineapple I conveniently have laying around and shove that up your poophole?!

I HOPE YOU RELISH IN THE TROPICAL THUNDER THATS SERENADES YOUR ASS FOR A FEW MORE DAYS.

Fascist fuck.

Listen, even if my writing sounds forced at-least I attempt to encompasses the entirety of the human experience in one boundless sentence. You on the other hand just sit there in your leather bound chair smoking your fancy corn-cob pipe continuing to not give a shit.

Fuck you dick.

I am the mother fucking Mahatma Ghandi of the artistic world. You on the other hand are the anti-synthesis of all I hold dear. Barney wouldn't even hug your sorry ass.

You wanted succient sentences that melt into your mouth like so many soft pieces of tenderloin? How about this instead:

Mmm bop mmm bop.
Suck me off you stupid fuck.
mmm bop.

SEACREST OUT!

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Some words just look odd written down.

Take "cancel" for example. Im not sure what it is, but it just looks like it belongs within a different language you know?

Leave it to the gentle curves of the c's to sooth my beating heart. Only their sloping arches can stop a man in his tracks and stare in wonder. And there stands L. Lonely and proud he stands, head turned at dollops left in his wake.

Its a nice word.

cancel cancel cancel cancel cancel

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Saturday, August 22, 2009

I farted in a Safeway today.

Ch. 1

Im not too sure what to say, as I don't really remember most of what happened. I have however managed to piece together the particulars of the event based on testimonials of both the police and my sobbing father. I honestly don't think any of this is necessary, but Dr. Monroe has informed me that sharing close personal information with strangers on the internet can begin the healing process and start the path towards great personal success.

Let me preface the entirety of what I am about to spout out next, by saying that since childhood I have suffered from a terrible affliction. This sickness has ruined my young life more times than I care to imagine and contrary to popular belief, Consecotaleophobia is nothing to shake a stick at. Often described as the Japanese cultural serial killer, this phobia is the basis of my racism and has intensified my hatred towards the Jewish people. Yes, I said it. Fuck the Zionists.

Now I realize the following tale may require a suspension of disbelief, but my medical bracelet and shattered ego does not lie nor take kindly to those smug looks on all your faces. This is a very serious matter and I hope that something like this never begets your mothers sons or comes up in your weekly mahjong meetings. It is at this faithful moment that I quote Bob from checkout lane #3.

"Hey motherfucker”.
That shit is disgusting."

The saga began as any legendary story would. The tequila was flowing, pastry dishes littered the bathroom counter and the harmonica sang its faithful tune to the deaf mute sitting on the white floral couch. Why Edwardo was there in the first place never really came into my immediate awareness as tidy Colombians with no hangups about double dipping are usually pretty OK with me. It was after a particularly beautiful rendition of Chopin's Nocturne in G minor, that hunger began its slow march over the empty cascades of my throbbing stomach.

"It seems the taquitos are running low Escobar. What say you? Shall we hit the grocery mart?"

Edwardo, who I only assume was lost in the thralls of Chopins beauty, stared blankly at the ceiling, glazed unmoving homogenized eyes filled with rapture.

"Si Edwardo, Si. You are correct. The steed will react too unfavorably to another rider, its hooves move much too fast and for real dude I only have one helmet. I really don't want to get another ticket. I hope you understand man."

Edwardo, the sweet Colombian he was, indicated he understood my plight with a gentle flopping of his body. He reminded me of a fish I once caught at summer camp, its slimy cold skin protruding far from its bony ribs while lips exhausted themselves from the heavy repetitive work. Up and down. Up and down its body went, eyes finally rolling away into the darkness beyond.

"Yes Edwardo, it is only after 10 hours that I finally understand your strange customs. You are a man of immense beauty my friend and I hope your soul, yes, I hope it shines on with the flames of a thousand suns."

With that goodbye I flew out of the house and rode hard to the edge of the road where a stop sign lay poised ready to strike.

"HALT!" the red dragon screamed, "YOU. SHALL. NOT. PASS!"

"What foul treachery is this?" I whispered feverishly. "Does this nave not know who lays before it? I believe such idiocy could only be the result of some new witchery which I am not yet aware of. Perhaps a good hee-haw will show this beast who is champion here! AT YOU MONSTER!"

With a battle cry gurgling out of my chapped lips I swung my horse around and charged towards the awaiting enemy. It was a vicious battle dear reader, oh my. The sounds of metal and scraping hooves filled the morning air. It was after many seconds that I finally achieved victory and although my steed lay bare at my feet I arose refreshed, head held high with the satisfaction of a job well done.

There remained only three things on my mind at this point. Edwardo, taquitos and the opportunity to collect some Airmile points. There was only one place in the entirety of the kingdom where such riches gathered, the local Safeway and I knew I had to get there.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Universe and U


I havnt written anything in a while as this has been a very busy week for me, but I did come across this wonderful quote by Nikola Tesla that I felt compeled to share.


“I do not think there is any thrill that can go through the human heart like that felt by the inventor as he sees some creation of the brain unfolding to success... Such emotions make a man forget food, sleep, friends, love, everything.”


Maybe Tesla was talking about that one transidental force which shatters your bones into fragments of pleasure and pain. A feeling so pure, that all conditions of the human heart close their eyes for a second or two. Perhaps, that is what it's like when a mother finally gives birth to her first born. A gasp of air and moment of utter calm mixed into one. Life finally defined.

Imagine a boatman hunched over his naked feet, stick in hand with food flopping nearby. His wrinkled face squints at the setting sun while her long luxurious red hair falls over the distant valley peaks. A smile dances on an otherwise empty stage and like a boulder, this feeling remains firm. No crashing rivers will inch this stone, as no tumultous storms will erode his earth.

Mr. Tesla would be proud.


PS: Good call on the "KT Tunstall" Alef. Yes, I am scamming on your labtop. :)

Here is a peice of advice:

Save your shit when you blog.

Use a proper word document because sometimes you use other peoples labtops, write something you think is good and then hit the back button. This causes everything to be deleted which creates much frustration (especially since I hate editing) and pain to already throbbing head.

I am tempted to try and re-create the piece but I am entirely too upset to continue with blogspot today. I hate computers so much sometimes.

Edit* I found it.

Friday, August 14, 2009

Racism makes the world go round.

A truck driver is driving down the road, when he sees two black guys with a broken-down bicycle. It's starting to rain so he pulls over to offer a ride.

"Yeah man, our bicycle is broken down, both of us we needs a ride."

Ok, says the truck driver, but I don't have room in the cab so you'll have to ride in the trailer.

I also have a whole load of bowling balls in the back, so you'll have to squeeze in.

A few miles later he gets pulled over by two troopers. One trooper is checking the tires, the brakes and when he opens the back doors, he yells out "emergency! seal off the area" the other trooper comes running to see what's the problem.

"He got a truck load of nigger eggs, two of them hatched, and they've already stolen a bike!

Monday, August 10, 2009

A few moments ago, I had 0 friends online.

As this is the first time something of this magnitude has occurred, I am not entirely sure what to feel. Although there is salvation in knowing that I won't have to fret about the, "oh man I really should talk to this person" mentality, there is also great trepidation which arises in the fact that NO-ONE IS ONLINE!

What happens when I run into an internet emergency huh? Who do IM when when I find out Lady Gaga is a hermaphrodite? Who do I IM when I see a Kansas fratboy do something especially stupid on youtube? WHO FACEBOOK?! WHO??


What happens if I run into the next 2 girls 1 cup? What? Do you expect me to use email you communist bastards?!

DO YOU THINK MY GMAIL CONTACTS WOULD APPRECIATE A LEAKED VIDEO OF 2 ORANGATANGS FISTING A ZEBRA?

DO YOU FACEBOOK?!

GODDAMNIT MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!!

I am so stressed right now.

Rising from the ashes the phoenix takes its first breath

I should start to edit.

My shit comes out smelling nicer.

*Edit: I did some editing.

Sunday, August 9, 2009

Ghosts of City Soliel.

The Chimeras filter out from their homes and meander their way through an alley maze of derelict shacks. On tin rooftops and through back lanes they walk, relinquishing their control to the perfect union of man and ghost. Sub machine guns glint in the moonlight and hurried steps pitter patter across the hard pavement dirt. Aristide has finally fallen and the Labanye are starting to take their final stand against Aristides thugs. 2pac and Biley are in danger of loosing their lives but more importantly their hold on a crumbling city.

Called the worlds most dangerous place in 2001, Haiti houses violence, greed and corruption. This is an island where a throat is slit without a second glance and a life changed with a single bullet. What could possible happen to a people who look for a redemption song in a city where none can sing?

GHOSTS OF CITY SOLIEL.

PS: Amazing doc. Watch it.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Nick and Norahs Infinite Playlist

First of all, this was a super cute movie and it also fueled my intense desire for a New York life. Like I said before, I desperately crave that city and watching this flick has definitely added wood to an already escalating blaze.

Damn it all batman. Damn it all.

Waiting on the world to change.



When you live life in a bubble wrapped world you tend to forget that war, strife and real anguish exist. I realize its all relative but know there remains a world outside your shattered mirror. Maybe this picture puts things into perspective.

Ours is a world of nuclear giants and ethical infants. We know more about war than we know about peace, more about killing than we know about living. We have grasped the mystery of the atom and rejected the Sermon on the Mount. - Omar N. Bradley

Guess what? Im not a robot.

Gregusse (22 hours ago)
This is the kind of girl that can effortlessly turn a guy crazy.

Keep an eye on this girl, cause she is going to blow up.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Time without consequence

I wonder how it is that we meet people who whether knowing it or not change your life?

Those sagacious individuals who nonchalantly stroll into your existence only to wrack and torture your body with spasms of velvet red. The ones who exude so much beauty and ethereal glow, that you don't mind the hypnotic waves which beckon your every step.

Creatures, who seemingly dance harmoniously through life, tapping rhythms onto an otherwise still pond.

Id like to meet more people like that.

Friday, July 31, 2009

Sand Art. Incredible.

San-Franciscan artist Andres Amador creates large-scale works of sand art on the beaches of California. Raked into the sand, the complex designs, which start out as doodles in his notebook, cover huge spans of land. Always fighting the tide, Amador will wait for a full or new moon in order to ensure low tides and more time. Within a few hours of completing a design, it is washed away by the sea. There's no time for error, so Andres prepares his pieces well in advance by crafting the image again and again on a computer. In the past five years, Andres has raked over 100 designs into the beaches of the San Francisco Bay area. He is currently planning to seek out new beaches around the world in which he can produce his work. Andres says that he receives very positive reactions from those lucky enough to catch a glimpse of his work before they dissapear into the ocean. He believes that the fleeting nature of his artwork is what most captures the imaginations of his fans.











My new passport.

I was talking to my uncle today and he came up with a fantastic idea. Lets use my tattoo as my new passport. Instead of stamps and visas let us use this piece of body art as my official identity. This way I can parade the worlds airports without a shirt baring my candy kiss nipples.

Shit.

I just realized with this seemingly harmless post, I touched on the NWO barcoding theories. I could write alot about that.

Edit*: Keep an eye out Mr. Government, cause Im looking at you.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

I think Im going to die

I don't want to sound like some nancy pants, but it is uncomfortable warm. I can feel my skin dripping off my arms and onto the floor.

Did you ever burn those Vote-me signs which were found stuck in the front lawns of suburbia? Id imagine thats what my skin would look like. Acid raindrops plummeting to the ground.

Drip
Drip
Drip

Vroom.

Im a seriously debating taking a very hard motorcycle ride right now. The only thing holding me back are my tires. They are starting to wear down to the knob and taking corners at 150km+ does not seem like a viable option.

I suppose I can enjoy a leisurely cruise through the city, but I am seriously aching for some twisties. The only real reasonable choice right now is some of those White Pine roads but they end quickly and often leave me unsatisfied (thats what she said)!

As I am in no mood to trek my way down to the hell soup that is downtown Vancouver tonight those short jagged roads may be my only option. I realize no one really cares but you know in case I end up in some ditch somewhere atleast you knew what I was doing!

PS: My riders conscious just bitch-slapped me for making that last comment.
PPS: 150km/h + on a corner is a bit of an exaggeration in most cases, but can be accomplished on the Sea to Sky highway. Trust me. VERY doable.

I think it would be fun to become an eccentric published author.

This way you can start wearing berets and start smoking corn cob pipes without any fear of judgment. Or we could go the extra mile and I could start to tame wild pumas while taking weekend trips to Antarctica. I figure this way you could nuture your crazy but still be very financially afloat.

Take THAT John Grisham.

Im melting.

I know the weather topic has been beaten into the ground recently, but I can't help re-iterate the fact that it is HOT. So hot infact that I have taken to walking around in a hat and boxer briefs. My sister, who is not very pleased with this arrangement is constantly calling me an embarrassment. Now not only is that berating but is also distressing to my ego. I realize certain protocol needs to be followed when underage highschool girls come over, but dude...COMON! Besides, I really don't hear them complaining.

There are people (who will remain unnamed so that they may save face), who claim that my brownness should have prepared me for this violent onslaught of mind melting heat. Thus, I have prepared a short note which which address these crass and ignorant generalizations.

1. Yes, I did grow up in India but I was only there till I was eight. All resistance to any potential heatwaves dissipated when I stepped off the plane and into a massive snowstorm.

2. Being brown does not automatically make my skin impervious to cancer and being crispined. In fact, I see my mother use Oil of Olay on a daily basis and truthfully, who knows what her skin would look like without it.

3. My blood is not warmer than the general human populace. If that were the case, I would most likely be dead and a profile case on Ripleys Believe it or Not.

Now I hope that I have "learned" some of you "crackas" with this public service announcement. I only refer to the white folk in this candid discussion as black people generally understand my frustration. Thank you for your time and remember kids racism is never funny. Unless ofcoarse its directed towards asian people because lets face it, you guys are pretty bad drivers.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Its funny how many people filter in and out of your life.

Just a constant stream flowing through a mesh. Some stick, and some don't. Some want to stay and others don't.

Im not sure where I was headed with this, except now I feel a little depressed. I have lost contact with alot of amazing people in my life. Some were a fault of my own and others vanished due to circumstances beyond my control.

To all the people I have hurt. Im sorry.

Perhaps a time will come where we will meet once again and laugh at our own idiocy while we sip tea from each others experiences.

One can only dream right? And as it turns out, I am pretty good at that.

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Thunder sends chills up my spine.

I absolutely love that sound. It almost feels like the deep rumble of a rolling log parading its way through a scared evergreen forest. It is the perfect accompanyment to a Bowerbirds track. I wish there was more of it in Vancouver minus of coarse the torrential rains that often follow.

I should also make a note of last night as it turn out there are or were quite a few alum Sigs that read this thing. It was ridiculous. I mean, I was completely sober throughout the keg race (shocking I know) and perhaps I don't have room to talk, but DAMN DUDES. Perhaps my sobriety slanted my perspective, but that was ALOT of shitty keg beer.

Alot.

I was a little surprised at the lack of keg stands though, alas what are you going to do when there is no more juice?

PS: I helped save some Nigerian children by buying some overpriced hotdogs. I feel like I should get a badge or something.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Spending the entire day inside watching Battlestar Galactica = Good job.

Even though it is exceptionally nice and sunny outside, I thought my time would be better spent watching this mercilessly pirated TV show. Alas, it is time to go out and enjoy the evening weather. UBC madness? Most definitely yes.
'

Smile, cause its time to catch the sun.

Thursday, July 23, 2009

This popeye comic blew my mind.



It was released a few days ago in the best Belgian weekly magazine, Humo. The english "subtitles" were put in so the panel makes more sense.

Seriously though, why can't we have comics like this in N.A? I mean as horribly degrading as that is, its fucking FUNNY. Kinda puts Popeye in a whole new perspective too. In the end, it is an anti-joke and equivalent to a dead baby crack. It garners an awkward pause which is then interspaced with spattered giggling from across the hall.

I wonder what it would be like to live life with no knees.

I can't see it being very comfortable. Can you imagine what a game of california kickball must be like for the kneeless population? Just a bunch of really erect people waddling around, tapping red rubber balls in swingless futility.

I also wonder if they would recieve a disability check. I mean, "noknees" is a pretty serious disease.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

I recently added the Bejeweled application on iGoogle.

I think it might be the best web based decision I have made in a long time. I also have written some fantastic pieces, but I can't bring myself to proofread them properly. Eh. Eventually. Eventually.

P.S: My cut is still bleeding and I think the doc who said, "stiches won't be worth it," is a quack. The more I ponder the situation, the more I believe suing for malpractice is a viable option.

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Go pick up the new Regina Spektor album.

"Far"

Incredible. I have always loved her but this is definitely her best work to date, even better than 11:11.
Just wow.

She is the epitome of a perfect woman. Just the right amount of quirky mixed in with with that intelligent unobtrusive stare of a true beauty unknown to everyone but her.

Where can I find one of her for myself eh?

Eet.

What can I say, Im crushin hard :)

I desperatly want to move and live in New York for a little while.

I am going to try and make it a life goal, and at the very least visit the damn city within the next couple of years.

I think my special brand of craziness would be appreciated there and its one of those places in the world where everything just seems to click. The fashion, food, music and general vibe of the city has always enthralled me. To me, New York has always seemed to have this really eclectic mashup of turbulent chaos and quiescent tranquility which both scares and fascinates me. Call it Hollywood romanticism, I don't care.

I want. New. York.

Dollerton madness.

So I know I have always been incredibly clumsy and a closet blond for most of my life, but last night I pulled a gooder that surprised even me!

I somehow managed to jam a wine glass stem into the bottom of my foot! FUN! It was a surprisingly easy feat when you take into account the several drunk people, a padlocked pool, and an earnest desire to take a dip at 3am.

It was pretty entertaining actually minus of coarse the blood loss and painful shards of New Zealand liquid. My friend, Kimmy, who is a nurse in training took good care of me in her drunken haze.

Sitting on a toilet mostly naked, bleeding profusely while she tried to take my blood pressure was a moment in time that will not be soon forgotten.

Good times I think. We are a classy bunch usually, I swear.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Yo mama so fat she tried to eat Cornelius Fudge

Now, there are times that crop up in ones life where you have to seriously contemplate certain aspects of your own humanity and whether you have a sane personality. Reading articles such as these, make me question my own inner nerd, and slutty humor. Yes I am a humor whore, and I have come to the conclusion that I tickle my own funny bone entirely too easily.

On second thought. Eh.

Monday, July 13, 2009

This is a sexy bike.


And I would have sex with it assuming she were willing. Synthetic oil would also have to make a play into the foray.

Did I really just type that?

So turns out I went a little crazy.

Insane in the membrane! But really, I should start writing again, and perhaps this time put some effort into proofreading. Sigh. So much more work >.<

Friday, June 12, 2009

Gone for good.

On the edge of cliff, overlooking the infinite horizon, sits a man huddled in a tent. Dark intelligent eyes gaze over his meager belongings. Hunched on his back feet, he shuffles towards the door to cook his afternoon meal.

This is Bondi Beach. This is a place where tourists from all over the world gather to frolic in the sun and to play in the water. Hard bodies saunter their importance on the beach not far away, but here remains this man. He has somehow managed to impose a complete self-isolation even in such a crowded place as this. He does not notice the cameras clicking, nor the jeers of an intoxicated youth. He is a celebrity with no need for fame. This man is content in his flimsy one roomed shack.

Some would even argue that he has the best place to live in the entirety of Sydney. He is after all, living on some of the most expensive retail property in the world. He wakes and sleeps to an ocean view everyday, he watches flecks of gold and red splash across the sky every night before he goes to sleep. He has no bills to pay, nor a tax man knocking at his door. Does this not sound appealing? Would you not want to be able to fall asleep to the gentle lapping of the waves below?

I would hazard a guess that this is one of the most content men living in the city, either that or his gambling habit got the best of him.

Focused beam.

Lucky and unhappy he began to plod down the lane. All he wanted to do was float for a free style life. He dark blue eyes brimmed with tears. His teacher, the most beautiful women on this earth had hit him. How, how could she have betrayed him like that? How could a slap from women whom he considered his mother be so vicious? Red plastic fingernails scraping and tearing the soft skin off his cheek leaving marks etched to his soul not soon to be forgotten.

A tear slipped down his cheek as he looked down at the pavement. He just wanted Teddy. His soft, furry, lovable Teddy. How he wanted to hold him right now, just to caress his face in his soft stomach.

Through misty eyes he saw a glint of metal reflect reflect from a puddle of yesterdays rainwater. It reminded him of his magnifying glass on a hot summer day. Oh how he loathed those ants! Those dirty sneaky ants! Always getting into places where they weren't supposed to! Their creepy crawly legs tickling his feet everytime he would try to sit and eat a sandwich in his backyard! He would find their queen one day, and when he did...oh my, she better watch out. She better watch from the front, because thats where he would come from. Not from the back, not from the side but to her face. Be afraid, be very very afraid.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Rationality and Pragmatism is cool man.

Grow up. Everyone.

Monday, June 1, 2009

Finding the Nice in Nice.

Someone once told me that I amuse myself entirely too easily. An imagination run rampant on a battlefield of logic and categories. I was told that I blurred lines between colors too often and did so in such a way that blues and greens no longer remained distinguishable to the naked eye.

What do you do with someone that enjoys mixing and painting on the proverbial easel of life? What do you do with someone who doesn’t see it as such a terrible thing? I only ask because when I do so, I am no longer seen as normal. Now, I am “something special,” a child who has somehow managed to scamper off the short bus and sneak a ride along with the big kids. A little boy straining to raise a sword that was forged for a man.

Perhaps I attribute too much importance to myself and honestly its not my place to say where I will lye in the grand scheme of things. History will always be the final judge and truth be told, all people will never be fully satiated with what I do. I have no doubt that the road will be littered with some pain and heartache. That, as with any great truth, needs to be accepted. However, in that rocky and dedicated climb, some beautiful paint WILL spill out onto the gray concrete and perhaps we will be smart enough to take out our plastic buckets and scoop up what we can, when we can. New colors are created with every breath and every step, some so magnificent that even trying to fathom from which they came would be a folly.

I wonder what would happen if ALL of us were constantly hovering over our porcelain bathtubs, eyes strained in concentration as we begin to stir great concoctions of crimson reds and sparkling yellows? What is stopping us from splashing personal colors of pleasure over our own stretched canvases?

Could it be anything else but the ugly manifestations of our horn tipped friend, the ego? Is our ego, who sits cooly by the rock, the one who causes such strife and misery? 

It is possible. However, let me propose another idea. Perhaps we have all just been misunderstanding our shaded friend. What would you do, if you saw your ego coming home from another long day of work only to drown himself into a cup of whiskey poured fresh every night? Would you not feel sorry? Would you not want to help? Perhaps it is time we sat down with him and put aside some time for family counseling. After all, he does live with us and although the dishes may go unwashed and the carpets remain dirty he IS a relative with whom the house needs to be shared with.

Lets face facts though, the ego is not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. He bumbles and plods his way through life often with no care of who he tramples underneath his clown shaped shoes. He is, for the lack of a better word, an imbecile. A bratty child who only receives so much attention because of his constant yelling. What do you do with a child like that? Slap it around? Give it a lollipop so he shuts up for a couple of minutes? Or do you take him firm by the hand, stare him straight in the eye and tell him the truth?

Explain to this child, that your not going to take his shit anymore. He isn’t going to get what he wants because he isn’t the centre of the world. Granted, it probably won’t work the first time, nor the second, nor the third, but eventually his ears will perk up. The child WILL listen and realize that, “Wait a minute, Im not getting the same attention that I used to. WHAT IS GOING ON?”

That my friends is growth. That is how children turn into adults. When everything they have ever held dear gets thrown into their face and are left naked sitting on a cardboard box wondering where their pants went. That is how we progress.

Who is to say which way is the right way? After all, these are nothing but words. Sure I could talk, I could blather, hell I could even quote Confucius, but to what end? It is the individual who has to change, it is the individual who has to believe. I can’t do that for anyone. I can’t force what I believe on you because for any of this to work you have to truly believe it yourself. There is no room for superficiality in this game, nor is there any room for philistines. There needs to be true change, and there needs to be true faith in YOURSELF. Forget me, focus on you.

A wise man named K-OS told me, If you cant pull the boulder, lets just help push it along. Lets just help push it along.

Thursday, May 28, 2009

Im Sorry.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Pogo

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Fighting robot shows were amazing.


Oh battle bots, how I miss you (even with your dangerously overzealous patriotic tones). Whatever happened to TV shows like these? Ones that actually promoted creativity and intelligence. Where "geekdom" was not something to be frowned upon, but instead praised for its ingenuity and passion.

Where parents and children could sit together and enjoy television entertainment while simultaneously LEARNING something new and interesting.

Now in lue of all of this we now have shows like "Double shot of love with Tila stupid bitch".

For shame cable tv, for shame.

P.S: Yes I want to build an awesome robot and have robot wars with cool spinning and or pointy things coming out of it.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Ever feel like your in a dream world?


Constantly filtering in and out of reality?
Sometimes as invisible as the dark night, and at other times a god capable of changing worlds with the touch of a finger?

Ever feel like an oddity that has no home? A point of light amongst a sea of black?

Ever feel like a child thrown into an ocean with no paddle nor hope?

Ever feel stupid as fuck that you asked for all of this?

Sigh.

You know whats funny about the whole situation though? Im still going to take the red pill.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

I have been watching entirely too much TV lately.

This is not a good thing.
I mostly blame me being a little lazy, and the crazy amount of television sets in this house.

My eyes feel strained and my brain a little slower.

I should go read.
But goddamn is it ever easy to pick up that remote.
No no...I should go read.

Yea.

You know how strong the charm of the remote is when you start to procrastinate by typing nonsensically on your blog.
Awesome.

I found some funny things I wrote on my hellish flight back home. I don't even think I was exaggerating.

It has been almost 48 hours since I have slept. Plus I have no eyebrows or hair.
what.
Pushing 72 hours with no sleep (well I had 4 last night) and Im pretty certian I am running a pretty high fever.
Fucking body is shutting down after the severe abuse I put it through in the past 7 days. Its been a bitch. Flight to fiji will have to go down as the worst flight in my history. I have never felt that type of pain in my ears ever before. I had to tell myself to breath through it, it was that bad. Maybe I am just being a little girl. I dunno, but man did it hurt.
Equilibrium still has not returned. I feel like I am going to pass out. No joke. Ordered some food. And Im sure going from sydney/airport cold to fiji humid hot is not going to help the situation any. Lets see what happens on this LA flight. I could die. Probably not. Ok. Im just being a drama queen. But still man. Fucking ow.

On the LA flight I honestly did think I was going to die, or have a heart attack atleast. I self-prognosed myself with a wicked fever, but it all worked out in the end I suppose.

Flying straight for almost 4 days, and having minimal sleep in 10 is not recommended.

Here is a big fuck you to ICBC.


Fuck. You.

You know what would be good business practice? If you didn’t fuck over your customer base every chance you got. You know what would be an even better idea? If you paid attention to how people actually drove, as opposed to how you think they should be driving. Contrary to what you may think, being cooped up in your own little corporate bubble does not exempt you from being responsible to a public which you still provide a service for.

That's right ICBC, you provide a service to US, not the other way around. You rely on US for business, and accordingly YOU need to evolve your business model to keep pace with our demands. We don’t have to bow down to you, because we are hiring you! You work for us jackasses!

Unfortunately you already have a strong monopolization of the BC auto market and thus, we the public, often feel we have no other option than you. We believe we have no where to turn to, no one to talk to, and no one to change what so desperately needs to be changed.

Yet, what we fail to realize is that the public can fire ICBC anytime it chooses to. Let us not forget, we are the CEO’s and VP’s of the land. The government and all of its subsidiaries are employees of ours. We rule the roost.

Now, I may be wrong here, but doesn’t a successful business model sometimes constitute re-shuffling? Continuously cutting the fat so that a company can rise without dead weight pulling it down?

Its a thought.

Now, the only reason ICBC gets to charge such atrocious insurance rates, and maintain its stranglehold on the BC auto society, is because there is no competition. Maybe the complete privatization of the auto-plan industry is the way forward, or perhaps ICBC just needs to buck up and open their eyes. Either way, changes need to be made and people need to speak up.

P.S: If your going to give completely pointless learners tests atleast TRY and mimic real life road situations ok?

P.P.S: Its countersteering jackasses, not tip the bike over at 80 kmph.

Radio Soulwax

Standing in the Light Field.


A man dressed in a simple suit stands silent on the stage. The spotlight unfettered by his scowl, continues its relentless assault of warm rays onto his beaten face. His brow, which had furrowed in much distress, has finally smoothed with a resignation to a fate he did not choose.

He sighs.

The red curtain flutters behind him, sending ripples of waves across a sea of velvet giving hint to the violence not half a step behind.

His eyes look up, and all they see is black. The occasional whisper and cough betrays the invisible ghosts which saunter in and out of his existence. There is no rest, there is no peace. These ghosts will haunt, they will poke and they will prod. These ghosts leave him sober and sad. They will try and make him forget.

He walks to the mic and taps on its glittery mesh. A hush settles over the empty chairs, and a voice croaks its finality through the still mist.

I am the sand. I am the stone. I am the bird that falls. I am the silence that is echoing. I see the dodos begging me to keep them comfortable, so I only do what I can.

I close my eyes.
I close my eyes.

Monday, May 18, 2009

I wish I had a pet tiger

Friday, May 15, 2009

Im still dancing.

lol

If you arn't dancing by now.

Comon man.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Bhasmati Madness.

So I have a question for your Mr. Rice, why can’t I cook you?

Everytime I try, you turn into a goopy mush or a burnt disaster. Granted, I am not a Chef Ramsey, (I don’t like to call my mushroom soup a dirty fucking whore), but you aren't exactly creme brule you know?

All you require is heat and water. Heat and fucking water...that it! So why is it that I still manage to fuck you up? I have destroyed entire pots in my quest for edible rice. I have spent real dollars in an attempt to cook you, and yet you can’t grace my plate without being an abomination to my pallet. I either add too much water, or too little. You either adhere to the bottom of my pan with a fierce gorilla hold or you drip off my spoon with a texture reminiscent to baby food.

Sooo....good?

Listen rice, even though it’s clear that you have a long standing vendetta against me, I beg you stop this unnecessary hate. Why can’t we just get along? Why can’t you, me and chicken side dish just sit down and have a good time? Why do you have to be such a dick?

I love you rice, I really do, now I just want that love reciprocated. Is that such an unreasonable request?

You know what? Forget world peace, all I want for Christmas is fluffy rice.

P.S: I promise I’ll stop cheating on you with pasta if you would just put out occasionally. Frigid carb.

Monday, May 11, 2009

And thats how you let the beat build.

Nyle "Let The Beat Build" from Nyle on Vimeo.



One Take, with audio recorded simultaneously.

If people could hear my thoughts...

I would probably be in some sort of health care facility right now.
Either that or they would use me as a mule for a myriad of shitty B list movies.

Coming soon to a theater near you.

Saturday, May 9, 2009

So Im watching Ultimate Fighter right...

And this guy just got FOUR of his teeth knocked out and stuck in his mouthguard. Know what they do for the next round? They take the teeth out with a pair of pliers, (so the mouthguard sits properly in his mouth again) and started the new round.

Same guy also just tapped out to a straight arm bar.

Ouch.

>.<

Flying.

Friday, May 8, 2009

An oldie but a goodie.

And the worst song in a wizard movie goes to...


Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

*slow clap*

Yes, I finally watched the movie in its entirety and although well made, the song played at the Yule ball was, for the lack of any better term, BARF.

Is that what this generation of children consider "cool"? Are you for real? Has pop music really degraded to this garbage? Have the Chemical Romance’s and Pussy Cat Doll’s of the world really taken over mainstream music to the point where nothing exists but marketing and shitty renditions of the glamor metal era? Say it ain’t so!

Now, I may have taken a while to stroll into the party, (I personally call it a fashionably late), but holy crap man, we seriously need to rethink our standards of what constitutes good music.

As much as I hate to say it, MTV has and continues to mold young minds through the influence of music. The difference now however, is that the music and culture have not only adhered to the lowest common denominator, but have also made a conscious effort to dumb down an entire populace of children.

Granted I have not watched TV in a while, and perhaps what I am blathering on about doesn’t even need to be said, but when Soulja boy is still in the Billboard top10, it makes me think I’m not that far off the mark.

Now I am no music elitist, I listen to a lot of popular music, but a line needs to be drawn in the sand. Lets put the Michael Jacksons and Claptons back on their perch. Why don’t we let the Dylans, Nirvana’s and NWA’s regain their wings? Lets inject some fucking substance and emotion back into our veins!

Maybe “Superman dat hoe”, really does inspire some people. I don’t know, and honestly its really not my place to say. However, do we really need to pay heed to that type of message?

“Listen kids, remember to always half ass it and never use your brain ok? Cause its the only way you will ever achieve this level of success. In fact, why bother trying to save the world, when supermanning that hoe is good enough?”

By promoting abominations such as these, that is exactly what we are telling this generation of thinkers.

Here is an idea, instead of being stuck in cookie cutter beats and lyrics lets try something different and EXPERIMENT. Lets push the bounds of acceptable and get the message out there. Music doesn’t have to be an opiate, it doesn’t have to exist in the background. Popular music was once the voice of an entire generation of change. Lets make it happen again.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Yes Im drifting...

A fog horn blows in the distance as we sit still on a wooden bench, cup of tea in hand (Earl Gray w/ 1 spoon of sugar), watching the fog roll over the still onyx waves. The tower casts its light onto the ocean water, illuminating the darkened treasures lurking just beneath.

Cold bites the tip of your nose, and you curl your blanketed toes in a feeble attempt to keep the piggies warm. A smile creeps onto your face and a strand of hair ambles its way past your ear and onto your nose.

A sip. A smile.
Slowly slowly,

I am drifting.

High ho, High ho, its off to work we go.

So I visited my old work today. In addition to stern warnings about behaving myself (I have been known to be a rascal), I got a nice welcoming from all the staff and clients :)

It made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

I am currently sleeping in the most ridiculous bedroom in the world.

Since I just got back into the city and have no money at my disposal, I am staying at my parents house. My folks, the incredibly sweet people they are, let me store the remains of my apartment in my old bedroom. It seems in a span of 3 months, this room has become the resting place of all things random.

Consequently I have boxes of books, computers, motorcycle gear, board games, broken up pieces of Ikea furniture, 2 snowboards, a microwave, tv, a air humidifier, random pieces of art, a tub full of legos, lots of pennies, lightbulbs, oscillating fans, white tea body cream, and 3 laundry baskets. Thats right. 3.

I also have a stuffed Canadian beaver that somehow managed to make its way into this room.

I now sleep with it.

Don't judge me.

*Edit: Ok, it really doesnt sound that ridiculous but you should see this place. Its more of a you need to be here type of thing.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Its kinda wierd not having any eyebrows or hair.

Its been almost a week, and even though the hair is starting to grow back, I just can't help but feel odd. Touching all the spiky growth is an activity that keeps me fascinated for hours on end. I must look like I am on a meth binge or something.

Hey man, *scratch scratch rub rub*, you got any cheeseburgers man...*scratch scratch*

But for real, I miss my long hair.

P.S: I also found out that I have way too many dents in my head, alot more than what one would deem normal. Thanks mom.

I promise I have a penis and not a vagina. I SWEAR.

True Love.


There are so many definitions of what true love is, that it boggles my mind. In fact, all one has to do is Google the term itself and your bombarded with a plethora of new age, psychological and physiological attempts to describe something that (in my opinion at least), exceeds definition itself.

If I could borrow a quote from Wedding Crashers, (yes I know...shut it):

True love is your souls recognition of its counterpoint in another.

Now, as much as I hate to say it, Owen Wilson might be onto something here. If we were to accept that love goes beyond just a simple biological function of human procreation, then we would also have to accept that "love" would have to have an ethereal quality about it. Love then, could be nothing but the missing piece of a puzzle which we so eagerly await to be completed.

Perhaps love, is the energy that forms the duality, maybe its the song behind our universe, or maybe its the sticky remnants found in the ally behind the bar.

All I know is that you need to follow your feet and perhaps one day this beautiful mess will clean itself up.

Sunday, May 3, 2009

Sahara nights.


There are currently 6 people in the most elaborate living room fort you have ever seen in your life. There are mattresses with a central pillar and sheets tied to chairs which give everything an Arabian Nights effect.

I love how this night turned out.

:)

Happy facin all over your space booooy.

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Man. I am so high right now.


Dude.
Ya dude.
Did you pay your child support man?
Oh shit man. I forgot.
You forgot man?
Ya man. Its because I was HIGH.

dun dun dun.


Marijuana. The not so silent killer.

This, a typical "stoner" conversation, has been occurring with much greater frequency than with what I am comfortable with. So, because of events like these, it is I, who will give my full support to Stephen Harper and his new bill.

Way to go Harper! Way to get to the crux of the problem! Fuck the 65% of the people who actually WANT marijuana legalization, you do your thing man. Lets throw the fuckers in jail man! YEA!

You know why your awesome Harper? Its because you don’t need to listen man. Your fucking Stephen Harper! You don’t need to listen to shit!

Screw those fucking hippies and their long hair. Beneath the farce of love and peace its murder dude! I see it in those hippies eyes everytime. Plus they totally stink too, and I mean, who can trust a smelly person am I right? I know Harper buddy, I’m on the same page as you.

Hey man, lets not even think about how you are putting increased strain on an already overburden legal system nor how your going to get money for an already bloated budget while still sustaining a national economy in a floating global recession.

You'll figure it out. You know why?

YOUR FUCKING STEPHEN HARPER!

Who cares about the rest right? Its the elite and dolla dolla bill ya'll!

P.S: Fucking Hippies.

P.P.S: Can I have a signed autograph?

Friday, May 1, 2009

Universal Traveller

Hate Mail


Dear Smiths Snack Food Company,

As per your consumer quality guarantee, I am not satisfied with your “Twisties” product and have taken drastic steps in letting you know this. These measures will mostly consist of this letter, a lifetime barring of your cheesie like product, and some diarrhea.

Now, I have many problems with your food like substance, but the one that irks me the most, is that your Wikipedia entry claims it to be the “number one extruded snack brand.” Really? Does this mean that other humans (I only assume humans, but I could be wrong), willingly eat this garbage on a regular basis? Have you coated the strands of the “knobby surfaced” stick with some kind of mind control? In all honesty, that is the only explanation I have, considering you also sell this junk in chicken flavor!

“Hey Bob, you hungry?”
“Yea man, I could really go for some cheese and chicken flavored powder on dried corn right about now!”
“Well fucking hell Bob, have I got the product for you!”

Another gripe that I have (among many), is your slogan. Although your wiki entry states different, my bag shows your slogan as being, “Life is more fun with...TWISTIES!”

Is it? Is it fucking really!? Should I be fucking dancing on the table with a bag of twisties in my hand? Maybe next time instead of charm and humor, I’ll just bring a FUCKING BAG OF TWISTIES TO THE PARTY!

What about relationships huh? Should I be screaming cheesy delights while my girlfriend silently cries in the corner?

“Don’t worry about it baby, I GOT FUCKING TWISTIES ON MY SIDE!”

*Deep breath*

I could go on, but it seems along with bowel issues, your product also causes heart problems. I thank you for your time and hope your company soon falls into the proverbial gutter.

Sincerely,

Hungry.

Thursday, April 30, 2009

Oink Oink. Your Dead!



First came the invasion of the Chinese birds, and now these damn Mexicans and their pigs! Who would have thought eh? World wide swine flu epidemics back to back!


What the fuck are you talking about you crazy Indian boy!? Surely this is the first time that we have seen such a breakout of piglet madness!?

Alas poor reader, I regret to inform you that this is the second reported outbreak of swine flu disease within the last 34 years. In the October of 1976, a group of medical opportunists, who I will be now referring to as deplorable and feeble excuses for humans; i.e. jackasses, took it upon themselves to declare that there was an epidemic of swine flu disease ready to sweep the nation!

Apparently, this epidemic was so grave that $135 million of U.S public funds were appropriated to develop a vaccine and to create these nifty commercials. The best part? The original case which involved the death of a soldier at Fort Nix, was deemed to be the result of A-Victoria flu and NOT swine flu.

But wait, it gets even better! This current outbreak of swine flu is the direct mutation of the vaccine developed in 1976. The current strain would not exist were it not for an unnecessary vaccine developed 34 years ago. Now, I am not going to go into conspiracy theorist land but fucking hell, wake up! Remember the avian flu? Mad cow disease? Norwalk virus ring a bell? They wiped out most of the worlds population right?

OH HOLD ON!

...

Lets not even talk about the perfect timing of the appearance of this global virus, nor the economical, political or social ramifications it will have on the world at large. Instead, lets talk about why. Why we as a society feel the need to remain an overmedicated, scared bunch of sheep! Why we constantly give into a fear mongering media and let obese power hungry dogs lead us astray from what we KNOW and NEED!

Yes, true global disease can exist, I am not denying that fact. A good example of this is the Spanish Influenza of 1918. What I am fighting against however, is the need for a vaccine or pill for every headache and sniffle. People get sick, yes. However vaccines more often than not create more problems than they solve. They create super viruses and a plethora of offspring.

Let me pose this question. Why isn’t there a greater global focus on diet and exercise rather than medicine? Even the medical industry agrees it is the best prevention to almost all human ailment. Could it be that if a true global push were made in this area, then a multi-billion dollar industry would collapse? Hmmmm.

Have we really come to the point where we are willing to risk the survival of the human species simply because its easier to not give a fuck?

Open your eyes, and if there is anyone in there. Please. Wake up.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

We sang a song last night.

A song of liberation and a song of life. We showed how two souls could galvanize to become one.

I now have hope, and I now have peace.

Thank you.

Monday, April 27, 2009

Its a momentary party.

We sit and we wonder, eyes open mouth aghast. We pray to be saved when we refuse to help. Sit and wait, surely it will come. Isnt that what we say? Sit and wait. Time is running out. A little bit of this, a little of that. Its all we ever wanted.

An explosion in the sky, a world burns and a baby cries. Steal my innocence because I dont have any left to hide. I lie naked on the table heart in my mouth. Beyond what we expect, beyond what we need. Try harder, always harder and dance for life.

Monday, April 20, 2009

I think my best friend in Australia is the anti-christ.

And Im pretty ok with that.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Let the rapture begin.

For it is now that I begin my song.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Slow down everyone, Your moving too fast.

Time passes slow.
Dark shrouds pass by ears too distracted by idle chitter chatter to even feign attention.

I sit. Quiet. Violent waves of solitude wash over my face. Im not sure what to say, what to express. To feel.

Just.
fade

Saturday, April 11, 2009

I have been inhaling books over the past 3 weeks or so.

Which consequently leads me to write/observe/think more and party less. So, its a win win situation really.

These are some books that EVERYONE should read.

A Thousand Splendid Suns - Khaled Hosseini
Odd Thomas - Dean Koontz
Peace Like a River - Leif Enger
Running With Scissors - Augusten Burroughs
Shantaram - Gregory David Robert

Hold your breath and count to ten. Fall apart and Start again.


Eyes cast downward, he slogged through the rain that filled the cold dreary night. He knew what he was going to do was not going to solve anything. He knew, yet he continued. How many times had he tried to stop? How many times had he failed? He didn’t care. He just knew he had to continue.

He stopped underneath an overhang as he reached into his grey jacket pocket and lit a cigarette. The pitter patter of water continued its endless assault.
“How moronic”, scoffing to no-one in particular, his blue eyes transfixing themselves on the glowing ember at the end of his cigarette.

“And they said this shit would kill me.”

A deep throaty laugh escaped his lips. One that would have garnered the curiosity of even the most indifferent of individuals. This laugh was one that seemed to scream for help, a laugh of a man that was praying to be saved. It not only betrayed the madness that lurked not far underneath, but it wretched at the listeners soul seeming to taunt any who were brave enough to listen to its voice.

A pink tongue lashed over a set of thin moist lips spraying sticky spittle over the cracked pavement.

Tasting the smoke, he stretched his arms and relished in the its acrid gray tones. These moments of clarity were rare, and he planned to take advantage. Closing his eyes and letting his mind wander he slowly started to count backwards from 10. Images of place he had never been to began to flood his senses.

Red balloons in the sky, the smell of hamburger meat and giggling of innocent children crowded an otherwise tortured soul.


I started writing this short story 6 months ago. This is as far as I ever got. Maybe one day Ill finish it.

My favorite Beatles song of all time.

This song just screams beauty while simultaneously raking the insides of your stomach with a pitchfork.

Songs about Paper towels.


Although I seem to have been denying this realization for several years now, I have to finally concede that me, traveling, and awkward bathroom experiences tend to go hand in hand.

First there was the Bangkok woman's washroom debacle of 2001, the Indian, "Oh my god I shouldn't have eaten that," mess of 04' and finally the London "hey I can see your penis" incident of 07'.

Now, I generally tend to avoid awkward experiences if I can, (don't really see the point in them ya know?), but sometimes, they can be a terrifying source of amusement.

Let me start at the beginning.

The day had started like any other in the Northern Territories of Australia. It was a mindlessly hot and hazy morning. I lay sprawled on a metal bench, head loped to the side, tongue listlessly moistening my lips in a futile attempt to sooth over the freshly tiled leather.

“Dude.”
“I stink.”

“Yea. Its pretty bad,” confirmed Darran who sat two benches over to my right, “maybe you should think about not being such a dirty bastard.”

“You don’t exactly smell like a bed of roses yourself jackass!” I quipped back, head snapping in his direction.

Although I knew his comment was mostly in jest, I was now very conscious of the exact odor my body was emanating. I concluded, that the stench I exuded lay somewhere in-between ten day old blue cheese and a mayonnaise/egg sandwich that had sat in the sun for too long. Not exactly the things dreams are made of.

It had been 80 hours, 23 minutes and 15 seconds since my last shower and change of clothes. I suspected it would be another ten before I would have my fill of bronze shampoo and soap that smelled like baby powder.

The train life.
How I loathed it.

For the better part of four days, I had been squashed into a seat that was entirely too narrow, and which I suspected had been originally designed for a spineless Oompa Loompa. The fabric of the chairs not only clung to the fibers of my clothing but also oozed their own special brand of rotten perfume. Paying almost quadruple for a first class carriage had never sounded so good.

We had stopped for several hours in the sleepy town of Catherine. Nothing was open, save for the subway which had run out of lettuce. Tummy’s rumbled, tempers remained short, and clothes stinky.

On a side-note, how do operate a successful subway franchise when running out of lettuce is even a feasible option? Like, thats one the main components of a decent subway sandwich. Its the bread to the butter, the cheese to the wine, the blue to the Smurf. Come on Catherine, population of 20,000. Get your shit together. Alas, I digress. Its just that the subway incident affected me much more than it probably should have. Back to the story:

“I have to do something about this,” I said grunting and rising to my feet. “You know, this deodorant spray is a piece of crap too. I mean, when I buy Hollywood Playboy Spray I want to smell like a hollywood playboy damnit, not a dead bovine.”

Darran glanced up from his book and rolled his eyes. My witty comments about body odor had seemed to run its course.

“Ok, Ill be back,” I said as I started my walk to the bathrooms. My initial intention on entering the restrooms were to use its facilities. Just relieve the pot and drop the Cosby kids off at the pool you know? Nothing too out of the ordinary. It was then however, as it often happens with terribly mundane moments, that genius struck.

I had exactly three things at my disposal in that florescent tiled washroom. Paper towels, liquid soap and water. Now, if I didn’t feel so utterly grimy I would never have even considered what I did next, but when your up to bat and the bases are loaded, the rules tend to go flying out the window.

Half considering the possible repercussions of my to be actions, I took off my shirt, shimmied down to my Sportsman boxer briefs, lathered up a paper towel and went to work. I wiped my arms, torso, pits, face and even neck with great vigor. I silently congratulated myself. This was the best idea I had come up with in a while. So simple and utterly foolproof. Why, I wondered, didn’t more people do this? It was at that moment, soapy paper towel firmly pressed underneath my right arm, that a man walked in.

Upon entering the lavatory and seeing me, his step immediately faltered. Fear filled eyes caught mine. He hesitated, not quite sure if he should continue or head back in the direction from which he came. Presumably, he must have decided I wasn’t a major threat for he continued into the bathroom to go about his business. I did notice however that every effort was made to block me from his immediate interpretation of reality.

I on the other hand, continued in my poor man’s sponge bath. I had gone beyond the point of embarrassment and being somewhat clean was too much of a temptation to stop.
Nevertheless, a thought did cross my mind that I subsequently decided to act upon. Call it sleep deprivation, plain pigheadedness, whatever. I decided, that at that moment, it was my duty to restore some normalcy into a situation that desperately required some. My solution? To start humming.

At the first tremble of my lips, the man’s eyes shot up and widened. His movements at the sink became increasing frantic and desperate. Upon observing his actions, I couldn't help but think that perhaps I had overcompensated on my humming skills. Or maybe, just maybe it had something to do with the fact I was slowly humming the tune of Riot Van, naked from the waste up, and wiping myself down with soapy paper towels in the train station bathroom of Catherine, Australia. I’m willing to bet on the latter.

Not paying enough attention to the practice of proper hygiene, the man gave a quick rinse and scurried out through the doors. He reminded me of a cockroach when a light gets turned on in a dark room.

Now finished with my impromptu shower, (and smelling considerably cleaner I might add) I strolled out the door, down the hall and back into the waiting terminal.

I spotted him almost immediately. There he sat, talking feverishly to his wife about his experience. Catching the couples eye, I gave a curt nod and a smug smile suggesting I was very happy in my pine like fragrance. They however, did not return the smile but looked away refusing to even acknowledge my existence. I didn’t mind. For you see, at that moment I was sweat and offensive odor free and I don’t think there remained a more content person in that room than me.

As crazy as this whole experience sounds, this actually did happen to me no less than 2 days ago word for word (almost >.>). I shit you not.

I should have a sitcom about my life. I predict it would be a hit.

Oh hi.

This is for you. Yea.

You.

Monday, April 6, 2009

Im excited!

Quiet and thoughtful. But still very excited.

Its just after midnight.
The city lights are almost here, and the feast begins soon.


If you could change the world.

What would you do?

Would you create peace? Eliminate famine, war and pestilence? Or would you leave it untouched? Letting the pieces of the pie fall into place where they may, no matter how horrific it is to watch?

Would you promote good health? Mental stimulation? How about fostering spiritual growth without the rusty chains of religion to tie it down?

A world able to be bent at your will. People frothing at the mouth to do your bidding.

Would you create armies? Would you destroy all that oppose you?

Cut the throats of the naysayers, for they don't understand your vision.

Would you kill, maim and destroy to create a utopia? One which is free from such atrocities but cannot be reached without sacrificing the lives of innocents?

The power to sculpt and create as you see fit, un-imaginable power flowing through fingertips into clay pots.

If you could, would you?



PS. Id just make certain execs create another season of Arrested Development. I mean fuck, what a great show.

Friday, April 3, 2009

Riding around in my Black Devil Car.


The lights flash by in an angry blur. I stare straight ahead. There exists nothing but the silence of the night and the grumbling of a hungry motor. The wheels grip the pavement with a fierce hold, one only replicated in a lovers embrace. They will never let go. They will never betray.

I remove my left hand and place it upon my thigh and tilt my laden head to the side. Something isn’t right. The purity of the moment has gone.

Yellow lights flash in my mirrors. I look down. It seems a menace with too much time and bravado in his hands has come searching. Do I give him the satisfaction? My brakes lights make that decision for me as they blink, indicating an acknowledgment and a start to the hunt. A wrist turns, a gear clicks. Game on.

Slicing through the air and a seemingly useless city we move through the streets. We remain not but a pair of pure black ghosts in search of their god. We dip; shoulders moving in unison, hips contorting to match the speed. Passer by’s stop and stare at the 2 second spectacle. Why? they ask, Why?

We pay no attention because we already understand. They will never know the exhilaration, the beauty, the subtlety of it all.

A high whine reaches my ears. My partner has raised his beast on its hind legs; a mocking smile plays on his lips. You will never catch me, comes the whisper.

I flatten myself down. My ego overrides.

No! This is stupid. You must stop now. You must!

I don’t. I won’t.

These speeds are dangerous. A pebble or a crack can mean demise. A wrong push can destroy.

Yet I continue.

A heartbeat passes and it all becomes too much. My lover has betrayed me with a vicious slap to the face.

I fall.

The sound of the plastic on pavement makes a sickening crunch, the smell of burnt leather and tire reaches my nostrils through the air holes. A dark liquid saunters its way down to a gutter. And here I lay in a crumpled heap; eyes still open for the moment.

‘Did I win?’ comes the gurgled cry through my lips.

Dead air greets me. I cough as a red speckled arc makes its way over my chin. It would be beautiful were it not such a tragedy.

Eyes close and my face relaxes. The purity of the moment returns and a smile finds its way onto my face. This. Here. Now

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