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Tuesday, December 28, 2010

I got a feeling. A feeling so funny.

My price.

Say what you want to say. Don't be afraid to say what you need. What more do I need to write? Do I have to write? Is that what people will listen to? Why is it that words hold this majestic power. The capabilities to change a life through any sentence. Why words why?

You, demon holder. Release me for I will never come to you. I take all I want when I want. This is my gift. Hardwired into ports resting underneath my skin, the metal glistens with my morning sweat.

Omega point, that is what I am shooting for yes? Then why do I still fear? The culmination of all into one burst. A push into the atmosphere that no human will survive. We are meant to fly. We are the angels we seek. Things shift, they move. Covers raise. Eyes close. Closer and closer we come. I am not afraid. Show them to me. I can see you. Hi.

Yes. These are the times. I am ready. Quiver in hand, scent on my skin. Rattle my bones o' forsaken one, for here I stand sword drawn from sheath. I have no more to fear. Dont you realize? I am ready to include everything inside. So show me. Bring down the heavens.

Glosyinh eiyh fidsdyrtd eiyh mr. eoe.

iyd nrsuyigul n s esy.
ehsy str you?

zi vsn drr you eslk.

mrlf inyo eslld.

Peel my skin into the bright light that I need to be. Let me bath in its curse.

Saturday, December 25, 2010

Monday, December 20, 2010

Forcast Fascist Future

May we never go go mental. May we always stay stay gentle.
May we never go go mental. May we always stay stay gentle.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

The art of thought.

Like an artist caught in the quiet solitude of his own grace, a scientist manipulates his fields of energy.

Axioms shift to the sounds of light as their travel marks their spattered remains among the roads of folded space. Orbitals begin to slowly shift into their new shapes as we feel force change to its own matter. A deep rumble is what we hear. A sound of a quantum gasp locked in its own cubes roots of 10.

In. Fin. Ity.

Strange times are here.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

Thursday, December 16, 2010

My birthday.

Happy birthday to me I guess? Im not exactly sure what to say and to whom to say it to, but my body and mind don't really reek  of old age. So...go me?

I suppose that is not entirely an achievement considering Im 26 but you know, take what you can get.

ALSO, I have never actually had a party since I turned 12 and that was when I got to go see Space Jam starring Micheal Jordan. It was a good evening for a 12 year old I guess. I got popcorn, a cartoon and some good old fashion TLC but I reckon tomorrow night is going to be a better one. It's here that I predict debauchery and mayhem sliced into my life permanent. Woo hoo.

Its a bigger than a hip hop

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Monday, December 13, 2010

Saturday, December 11, 2010

So she fought.

Friday, December 10, 2010

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Perhaps woman

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Saturday, December 4, 2010

Friday, December 3, 2010

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

I predict it sits there soft.

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Thursday, November 25, 2010


Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Built memories.

I just realized something. Our genetic code is dictated by our memories.

Memories, is what your brain references when you, the conscious human, makes decisions about his/her life. The desicions that you, the conscious human, make about your life subsequently then affects your memories once again. A circle of sorts.

Memories --> Experience --> Memories -->Experience  

And on and on we go.

Think, the life you live right now is the result millions of years of memories strung through different species and eras. Think, somewhere in your DNA is the experience of an ape species existent some 100+ million years ago. The evolution of  eons of thought and action surpassing all biological limitation. Evolution defined.

Maybe we are connected after all.

Friday, November 19, 2010

Helping this planet just became a little easier.

Welcome to Energy in Common (EIC) a micro-lending platform which attempts to provide clean sustainable energy to the developing world. How? The partners at Energy in Common have created a service that allows for the lending of dollars by individual parties to any EIC sanctioned entrepreneur. Who exactly constitutes as an EIC entrepreneur? Only someone who is in need of foreign aid to better help their standard of living.

One donated, you can track your loan and see how that money is being spent. Be it, for a clean gas burning stove or solar panel, Energy in Common, will give you a detailed report on what your money is being spent on. Once the loan goes through you have 18 months before you, the lender, sees the money re-paid.
Yes that's right, EIC will let you re-invest the initial loan amount. Brilliant.

At this point, you can choose to re-donate that recovered money to another entrepreneur of your choice, withdraw it from your account or leave it alone to decide for another date.

This brilliant idea of a site not only fosters great thinking but also strong grassroot initiative. Spread this site around to your friends, mothers, fathers, lovers. Share a little bit of your cash to make this world a better place.

 Peace and Love.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

From where we are all born.

Monday, November 15, 2010

If you are so frequently in love.

An ode to a beard. A beard on my face.

This, on my face, is a beard. A beard that will be shaven off within the next couple of days assuming everything goes to plan. It is a good beard, some may even say, a strong beard. The hairs, they shine in their new found length as do my bristles, who seek commanding union to my face. My beard is a good beard.

So it is here, at this impasse of man and hair, that I bid you farewell. May the crossroads of lazy and I don't give a fuck never meet once again.

Goodbye dear friend.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Sometimes, I like touching my back.

I know it sounds strange to admit something like this but I generally don't like to cut corners on these invisible tracks of self-actualization. Discussions about smooth backs included.

So now, as you sit baffled within my unending barrage of half-pinted idiocy, I urge you to slowly follow the creases within the folds of your skin. Funny feeling no? These little canyons explored delicately by the nails of a debaucherous animal. Every adventure, a new one. This fold has never been seen before, much less felt, so ask yourself: What mysteries do your bunched cells contain? Thousands of tons of atomic power callously strewn aside by a mortal. The power to collapse a million suns into liquid chaos.

Ever think what the universe would look like on a fundamental level? A giant orgy of heat gas and light, each thriving against one another, begging for the others mercy.

My back, is a special place I think.

Let me hear you scream out for more.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Don't FUCK with a gangster.

I feel like a funny guy today.

Did you hear about the frog who parked in the handicap spot? He ended up getting his car toad. I'd also tell you the one about the fence....but you'd never get over it. I could possibly even fathom writing the one about butter.... but i'm worried your just going to spread it.

Much like the two silk worms who had a race to just end up in a tie, these jokes will just end up like the one about the airplane. It's just going to go over your head.

They say a good pun is it's own reword, but I on the other hand want to be like two hats hanging on a hat rack in a hallway, careless while moving on a head. It's kind of like setting one's house on fire, it's quite alarming and much like an old lawyer these jokes never die, they just lose their appeal.

So it is here that I end this verse like two puppets who enter relationships with no strings attached:

What has two legs and bleeds a lot? Half a cat.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Sunday, October 24, 2010

My leg is shaking uncontrollably right now.

Im staring at it as we speak and it is bouncing up and down in maniced anxiety. I can almost count the bops if I concentrate hard enough. 1234567891011121314. Damnit. Only if my leg would slow down so I could keep up. Fucking cunt.

What if my leg, for whatever reason, decides to break off my hip and hop away? I suppose it would be more of a flop as the principles of balance and gravity would have to be taken into account, but still, where do you suppose it would go? Barbados maybe. My leg looks like the type.

I bet I have a duracell battery in my calf somewhere. Those sneaky buggers probably came into my appartment in the quiet dim of the night to inject a sick syrum straight into my vein. Fucking bunny. I'll never buy a lithium battery again.

I can't imagine this obtouse shaking has anything to do with an excessive energy trying to compel a body into spasm. But then again who knows, this brain has done stranger things. I want to say I can control the bopping, Im sure I can, but these past 5 minutes has turned into an addiction of sorts. So in the end, who controls who?

Damnit leg, cut it out. I want to stop typing.

Friday, October 22, 2010

In that kind of mood.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Light the fire that is in your head.

Writers Block.

It has been a long time since I have broached the topic of elephants so it is now, with slight trepidation, that I bring to you the first in a long line of episodes I like to call, Elephants, The Mysterious Loggers.

The first in our series is, Black Diamond. Weighing nine tons, Black Diamond was famed to be the largest Indian elephant in captivity. Although a strong able worker, Black Diamond was prone to severe fits of aggression and rage. In an attempt to combat such unbriddled aggression, the handlers chained Black Diamond to two calm female elephants. Nothing like a little bit of lady love to ease the ego back am I right folks? Neverthless, Black Diamond was shot and killed a little while later when he threw the circus owner, Eva Speed Donohoo, over a box car. His head, now stuffed and mounted, can be seen at a museum in Houston, Texas.

Next time on Elephants, The Mysterious Loggers: Murderous Mary. A cautionary Tale.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Remember Dunkaroos?

And how absolutely awesome they were? They used to be one of the few staples of my childhood that I still to this day, crave with every fiber of my being. The chocolate and vanilla frosting with the cookie shaped crisps! OH MY GOD. This, alongside cheese string and fruity pebbles, made every day a day to look forward to. 

As I type this out another thought strikes me, isn't it a little sad that we bookmark our childhood by the consumer products that entered into it? Im sure at some level this leads to a discourse about sociological decay and the fixation of man on media but truthfully why would I mar my memories with such jaded views? 

Damnit life. 

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

I forgot how much of a pain in the ass transit is.

And I also forgot how easily you get used to it. Sometimes the buses come, other times they don't. Not much you can do about it really. Just sit quietly until the notch on the schedual rings it chime. You know what's the worst though? When you JUST miss the bus and end up sitting on a bench for another 20 or so minutes, doing absolutely nothing but twiddling your thumbs and thinking about the extra sleep. It is often at this mark that another person nochelantly strolls up and stands beside you.

That is when I start to get frustrated. Who in their right mind shows up to a bus stop early? What are you, organized? I don't need this type of belligerence in my life. Especially the type that gets thrown down to me at a bus stop that didn't work around my schedual. Fuck off.

I do however like the fact that I can read again. Or atleast, pretend to. Most of the time though I stare off into space listening to the pitter patter of a stranger's conversation.

Why yes, I would like to know what Brian did to Becky last night. Oh he IS a hermaphadite whore! How interesting. 

So here is to you BC transit. Your overpriced tickets and un-reasonable operating hours have entered into my life once again. Chin Chin my good friend. *Clink*

PS: It's not that bad really. Just. I miss my vehicle.

Sunday, October 10, 2010

What are you staring at?

Saturday, October 9, 2010

Hate Mail #3

Dear POF hacker,

You dun fucked up son. You shouldn't have done it, but you did. You hacked my POF account. For that I condense to you this strongly worded letter. Fuck you. Fuck your mother. Fuck your sister who no doubt has already fucked your mother. Incestuous relationships. Bet your ass I went there.

Are you jealous of me? Is that why you deleted all those messages from all those sexy women? Those many many (read: 2) women? You must have hated the fact that I was talking to them, while you, the fucking toolbag from across the computer screen, were not. Some poor mishapen boy bullying the only way he can.

Suckle on your mommas teat a little longer little boy, cause thats the closest you are going to get to one for a long time.

Ass. Hole.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Who knew laundry could be this expensive.

$1.75 per wash! The audacity of Wendzel Developments! How could you delve into such extraneousness pricing? Who do you think you are? Halliburton?!

I can understand a recession, as I can understand a tax hike for a new water plant but $1.75?? Are you clinically insane? Bunch of jokers running this building.

Monday, September 20, 2010

Literally the Greatest Youtube video.


Sunday, September 19, 2010

Part 6 in a series of Infinity.

I find that as these past few days roll by, my mind has ceased thriving in the tumultuous sac of chaos that it is used to. It has once again acclimatized itself to the quiet escapades of the few remaining rats. Those rascals.

Im not exactly sure how that has any effect on anything as my productivity and general spirit remains the same, it is just my perception of everything which has dimmed. Perhaps I no longer hear the silent clatter that once claimed my head space and perhaps it is now that I control the full reigns of chaos once again.

I should say that it is an interesting place to be. You almost miss the explosions and murder. The pure un-adulterated rape. Pillage and maim me MORE. SCAR MY SKIN.


Im an odd person I think.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Today was a day of sad epiphany.

I will not have in my possession, a full head of hair for the remainder of my days. I have already made a youtube video regarding this issue so a transposition of thought into this written word is the last remaining step. 

I should start off by saying that I am sad. Very, very, sad. My hair holds a special place in my heart and as I relinquish myself to this disease, I fear I shall lose not only follicles but a piece of my soul in the process.

Why must god do this to me? 

What could I have possibly done, be it in this or previous life, that could have incurred such unnecessary wrath? Was it when I stole candy from the store that one time? Or was it at some point prior to my birth that I pissed you off? Some ageless soul who's prank went horribly ary. Did I step on your toe god? Cause, I'm really sorry man. I swear. Just don't do this to me. Don't snatch my soft locks at the peak of my life. To do so is just downright mean.  

Come on god. Gimmie my hair back. Come on. 


Come on. 

FINE. If that is the sorry hand you are going to deal to me, then I shall play it. Just don't expect me to be all chipper about it you goddamn cock. 

It's not like I already hate bald people. Fucking losers. LOOK AT ME I HAVE A SHINY HEAD. 

I don't want to be one of those. 

I think Im going to be one of those really bitter bald men as I age. Always looking at the full heads of hair with disdain and anger. At least I won't have dandruff. 

PS: I wonder if i'll need to buy more sunscreen in the summer months?

Saturday, September 4, 2010


Thursday, September 2, 2010

I was roaring like a elephant today.

More specifically, an elephant with a broken jaw and no discernible trunk. Next shift I want to act like an angry  giraffe. Id assume the physical action would look something similar to an indian woman after a paticularly angry day.

*wag wag wag*

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

I am sitting here in a strangers house.

Doing respite for some lady and her 14 year old adopted son. Its an odd feeling. Strange leather couch. Borrowed internet.

They are both in bed and it seems the entire downstairs is mine. If the feeling ever overcame me, I could steal everything in here. The TV, the computer, the XBOX...and just leave. Nobody would know and only the police would be a little wiser.

What a strange job this is.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Sexy black people dancing.


Saturday, August 21, 2010

I want to buy some plants.

My apartment is desperately missing some sort of leafy presence and I predict this week is the week where I introduce my breath to their pores.

I had some Peace Lilly's sitting in my last apartment and they were an incredibly sight. In addition to having this minimalist, one flower only feel, the Peace Lilly's also boast the BEST air purifying treatment an apartment can get. Now, Im not necessarily one for plant elitism, but how could you possibly go wrong with something like that?

Smell good my sexy laminate house for the attack of my green love is near.

Monday, August 16, 2010

By the time you read this, I am probably in Tofino.

We dont have a rented room, a place to camp nor a tent for that matter so I am not entirely sure what we are going to do. Probably find an empty spot on the sand. Most likely. I dunno. Either that or sleep in the impending rented kayak.

1 car, 2 cousins. The journey begins.


Sunday, August 15, 2010

Its my birthday in 5 months.

I just thought Id remind myself.

Honestly, its not like I have ever actually forgotten what day my birthday falls under, but I fall into an odd pretentious when the day rolls around. I tend to "forget" to tell people when the day rolls around.

"What? Happy Birthday? What are you talki.....OOHHH RIGHT HAHAHAHAHAH....THANKS MAN I TOTALLY FORGOT!"

This, in my new found douche language, translates into:

"Look, even I really appreciate and even secretly pine for the warmth and affection you are showering me with but I am going to pretend to be really fucking cool and not give a shit in an incredibly passive way ok? Ok."

Lets face it. I care that Im older. Maybe not in the most literal sense but I feel that my metaphorical understanding of the universe requires me to address this issue in some sort of affectionate tone. After all, it is another year of experience. Another year of understanding, living and loving. There is something to celebrate no? After all, the worlds environment is condensed into my brain through an ever evolving filter of reason. Maybe that in itself is something to rejoice and give thanks in.

Sigh. I think Im too early for a midlife crisis.

Friday, August 13, 2010

I have been quacking like a duck lately.

Now, Im not entirely sure what this means, but excluding the underlying possibility of the avian flu taking a horrendous turn for the worse, I believe I have grown, mentally jaded. A lost brain, arguing once again, for its yellow brick road.

Some may argue that this habitual response to unavoidable environmental factors is not necessarily a turn to negative regime. After all, the duck is the more charming species of the animal farm, and truth be told, who in their right mind would have it out for a duck? A mole I can understand. Nobody likes a mole. A duck on the other hand. Fucking quack, am I right?

Alas, even within these affirmed consents of understanding, I feel a disjoint. No human should feel the need to act like a duck. I ask, what possible hole does a quack fill that alcohol does not? Is it the pure cadenced sound of 2 hard constants ramming each others throat that gets me all fired up? A hard Q slowly filling up the back side of K.

So hot right now.

Sometimes I wonder about all the time I wasted quacking and ask, what else could I have achieved? A cure for Cancer perhaps? Nay, a revolutionary new source of power! To be completely fair however, quacking has led to a net increase of joy within my life. There is nothing more satisfying than confusing the most sane of individuals with a good hearty quack.
Oh my wasted youth.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Because the internet is an awkward place.

How do you blog your life?

I dont quite get it. Should I write down notes on my day to day activities and then re-iterate them to the audience in piece by piece meals?

Should I tell you that I started to watch season 7 of Entourage today? Well I did. And it looks like Ari Gold is hooped with the NFL.
What about the avocado sandwiches that made their way into my mouth? They were delicious.
Or how about time where I walked shirtless through Save-on because I forgot to put a shirt on? The counter lady yelled at me.


I dunno. Maybe I should just stick to the TV.

Famous. Famous. I want to be famous.

I  want to be a Hollywood star living within some silicone bubble wrap of fame and misfortune. It would be an interesting existence I suppose. Paparazzi click tapping their cameras while Gucci suits give way to the brilliance of neon light.

The grey goose martini begins to overflow while the red lipsticks beside me chatter their incessant talk. A scandal it seems, has brewed its final juice. What will my many friends ever say?

The autographs begin to appear un-mistaken within the folds of a restaurant napkin. The jittery 19 year old nearby jumps up and down in harried excitement. An eternal love fashioned, courtesy of MTV.

The life of a celebrity, oh what a life indeed.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

One calculating sum sets an agenda.

Hidden under the alcove of a tree set in his chair, rocks the story of one man. It is there, amid the sounds of the many taped fingertips, that he designs the one calculating sum. An agenda riddled in void set to the date of infinity.

Tick one.
Tick two.
Tick three.

The pestulant clock begins to chimes its throne as the hurried black ravens flutter their antagonized protest. Once more a wrench turns its silent turn. And while the smokey whispers curdle their way into the frantic sound, the led mice begin their march towards the plains of a one lost paradise.

A rocked cadence found in the footsteps of a one calculated sum.

Da Police. Whoop Whoop.

Listen Mr. Officer, you don't have be a complete jerk about what happened ok? Yes, I did run the red and YES it's true I don't have a license, but must you be such a twat about the whole situation? Does my humiliation have to be received in such cordial and professional tones? This is nothing but a disgusting administration of just law and I will have none of it!

How can a simple badge institute such audacity? The respect of law, which you officers seem to administer, flabbergasts even the most sane of my senses and it is with great animosity that I write such scathing notes. Respecting traffic laws...BAH.

How do you stop me, a Husain motherfucking Vahanvaty, for something so inconsequentially illegal? How do you think you are huh? Sitting there fancy, half pint smile on your face judging every passer by. Turn your sirens on for all I care and watch my apparent disregard of the law.

So here is to you, Mr. Officer and your unreasonable tickets...*middle finger*

Simplistic Explanations, a short story by Husain Vahanvaty

Stop Talking, drink water and breath some air.

The End.  

Monday, July 5, 2010

You've never fucked a goat?

Saturday, June 26, 2010

Oh hey check it.

My bike, fucking died. This goddamn motherfucking piece of goddamn useless motherfucking machinery killed itself this morning.

I am pissed off and very tired. Go fuck yourself beautiful weather.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

We are all one mind weight of potential chaotic.

Just a bunch of heavy brains floating in space adhering to a gravitational law that even we have yet to measure. A bunch of soft withering flesh waiting to asses this universe from its finality found in raw jelly to a concussed history of some meandering regality.

And so, where this potential chaotic waits patiently, a time bids its line. A fog slowly draws from the midst of some long lost thermonuclear holocaust. So for a while, hid behind the law of refined harmony, sits the two heavy curved strand beating terminal velocity. A pulsed anger grinding its own tare into the fabric of itself.

Potential chaotic. A mind weight of sum.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010


Sunday, June 6, 2010

I re-read what I wrote below and have a couple of things to say.

I was angry, frustrated and just generally callous with how I was thinking about the world at large. I really don't want this world to remain a shit-hole nor do I wish for any type of war, especially in the middle east.

I am not entirely sure why I would write something like that. Perhaps it had something to do with an overzealous pessimism asserting itself against our current geo-political culture. Then again, maybe Im just a douchebag.

In any case I apologize for any feelings I may have distraught or people offended. I am Sorry.

PS: Hey, guess what? My first official retraction.

Saturday, June 5, 2010

Pretty sure this world is a joke.

Top officials with clandestine projects out to fuck the rest of the world over. Everyone just wants to protect the all mighty doller. No one really cares what happens except when there is money to be made and powers to be sealed.

As long as I have my mansion on my secluded island right?

Fucking assholes. I wish a real war breaks out soon. Then at least I have an excuse to assassinate someone. Fuck Isreal, Fuck Gaza. I hope the middle east kills itself. Atleast they get to go out while the going is good.

Friday, June 4, 2010

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

What am I doing here?

I sit and stare at the wall and ask over and over again. What am I doing here?
Do I have some purpose? Some divine inspiration condensed into some egotisical fun ride?

Existential crisis: Part 5 of infinity. 

Friday, May 28, 2010

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

I feel like I should have a twitter account.

An account to document my haphazard dreams found written in-between an ashy white zig zagged papyrus. A pitter patter of my moments lost within ten seconds to some futuristic typewriter.

A good first step would probably entail visiting the site. This seems necessary to any global scheme that involves global blogging and public forecasting. So wait for me twitter, while I type that address into the bar...

Tweet. Tweet. TWAT.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Fallen Angels

Saturday, May 22, 2010

I want to learn the drawl of an apricot.

I want to waddle in its commas and sit quiet in the pool of its surging glory. I want to see the chunks of an incessant tidal wave puddle round my feet while the remnants of her sticky chewed gum sit quiet on my tongue. I want to hear her slow flavors peel off into a liquid syrup.

I can feel her bumps meld into me like an electrifying tangent of roots waiting to be throbbed. It is here I wait, camped in the silky juices, head covered, sound throbbing deep within an empty hole.

I want to learn the drawl of an apricot.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Every stress in these sheets are morbid.

These crease marks line down my body as my frail legs begin their weighted escape into the world below. A sensation of frosted fangs begin to nibble on my toes as my weary patience waits for the remnants, of visions too dark to bear, to whisk way. A moons waiting fog settles in the distance.

Death, I saw again.

I touch my face and caress my eyes only to realize the too many dark corners that puddle underneath.

I am tired.
Very, very tired.

My mouth has begun to move and soon falls into its old practiced patterns of cadenced whispers.

"Not again...please...not again".

And while these haphazard gasps of silent screams take notice, I look to the presence of the beast found still. Its arcs, blacked in an undefinable, cascade down within my heaves of multiple breathtaking. Here I have found a beauty so content in torture, that god himself could not have helped but to stare in wonder.

Her rotting perfume was already beginning to dissect its pattern into my skin and while I waited for the slow decay to seep into my pores I could not help notice but:

I stink.
A rake of flesh has sent rancid sweat down my nostrils. A whiff turns something in my stomach. My mouth begins to taste like metal.

It is here, caught within the confines of the empty space of nothing that a conduit opens within my brain. A tremor sparked within the fault of its own word.

I don’t.

Its quiet patience is what has scared me the most, an unwelcome divinity lost within my caress. And so, while these currents continue to surge up my spine, I ask for an answer to a question that no one knows but it.



Several seconds pass by as I wait patiently for a resignation that I know I will not receive. A commerced transaction left unsatisfied.

My feet have finally touched the carpeted floor beside my bed and my sigh has grown audible.

Morning, comes again.

Sentenced Fingers.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

I hate Old Spice. Here are the reasons why.

1. You do not smell like spice (False advertising, I am going to sue you).

2. You do however, smell old.
  • Thats nasty.
  • I now smell like death.
  • The old guy sitting in the lobby now thinks I am his long dead best friend. Thanks. Assholes.
3. The plastic casing is red and the deoderant itself is blue.
  • My fashion sense is sensative, and your contrast of colors is an impediment of good looking things everywhere. Someone should sue you for this.
4.  I do not own a sailboat, and your logo with said sailboat hurts my feelings.
  • Fuck you.
5. Your deoderant gave me rash under my armpit once.
  • Thank your gods that I did not use this on my pubes.
  • Also, I am going to sue you for this, again. I also took pictures. I have evidence. 
So it seems Old Spice, my once dear friend, that we are at an impass. My need to sue you and your continued need to suck have reached a boiling point. Arm your pens and draw your contracts because today, you messed with the wrong body odor.

I call a jihad on you Old Spice, on one dirty perspired drip at a time.

*Note to the US/Canadian/EU governments: I am not a terrorist. And I apologize for the jihad comment. No more I promise.

PS: Please take me off your list. Paweese?

My gr. 8 best friend found my blog and read the post about him.

I felt really awkward when you told me because I wasn't sure weather to thank you for reading it or subtly deject the conversation into other realms of thought. But, I think we navigated out of dangerous seconds of unsure silence relatively skillfully.

Well done.

Truthfully, I am not entirely sure why I chose to tell you about that moment this way, but safe to say my tools of communication are often twisted and haphazard. Im just plain weird really.

Anyways to make a short story long, its good to have you once again back in my life as a real person and no longer a figment of memories long past. Always my brother. Much love Jesse, and we'll talk soon.

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Unnecessary Divine.

It is often I wonder about god and ask, why do we care so much? It is here that I ask about our obsession with "creator" and conclude, does it really matter? Why do we feel the need to be involved with something, that is supposedly everything? Are we so obsessed with an attempt to comprehend an "All" that in the end we lose focus of an actual truth, namely our very own humanity? So I ask you again, does god in the end really make any sense at all?

Even if such entity existed and life was illusion, do you not think our own cognicity would be enough to superseed?. In the end we are nothing more but matter manifested. Thus we remain quarks, strings and thoughts amalgamating themselves into something VERY real. A talking, breathing, loving human. A life lived through the observation of control. A quantum gasp found in a breath.

Conclusively, I don't really mind if universe and time itself were pre-determined simply because I KNOW (be it under false illusion), that I converse under the action of free will. I KNOW my every action impacts a soul and I KNOW what reciprocal effect that may levy unto my body. There will be no saving grace to come and rescue me, nor will there be any otherworldly to come scoop me up when I fall.

I have only me to count on. My life, my body, MY one.

Lets say a symbiotic universe existed. Let us for a moment imagine a working wonder stored in the chaos. What then? Do we try and pick up few skeleton pieces found in long dead stars, or do we start to listen to the hopes and wishes of our very own living throbbing brain?

Perhaps it is just heaven we are obsessed about. A supposed "perfect" only achieved in death. It is here that I sit and converse once again. Why it is necessary to subscribe to something that in the end cares about nothing but killing you?

A vicious god she is.

We live in world so jaded with love that our eyes have ceased fathom the Eden in which we walk. What, I then ask, are we searching for that cannot be found on this planet? What are we so sad about, that cannot be achieved within this human breath?

Love? Peace? All that remains. We experience this in our everyday lives. Your mother. Your father. Your lover. Your friend. Why do we need a god to make that valid?

Fuck omniscience I say. The bitch didn't know love until we showed it.

Saturday, May 8, 2010

Little Girl

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Today it was clarrified to me, that pants hanging halfway down your ass is drawn up as indecent exposure.

Now seeing as bums laced in white "Sportman" boxer briefs are quartered into the same category as say a, flasher giving an old lady the old one eyed snake, I figured a strong rebuttal against archaic procedure is in order.

As any loyal follower would remember, I once wrote a piece concerning my flat ass and the unbridled prejudice I encountered due to such an unfortunate genetic mishap. There prejudices were/are namely centered in the account of verbal obscenities drawn within correlative remarks about flat walls and rectal cavities. Not cool.

Look, low hanging jeans just make me feel comfortable ok? I don't enjoy the bunching I receive in the frontal pelvic cavity, nor do I sympathize with inseam that magically transposes itself into cracks better left unamed. A 4 inch spacer between the waist and belt is all I ever needed.

Also, did you ever even think that I might actually ENJOY waddling around like a self-righteous penguin? No. No you didn't. Its called empathy you sociopathic nutjob. Get some.

Anyways, I should probably let these institutions know that as of today I am declaring my low hanging jeans, as sanctioned by fresh UN law, a relief effort garnered upon flat bums everywhere. Viva La Levis.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Hello Mr. Robotoman.

How are we today? Are we looking for more lube Mr. Robotoman? Have your buckets gone rusted?

Do not worry Mr. Robotoman, for do I have some hope for you yet! I have here, a 2L bottle of baby oil made with nothing but the best blood sweat and tears of a hungry Somalian child! Do not fear Mr. Robotoman, no-one will catch you! No-one will hear of your squeaky joints as you approach in feint steps. Quiet Quiet Mr. Robotoman, this is what we sell. Only $5.99.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

I started to watch and read alot of news on my day off today.

Not a good idea.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Granted, life is funny.

Whats even funnier however, is when people dwell in the preconcieved notions of your own life.

And then act so assuming they have you figured out.

LOL. Keep dreaming boys and girls, cause you don't know shit...ok?


Friday, April 30, 2010

Unspoken words.

Ever wonder what your thoughts would say if they were given the chance? Remember those belched hickups inside your head? What stories of grandure would they indulge in if someone came and sat beside them for an evening?

A lofty tale perhaps?

Maybe they would speak of journey through the endless expanse of the atom. Their movement lost under the light of an electronic star shifting in its quantum orbit.

Communicability under duress.

You are broken.

Tits and ass. Covered in cum. A body convulses in pleasure as juices flow from her mouth waiting to be caught in the taste of another. The girl begins to shiver as her legs wrap around the waist of her joy. Her moans escape in soft breaths, as the unspoken conversations tangle in her lovers benign plea.

More she whispers. More.

Geriatric Hospitals.

I feel old. Incredibly old. Its like there is this hourglass in my head dripping sand into an endless expanse. Infinite grains slipping away on some polished metal glass only to be then left unnoticed in the dunes below.

A quiet solitude left un-noticed.

Perhaps, in our heads there resides some long forgotten civilization. A place of better times covered in the thicket of the wet shit of today. Once in a while we might find the appropriate shovel and dig hard until we reach metal. It is then, I suggest that the sound reverberates of the clang and cascades down our bodies filling our eyes with the spirals we so desperately crave.

The feeling never lasts though. We always lift our tool away and sigh, our old knees giving way to cracked whispers which begin their escape once again,

Life...I saw.

Monday, April 26, 2010

Dear Kathy.

Im sorry.

I wept when you told me. I felt the darkness embrace my soul while my long tendriled tips began to reach out to choke your enemies throats. I want to murder them Kathy, I do.

I want to knaw my teeth on their soft bony throats while dark excrement pours into their beady eyes. I want to feel their soft, faint beating hearts give way to my hands squeeze. All their lifes breath caught in between my fingertip.

They destroyed your body and heart. They pillaged and maimed your burned spark. A life you lost under the gullet of man while the unanswered screams of the young child reverberated in the empty silence.

And it was only tonight that I heard your soft whimpered echo bathed heavy in the fires of Hell. You are woman's anguish lost in the scars of man.

But I tell you now, as I stride through these hallowed hallways that I hear them chant your name. Quiet woman, too afraid to speak now pulse their lips in cadenced whisper.

Wonder Woman, wonder of my life...

You are strength unparalleled with stride unmatched. You are AMAZON.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

This man is a brilliant man.

What Modern Art should be re-named after.

Imaginary Girl

Monday, April 19, 2010

Egotistical: A self-facination.

I started to write something about my own ego and my aspiring megalomania but then I decided that would be entirely too boring and self-convoluted. So instead, lets talk about chia pets. And how absolutely RETARDED they are.

Look, I don't care who you are but NO-ONE who maintains any semblance of sanity introduces a clay fucking dog sprouting green hair into their lives through any willful or conscious act.

I maintain, that anyone who actually buys one of these fuckers has to be either:

a) Drunk.
b) Under threat of violent act.


c) Incredibly high.

Infact in some cultures, green sprouted grass on the surface of any skin is often seen as a sign of strong bacterial growth looking for a way to chew your limbs off. Think about that for a second. You bought a fucking INFECTION to sit nonchalantly by your window side. Disgusting.

All in all, you chia pet "lovers" (more like losers really) need to get your lives together and start to invest in a higher grade potted plant.

Fucking nerds in this country.

Sunday, April 18, 2010

I like clothes.

I own alot of them, but while pondering my wardrobe I can't help but think Im stuck in some weird time loop.
Its like im stuck between the highschool hoody phase and the gentleman with too few nice t-shirts and pants.

In conclusion: I plan to be very naked this summer.


My mind is a glass filled chamber reflecting in all that is bright. Energy and information all bouncing off each other in an endless cycle condensing into light. It is at times like these that I think with as little power assumed as I can.

what are we?

A species. of what?

Of hope? Always organic beings fueled by the need to know more? Hope in knowing that there is more? An endless universe waiting for our becon call?
A people so intent in some unknown labor of love that their own death seemed the only possible. A loves tale lived in irony among the high horses waiting to be kicked under.

- Rambles.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Sunday, April 11, 2010

i love life.


Friday, April 9, 2010


Webster defines megalomania as the following:

1 : a mania for great or grandiose performance
2 : a delusional mental disorder that is marked by feelings of personal omnipotence and grandeur.

A fun disorder when when you get the hang of it really.
Id assume at least. >.>

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Collateral Damage.

Baghdad: Yesterday, leaked classified video of an American chopper gunning down what appeared to be armed soldiers was released to the general public via electronic news agent Wikileaks. According to this previously encrypted video, the viewer watches as several men walk by buildings carrying what appears to be AK47’s and 1 RPG based launcher. This is watched through a high magnification lens mounted upon an afloat Apache flying some 800 meters away. As several seconds go by, we hear communication being barked between the lead chopper “Bushmaster” and other identified companies both on ground and air.

Soon, to dismiss the threat of any potential RPG attack, the lead chopper opens fire upon approximately 9 men using the mounted 30mm gun cannon. After a barrage of gunfire and deaths we watch as the helicopter circles for several minutes until an unidentified van arrives with now known, 4 individuals, two of which were children under the age of 10. A man then exists the van and drags the injured body of a man towards the vehicle.

The Apache then fires again, annihilating the van and all its occupants.

As we now find out, the men shot and killed were not Iraqi insurgents but 2 Reuters reporters and their entourage trying to capture footage for journalistic purposes. This was assumed and confirmed by their press credentials and the long lensed camera, mistaken for the previously mentioned RPG. Thus we see unintentional friendly fire within a quarantined war-zone.

According to US military assessment policy, the killings were justified under the rules of engagement and the soldiers acted under accordance with these principles as seen by these guidelines:

‘If you can identify — positively identify — an Iraqi formation and it’s coming at you, you kill it. You take it out. You do not shoot to wound,’” Lt. Gen. James Conway,

Some say, a fair engagement protocol considering the level of threat issued against these men and women during the height of extremely violent urban warfare. These soldiers assumed and made split second decisions, under strong psychological duress, against to what they perceived to be enemy insurgents. Several men, crouched by the corner of a building with what LOOKED to be an RPG in hand staring at floating choppers.

A horrendous mistake perhaps, but still actions justified under the act of self-preservation.

However, my qualm lies within the actions addressed unto the van soon after. The members who existed the vehicle did not appear to have any weapons on their body and were engaged in humanitarian action; As seen by the dragging of wounded to safety.

Nevertheless, the members of the choppers still felt it necessary to release weapons unto these medics. Why they chose to do so still boggles my mind. Could not wait and follow the van so that ground troops could intercept them? Why open fire on a retreating party? There was NO volley of engagement on ANY troop, so why eliminate a non-immediate threat this way?

I realize that the Rules of Engagement are often broad and necessarily so considering the amount of variables existent in wars such as these. But can this gray matter survive? Look, stray bullets I can understand, as I can misfire and garbled misunderstood orders. But this? Levying a target scope upon a man dragging a wounded body to safety?

Perhaps it is just war I fail to grasp.

Who is to blame for this? Should there be anyone? Are these soldiers, who by duty have to follow orders, the ones who take the hit? What about the commanding officers who issued these orders? What about the lawyers and gov’t officials who drafted these engagement procedures? What about the training regime that every soldier in the military goes through?

Do we need a scapegoat? Or just simple accountability? What type of accountability then? Forget who, but WHAT IS TO BLAME?

And they said we were a generation who just didn’t care. Fuck you.

Among those believed to have been killed in that attack were Reuters photographer Namir Noor-Eldeen, 22, and his driver Saeed Chmagh, 40.

Peace and One.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

In 1950 we were a planet of 3 billion people.

60 years later we are topping 8.

That's a growth of 260%. That's 5 thousand million more bodies walking this planet. Think, 5 BILLION more squishy brains trying to co-ordinate some semblance of existence on this blue rock. Think, 8 hundred thousand million people living together.

What will happen to us as we age? Are we so infantile in our understanding of civilization that waiting on the earth is all we can do? Is talking to each others brain the only option? Will we be FORCED to become telepathic?

I wish I could find a wiki for the future.

Friday, April 2, 2010

Pretty little Pink Ribbon.

There she sat, my pretty little pink ribbon.

Just out of reach, you dangled precariously out onto the edge of my blade,
Unknown in the forces which within you lay.
How could you know my pretty little pink ribbon?

How could you fathom,
the lines which crisscrossed your mind?

I saw signs in the shadows, glowed embers in the stones while their brittle sticks began to break my hallowed bones.

And while these marked shutters withered underneath your spell,
I saw the hungry bleached skeletons spit their;
Spin. Drop. Spirals, out underneath your chest.

Holy girl they stuttered...Where art thou?

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

So here is the deal, I havn't been writing much.

Im not entirely sure where to start so I'll be brief. I have been facing a severe writers block for the better part of 2 months. I am simply at a loss of what to write. I could induce my brain into spitting out some rambled garbage, but to what end?

I originally started this blog as a diary of sorts. Just a medium to transpose my creative "talent" and to foster my latent ambitions. I have scribbled poems, short stories, fictions and general rants at the uncompromising world in which I live.

It has been a little over a year and even though I have written some I feel..not enough. I don't really know how to maintain a blog, and truthfully I don't even know if anyone reads this damn thing anymore so perhaps thats where some of the motivation left me.

Maybe I just need a muse. Some mystical force to sit and stare at in my hours of ponder. Just a creature to capture my imagination of thought. A fallen star sparked in the shower of light.

I hate to be a pretentious little bastard, but I think I do too much of that. Too much thinking. Too much delving into theory. A whatif in the infinite land of planck. Who knows anymore. Im going to keep trying to write, keep trying to spit out this jeweled vomit.

If anyone has anything interesting for me to say...let me know ^.^


Sunday, March 14, 2010

I visit a community board of bigots.

I also sometimes post. I wonder what that says about me. The discussions are often intelligent, riddled with wit and quite often demeaning to all creeds of life. No denomination is safe. No sexual identity remains trite and all quantifiable means of idiocy are exposed. We are assholes without a cause.

I think I'm a nerd.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

If there is heart in breathing.

Then lets be a testament.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Ever feel you know too many words?

Just a bunch of random syllables and consonants ramming sperm down each other throats? Just one gigantic fucking orgy of strung together letters crusted in day old rubbered cum.

I dont.

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Women are fucking WIERD dude.

Just plain fucked up. It seems you foxy ladies got the wrong number switched on.

PS: That was my first offical DNA sequencing joke. Im sorry for wasting your time.

Monday, February 22, 2010

Love for you. Inside and Out.

That is what she wants to say. She wants to say it, but she can’t. Too many masks she says, too much makeup. What are we going to do when we lose our fire she asks? I must hide it soon to keep it safe.

Surely there is not enough. Surely I will burn fizzled into nothing. I must put on more makeup.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Pure Olympic Spirit.

I had one of these moments on the train today. Just love and Peace man. Love and Peace.

It must be said.

"It not infrequently happens that something about the earth, about the sky, about other elements of this world, about the motion and rotation or even the magnitude and distances of the stars, about definite eclipses of the sun and moon, about the passage of years and seasons, about the nature of animals, of fruits, of stones, and of other such things, may be known with the greatest certainty by reasoning or by experience, even by one who is not a Christian. It is too disgraceful and ruinous, though, and greatly to be avoided, that he [the non-Christian] should hear a Christian speaking so idiotically on these matters, and as if in accord with Christian writings, that he might say that he could scarcely keep from laughing when he saw how totally in error they are. In view of this and in keeping it in mind constantly while dealing with the book of Genesis, I have, insofar as I was able, explained in detail and set forth for consideration the meanings of obscure passages, taking care not to affirm rashly some one meaning to the prejudice of another and perhaps better explanation."

"With the scriptures it is a matter of treating about the faith. For that reason, as I have noted repeatedly, if anyone, not understanding the mode of divine eloquence, should find something about these matters [about the physical universe] in our books, or hear of the same from those books, of such a kind that it seems to be at variance with the perceptions of his own rational faculties, let him believe that these other things are in no way necessary to the admonitions or accounts or predictions of the scriptures. In short, it must be said that our authors knew the truth about the nature of the skies, but it was not the intention of the Spirit of God, who spoke through them, to teach men anything that would not be of use to them for their salvation."

-Augustine of Hippo (fifth century AD)

Its good to know that I sneeze like a quiet Japanese girl.

My friend tells me that every time I sneeze. Im not entirely sure if thats a good thing or not. On one hand, it is awfully cute (as Iv been told) and on the other entirely emasculating.

Who kind of self-respecting man wants to be compared to a giggling girl? Maybe I should just buy a hello kitty hoodie and call it a day.

Monday, February 15, 2010


I miss my motorcyle.

I just thought you should know. I figure 2 more months and it will be quasi-warm enough to get the bike out.

Cool cool breeze on my cheek. Oh baby, I need you to love me again.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Thinking about thinking again.

If thought grew detached from the physical body...meaning if thought was born in the physical body first and then moved on...would thought start to create its own experiences outside of the physical body? Would thought generate its own precedent?


Friday, February 12, 2010


I read a book on true AI once. It talked about thought. It talked about thought as being the next natural evolution of man kind. It talked about thought as if it were some physically evolved condition; A figment, a filament light, some metaphysical definition which was then supposed to contemplate its own consciousness.

So thought, a separate living entity.

This process does holds some weight in theory. Suppose that thought can analyze itself. Suppose thought can remove itself from the physical processes of the body and become completely devoid of any other influence other than itself.

Lets say that's true. If thought existed as a separate entity, would thought then develop its own personality? Would thought then be a culmination of its OWN past experiences? Would thought even exist without experience?

Would thought exist OUTSIDE of the human vehicle? Could thought be generated or transferred into the pure electrical (ie; computers?). Could thought exist forever? Outside of physics?

Too many questions, not enough motivation to flesh them out. Tune in for another half assed attempt to answer all of lifes questions on "Husain! The Existentialist Douchebag"

PS: The Book in question is "Genesis". Read it, love it. Its delicious food for the brain.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

The tomato sauce on my toque sits crusty.

Its brown shit wallows in the ridges of my poriferated hat.
Flakes slowly drift down in front of my face and I begin to wonder,
What did I eat?

What sort of barbary did I indulge in which allowed such terrible mishaps?

A pizza part slipping from the graces of my fingers?
Pepperoni slices defying the laws of gravity itself and lodging its member within my linted cavity.

Perhaps a simple pasta sauce could have also been the culprit. Angry tomato bases waging unholy wars on so much fine wool.

How such edibility resolved its cream on my hat, I do not know. But this, THIS I will say.

Its time for a wash.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Emo Haiku

My eyes water
The tears, they begin to drop.
I need more skinny jeans.

Friday, February 5, 2010

Attn Blind People: Fear No More.

Scientists have recently begun to perfect a technology that allows for practical application in enabling people to see with sensory organs other than their eyes. Namely, the tongue. This allows otherwise optically challenged individuals, to “taste” their environment and locate spatial objects within their own brain schema.

The device essentially works like this:

- A camera mounted on a pair of sunglasses sits on the center of your face.

- The image which is taken by the camera, is transferred straight to a portable device (set somewhere on your body) and THEN transferred straight to a flat plate like device which sits on the base of your tongue.

- This plate then uses its hundreds of pixels to light and thus stimulate the nerve bunches based along the center of your tongue.

- This stimulus enables specific electrical current to send data right up to the visual cortex where it is interpreted as objects located within a space as opposed to bitter, sweet or salty.

The process that we are then talking about here is called, Electrotactile Stimulation for Sensory Substitution.

The fundamental science behind this impressive technology is as follows: The encoded electrical currents use an alternate sensory input channel, as opposed to using their original native channels. Meaning, new routs can spring up to transfer the SAME information to the SAME part of the brain when one input channel shuts down. If your eyes and optical nerve don't work don't fear, an alternate is here!

So now how does this science apply to the technology at hand? Imagine the plate “drawing” a real time image into your tongue via an advanced form of morse code. It shoots electrical signals, received from the portable device, into your tongue in such a way that it is mimicking a signal which was otherwise reserved for the optic nerve.

The truly genius part of the whole device is that the device itself is acting like an eye. It converts light pulses into electrical signals so that the tongue can act as a half assed retina. Brilliant eh?

Just to clarify however, this does not enable a blind person to see. It just allows for MUCH EASIER spacial recognition as long as there is SOME light is passing through the eye, as is the case with 95% of blind people.

Sometimes, I love the brain.

Friday, January 29, 2010


Say what you need to say. Do not be afraid to sing the songs of infinite tunes. What more do I need to write? Do I need to write? Is that what people will listen to? Why is it that words hold this majestic power? Thors hammer, slamming into hallow grounds changing lives through innocuous sentences.

Omega point, Is that all anyone is ever shooting for? A singular break. A slap. A flash. A note unblemished. Culminations of all we ever dream. Angels and Demons playing mahjong in the sand while little creatures peel my skin into the the bright light that I need to be.


Thursday, January 28, 2010

Lets talk about the iPad

And lets talk about how much of embarrassment I feel for being an Apple fanboy this day. Look, I love apple products I do. I love my mac, my iPods and the fact that I can act like a pretentious hipster nerd because I walk around with a fruit stamped on my electronics.

This is all well and good, but goddamn Apple did you ever drop the ball on this one. I had much hope in the rumors that flooded the market prior to your less than stellar debut. There was concept art, app speculation, hardware theorists and boys and girls with multi-functionality based wet dreams. Oh what joy you inspired! I think I even saw some Steve Job's hentai at one point.

But then, judgment day came. The clouds gathered as the wind blew its fruitful tune. The echos of steel hooves trembled upon an empty stage. Job's was near, and he had a message. An industry up onto himself, Steve took the stage with such pomp and swagger that his very presence struck fear into his competitors hearts. His speech debasing the validity of the Netbook culture spawned such confused hearts that the salivating customer could only be reached by one logical conclusion. The iPad HAD to be near perfect. No?


It seemed Job's idiocy had reached new heights that day. His words were a slap to the face, the intelligent consumer, and a pander to the ignorant globalized denominator. Fun.

Let me remind you dear reader that he WILLFULLY launched a product that even though holds a one gig specialzed processor, it is only able to run one app at a time. Only one. This means no browsing the net while listening to my itunes, no watching a movie while running my message client in the background. Zero application multi-tasking. Can you imagine what sort of idiocy must have been allowed to take root for such crowned thinking to over-rule? Job's can.

Seriously, what is wrong with you? How do you even fathom, much less instill a moronic decision like this? What skewed version of a professional or urban youth does your marketing team believe in?! Either the hamster left its cage, or you got some serious firing to do.

In addition to this horrendous OS limitation, Steve somehow also managed to forget to include flash on launch. So, in addition to not being able to multi-task, I guess youtube is also out of the picture as is any web based divx website. Brilliant.

But wait, I have more good news! This oversized and overpriced "pad" also doesn't seem come with any built in camera OR USB PORT. I guess having to pay an extra $50 to use any of my peripherals, including my $20 memory stick, will feel like money well spent. Nice.

I suppose the iPads only saving grace is the blazing fast 3G network and the ability to use some iTouch and iPhone apps. I suppose a dedicated internet reader is not out of the question but with such abysmally low critical acclaim worldwide, will developers even care to do anything else with the product? Or will it fall to the wayside of the Macbook Air and Apple TV? What niche market do you expect this to fill when even a camera or multi-conferencing capabilities are out of the question.

The too much money and need to look cool population? Probably.

Oh Apple, like many before me have said if I wanted an e-book reader I would have bought a Kindle. Not your overpriced pad which by the way, could have had serious potential even as an art tablet. Alas, it seems silicon valley is littered with the dreams of the naive and innocent.

So here is to you, iPad, my oversized iTouch. May you suck the pennies from the daughters father, and may your profit margin once again expand as you rake in millions with your overpriced and under-functional product.


Monday, January 18, 2010

Lady Gaga, Im sorry I called you a hermaphrodite.

I mean, you still probably are one but damn girl/boy can you sing.
Listen to the whole is GOOD.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Hate Mail #2


Subject: Attn. Brain, Please stop it.

Since you have stopped responding to hard slaps and aggressive tones, I have come to the firm conclusion that other avenues of discussion need to be explored. Cordial letters such as these have often garnered positive results and seeing as how we have to maintain a working relationship within the confines of these small spaces, may I suggest a short but abrupt letter that quells our rocky relationship?

Why do our discussions always seem to tinker down, bells whistling, into tunnels of pure disillusionment? Why is it that you just cannot seem to see what I have to give to soft spongey ball of squish? Everytime I try and make a point, you come bounding in high on your horse of logic and subjective fallacy. Well, excuse me cognitive function, but your not always on the ball either ok? How many times have you fucked up my good times and rock and roll just because “its not a good idea,” or because brain injury is not a feesable option for today.


Look, we have to come to some form of agreement ok? A set of rules by which we can both abide by and take pleasure in. This manifesto should include but not be limited to a “no piss me off” clause with a subclass category of “easy peasy.” I’ll have the barrister start the paperwork.

Whatever happened to the good ol' days of slack jawed neural branches willing to flee from their synaptic treasure caves at a moments notice? Why can't we bring that sort of mentality back? I’m getting tired of all of this “intelligence” bullshit.

Now that this letter has formally turned into one of grievances, I should make note of the throbbing headaches which you feel so inclined to share with me.

Please turn down the music Mr. Brain. No one likes all the noise and honestly the Oprah shit got old a little while ago. Call it some form of Stockholm something, but the truth is I am really starting to revel in the mess which you have so “carefully” created. *Cough*

Truth be told, I do feel a little sorry for you but GODDAMN is it ever fun to take the piss out of you. Why do you always have to be so all up in my face brain? Every goddamn day its the same tired story. Brush your teeth Husain, comb your hair Husain, make solid life decisions Husain. Over and over again, day in and day out.

Get some new material.

Now, I have this distinct feeling that once you start to read this letter you will assume your natural position of throbbing and convulsing with anger. May I suggest a prescription of deep breaths and multiple cycles of RNA coding? Our company subscribes to a solid HMO it seems.

Look I am a drama queen, this much I know. My propensity towards personality defects across the world has allowed me to perfect this state. The drama that seemingly oozes out of my pores is a time and tested scientific measure based solely upon a cynicistic MTV ideal.

I am completely aware of my defects Mr. Brain so now the question begs, are you aware of your douche-bagginess? I recognize my faults brain. You on the other hand live in a land of some fantastical holographic utopia. I think its about time we find some neutral ground.

May I suggest a cannaboid receptor? You know you waaaana. :)

Metal Detectors.

Watch your belongings! Watch your baggage! Watch that turban hanging from his bandage!

Security guards stumble, fist to fist.
Heads banging on walls
Echoing their empty ticks.

Did you pack that bag yourself sir? Did you lock that key?
Can I see some of your identification please?

I wait, while shiny badges comes into focus
A melancholy sniff, a sigh into sadness.

And there I sigh and wait for his words to spill forth,
A single syntax to show me the way north.

There will be a walk this way sir, comes the tap tap of his stick,

A lean in his step.
A curl on his bludgeoned mitt.

I know not what you have wrot, for this I am unsure,
Just follow this way and all will be cured.

I cringe as I weave
Words shuddering through my syllabled court.
And there waiting in the lie of eye,
A breath cajoled in contort.

There will be no argument sir,
For please heed this advice.
No trouble for me,
But for you:

There shall be thrice.

An eye flicks as his fellows shift side to step.
Hands reaching for cold metal,
A death within the next.

I scream retort, tounge blinded by light:

My mind it bleeds, a cognition it seethes!
A heresy on my life, for it is a bane on my knife!
Know my name you scum for it will be yours to wait!
A hissed forked tongue,
Shiny apple innate.

I smile and nod, knowing what waits beyond his heckled grin.
Crystallized teeth chattering
Incessant relief of too many words spoken since.

I bend to my knees as silence graces my face.
The empty barrel clicks.
The music escapes.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Nikola Tesla says:

Though free to think and act, we are held together, like the stars in the firmament, with ties inseparable. These ties cannot be seen, but we can feel them.

I wonder if Tesla believed in Time Travel and Wormholes? Blimps in the night. Its a passing thought.


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