Sunday, March 26, 2006
I hate saying it, becouse its a deprived state, but you and I nick are about to embark. ITs the time for hystericle paranoia, and fantasies of cities in a post-apocaliptic enviroment. The zombies are feasting, and we stand pointlessly in the relm of odd sounds and something having to do with a mop. We stair out the window at the dawn, and discuss what we are; the last living souls. We watch video's for musicians we hate, and we listen to the 28 days later soundtrack, and we hit bre with hockeysticks. Were living, and thats all that matters, not the apathy, or the pointless existance, just that we are living.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Life is good on the far side of things, below the third conveyor belt its all smooth as the finest silk. A hyperbole environment which is an elaborate exaggeration of things to come. This crude yet remarkable accurate deception, breaths a faint strategy which unfolds before the youth and seniors of our ethnocentric society, deceiving all who guise apathetic eyes upon it, even the inventors themselves. The Bronx is up and Manhattan is down but the stock is down and the deficit is all around, and our purebred blood line ain't so great anymore by-cracky. The liberals and conservatives are under the same banner of separate colors, and the eyes and lips are sporting word along the lines Hilton or gore. The imaginary morals have been searched for, and the truth is still a figment of a décolleté laborer. The bullies been taken out of power and the fresh out of high school kindergarten teacher is in charge of the juvenile asylum. Meanwhile in the jungles of a place most of our average citizens can’t find on a geography map for a fourth grade class, we have some mutant spawned scum sleeking his way to atomic dependance is making him self permeable to the thick caverns which hold global rule. An indecisive drooling simpleton sits in a puddle of his own impotence, proving his testicular fortitude by firing the heaviest level buck shot at woodland creatures, while the Shiite menace moseys feet behind his back. We sit and wait for things to come to us, and then we blame the foreigner or the minority with discontent. We pump our behemoth vehicles with gallons of precious natural resources and then tell the news that “the Muslims can go fuck themselves!” We sit back and expect the one hand to wash the other, and are so content with being in an abundance of service we pay the class clown who barley made it into high school to run the country. The constitution is a children’s story, to keep the lay back peoples of our land blind, and then we go Big Brother and tape the poor bastards pullin’ the pud. After shooting the pants shitting geezer in the face, we spend the last cent for a bit of sick entertainment with torturing the guy who bought Alcida's donuts and coffee, doing far more queer things to he than the homosexuals back at home who we outlawed decent rights to due to our imaginary morals, have even concieved. We are the univers's carnie show, a intergalactic Springer manifestation. The answer lies somewhere over the rainbow, where pigs fly and actual intellectuals reign supreme in a fare and none totalitarian way.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
So as some of you may know David Gilmour has a new album out, which is spectacular. Though I only have one of his other two disks, I realy could not fathome a better example of exactly how stupendous this ex-Floyd memmber is. Concidering that Gilmour was the later lead guitarist for Pink Floyd, it should come at no suprise that this album reflects late but great Floyd. "On An Island" is an exeptionaly relaxing album, which I highly recomend picking up unless I've burned you a copy; but still even the album cover is unique and brilliant. Its like a small childrens book, made sort of like a hard back style cover of a Prawn Song album. Inside there is gorgeous art work done for the lyrics. These atmospheric songs have an infectiouse sound which are near perfection.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
So my insomnia has kicked in; which to be truthful isn't that good of a sign this early on in the liberation process, its suppose to start in the vicinity of about a week into the summer. I think we have something like eight weeks to go. The insomnia is the spectacular sort of twilight recollection state I long for occasionally. I've described it before and I'm still convinced its a very personal state in which I’m sure we all enter on a basis, but in the passing through the threshold, its a very different an unique experience for us all. For me; I still haven’t quite solved my puzzling but at the same time sublime dimension of speed and discovery. My own has such a broad variety of detail and minute aspects, that its really hard to describe; so I give it a social trade name and call it Brown Days (ironically they are usually evenings and mornings.) Its the only time I can honestly say where I get a natural high from being alone, and in the depths of this mental journey its common place to stumble across many thoughts or paraphernalia which I fall deeply in love with. Street lights, trees, mist, friends, lights ; Yahweh how I love lights. It really is just pure thought in primal intercourse; or brawl (I still can't tell) with emotion. This blog was the offspring of such an encounter of raw mental debris. And the only depressing thing about the whole process, is how isolated it is. I've tried ignorantly in vein to convey my perception of the world on a Brown Day, and it never succumbs to the ways of English vocabulary. But there is always a tiny segment of hope that one day you to can understand, and perceive what i see. I've tried so much... and I'll try again. There’s plenty of time to ingest the concept I draw from art, music, objects, and the emotions and ideals of people. And love. But I hope this premature insomnia, will submit back to the ways of entrapment of the education industry; and rise hence again with a pure vengeance that I can enjoy on yet another evening such as this.