Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Toshio Saeki

Oh hey

I'm Back....Tell Me Where My Friends Are!!

So it's been awhile but I think it's time to start posting again. I now have more free time and internet access so I'm going to be back posting stupid shit. Let's begin. "Lost" is coming to an end soon and I can't think of a better way to start posting again but with a montage of Jack screaming. (Quote to look for at the 1:43 mark "YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU'RE RUNNING FROM!") More to come.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Things(like this blog) fall apart. People(like authors of this blog) start masturbating a lot.

I wish I could tell you all of our new years resolutions involved regularly posting on this blog again but that would be a lie. Some of us are in deep with the sharks, some of us are getting locked into drug collections, some of us are being responsible and becoming teachers, but ALL of us just don't care.

Friday, November 27, 2009

The Boy From Pennsyltucky.

Often times, I find myself under the influence of marrjuana with a pen in my hand writing furiously until I've sobered up. I'll usually reread this work shortly after completing it, to find it hilarious and poignant. Generally the next day, the reality sets in, what I wrote about is technically proficient, creatively astounding, but the content is generally too nuanced to be appealing. On the other hand, when I write sober, excluding extremely rare cases, I find my work to be boring, much like the work of a draftsman. The elements are there, but lacking any kind of freedom. So today's experiment will go as such: I have an idea in my head; I've never been in a relationship during the Holidays.I've never kissed much more than a stranger on New Years Eve, and my birthday has always been without embrace. So as of right at this moment, 5:32PM on November 27, 2009, I am sober, and besides a little bit of heartburn, in relatively positive spirits. At this point, I will set down the computer, light up a joint, and see where I can take this concept, forged in sobriety, and hopefully tempererd with an enlightened mind.

It is now 6:54, and as I had taken into account this posibility, I had assumed my awareness of this possibility would have made it moot. Unfortunately I was wrong. I was quickly sidetracked by my incessant hunger. I decided that a gourmet cheeseburger was the solution to my immediate ill, and ignored my obligation. So now, I'm home from the bar, half soused, all the way high. Because of the duration of my tryst from duty, I had to re-up my motivation. So I'm now beyond effected by the whimsy that is the mind under the influence of THC.

Home, hours after one should have been working, high as a skyhook, filled with fried quale egg and garlic mayo topped burger, watching Gremlins 2; that is my only reality now.

As for the thought experiment...enough data has been collected to make a hypothesis, there is not enough experimentation to compose a theory.

Monday, November 23, 2009

I've been lapse.

I know it's been a while since I've posted, but I've been reading a lot of Hunter Thompson recently, listening to a lot of The Might Be Giants and Tom Waits, and also acting very much my age, which I had been avoiding like the plague for the last 12 months.

That, combined with a few perspective changing moments has exuded itself in my psyche as a fictional account of our early Thanksgiving celebration of last night. I'd like to present to you, my accounting of: Obscene Porcine*

*I apologize for the wall of text, but it's been an acting my age kind of night.

She'd spent the whole night puking and shitting that putrid porcine virus all about the third story half bathroom in our rented row home in South Philadelphia.It'd been Orphan Thanksgiving around the Jury Box, and the twelve very angry people enjoyed a secretly bitter cornucopia. When it came time to cut the bird, no earlier than 10 PM, because God Damned Jonny had decided to slow cook the bird at a temperature slightly warmer than an hour old turd. This is of no concequence, though, because the culprit was clear. That low down H1N1 had struck the first of us. We neglected piles of tissues on the table, ignored the sneezing chef. We'd turned a blind eye to what was obviously the Genesis of the Zombie Holocaust. There's got to be a latent connection between how we view zombies and how we view flu sufferers. We implore them to leave us be, we ignore the symptoms of the obviously infected until it's just too late, and then we eventually emerge from the terror in a world that will never be the same. Ignorant of that impending situation, we carried on our merriment as if we preferred to be culled. We wanted to absorb the beautiful glory of catching the virus of the century. We wanted it like designer luggage and self-actualization. But now we've learned the folly of our ways. Here we all sit, taking shifts, five minute rotations on the two taxed and frustrated toilet bowls in our home. They are so unhappy with their collective station in life; they understand their destiny and accept it as the signal that the end of days has arrived. We attack them with fierosity as yet unknown. The world spins outside the arena, for the combatants waiting in the wings are primed for their chance to do battle. The world outside the arena is plumed in cigarette smoke and tightly clenched sphincters, but inside, the battle over takes all and the contenders fall into a lull of respect for eachother. If you squint your eyes tightly enough...it resembles a dance.