choose your weapon...

Movies (4) Photos. (47) Poetry (16) Quotations. (76) Words (15) Writings. (137)

Sunday, March 28, 2010

scatologic (adjective): obscene or vulgar

Thursday, March 25, 2010

siesmo caos.

A dark tirade is coming. I can feel the poison trickling it's way through my mind. It's because I notice the mirrors more now… always reflecting an imperfect world. A whole civilization melting away into the meaningless. Work, buy, spend, pay. A beautiful circle of nothing. Just like the zero key.
I’m waiting. For the silence to end. I’m waiting for all of us to wake up and scream at what we had become. The moral compass is not broken.. but stolen, and realigned. Now I can’t tell if those are angels or devils burning below me.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

"Have you ever been hurt and the place tries to heal a bit, and you just pull the scar off of it over and over again?"


Saturday, March 20, 2010

“Many people hear voices when no-one is there. Some of them are called mad and are shut up in rooms where they stare at the walls all day. Others are called writers and they do pretty much the same thing.”


Monday, March 15, 2010

word art*

blame humanity.

The human race is not evolving. We still have the same damn questions that have always been around. Why are we here? Why do things matter? What is life? What is time? What is death? Sure, we can talk to each other through little internet cages, and fly to the moon and all those other brilliant technological advances in the scientific part of who we are… but what about the other parts? There has to be more than science, and it seems like no matter how much we can make from rocks, trees, tools and industry… there is never any change in what we really understand philosophically. Why aren’t there research facilities all over the world spending billions on answering the oldest questions ever known? Instead, the money is used to build guns, to kill others, to make more money, to make more guns, to kill more people. Anyone else see something wrong in this pattern? Why do all governments seem to have one of two mantras: 1) Keep them sick and scared and always living for the future. Buy now, spend your whole life paying later! Glorify the stretch limo Superclass, and sell the ultimate and impossible dreams of endless money, power and fame. Or 2) Keep them poor and starving so you can eat your meals served on golden plates and greed your way to an excessive and beautiful life. Corrupt everything and die with fat pockets in a suffering world. Why is religion still the best answer we can guess at, and why are we so adamant to prove we’re already right, that we call it “faith” and say it’s a miracle?
Why aren’t more of us… asking why?

THIS, is the human race. You, me, us… collectively fucking the world (and each other) into something I’m ashamed to think we consider intelligent life. So satisfied with nothing of substance. So distracted, and apathetic. So quick to follow the one eyed man… but the world’s not blind… just blindfolded. We sink deep into our perfectly lethargic furniture, stare blankly at a big black hole where brains go to die for a few hours, microwave dinner and say with a smile… “Gee… this is nice.” It’s not nice. Having big shiny toys and a big shiny life… is not enough. I’m going to go so far as to say… fuck science. Fuck science for creating the means to build the “things” in life that have no purpose except to be better than the other guys. No conclusion. No happy ending. No moral to the story. This is our world… and we hold all blame for the way it’s turned out.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Morality, like art, consists in drawing a line somewhere.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

just write.

I decided I wanted to try the 5-min brain splatter, and flared a little of my own style into it by writing it freehand – and now typing it up (unedited) for you to read.

It’s harder to write on paper. The motions carried out with more intent and precision. Each letter a shape instead of all poke’s and clicks. “There’s art in there somewhere,” she thinks, squinting at her fifth grade scrawl in the fading remains of daylight. The ash from her cigarette drops on the page. It’s a second-class choice Marlboro Red (there were no Menthols left, except the half butts stashed in the overflowing crab shaped ashtray). “Maybe I smoke too much.” She sighs, takes another long slow drag and kills it. Time to focus on the page. A harder task than you might imagine… fighting off the Furies of sleep. Maybe this is one of those moments when sleep is just less important. When reality is better than your dreams. She's had a few of those lately, although the dreams are not much to compare to. No monsters or zombies or anything oversized and slimy… just situations. The kind that her dream self doesn’t know how to react to. Everything all foggy and dark. No stars in the black pit of a sky, no faces on the surrounding strangers. Something good and pure is sparkling in the distance… but it’s out of reach. Always out of reach. Nothing ends, or begins… it just is. Stuck in some fucked up limbo. The insignificant details are usually all that can be remembered. Specifics left locked in her subconscious, where she wants them. So she can still wake up and tell herself “It’s just a dream.” It’s not logical, and even maybe a little destructive to seek meaning in nightmares, but they say fear is powerful right? So she'd like to believe that understanding whatever micro-pieces she can get her hands on – helps her understand herself too. Of courseshe would have to go all deep and broody on you – but it’s dark, she's tired and starting to see the appeal of rocking the lonelygirl08 name with pride. Only now, after turning the page, does she realize she never set a timer. Oh well, she's done anyways. Time limits are over-rated.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

"It sounds pretty but I disagree. I believe there are moments in your life when you have to dance like everyone is watching."

RAID the cockroach ninja.

Cockroaches are nasty little things, and around these tropical cities, not so little. Try as I might, (or might not) my room is never truly spotless, so they come around at night, click-click-clicking their creepy crawly legs across the dark wood floor. I can’t sleep very well when my eardrums are overflowing with the scurrying of something very alive and very disgusting. Something that also happens to be very near. So today, I fumigated that shit. It was a truly spirited adventure that started without a professional gas mask or expensive chemicals… but with RAID cockroach killer. I moved all my essentials to the empty room next door and set up headquarters. I crushed up corn chips as bait and laid them out in the dark abysmal corners of my now infested living space. Then… I waited. I waited so hard, and so impressively. When darkness came I tugged on jeans, runners and a hoodie, crept through the door… and clutched my RAID can out in front of me. I was a cockroach killing ninja. Armed with deep courage and seething vengeance… I fogged those buggers like it was my one true mission in life. With art, style, grace, and minimal girl shrieks, I stomped and sprayed and stomped and sprayed my way to glory. Just when I was beginning to think it was all over, my ninja sense tingled… and there, zig zagging his way out from the crack in the floor.. was a hulking beast of a creature. This was to be my finest moment. The war to end all wars. That is… until I realized the cockroach left in front of me was, quite literally, insane. Now, I’m not sure what’s actually in those Raid bottles… but someone somewhere at their research facilities has a twisted sense of humor. That ugly bug suddenly seemed a whole lot smaller as he ran back and forth on the same line, paused, jumped around, and continued his endless desperate journey to nowhere. There was no rhythm to his clicking, no intelligence in the flailing direction of his antennas. This was one very crazy, and very poisoned cockroach. I, of course, being the evil soul that I am… giggled at the helpless soul struggling below me, raised my shoe up high… and ended it all with one fatal crunch. Us ninjas have a job to do, and we will achieve it without mercy or compassion.

photo-editing* more proof that...

Thursday, March 4, 2010

60s party* don't stop...

"It's a shame we couldn't leave LSD under everyone's chairs. Show true tribute to the 60's."
-Dad (the night of his 50th birthday party)

Monday, March 1, 2010

more circles.

I imagine knowledge sometimes... as a circle. Inside, I'm safe. Surrounded by everything I know, or think I know about... and it's all slowly expanding everyday, but there is no limit. The potential growth is infinite, and that scares me a little bit. The non-understanding of an overflowing world. Risky misadventures waiting in the dark somewhere to leap on me.  I don't pretend to know everything and never will, but in the case of an online, completely publicized blog.. I will write lil tidbits from the very center of my safety circle.  - Me.

if you happen to be a billionaire...