Analysis

I've been having some strange dreams lately, some frightening others confusing. I don't know if they're meaningful or just subconscious thoughts presented in some twisted pose. My anxiety is at an all time high; I've never felt so manic. I know I'm not being a decent person, I'm just flailing about in the ocean trying to hold on to water. I hope everyone is saved. I hope everyone can redeem themselves. I hope the weather gets nicer. I hope I grow up. I hope they stop doing construction outside of my window every morning and I hope the helicopters hovering around Manhattan all lose lift. I hope my mom can be happier. I hope my girlfriend can be happier. I hope I can be happier. Most of all I hope I'm not alone when it happens.

After all the bullshit, here are some cute kitties:

Choose a Bright Morning

Everyone's favorite, unknown band from Uppsala, Sweden has announced their European tour dates, and don't I just wish I lived in Glasgow to catch them play at King Tuts. If you're totally out of the loop, check out Jeniferever's myspace page and be sure to watch their video for Alvik, their new single. My personal favorite off their new album might be A Ghost In The Corner Of Your Eye, with Swimming Eyes a close second.

The scenery of somewhere else.
I wish things were that simple,
That leaving solves everything.
That departing covers mistakes you've made,
The wrong turns you took years ago,
That leaving solves everything.

Summertime is my Favorite Pastime

Metropolitan living got you down?
Can't keep up with the pace?
Too many occupied taxis and crowded subways?
Starting fist fights with alcoholic neighbors?
Bored of the same old homeless people?

WELL, HAVE I GOT AN ACTIVITY FOR YOU!

Come on up to the New York Historical Society where slavery is always fashionable and old paintings run the show. Security guards are always pleasant and the reading room on the 3rd floor has Greek dictionaries for all your etymology needs.

Afterwards you can go right across the street to Central Park and make fun of tourists spending $30 on a pedicab ride! Or take a gander at the gigantic Blue Whale at the Natural History museum and buy some astronaut ice cream.

Apartment Story

I can talk all the nonsense I want, and my abecedarian wit will not compensate for my lack of intelligence. I think the the Writer was correct in his assumption when he said,

"A man writes because he is tormented, because he doubts. He needs to constantly prove to himself and the others that he's worth something. And if I know for sure that I'm a genius? Why write then? What the hell for?"

And what about the Professor? Didn't he have some good points? That everything takes just as much faith as it does truth in order to function. Even if something doesn't exist, if enough people believe in it, does that make it real? If hope provides a false relief does that same hope deserve to be destroyed? I don't know.

I was looking out my window and I saw some fire engines and a mother and her son on the roof of their apartment. I see some orchids in the window of someones apartment. There's a parakeet that flies around that same room. There's wine to be drank! Or is it drunk!? I don't know.

Disposable cameras from 20 years ago and Super Nintendo. Dragonfly across an ancient sky. Individual packets of mayonnaise and ketchup. Mixtapes and the like. Control, Alt, Delete. Band-aids and chocolate cake. Cement trucks and Hungarian restaurants.

Quick, post a picture so nobody will read what you wrote. Wait a minute here, mister! Hey, I'm talking to you! If I don't make it home will you call my wife?

Aldous Huxley

The writer, humanist, and oft quoted Aldous Huxley can really pour it strong, if you know what I mean. In his 1954 essay, The Doors of Perception, Huxley expounds on mescaline use. It's long and a little difficult to read, but interesting nonetheless.

"If we could sniff or swallow something that would, for five or six hours each day, abolish our solitude as individuals, atone us with our fellows in a glowing exaltation of affection and make life in all its aspects seem not only worth living, but divinely beautiful and significant, and if this heavenly, world-transfiguring drug were of such a kind that we could wake up next morning with a clear head and an undamaged constitution-then, it seems to me, all our problems (and not merely the one small problem of discovering a novel pleasure) would be wholly solved and earth would become paradise."

Photography and Such

This guy, Abelardo Morell, takes amazing photographs, but in particular his work using a camera obscura is awe-inspiring.


This [crazy] woman, Elena, went to Chernobyl and took pictures. Creepy and intriguing. Not so much about the photographs, but the story accompanying them.

Book of Bad Breaks

Thee More Shallows of Anticon Records from the sunny state of Cali-for-na-yay, is really the best band I've come across in a long time. Truly original and inventive stuff right here. They have a Myspace page, click the link above, and there's some info up on the Anticon site. My favorite song on their new album is probably Night at the Knight School, but Oh Yes, Another Mother and Proud Turkeys are both ladykillers in their own right. And for what it's worth they look like some cool guys with a good sense of humor and a quick wit.

Also, I don't remember seeing these ads, but Sega was pretty racy (and by racy I mean hilarious) back in the day:

Stalker (1979)

So summer is gone,
Leaving no epitaph.
It’s still warm in the sun,
Only that’s not enough.
All that true could have come,
Like a five-fingered fluff,
Folded into my palm,
Only that’s not enough.
No evil was sighted
In the good aftermath,
World was festively lighted,
Only that’s not enough.
Life forever was tucking,
Caring, making me laugh.
I was really lucky,
Only that’s not enough.
No leaves ever seared,
No limbs broken rough.
Day, like glass, washed all clear,
Only that’s not enough.
Arseniy Tarkovsky - Verses from Stalker

third post

On the outer banks of the city a man sits alone on a rock with a flask and a cigarette. He mumbles to himself about the weather and how the cars never used to pass through this part of town. His eyes wander recklessly and it makes him queasy. His cigarette has gone out and he searches his pockets for a pack of matches. His hand instead finds a bottle cap and a folded piece of paper. Written on the paper in black typewriter print are the words, "Mene, Mene, Tekel, Parsin."

second post

The Laptop Poet's Guide to Life

• Everyone's an addict
• God is a triangle
• Exercise intellect, and if you lack it pretend
• We can't escape the petri dish
• Defend your family
• Insight is disease
  
• Even if you're lost, front like you've got a plan
• Try not to sleep
• Live a pious life and get hung by the saints
• Enjoy yourself (it's later than you think)