+ everything ends +

i made a vow to myself to complete the entire series of six feet under.
thanks to help from friends via actual suggestion or literal giving of dvd, this lovely/disturbing/haunted/invaluable period of my life is coming to an end.

i am devouring this series.
i wish it went on until i was 40.
i almost don't want to start the last season.

i'm sad.
it's almost over.

+ i just watch you slip away +

+ i like to steal +

I haven’t found an effective way to ease my pain.
With such “avant-garde” beginnings.
My &#!@ has this mechanism where you push it into remix, and it feeds the fuzz back into itself a thousand times.
A sonic volcano not recommended for small children.

This filmstrip winds around in my brain.
And it’s all I can see.
Floating around and haunting; all from my friend’s imagination.
And things start to fall in place.
It was a real struggle to try to include the more beautiful aspects of life.

Like a pointillist painting:
unhappy little stories—problems and turmoil
that everybody has—but the large picture they make says,

‘Don’t worry. We’re gonna be all right.’

+ you're welcome +

if you haven't already heard this band, it's about time to get it together and prick up your ears.
i enjoy a wordplay greatly, and when a band knows how to fit a mouth's worth full of letters into each and every one of their songs, i'm bound to give all of their tracks at least two times a go 'round.
"roscoe" is what sucked me in, but...everything they've created has substance that i can only find with my ears full of sounds and melodic sleep on my mind.

+ happy all hallows eve +

or whatever...

+ jesus and satan COMBINED! +

upon meeting a friend, this is the very first video he sent to me.
i considered three things:

1. he was not to be messed with.
2. he was hilarious.
3. he was the looniest toon in the bunch.

enjoy.

+ fuck you, wilderness! +

fuck you, wilderness -- for not passing through los angeles!

what do i have to do to get you here???????
i'll be a beautiful alarm for halloween, or, or, or....um...
i'll sign a treaty for the end of freedom.
ANYTHING!
just, PLEASE, come through L FUCKING A.

+ it just is +

i really wanted to post a stream of gravenhurst's "song from under the arches," but, unfortunately couldn't find one -- even in this burrowed over internet empire of waste.
shocking.

so...i'm going for a guilty pleasure of mine.
a song i listen to when i'm down.
and i'm down often.

i try to ignore that it comes from a band tagged with recent pop sensations and indie flickster-hipsters.
because the briefness of it, and the lyrics that are just perfect for me, hit it right every time.

+ hush, don't explain +

call me when you get better at your game/
you haven't beat me yet/

+ Edvard Munch +

"From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity."

+ to a decade of Latin learning +

Dies quod nos vereor ut nostrum permaneo est tamen natalis infinitio.

+ + + + + + + + + +

The day which we fear as our last is but the birthday of eternity.


--Lucius Annaeus Seneca

+ blank +

disappointment.
i hold in
my clenching fists
like it would mean
something.

i don't have
whiskey
to pass the time;
nor do i
care.
about you.
or anything else,
for that matter.

it's a funny game
i can play.
i never could master
the art of
imagination
as a child.

but as an adult?
i couldn't have
succeeded in anything
better.

+ you have to...+

+ Washington, 1912. +

"Edward Beale McLean with Mrs. McLean." Edward (Ned) would become publisher of the Washington Post; his wife, the mining heiress Evalyn Walsh McLean, was the last private owner of the Hope Diamond. Their tempestuous union would be the fodder for countless headlines leading up to their divorce in 1929.

+ i'm just gonna pretend i'm her, and she's me +

+ "you were not to blame for" +

when "in rainbows" came out, i was slowly disintegrating into a angry thing yearning to escape in any way i could.
not to say that i am so much different in the way that i felt then, but -- something tells me that i am.
however, nothing changes when i hear this song again.
some innate something in it's lyrics, in york's voice, just SOMETHING about what it is, pulled at me in a way i didn't want it to.
in case you're not one of the million who have already stumbled on this creation, take a good look.

Radiohead - Reckoner - by Clement Picon

+ here's to copy & pasting! +

GOOGLE'S MAIL GOGGLES PREVENTS DRUNK EMAILING
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Google released a useful new Gmail feature yesterday in its labs, which could help prevent the intoxicated from sending embarrassing late-night emails they might regret in the morning.

When activated, the program will force a user to solve a series of math problems before allowing any message to be sent.

They are not terribly difficult, but do serve as an extra line of defense in what can be a very dangerous habit.

The service is set by default to kick in only on weekend nights, but you can change the settings to apply whenever.

As for drunk dialing and texting, you’re still on your own.


+ + + + + + +

considering the crazy people i know kick back their last drink at 5:45am on a Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, this MIGHT just come in handy.
although, i'm pretty certain they all are fairly decent at their times-tables.
oh well.
way to go again, google.

+ art meandering proves so fine +

+ i want to be surrounded +

for miles.
and miles.
until the end reaches even further.
land laying calm.
serpent souls infesting
soiled grounds.
and he
is next to me.
i never knew
i'd ever want to leave the city.
or that the woods
hold much more spectacle
than the LA nights
could even
aspire to.

+ "In my beginning is my end." +

T.S. Eliot also said, “Let's not be narrow, nasty, and negative.”
It is a sad, sorry time we live in.
Where every corner turns is someone weeping and wanting for the things that have no substance; that hold no great truth for who they are or who they once dreamed they could be.
How has such a life, so many lives, been wasted into the soils of such a grand place?
Or, what was once labeled as grandiose.
And even then, why is this such a negative term?
Were we not taught to have these overbearing, daunting, other-worldly ideas of the maxims our skins could stretch to?
What of the miracles that happened long ago?

“Where is the Life we have lost in living? Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?”

Just because a man no longer is seen walking on the waters through pure belief…just because he cannot touch a leper and have his skin smoothe over to angel’s dust…
Blindness is an affectation that is frightening. But, isn’t it a gift as well?
Sometimes I wonder how things could be if only I didn’t have to look at them.
More than my body or a lover’s face, or the way dust blows smoothly across the concrete walls.
To FOCUS, and fill myself with the ways of life that I am ignoring.
That EVERYONE is ignoring.

We must collapse.
It is all that is left.
Neutral sunshine is embracing our pupils and wiping away the power to take any sort of action.

I’m not any more frightened to stare straight into the sun, than I am to swim in a frigid lake at 4 o’clock on a first snowfall morning.
Even though I haven’t had the pleasure of experiencing the latter; I would do it if I had brought myself there.

The end is here….scratching your backs and letting you all fall into the well.
And, oh! How satisfied they are…with their chiseled faces and golden fingers.
What fools.

“This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper.”