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Tuesday, May 31, 2005

The Recreant God of Good Taste

I'm pretty sure the lowest point of this job, in recent memory, has to be what just transpired, maybe, two minutes ago: two girls, both blonde, came walking up to the lab, past me, and inside, conversing about how one of them pissed all over themselves and some guy, on a boat. My life is . . . Complete.

That is All; Thank You

Thursday, May 19, 2005

A Menagerie of Lingerie

I’m a busy man . . . Busy with menial trivialities!

My life is dominated, each afternoon, from Monday to Thursday from four pee-em until eight forty-five with a high-level Crafts Art Studio course. Thusfar, from my experience in this course, I rate the following crafting techniques as follows:
1. Bead-weaving with “Continual Warp” on a Copper Loom: 56% Failure Rating. Perhaps it’s my horrible, horrible eyesight, perhaps it’s threading tiny, Czech beads with a thin needle with slender fibers, but . . . Eh, I’m not so fond of this art, so far. Also, it doesn’t help that I will take half an hour to merely thread the needle. This is not my thing, as it were.
2. Batik: 17% FR. I am a large (physically and figuratively) fan of printmaking and forms of art that involve constructing and deconstructing images via methods of blocking/masking. Never worked much with dyes, but I have found this somewhat time-consuming (forty to fifty minutes per dye) art to be enjoyable, and I am quite proud of my first product.
3. Tapestry-weaving with “Continual Warp” on a Copper Loom: 39% FR. See my above commentary on the bead-weaving to know why this is not my forte, except, this time, going over-under, over-under, over-under, over-fucking-under with a larger needle and nearly invisible (to me) thread. I will say, being instructed on a technique in art by its creators is neat, though—the class had them as special guest artists, and they’re very amusing and nice ladies who invented the copper-pipe loom. Madness, there, but, still . . . Threading needles. It’s a weaving needle and it takes me ten minutes to thread it.
4. Papermaking: ? FR. I have no idea what this technique is, because I fell asleep in class yesterday. And, now, a convenient segue to the next topic . . .

I fell asleep in class, because I stayed up until two in the morning playing Narfell. In case you are not, in fact, big into the Neverwinter Nights community (which I imagine you aren’t, as my primary reader is my dad), then you haven’t heard of Narfell . . . Unless you are familiar enough with the Forgotten Realms to recognize it as the name of one of the countries. Right, anyway, so it’s a Persistent Story World server, plus emphasis on roleplaying—and by emphasis, I mean “either roleplay or leave, fucker” policy—that is one of the most awesome communities of people on the internet in existence. It’s like playing tabletop, without the hassle of associating with real, in-the-flesh people! 3% Failure Rating.

A lot of music, I have been listening to, ye-e-e-es. Learn well to use the Force, you will, young Padawan.
1. Strung Out’s An American Paradox: 11% Failure Rating. I’ve always held a special place in my heart (aww-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w!) for Strung Out, because they’re the band that lead me into the punk scene, back in my Suburban Teenage Wasteland years (note: clever reference to other album by artist, be amused). Also, lately, I’ve just had a particular taste for angry, white guys screaming at me, backed up by hard, metal/punk instrumentals. Fun stuff.
2. Strung Out’s The Elements of Sonic Defiance: 15% FR. An EP that they released between Twisted By Design and An American Paradox, I pirated the whole thing (gasp!) way back when, but finally bought it . . . Because I support musicians, or whatever. I thought I would’ve rounded out my Strung Out collection with these two albums, but then I saw that they released another album, Exile In Oblivion, which I now must buy. Hopefully, it won’t be as mopey as the title suggests. Oh, and, yes, the EP in question rocks and is awesome and so forth and so on, the spouting of positivism plus platitudes and the hurting and the “Ow!” Nice la-a-a-dy.

Jerry Lewis: 77% Failure Rating.

I dropped more money than I, pragmatically speaking, should have on picking up all the volumes of Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex that are out. The seventh and final one is not yet released, so I am unaware of how this wraps up—does it follow the original manga, the first movie or a variant of its own, this is a question for which I await an answer. I could spew compliments about Ghost in the Shell, but I will suffice by saying two things: it is so well-executed that I hold nearly everything cinematic ever up to it for comparison, and 1% Failure Rating.

This has been a somewhat update on the life and times of me. Care.

Monday, May 02, 2005

Supplicating My Past Fears (Doot)

Clint Mansell. The Kronos Quartet. Requiem for a Dream. “The Hope Overture.” Strings . . . Violins, cello, bass . . . Viola? Don’t know.

“What I dream, it’s mostly about dying.”


The air is thick, and my breathing has been bad, lately; the seasons are changing, and that always fucks with my sinus pressure or whatnot. My throat is full of mucous, and my chest rattles when I inhale—it’s rather fucking aggravating, if you ask me. I wish it weren’t Spring, I don’t like it when the Winter goes away . . .

“I’ve been hung. Lynched. Shot. Drowned. Run over . . . By cars, by trains, by buses, by tanks. Beaten with bludgeoning implements. Or strangled. Stabbed . . . By loved ones, by enemies, by political figures, by celebrities, by movie characters and people from paintings.”


It’s cold? Why is it cold: it’s almost Goddamn May; and, it’s cold, in the stupid sixties. It’s always bright outside, when I look. Everything’s too bright, but that’s because my eyes are going bad. Fine, I can deal with this. I can deal with everything. What’s bad breathing, bad weather, bad eyes? What is it, really, in the end?

“I was crucified in a dream, once—the whole Passion of the Christ routine, all four stages. The Arrest, the Trial, the Crucifixion, the Resurrection. Or is the proper fourth stage the Transcendence? I don’t remember, but, in my dream, there wasn’t so much of any fourth stage. I was mostly beaten by everybody I knew and loved, put to trial—I couldn’t see the judge, jury, witnesses, so I just heard voices—nailed up, and left to rot. There was a poem I kept reciting within that dream; I woke up, wrote it down, and later realised it was perfect, fucking Iambic pentameter, Frost-style. Creepy shit.”


The music is over. The song ends, and the track changes. “The Beginning of the End.” This soundtrack puts me in a weird mood.