Car Crash.

So yeah, I am sans car for a while.  Tire blew out, swerved into concrete, tire is almost inside car now.  It is in the shop.  I am lucky to be alive.  That was my Christmas present to myself, apparently.

I did manage to scrounge up a binary LED watch, a few books, a new razor, and some money. That’s pleasing.

Some asshole thought it would be a good idea to light off a few firecrackers while on an airplane to Detroit this week. Which means now security guards are going to be overzealous assholes. Also, he did it on the same airline I’m using at the end of the month. JACKASS. GOD.

Castle Carnivale Festival in February. Cannot wait. I need test tube shots delivered to me by belly dancers flanked by pirates.

Also, “it’s so simple
the way they fall
no cry, no whimper
no sound at all
tick tick tick tick tick
tick tick tick tick tick
tick tick tick tick tick
tick tick tick tick tick
tick tick tick tick
boom”

“Red, the color, the lines, the road,
225, the fearless explode,
Who burns rubber from coast to coast,
Supernova gets burned like toast…

Gasoline blood fire veins,
Hong Kong flu rides soul train,
Concrete breakfast, star struck fame,
First place killer, the man with no name…

Machine shop rodeo, the scrap pile boss,
You’re the one who’s gonna learn about loss.
Eyes on the road, souls in the gutter,
Burn up the street just like the toe cutter…

Don’t be foolish, don’t go insane,
Dead man’s curve, ride the inside lane,
Concrete breakfast, star struck fame,
First place killer!”

Love.

“I love you like kings love queens,
Like a gay geneticist loves designer jeans,
I need you like New Orleans needs a drought,
Like Hitler’s Father needed to learn to pull out,
And I want you, yeah, like a Lawyer/Mathematician wants some kind of proof,
And I want you, yeah, like JFK wanted a car with a roof,
Because…

Love is taking that dive, then getting really comfortable and peeing in the pool,
And love is a real life porn, minus all the stuff that makes porn cool,
And love is a homeless guy searching for treasure in the middle of the rain and finding a bag of gold coins and slowly finding out they’re all filled with chocolate and even though he’s heart broken, he can’t complain because he was hungry in the first place…

Because I love you like Dora loves maps,
Like the pope’s toilet loves, holy craps… (that’s a little one)
I need you like a voyeur needs a branch,
Like boys tossing salad needs a little bit of Neverland Ranch,
And I want you, yeah, like all the gothic kids that look exactly the same, never want to conform
And I want you like Anne Frank… wanted nobody to read her FUCKING diary
(Because a diary is a collection of secret things that nobody’s supposed to read, that’s the whole point of a diary. Millions of people that have breached this little girls privacy after she was chased by Nazis… kick her while she’s down)

And if we met in 10, 000 BC, I was your caveman, you’s my cavelady…
If we got hot, we’d start rubbin’
If we got hungry, we’d go clubbin’
There’s wooly mammoths, I’ll protect us, you’re makin’ me devolve to a homo erectus, mothafucka
And if we met in 1780, I would be a white southern aristocratic plantation owner and you were my dark-skinned servant lady… slave
Whenever I could get away from the Missus,
I go to your she’d then I’d steal you kisses,
But let’s be serious, I’d still work you full-time as a slave, there’s a difference between romantic language and complete disregard for socio economic trends
If it was 1941, I was a Nazi, you’s a Gypsy on the run, that’s a little redundant
That… probably wouldn’t have worked out…
Because…

Love is your favorite food for every breakfast, lunch and dinner
And love is the Holocaust, if you don’t die quick and you don’t get thinner
And love is being the owner of the company that makes rape whistles
And even though you started the company with good intentions trying to reduce the rate of rape, now you don’t want to reduce it at all cause if the rape rate declines then you’ll see an equal decline in whistle sales…
Without rapists, who’s gonna buy your whistles?

Yeahhhh, love is all about… Whistles.”

Feelings suck, kissing is awesome.

Christmas is almost here.  I got my shopping done early.  I need to order more cigarettes, and a few comics.  I have the urge to make something, but I’m not sure what.  I’m fairly terrible at creating things, I find it harder and harder to focus as time goes on.  Life needs to be less serious.

Bleh, 4 more weeks.  <3

Ampersand.

“As I wake up to a cough,
The fire burned the block,
But ironically stopped at my apartment,
And my housemates all are sleeping soundly,
And nobody deserves to die but
You were awful adamant
That if I didn’t love you,
Then you had just one alternative…

And I may be romantic,
And I may risk my life for it,
But I ain’t gonna die for you.
You know I ain’t no Juliet,
And I’m not gonna watch you
While you burn yourself out, baby
No, I’m not gonna stop you,
‘Cause I’m not the one that’s crazy…”

 

I have realized that I have something lacking from my life: someone to stand behind and wrap my arms around during a good concert.

 

I got a new phone, the Motorola Droid.  So now I have unlimited internet access wherever I go.  This is definitely a mistake in the making.  I look forward to this ruining my employment.  Which leads me to the next bullet point.

 

My job sucks out loud.  Seriously.  I’d rather be forced to deal with sit through a series of root canals every day.  New manager makes it almost impossible to deal with.  If the rumors are true and she is leaving after the holidays, then fuck yeah.  If not, I’m quitting.  There’s no other choice.  This place makes suicide look like a viable option out.

 

I decided last weekend that doing drugs while sick was a BRILLIANT IDEA.  The first hour of the trip was me vomiting into my toilet and wondering how I was going to make it through the night alive.  It subsided in the following hour, but yeah, now I know not to mix cold/bronchitis with 2ci.  We listened to very little music and just chatted about life and everything.  Everyone got a lot out, everyone being myself, Johnny Dagger and Delicate Terror.  Little breakthroughs each time is really all I can ask for.  I just like the feeling of being open and seeing people happy for even small periods of time.  What would I do without my roommate and my wide-eyed little wanderlust queen?  <3

 

Now that the holidays are here, my life gets worse as job gets more stressful.  I have nothing to look forward to anytime soon.  Day-to-day living and little reasons to smile, all I can really ask for.  Give me something to sing about.

A Swim With The Sharks.

I’m watching my roommate play Fear 2 on my PS3.  I just finished showing him Revolver.  That movie is so steeped in metaphor, it is dripping with that shit.  Good stuff though.

I feel bad for not having updated, but I could literally go through the past 3 weeks in about 9 seconds: job anger, roommate fired, vacation, extreme quad muscle pain, roommate’s car hit by deer, concert, inability to hear out of right ear properly and/or walk properly.

Just a giant clusterfuck of “no” and “bad”.  Might have an interview at Staples soon.  Might just quit right before Black Friday regardless.

As for recently seen movies, I watched “The Marc Pease Experience” today.  If you liked Rushmore, then you’ll probably like this too.  I enjoyed it.  But if you don’t like Jason Schwartzman, then you will likely rue it.  He made Ben Stiller tolerable.  Next on the docket is “Black Dynamite” and “Lesbian Vampire Killers”.

I have high hopes for this weekend.  I hope I have a reason to smile soon, because I’m going to need it.

“You get the head, the tail, the whole damn thing,
You get the head, the tail, the whole damn thing,
You get the head, the tail, the whole damn thing,
You wanna swim around, well alright…

Well, a swim with the sharks is like me, yeah…
I’ll find them for three and catch them and kill them for ten
When they smile just cut off your legs
You’ve got no time to think; only to beg!

Twenty, no, twenty five – three tons!
The one in the front is the one on the run.
Well, it’s blood red, fair game for the eats
’cause this my home, yeah this is my street…

{chorus}

Well, a swim with the sharks like weak is for strong,
Nobody knows it yet, not right from wrong,
Deep is the dark from the depths of the dive,
Am I okay, yeah, am I alive?

Well the hot house now seems like suckin’ on some ice cream
Funny thing is it’ll make a grown man scream,
Want to stay afloat but don’t forget it,
All I’ve got to say is you’re gonna need a bigger boat…”

Everything goes to hell, anyway…

“Why be sweet, why be careful, why be kind?
A man has only one thing on his mind.
Why ask politely, why go lightly, why say please?
They only want to get you on their knees.
There are a few things I never could believe:
A woman when she weeps,
A merchant when he swears,
A thief who says he’ll pay
A lawyer when he cares,
A snake when he is sleeping,
A drunkard when he prays,
I don’t believe you go to heaven when you’re good.
Everything goes to hell, anyway…

Laissez-faire, mi amour, c’est la vie
Shall I return to shore or swim back out to sea?
The world don’t care what a sailor does in town,
It’s all hanging in the windows by the pound.

I only want to hear you purr and to hear you moan,
There is another man who brings the money home.
I don’t want dishes in the sink,
Please don’t tell me what you feel or what you think.
There are few things I never could believe…”

I really have nothing new to say.  I have a deep, burning hatred for this past Friday.  Took off work for no reason, couldn’t bring the one person I wanted to go to the concert with, and then THE FUCKING CONCERT SOLD OUT.  What the fuck?  This isn’t even “You raped an orphanage while it was on fire” karma.

I got drunk dialed recently, by someone I haven’t spoken to in over a year.  It was interesting.  We drank shitty box wine and discussed the past summer.  I got lost in Chapel Hill twice.  And now, I might have Halloween plans.  Hoo-rah.

What else?  Hmm.  Felix and Nick are sitting next to me.  We’re watching Nostalgia Critic reviews.  We’re staying in town til Tuesday night, then going to the beach til early Friday morning.  Next week is vacation.  I have no plans til the 29th, which is my sister’s birthday.  The 30th, I’m going to see China Desade at Haunt in Richmond.  Halloween is most likely Franklin Street or harassing people in Greensboro.  Nothing new really, I hate the same shit, I love the same people.  Everything’s pretty static right now.

Oh yeah, most likely getting a tattoo next week.  Not sure which one yet.

Because I have no other way of describing it.

Thank you, Internet.

I’m watching Martyrs.  For any of you that haven’t heard of it, it’s a 2008 French Horror film.  Imagine the suspense/torture aspects of Hard Candy applied to the film High Tension.  I guess if you have severe anxiety issues with torture or you just have no patience, this movie would be very hard to stomach.  I’m kinda meh over it.  Good execution, somewhat-flawed concept.  The “villain” (if you can even call her that) is a terrible, terrible actress, so her all-important monologue could have been delivered by a piece of wood more convincingly.

What this film DOES do is illustrate that giving horror movies a budget is like giving them a license to fuck up.  This film was made for less than $5 million US.  Great makeup, both of the main characters are quite good, good atmosphere.  This movie, despite not really scaring me, does a great job at making you feel fucking uncomfortable.  It has flaws, but overall, well done.  If this had a $20 million US budget, it would likely be shit.  Pretentious, overly-artsy shit.  You can scare someone with 5 dollars worth of knives and fake blood.  Use the budget for (viral) marketing.  Infinitely better uses of money out there.

I also recently saw 500 Days of Summer.  I had been looking forward to this film for months now.  And…if you don’t watch the last 20 minutes, it’s almost perfect.  They do manage to cock up a great film with just dumb, trite sunshine bullshit.  If/When you see the film, when Tom gets on the bus, imagine the film ends there.  Take a mental note of everything that had happened to that point, and just shut it off.  Then come back to it later and finish it and tell me it wouldn’t have benefited.  If you take one thing away from the film though, it’s this:

“If you meet someone, and they make you happy, that’s good.  If you like them because they’re strange and a bit crazy, that’s fine too.  But know that down the line, that crazy girl you like?  Still going to be crazy until the end of days.”

Requisite lyrics below:

“It was the day that she started knowing
She had a gift that started showing

The Starmaker pulled his strings
He gave her golden wings
But vicious snakes invade her world
With cigarettes and purple pills

Man on a red horse, man on a red Harley
Girl on a mind-trip, lost on the mindway
She commits to a custom bike guy
Over-sexed, rebel of rubber
Tired, punched and numbered
Off with her head said the King of Lightning!

There is an occult explosion taking place in the Western world
Would you like to come along for the ride?”

Winchester Model 1887 Recoil

I saw Whip It over the weekend, it was kinda cute in a “christ this is so hipster” way.  But that’s not really important to the story.

I heard a song in it.  I liked it, and it sounded familiar.  Couldn’t quite put my finger on it, didn’t really concern me.  Drove home, completely forgot about it.  Went to sleep.  Horrible fucking dreams about what’s going on in my life.  I wake up in cold sweat.  What the fuck spurred that?  I dwell on my dreams, it’s what I do.  A lot of them have some sort of well thought-out basis in real life.  Well, what do these ones mean?  Nothing, they’re just my brain trying to keep me afloat of my current situation.  Okay, I can do that.

Then it continues for 3 fucking days to the point where I’m scared to sleep.  I love sleeping, usually, it is one of my pastimes.  All of my dreams recently have been really…emotional mean-spirited I guess is the phrase.  I seriously considered staying up all last night and then remember “Oh yeah, I’m employed.”  So I fall asleep, and I guess my brain decided to give me a day off.  Instead, I wake up humming this song.  Not this shit again.  Where is this FROM?  By this time, I have completely forgotten the movie association.  So I’m humming this song all day, and the first bars are stuck in my head.  While distracting me from the fear of falling asleep and having to deal with my brain’s attempt to drive me insane, this is only slightly better.

It stays with me the whole fucking day through work as I work with viruses and people and people with viruses.  Maybe they’re dwelling on something this hard as well.  I make it out today after 3 cloves and a long iPod break.  I get home, and still, humming.  I try looking it up, and quickly realize you can’t HUM ONTO THE INTERNET.  So I ask Johnny Dagger.  “Hey, have you heard ::random mouth noises::?”  He responds with the same noises for clarification.  5 minutes later on Youtube, I have my answer.

It’s THAT fucking song.  The song from the movie.  But it’s from more than just that.  Where else have I heard this?  God, this is going to kill me.  I listen to it a few more times and close my eyes.  That did it.  I remember now.  And now I really wish I hadn’t.  That night was really nice.  So nice, it’s the same time period my brain keeps making me relive this week.  Over and over.  All of this slow mental torture.  Every time I get depressed, my brain decides to give me glimmers of happiness when I sleep only to rapture me out of them quickly enough to give me emotional whiplash.

Everything is connected.  Unrelated song lyrics to follow:

“Guys are drooling over you
Sampling your soul
You could be the chosen one
But what if
Everything they say is wrong
And you
Die some

Everlasting teenage recoil
Fall in love with anything
Come undone
With hearts unbroken
And wish upon a lucky star

Sometimes you feel so skinny
It’s like you don’t even exist
Lolita never been kissed
You gotta feel what can be felt
Touch what can be touched
Do what can be done
But don’t
Die Young

Against all odds again
You got zip to lose…”

28,380 days.

Let’s do a bit of math.  According to the Center for Disease Control, the average life expectancy for a US citizen is 77.7 years.  Multiple that by 365 days per year, and add a day for each leap year in between.  After rounding up, we end up at 28,380 days as the average human life span.  Based on that, we spend:

-8278 days asleep, assuming we sleep 7 hours a night.

-2365 days in REM sleep, dreaming.

-1656 days blinking.

-1642 days swallowing.

(The previous 2 items, you are now doing manually.)

I need a new job.  My new store manager is convinced that I am a child because I have never been in the military and I am not single-handedly saving my department for the same amount of pay and no appreciation.  I have the same upward mobility of a Down’s Syndrome kid in an AP Macrobiology class.  Due to the proximity of the Research Triangle, I’d really like to get a job as a pharmacy technician or something.  We’ll see, but thanks to this week, I’m most certainly searching for new employment.

Mandatory lyrics below.

“These hippies are holier than thou at poorly attended peace marches holding cold veggie dogs
I’m not your homie or pen pal though I unload ink cartridges as Red State demigods
Cause smearing a salad on a SUV can’t
Save the black faces at the refugee camp
There is your sterling Sputnik
To compliment your unfurling drug fix
You’ve been hoodwinked the secret brotherhood winks as your heroes push it with a
Branded buttocks
Now he’s an action-pose doll
Clad in the latest fashion faux-pas
Just another rapping know-it-all trying to de-politicize those big business ties
Let me guess, you’re a macrobiotic cuisine prep-cook
With a text book liberal outlook in an oppressed nook
Couch surfing, but your dads got employment history at Halliburton
While you dress like wild mermen…

‘Cause recreational paranoia
Is the sport of now, so
Kill your employer…
‘Cause recreational paranoia
Is the sport of now, so
Kill your employer…

Riddled with neo-expressionism omitted words and arty erasure
You pass out your Green Party favor
Smoking on cush-hash algae at the Bush-bash rally
Mocking army brigade verve
Bar-b-qing sorts of meat substitutes
Arguing at your bleak study group
Shunning pop art in your turtle-neck
Shopping carts with turbo jets
Write Red Cross personal checks
Yet no relief monies are en route
You exchange wistful ki-bi-bos while they prep the missile silos
And I’ll fortify the Left’s patron saint
With anti-war cries and face paint
When the GOP appoints a man in tights to read protestors their Miranda rights
This is an anger pact, a teen scratch post
That boast a paperback zine pathos
Unsheathe the saber says thee blasphemers acting coach
And torment the Scientologist at the Cineplex
They are bonafide clansmen in dinner dress
Giving your art loft undertows the thumb and nose

‘Cause recreational paranoia
Is the sport of now, so
Kill your employer…
‘Cause recreational paranoia
Is the sport of now, so
Kill your employer…

I don’t join the ranks of ordinary men, uh-huh
I burn flags not oil reserves, uh-huh
I’m no ex-football player Iraqi combatant, uh-huh
Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, uh-huh
I don’t join the ranks of ordinary men, uh-huh
I burn flags not oil reserves, uh-huh
I’m no ex-football player Iraqi combatant, uh-huh
Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, uh-huh
It’s me fucker, uh-huh
It’s me…”

The Noises Made By People.

So I think it was today that I realized that I take a lot of my behavior from things I’ve lost.

Case in point: when I went through my only major breakup, like most post-breakup behavior, I started overanalyzing things I took for granted.  She tried to get me into a lot of music she liked, and I was fairly receptive, but I never quite got around to it unless she reminded me constantly.  So, after the breakup, I took to these artists like flies to honey.  I went on a Radiohead and Rasputina binge for what was likely 3 weeks.  I’m sure it did wonders for my depression at the time.  When we stopped talking, I started watching shit tons of Doctor Who, and actually finished the series before she did.

My next breakup wasn’t so bad, so I really don’t think that I took anything from that.  But it wasn’t just from breakups, it could be anything from losing a friend to losing a possession.  When I quit playing MMO’s, I got into more sci-fi.  I binge watched Farscape, 88 hours of that show in a month.

My latest “whatever-the-fuck-you-want-to-call-it” hit me pretty hard as it was the only connection I’ve made in the past year or two.  I took up cloves this time around.  I find it interesting that any given person’s personality is basically an amalgamation of shared experiences and heredity.  Mine seems to lean heavily on characteristics recreated from observation, but that’s another entry.

Other interesting things happened recently.  I went to go pick up my pizza from Domino’s the other night, and the guy gave me a slightly skeptical look when I paid for my order.  He then proceeded to tell me who I was, who I worked with, and that I was shopping for a sedan and that my apartment was recently broken into.  As you can imagine, I was taken aback by this.  Who was this man, and how did he know my life so well?  It turns out he was in the store yesterday, talking with one of my coworkers while I was discussing previous mentioned issues.  I didn’t notice him AT ALL, but he had memorized all of my little life quips in a matter of minutes.  …Is my life that interesting?  I’m not upset over it, rather intrigued.

Now, so I can be consistant, song lyrics:

“You can’t pretend cause I can see
You’re not the girl you used to be
Trust me with a secret you can’t keep

I watch your eyes they shift with doubt
So every night when stars come out
I try to read your personality

The writing for pleasure you wouldn’t let me read
The things you miss out when you try to mislead
You said you wrote a page about me
In your diary

Your heart a place that noone sees
You can’t disguise your own unease
Trust me with a secret you can’t keep

The writing for pleasure you wouldn’t let me read
The things you miss out when you try to mislead
You said you wrote a page about me
In your diary

Don’t you be afraid
Theres bound to be a place
No matter who or where you are
You’ve got to be willing

Don’t be so afraid
You’re bound to make mistakes
No matter who or where you are
You’ve got to be willing…”

Back when I used to blog, (Read as: when blogging was cool) I used to start all of my entries with song lyrics or something of that sort, so keeping with that tradition:

 

“You grew on me like a tumor
And you spread through me like malignant melanoma
And now you’re in my heart
I should’ve cut you out back at the start

Now I’m afraid there’s no cure for me
No dose of emotional chemotherapy
Can halt my pathetic decline
I should’ve had you removed back when you were benign

I picked you up like a virus
Like meningococcal meningitis
Now I can’t feel my legs
When you’re around, I can’t get out of bed

I’ve left it too late to risk an operation
I know there’s no hope for a clean amputation
The successful removal of you
Would probably kill me too

You grew on me like carcinoma
Crept up on me like untreated glaucoma
Now I find it hard to see
This untreated dose of you has blinded me

I should’ve consulted my local physician
I’m stuck now forever with this tunnel vision
My periphery is screwed
Wherever I look now, all I see is you

When we first met you seemed fickle and shallow
But my armor was no match for your poison arrow
You are wedged inside my chest
If I tried to take you out now I might bleed to death
I’m feeling short of breath

You grew on me like a tumor
And you spread through me like malignant melanoma
I guess I never knew
How fast a little mole can grow on you…”

 

I honestly don’t get why people laugh so much at this song.  Maybe it’s just me and it hits a little too close to home a lot of the time.  Meh.

 

Everyone tells me it would help if I wrote down what I feel.  I’m fairly sure they’re the ones on the brink of psychotic break, not meeeeeeeeeee.  Writing down my feelings leads to more self-criticism, which turns into more furious scribbling (not on my DS).

 

This weekend is China DeSade’s birthday party in D.C.  Pirating will be had.  Alcohol will be had.  Good times by all, had as well (hopefully).