| (no subject) |
[May. 19th, 2004|12:22 pm] |
I'm sitting the SUB listening to the worst folk singer I have ever heard in my entire life. Someone please shoot me...
I don't need catchy rhymes and word-play with underlayed bar chords to affirm my political beliefs. |
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| not to be reread |
[May. 12th, 2004|03:39 pm] |
I'm tired. I wish that livejournal was actually useful for something, but I'm not going to kid myself. Everything that we post here can't be reread, or it will sound supremely adolescent. What's the point of having a journal that everyone can read anyway? We tend to just throw out random thoughts intended to hopefully impress the unintrigued passer-by. Still here I am filling this space with drivel. I guess I just wish I didn't feel so mentally stagnated in cause of this forum, but it seems to be the place I turn when I have writer's block but still for some reason want to write.
These attempts to be clever in front of someone won't cease, so we might as well fill the endless space.
I wish sometimes that I was a real nerd and I could do something alone. |
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| whores |
[May. 1st, 2004|08:54 pm] |
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you're all fucking whores, the lot of you! I hope you're all penetrated with the pestilence of putrid pigeons! |
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| erectile disfunction |
[Apr. 27th, 2004|07:01 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | furious | ] |
| [ | music |
| | the stooges emenating through the walls from the apartment n | ] |
A h the golden glow of the precious internet is washing across my face like drops of liquid sunshine (urine) they splash from my fingertips onto little, pink, hockey-puck shaped cakes that release a stimulating aroma of flowers and ammonia. As I fall off the edge of my bed and impale myself on a tube KY warming lube, I realize that a ll is well in the world and I begin to fall asleep dreaming of hairy nipples on sweaty midgets who wear capri pants all the time; not only when it's sunny out. My mind drifts further into the abyssmal depths of my subconcious and I'm reborn into the body of a sloth making tantric love to a knot in a tree, normally I would be disturbed by this sudden turn of events, however I am dreaming and I accept my new life as an overgrown, motionless, scrotum with claws hanging from a tree, and I drift away into the dreamworld even further, to a place where I do line after line of coke with Iggy Pop as he explains to me the vital interdependence of art, music and math, allegorically through a lengthy speech about Goeel, Escher and Bach. Finally I awake, livid for Iggy's explanation didn't bring into the acoount that Goedel, Escher and Bach were all fearless zombie killers... I mean, the nerve of some people! |
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| Bruises, Bruises on every piece |
[Apr. 26th, 2004|03:52 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | bruised on my ass | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Oggatron | ] |
I went to a show on saturday and saw Josh play, this band Oggatron played before him... they were fantastic, all music showed have nintendo codes in it.
Now I am bruised, I got tossed around and my glasses got stomped, but I fixed them and they're only a little bit scraped up now.
I have come to realize that I shouldn't post things for the sake of posting them, because I read through my old posts and found out that whoever wrote them is retarded.
What's up and coming:
1.Washing clothing
2.Reading Descartes
3.Soul food
4.Smoking cigarettes
5.Making fun of Marcia by way of internet |
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| drugs |
[Apr. 22nd, 2004|10:55 pm] |
I wish that I could swim in a giant pool of shwag beer, I've been craving an Oly since about seven a.m. Gadzooks! I need drugs so bad, I'm all out of smokes. Blah... blah... blah, emo macabre, morose... mumble... sob... sob... fuck it all... self-depricating comment... rah! rah! rah! suicide... heroin... and I'm spent.
Post Script: Marcia,if you read this give us a call, you should come up for a visit, my ma-kuh-bray homegirl. |
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| I stink therefore I am |
[Apr. 21st, 2004|03:37 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | surprisingly optimistic | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Deltron on the big bass, gnarly, seventies headphones | ] |
I actually said some intelligent and critical things in my philosophy class today, and I'm pretty stoked about it. For a while I thought that there was no hope in my brain for processing the philosophical, but I seem to be getting the hang of it.
I have found that probably the main problem with me and the majority of my generation is our lack of attention-span and patience. This has caused problems for me in this class, since you can't attempt to answer a question without focusing on the question.
I don't know, I'm just stoked that I could keep up with my professor today.
I hope everyone's happy in the internet world today, I'll see you later on the other side.
All of yours,
Sir Boris Borovsky |
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| Gapulitus |
[Apr. 20th, 2004|02:20 pm] |
Yes I have joined the wave of teeming gapoids, gaptards and gapulites. Now that I have become an employee of the gap I have taken on new goals in life:
1.Infiltrate American Eagle and destroy
2.Begin abusing the brainwashing sales techniques on family, friends and roommates
3.Use my employee discount to help procure ammunition for the latest "battle of the bulge"
4.Prepare for lung cancer
5.Stop saying things that are thought driven
6.Moisturize
7.Smoke pot to prevent myself from thinking
8.Love shopping
9.Stop boycotting Coca-Cola
10.Listen to the Postal Service even more
11.Get high on life
12.Like Death Cab
13.Kill myself for liking Death Cab
14.Dress like a date-rapist
15.Grow a crustache
16.Like the government
17.Forget what socialists, Marxists, Totskyists, anarchists, Hamiltonians, and Nerds are
18.Forget what Bourgeois, Proletariat, Coercion, superfluous, propaganda, rhetoric and topenade mean.
19.Remember what God is
20.Love Jesus
21.Follow Hollywood gossip
22.Become bulimic, realize I'm a pussy and become anorexic
23.Like people
24.Convince myself that Mel Gibson is a good director
25.Ask if a "Kubrick" is one of those "turny-boxy-thingies, with all the pretty colors on it," while people discuss "A Clockwork Orange"
26.Stop reading
27.Forget what Manifestos are
28.Eat at fast-food restaurants
29.Get a tribal tattoo with flames surrounding a brand new Jaguar that has a chinese symbol painted on it, with a banner underneath that says "I'm Badass, and I'm not Gay!"
30.Put forth all my energy into "Power-Folding" |
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| Hippies (for REALS (not for fakes)) |
[Mar. 3rd, 2004|12:12 pm] |
Yesterday I was walking down the street (looking at boobs, asses, faces)towards the transit center, when out of nowhere these girls (later to be known as Stephanie and Jill) pull up next to me and Jill (who is the ringleader of the operation) Shouts "Only 14 left!!" out of the window of her red Plymouth van.
Being gay, I'm listening to the Strokes and only catch half of what she said, so I take my headphones off and Jill yells "Are You Hungry?!"
"What?" I ask, part bewildered and part disturbed.
"Are you Hungry?" She repeats.
"Su-sure," I stuuter back.
"Where do you want to eat?" She asks.
"Uh-0ld School?" I say in the most unsure stammering tone I've omitted this year.
"O.K." She says pulling in front of Old School at the same time that I walk up to the entrance.
"I don't have any money," I say adding, "In fact I was just looking for a job."
"Don't worry," She says, "I'll cover you." She then proceeded to buy me a slice of pizza.
"So what was the pretense to this?" I ask, still without a grasp on the situation.
"None," Jill says, Stephanie, the other girl just sits there quietly like that introverted girl who drew pictures of ponies in your third grade math class.
"Yeah.. O.K., but what did you shout at me?" I asked.
"Oh," Says Jill, "I said 'Only 14 left!' There was a newsflash on the radio that said that there are only 14 spotted owls left in the state of Maine."
"Oh," I say, 'Another god damn hippy,' I think. We talk for the time that it takes me to eat my pizza, I explain to them that I was headed out to Evergreen to help my girlfriend with a film project that she's working on, Jill explains to me that she's fucking bat-shit crazy, only without actuallly saying it. Jill offers me a ride out to Evergreen and I accept it.
In the van on the way out to Evergreen I bum Jill my last cigarette as she talks about her insanity by way of talking about her art.
"What kind of cigs do you smoke?" Jill asks, Stephanie just sits there, holding strong to her place as a negligible character in this story.
"Camels," I say. Jill pulls the van into a gas station, parks and goes inside the gas station. The whole ride I've been scribbling pictures on a piece of cardboard in the back of the back of her van, which has no back seats by the way. Jill comes out of the gas station with one pack of cigarettes for her and one pack of Camels for me. "Thank you," I say in shock due to her ridiculous generosity.
I have no idea what I can do for this girl at this point, so I start scribbling furiously trying to fill up this piece of cardboard with art, so I can give her something in return.
As she pulls up to Evergreen she invites me to her going away party that she's having this saturday. "Thank you, for everything," I say as I get out.
"Come to the party," She says as she pulls away.
As I walk away I think 'Wow, she's a REAL hippy, not like a smelly kid with dreadlocks, but a real hippy.' |
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| where's my money |
[Mar. 1st, 2004|05:08 pm] |
Must study.
Must find employment.
Must see Wesuel M. Robinson play music in Seattle.
Must write.
Must find a Program.
Must get with the program.
Must eat.
Must shower.
Must shit.
Must piss.
Must die.
Must thank Bob Lawhead for that last one.
Must see the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
Must see the crappy Dawn of the Dead remake.
Must write Beatnik influenced poetry, that will be very bad.
Must accuse Allen Ginsberg of being a child molester everytime his name comes up in conversation.
Must use Livejournal to help me procrastinate. |
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| sheist |
[Feb. 26th, 2004|12:52 am] |
Rhyme Game:
Boo-hoo you too woo who who knew you blew new slew ooh-ooh glue shoe foo foo poo poo doo doo clue zoo rue hue blue goo crew grew to do.
Teenage poem:
Give me my medicine
you prick,
without it
I have no outlet with which I can waste money.
So c'mere sugarshit,
Daddy needs a rough box
for shining.
Haiku #1:
It's Hypothermic,
as if it were a needle,
is my underwear |
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| life on the streets |
[Jan. 9th, 2004|09:28 pm] |
Kicking around Oly can be trying, but since my return from the land of ports it has been a task of little challenge. I've been working more than usual, but now along with the reappearance of the weekend in my life comes great relief.
I started classes Thursday, all of them look to be either enriching, easy or a combination of both. I'm taking a music appreciation class from a large, jolly choir teacher who has a large appreciation for the many of the more commonly known composers (Mozart, Beethoven, Bach, etc.). U.S. History III is as excellent an experience as expected, my teacher, the same one I had for Race and Ethnicity last term, is a long-haired, labor-enthused, anarchist, Evergreen graduate. I've already had a review on the status of the Wobblies during the turn of the century, and I've only had two days of class. Today was my first day of my Political Science class, which is going to be more arduous a task than I expected, but I'll cope.
Currently I am sitting in Heather's (Ilana's room mate) room, writing dull material for what will be a dull compilation which will be placed in the dullest of commongrounds... the internet.
That's it for the time being, so long.
Post Script,
Props to my Portland fam!
Nancita, HOLD ME DOWN!!! |
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| my own genius |
[Jan. 6th, 2004|12:20 am] |
Welcome me to Live Journal!!!!!!!!
Bwa-ha-ha!!!!!!! |
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redkamel's journal