Apparently, the snake knows how to smoke.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
fuck the phone, your facebook is tapped
Base.
How low can we go?
Fuck the Beatles, I'm an animal
An upright ape with opposable thumbs
To hold the clubs
To hold the guns
Swing low sweet chariot
God bless my DNA
Drunk drive my Chevy to the levee
Let the flood come and sweep me away
No this ain't the apocalypse
It's the way shit has always been
From Sodom to Saddam
Attila to Tienenmen
A quarter million years of human being
A quarter million years as a human stain
We use ten percent of our gorgeous brains
And leave the rest up to cocaine
Lucy in the sky
Got her hands on a new shotgun
Lucy in the sky
Got her hands on a Remington
Lucy in the sky
Her shiny diamonds drenched in blood
And I know where the wild things are
Don't look far
Don't look far
'Cause I got wisdom in my teeth
And terror in my wars
Yes, I know where the wild things are
Don't look far.
Don't look far.
There's a reason that it's hard to look in the mirror.
There's a reason that it's hard to go to the zoo
And there's a reason you want to pry open the cage
See, you should be there, too.
How low can we go?
Fuck the Beatles, I'm an animal
An upright ape with opposable thumbs
To hold the clubs
To hold the guns
Swing low sweet chariot
God bless my DNA
Drunk drive my Chevy to the levee
Let the flood come and sweep me away
No this ain't the apocalypse
It's the way shit has always been
From Sodom to Saddam
Attila to Tienenmen
A quarter million years of human being
A quarter million years as a human stain
We use ten percent of our gorgeous brains
And leave the rest up to cocaine
Lucy in the sky
Got her hands on a new shotgun
Lucy in the sky
Got her hands on a Remington
Lucy in the sky
Her shiny diamonds drenched in blood
And I know where the wild things are
Don't look far
Don't look far
'Cause I got wisdom in my teeth
And terror in my wars
Yes, I know where the wild things are
Don't look far.
Don't look far.
There's a reason that it's hard to look in the mirror.
There's a reason that it's hard to go to the zoo
And there's a reason you want to pry open the cage
See, you should be there, too.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Two Paths for the Novel
Interesting article about lyrical realism falling short.
"These aren’t particularly healthy times. A breed of lyrical Realism has had the freedom of the highway for some time now, with most other exits blocked. For Netherland, our receptive pathways are so solidly established that to read this novel is to feel a powerful, somewhat dispiriting sense of recognition. It seems perfectly done—in a sense that’s the problem. It’s so precisely the image of what we have been taught to value in fiction that it throws that image into a kind of existential crisis, as the photograph gifts a nervous breakdown to the painted portrait"
Two Paths for the Novel | The New York Review of Books
"These aren’t particularly healthy times. A breed of lyrical Realism has had the freedom of the highway for some time now, with most other exits blocked. For Netherland, our receptive pathways are so solidly established that to read this novel is to feel a powerful, somewhat dispiriting sense of recognition. It seems perfectly done—in a sense that’s the problem. It’s so precisely the image of what we have been taught to value in fiction that it throws that image into a kind of existential crisis, as the photograph gifts a nervous breakdown to the painted portrait"
Two Paths for the Novel | The New York Review of Books
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
fog
a thick fog is rolling over the hills
and the sound of the jet engine is setting the mood
for this cold september night
the smoke corkscrews out of my mouth and i realize
i dont want more
i dont want less
something is missing but i dont give a shit.
and the sound of the jet engine is setting the mood
for this cold september night
the smoke corkscrews out of my mouth and i realize
i dont want more
i dont want less
something is missing but i dont give a shit.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Primus Live @ Outsidelands 2008
If you can't down with this you are a strange person. Starts off with YYZ then goes into Here Come The Bastards. Watch all 9 parts of the video, best concert video i've ever seen.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
read this
"I came to Comala because I had been told that my father, a man named Pedro Páramo, lived there."
Monday, July 26, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
SNL Commercials
If you're like me, you love SNL. If you're not like me and don't like SNL, you fucking suck. Hopefully you'll change your mind after seeing these.
Colon Blow
Oops i crapped my pants.
Woomba
Hibernol
Colon Blow
Oops i crapped my pants.
Woomba
Hibernol
Stuff You Don't Know (or maybe you do)
Alright, my plan is with this is to post interesting facts that we all (im sure?) find interesting. Also I think we can learn stuff from these new posts. Entertaining yet informative. Party on.
1)Nanook is the Eskimo word for the Polar Bear
2)Eleven uppercase letters in the English alphabet are identical to their mirror image.
3)Alaska, Hawai'i, California and Washington all have active volcanoes.
4)Finland contains 60.000 lakes and has at least 30.000 islands off its shores.
5)Goulash is the specialty dish in Hungary.
6)Geneva, Switzerland, is the derivitive for the name of the drink GIN.
7)Not only being the saltiest bastard on earth, The Dead Sea also has the earth's lowest inland elevation point.
8)Merida, Mexico has over 20.000 windmills.
9)Andrew Jackson was the founder of the Democratic party in the U.S.
10)Plato Wrote and passed down the thoughts of Socrates.
11)Driving at 60MPH, it would take a little more than 176 years to travel the 93.000.000 miles to reach the sun.
12)If you were to drain all the water on earth, Hawai'i would have the tallest mountain measured from top to bottom.
13)Bernard Webb is Paul McCartney's pseudonym.
14)While he was president, Frankin Roosevelt always kept a GUN under his pillow.
1)Nanook is the Eskimo word for the Polar Bear
2)Eleven uppercase letters in the English alphabet are identical to their mirror image.
3)Alaska, Hawai'i, California and Washington all have active volcanoes.
4)Finland contains 60.000 lakes and has at least 30.000 islands off its shores.
5)Goulash is the specialty dish in Hungary.
6)Geneva, Switzerland, is the derivitive for the name of the drink GIN.
7)Not only being the saltiest bastard on earth, The Dead Sea also has the earth's lowest inland elevation point.
8)Merida, Mexico has over 20.000 windmills.
9)Andrew Jackson was the founder of the Democratic party in the U.S.
10)Plato Wrote and passed down the thoughts of Socrates.
11)Driving at 60MPH, it would take a little more than 176 years to travel the 93.000.000 miles to reach the sun.
12)If you were to drain all the water on earth, Hawai'i would have the tallest mountain measured from top to bottom.
13)Bernard Webb is Paul McCartney's pseudonym.
14)While he was president, Frankin Roosevelt always kept a GUN under his pillow.
New Think 2010 Promo.
Goddamnit! It's about time Think had a legit team. Peep the promo and get a skate boner.
THINK 2010 from Street Corner Skate on Vimeo.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Monday, July 5, 2010
hey mates
goin on a date with my plate full of hate.
my stomach turns at the sight of the thing.
it looks just like the back of my mind.
seeing it close up almost leaves me blind.
a fork made of fire.
a knife made of drugs.
it seems as if im staring straight.
into the face of my nemesis.
as it begins to wrap itself slowly around my point in time.
i feel the smoke seeping through my face.
into the backest blackest part of my brain.
so with a fork made of fire.
and a knife made of drugs.
i force feed myself.
on a plate full of hate.
my stomach turns at the sight of the thing.
it looks just like the back of my mind.
seeing it close up almost leaves me blind.
a fork made of fire.
a knife made of drugs.
it seems as if im staring straight.
into the face of my nemesis.
as it begins to wrap itself slowly around my point in time.
i feel the smoke seeping through my face.
into the backest blackest part of my brain.
so with a fork made of fire.
and a knife made of drugs.
i force feed myself.
on a plate full of hate.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Friday, June 4, 2010
what do you mean a vomit situation?
A salesman who shared his liquor and steered while sleeping ... A Cherokee filled with bourbon ... A VW no more than a bubble of hashish fumes, captained by a college student ...
And a family from Marshalltown who head-onned and killed forever a man driving west out of Bethany, Missouri ...
... I rose up sopping wet from sleeping under the pouring rain, and something less than conscious, thanks to the first three of the people I've already named--the salesman and the Indian and the student--all of whom had given me drugs. At the head of the entrance ramp I waited without hope of a ride. What was the point, even, of rolling up my sleeping bag when I was too wet to be let into anybody's car? I draped it around me like a cape. The downpour raked the asphalt and gurgled in the ruts. My thoughts zoomed pitifully. The travelling salesman had fed me pills that made the linings of my veins feel scraped out. My jaw ached. I knew every raindrop by its name. I sensed everything before it happened. I knew a certain Oldsmobile would stop for me even before it slowed, and by the sweet voices of the family inside it I knew we'd have an accident in the storm.
The man and the wife put the little girl up front with them and left the baby in back with me and my dripping bedroll. "I'm not taking you anywhere very fast," the man said. "I've got my wife and babies here, that's why."
You are the ones, I thought. And I piled my sleeping bag against the left-hand door and slept across it, not caring whether I lived or died. The baby slept free on the seat beside me. He was about nine months old.
... But before anyof this, that afternoon, the salesman and I had swept down into Kansas City in his luxury car. We'd developed a dangerous cynical camaraderie beginning in Texas, where he'd taken me on. We ate up his bottle of amphetamines, and every 80 often we pulled off the Interstate and bought another pint of Canadian Club and a sack of ice. His car had cylindrical glass holders attached to either door and a white, leathery interior. He said he'd take me home to stay overnight with his family, but first he wanted to stop and see a woman he knew.
Under Midwestern clouds like great grey brains we left the superhighway with a drifting sensation and entered Kansas City's rush hour with a sensation of running aground. As soon as we slowed down, all the magic of travelling together burned away. He went on and on about his girlfriend. "I like this girl, I think I love this girl--but I've got two kids and a wife, and there's certain obligations there. And on top of everything else, I love my wife. I'm gifted with love. I love my kids. I love all my relatives." As he kept on, I felt jilted and sad: "I have a boat, a little sixteen-footer. I have two cars. There's room in the back yard for a swimming pool." He found his girlfriend at work. She ran a furniture store, and I lost him there.
The clouds stayed the same until night. Then, in the dark, I didn't see the storm gathering. The driver of the Volkswagen, a college man, the one who stoked my head with all the hashish, let me out beyond the city limits just as it began to rain. Never mind the speed I'd been taking, I was too overcome to stand up. I lay out in the grass off the exit ramp and woke in the middle of a puddle that had filled up aroundme.
And later, as I've said, I slept in the back seat while the Oldsmobile--the family from Marshalltown--splashed along through the rain. And yet I dreamed I was looking right through my eyelids, and my pulse marked off the seconds of time. The Interstate through western Missouri was, in that era, nothing more than a two-way road, most of it. When a semi truck came toward us and passed going the other way, we were lost in a blinding spray and a warfare of noises such as you get being towed through an automatic car wash. The wipers stood up and lay down across the windshield without much effect. I was exhausted, and after an hour I slept more deeply.
I'd known all along exactly what was going to happen. But the man and his wife woke me up later, denying it viciously.
"Oh-no!"
"NO!"
In a minute the driver, who'd been slumped over the wheel, sat up and peered at us. His face was smashed and dark with blood. It made my teeth hurt to look at him--but when he spoke, it didn't sound as if any of his teeth were broken.
"What happened?"
"We had a wreck," he said...
And a family from Marshalltown who head-onned and killed forever a man driving west out of Bethany, Missouri ...
... I rose up sopping wet from sleeping under the pouring rain, and something less than conscious, thanks to the first three of the people I've already named--the salesman and the Indian and the student--all of whom had given me drugs. At the head of the entrance ramp I waited without hope of a ride. What was the point, even, of rolling up my sleeping bag when I was too wet to be let into anybody's car? I draped it around me like a cape. The downpour raked the asphalt and gurgled in the ruts. My thoughts zoomed pitifully. The travelling salesman had fed me pills that made the linings of my veins feel scraped out. My jaw ached. I knew every raindrop by its name. I sensed everything before it happened. I knew a certain Oldsmobile would stop for me even before it slowed, and by the sweet voices of the family inside it I knew we'd have an accident in the storm.
The man and the wife put the little girl up front with them and left the baby in back with me and my dripping bedroll. "I'm not taking you anywhere very fast," the man said. "I've got my wife and babies here, that's why."
You are the ones, I thought. And I piled my sleeping bag against the left-hand door and slept across it, not caring whether I lived or died. The baby slept free on the seat beside me. He was about nine months old.
... But before anyof this, that afternoon, the salesman and I had swept down into Kansas City in his luxury car. We'd developed a dangerous cynical camaraderie beginning in Texas, where he'd taken me on. We ate up his bottle of amphetamines, and every 80 often we pulled off the Interstate and bought another pint of Canadian Club and a sack of ice. His car had cylindrical glass holders attached to either door and a white, leathery interior. He said he'd take me home to stay overnight with his family, but first he wanted to stop and see a woman he knew.
Under Midwestern clouds like great grey brains we left the superhighway with a drifting sensation and entered Kansas City's rush hour with a sensation of running aground. As soon as we slowed down, all the magic of travelling together burned away. He went on and on about his girlfriend. "I like this girl, I think I love this girl--but I've got two kids and a wife, and there's certain obligations there. And on top of everything else, I love my wife. I'm gifted with love. I love my kids. I love all my relatives." As he kept on, I felt jilted and sad: "I have a boat, a little sixteen-footer. I have two cars. There's room in the back yard for a swimming pool." He found his girlfriend at work. She ran a furniture store, and I lost him there.
The clouds stayed the same until night. Then, in the dark, I didn't see the storm gathering. The driver of the Volkswagen, a college man, the one who stoked my head with all the hashish, let me out beyond the city limits just as it began to rain. Never mind the speed I'd been taking, I was too overcome to stand up. I lay out in the grass off the exit ramp and woke in the middle of a puddle that had filled up aroundme.
And later, as I've said, I slept in the back seat while the Oldsmobile--the family from Marshalltown--splashed along through the rain. And yet I dreamed I was looking right through my eyelids, and my pulse marked off the seconds of time. The Interstate through western Missouri was, in that era, nothing more than a two-way road, most of it. When a semi truck came toward us and passed going the other way, we were lost in a blinding spray and a warfare of noises such as you get being towed through an automatic car wash. The wipers stood up and lay down across the windshield without much effect. I was exhausted, and after an hour I slept more deeply.
I'd known all along exactly what was going to happen. But the man and his wife woke me up later, denying it viciously.
"Oh-no!"
"NO!"
In a minute the driver, who'd been slumped over the wheel, sat up and peered at us. His face was smashed and dark with blood. It made my teeth hurt to look at him--but when he spoke, it didn't sound as if any of his teeth were broken.
"What happened?"
"We had a wreck," he said...
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Are you drinking?
washed-up, on shore, the old yellow notebook
out again
I write from the bed
as I did last
year.
will see the doctor,
Monday.
"yes, doctor, weak legs, vertigo, head-
aches and my back
hurts."
"are you drinking?" he will ask.
"are you getting your
exercise, your
vitamins?"
I think that I am just ill
with life, the same stale yet
fluctuating
factors.
even at the track
I watch the horses run by
and it seems
meaningless.
I leave early after buying tickets on the
remaining races.
"taking off?" asks the motel
clerk.
"yes, it's boring,"
I tell him.
"If you think it's boring
out there," he tells me, "you oughta be
back here."
so here I am
propped up against my pillows
again
just an old guy
just an old writer
with a yellow
notebook.
something is
walking across the
floor
toward
me.
oh, it's just
my cat
this
time.
out again
I write from the bed
as I did last
year.
will see the doctor,
Monday.
"yes, doctor, weak legs, vertigo, head-
aches and my back
hurts."
"are you drinking?" he will ask.
"are you getting your
exercise, your
vitamins?"
I think that I am just ill
with life, the same stale yet
fluctuating
factors.
even at the track
I watch the horses run by
and it seems
meaningless.
I leave early after buying tickets on the
remaining races.
"taking off?" asks the motel
clerk.
"yes, it's boring,"
I tell him.
"If you think it's boring
out there," he tells me, "you oughta be
back here."
so here I am
propped up against my pillows
again
just an old guy
just an old writer
with a yellow
notebook.
something is
walking across the
floor
toward
me.
oh, it's just
my cat
this
time.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Comic Journalism
Lengthy lecture with Joe Sacco. Pretty interesting learning about the process of making a book. 7 Years on his latest one.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Friday, April 16, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
John Rattray & Clint Peterson
Something special with john and clint. johns last line on the mini is fucking epic.
Day in LA from friendlyfire on Vimeo.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Paper Skateboards
this just showed up anonymously in my email, thought it was cool.
Skateboardanimation from Tilles Singer on Vimeo.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Floyd The Barber
16 years ago today Kurt Cobain was found with a huge hole in his head.
This version of the song kicks major ass.
Party on.
This version of the song kicks major ass.
Party on.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Friday, April 2, 2010
Green Ramp of Awesome
when i was in high school i bought these ugly ass navy blue heath kirchart emericas because i thought he was the shit.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
.
Even though I'm a fan, I'm not posting this for the music but instead for the bad ass art direction/set design/still-motion photography. Check it.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
weird metal megapost
gonin-ish from japan
direwolf, dude from behold...the arctopus' solo project
atheist, death metal with jazz influences
candlemass, doom legends
krallice, US technical black metal (footage from uzumaki)
direwolf, dude from behold...the arctopus' solo project
atheist, death metal with jazz influences
candlemass, doom legends
krallice, US technical black metal (footage from uzumaki)
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
this book shreds
great book about throwing rocks at trains by aaron cometbus, the king of bay area zines.
bukowski
| “There is a time to stop reading, there is a time to STOP trying to WRITE, there is a time to kick the whole bloated sensation of ART out on its whore-ass.” “Some people never go crazy, What truly horrible lives they must live” “That is what friendship means. Sharing the prejudice of experience.” |
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