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Silly fucking lunatic with your beaded skirts and shit. Keep up the good act while everyone is so drunk they can't even tell whether or not you're bullshitting with them. I know your game, and it's spent. Bored. Washed-up. Get this thing the fuck out of here before I try my hardest to be a violent person. I'm not. (Artwork 'Grey Square' by Julie Alexander)

CeCe Peniston mix tape.

She is so magical when she touches me with her greasy LA Looks-covered hands. She lights up the sky in the middle of Yuma, east, somewhere at the bottom of the foothills where scorpions dance to her sweet melodies. She is so practical about the way in which her speakers are bumping... and to think I could have taken her home. Eerily reminiscent of the time we both crossed paths in a desolate, abandoned strip mall. Marginalised by our love for one another, she reassured me of her entourage. We felt the plight of its utter abandon, without ever having heard its last breath. "Finally it has happened to me!" I thought aloud, trying my best to find some common ground on which to stand. It's hard out here, but it is worth it and the cold keeps coming but I know it's going to get warmer sooner than later.

2nite at the Soda Bar...

Come out and have some fun tonight. Even if you aren't bored.

Take me to the doctor.

"Can you believe Susan?" asked Cheryl as she clutched her Starbucks coffee cup.
"No way! She is INSANE!" replied Tina. And they remained silent thereafter.
Bathed in the moment that embodied awkwardness and soaking in the lathery realm that was indeed splendidly dark.
Stark contrasts remained the theme for the rest of the night; tossing and turning and churning throughout a confused
and infused drunken sunbeam. Mechanically separated in order to weed out the unsavourable moments whose intentions were nothing other than insidious. Coming forward and taking steps into the morning hours. Looking forward to the humour, which would ensue. Bring me your screeching banshees with their irresistible smiling cankles. Underestimation for the sake of its own invention; betrayed movements across bleak pictures bleeding frivolously in an arbitrary sort of way. "Tucked beneath all of my glorious luxury is a neigh emancipated woman whose life is not worth living," reflected Tina whilst Cheryl continued sipping away at her venti soy hazelnut vanilla cinnamon white mocha with extra white mocha, caramel and 13 extra shots.

San Diego's original soul dance party SHAKE SHACK returns Saturday 03 October - FREE!!

It's gonna' be a lot of fun!!

San Diego is getting sexier on Thursdayz...

This blog is in disarray and left neglected many times, but I thought I'd pop in to entertain the two people who read this once in a while and announce a great event going on in San Diego tonight, namely: Spirit Photography - one of my favourite local bands.

As part of DJ Mario Orduno's ongoing Thursday nights at the sexy Soda Bar titled "Expressway To Yr Skull", Detroit's punk-centric Frustrations will also be on this bill. Don't forget to check out that sexy beast known as Brandon Welchez, who also "DJs" alongside Orduno when he is not busy playing infections chunes in Crocodiles.

Thursday 13 August 2009 / 9pm / 21+ / 3615 El Cajon Blvd. SD, 92104

More than anything else, this is your chance to shine...

Meandering about is an envious place on your spicy rack. Nodes and droves of which we once wept; keep things if only to be kept. Mis-communications for the sake of understanding... What are we doing? Random and disproportionate schemes thought up in defaulted dreams. Sunsoaked endeavours, writhing in the wind.


"This is your chance your chance to shine, little girl!", she says on a whim. Unmasking the highly unlikely fitz of your soul, with underwater images of a rusted hole... Falling down into the catalcysmic abyss; it is your only friend on this alientated dish. Must be a musty village whose eyes peered down on us and lied. Must have been a frightened child whose aspirations were tied... Down into the places we never walk alone. Mumbling, disconfigured. Words on the telephone. Hampered and unstable are our minds from left to right. Seeking new recruits is the flavour of tonight. All our friends once worried and all of them once cared. Now it's just a game they play because they're fucking scared.

Beer Hunt vs. Easter Egg Hunt

Christianity is boring, and hard boiled eggs are gross... So, we decided to have a "beer hunt", instead. What a wonderful idea, Christina! Thanks Fiona for the cool gif picture!

Under the beams; they were tired.

Conglomerate me with your managable weave.
Stoke out my flames in your moderate scene.
Lambaste me with your imperfect nipple circumference.
We sought out new ways of destroying this system, only to rediscover an old one not worth playing.
Modernisation is the new tact whilst children bend to the will of their teachers.
Embodiment of natural reactionary impulses, where fear is the new seed being marketed to teenagers. Youth group endeavour, which seems to be a spectacle for some.
This is the accessible programme, and you've ruined it.
Reference me on your job application so I can tell them the truth; about what a truly horrendous slut you've turned out to be.

Who's ever heard of a Shnozberry?

"Religion teaches the dangerous nonsense that death is not the end."
-Richard Dawkins

Tamales are good when they don't have meat in them. People can be confusing when you are trying to pay for Mexican pastries. Pizza tastes good when it's from Luigi's... and even better when it's free! Just some random thoughts from the most hated day of the week-- Monday!

So, if you know me well then you know that I have an unhealthy obsession with lasers. They are a modern marvel, and are so futuristic, even though the first "ruby laser" was ivented in 1960 and contemporary lasers have been around since the 70's... Well, I was reading BBC World News tonight and found yet another new example of how lasers can save the world...

A driverless car which is controlled by computer and uses lasers to avoid obstacles is being demonstrated in a Northamptonshire (UK) town. -BBC News

This is the Modern World...

"What kind of fool do you think I am?" begged British rock group The Jam frontperson Paul Weller as he blew our fucking minds with his band's epic brand of mod-revivalist punk music. I usually wake up every morning with a song stuck in my head that I hadn't heard (at least not consciously) for a long time, and it makes me wonder where it came from. Was it in a dream? Did it have something to do with what I did last night? Who knows... But, it is usually relevant and marks what kind of day I can expect to have. Being sick right now for the past couple days, I feel like shit, but I can always feel good knowing that some good chunes will pick me back up and put me on my feet. Today I was fortunate enough to wake up to This Is the Modern World. Anarchy!!! Paul Weller is a rare breed and I hope to one day have sex with his face. See you in hell.

THE SCENE IS OVER IF YOU WANT IT!

Coming up with a blog name is really stupid when you are surrounded by a whole bunch of cunts. Not really. But, a name is only as important as you want it to be, and when the name is a marketing point, then the art is lost... I suppose. "The scene is over" is a personal thing; a reference to a phrase, which was mostly a joke between my friend Vincent and I. We'd get drunk together and realise the ridiculousness of something in this "scene" we were in and note that "the scene is over!", OR: "The scene is FUCKING OVER!", in order to exaggerate the lunacy of something. Like if we were randomly walking through the streets of Downtown San Diego and got picked up by a punk band called "Society's Victims" and then Vincent proceeded to rip a hole through the back seat of their King Cab as a result of a violent and putrid fart, which left an odour that became an atmosphere of sewage and death in its wake. I don't expect you to understand. I guess you had to be there.

In the early 1960's, Jamaican record producers (such as the legendary Clement "Sir Coxsone" Dodd) who recorded almost wholly instrumental music really thought long and hard about the title of the song, since that was one of the only things the music listeners (and buyers) would be able to judge the record on, unless the record shop owner was nice enough to let them sample the vinyl-- that was probably not too likely on Orange Street in Kingston 1965. Nevertheless, these musicians did not have the luxury of today's blogosphere-centric world where manufactured hype and easily-accessible MP3 snippits were at their disposal. My, how things change when lasers come into the picture!

This is the electronic embodiment of an attempt to rant, write, comment, vent, and move towards a new modernism whose purpose is yet to be realised and cemented into the consciousness of those friends and acquaintances who take the time, through drunken curiosity, to delve into the fickle mind of one person in a sea of bloggers and blogs and MySpace bulletins and Facebook emotional bliss.

See you in Valhalla, brother.

"Suck a cheetah's dick." -Wesley Willis