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)
Monday, November 16, 2009
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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)
Monday, November 2, 2009
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.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Sunday, October 11, 2009
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.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
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
Saturday, July 11, 2009
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.

"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.
Labels:
architecture,
Modernisation,
pluralism,
pulp.,
whispy weaves
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