tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79472068149106958352024-03-05T05:29:03.319-08:00It's Liquid Molten Funk--one Jagged Jaded Jilted JamMolten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.comBlogger78125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-13065558966810864842011-09-13T19:06:00.000-07:002011-09-13T19:11:36.876-07:00opethopeth - the devil's orchard<br /><br />oh <a href="http://tiny.cc/y0n5c">baller</a>.<br /><br /><br />you're welcome america.Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-28924874997059195712011-08-21T19:34:00.000-07:002011-08-21T19:57:25.543-07:00keep forgetting.
<br />keep forgetting everything.
<br />keep forgetting the order of everything.
<br />when did they happen? who was there? in what order?
<br />am i mixing some of my own stories with dreams?
<br />
<br />
<br />am i dreaming now?
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />it's all happening in 7/4. everyone knows the dance steps but me.
<br />it's all flying by me in slow-motion, wrapped up in the delirium of up-tempo jazz.
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />"CLEAR!!"
<br />
<br />The metal press comes down to my left, pressurizing, locking and then releasing steam.
<br />I grab my face in my hand and let it slide down. I sigh and pull the red lever to my right.
<br />
<br />I haven't been sleeping too well lately. Too much on my plate. The divorce. The kids. The promotion. The nightmares.
<br />
<br />What day was it? Wednesday? Christ, I could use a beer.
<br />Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-72332752421513493922011-06-21T19:39:00.000-07:002011-06-21T21:04:59.101-07:00musicmusic.<br />it always comes back to music. well, "music" and "time".<br /><br /><br />in life, i find myself boiling my politics, my love-life, my herbs, my spices, my views on international-trade, sex & drugs all in one big pot--and no matter the ingredients, no matter the stirring, no matter how i mix it all together.... i taste only the dulcet tones of one particular song. and it's the same song every time. i don't know what this song is. i don't understand any of the words in this song. it has been growing for 26 years. it has shifted and faded, changed and swelled. it never stands still and i don't know where it will go next. and it is oh so devilishly delicious.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfvHovjWQc4CUf6sj6pKTYg8ol5KBliAt8O22YYR2AfF_UpQSlbKN-RhGcWWnsi0Ydx5dC5iPXn01K_vr_4H81VTBrDAXw8VR8UnjDJuc3TpB5ACyOf64QgpXBcNSRNNwvHumqcG-A1qTb/s1600/7608004-our-food-are-music-tableware-and-musical-notes-in-the-plate-on-the-white-background.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 159px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfvHovjWQc4CUf6sj6pKTYg8ol5KBliAt8O22YYR2AfF_UpQSlbKN-RhGcWWnsi0Ydx5dC5iPXn01K_vr_4H81VTBrDAXw8VR8UnjDJuc3TpB5ACyOf64QgpXBcNSRNNwvHumqcG-A1qTb/s400/7608004-our-food-are-music-tableware-and-musical-notes-in-the-plate-on-the-white-background.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620880323939508850" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />so, yes, also, i can taste music.<br /><br /><br /><br />i haven't played bass in over a week. i tried to play drums today but gave up after 10 minutes because i was having a "not-feeling-it-sesh,-man". i wish i had more time to rock out, i really do. lately i've been doing gads of things (i didn't really use 'gads' there) and just haven't had the time. it's like will ferrel in old school<br /><br />FRANK: "Maybe bed, bath & beyond. i don't know. i don't know if we'll have enough Time!"<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0n9Tx9n2XUrFvrY-rYIYGLEmTJ37csLjFL7z0SYWp48EyIMsUo2WsnoZFVzzThXAWf38oMMcrQrj0Kio9jR16WF1HrlgJfchgRPr_Pd19OP33WVRiYf6q-JnzLNinnGy1ac5tGZz9-a3_/s1600/bottoms-up.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0n9Tx9n2XUrFvrY-rYIYGLEmTJ37csLjFL7z0SYWp48EyIMsUo2WsnoZFVzzThXAWf38oMMcrQrj0Kio9jR16WF1HrlgJfchgRPr_Pd19OP33WVRiYf6q-JnzLNinnGy1ac5tGZz9-a3_/s400/bottoms-up.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620885889234085298" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />but it's true. that's what life is. figuring out what to do with your time.<br />and looking at it now, im starting to think i haven't lost as much music as i think i have. as im sitting here writing this i realize i've lived a shit-ton of lady gaga songs over the past couple months. i've gonna my swag on to more than one ke$ha song. i think i saw britney spears live a few weeks ago (fuzzy memory, lost cell phone, far from stage). Yea, none of these songs are ever going to make my top 500. i will never let my friends know i've ever enjoyed any of them. ever.<br /><br /><br />but who says you can't enjoy crappy music if you're with good friends? and making (more) great fuzzy memories? and who says you can't enJOy the music you don't enjoy? you have to live in the moment. you have to taste the sounds around you. you have to swirl around in whatever rhythm your song is creating.<br /><br />you can't decide which songs make you smile when you remember a city, or a place, or a friend's awful hat. you can't tell what song might drive you to take up golfing. you can't know what songs will bring you back from the edge of depression. you don't get to pick what songs make you fall in love. you don't know which songs will ultimately drive your life. and you don't get to know what song will be your last.<br /><br /><br /><br />so i sit here shirtless by the computer and i can't 1000% remember why i started writing this post. no clue. but that's ok. the tattoos emblazoned on my back are itching right now. itching for bass and for drum and for the sweet respite of time one finds just after midnight. it's time to do something i havent done in weeks. it's time to make sweet, sweet music to my bass. to add to my song. to give a little and to listen a little.<br /><br />we've all got to listen. the music is all around us. those delicious songs drop in from time to time. here and there. whenever we least expect it.<br />it's our job to take them.<br />grab them.<br />and just hold on.<br /><br />and for god's sake--- dance.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPPsFi4x2SZsj2wtSOjrMKbcT0aEE76yHmrTDQSKANYgtmLMkyWVulhn-DQRSzL-6cp3M5R3fWmiQW8q6HJzMEreVaVqHqhLACq3xuqk9Cxv2sBbVBk1lPsl0KxlCZRmFVsfKG5vgP1v4v/s1600/zoso.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 92px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPPsFi4x2SZsj2wtSOjrMKbcT0aEE76yHmrTDQSKANYgtmLMkyWVulhn-DQRSzL-6cp3M5R3fWmiQW8q6HJzMEreVaVqHqhLACq3xuqk9Cxv2sBbVBk1lPsl0KxlCZRmFVsfKG5vgP1v4v/s400/zoso.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620879449493122050" border="0" /></a>Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-81778515677383884122011-06-11T08:06:00.000-07:002011-06-11T08:28:26.031-07:00The Gears Abovethe fates lie in wait<br />the time to move is now<br /><br />shift from 2nd to 3rd<br />the low-growl on asphalt<br /><br />where are we going?<br />look up, see the ribbon unwind<br /><br />"i dont know-- forward.<br />just hold on."<br /><br />metallic teeth, alloys unhinged<br />the time to move is now<br /><br />3rd to 4th now<br />the starshine drips down<br /><br />the fates lie in wait<br />we're searching for 5th gearMolten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-9905659382701212242011-05-19T15:48:00.001-07:002011-05-19T15:49:06.468-07:00Holy ShitHoly Shit my desktop got fixed and i remembered the password to my blog.<br /><br /><br /><br />am i a 'blogger' once again?Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-21340527749949666602010-05-26T21:17:00.000-07:002010-05-26T21:54:07.561-07:00k. william scottK. William Scott.<br />Scottsdale, Arizona.<br /><br /><br />billy scott.<br />bill.<br />k.<br />the scoff (his coworkers)<br />william (his mother)<br /><br /><br />this is the man i must kill.<br /><br /><br />the K. doesn't stand for anything. it's one of <span style="font-style: italic;">those</span> names. and it's never just a "K" either. it's got to be connected at the foot to that period.<br /><br />"K.".<br /><br />like that.<br /><br /><br /><br />Germaine Street Pre-K.<br />Kelpville Elementary.<br />Kelpville High. (basketball team)<br />University of Illinois. (accountant/business classes)<br />Hilton Research Co. (consultant)<br />6', 173 lbs. 33. glasses.<br />mole over right cheek.<br />wife, daughter, dog named Sam.<br /><br /><br />every day that goes by is a day closer to when i will kill K. William Scott.<br /><br /><br />i've never met him.<br />i've never talked to him.<br />i don't even know why i need to kill him.<br /><br />but i do.<br /><br /><br />and i'm so very afraid.<br />i laugh because you think it's your <span style="font-style: italic;">laws</span>, your <span style="font-style: italic;">morality</span>, your sense of stability and reason that frighten me.<br /><br /><br />i'm sorry to tell you but they don't so much as pose a nuisance, let alone keep me at bay. i could drive onto Red Valley Rd, park beyond the culdesac, walk onto 2119 Faulton Way, jimmy the side door lock, walk in, press 5119 (his and janet's birthdays), turn left, up the stairs and glide into the bedroom on the right -- careful not to step on the creak at the foot of the door -- and slit K. William Scott ear-to-ear before janet even had a chance to wake up and scream. keep on screaming.<br /><br />i could.<br /><br />but then what?<br /><br />no, not the law. not justice. not reality. not guilt.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />the voice.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />what would happen to the voice?<br /><br />the voice i've had since i was 7. the voice that kept repeating the name "K. William Scott" like some magic elixer into my ear....<br /><br />at first i was terrified by the voice.<br /><br />doctors. therapists. psychiatrists. pills. crying. fighting. mother. no father. couldn't concentrate in school.<br /><br /><br />no one could explain it.<br /><br />no one could hear the voice but i.<br /><br />and who in the world is K. William Scott?!<br />why in the world is his name whispered into my ear every. single. day?<br /><br /><br />and what did it mean?<br /><br />was it me?<br />was <span style="font-weight: bold;">i </span>K. William Scott?<br /><br /><br />and then it happened.<br /><br /><br />google.<br /><br /><br />i was 21 years old and for a research project at school we were allowed to use internet search engines.<br /><br /><br />and there they were, my fingers tracing the letters, almost as if someone else were controlling them.<br /><br />"K-.-<space>-W-I-L-L-I-A-M-<space>-S-C-O-T-T"<br /><br />i found him.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />but it wasn't enough.<br /><br />the more i obsessed, the more the voice took shape, whispered into my brain.<br /><br />hurt him.<br />stop him.<br />kill him.<br /><br /><br />and there it was.<br /><br /><br /><br />i told no one.<br /><br />i researched more and more. frantically, moving to Arizona. searching him out. following the trail of breadcrumbs left behind. always searching, always gathering information, always hungry for K. William Scott. i needed more. i needed to end this.<br /><br />but then what?<br />why kill him?<br />who am i?<br /><br /><br />so many questions, so much doubt, so un....sure.....<br /><br /><br />what happens when i do?<br />would the voice go away?<br />would i be alone forever?<br />what was this? where am i?<br /><br />the years were peeling away around me, i didn't know who was up and what was down. i only knew K. William Scott. if i lost him....if i finished my one mission.... what would....<br /><br /><br />is this true madness?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />what am i?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />i ordered another gin and tonic, using two fingers to massage my aching forehead, willing it all to swill away with the next drink. Jillson's was packed full tonight and when i got my drink i tipped her well. i wanted her to remember me and keep bringing them as i needed them. i sipped on the cool, soothing elixer, a touch of the honey-drunk buzz beginning to spiral in my mind while K. William Scott ordered his 4th Bud Light across the bar, clinking bottles with his friend Dave. all the while i watched.<br /><br /><br /><br />like always, i watched.Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-82474187708961578652010-05-25T19:49:00.000-07:002010-05-25T20:43:49.702-07:00sometimes there's a rhyme in my head.... it's weird, i've wanted to write for days and days now. and days.<br /><br />it builds up. words and thoughts overflow, get jumbled. soon, work intertwines, the days become nights, running and running, and before you know it:<br /><br />it's payday<br />it's christmas<br />it's your second wife's third honeymoon anniversary<br />it's the holocaust chapter II<br />it's the last wednesday before you die (you do realize that day is coming, right?)<br />it's national pi day<br />it's that fucking ovaltine commercial again.<br /><br />it's always.... something.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigr9y3_xAXVSIUkA4pAOIA7DMkKOsxTqgPwOl1uYWNAJMQCQXd0e3mFPq6w3gpxs2X1aGmOMMyw3XyHr982J355RydVEK4LL8hKH0UHRDzUuyQsPvI7d85XV0YNMY-YRxAE0XFNeMGD7Mh/s1600/ovaltine.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigr9y3_xAXVSIUkA4pAOIA7DMkKOsxTqgPwOl1uYWNAJMQCQXd0e3mFPq6w3gpxs2X1aGmOMMyw3XyHr982J355RydVEK4LL8hKH0UHRDzUuyQsPvI7d85XV0YNMY-YRxAE0XFNeMGD7Mh/s400/ovaltine.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475411395468340146" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />and it really is. human memory chains us to tradition, to friendships, to dates, to anniversaries, to ideas, to relationships in general.<br /><br />the longer we live and the more people we engage in, the more we're 'integrated'. the more we're 'connected'. the more we're 'stuck in place' on a social level. the more 'amalgamated' into families and dramas.<br /><br />i'm not rallying against it or anything. but it happens.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic_qv9aNMEmXs3akDZyOai3gMb_PGwHWh-RGjaU9_TUH3HIwkF6RjmndUYPXLLbFHlrJvroeGzDBESajiiCtpcvA-9BIYwlkYsmOwDPnyHSRSgkg2xdhnC1hvrWnhCWqYDGto36joBKXx3/s1600/revolution6.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 229px; height: 229px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic_qv9aNMEmXs3akDZyOai3gMb_PGwHWh-RGjaU9_TUH3HIwkF6RjmndUYPXLLbFHlrJvroeGzDBESajiiCtpcvA-9BIYwlkYsmOwDPnyHSRSgkg2xdhnC1hvrWnhCWqYDGto36joBKXx3/s400/revolution6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475412373857215298" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">down with society!<br />down with relationships!<br />burn the calendar!<br />kill everyone over 30!!</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />it's just a fact of life. and it all just seems so fast.<br /><br />sometimes it's the 'in between' moments i love the best. sometimes it's when i'm alone, unattached to anything or anyone, that i'm free to just 'be'.<br /><br />in fact, right now, when i'm finished writing this, i'll go for a walk and just smoke a cigar. just chill. jam out some tunes, maybe think a few up. get away from people, and twitter, and the internet, and my family, and my cell phone, and my dog, and my computer chair....<br /><br />no one. no thing.<br /><br />and i couldn't do it always. i do love people (<span style="font-weight: bold;">sex</span>ually, if you catch my drift). and i'm not about to forsake all my human relationships and social statuses (<span style="font-weight: bold;">sex</span>ual ones, if you catch my drift).<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4AsFgivnEZVklluR6FO1dczHk-lt6zADaPgbzCIZKOaPa_aVcV03jTq6Xl4tvPsxS5wVE5GoG7cShOasKLTrdexY-tvpTphIBR9CRGn-tLJYg88FVxBcpVR5YkT4SUMHx7dSGVBDRKwCS/s1600/black_and_mild-300x201.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 224px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4AsFgivnEZVklluR6FO1dczHk-lt6zADaPgbzCIZKOaPa_aVcV03jTq6Xl4tvPsxS5wVE5GoG7cShOasKLTrdexY-tvpTphIBR9CRGn-tLJYg88FVxBcpVR5YkT4SUMHx7dSGVBDRKwCS/s400/black_and_mild-300x201.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475418876436784978" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />just <span style="font-style: italic;">some</span>times..... there's a rhyme in your head. there's a beat under your feet. there's swagger in the air. you can taste the electricity, roll it on your tongue. starlight catches your eye. it's something......<br /><br />well, you know what i mean.Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-38648934676881168312010-03-25T14:49:00.000-07:002010-03-25T16:17:35.003-07:00the Fight Clubevery guy lives to bring the brawl.<br />every man strategizes fight scenarios.<br />every single male imagines a melee.<br /><br />every fella in here has:<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Zombie Plan</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Meteor Plan</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Aliens Plan</span><br />and <span style="font-weight: bold;">The Terrorist Plan</span>.<br /><br />this is, without question, a matter of fact.<br />a zombie attack? a meteor will crash into earth? terrorists take over? it's ok, we've got it covered. don't sweat it.<br /><br />oh, hey, there's that cute young girl Sarah, in the mall with her boyfriend Mark! she's talking non-stop, hanging onto his arm, going on and on about the new girl at your work who <span style="font-style: italic;">totally </span>wears too much eye-liner and-- "Mark, are you even listening?"<br />no, Sarah, Mark is <span style="font-weight: bold;">not</span> listening. he can't.<br />he's answering to a higher power.<br /><br />-action jackson thought processes are firing a mile a minute-<br />he's looking at those two clowns on the other side of the mall. <span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">------30 feet away, about 5'9 and 5'11, both probably right handed, 18 years old, a buck-60-ish, urban dressed, dull-eyed dimwits who aren't moving particularly quickly, the shorter one a few pounds overweight, the taller one probably lighter than mark and less sure on his feet, wearing awkward skater shoes, cant run, he's the quicker target, carrying a lightweight bag probably clothes in it, one park bench heavy enough to hold Mark's weight should he need the hurdle in between, a trash can with a removable lid, heavy plastic, one of those planted indoor trees about 10 feet to the left, a full glass wall, roughly 40 other witnesses in the immediate area/people to break it up if things go wrong, his left leg hurts from that bruise on his shin, lead with the right, tense the knuckles, untense, no other real props, a man carrying a cane or umbrella? 20 feet ahead, Sarah can be kept out of range, the tall one has long pullable hair, take one out first as quick as possible, then concentrate on the other, exits behind me towards the bathroom, no cops, can they ID me, where is.....</span></span><span style="font-size:130%;">.----</span><br />"oh, yea. totally. i agree," says Mark.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">like fuck</span> Mark agrees.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4322cjgtbdTD2idbrPrxmjEwgAP6GeRa91D9HugMnRIcDTjV-mDu3Sem_rkTfIhAqQ9A0005jFw1DX-dlf3FaLsHf6lj8r2_2TZY2g69G6NDnx3AuYdY9TZqqR0uHT8pH_Ral487PzF1-/s1600/aeT2.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 313px; height: 233px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4322cjgtbdTD2idbrPrxmjEwgAP6GeRa91D9HugMnRIcDTjV-mDu3Sem_rkTfIhAqQ9A0005jFw1DX-dlf3FaLsHf6lj8r2_2TZY2g69G6NDnx3AuYdY9TZqqR0uHT8pH_Ral487PzF1-/s400/aeT2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452710244694576594" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">status of this dbag: fucked</span><br /><br /><br />all this goes down in a matter of 2 seconds in some weird T1000 / Terminator mode that flickers on and then back off in a blink of an eye. it's entirely subconscious. Mark doesn't even know the two kids walking by in the mall. Mark doesn't even care, he wasn't <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> getting ready to fight them...but if for some reason those two fuck-bags turned into zombies or terrorists or just decided to attack Mark and Sarah-- Mark was ready to flipkick those mothers in their dirty zombie mouths, crack some necks, flee to safety, and evade any identification. But they don't. And Mark doesn't care. And Sarah keeps talking about <span style="font-style: italic;">that girl at work</span>.<br /><br />well guess what Sarah? you're welcome.<br />Mark just planned on saving your life. and I don't know if anyone's told you, but maybe <span style="font-style: italic;">you</span> wear entirely too much eye-liner. did you ever think of that? did that <span style="font-style: italic;">ever</span> occur to you? did you ever think of that <span style="font-style: italic;">or</span> think about your own survival in the face of cataclysmic and life-threatening disaster? of course not.<br /><br />you're a selfish, selfish girl Sarah, and I think maybe I'll talk to Mark about finding a girl who really <span style="font-style: italic;">gets</span> him. (and doesn't listen to entirely too much Taylor Swift).<br />now I know women <span style="font-weight: bold;">can</span> think this way, I'm not saying they can't. I'm just saying all men do. all the time.<br /><br />it happens every day. it usually happens every hour.<br /><br />we plan ahead--not for our weekend at your parents house in June, Sa<span style="font-weight: bold;">rAh</span>--but for the inevitable. we hone our minds to become strategic, precise, killing tacticians. it's not just killing and fighting. it's <span style="font-style: italic;">running to the gun shop</span> if there's a zombie outbreak. it's planning on <span style="font-style: italic;">stockpiling food, sexy lubes and weapons</span> in the event of any kind of survival scenario. it's<span style="font-style: italic;"> hotwiring that camaro</span> with the top down in the parking lot if the government moves in to take him down.<br /><br />maybe it's some leftover human survival instinct--born of territorial and/or self-defense mechanisms. i don't know.<br />maybe it's a product of violence in media --our glorification of the dominant, aggressive, explosive power of man. could be. right?<br />and maybe it's just boredom.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">places it happens the most:</span><br />-anywhere with girlfriends/wives<br />-church<br />-supermarket<br />-walking in public places<br />-school<br />-prison (visiting)<br />-driving<br />-your mother's family dinners<br />-the shower<br />-in dreams<br />-on the toilet<br />-on the Septa bus<br />-at work<br />-on the phone<br />-in the city<br />-boarding airplanes<br />-crashing onto desert islands<br />-working in morgues<br />-watching men in black II<br />-when breathing<br />-7:30 pm (everyday)<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />and that's just a handful. it's a constant motion in there, Sarah. an urge to kill, to brawl, to remove the head from the body (zombies), to survive. we can't then be expected to listen to every.<br />--single.<br />---word.<br /> ------you.<br /> ---------are.<br /> ----------saying. zzzzzzzzzzz.....<br /><br />we have to stay sharp. we have to stay focused. we have to save <span style="font-style: italic;">your</span> life.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_MdecGVzC14Pyi4kd_JDXrTa26wnmYLcCsfiWWn7_YcM2H0ZnmVnCwaI_eNNO3gdHt8mtv3xTNdAJTK1t0LyevL5DKN-5uhMjDxhjDjzRvAKGUbERs16kbU54f9xRMEKBNpvxISMjVQ9M/s1600/zombie.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 221px; height: 332px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_MdecGVzC14Pyi4kd_JDXrTa26wnmYLcCsfiWWn7_YcM2H0ZnmVnCwaI_eNNO3gdHt8mtv3xTNdAJTK1t0LyevL5DKN-5uhMjDxhjDjzRvAKGUbERs16kbU54f9xRMEKBNpvxISMjVQ9M/s400/zombie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452710121472254178" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">they could be anywhere</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />so yes, Sarah, Mark<span style="font-weight: bold;"> is</span> listening. listening to his heart. and right now his heart is measuring the number of steps it takes from here to that park bench, to the launch-off, to the angle he should drop that elbow in the face of that old lady carrying her groceries (seriously favoring her left hip) on the way out of Super Fresh. i mean, if that bitch decides to turn into a body-snatching alien and open her jaws up wider than her head and try to swallow you Sarah, boy is she <span style="font-style: italic;">totally </span>fucked.<br /><br />this is man's curse.<br />this is man's gift.<br />this is his baptism into a nightmarish, <span style="font-style: italic;">delicious</span> world of violence and glory.<br /><br /><br /><br />this is the real-life Fight Club.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcel8lU1Yo82l45UluuMGAlTGpsDPYdc3eOpTiVNONp7DOo8Klxp4OBYg5vV14sQGBif271GFHpKPWFfG5P09SbQTzAQNMFRK_mu9IqUAArCyJrUMSZbNAEcDXept39VvlJ0cSIZT5BSkZ/s1600/fight-club-brad-pit-tyler.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 374px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcel8lU1Yo82l45UluuMGAlTGpsDPYdc3eOpTiVNONp7DOo8Klxp4OBYg5vV14sQGBif271GFHpKPWFfG5P09SbQTzAQNMFRK_mu9IqUAArCyJrUMSZbNAEcDXept39VvlJ0cSIZT5BSkZ/s400/fight-club-brad-pit-tyler.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452710038490500242" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">and we all totally want that body.</span>Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-79859356160955328002010-03-15T20:58:00.000-07:002010-03-15T20:59:21.540-07:00this is it.this is all.Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-90534835383203767692010-02-22T16:24:00.000-08:002010-02-22T16:50:01.098-08:00blogging. it's gay.blogging is gay.<br /><br />gay, you say? like, dude-on-dude gay? oh yes, it's incredibly gay. that's why i never get around to it. i'm usually knee-deep in women's vaginas and plowing my way through hot virgin sluts (yes, virgin sluts).<br /><br />that being said, i may one day need to become a world-famous writer (if my plan on becoming a world-famous shark-watch salesman doesn't pan out). and i may need to keep writing. and while i don't think my writing will be anything like this, i assume it does help to slap together a few paragraphs like this, have no one read them and then do it again on occasion more to keep my fingers used to using a keyboard than anything else.<br /><br />and i guess if i hit a low-point in my life and i'm strapped for cash (because i bought a mike green Lamborghini) i can always write porn? right?<br /><br />lastly, i go onto youtube and type in 'funk' or 'metal' or 'badass jam' and look around until i find something that catches my attention every time i write on this site. and.... all i can say is <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eg7i1-zPX68&NR=1">japan.</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6SackQgTXP6SV9d6hO_8xdJvgoqCLSjCC9LYeC_ku2_hzvmn89oXaOycnO_ZgNm50uHwPTN9AEUF7uvO1HdS-v_R-XNWEOi3s1bYVSMBVjQNk2PylJnoZup-ZStFI76TYiB49lk3i6Ov3/s1600-h/greenlyfe.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 359px; height: 98px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6SackQgTXP6SV9d6hO_8xdJvgoqCLSjCC9LYeC_ku2_hzvmn89oXaOycnO_ZgNm50uHwPTN9AEUF7uvO1HdS-v_R-XNWEOi3s1bYVSMBVjQNk2PylJnoZup-ZStFI76TYiB49lk3i6Ov3/s400/greenlyfe.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441234549361984770" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />http://www.greenlife52.com/<br />4lyfe!!!<br /><br />my god, looking at this, i realize i could write an entire blog dedicated to how gay mike green <span style="font-weight: bold;">actually</span> is. if only i wasn't busy doing anything else.Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-66991109447170955922010-02-11T20:30:00.000-08:002010-02-11T20:38:53.355-08:00new gigSometimes i think everything is fine. And sometimes i feel like i need a new gig.<br /><br /><br />is it weird i feel like i should have been famous?<br /><br /><br />i'm not sure how. or why. but i can feel it in my bones.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">i </span>should be the one on tv.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">i </span>should be the topic of discussion.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">i</span> should have my own clever t-shirt slogans.<br /><br />things i could be famous for:<br /><br />-genius<br />-serial-killer<br />-rock star<br />-writer<br />-Truman Show (you're all watching MY life)<br />-invent an infomercial product<br />-spokesperson for infomercial product<br />-badass athlete<br />-silent athlete<br />-4th string quarterback (NFL)<br />-really good at chess.... <span style="font-weight: bold;">and</span> banging girls<br />-terrorist hunter<br />-super villain that never dies and is integral to the show<br />-astronaut<br />-date celebrity<br />-made for tv movies<br />-got off for murder because i'm white<br />-hold my breath for 10 minutes<br />-owns 5,000 snakes (appear on oprah)<br />-am god.<br /><br /><br />again, i don't know what i was meant to be-- but chances are it could have been one of them. i need to look into it. i just never seem to have the time.<br /><br />-sigh-Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-87610524126295567562010-01-26T21:10:00.000-08:002010-01-26T21:28:57.956-08:00where the funk?Where DOEs funk come from really?<br /><br /><br />-mistaken time signature 'on-beats'<br />-intentional emphasis on the '1' and the '3'<br />-Hans Gruber<br />-hip-checking at the blue line<br />-Alien<span style="font-weight: bold;">s </span>(the movie)<br />-bass guitar<br />-alcohol<br />-marijuana<br />-antifreeze<br />-<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5OBcqlOB1i4">THIS</a> guy<br />-peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches<br />-the pope (circa 1734 <span style="font-weight: bold;">BC</span>)<br />-dennis chambers (drums)<br />-black people (who aren't D-Chamb)<br />-Uranium Bassment<br /><br /><br /><br />my money's on THAT guy, but all in all, i'll ask----<br />what is it <span style="font-weight: bold;">really</span>?Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-91532133677235891362010-01-11T14:37:00.000-08:002010-01-11T16:54:09.248-08:00yearnin' n burnin'we were driving home from work today listening to mmr's Jackson on the radio. He was reading reports about a huge forum for people 'dealing with depression' after seeing the movie Avatar. oh yes, this was a real thing. an online community for people obsessing over a james cameron movie.<br /><br />My first thought was 'it's a movie jack-asses'. are people really suffering from bouts of depression and considering suicide because the mythical land of Pandora does, indeed, not exist?<br /><br />my second thought was, 'oh my god, maybe that was why i was feeling so blah today!'.<br /><br />my third thought was 'no, it's philadelphia suffer-monday' where we reflect on the weekend in football. ThAt's why i feel so blah. (incredible suffering and depression are to be expected after losing to the fucking cowboys)<br /><br />my fourth thought was 'what's for dinner?'<br /><br /><br /><br />--but the real point was, maybe it was a little of everything. and maybe seeing Avatar last night <span style="font-style: italic;">has</span>, in some way, made me feel kind of like i'm... missing something.<br /><br />the special effects were insane. the imaginary world was complex, rich, deep and believable (as believable as human-kind overlooking a moon of jupiter as being perfect to support healthy, lush and incredibly advanced life can be). and aside from the pocahontas-predictable storyline it <span style="font-weight: bold;">was </span>a kickass planet. and a part of me <span style="font-weight: bold;">does</span> yearn for something that beautiful and that pristine and that wild and undiscovered.<br /><br />so i guess, in a way, this movie has affected me in my daily life (for 1 day at least). i'm just like all these jamokes on the avatar forums, i guess. and i better sign up before all the good Navi names are taken!<br /><br />except it's <span style="font-weight: bold;">not</span> a depression per say. this feeling i've had all day-- it's a hunger. it's a self-destructive need. it's a primal force that belies reason. it's an urge to just see what happens when you set something on fire.<br /><br />it's rooted deep within me and i can't explain it. it doesn't have a name or a face. and little things always touch upon it. they nibble at the edges. no one thing really captures it completely. it's always just out of focus.<br /><br />it's in that moment the knockout punch lands in one of those epic hockey fights.<br />it's in the way the guitar note bends just the right way during the monumental solo.<br />it's in the taste of pain when your body tells you to stop running but you laugh and run harder.<br />it's in the swell of adrenaline that courses through your blood when you hear a car crash.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />it's wanting to<span style="font-style: italic;"> escape</span>.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />whether it's to a magical beautiful world, or to a place beyond words, or a higher level of knowing, or a different spiritual plane. it's the will for release.<br /><br />i am by no means suicidal. this should be clear to anyone who knows me. but i<span style="font-weight: bold;"> do</span> feel the pull from time to time. the pull towards chaos. i want to watch the speedometer needle press all the way to 140 and break. i want to dive headfirst over a cliff thousands of feet above the jagged rocks and crashing waves. i want to be launched into some spiraling supernova sunfire. i want to be twisted in some grand cataclysmic celestial event. i almost <span style="font-style: italic;">need</span> it.<br /><br />i long to be devoured in flames and beauty, to be set ablaze and unfurl across a dull, grey sky. some sort of escape. i mean, we're trapped inside these bodies for oh so long sometimes. how many days in a row do we wake up in the same world? how many weeks in a row have we drove through the same traffic? how many times do we look in the mirror and see the same person? life is awesome and all, but.... what <span style="font-weight: bold;">is</span> out there? what am i missing? what facet of living is yet to be discovered? what happens on the other side of life? is this step 1 of a 40-step program called 'Life, Death, and Beyond'?<br /><br />i know most of us play it safe, myself especially (living at home, working for my parents, girlfriend up the street). it's tough for people to burn, burn, burn in this life because, frankly, it could be that this is it. no second chances. no start-overs. and that scares people and i understand why. it scares me, too.<br /><br />but i just wonder what happens when you shake things up. maybe it's not so much about escaping 'life' as it is just escaping 'predictability'. escaping 'immobility'. i not only want to live, i want to live to the fullest. i want to taste every one of life's flavors. i want to punch random strangers in suits, i want to donate all of my money to a country musician i've never heard of, i want to climb a corporate building wearing a nixon mask, i want to have sex with the pope on a nationally televised episode of Oprah.<br /><br />i want to do any and everything i can outside of 'normal'.<br /><br />the repetitive nature of our lives just wears on the brain. my conscious can only take it so long before it needs change. maybe it's some inner, hopeless life-version of ADD. maybe it's a deep-rooted Fruedian obsessions with weiners. maybe i'm totally nuts and i really do have some serious self-destructive depressive urge towards suicide. but i think it's something else.<br /><br />life, literally, is<span style="font-style: italic;"> literally</span> too short, literally. (to use a cliche').<br /><br />and while yes, sometimes i <span style="font-weight: bold;">do </span>want to die flaming in an indy stock car hurtling off the Golden Gate bridge while listening to 'In Flames-The Hive' there are other things i want to do <span style="font-weight: bold;">while alive</span> as well. Like wake up an hour early and smoke a cigar and go for a walk before work one day. Or take a train somewhere west of West Chester (I've never been farther west). just, escape the mundane. and maybe that's how it happens--just one simple step at a time. maybe i'll do hundreds of simple, tiny side-steps in life before i finally go covered in gasoline into the night air, free-falling from a plane without a parachute, hurtling down towards the earth like some shooting star, aimed directly at Freddy Hill.<br /><br />so here's to those avatar goons, here's to those that read this, here's to the kids who dress up like superman, here's to the pope and his sweet ass, and here's to the hope that we all burn out bright into the night, raging, uncontrollable unconsolable infernos because --fuck it, that's all that's left to do in the end. and i want it.<br /><br />yearnin' and burnin'.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />PS - i'm telling you-- i'm <span style="font-weight: bold;">going</span> to go to europe alone in the next year. and oh, i'll DO it.<br />i'm inSANE.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf0EeTVThOxvrtODS9fhtJ_QAohc6BLGUCRjEEmvv_a_v1BNxuexpHVX1H6AbZcWTNsnDMAyO_ehojChrfFjYRrXbt3g9pRrd-MG1zhZ9a_PNxKnPxyC-AEdAeUy9lP7B9uZCEXcD9jI2A/s1600-h/avatar+bird.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 223px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf0EeTVThOxvrtODS9fhtJ_QAohc6BLGUCRjEEmvv_a_v1BNxuexpHVX1H6AbZcWTNsnDMAyO_ehojChrfFjYRrXbt3g9pRrd-MG1zhZ9a_PNxKnPxyC-AEdAeUy9lP7B9uZCEXcD9jI2A/s400/avatar+bird.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425635707832614290" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />my avatar name woulda been:<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">AgroCrag</span>Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-68178519373055106672010-01-05T15:40:00.000-08:002010-01-05T21:31:46.411-08:00Primal Groovesi was searching youtube for some sweet-ass bass and/or drum jams and i happened upon a real gem. one of those low-down grooves that soaks you all the way to your toes and you hear it echo in your head, in your fingers, in your dinner and in every other song you hear.<br /><br />you <span style="font-weight: bold;">have </span>to go back and listen to it even if it means risking <span style="font-style: italic;">further</span> addiction to the song. And i did. And it did.<br /><br />and it was enough to drive a man mad...... or write a poem.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />so i listened to this song on repeat like 400x while i wrote it and edited it. to get the full effect you have to open the song up and listen while you read it. they just 'have' to go together for some reason. give it a shot.<br /><br />(couldn't figure out how to get it to open in new window, right-click and do it yourself)<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N4OqNvamScM">Sei Bass Jam</a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Primal Grooves</span><br /><br />yes, the subject is fresh.<br />yes, it leaks out of skin.<br />-it branches itself out.<br />.it comes from within-<br /><br />until this whole tree-<br />until these veins whole-<br />blend in \ to one earth<br />bleed in \ to one girth<br /><br />a tone, like our sun,<br />bright woven jaden silk-<br /><br />-hiding under in-time,<br />skewed all in off-rhyme-<br /><br />the low-down grunge "growl".<br />decibels, dripping on down.<br />Listen these sounds full-swell<br />warmth:<br />of the color brown.<br /><br />it is what it will was--<br />cooling hotness gone 'wry.<br />fingers rip harmonic vines,<br />tearing up in frett'd lines<br /><br />the oct*ave power 8,<br />blue shift: to s l o w down time.<br />love lost's lusts create.<br />nature's thump, a groove divine.<br /><br />it reaches branch to branch<br />swinging tendril till enhance<br />the core. the breath. the dance.<br /><br />you groove 'full in<br />you groove 'half out<br />don't stop. don't think or care.<br />do it with unwavering flare_<br /><br />[it's alive. it's inside.<br />glowing growing groots]<br />it's spiral-synapse shaded green.<br />this vel-vet touch, yet still unseen.<br /><br />eternal unconstant,<br />the black behind our space,<br />a million heartbeat journey,<br />this call: to 'Funkin' bass--<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N4OqNvamScM"><br /></a>Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-82643999464948350202009-12-23T15:07:00.000-08:002009-12-23T16:53:59.570-08:00dEAR DiArYSo i was walking along out front of my house yesterday, minding my own business, reflecting on life and how I could better children's lives and shit when I found this diary. I mean, there's snow and shit everywhere from the 'Blizzard to End All Blizzards' last week and my foot just sorta hit something hard sticking out of the snow.<br /><br />I bend over to pick it up and it's this flowery pink mini-book that just reads "DiArY" (with the caps just like that) and a broken lock on the side. I look around, pick it up and hey--why not look inside? Maybe it's got a name or an address or something inside.<br /><br />Nope, nothin.<br /><br />I kinda read a couple sentences, it's all done in green pen and the pages all have faded gay flower backgrounds. Cursive. Alot of underlining and bolding. Loopy L's and hearts over random letters. What do I care about some teenage girls diary, right?<br /><br />I'm about to throw it as far as I can behind these houses in spite (I am, after all, a dude) but during the wind-up-<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">CRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!</span></span><br /><br />I am a dude. And it was only 7pm. But that was the biggest, blackest, <span style="font-weight: bold;">loudest</span> crow I'd ever heard in my entire life. And we don't get crows here in Lansdale. Some shit was definitely going down. I froze and watched that sucker perch on a tree across the street and just look at me.<br /><br />Again, I am a dude. And I am NOT superstitious but... I don't know I just <span style="font-style: italic;">felt</span> like going home right quick. And it was getting cold and everything. And in my surprise I guess I put the diary in my coat pocket and forgot about it--even though, it's weird, I don't remember ever <span style="font-style: italic;">put</span>ting the book in my pocket.<br /><br />Anyhow, later that night I found the book on my computer desk. I guess I took it out of my pocket and put it there. And I started idly leafing through it and trying to get a feel for <span style="font-weight: bold;">who</span>'s diary this was.<br /><br />Was she a nerd? Could she be a hot 20-something year old? How was her grammar? (I really, literally, actually thought that. English major disease.)<br /><br />I decided I just had to share what I found. For fun. I'll try my best, but I don't know that I can manage all the <span style="font-weight: bold;">bold</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">italics</span>, underlining, misspellings and emotion she really put into it.<br /><br /><br />Here's a cute little part:<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFoQLd9zSiadw-nBRCrDY2NLieQwFYOuJrB5itCxTjFGKUm-UWfL5ZTufrB9lIiJSpuNa7a6UFMxTElmaQwQvHAvUExRyHrpQUhOJmh4BfM58LtcXFiLDgkLkP18Adg479Sl0SOccwCq_3/s1600-h/diaryyyyia.bmp"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 278px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFoQLd9zSiadw-nBRCrDY2NLieQwFYOuJrB5itCxTjFGKUm-UWfL5ZTufrB9lIiJSpuNa7a6UFMxTElmaQwQvHAvUExRyHrpQUhOJmh4BfM58LtcXFiLDgkLkP18Adg479Sl0SOccwCq_3/s400/diaryyyyia.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418594384386946466" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">dEAR DiArY,<br /> i know its been awhile since we talked. its been like <span style="font-style: italic;">age</span>s, am i right? (or am i right!?) and ive done soooooo much at school it's like crazy!!! ive got homework from mr. cadmere again, can you believe it? i mean THAT for starters. than there's all sorts of THINGS been happening between kara and me again but its totally not true i like jimmy stiffle -- he totally blows his nose practically allllll the tiiiimeeeee. maybe if i was a giant <span style="font-style: italic;">tissue box</span>. hahahaaa shes so retarted sometimes it's like duhhhhhhh kara, but i need her for the dance her dad is gonna get us like a limo or a escalade or a something really expensive and i dont want her to just go with jules and sarah and them without mEE. and did you know fishes can not swim backwards diarY? HaahHa i learned that today in school and then totally was BoRRReeeeddddddd for like 10 strait hours for nothing. but i feel good again today diarYYYY!! except sometimes my nose it still has the pain. it still comes and my head starts to hurt and it's like someone is squeezing in my brain and there are dark clouds everywhere. my mom says maybe its migrains and the hay and everything but i dont like it. i just wish it would stop the red the RewD RED red the red</span> [<span style="font-size:100%;">note: there were splashes of dark red on this page but the girl apparently ignored it and kept writing over it]</span> <span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-size:130%;">redd<span style="font-weight: bold;">ddD</span>Ddd ..... <3><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">kill </span></span>my family especially my brother dillan who's the most retarted in the family. <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:180%;">tHe</span> </span>whole family thinks he's going to go to a smart high school and that's all they talk about and he'll run for <span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">preSiDenT</span></span> </span><span style="font-size:130%;">and</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">it's like i dont even exist anymore. weLL DiArY i probbly have to go lay down and do homewOrk or something my head is starting to <span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">KIlllllll </span></span>again and my sto<span style="font-style: italic;">mach</span> hurts and the stupid <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">bird</span> is outside my window again i hate that bird i hate it HATE IT HATE ITTTTTTT that bird i <span style="font-weight: bold;">want to kill</span> it i want to <span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">KiLLll </span></span>it i hate IT its looking at me that crow. it crWWW its aLWAYS looking at me and I need to kiLL<span style="font-size:85%;"> tr</span>he <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" >PResiden</span>t kill the bird Fcckkkk theFFFF the <span style="font-size:100%;">PR<span style="font-size:180%;">E</span>SI<span style="font-size:180%;">de</span></span><span style="font-size:180%;">nt</span> I <span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">nee</span></span>d kiiiiiiiiii- <span style="font-size:100%;">[note: there are strange symbols and markings I can't recreate with the computer etched into the page here] </span>-to </span>lay down i don't feel good no more but it was good to catch up and i guess ill prob write in you again before the big dance next week and i dont even know if i want to ask anyone, especially not jimmy stiffle and i dont care what kara says i <span style="font-weight: bold;">Don't</span> Like Him!!! i know jules is going without anyone so ill prob just go with herr and it'll be so much fun!!<br /><br />PS - totally hate homework today!!! :-# !!!!!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">I figured the grammar wasn't too hot, probably your stereotypical 7th grade teeny bopper girl. Spelling was a little off for her age group but kids these days are ruined by the internet and text messaging. It's only a matter of generations before we writers are heralded as either a) gods among men with doctor-like intelligence or b) archaic useless paleontologists who might as well sign up as trash collectors.<br /><br />Whichever it is, I've still been reading more into this diarY to try and get a read on something I can't put my finger on. Something is just a little 'off' about these entries and I can't <span style="font-style: italic;">quite</span> figure it out. I'm sure it's something stupid or as simple as 'she doesn't use apostrophes correctly.' Ahh the youth of today. Bunch of crazy little flip-a-shits. I should throw this stupid diary out but I just... can't. It's weird.<br /><br />Anyway I'd transcribe another entry but my head is fucking<span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><span>kiLL</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">i</span>ng me. Maybe I'll try to get <span style="font-size:100%;">my hands on some perks and pop some of them suckers and sip on some Sailor Jerry's--that's mother nature's cure. I hope it doesn't have to do with these damned nose bleeds I've been getting. Until next time, my bLoG....</span><br /><br /><br /><br />PS - I did the math. Even if the Flyers won the rest of their games and all the top teams lost over 50% of the rest of theirs, we'd have about a 2% shot at capturing the <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pre</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;">si<span style="font-size:180%;">E<span style="font-size:130%;">Nts</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> trophy.</span></span></span></span><br /></span></span></span>Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-73377441430448768442009-12-22T14:42:00.000-08:002009-12-22T14:45:34.302-08:00Hair --- i have it.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZzDNrsIRWVQIlObYZOXjSmjrYhLBOxE0SVP1zqyfqbezqyLUkZ-v7NBWHryh-4rwzPyWYOfVqM25Vr2QXYvUA6bjaBemaXhpYuQxDAhYq1O62utd294j6buU3WF7eFXuW7etpxPNNfjXy/s1600-h/haaiiirrrr.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZzDNrsIRWVQIlObYZOXjSmjrYhLBOxE0SVP1zqyfqbezqyLUkZ-v7NBWHryh-4rwzPyWYOfVqM25Vr2QXYvUA6bjaBemaXhpYuQxDAhYq1O62utd294j6buU3WF7eFXuW7etpxPNNfjXy/s400/haaiiirrrr.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418195126133585650" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />this is what i have.<br /><br /><br />it's thick.<br />it's luscious.<br />it's creamy.<br />it's metal.<br />it's mine.<br /><br />Sucksin A. DixxxMolten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-30535525215315910442009-12-03T14:50:00.000-08:002009-12-03T16:08:48.089-08:00+ Pronger for Prez + Cannon for Vice +<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ohhhhhhhh Wuss Hapn'en Capn'en!<br /></span><span style="font-size:78%;">(i so wanted to put a picture of Sami Kaps here)</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span><br /><a href="http://www.csnphilly.com/pages/landing_09?Tough-Spot-Pronger-Wont-Step-on-Richards=1&blockID=97611&feedID=695">Pronger Steppin' On Richie's Toes</a><br /><a href="http://www.csnphilly.com/pages/landing_09?O-Captain-My-Captain-Teammates-Defend-Ri=1&blockID=98104&feedID=695">Teammates Love the Richie</a><br /><br />It's only a couple of games in a row.<br />It's only a couple of quotes.<br />It's only talk in the media.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >“We need to make it [bleeping] happen on Thursday,” Pronger said. “It needs to [bleeping] happen now, so we can get over that hump and get this ship headed into the right direction.”</span><br /><br /><br />But once I read that quote I started thinking:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Holy shit, Prongs is a bona fide bad. ass.<br /><br /></span>It wasn't just the '[expletive]'s either (they were nice.) It was just.... it was just 'it'. So simple and to the point and strong. It's exactly what a captain <span style="font-style: italic;">should</span> say. And it's exactly what Richards would <span style="font-style: italic;">never</span> say.<br /><br />I love Mike Richards.<br />Unhealthy unequated man-love.<br />I know his birthday (Feb 11, 1985 -- 23 days before me)<br />I know his birthplace (Kenora, Ontario)<br /><em></em> I remember Richie (then on the Kitchener Rangers) fought <em></em>the balls off Corey Perry (then on the London Knights) during a playoff game.<br />I know he was drafted 24th overall behind --ughhh-- Jeff Carter.<br />I remember his first goal was a slapper inside the blue line against the Rangers.<br />I remember most of his goals (all of his shorties)<br />I remember almost all of his straight-up nasty hits.<br />I remember most all of his fights.<br />I was just at the Caps game this year where he got that Hat Trick.<br /><br />I have a custom jersey that reads CANNON (his nickname as accidentally appointed by hockey geeks on HF Hockey Boards) <a href="http://hfboards.com/showthread.php?t=441677">CANNON!!!</a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk1jNL0eX1F4DN42BzMvsu3lOHj6FqF7-bWg0eDL478jsEi8B_x8IasmC257dM_4Ai7QmDGSAm9n-utoLjThE9JV-yBj7rfioSc5goRRXQrreMqPhyTdZlFrbdnOmWqn7-Z7epIaJtiqPP/s1600-h/cannonnnnn+jersey.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 161px; height: 161px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk1jNL0eX1F4DN42BzMvsu3lOHj6FqF7-bWg0eDL478jsEi8B_x8IasmC257dM_4Ai7QmDGSAm9n-utoLjThE9JV-yBj7rfioSc5goRRXQrreMqPhyTdZlFrbdnOmWqn7-Z7epIaJtiqPP/s400/cannonnnnn+jersey.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411152297656153362" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">(oh, there's a tie-down fight strap on that bitch, too. i'm 200% L-E-G-I-T)</span><br /><br /><br />I'm not really into knowing his favorite snack or anything (although I know Jeff Carter's is Dorito's apparently) but I know and follow the guy (from a career perspective).<br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">So yea, he's my favorite athlete and I super-love him and was calling for him to be the captain since day 1.</span> But I finally think I'm ready to say Cannon might not be the answer for captain.<br /><br />Maybe he is, I don't know.<br /><br />Some guys lead by example.<br />Some guys are real vocal.<br />Some guys are scary quiet.<br />Some guys rip their own teammates throats open.<br />Some guys set their hair on fire and go insane.<br /><br />Every captain is different and every team gets captain'd in different ways. I don't know what makes this team click or <span style="font-style: italic;">not click</span> recently.<br /><br />I can't see what goes on in the dressing room. Is it a captain issue? Is it injuries? Is it a coaching issue? Something's not right with the Flyers and I'm not going to sit here and guess until I get it right. All I can tell you is what I see and I sorta kinda watch Mike Richards more than anyone else on the ice.<br /><br />and ever since my boy became captain....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg2BJkULVtNj7AgwMaxnVUAmQRL3Ai_Z-GS7mBpBJ14VWLgfxRTV684F9PBKuKRJXA4x9nBmwcQWW5iUcHuKRR1xSGhFkWAxy4m5QQaNpHuQ6D5odzc6SQwPv_GhKMuLUZ5SNjD9gtz4PW/s1600-h/richards+capn+question.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg2BJkULVtNj7AgwMaxnVUAmQRL3Ai_Z-GS7mBpBJ14VWLgfxRTV684F9PBKuKRJXA4x9nBmwcQWW5iUcHuKRR1xSGhFkWAxy4m5QQaNpHuQ6D5odzc6SQwPv_GhKMuLUZ5SNjD9gtz4PW/s400/richards+capn+question.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411165761178645474" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Captain Credit:</span><br />-been a major piece on the PP and the PK<br />-gets in the refs ear during the game<br />-leading the team in points (for the most part)<br />-still lays those nasty hits<br />-watches over his flock and his stock<br />-makes everyone around him better<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Captain Critique:</span><br />-making blind passes to the middle<br />-tries to dangle and do superstar moves instead of the simple play<br />-doesn't drop the mitts anymore<br />-hasn't been as grindy in the corners<br />-doesn't seem to yell (at teammates, opponents, or anyone)<br />-boring boring boring interviews<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />He just doesn't seem entirely comfortable with the position off the ice. Almost like he doesn't want to say anything stupid or contradict himself or anyone else on the team so he plays it safe. He's going the 'silent leader' role to appease everyone. Like he wants to 'play it cool' -- not because he thinks his shit doesn't stink anymore-- but because he's taking his role almost 'too seriously'.<br /><br />On the ice he seems to be doing just the opposite. He's acting like his new mega $ contract makes him mega-dangles Cannon machine. He's trying to fit passes and shots through miniscule windows. He's not just dumping the puck in the corner and chasing it like a madman -- he's got a new 'always got to make something happen' mentallity.<br /><br />And it's almost like he's torn between fighting for everyone on the team at once and not fighting at all because he thinks his team can't afford to lose him for 5 whole minutes. And I get alot of that attitude, you don't want your best player getting thrown out of a game for getting into a fight because that'd be just selfish but.... eh, it just seems the whole 'Captain' thing is awkward for Richie.<br /><br />Don't get me wrong. He's a great leader. He doesn't take a shift off. He plays with as much heart and determination as any single player in the entire league. He lays his body on the line. He blocks shots, he lays the lumber, he has a fucking wicked slapper and he can thread a needle through rush hour traffic with the best of them.<br /><br />And again, I don't know if he's an 'in-your-face-badass-expletive-hurling-quote-machine-mother-fucker-who-sets-the-locker-room-on-fire' guy behind closed doors. Maybe he's perfect, the team is just sucking it up and I'm imagining things. He just looks kind of 'hand-cuffed' by himself and maybe needs to see a guy who kind of wore the C on a Stanley Cup winning team. A guy who kind of won the Norris trophy. A guy who kind of won the league MVP years back. A guy who kind of is one of the most feared and dominating men in the NHL. Sure, Richie may be the guy down the wire, let's just add some more NHL 'seasoning' first.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQn-ogcoegLijiMQSrGLLUejfA36lnVdHMag2_MC5lI65kQAJuqN05PwWKqaOL66cHDT2AKOmqCcbz_ugauliwuUjSVlbAVrLkz4uILJRMtDGYkCNhAfDbEAOLnLq5B4vaH6LlGZfnkAAZ/s1600-h/pronger+king.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 272px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQn-ogcoegLijiMQSrGLLUejfA36lnVdHMag2_MC5lI65kQAJuqN05PwWKqaOL66cHDT2AKOmqCcbz_ugauliwuUjSVlbAVrLkz4uILJRMtDGYkCNhAfDbEAOLnLq5B4vaH6LlGZfnkAAZ/s400/pronger+king.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411165131606316866" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Maybe a switcheroo would be good for both of them.<br /><br />Maybe Richie can go back to just being badass my-man Richie and Pronger can yell and rant and rave and 6'6", 230 lbs all up in guys faces in that locker room and scare the ever-loving shit out of guys like Coburn and Carter. He also wouldn't have to be 'stepping on anyone's toes' with those size 30 machetes strapped to his feet.<br /><br />Maybe we have a coup of power and Pronger appoints himself king. I feel he's dangerously close to doing just that and not only is the Prongs experienced, well-accoladed and rich in knowledge and badass-itude... but he's a fucking monster.<br /><br /><br />Let's ask former Pronger teammate Chris Kunitz. Chris?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh54mNwT1PN6RL7e1Zzc3xC9CiFoKQqBvouPkOIUkofYHlnE6KOZRs6zo-A_knnEV9INRSaxMHPkD3jC-65Dfuj7aEicLqkGUWYIFT67hxujumAjrgmLBwAywFjLmlWFjfgGT4KfIaFf-OO/s1600-h/matt+cooke+died.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 344px; height: 259px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh54mNwT1PN6RL7e1Zzc3xC9CiFoKQqBvouPkOIUkofYHlnE6KOZRs6zo-A_knnEV9INRSaxMHPkD3jC-65Dfuj7aEicLqkGUWYIFT67hxujumAjrgmLBwAywFjLmlWFjfgGT4KfIaFf-OO/s400/matt+cooke+died.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411163763775168914" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />And maybe I'm entirely overanalyzing and I'm dead fucking wrong. So....Let's just fire John Stevens!Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-17934512322408789112009-11-30T21:05:00.001-08:002009-11-30T21:13:43.715-08:00saints are going all the way.... to hell.i have drew brees on my fantasy football team.<br />you don't.<br /><br />and for the record -- i don't believe in the Saints.<br /><br />i know they changed defensive coordinators -- and that explains why they're slightly better on defense. But where is this offense coming from? Are these guys 'coming into their own'? Has sean payton finally 'figured it out'? Is the team of destiny finally ready to claim it's ranks among the NFL elite?<br /><br />fuck no.<br /><br />it's god hittin 'em up in reparations for the levee's n shit. just you wait.<br />The saints will fall. (and I don't even hate them)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA2LzP-9Ey9p82XE6LUcYkTAXTq8IlvNy0ziiP9mzjtFHEh512AYmUjGHNwHRL5nYiYEP18-dsNB_sHI0nO8mcFuVi6v8Na7sd_EYHewfuOshSiix0SHJRm7_PCxjiOiNm8tL0YVMTiXHP/s1600/t1_brees.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 228px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA2LzP-9Ey9p82XE6LUcYkTAXTq8IlvNy0ziiP9mzjtFHEh512AYmUjGHNwHRL5nYiYEP18-dsNB_sHI0nO8mcFuVi6v8Na7sd_EYHewfuOshSiix0SHJRm7_PCxjiOiNm8tL0YVMTiXHP/s400/t1_brees.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410131511131407810" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />One thing's for sure though.....<br />i have drew brees.<br />you don't.Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-26923014298876756432009-11-22T15:19:00.000-08:002009-11-22T15:20:06.413-08:00things i want to do by the time i grow up....all of them.Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-41857643297486478142009-11-18T14:41:00.000-08:002009-11-18T15:14:02.874-08:00--Red Button--there's a darkness in the room. it's deafening.<br /><br />it presses in from every side, waiting. it leans forward, crowding the little pool of light cast from the desk lamp.<br /><br />i've been staring at the wood grain in the desk for 5 minutes straight now--not really seeing. i blink a couple times. it's shaped like barbara walters, but less wrinkly.<br /><br />what the fuck am i going to do for breakfast?<br /><br />i stare some more at barbara, tracing the darker brown patterns in the desk with my eyes. she stares back with that fake smile of hers. i rub my eyes and groan, leaning back in my chair, breaking the silence for the first time.<br /><br />the room reacts.<br /><br />the darkness stirs like smoke, rearranging itself throughout the study. my head, it hurts, and i can't stop rubbing my eyes. the voices begin to whisper on invisible threads and they won't go away. barbara begins chanting something sinister in a language i can't understand. i stare back at the mottled wood pattern, the darkness playing tricks, the soft sensual venom of barbara's lips moving. i'm more annoyed than anything else-<br /><br />"can you shut the <span style="font-style: italic;">hell</span> up, i'm trying to <span style="font-style: italic;">think</span> for christ's sake!" i tell her.<br /><br />the darkness is shifting, swirling, stirring to life all around me. something big is about to happen. the voices chatter, the tempo is rising, the lamp's pale light flickers. something big is about to happen. the room is awash in secret sounds and things just out of sight are moving, shifting, reaching because <span style="font-style: italic;">they</span> know--something big is about to happen.<br /><br />i try and drown it out, but it's growing to a crescendo-- "something big is about to happen..."<br /><br />"like fuck it is," i say, and i slam my fist down on the red button.<br /><br />like carbonated soda the room hisses and filters back into calm, vaunted darkness. barbara walters is just a few swirls of wood grain and the curtains are still. a sheen of stillness.<br /><br />i rub my eyes again and groan. i sit with my eyes closed for a couple minutes in the blissful silence.<br /><br />"now...what the <span style="font-style: italic;">fuck</span> am i going to do for breakfast," i wonder out loud this time. it's 4 am but i don't have anything else to look forward to until then.<br /><br />maybe i'll have ostrich. i've never had ostrich.<br /><br />a small red dot is blinking soft red on a monitor in the corner of the room, affirmative of the launch. tens of thousands will be dead in the next few hours, consumed alive in a fiery ungodly holocaust of flame. entire cities torched alive, burning into the desert night like living effigies--screaming, a crack and a pop, then a constant smoldering stillness.<br /><br />i leave the office, close the door behind me, lock it, and nod to Jenkins and Robbins. i walk towards the East Wing, the entire White House still asleep in predawn quiet.<br /><br />the inside voices shuffle and push their way to the front a little with bubbling mirth and vicious laughter. but i tell them to relax.<span style="font-style: italic;"> it's Tuesday guys, i got work and shit to do</span> i reason, shaking my head a little. maybe i need some of the pills.<br /><br />and maybe i'll have pheasant.<br /><br />it's such a pain in the ass sometimes to be president of the United States.Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-51844534358083211322009-11-11T17:11:00.000-08:002009-11-12T16:55:55.210-08:00Glory Suicides -- American TraditionJust like Harry Houdini to magic, Charlie Kelly in 'The Day Man Cometh' and Evil Knievel in stunting-- you need 'an angle.'<br /><br />Now I've been around the block. I know a thing or two. And the wave of the future is here. And <span style="font-weight: bold;">some</span>one needs to step it up. Ready for it.... it's<br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Suicide.</span><br /><br />But not just any suicide.<br />American suicide.<br />Patriotic suicides.<br /><br />.....<br />Glory Suicides.<br />.....<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Boom.</span><br /><br /><br /><br />Picture it:<br />Thousands gathered in attendance. The old, the young, men, women and children of all ages gathered around in a hushed awe, holding their breath, a glint of joy in their eyes, as their Hero is attempting a badass, awesome, jawsome, show-stopping suicide.<br /><br />Pyrotechnics.<br />Props.<br />40 Cameras.<br />Endorsements out the Wazoo.<br />Celebrities assistants.<br />T-Shirts.<br />Movie deals.<br />Monster venues.<br />Even zoo animals and circus people.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn_yH8EGJL-yRmCzz3LcrCfWcanjna__whSHpKDEVJKk-NxQVws7pgxrFfNj108Uik-CYJiMvJoIWRSpWJ5MwfLEQeterqJUcqPX02q16rrzdiTDE2EmpXfaxLQB4l_N2rS1VS9mxnu2mz/s1600-h/glory+suicide.bmp"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn_yH8EGJL-yRmCzz3LcrCfWcanjna__whSHpKDEVJKk-NxQVws7pgxrFfNj108Uik-CYJiMvJoIWRSpWJ5MwfLEQeterqJUcqPX02q16rrzdiTDE2EmpXfaxLQB4l_N2rS1VS9mxnu2mz/s400/glory+suicide.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403039464674244882" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />All in wide-eyed anticipation of a spine-shattering, fire-breathing, and yes, always wholesome first degree murder in the first person.<br /><br />Kinda leaves ya breathless, doesn't it?<br />Now throw in an American flag waving.<br />God, I just got an erection.<br /><br />I haven't worked out all the details or exactly how the scoring etc would work but how about a once-a-month tribute to the most brutal, spectacular suicides. And not just any suicide -- a Glory Suicide. Waving an American flag. Jets flying by overhead. Kids going "WoW!!!!!!". It gives me the shivers.<br /><br />Like I said, I'm still finding the right market saturation approach and collecting the raw data, looking for investors, etc etc (the ever-diligent me) but all I need now is a face and some cashflow.<br /><br />Here are the top 5 gnarly suicide ideas I've been kicking around for the program:<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Oh Chopper My Chopper</span></span><br /><br />Ok, so we rent 2 helicopters and fly them directly over top of one another. Our hero will be in the top chopper <span style="font-style: italic;">sans</span> a parachute (that's fancy for 'without'). Both choppers are holding steady directly over the stage and placed in the center of the stage is a floor-mounted Nickelodeon graduated cylinder that they used in Nickelodeon's Family Double Dare (not<span style="font-style: italic;"> like</span> the one they used--the<span style="font-style: italic;"> actual</span> one they used). Our Hero jumps out of the top one directly into the whirring blades of the lower one. The audience has to guess if his eviscerated entrails fill above the red line.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Boom.</span><br /><br />We got Shishka-[his name].<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Bonus:</span> an extra exclusive ($) ticket gets you seats in 'the pit' which is directly under both helicopters. blood shower = happy customers.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Face that Launched a Thousand Rips</span></span><br /><br />This one is more an endurance test that could take hours/days. But I figure people watch Nascar and those guys hardly <span style="font-style: italic;">ever</span> die. Our guys is 100% <span style="font-style: italic;">guaranteed </span>to die. I mean, in what other entertainment medium do you get that? Answer: None.<br />Well, our Hero will sit and kneel directly in front of the camera and take paper cuts. Oh, and he cuts <span style="font-style: italic;">himself</span>. From industrial fresh-pressed sheets of legal white over and over and over and over in his head and face until he bleeds to death and dies.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Boom.</span><br /><br />That. is. metal. It's like a horror movie -- you just can't look away. Only in this case there will be fireworks and a constant barrage of Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the USA" blaring in the background.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Bonus:</span> we will of course make Glory White the official paper supply of the Glory Suicide program. $core.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Barbed Wire Hangover</span></span><br /><br />Our Hero will play in the equivalent of a McDonald's Ball Pit -- of barbed wire. Rolling around in the pit, small individually-cut pieces of wire will be ingested by the hero and right before bleeding to death (both internally and externally), he will get out and take a seat at a dunk tank. A lucky child from the audience will get the chance to 'sink' our hero into a vat of Glory Suicide brand whiskey. He must drink his way out.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Boom.</span><br /><br />I'm only assuming he dies. From the cuts or the alcohol. If he doesn't.... well, I don't know.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Bonus:</span> The winning dunk kid gets a lifetime supply of our whiskey.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Chainsaw Chop-Up </span></span><br />Hero grabs a chainsaw. Hero hacks off own limbs one at a time. Will he be able to get all 4? Is it possible?! Can he really even do that?!! How can he--- but that doesn't---<br />Oh, he'll be able to do it.<br />Our Glory Hero is a professional.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Boom.</span><br /><br />Maybe have some tree-chopping contests going on before and afterward.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Bonus:</span> The look of sheer wonder and joy in those kids eyes is all the bonus we'll need.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Red, White, and Boom</span></span><br /><br />My personal favorite and a 'can't miss' if you have a flair for the dramatic. This Glory Suicide is a marvel of modern technology and human engenuity. It will definitely by the Grand Finale.<br />Our Hero will start by swallowing enough remote detonated explosives to take out Rosie O'Donnel. And he will do it during a good ole' American Eating Contest. Children from the audience can come up and volunteer to out-eat our Hero (sadly, with FCC and US constrictions, the children will be chowing down on something American, like apple pie, not explosives.) He will then wave goodbye, get in a military class Stealth Bomber and take off to the song "Living on the Edge" by Aerosmith.<br />Attention will be directed to the center stage where a 15-foot giant remote with a giant red button directly in the center is highlighted by 30 spotlights. This button is the detonator for all the live explosives our brave Hero just ate. The live band will be playing, they'll sell candy and stuff and put up general Glory Suicide Fun Facts! up on the jumbotron for a while.<br />Then, in a hail of 25 jet engines buzzing by overhead the stealth bomber will release our Hero out the escape hatch and skydive to the ground, hurtling hundreds of miles an hour through the air..... on fire. That's right.<br />At this point he'll need some sort of slow-down device to get his bearings straight (can't have him missing now, can we? And can't have him taking the wind out of everyone's sails by using a slow, stupid, safe old 'parachute', can we? Probably deploy some sort of MC Hammer parachute pant technology) and position himself hurtling towards the red button.<br />--and this is my favorite part--<br />The Hulk Hogan Theme - American Made will start blasting loud enough to kill small animals and oriental women. The pyrotechnics will erupt from every direction, charring and permanently blinding some (small price to pay.) The jumbotron will be going nuts and zooming in on our Hero. Dads and sons will be high-fiving and saying "phuck yea!!!!" (with a 'ph' because it's family oriented). Women in bikinis will come up in pods placed specifically beneath everyone's seats. Shit will be going bonkers. Old people will be shitting themselves. Women will be ripping their clothes off. Everyone who snuck a gun into the event (we don't even pat you down at Glory Suicides -- this is <span style="font-style: italic;">your</span> 2nd ammendment. We encourage it) will start shooting it in every direction. People will be pissing straight into the air without getting wet -- like <span style="font-weight: bold;">straight</span> up.<br />Then everything will stop all of a sudden. No noise. No one moving a muscle. These puny terrorists will appear from everywhere (hired by Glory Suicides of course) and the main terrorist will appear on the jumbtron and say something in some sandy foreign language that no one understands. Then he will grab an American flag and rip it up as everyone is trying to figure out what the <span style="font-weight: bold;">phu</span>ck this jack-off is doing.<br /><br />Errra-reerrrrrrrr?!<br /><br />The music will make that 'record skip' sound and a goofy 'BoiNg!!!' and the terrorists look all surprised and all these old WCW and WWF wrestlers will come out in their full wrestling gear grab the terrorists holding them in arm bars and headlocks. We look on the jumbotron and the main terrorist is looking scared at--<br />Oh my God!! It's Hulk Hogan!!! He shakes his finger no-no-nooooooo<br />Everyone starts chanting. And all at once Hogan drops the terrorist and the wrestlers body slam the other puny terrorists onto mini-land mines (they won't really kill the terrorists, it's just to make everyone think they do) all as the music kicks back double loud.<br />People go ridiculous! Society doesn't even make sense anymore.<br />Our attention goes back to our hero. He's hurtling closer and closer (while all this is happening) and he's finally seconds away. The audience begins a frenzied rapturous countdown.<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />9...</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">8...<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">7...</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">6...</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">5...</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">4...</span></span><br />--the air itself is on fire with it--<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">3...</span></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Closer</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">2...</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">CLOSERRRR</span></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >1...</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Boom.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Square on the button, as his body showers the audeince in human chum and they celebrate the greatest gift of life... death.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Bonus:</span> this. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xkOTfbw6nxk">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xkOTfbw6nxk</a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin4aEnvK-zqKnQDuKAssjhUR3ALD3Y5S_Y73tPkMyoQ-y7bH74YxIZu9tTIvNvjHNnQ-joQoAPkfWibdoIpRrpEhTe-C9pdZVHLsdILHlJHzt8QAR4agEEQxGWymOQPE2ysg4hPzUzttTZ/s1600-h/hulk-hogan-ripping-shirt.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 337px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin4aEnvK-zqKnQDuKAssjhUR3ALD3Y5S_Y73tPkMyoQ-y7bH74YxIZu9tTIvNvjHNnQ-joQoAPkfWibdoIpRrpEhTe-C9pdZVHLsdILHlJHzt8QAR4agEEQxGWymOQPE2ysg4hPzUzttTZ/s400/hulk-hogan-ripping-shirt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403042919136030306" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">Gone'run Wiiild on YOUUU terrorists</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />So like I said, I've got a pretty solid framework. Some good ideas. Gotta work out some small stuff -- where to get terrorist outfits, edible explosives, industrial strength barbed wire, figure out if one guy does all 5, does he go on a live tour, do you need a special permit to blast music as loud as I need to, who rents helicopters, my, my, my, but I'm rambling.<br />Like I said though, investors <span style="font-weight: bold;">are </span>still needed but you want to act fast--this opportunity just will. not. last.<br /><br />Hit me up if you think of any ideas or have any questions or know a guy looking for work. And keep an eye out for America's next great pastime--<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Glory Suicides</span></span>Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-81427327525764563442009-11-05T16:48:00.000-08:002009-11-05T18:47:27.462-08:00Dessert Island Top 5 TimeYes, Des<span style="font-weight: bold;">s</span>ert Island.<br /><br />A whole Island made of expired candy, delicious soggy graham crackers, and sandy chocolate beaches. Mhhhmmmmmm!!!<br /><br />You can't really eat alot of it, seeing as how it's been exposed to the elements for thousands of years, but let's say you're stuck there. And let's say you have <span style="font-weight: bold;">5</span> of your favorite 8-track cassettes! <span style="font-weight: bold;">And</span> an 8-track machine that doesn't run on batteries, but instead runs on shitty dessert foods.<br /><br />Now we're talking!<br /><br />Well let's assume you can bring any album--regardless of whether it was ever made in 8-track form. What 5 hot tapes would you want?<br /><br />I thought about mine, and the answer isn't as easy as 'What are my favorite albums?'. On the contrary. You need variety. Imagine if your favorite band was Matchbox 20 and you wanted 2 of their albums (clearly <span style="font-style: italic;">Yourself or Someone Like You</span> and one of the others). Now you pick 2 more 90's-rock-band albums and you throw in your favorite Classic Rock CD to round out your Top 5...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Wrong.</span><br /><br />You're on a Dessert Island here, probably forever. Variety is huge. So you think of your favorite albums in various genres, polish up your 8-track tapes and kick back, right?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Eh....</span><br /><br />You need to think of timelessness. And growth. Have you ever loved a CD the first 5x through it and every time thereafter it just kinda... got predictable? Kinda just 'eh'? Now think of an album that aged like a fine wine. And just gets better every time you listen to it. Hot musical scores where you hear something new almost every time through. Now that's a keeper.<br /><br />Just don't forget length, too. You don't want a 35-minute pop-rock album with the same 12 tracks. And it's no good if there's no variety with<span style="font-weight: bold;">in</span> the album itself. And don't you think it's a good idea to have album choices for different 'moods'? No use packing Alanis Moreissette, Emo I, Emo II, Staind, and Dashboard Confessionals-- I mean, talk about nothing to lay out in the sun in, these albums just scream 'pale', 'sickly', 'sadness' and 'introspective'. Nothing like one of them when you celebrate discovering 'fire' for the first night. Or putting one of them on when you 'get in the mood' to get intimate with some soggy marshmallows because you're Oh-so-lonely.<em><br /><br /></em><span style="font-size:85%;"><em><em></em></em></span><br />This is alot of work.<br />Don't take it lightly. (it's all you'll have forever)<br />And don't screw it up.<br /><br /><br /><br />Mine, in no particular order.....<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Led Zeppelin<br />Led Zeppelin II</span></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrl8HZJ_BJoVfR8MLzLyChGKTG35QGY19jcpZfG063sP5OANXk4RYnwfqwrdEQGPy4oFwzzMKNeu6fnUO_ATIzz0bgaviyCqX2f5cl_RnCrCOFfumZdjMo0-nUBasnz8Yv8AJhNaGYNaNH/s1600-h/top+5+-+led+zep.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 222px; height: 222px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrl8HZJ_BJoVfR8MLzLyChGKTG35QGY19jcpZfG063sP5OANXk4RYnwfqwrdEQGPy4oFwzzMKNeu6fnUO_ATIzz0bgaviyCqX2f5cl_RnCrCOFfumZdjMo0-nUBasnz8Yv8AJhNaGYNaNH/s400/top+5+-+led+zep.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400797825780632226" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />My heroes of classic rock, The Zep. I feel this is truly one of the most symbiotic bass-drum relationships ever caught on an album. The pocket and weave between Bonhom and Paul Jones is palpable. To a boner-inducing pitch, even, on <span style="font-style: italic;">The Lemon Song</span>. It's the ultimate chill-out air-bass song. And if you're not into air-bass don't worry, it rocks for the casual air-drummer.<br />I needed a Zep album and this one is more diverse and refined than Led Zeppelin I in my opinion. This album revolutionized rock and these guys just had such a <span style="font-weight: bold;">feel</span> for what they were doing it's outrageous. I've listened to it countless times, and it's something I can actually 'sing along with' if I'm feeling really lonely and I need to perform a <span style="font-style: italic;">Whole Lotta Love</span> on myself. It's timeless. It's old school. It's mostly upbeat. It has jam-essentials mixed with killer Paige riffs. Need I say more?<br />Also, I'm pretty sure they invented drugs.<br /><br /><br />http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l9-DNTY8ONw<br />(The Lemon Song cover - highlighting drum and bass intra-mechanics of funk)<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tool - Lateralus</span></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwEWrLgZDArQQNvEDtHbjAQOGJdY5Azqb-69ShpgkxMmb7SxTmgeN5jR8d05gqG38LnnbVQlqoQvmCojjhaEDnaUIcWZK4Ua2ndKlpkbmQ6Fn6EwUQlKfqAUuFBlNWrye7SmyZpPZC6Vo5/s1600-h/top+5+-+tool.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 209px; height: 195px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwEWrLgZDArQQNvEDtHbjAQOGJdY5Azqb-69ShpgkxMmb7SxTmgeN5jR8d05gqG38LnnbVQlqoQvmCojjhaEDnaUIcWZK4Ua2ndKlpkbmQ6Fn6EwUQlKfqAUuFBlNWrye7SmyZpPZC6Vo5/s400/top+5+-+tool.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400800092174081362" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />This album is a collaborative, intertwined, dark piece of sinister work. I wasn't sure about putting a Tool album on my list but there's something about this one that grows <span style="font-weight: bold;">into</span> the listener. It's the only CD that I physically went out and bought 3 seperate times (once lost, once scratched) even though I had it on my computer. I can't explain it. It's a brooding inward spiral that captivates and swirls around in my brain in the form of Danny Carey drum madness.<br />Seriously, drummer Danny Carey and bassist Justin Chancellor deserve an Emmy just for <span style="font-style: italic;">Schism </span>let alone <span style="font-style: italic;">Lateralus</span> or <span style="font-style: italic;">Ticks & Leeches</span> or... frankly, the rest of the album. Just has a great 'flow' to the whole thing with alot of '3/4' and off-beat subterranean rhythms. This is for my nighttime or deep thought kinda moods.<br />FACT: Sometimes I listen to this whole album just for the drums. Danny Carey, he just 'is', ya know?<br /><br /><br />http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UhjG47gtMCo<br />(Tool - Schism video. These guys do drugs, too. wow.)<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Miles Davis - Get Up With It</span></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIu_O2ohURKzybzydl02X6C1cI_c-yUynRD0P4w9qNH6QZhXEkSQtwGJsJ5sDK1k9KvUwnEyjpvUNYYqh8FvmHfGQ6B1Njpaou9lR1_QMzDLdeXbU4gh7TSDQqwEkRHrSloNd3RuQWATW/s1600-h/top+5+-+miles.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 215px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIu_O2ohURKzybzydl02X6C1cI_c-yUynRD0P4w9qNH6QZhXEkSQtwGJsJ5sDK1k9KvUwnEyjpvUNYYqh8FvmHfGQ6B1Njpaou9lR1_QMzDLdeXbU4gh7TSDQqwEkRHrSloNd3RuQWATW/s400/top+5+-+miles.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400802508148911762" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Miiiiiiles Davis. The jazz-man. This little number isn't your prototypical Miles album either. It's way funkier and at times way more 'out there.' The man was a musical genius and his improv and 'touch' dance in and out of the deep, deliberate tracks laid out by some of jazz's most talented and influential artists. Take your average studio bassist or drummer from a rock band. Now multiply that by 7,000 -- that's an average studio jazz bassist or drummer. Now multiply that by horns, drums, crazy background sounds and 5,000 more and you've got a Miles Davis studio performer. These guys are <span style="font-weight: bold;">the</span> pros.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Red China Blues</span> is a funk-splosion of progressive blues. And there's a 32 minute song called <span style="font-style: italic;">He Loved Him Madly</span> which is eerie dark and experimental and contageous and... and I don't even know. Crazy. Then there's <span style="font-style: italic;">Honky Tonk</span> -- all I can say is, you listen to it, and you become black. And the jazziness is enough to break up the verse-chorus-refrain of the repetitive nature of most rock and mostly eating stale chocolate syrup leaves every day.<br /><br /><br />http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EuKhccJi_GI<br />(Miles - Red China sounds like we're workin on that ole Chaaaiiiiin gang.)<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Opeth - Deliverance</span></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUfTSHKJHn_q79GAEEnggFj86qrFx6p5Q5H1LVzmHzbvD08YwpqRXdjoiFWZdlr0titlBUUCEPgQzBy5QtauMa4T4A0QWeJC5t9tXiqR_nSgKSVDylbDYMILzC0u6MH2Q4tXBaiYm9pSf5/s1600-h/top+5+-+opeth.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 209px; height: 207px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUfTSHKJHn_q79GAEEnggFj86qrFx6p5Q5H1LVzmHzbvD08YwpqRXdjoiFWZdlr0titlBUUCEPgQzBy5QtauMa4T4A0QWeJC5t9tXiqR_nSgKSVDylbDYMILzC0u6MH2Q4tXBaiYm9pSf5/s400/top+5+-+opeth.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400806150199862386" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />"This next song, is a <span style="font-style: italic;">fucking </span>masta-piece." ~ Mikael Akerfeldt.<br /><br />Mikael sums it up nicely. Deliverance is one of the top 3 most-listened-to-songs on my ipod -- no small task for a 13:36 long song. It's also one of the most metal albums I've heard in my entire life. The thing with most metal, is it's re-sale value. You hear it, you've got it, it's fast, let's move on. But not Opeth. Opeth uses crazy time signatures, plays with volumes, harmonizes vocals as well as growls, goes into acoustic breakdowns, and shreds out ridiculously tight intellectual music.<br />Every member of Opeth can play better than you. It's a fact. But I've just never heard a group blend death metal, latin drum beats, and jazzy-blues guitar solo-ing like this. This album in particular, drummer Martin Lopez puts on a metal-latin clinic. The sounds are so much deeper and so much more enjoyable with each listen. I hear something new on this album every time I listen. And 3 tracks on it have been my 'favorite' song on the album already.<br />Plus, if I'm blasting this, I could kill any small or large animal I find on Dessert Island without even blinking. In front of its parents.<br /><br />http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yYQwG1deEzo&<br />(Opeth - Deliverance on drums. play it 3x fast and i'll give you $1)<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Stevie Ray Vaughn - Texas Flood</span></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDGJTlVEInamGPQulPGUEe8DuDIgWEWjS4V1FcteN6np-PJzznEP0aMd2IwR7JrgCPv_JO6XR36E7d_H-hvCudcc4xG2a_cJqDz94DBZJl6gRCRcTKC2LNUxxiuNjObCXdAloKyGdAHNrO/s1600-h/top+5+-+stevie.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 207px; height: 207px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDGJTlVEInamGPQulPGUEe8DuDIgWEWjS4V1FcteN6np-PJzznEP0aMd2IwR7JrgCPv_JO6XR36E7d_H-hvCudcc4xG2a_cJqDz94DBZJl6gRCRcTKC2LNUxxiuNjObCXdAloKyGdAHNrO/s400/top+5+-+stevie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400809262293108546" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Stevie 'Cocaine Ray' Vaughan <span style="font-weight: bold;">is</span> guitar. He <span style="font-weight: bold;">is</span> blues. The devil sold his soul to Stevie Ray so Vaughan would play a private concert for his daughter's 7th birthday party. She never made it to 8.<br />With all of the 'bass' and 'drum' action going on on this island this was a nice change of pace. Blazing fast blues licks mixed with some of the most genuine, soul-spoken, ridiculous solos I've ever heard in my life. You hear new things with<span style="font-weight: bold;">in </span>the individuals notes of a Ray Vaughan solo every time you listen. I'm trying to find more adjectives to describe this madman on the axe... but I can't. My only regret is that <span style="font-style: italic;">Little Wing</span> isn't on this album. But <span style="font-style: italic;">Lenny</span>, written about his wife, is the projection of a human soul in guitar chords. To quote Stevie Ray: "I never really learned notes or scales, I just sort of played what I felt."<br />Play Stevie play. Let me tell you them blues about eating shitty desserts everyday...<br /><br /><br />http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pF1p8sawWJ0<br />(Stevie Ray - Lenny this is what cocaine looks like. he's literally not conscious for this whole song. look at the sweat drip off his nose. oh my god, he's channeled his soul and left his body / done drugs and whiskey)<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">& The 'On-the-Cusps'<br /><br /></span></span>It was tough to not let these absolute gems aboard, but sorry fellas, only 5.<br />These 8-tracks washed ashore somewhere else I guess.....<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pink Floyd - Dark Side of the Moon</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Medeski, Martin and Wood - End of the World Party (Just in Case)</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Incubus - SCIENCE</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Porcupine Tree - In Absentia</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Phish - Story of the Ghost</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Metallica - Master of Puppets</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tool - Aenima</span><br /><br /><br />What about <span style="font-weight: bold;">your </span>top 5?Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-75346609533684762842009-11-02T14:55:00.000-08:002009-11-02T16:50:37.048-08:00upon seeing myself outside of myself.these hands<br /> are so strange<br />like gloves that don't fit.<br />the air<br /> is so thick<br />everything tries to swim<br /> but it can't<br /> it won't<br /> --something's wrong--<br /><br />i look down at these shoes<br /> all the defects stand out:<br /> the creases,<br />the scuff marks,<br /> the frayed lace.<br /><br />i want to feel grief<br />i want to shed tears<br /> but i can't.<br /> i won't<br /> --something's wrong--<br /><br />the machine churns us along<br /> we file on in syncopation<br /> until i find myself<br />before the oak-box apex.<br /><br />i see myself in this moment<br /> like i've never seen myself before<br />the hair, the lips, the skin, the cheeks<br /> -especially the cheeks<br /><br />puffing out, unnatural tallow,<br /> make-up covers the decay.<br />a scar above the left eye<br />the only thing<br />left that's real.<br /><br />this body is too heavy.<br />this face is too wide.<br />these wax eyes are unstaring.<br /> they can't.<br /> they won't.<br /> --something's wrong--<br /><br />these hands i hold,<br />creases, marks and grooves i've<br />never seen--<br />trace out<br />stories i've never heard<br /> <br />who am i?<br />i sort of remember<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>someone else.<br />i sort of remember<br /> something that's not there.<br /><br />the cogs of the machine<br />grind and shift,<br />the grief must go on,<br />even without me.<br />a long, deliberate drole.<br /><br />we're released<br />back into daylight.<br />the darkness<br />is locked behind slabs of<br /> mortar and stained glass.<br /><br />the haze starts to clear<br /> i start to remember who i am<br /> i start to believe it.<br /><br />my hand traces an imaginary scar<br /> above my left eye.<br /> i smile for the first time<br /><br /> because i can.<br /> because i will.<br />--because everything...is right.--Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-53460863246566242572009-10-21T15:04:00.001-07:002009-10-22T15:44:58.862-07:00Hurricane WSCThe secret is out. I work in Germantown. It's 'medium' ghetto.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">White People<br /></span>-are few and far between<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>-lock their car doors when driving through<br />-don't know the area<br />-are either old-school, lost, or shady if you find them<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Black People</span><br />-are everywhere<br />-drive in excess of speed limits, with little regard for other laws, and efficiently<br />-know the area<br />-come in all flavors (crackhead, awesome, hilarious, hooker, drunk, churchy, and regular)<br /><br /><br />Check, check, check.<br /><br />No big, I just don't wave around $100 bills at night, I'm nice to the people in the neighborhood, and they're nice to me.<br /><br />But sometimes I see <span style="font-weight: bold;">crazy</span> shit. And I had to write this down in words, though they may do the scenario no justice whatsoever. Here goes....<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">TIME:</span> 10:15 am<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">PLACE:</span> Chelten Ave & Sprague St.<br /><br />...we were loading up the Tahoe for my rout. It was just my dad handing me boxes out our loading window. We're right across the street from Pastorious Elementary and I'm looking alongside the school and there's this guy walking funny.<br /><br />Usually you see alot of that on Chelten Ave but it wasn't 'cracked out' walking, it was full-blown 'retarded person' walking. I'm talking hands T-Rex'ing up near the chest, kinda tilting his head down and he's just walking real.... weird. Black guy, maybe in his mid-thirties slinking along, almost like 'sneaky retard' walking. And as I'm watching him a mini-van passing by pulls a U-turn right in front of the store and pulls over to the curb directly across the street.<br /><br />It looked like this lady in the minivan pulled over <span style="font-weight: bold;">for</span> the weird dude, but she was on her cell phone talking it up and never looked at the guy. Just waited there for no reason. Again, no big deal--but everything just feels kinda 'connected' and 'not-connected' at the same time.<br /><br />So I load 2 more boxes into the back of the Tahoe and look up again. The T-Rex Dude is directly behind the minivan so I can't see him in my line of vision. The Minivan Lady is still chatting away totally ignoring the world just pulled over on Chelten Ave. I'm about to look away when--what the?!<br /><br />T-Rex Dude is sprinting. Full-out retard sprinting. His hands never more than 4-inches from his chest. And as he's running he sorta hunches over--bending only at the waist. He runs towards Sprague and I'm going over the bus stops in my mind figuring out which way the K runs, figure the guy must be running to catch the bus.<br /><br />Nope.<br /><br />Mother fucker hugs the wall and doesn't break stride, turns and runs <span style="font-weight: bold;">up</span> Sprague St. There's no bus stop up there. At all. Pastorious's schoolyard is up that way. As I'm watching the Minivan Lady slams her phone closed, puts her minivan into drive and turns up Sprague--as if to follow him--but stops. Right in the middle of Sprague. Doesn't pull over to the curb or anything--just stops.<br /><br />As I'm watching this 'bizarre scenario' unfold two fairly hefty, fairly loud, fairly fun-loving women are walking down our block on Chelten. I can't repeat most of what they were saying. Not even on a blog where I use the word '<span style="font-weight: bold;">fuck</span>'. These 20- to 30-some year old women were laughing and discussing their sex-life so loud I think my deaf grandmother who died 10 years ago was blushing.<br /><br />About 10 feet before they passed by us one of them said something particularly loud about the male genitalia they'd recently come into contact with and they both broke into raucous laughter. The one smacked the other on the ass, the one yelled 'you mother fucka!!!' chasing after her and they both went flying by me. If I hadn't moved I may have been stampeded. I may not be able to blog today. I really felt the wind rush by. It was like they didn't see me or my dad at all. I'm just glad they didn't run into the Tahoe. The SUV's about 7 years old and probably wouldn't have survived the encounter.<br /><br />By the time Bertha and Shaqueefa rumbled by, the Minivan on Sprague on the other side of Chelten still hadn't moved and now there were cars trying to turn up the street behind her. 3 cars or so lined up and began honking at the Minivan Lady. Finally she revved her engine and took off out of sight.<br /><br />At this point I can't explain the past 2 minutes and I'm kind of staring at everything in shock. It's like a scene from Final Destination. All these little 'marbles' keep rolling around setting off a series of events -- small, disjointed and confusing but somehow connected. I'm kind of zoning out and my dad is off looking around not moving or saying anything either.<br /><br />Then this shade-ball black guy with his hoodie on tight comes walking by and he's giving that 'anxious eye' you have to look out for, so we load a couple more boxes and he walks right between us and there's that really awkward, really 'both sides on guard' thing going on where no one talks and all eyes lock and then look away.<br /><br />Again these don't sound like alot but they just had this 'charged' thing going on. Like you feel like 'it' is about to happen. Only you don't know what 'it' is. Like Deja Vu sorta I guess....usually only lasts a few seconds, maybe a minute and I figure it's passed until--<br /><br />--she appears.<br /><br />I still don't know if she was white or black.<br />I still don't really know 100% if it was a woman.<br />I don't know where <span style="font-weight: bold;">the fuck </span>she came from.<br /><br />I guess it was a homeless lady. I say I guess because it was hard to tell under all the clown make-up.<br /><br />Like full-blown blue around the eyes. Full-blown bright red lipstick all around her mouth. Full-blown weird pasty white coloring. She was just in the middle of the street, kinda dragging her feet towards A&E. Me and my dad stared at her for almost a full minute, occasionally moving a box, so it looked like we weren't. But we didn't talk to each other. We couldn't talk.<br /><br />I've seen lots of homeless, vagrants, crackheads, and even some loonies from around the corner -- but this was some new breed of strange.<br /><br />She made no sound and kinda dragged her feet, looking off in the distance very somber and sad-like. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Just</span> like a god damned Sad-Face Clown you see in the Circus. Well she's shuffling closer and closer and I have 2 overwhelming thoughts:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">1. </span>Something bad is about to happen (I've seen <span style="font-weight: bold;">It</span>, mother-fucker!)<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">2.</span> How can I use my camera phone w out her noticing?<br /><br />She's gets closer and I see her feet. Socks with real big goofy sandals. Not over-sized like a clown, but not regular sandals. And she's wearing one big khaki colored jumpsuit that looks pretty stained and old and is covered with buttons and patches I can't really read. She's a few feet away now and I can't figure out why she came as close as she did. Our truck is backed <span style="font-weight: bold;">up to</span> the building. She was across the street. If she wants to get by she's going out of her way to come past us to do it. She's walking closer and everyone has stopped moving.<br /><br />Stab me?<br />Ask for change?<br />Honk her nose?<br />Turn into a monster?<br />Perform fellatio on me?<br /><br />This insanity of the past 5 minutes has reached it's crescendo (an excellent Dark Tranquility song). Every instrument is wrought with tension. Everything I know about what <span style="font-weight: bold;">should</span> happen on Chelten Ave on a Tuesday morning is out the window. This isn't Germantown anymore. For all I know this isn't reality anymore.<br /><br />She's like 2 feet away from me now--like <span style="font-weight: bold;">way</span> in my personal space bubble. She looks up at me without really focusing her eyes, looks at my dad. Everything goes deathly quiet.<br /><br /><br />1 whole second goes by.<br />Nothing.<br /><br />She lowers her head and sorta drags her feet, back on her merry-ish way. I still can't even talk. Our heads just watch as she walks down Chelten and fades away. I turn to my dad and we both mae the "are you serious face" and start laughing because, let's face it -- what else can you do?<br /><br />Everything feels 'back to normal' too. It's like none of it ever happened and I talked with my dad about it and I tried to explain it to my mom and I just tried to explain it in this blog but it was just so.... weird. It was all the little things I maybe didn't explain the right way that made it all the weirder. Little miscues. Like a dog barking and then suddenly silence. The timing of the running T-Rex-Tard. The look in that crackhead's eye. Maybe the wind blowing and then suddenly not. Voices carrying on the wind. Weird stuff. It all just swirled together to form this perfect 'weird storm'.<br /><br />And somehow it was all tied to that crazy, homeless, weirdly out-of-place Sad Clown Lady. As if it were Hurricane <span style="font-weight: bold;">W</span>eird-<span style="font-weight: bold;">S</span>ad-<span style="font-weight: bold;">C</span>lown (WSC) and somehow she was the 'eye' of the storm.<br /><br />And that's still the thing about it that bothers me the most.<br /><br />Where did she come from?<br /><br />I was outside the whole time she was getting closer, right? You don't just 'not see' that until it's right up on you, right? And I was definitely doing alot of left-to-right of my surroundings considering all the other stuff going on for a few minutes there.<br /><br />I don't know. All I know is I survived Hurricane WSC. It came and it went and every hair on the back of my nexk stood on end and everything seemed just 'something askew'. But I'm fine. I think I just might make it.<br /><br />Where was she going? Where was she from? What <span style="font-weight: bold;">actually</span> happened that day?<br />We'll never know.<br /><br />I'd like to think "to spread the work of Satan", "Hell", and "interdimensional riffing". Respectively.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc9u6uV5o7MrgX_G-U2k9zg-9SvZ1upbMWlXu8sCsCNLc4TAc1mHA89It9P9u_MezTwPthGM-ztYEm_vEDShKGn2KC9gDuw84unqdMdgqPB7GWPfzKUHre3qVoBb129Hf8ZkZz9TInE8UG/s1600-h/psychoclown.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc9u6uV5o7MrgX_G-U2k9zg-9SvZ1upbMWlXu8sCsCNLc4TAc1mHA89It9P9u_MezTwPthGM-ztYEm_vEDShKGn2KC9gDuw84unqdMdgqPB7GWPfzKUHre3qVoBb129Hf8ZkZz9TInE8UG/s400/psychoclown.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395556227382448194" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">picture this. but more like dee reynolds' psycho clown. but also more like homeless.</span>Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7947206814910695835.post-49119416136388719592009-10-14T14:54:00.001-07:002009-10-14T14:54:41.120-07:00i forgot i had a blog.i forgot i had a blog.Molten Funkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942360687547083821noreply@blogger.com0