| (no subject) |
[Jul. 22nd, 2004|01:01 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | barely | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Maestro Ceiling Fan conducting The Vertical Blinds Symphony | ] |
Move along folks. Nothing to see here.
Just wanted to post something this year
...and not have it rhyme? |
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| Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel, I Used You as a Sex Toy |
[Oct. 31st, 2003|10:10 am] |
| [ | music |
| | Front 242 - Seq666 P | ] |
Let me tell you. At a bar a few nights ago, a friend of ours, V-, told Tim he was racist against the Jews and the Negroes. I feel awful because nothing can be farther from the truth, and I think that it is all Heather's and my fault. See, our sense of humor at the house is pretty dark and all-encompasing. For instance the other day, I discovered the joys of the archaic term "Nigger in the woodpile." Isn't that great? It was used commonly in both written and spoken form by our country's founding fathers. Anyway, he'll take something like that and repeat it to someone who is obviously very sensitive about such things. If anything, he is guilty of bad timing. Furthermore, a few days before that, in response to a gay Jewish friend, J-, inviting us all to go see jesus christ Superstar, Heather, partially intoxicated, asked if he was allowed to go since his people killed christ. Somehow V-, a nonpracticing Jew and a very close friend of J-, also partially intoxicated, somehow managed to superimpose upon her memory Tim as the speaker.
P.S. Sorry this post didn't have anything to do with dreidels or sex toys. Mazol tov! |
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| An Ironic Followup to My Last Post |
[Oct. 14th, 2003|01:01 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  apathetic | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Camouflage - Love Is a Shield | ] |
I think I broke my hand. Biking home from school on the one small stretch of road in this city without bike lanes, I got sandwiched between a car and a one inch tall strip of gutter. I thought I'd give the car more room by hopping into the gutter, but I didn't quite make the transition. When my front tire scraped along the cement lip, my bike decided to flip completely over and dash me onto the asphalt. Now mind you, I've got a pretty decent bike and am used to riding down stairs and through woods on it, but I guess it doesn't take well to parallel gradients. Anywho, the damn thing happened so quickly, when I got up, I just felt embarrassed and did a little bow to the people around me. I had the misfortune of face planting a few hundred feet in front of a bus stop full of students. They didn't look so much amused as frightened. I guess it looked pretty gruesome because when I got to the bus stop, I realized I had a gash running the length of my left arm that was dripping blood and I couldn't move my right fingers too easily. I decided to take the bus the rest of the way home. Two hours later, I had to be back at school to attempt to take a very important exam with my left hand. God wants me to fail. Life sucks. Though, I doubt my hand is really broken; I probably just tore some tissue in it. Either way, I don't think I'll be relieving any tension for the next few days, if you know what I mean. Damn, and when I need it the most. |
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| No Me Toquen los Huevos |
[May. 22nd, 2003|01:11 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | I gotta piss | ] |
| [ | music |
| | WKRP in Cincinnati Theme | ] |
I know it's been a few months since spring break, but I thought I'd post pictures of our trip anyway. So enjoy, stupid!
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 16th, 2003|12:12 am] |
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am nothing. n am nothing. e am nothing. e am nothing. d am nothing. t am nothing. o am nothing. b am nothing. e am nothing. l am nothing. o am nothing. v am nothing. e am nothing. d am nothing. |
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| It's Been A While |
[Apr. 1st, 2003|11:11 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | transfused | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Meat Beat Manifesto - Acid Again | ] |
Portrait of the Artist as a Portrait of Maya Angelou as Words II
Frankfurter memories
Like mammograms ol' fat ladies can't afford
When I hear them crying,
My stomach fumbles for the keys,
Tumbles out the alley door
And tiptoes away with the night's
profits
When I hear them crying,
I am scarred with peanut butter,
Carved into a lackluster jack-
Carved into a lackluster jack-o-
Carved into a lackluster jack-o-lantern,
And topped with tickling tears of
pickle-brine bloodlust
When I hear them crying,
I hear the laughter of Dictaphone dictators,
But only for a minute
When I hear them crying,
Bush babies can't keep me away,
Nor can their cockerel calls keep me
haphazardly aloof,
In the night,
With the shadows of the surefooted
spruces in toe
When I hear them crying,
I do not hear them crying
For the alluvial soil has long since
settled into my ears,
Settled like voluptuous snow drifts
from
Siberia,
So deep, only a unicorn could remove
it,
And I don't see any unicorns around
Do You? |
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| Long Sentence. Short Thought. |
[Mar. 26th, 2003|09:09 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | questionably alive | ] |
| [ | music |
| | :wumpscut: - Wreath of Barbs | ] |
| Trying to illustrate god's strength with the abundance and variety of life on Earth is irrational, if not futile, when clearly the infinite lack of life, the life that could be but is not, the only thing against which to measure life's magnitude, will always be infinitely greater. Loser! |
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| KiSaA |
[Mar. 25th, 2003|02:22 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | None, or other: | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Velvet Acid Christ - Lysergia | ] |
Well, I'm back from dirty Mexico. More on that later. First, my reaction to comrade Zeina's admission of ugly-dog ownership. What we have here is a magnificent specimen of pure Alabama Blacksnake. I've been meaning to post these forever, but well, you know.
( Meet Kismet ) |
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| Uhhh, listen here! |
[Mar. 11th, 2003|04:04 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  giddy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | you'll see... | ] |
The moment you've all been waiting for:
 |
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| Milo Takes a Walk |
[Mar. 10th, 2003|02:22 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | Geil | ] |
| [ | music |
| | :wumpscut: - Christfuck | ] |
As one of you is already well aware, I made a new tee-shirt the other day. It says "U G L Y" in big bold letters. I like making people feel bad for me...except when they try to interfere. After strolling around campus all day and getting the occasional stare, I retired to the terrace of the Hub to do some homework between classes, when some homely Asian girl peeled away from her clique--consisting of a few other homely Asian girls and a gaggle of gay Asian boys--to accost me about my shirt. It was a classic scene. She thought she was one of those cool girls, who could do their duty to society by transcending social barriers and making the recluse outsider aware of his own inner beauty. She sat down at my table with this big grin on her face and asked, "You don't really think you're ugly, do you?" The conversation regressed steadily from there. The whole time, all I could imagine was her wearing the shirt and me observing the exquisite truth of it all. At a café later that evening, a friend of a friend suggested that I make a tee-shirt that says "A V E R A G E." I think it's a great idea but wonder if I can get it to fit on a tee. |
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| Read Me Like an Open Wound |
[Mar. 1st, 2003|01:11 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | Soviet | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Helium Vola - Omnis Mundi Creatura | ] |
If everyone is so keen on the idea of pretending to be a servant or a pool boy or a hospital nurse, why can't I find anyone to start a secret treasure hunting club with me? I don't want to wake up one day and realize that the entire adult world is incapable of make believe unless there's sex involved. Or do I? No, I am fifty-one percent certain that I don't, and that's pushing my boundaries of resoluteness. |
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| My Week by Milo Rex |
[Dec. 27th, 2002|02:02 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  restless | ] |
| [ | music |
| | BlutEngel - Soul of Ice | ] |
I accompanied mein freund to the Art Bar one last time for closure. I requested ten songs in different scripts and got seven of them played. I then managed to get myself kicked out and banned from the Art Bar, at least on Saturdays, for writing something highly inappropriate on the request sheet. Well, I didn't really get kicked out so much as I escaped, but I was definitely blacklisted. During my swift exit, I heard the DJ instructing the bouncer never to let me in again.
The next day I moved a few of my things down to Gainesville, where I remained drunk for the rest of the weekend. The day I wanted to return, mein bruder und sein damefreund convinced me to stay for another party that night. It was worth it. Long story short, about ten of us ended up nude and semi-nude in the hot tub. And no, I wasn't one of the braver ones, not that wet underwear hides much, but I need to work on my upper body a bit more before I feel comfortable stewing naked with other drunkards in a Jacuzzi. After all the nonsense, a handful of us retreated to my bro's pad, whereupon Girlie Number Cutes was abandoned by her boyfriend and thus put herself in a position to be gallantly rescued by me. Which reminds me, I love to open doors for girls who expect me to. Chivalry is only preserved when it is neither blatant nor surprising.
Anyway, white-kwanza was fun: lots of presents, lots more drinking. I'm moving tomorrow so don't know when yousguys might hear from me again. That's not to say it will be a long while. It may be a day or two. I just don't know. Until then, auf wiedersehen! |
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| God is love. Love is blind. God is blind? |
[Dec. 11th, 2002|08:08 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | jerkless in jacksonville | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Talking Heads - Psycho Killer | ] |
Expletive interjection, time flies when you're having... Well, it flies anyway! I'm glad to see you all looking so spry and industrious. Reminds me of myself in the distant future. Honestly, I've been myself for so long, I don't even know who I'm not anymore. As for my extended absence, O the buttery tumult, the clyster pipedreams, mollusks and mayhem! Here's a bit of it:
I had my orientation and am now heading due South of wherever I was before. If I were a school, I'd rename the whole jamboree "disorientation" just for the sake of truth in advertising.
My class schedule is nutty. Some of my classes are larger than small cities.
I ordered moving boxes online because I want them to look nice.
I went out for what would likely be my last night out in Jacksonville, and then went out again.
As a symbol of my undying allegiance to the lesser beasts, in what has become a bizarre annual recurrence, I delivered unto a wee mouse a second chance at life. The story is no less than a suburban epic, so I'll spare you the details for now. But mark my words; these curious interminglings will not stop. No, when I die, my spirit will be born away not by the grace of angels or the grasp of devils but under the fluttering wings of pigeons and upon the backs of scuttling street rats. In nomine patris et filii et spiritus sancti. Amen.
For the mere cost of a seaside Italian villa, I got my auto insurance reinstated.
After an unusual surge of progress toward the completion of my four-year-old constructed writing/numeration system pet project, I decided again to postpone the effort. The reason: I just don't know enough yet. The discovery that a syllabaric writing system was not only already invented but also in use in parts of the world made me realize the inefficiency of working in the dark. Sure, someone could reinvent Newtonian mechanics, but why bother?
I made an appointment with a dentist and wound up in a bawdy house. It was a new office, richly painted, with parquet floors, Mediterranean paintings, and art nouveau ornamentation, not to mention entirely staffed and run by women. The dentist entered the room behind me, so I didn't know what she looked like until she finished prodding my mouth. If I wasn't drooling before, I sure the hell was after she wheeled her cute butt around to talk to me. I'd never come so close to getting a hard-on in a dentist's chair. And the thing is, the other dentist and almost all the hygienists were equally as hot a flirtatious. I swear. It was a real life porno cliché.
By the way, I'm sorry I've been like a negligent parent or guardian lately, and I hope you understand that it's not because I'm a dick, but because I'm a bad person who is working hard to become a better person. Things will get better once I'm moved.
Contextually certain phrase of the day: "I swear I will break a promise to you." |
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| This Is Going to be Fun |
[Nov. 11th, 2002|01:01 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | chewy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | E Nomine - Wolfen (Das Tier in Mir) | ] |
I will suck the toes of anyone who relays this poll to someone else. I really want to know how other people think.
Poll #74459 If I could create an unusual sexual fetish, it would involve:
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All- a pair of pliers and: - hearing: - making love while: - myself and: - the use of: |
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| The Moment You've All been Writhing For |
[Nov. 4th, 2002|03:33 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | peepee | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Hocico - Poltergeist | ] |
It's here; it's clear... I'm surprised I didn't get my ass kicked repeatedly for it Thursday night. Just beyond your reach is a picture of my beautiful, controversial Halloween costume. Warning, if I'm still on your friends list at this point, you should be Abel to handle it.
( Y o u r R e a c h ) |
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| U-G-L-Y, I Ain't Got No Alibi! |
[Nov. 3rd, 2002|12:12 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | suck | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Das Ich - Das Dunkle Land | ] |
In Gainesville last weekend, we ended up, among other
things, hanging out with an old friend, whom I hadn't seen in a few years.
She kept telling me that she couldn't believe how cute I'd turned out.
A statement like that used to keep me afloat for a week or two, but now
any thoughts that my ugliness might not be so severe are completely deflated
within a day, often within hours. It's gotten to the point where I start
doubting the perceptions of those who say anything but confirm what I
see in the mirror every day. |
Before you jump all over my nuts about this, let
me tell you why I think my self-hatred is more than just an annoying but
harmless obsession. You know how you felt watching Atreyu's horse slowly
drown in the swamps of sadness? Well, that's really how I feel every time
I think about how I look. I know it seems that if I'm aware of the problem,
I should be able to control it, but the trouble is that I honestly don't
believe what people tell me. I honestly think I'm ugly. I don't think
I'm wrong about that. A cripple can tell himself repeatedly that he's
not a cripple, but fuck if that's going to make it true. |
A friend, J—, once told me in a really weird
candid moment between us, when I was a few pounds heavier than I am now,
that I could lose more weight. I'd begged and pleaded for someone to be
honest and tell me for months, but no one did except for him. It's sick,
but I felt closer to him then than I ever did. Honesty may seem hurtful
at times, but occasionally, when someone is begging you for it, it may
be more meaningful than a lifetime's worth of good-intentioned white lies. |
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| Red Like the Blackest Night |
[Oct. 31st, 2002|07:07 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | monkey | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Goethes Erben - Erkaufte Träume | ] |
What is it about blood welling up from the site of a kitty's love-mauling on my arm that makes my mouth water? I love those little moments when biology slaps me in the face and reminds me just how mammal I am. |
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deussum's journal
