Filed under: art/writing
Ant People 1.0 is a total bust. I SUCK at painting. It was never my medium of choice. So I scrapped the first one, and restarted one whole new canvas using mixed media of pastels and ink.
Yeah, that's the original in the back…
So, yes, their last album The Con kicks some serious ass. In fact, I almost love the entire thing, which is, very, very rare for me.
However, the twelfth track “Like O, Like H” annoys the living piss out of me to the point that I can’t listen to it. Why? Well, the lyrics repeat “like O, like H in your gut” which sends me into a nerdy chem rage. OH- is bloody basic! Your stomach has a pH of, like, 3!!!! WTF?!
Filed under: art/writing
Fumbling like teenagers, we grope for experience. We aren't here for the pleasure. Not for love, or passion, or the moment. In this promiscuity of boredom, we reach for whatever comes to us first. Whatever life is willing to offer to stave off a hour of mental silence. The explosions and flashes and bangs of relief from ourselves. We are so, so terrified of exposure, and is it so, so easy to hide in front of a television, behind a fork, or with a book in hand. A paper barrier in bed. Paw in the dark for the handholds. Fingers slide over things smooth, soft, warm, yielding.
There's nothing here that can support my weight.
Filed under: art/writing
When I was young, I had been promised the real World and all of its hardships. Fingers had been wagged, tongues had been clacked, dried tower women had assured me that I had it easy. They threatened tests and trials harder than anything I would ever face in the years before magically endowed adulthood and violent ejection into the World. Each one of my classmates was an Odysseus just leaving port. Watch out for the Cyclops!
They were stupid, stupid bitches. Stupid bitches in their short, gray hair and large, round glasses. They didn’t mention paying bills. They didn’t warn us about the hours spent drumming on our desks, scouring the web, feeling tired between the countless cups of coffee. Adulthood isn’t a battle. It is a waiting room. But we believed them because they were taller than us and had the power to take away the kickball. Kick-kick.
Precal class, 10am, students are lethargic and less than enthusiastic about the upcoming test on Trig material that they have all forgotten. Ashley is sitting in her seat, drumming on her book with a pencil eraser and picking the last few grains of sand out of her hair. She is pouting heavilly.
Stoner-surfer-B-name sits in front of her one seat diagonally and wears orange crocs and board shorts every single day. Ashley has been known to stare blanking at his shoes while wishing her coffee cup was full, as if the shoes were small foam coffee genies.
Brad/bert/brandon’s mouth must be awfully dry, as its been hanging open for the past hour. The instructor keeps asking questions. The half of the class that knows the answer doesn’t care enough to say it; the half of the class that doesn’t squints hard at her, like the solution is on her face but just too far away to read. For a moment, Ash’s brain checks in to make sure they aren’t talking about anything cool, just in time to hear:
“What’s the graph of sine look like?”
Brad/brandon/bob sits straight up, throws his hand in the air, and yells, “OH! UP AND DOWN!”.
. . . . .
And with this I completely lost my shit.
I was laughing so hard I had tears rolling down my cheeks and had to leave for five minutes to collect myself.
You Are Bert |
 Extremely serious and a little eccentric, people find you loveable – even if you don't love them! You are usually feeling: Logical – you rarely let your emotions rule you You are famous for: Being smart, a total neat freak, and maybe just a little evil How you life your life: With passion, even if your odd passions (like bottle caps and pigeons) are baffling to others |
