Murray Christmas

Stuff I'm getting into

Every day the same Dream.

Someone has to kick the Mickey Mouse out of our heads.

Brad Pitt: God Substitute

Culture Wars

Canabalt

Writing Songs

Dock Ellis & The LSD No-No

#24

#24

Two Stone Fist.

For those of you who are interested in the music from the podcast, I'm putting together an album from all of the assorted crap that I've accumulated over the past couple of months. There are alot of ideas, and very few whole songs - so it's gonna take a while, but rest assured I'm working on it. 

I'm calling the album "Two Stone Fist"

That should link through to the myspace page where you can find some rough cuts of some of the songs you might have heard before.

Ernest Hemingway describes my Tuesday.

The hedges needed to be cut. 

I thought to myself. 

The November sun was high and winked through cumulus clouds that looked like breasts full of milk.

I should be in Sea Isle with a sky like that. 

In Sea Isle you know where you stand. 

Day, Night, Ocean, Land. 

You can keep your beer cool when you're on the jetty by tethering it inside a basin of water that collects between the rocks.

Crab cakes and flounder fried in sticks of butter, and so much beer and sand you begin to feel like you may have been that young university post graduate researcher traversing the Levant in another life during your brief walk from 57th to 53rd. The wind snaps through your hair.

"You better get up now."

"I'm coming."

Get up. Sit down. Eat. Shave. The cycles of odious tasks. I blink and sit up straight.

A half a pot of cold coffee. 

I try to fire up the Fire Arrow but something in the Otto cycle isn't giving me the juice.

The man we got this car from said that there had been wasps in the filler neck of the fuel tank.

He got them out though.

Wasps.

 

I light a cigarette. The world is run on tiny deflagrations. 

Every Day. 

Every Second.

I cut the hedges.

Dashiell Hammett describes my Sunday Night.

"Unlikely," I said to myself, sotto voce, as I eased my left hand down over the soft curve of the steering wheel. 

The sound of my hand and the friction of the padded wheel.

It made the sound of money. 

"I can't believe I find myself traversing this particular heap of creation again." 

It was Sunday. 

It was night. 

The world series was going to be on. 

And I was making quick work in my father's Yaris of a road I knew only too well.

The moon squinted off of the hood, and somewhere a 35 year old dentist would decide to get a turkey club, but the turkey club nor the dentist nor the moon could guess at the inscrutable designs the spheres in this brave o'erhanging firmament would construe to contrive the present circumstances.

I checked my rear view quicker than a bullet from a Luger from a Kraut on Pervitin.  This road is notorious when you get aways further, it's the Wild West. I was suddenly cut off by what was either a masculine female or the champion of the high school bowling teem. 

His/Her face was a portmanteau of the words "Perspiration" and "Ignorance."

I waved the butchy creature on with the tip of my hat as if to say - "All's well guy. No harm done."

But the harm had been done. Years ago now, in the ancient past, like engraved words on a tombstone, wounds carved into the soul of time that all the whiskey tears and bourbon rain could never wash away. The day you found the dear john, and she pulled a Nancy Sinatra on you.

As if on cue by the cosmic conductor, the fella on the radio played a song about self-esteem.

A Mazda Miata, black as an oil slick whizzed by me like a business women on lunch break. 

I was on Route 1.

I was picking my little brother up from Trenton.

The land that time forgot.

I was itching for a lucky, but since the tree-huggers got hold of the car owner I'd be facing a mild sanction if I lit up in the car, so the smoke and Trenton would have to wait. 

Traffic, at night, is a mysterious thing. 

If you can see past the worried mothers, truckers, aching backs, the unregistered plates, the rough and tumble scramble, the business men in rented cars with lipstick on their collar you'll begin to feel your head turned slightly to the side the way a child turns their head in delight and nostalgia when they watch a heartwarming Christmas special.

You begin to feel your vision pleasantly skewed like when your sweetheart lovingly touches the nape of your neck. Suddenly, the world isn't like the brackish baywater up close but the grand 'ole Atlantic with a view. 

Then the idea of Trenton doesn't hang on you like Jacob Marley's chains.

"All right fella" I say to myself, I say to no one.

"Here we go."

Rain

New Song and Slideshow. You can find it here.

The Silence (Abridged)

You can hear it in higher quality here.

The Flutist

The Flutist.

Funny or Die.

Hey "Poor, White & Stupid" is up on Funny or Die. 

Check it out and vote FUNNY, jerkfaces.

Exterior Day

EXT. DAY - The camera is lowered down from a GREAT HEIGHT amongst sky scrapers and plush apartment buildings into an anonymous CITY STREET. The street is bustling with motorists, bicyclists, pedestrians and PEOPLE from every social STRATA. Once the camera has SETTLED to eye level the camera moves FORWARD and begins to TRACK a young ASIAN MAN WITH A CELLPHONE. He finishes a phone call in MANDARIN and we see him slip it into the cuff of a DEEP TRENCH COAT POCKET. Once that action is completed the CAMERA is passed off, like a baton in a relay race to a YOUNG WOMAN who is walking swiftly and overtakes him, she too is on her CELLULAR PHONE, and we hear her utter the words

YOUNG WOMAN

(Garbled as though through a POLICE SCANNER)

I know I just got it. 

(Director's note: I leave the particulars, such as art direction and casting entirely up to you and your crew, you get that I'm going for an enormous metropolitan, heart-of-the-city scene here, right? And this really IMPORTANT initial camera shot that I actually spent ten minutes thinking of with the question "How can I visually re-enforce the social standing in the great chain of being of our two protagonists that are sitting undercover in a refurbished 1993 Ford Taurus at the corner of what could be W California AVE and W Cermak Road in Chicago ; could I perhaps integrate a vertical camera movement that is neither a PAN nor a CRANE SHOT that would descend from the rare air where the good and the great live down to street level, the sordid underbelly of this apparently flawless beacon of progress and modernity?"on my mind, doesn't count and will most likely be disregarded, overlooked, on the editing room floor. The only reason I feel safe typing this is because I know nobody, and I mean NOBODY actually reads these things. But Hey, It's your money, actually it's the studio's money)

INT. FORD TAURUS - DAY - Two young overpaid Hollywood-type detectives with bronzed skin and flawless, pearl-white smiles sit pretending to pay attention to something the director tried to explain to them two minutes ago, but are just thinking about the one make up girl they both want to bang. They will have a fight about it two days from now, and one contract will be renegotiated. But that is neither here nor there. Ahem...TWO HARD-BOILED Detectives in PLAINCLOTHES sit in the FRONT SEATS. THE DETECTIVE in the DRIVER'S SEAT is DWYER, the DETECTIVE in SHOTGUN is ROURKE. Over the POLICE SCANNER we hear the YOUNG WOMAN'S VOICE

POLICE SCANNER

I know I just got it

DWYER

(to ROURKE)

She the one?

ROURKE

No.

DWYER

How do you know?

ROURKE

Because I know.

DWYER

This is the 8th person today that fits this profile. What makes you so fucking sure that that ain't the lady that we're looking for?

ROURKE

Detective Dwyer, how many people did we see the first time we had a match?

DWYER

We saw that hot blonde, about shit, I dunno, around 11:00.

ROURKE

And then...(he waits for DWYER to consult his NOTES)

DWYER

Then at 12:00 we saw one, and at 1:00 we saw two, at 2:00 we saw three. And at Fuck we saw You. WE could have been DONE.

ROURKE

one, one, two, three, five...(Nothing registers with DWYER)...Look it's just after three o'clock now, I'll bet you all of my O.T. tonight that before 3:05 we see and HEAR four more women matching the same profile either receive that text or give us some kind of confirmation that they're being contacted by the same individual, group, individual group or group of individuals who are or who is the subject of this, our investigation.

DWYER is LAUGHING. Through the REARVIEW MIRROR we see a small group of NATTILY DRESSED, ATTRACTIVE WOMEN gather on the SIDEWALK. They appear DISTRAUGHT.

DWYER

You're bullshitting me, it's already after three?

ROURKE

Amicule, deliciae, num is sum qui mentiar tibi?

DWYER 

I don't play that Altar Boy shit, you gonna welch now?

ROURKE

Baby, Sweetheart, would I lie to you?

(This is the part of the movie at the very beginning when our two lovable rouges start grab assing in the stake-out car and a crucial piece of shit happens in clear view of the audience that would have put this baby down like a lame horse if they weren't fuck-ups. But that's what we love about them, they're fuck-ups, like you and me. Always fucking up. Actually it's more DWYER'S FAULT and ROURKE brings this up to him in a crucial a.)Bar b.)Lockerroom c.)Social d.) Formal e.)Meeting with the Boss f.) All of the Above -scene in which tears are shed, punches are thrown, Rourke's formal education is made fun of and somebody is asked to turn in a badge. Oh and the killer, he's texting rich ladies, and killing them with their cell phones because he's rich and powerful and a psycho and the programming algorithm is Fibbonacci's Theorem for some reason, and ROURKE picks up on this because of something DWYER said when DWYER was shitfaced. See, they need each other, and NOBODY important died.

THE END

I hate you.

Pods of Speech No.16/19

Pods of Speech No.16/19

This Podcast has...

Pods of Speech 
easy listening 
Last post: Sep 05, 2009 at 02:01am (23 days 10 hours ago) 

This Podcast has received 2,880 subscribers.

Straight from Garageband.com 

- damn, it has grown, a little, in my absence. 

I promise this Saturday, October 3rd I will be publishing Pods of Speech 16-19, however you want to count it during the three week hiatus. In the meantime spread the word let's try and get it above 3,000.

Just to reiterate though I was busy with the editing of this Movie that we've made. It's called Cry of the Eagle and the premiere is the 10h of October, not the 9th. 

Oh and Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. G.  Not to name names, but what a great wedding.

The Venture Bros.

RepRap

In the future we will all have one of these.

Competing Epistemologies.

Already the emailers in an act of rendition have me shuttled somewhere people like me are dealt with. It smells like mold and stagnant water on a cracked linoleum floor. I made the mistake of saying something about waterboarding and before you know it I'm strapped between two Church basement fold out chairs under the tenebrous halo of an arc lamp . My knees are bungied through the opening back-panel and my toes are curling in knots of agony. 

"What were you trying to say in your last podcast, sir?"

"Just" gasp "something about competing epistemologies" gasp "it's not even my scholarship" gasp "there was extensive paraphrasing of other major works."

Hmmm....

They move in for the fingernails.

Let's look at my notes here:

Yes, I was trying (in my rambling and incoherent manner) to define my world view, or Weltanschauung 

at the behest of a general feeling I was getting from the content and timbre of not a few of the emails.

And I made it clear that we needed to do some etymological dismantling before I began.

I was specifically recalling a class I had taken that cited in detail, the castle theory of history. A theory we can talk about later. It's also known as ubiquity. There is even a book called Ubiquity. Good stuff. Can I move on here? The main thrust of the talk was about competing epistemologies.

As a lazy, whiny, self-pitying, self-indulgent, and weak-willed lay-historian of the bar stool variety I enjoy asking the paralysis inducing questions like "What's it all about?" 

In my "research" I think that it is fair to say that we have seen the rise of one form of epistemology and that one form of epistemology is meant to bestow absolute metaphysical primacy upon the empirical, the quantifiable and what is quantifiably demonstrable and it completely and totally rejects any and all realities outside the ontological plane of the physical universe.

I made it clear that the beginning of this kind of epistemology, kind of goes back to William of Ockham who confused ideas which inhabited the intellect, with the subjective images that inhabited the imagination. And now we have a competing idea because (and this is who I subscribe to - and I'm not saying you have to) Aquinas in the Summa makes it very clear that images only capture things in their singularity but ideas capture things in their universality.

(Side Note: Someone actually wrote to me quoting Jodie Foster from the movie "Contact" whose character in the film cites Ockham's Razor, which this person quoted to me so as to prove that "my theory of history" was too complicated, so a simpler "theory" had to be "more correct". Clarification: I wasn't describing a theory of history, I was just describing...HISTORY and COMPETING IDEAS...I swear...) 

So where was I? 

Why is that Important?

Well, it's Important Because If Ockham didn't make that distinction IDEAS were just impressions on the imagination from sense perception and this epistemological confusion lead Ockham to reject universals.

So he ended up having to deny the objective Character of God, which was a self-evident cornerstone of society for hundreds of years  - but -  If you look at the word for faith in the New Testament, it is Pistis which means "Proof", especially evidentiary proof.  But Ockham can't make any kind of evidentiary claims to faith because he has denied the objective character of God, so he was left to conclude that faith is blind.

This new epistemology came to be known as Nominalism which led to the bifurcation of epistemology into what is quantifiably and empirically demonstrable and what is believed. So what we're dealing with is the belief, and it is a belief, that ALL things quantifiable, all things empirical represent the totality of reality.

So everything that defies quantification (for example: GOD, the good, the soul) are relegated to impotent and ambiguous subjectivism. 

This epistemological rigidity underpins SCIENTISM, which is the belief that the universal imposition of science upon all fields of inquiry is somehow a desirable thing and the modern mind, chronocentric as it is, considers this imposition favorable. 

And this is the kind of epistemology that we have seen the rise of, especially in the last hundred years.

But it is very dangerous when it's extended beyond its legitimate fields of application because science becomes a rigid template to which even the most complex of entities like man, must conform. The scientific outlook also acknowledges no moral master, it gives no assent to moral or aesthetic judgements.

Look at Anton Shugur in No Country for Old Men.

If you want to see the consequences of this. 

"Call it"

"But it doesn't make any sense, it's still you, you're the one flipping the coin."

"I got here the same way the coin did."

Chilling.

BF Skinner, a disciple of this, well he was a behavioralist which is a direct descendant of nominalism said that it "dehomunclises man." He meant it in a good way.

And Dennis Diderot, compiler of the encyclopaedia, the enlightenment thinker himself wanted to represent, in his own words - "gnostic doctrines, presented as revolutionary doctrines." And the enlightenment was the crucible for all modern sociopolitical utopian movements. 

And all of these movements demonstrate clearly, the dangers of scientism in the context of governance because science invariably becomes an oppressor because the scientifically regimented state must jettison the concepts of freedom and diginity because they are unquantifiable.

Do I really need to cite examples of this? 

William Golding, whose optimism was rivaled only by other utopianists of his day wrote after World War II 

"I must say that anyone who moved through those years without understanding that man produces evil as a bee produces honey, must have been blind or wrong in the head."

So the citizen in the scientifically regimented state becomes little more than an amalgam of behavioral repertoires whose every thought feeling and idea is the product of external stimuli and from this scientistic vantage point the populace's motivations can be calculated and systematized thereby allowing those few conditioners who are accountable to no moral master to develop economic and technological stimuli that can produce the desired patterns of mass behavior and such a societal model is known as technocracy which is a society (in classical political terms) in which technically trained experts by virtue of their specialised knowledge are in the dominant political and economic institutions.

Aldhous Huxley called it the scientific dictatorship, the rule of scientism. And by science I mean the modern form of science, which is very Faustian.

Thought Experiment:

If I was to ask you to group the following four things into two groups of two, how would you group them?

1. Science

2. Religion

3. Magic

4. Technology

Most people make the Magic/Religion, Science/Technology combo. I did. But the fact is that Modern Technology has more to do with Magic and Science has more to do with Religion.

This guy explains it better.

Science before the rise of nominalism acknowledged the existence of universals.

This goes back to Protagoras - man is the measure of all things

actually it's Gnostic - man facilitates his own salvation through his own cognitive powers

actually it's Promethean - man is the arbiter of his own moral precepts through technology, a technique, a craft

actually it's Luciferian - Man is God without God, he'll resculpt morally himself. 

See Genesis Chapter 3 for details regarding this.

You guys have enough moralising here?

Now get me off of these folding chairs my Mom just sent me a text message.

Tuesday Night/Wednesday Morning @ 12:38 A.M.

We have to go the Cresson Inn in about two hours.

We are shooting all night, probably until 6:30 A.M.  When the fucking bar opens again.

I feel like I've got a speech to give in my AP U.S. History class in High School.

"I'll be fine, I read the books, I know all about the war of 1812, ask me anything"

"Ok Dan, what were the perceived British insults surrounding the Chesapeake Affair"

"Fuck I know that. But this is before the Internet, that was like 10 years ago.  You had to go to the library and check the duey-decimal...Why am I rehearsing this?"

I'll post some pictures or something.

We don't need sleep, baby.

'Cuz we got talent.

Old Lawyer Fight

Aspirat primo Fortuna labori, AGAIN!!!!!

Aspirat primo Fortuna labori - Fortune smiles upon our second first effort. (Virgil)

Hey, it's been a year!

And already, totally, things in my life have changed so much because of this blog.

No, seriously.

Why are you laughing?

Totally things have totally changed. 

I don't get into philosophical bumbley-mumbley-jumbo, like who cares what the Cosmological proof for the existence of God is, or what the Scientific, Personal or Essential Causes are?!...Nerds.

I don't try to get drunk off of Listerine anymore ( rubbing alcohol, f.y.i. plebeians)

Let's hope this year is totally so much more better for God's sake than last year.

Not at all like the page numbers in "Waiting for Godot" where the first and second page would be "1...1"

"2...2" as if he was saying something like : We do something...we do it over again...we do something...

we do it over again.

Your face is a poem, sweetheart.

I love you so much.

Utter Garbage

Roxborough Philadelphia is the closest thing to the physical manifestation of Godthought, the topography of a dream as far as I'm concerned. You know subconscious ID PeckMillers. and stuff like that (ugh) I'm boring myself. Sometimes I wake up and feel like I can conquer the world. Sometimes I drop a pen and could weep because the picking that pen up seems like an impossible task, a herculean one even.

Like when Hercules had to clean those stables out. Which story was that? Nobody thinks that they're a bad person right? How do you make sure you don't get to that point where you're rationalizing some seriously dark shit? I had soup with a meat broth last night, my stomach sounded like the pipe in the ceiling of my basement in the house I grew up in on Caledonia street after Mike would take one of his 5 pounders. I remember I had my eighth grade girlfriend over one time and we were kissing, and really uncomfortable to begin with - and we just heard this *GOOSH*.

I was visiting a friend in Kennet Square, (I don't think that I'm spelling that right, and even though I'm on the internet, I'm too lazy to look it up) you know Brandywine Wyeth Country, Cornfields, Rolling Hills, Gorgeous, 1st Class. I didn't want to be rude, so I ate pretty much what they served but all night - I'm trying to talk my friend's Father about Pakistan, and the economy and I'm sure it sounded like the plumbing sound I just mentioned. "So, I don't know about Iran because" *BUGOOOSH* "Excuse me" - That wasn't flatulence. I really want to say. But you can't say that. You just can't. We went swimming later. It was freezing. To me. I think only me. Indoorsy me. And I am a pussy. I think I made the last part clear.
I'm just glad he didn't ask me about sports. For fuck's sake. That was the worst. In high school especially. Dating some of those mainline girls and their boozy golfclub fascist Dad's.

"Where you goin' to college dan?"

"Allentown..." It's almost like I'm guessing the way I say it. Like I could change it if they don't like it. Just don't punch me really hard in the neck like I can see you're thinking about doing.

"D3 but"..."you know they're still competitive"

D3? I wonder what could possibly mean? I could try and hide in the bathroom again, but I've already done that twice and the last time was for a solid 7 minutes. I can't.

"Yeah it's pretty competitive." Lot of talented people want those parts in plays.

"How bout them Phils?"

I know that Von Hayes played on the Phillies. And Mike Schmidt. And...John Kruk he has one testicle?

Anyway it wasn't that bad last night.

How you guys doing?

Yeah I took down Pods of Speech No.7 for two reasons. The Girl that I was having a conversation with objected to being on the podcast WITHOUT her PERMISSION. She also didn't think that it was appropriate that I was airing out dirty laundry from our personal life. I already got some email complaints - so I apologize. I will make number eight much better. I promise. And I apologize to Ms. Linn for using her voice without permission.

I am, however going to keep talking endless shit, just not about anything in that area anymore, apparently.

Y'all be good now ya'hear.

Happy Fourfajooly

I will be at the Great Blue Heron Festival this weekend. 

Pods of Speech No.6 will be posted this Monday 7/6/2009. 

Have a happy, safe, and fun Fourth of July with your loved ones.

America is still the best f*cking country in the g-damn world. 

Seriously. 

I'll see you guys soon.

A Drunk American Adapts the Gettysburg Address as a Birthday Toast for His Brother in a European Dance Club

A Drunk American Adapts the Gettysburg Address as a Birthday Toast for His Brother in a European Dance Club by Thomas McGlaughlin Jr.

One score and eight years ago, our founding father brought forth on this continent a new Broheim, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal-- but that some women are created more equal than others. Sorry, Angelina Jolie. 

My brother Dan has never found you that attractive. But if Uma Thurman happens to be in the audience, please call me. 

I may be able to arrange something for you two.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, or something ..... unless Bush was lying .... which, come to think of it, is not only very possible but EXTREMELY LIKELY. Whatev. Now we are engaged in a great civil party, testing whether one man, my brodey Dan, or any man so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure without the benefits of Uma Thurman, Gwyneth Paltrow, Cameron Diaz, or any other appropriately breathtaking tall blonde with about $10 million dollars in the bank and the inexplicable need for rare, probably illegal pleasures. Ladies and women, we are met on a great battle-field of that war. But not war exactly. More like, "the great floor of an outdated Zurich disco." The point is that we have come to dedicate a portion of that Disco, as a final resting place for those who here--- and I'm thinking of Dan very particularly --- who want to give their lives or even just bodies to a pretty cool dude that this nation might be a better, cooler, altogether more awesome place. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this, is it not?

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- Danny Boy. We are his Bros. That would be gay and weird and what not. Uma Thurman, Heather Graham, Cate Blanchett, et cetera, that's where you come in. The brave women, living and dead, who struggled here, on many long nights throughout the 70s and early 80s, have consecrated this fine dance floor, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what Dan would like to do here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored ladies we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these women shall not have come to this creepy vestige of the Bee Gees in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. And that Dan may have a really cool birthday. Shots!

Car Anagrams from 6:36 - 7:24 a.m.

Toyota = A Tooty

Orator = To Roar

McDonalds = Ms. Cold Dan

Infiniti = In I fit in

Terminator = To re-mint, ra!

The Proposal = Shat-o Peopl-r

Ford Escort = Fred R. Scoot

Yaris = Ya, sir!

Hollywood Tans = O to wholly sand

Coffee = Fec ofe

Schuylkill = Chu Killsly

Viewfinder = Vin, Few Die

Safe Auto = U Eat Sofa

Mountain Dew = Um, No, Ain't Wed

The Seafarer

Bill Zielinski's bartending Brendan in The Arden's 2000 production of 

The Weir didn't have a story to tell. 

He was always debatin' 

It's almost as if this story has been nine years coming.

Whereas the haunted inhabitants of Conor McPherson's The Weir were haunted houses, plagued by loss and regret, just below unrequited love or obsession in the hierarchy of torments, Mr.Zielinski's character is put upon by forces of mephistophelean caliber.

David O'Connor's production notes quote the text of the old Anglo-Saxon poem, The Seafarer: "Wretched and anxious, in the paths of exile, lacking dear friends, hung round by icicles, while hail flew past in showers" describes the psychological touchstone of the play.

So it's only fitting to have Mr Zielinski return to the central role of James "Sharky" Harkin in Conor McPherson's latest opus The Seafarer  at the Arden Theatre Company. 

Considering Mr. Zielinsk's familiarity with McPherson and McPherson's affinity for Mamet, William Zielinski's portrayal of Sharky was a perfect fit - the engine of the play: always ready to clean the detritus left by winos out of the alley or prepare a meal of smoked salmon and soda bread.

The cast was rounded out by the expert talents of veteran Philly actors Anthony Lawton (Ivan Curry), Greg Wood (Mr. Lockheart) who never fails to deliver, Brian Russell (Richard Harkin, Barrymore anyone?) and Joe Hickey (Nicky Giblin). 

Having lived in Ireland, in LaHinch (O'Looney's was a favorite drinking spot after surfing) I can tell you that Mr. Hickey's portrayal of the strained, garrulous, and hyper-active Giblin was brilliant, spot-on, excellent.

McPherson's character's unravel slowly, reveal gradually, just as the characters of the Weir were contained, bursting at the seams, (from the Old English wer, to damn up); the wretched and anxious characters here endure the cold psychic wind of the titular Seafarer. Watching them come back to shore is the drama. See this play.

28 pt.2

My Life in 10,000 Words.

My Island

My Castle

My Boat

My Spaceship

My Rocketboots

My Childhood

My Dog

My superpower

My cocaine field and airplane

...okay 10,024.

Chevy Tantrum

Burning Daylight

Vile Smiles

VILE SMILES
This is my friend Ryan's blog, check it out - you'll laugh your ass off. The following is an actual review someone paid to write, there's an attaboy:

"Vile Smiles is an unapologetic retelling of daily experiences by a 27 year old guy who goes by the name Ryan. He grew up and currently lives in Philadelphia, and according to himself, "he's super f*cking neat"! This blog is oozing with sarcasm and obsession over the little things in life that strike him as annoying, or just plain wrong. Whether it is restaurant etiquette, depression, creepy neighbors, or sports, Ryan's got a very detailed opinion on it. Be sure to proceed with caution: with enough discretion on the reader's part, Vile Smiles is sure to be an entertaining read."

---Copied from The Eaton Web Blob Directory


http://vilesmiles.org/

Appaloosa

On November 8th me and Johnny Boy went to go see Appaloosa.
The movie fucking blew.
I found the ticket stub in my drawer today. 

And I was like,

Oh yeah that movie: 

It's about something really bad someone saw in the past.

P.S. "APPALOOSA" ALSO SPELLS "ALAS, A POOP"

"The Gears of Modernity: Daniel Wunder & the Neu-High-School"

SCENE 1
EXT. COROVA-NEU H.I.G.H. SCHOOL, DAY. The BUILDING is enormous, taking up an entire CITY BLOCK. The design echoes Arthur Snyers, and borrows architectural references from 'La Parfaite Intelligence et l'Etoile Reunies.' ZEPPELINS circle above the CITY, like so many BIRDS. SPINDLE-BLUSTS and PANELVANGERS zip along the HIGH TENSION WIRES which cris-cros the city like a fisherman's net.

TRANSPORT BOXES click along guided street rails at the corner of 01001101.9th STREET and VANDERBILT THOROUGHFARE in NEU-CITY. The scene is MODERN: GLASS and STEEL buildings in the style of ART-DECO and EGYPTIAN REVIVAL are planted amongst shrubs of out-dated 21st century tract housing, like patches of dying of grass.
The leaden report of a diesel engine backfiring through the soot encrusted, dilapidated neu-neu-deal neighborhood gives the HOUSE OF INTEGRATED GENERATION HABILITATION the air of an eminence gris.

A small, utilitarian TRANSPORT BOX weaves its way out of the stream of traffic. DANIEL WUNDER, 27, crusty, sleepy, slowly rolls out of the passenger side of the TRANSPORT BOX. His clothes are wrinkled and his PRINCE EDWARD PETTICOAT has SPOTTED DICK STAINS on the lapels and NAPOLEONIC COLLAR. He adjusts his MONOCLE and lets out a deep sigh.

GLOCK WUNDER, 57, springs like a LAPIN AGILE out of the driver's side. His MACRO CEPHALIC CRANIUM is florid and taught, and there is a twinkle in his eye which evidences strong influences of what EUGENICISTS of the FUTURE will come to identify as the IRISH PUCK gene.

DANIEL WUNDER
I daresay we've gone a little too far in the T.Box and landed ourselves aright 300 years ago near Christ S'pital fields. Watch out, father! Jack the Ripper still about!

GLOCK WUNDER
Ah, you're talking I thought you're spleen'ad ruptured on account of the bile and stench coming from your beer'ole. Asides - Happy Jack only killed protties.
DANIEL WUNDER
I know, give heed.

GLOCK WUNDER
Easy now. Long live the Queen.

DANIEL WUNDER
Long Live the Queen.

GLOCK WUNDER
Thank Lord, 112 years ago we have been returned to the warm embrace of our Sovereign. Did you procure the VIEWDISCS I required from T.L.A. Oscar Wilde?

DANIEL WUNDER
(taking a pinch from his snuffbox)
Indeed.

SCENE 2
INT. COROVA-NEU H.I.G.H.SCHOOL EDIFICATION ROOM #41.369
DANIEL stands at the head of the classroom, the desks are black steel with a VIEWDISPLAY embedded in the desktop just beneath a dermis of smudged, dirty, translucent plastic. The Edification Room is festooned with portraits of MARGARET SANGER, ALEISTER CROWLEY, JOHN DEE, and QUEEN ELIZABETH I & II. Behind the INSTRUCTOR SCRIM, which looks like a slightly opaque muslin drop in lieu of a traditional, antiquated, obsolete blackboard of the 20th and 21st century.  TWO HISTORICAL EPOCHS are depicted above the SCRIM in the form of two LEGENDS. The first one shows pictures of CIVIL WAR and STRIFE, the color scheme is comprised of secondary and tertiary colors. There are hints of CUBIST and SURREALIST techniques, a la Picasso's Guernica, and images of the Founding Fathers, John Jay, Abraham Lincoln, etc...The Legend reads "1776-2076: THE THREE HUNDRED YEAR DIVORCE". THE SECOND LEGEND READS "THE RECRIMINATION PERIOD: 2076 - " and depicts a divinely ordered pyramidal structure, replete with the QUEEN, LORDS, VASSALS, SERFS, and NOBLEMEN. 

THE STUDENTS, aged 14-17, are in varied states of BOREDOM, FRUSTRATION, UNCONSCIOUSNESS, and HOSTILITY. Beneath the constant electric hum of the PEDAGOGICAL EQUIPMENT there is the sussuration of profanities and chatter. The volume is variable, sometimes increasing, sometimes decreasing but never ceasing altogether.

THREE STUDENTS who are especially vocal are sitting in the back row of desks. They are GRINK, 16, HOHGLE, 15, and DODO, 16.

GRINK
Ga'Pen

HOHGLE
Nah, ah ain't got pen.

DODO
You got pen?

GRINK
Need a pen.

HOHGLE
Need a pen too.

DODO
Who got a pen?

GRINK
Why you need a pen?

HOHGLE
Why YOU need a pen?

DODO
WHO got a PEN?

GRINK
I oh no.

HOHGLE
I ohno neevuh.

DODO
WHO GOT A PEN?

GRINK
Whatchoo doon needa pen?

HOHGLE
I ohno.

DODO
Just need it.

GRINK
Yall cain ryte.

HOHGLE
Yeah, yall cain ryte Doh.

DODO
I caintoo ry.

GRINK
Yo Hoh he said "I caintoo ry" he was all-

HOHGLE
-yeah he was all-

DODO
fuck yall motha fu-

GRINK
Ry-did-down Dodo, rydid down.

HOHGLE
Yeah rydid down Dodo, rydid down

DODO
(calling to the front of the room)
GLOCK JUNIOR, HOH & G is messin' with me yo, give them sankslips, sankslip'em GLOCK!

WUNDER JUNIOR is slightly flummoxed, but not surprised by the outburst from DODO.  DANIEL WUNDER produces THREE SANCTION SLIPS FROM HIS WORK BLOC. A certain level of constant disruption is the normative operating condition, but once in a while the THREE WISE MEN, manage to disrupt the disruption, as it were.

SCENE 3

To Be Continued.