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Wednesday, November Twenty Fifth, 6:07 pm

Nov. 25th, 2009 | 06:07 pm
mood: boredbored
music: Walk this Way - Aerosmith

pick a paddle, please don't dilly daddle
I haven't got all day
Cause some of the words are like horses without saddle
They aren't here to stay...

so many people are out and about
so many I just want to shout
gather round I'll tell you a story
so take a seat, take a knee
A story of people in a far away land
Ruled over, by an iron clad hand
They rose up and fought their way through
all for people like me and you
And though it was in a differfent place, a differfent time
Do you really want to play the part of a mime
In your invisible cage, with our invisble walls, your invisible rage
Norton Security sc...
scan is interrupiting me
but stay your seat, and hold your knee
I'll be back, don't worry, you'll see!

I opened the door and got not a flood
like I was expecting, half hoping I would
But instead found order, boxes full, letters on tables
stories and ideas and complete fantastic fables
Im bored
Whats up?

Until again...

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(no subject)

Oct. 3rd, 2009 | 02:09 pm

I wish I were a llama.

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(no subject)

Aug. 28th, 2009 | 10:59 pm


wtf people... Don't listen to them. Get on my planet ship.

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Wednesday, July Twenty Second, 1:28 am

Jul. 22nd, 2009 | 01:30 am
mood: mischievousmischievous
music: Yourself or Someone Like you album - Matchbox 20

Ah, so there you are. How long does it take you to keep up. And you answer before the question is out. Not long. And the surroundings are set. A nod of the head and the cock of a gun. And silence.

The room was dark and silent. A hesitant expectancy hung with the cigar smoke as seven men had turned themselves to face a screen on the wall. A hiss and soon a flicker appeared on the screen, catching motes of dust as the projecter threw the image across the room. Two men were laying on beds, unconscious. A few, maybe four, scientists or doctors scurried about. Some carried notebooks and scribbled on them furiously while others were removing wires and removing trays holding tools. Their muffled conversation was uncatchable, and the screen wobbled as the camera man’s boots could be heard approaching the tables. The man on the left was the first to stir, and the camera flung to him unsteadily. The camera man spoke. “Hello Daniel. How do you feel?” The man mumbled in a cracked voice through his dry mouth. “Get him some water.”

An attendant held out a glass, which Daniel took. The second man was awake now as well, mumbling incoherently. He didn’t wait for the water to be offered to him before he began yelling. Daniel screamed. The camera flung to the curtain in the middle of the room falling and the second man bursting through, grasping a desk to keep his balance. He screamed at Daniel. Then, as the camera flung wildly back and fourth between the two men, the room fell silent.

“Daniel,” The man said, focusing on him. He was staring intently at the other man, and teeth could be heard griding together. Sweat poured down his face. “Martin,” The camera pleaded, zipping across the room to the other man. Martin, also, was breathing heavily, locking gazes with Daniel. Then Martin, with the camera focused on him, flung his head back like a cord had been cut, and fell limp to the ground, knocking a tray over as he went. For a second the camera caught Daniel falling backwards off the bed.

The camera itself then fell and for a sideways second its voice could be seen running across the bed, then disappearing after Daniel in his aid. Nothing could be seen but the voice of the camera, “Daniel, are you okay? Nurse! Nurse!” Another voice was just coming into sound as the screen crackled, hissed, went black. The lights came on, and the men turned once again to face each other. Two were in the process of putting out cigars, while two were pulling them out, and another was arming his lips with a cigarette.

The man at the head of the table looked down at the pen he was holding and asked to no one in particular, “Now the question is,” the pen was now twirling through his fingers, one at a time up down and around, and back again. “How do we stop this from happening?”

“We’ve had our researchers working with some top psychologists. Those guys are eating up a chance to do something like this. We barely had to pay them half of what we thought they would cost. God damn, Alan, they are nuts.” The speaker paused to look through his notes. He found a few of them and passed them to Alan at the head of the table, who looked through them. “Seven soldiers have just returned from North Korea. Covert Ops. Big black secret stuff. I have the whole file here, but I asked the boys from Specs to send me the best, and these are who they recommended.” He paused again to put out his cigar. Alan was still looking through the files. The other expectant faces, like cameras of their own, following the words, watching the reactions, wondering at the outcomes. Funny to be so close to such a decision and yet have no real say. Four men, three women. Each file showed exemplary everything. Top notch of all they’ve done. For almost nine years, the seven of them have served as an elite squadron, verging on rogue status, very dangerous. But very close and perfect for this.

I need to go outline some stuff, but I had more to talk about but this got out of hand, heh.

Until again…

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Wednesday, May Thirteenth, 4:28 am

May. 13th, 2009 | 04:28 am
mood: bouncybouncy
music: Glycerine - Bush

Its ten to four in the morning, and Vaughn and Dave have just retired from another amazingly productive session. But not as you'd all think, haha! Four or five days ago, I said to Vaughn, "You know, with the creativity this house has, I bet you we'd be able to create a comic universe like Marvel or DC." Well he called me on my bluff, and so far its been no bluff at all. We've been working hard and created a great idea to base everything off of, created our main characters and villains, and its been branching out gloriously on all ends. The three of us sat at lap tops in the living room typing away, bouncing ideas off of each other and whoever was in the room at any given moment. Its what I do on my own, but with a million more voices that aren't all just coming from inside my head. We've done these things before, I mean these guys we have a million ideas for movies or skits or jokes or ideas for all kinds of things, and this one has by far and away become the largest, and I really hope something comes out of this. Its planned as a three part graphic novel, at least to get a foot hold in the universe and plot out the main ideas. Which could easily at first be adapted to a web comic format holding the same value just not in book form. Glorious glorious glorious.

And I'm here wide awake ready to go still, lots to hammer out though. The sandbox has its walls, now let me build my castles where my sand won't slide. Hold it in place. I guess the box is good for something, no...?

“Sir, we seem to have been robbed.”

“Nobody knows we exist, how is that even possible?”

“Well, as unanswerable as that is, the problem still remains.”

“Don’t be snide with me. What have they taken?”

“Project Seven, sir.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“They knew. By God, they knew. Did it ever get into actual testing?”

“Yes, sir.”

“... Well?”

“Well, they managed a successful neurological link between two soldiers specially picked from returnees from Afghanistan about eight months ago.”


“With an asterisk, sir.”

“Explain that one, please.”

“Well, they had complete access of each other’s thoughts, and memories, and most likely would have worked well in sync with each other in combat scenarios.”

“Would have?”

“Well, Subject A had slept with Subject B’s wife, sir. This was unknown to Subject B until they were linked.”

“I thought they ran complete tests and made sure there were no secrets? Didn’t these two serve three years together over there?”

“Well, yes sir. But, well, its actually quite amazing. The five minutes that ensued the link were, on a scientific scale, very enlightening. Apparently they had a war in their minds, and then Subject A just, well, died. Brain dead. Subject B killed him, though he never admitted to it, nor was he ever tried in court for the unfortunate mishap.”

“And how is that enlightening? Did you discover karma there in that moment?”

“No, sir. But they were still linked to our monitors, and the brain activity was off the charts. We had possibly seventy five percent brain usage at one point, in both their brains. But I digress sir, we still have a problem.”

“First, find me who took this from us.”

“Yes sir. And then?”

“And then, find me Subject B.”

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Wednesday, April Twenty Second, 2:36 pm

Apr. 22nd, 2009 | 02:36 am
mood: bouncybouncy
music: Let's Face It album, Mighty Mighty Bosstones

To the girl on Mario Kart Wii who kept choosing Moonview Highway with me for over an hour before it was finally picked, thank you. I wish there was a way to chat, but I know you saw me hold back that red shell as you took the lead on the last lap. Even though I won, its the thought that counts, really...

Reading Rainbow, the show where Jordi La Forge taught kids to read, ran for over twenty years, finishing itself up in 2005. Set your phasers to phonics, kids.

There's a coca cola can, sitting in front of my fan. It moved. Not much, but a couple jiggles, which is strange since the fan (which has been on for a while, and is in non oscillation mode) has only made it move once. I've been staring at it for about five minutes now, and its refused to move again. But I sit there... It just moved again. And now it fell over. A less cynical man would cast an eyebrow to the skies, or look around for ghosts.

And here's a tid bit from me to people who tell me they do not want to purchase the newspaper because there is nothing but bad news in it...

You say that like its my fault. First off, of course there's bad news in it. Everyone has their heads so far in the sand, they poke up for a gasp of air and a few words on how horrible everything is as if they know what they are talking about, and then duck back into their holes. When confronted with it, you don't even want to understand it. You just know its bad, and therefore has to be fixed. But of course you yourself aren't going to fix it, but someone else will. Then, on the defensive you don't even defend yourself, but change the argument. You don't agree with the views in the paper. Of course you don't, you dolt. If we expected everyone to agree with a paper, especially when it comes to editorials (which I don't think a single person on the planet likes), why bother? The fact that you don't agree with what you have read, and are telling me this, its done its job. We're not telling you to agree with us, we're telling you one slant on it. Go get your own fucking slant. Slant it up. Put your spin on it. I want you to read and form your own damn opinion. Don't eat that the Prime Minister is a great guy because of this act or that speech, just know about the act or the speech. Know what I mean? Somewhere five sentences ago they hang up. Most of them do. Some follow me through, all the way to the bitter end, fighting. I like those ones, at least they stand up for themselves. So much disinterest in this world, violent and confrontational and subtle and silent and the lot of it. I enjoy pushing papers because, well, firstly because I need money and I can talk a bit when I need to, and secondly, because I like papers. Sure, I don't subscribe to one myself, but don't look at me, listen to me. I figure the more voices we have out there creating dialogue, the better. Be it small papers, big papers, Hell any medium really, movies, papers, music, art, the whole great lovable Interweb is a symphony of human life. Brutal and real and big and complex and you'll never see it all, no matter how hard you try. Voices big and small are still, in the end, voices. And I can think of a lot worse things to be pushing on people than your local paper. And when I get students, I let them off. I don't even pitch it to them, I just ask about majors to the talkative few and let the others go... But the rest of them, if they don't have a good excuse I won't let them off the phone until they buy the paper or hang up. And I don't feel bad about any of it.

And hey, even if you don't agree with it, it sure is an idea you can believe in when you are getting a ten for every sap sold. But like I said, don't look at me, listen to me.

Hey that wasn't half bad, I don't think.

There has been so much Star Wars on the television lately, which has only led to us marathoning the movies probably three times through the six. Yes, I actually (finally) sat down through the first three from start to finish. I even gave them a chance. Of course they aren't that bad, I mean I like them in the way that I like the new Batman movies, in a sense. And I did sit down and pay a lot more attention to the story. The first story I learned was that of Vader and Luke, it was my childhood playground where it all unfolded for the very first time. Such a beautiful trilogy, and such a vibrant universe, I fell in love with it all. And watching the new movies I found some gems in there, akin to wandering through Azeroth in search of Mannoroth's broken spear. Like realizing that Darth Plaguis was Anakin's father. (At least as far as I'm concerned he is, though even wookiepedia didn't answer that one for us) The story is still great, though Jar Jar and ridiculous battle droids and a flying, oil lighting on fire R2 D2... And of course a few shifts in the universe between the trilogies, but that's expected of anything done it parts like this really. I accept it now as actually having been made. And I think it looked ridiculous and childlike because everything WAS ridiculous and childlike, and I'm directing this part at the species and flora and fauna of the worlds, in the originals to me they just seemed more real, when in the new three they are completely unreal and on the other side of the science fiction plate, if you ask me. But I guess Lucas is just showing off what it would have looked like had he had this technology now, because it is pretty. Real pretty.

Ahem. All that aside, they are still terrible shit. As Dave said; I would have been fine with Vader yelling "Noooooo!" at the end of the third if, you know, a planet exploded in the background. And how many Fetts have to die the most unlucky deaths ever? I mean they both take on Jedi and fare better than most, then randomness (blind Han, rampaging giant beast thingy) knocks them on their asses and eventual deaths. Sigh.

And the word of the day is disperate.

Until again...

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I lose.

Apr. 17th, 2009 | 02:56 pm

That is all.

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This is Jay's fault...

Apr. 14th, 2009 | 12:46 pm
mood: awake
music: Echoes, Silence, Patience and Grace - The Foo Fighters

I think of myself, here at twenty three, on the edge of a new generation. Rather, on the tail end of a dying generation. With the invention of the internet and technology soaring to new heights on what seems like a daily basis, the world has become a small, small place. No longer is it large and unseen, but Google Earth shows every nook and cranny. Information is plentiful, and anything you want to know you can. Easily and without more cost than parking your ass at a library computer.

And here I am, just starting into my university education (for the second time), and I wonder, with the internet at my fingertips full of anything I could possibly want, why should I shell out thousands of dollars a year for a piece of paper. The internet has started something amazing. With the freedom of information, soon enough people will learn that no longer is the paper needed saying that you can do something, you need only show that you can.

And that's the way it should be.

At one time only so many people in the world knew how to read and write. Why, now, are these abilities (stretched to a slightly larger scale) costing us an arm and a leg. Better question, why are people still paying an arm and a leg for what is now free? As a university student I spent more of my time on the internet than I did in any book handed out by a Prof.

But here's the kicker. Education, better yet, information, is something that holds with it a great deal of power. Knowledge is power. The institution will always need power to control, and with a monetary world like this, the best way to control it is to charge for it. That's changing though, they are losing their grip on education that way. Its slow, but happen quicker and quicker as I write this. Don't get me wrong, I don't think I'll see this, nor will my grandchildren most likely, for changes like this take time. No matter how fast your technology makes the world go, we as people can only go so fast. But when the institution loses control of information, they lose a great deal of power. The monetary system will crumble then. That is when money won't matter.

Okay, as I look back and read this, I realize it just tidbits of an idea I was running absolutely rampant with last night. And I'm high and everything in my mind just got really big. Need to regroup and go at it again later.

But on that note, thoughts? Comments? How is everyone? Well, I hope.

Until again...

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Sunday, April Fifth, 2:22 pm

Apr. 5th, 2009 | 02:23 pm

“Today, we have been dealt a great blow. There is no easy way for me to say this, and I know Tustavians are not weak of heart, so I shall just say it. My father, our king, Jans Tustav has been murdered. It is a mighty blow. A crushing blow. Anyone else under this duress would crumble and decay. But I am here today, to stand in front of all of you and say that though evil lurks, and though evil strikes, we shall not decay. We will not crumble. We may fall, friends, and today we have certainly faltered and been brought to our knees. I reach out my hand now to you, heavy of heart and weary of work. Grab my hand, friends. I will protect you. Through word of mouth or swing of sword, I shall protect you. Stand again, Tustavians, stand so that you too can say to your brothers, ‘Arise for I shall protect you!’”

The city erupts into a roar of approval. In comparison to his voice they seem tremendous. He is angry that his voice sounds so small, when his father’s seemed to fill even the darkest bars in the farthest corners of the city. His is angry that he has to be here today to do this. He is angry that his father had to die for the people he loved. He is most angry that the knife his father had to die by was his. When the city fell again to an eerie quiet of the mourning, he knelt down, closed his eyes, and held out his hands in wait for his father’s royal staff. And there, in that silent moment, a tear fell down his cheek. It was the first tear he had shed for his father, and he realized that anger was the wrong word for what he was feeling. The staff was heavy and cold and he opened his eyes when it was placed in his hands. Gold, smooth, the ruby blazing in the morning sun. He closed his eyes again and cried. Openly and for the first time he could remember. Elred Tustav knelt down a hardened Prince, and stood up a broken King.

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Friday, April Third, 1:54 pm

Apr. 3rd, 2009 | 01:54 pm
music: One Foot on the Gas, One Foot in the Grave - Streetlight Manifesto

A spider's threads can hold much more than you would at first expect. Why do you think he catches so many flies? Many things are misleading like that. The smallest things carry the most importance and strength. A grain of sand can hold in it a world of possibility. And as all worlds, they are all connected by their own threads. These were not spun by spiders, they were created well before spiders had come to exist. Should they work well, like the spider's, they are invisibile. But when they snap and break, and you catch the sun gleaming off the shambles as it floats useless in the air. Nothing is forever, and all threads will over time snap and fall away and break. And thus worlds interconnected become one. Collisions occur, things change. Most people fear these happenings, but what they fail to realize is the last step to collisions. Things move on. For better or worse, nothing is eternal. I have see these threads, and crossed their perilous paths. And I know better than most, that all things move on.

-Excerpt from the journal of Kreck Lambast, Knight of the Order of Tustav

I'm watching the world like its hanging from a spider web
Over power lines, under trees
Across blue skies, and even bluer seas
So give me something to watch

Hit the web; helpless little fly
Cause vibrations, tremors
Move the world
Move the spider

His venomous bite
Is painless and slight
And not felt until its too late;
When the world is spinning
And the web is winning
And you see the eight eyes of fate

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