I hope...

... to keep blogging. I was reminded of this recently, and shall endeavour to do better.
... to drink less in the future. My growing potbelly is evidence of my illness.
... to incorporate ellipses in actual, verbal conversation.
... to visit a state south of the Mason-Dixon before 2010 hits me like the proverbial nailgun.
... to popularise a proverb concerning a nailgun.
... to win at life. Not for a prize, but for the bragging rights.

An experiment in blind, drunken typing.

I'm going to type from here out without looking at the keyboard, all my thoughts, while listening to Bush's "Golden State" album. Stream-of-consciousness, at 3.48ish am, and a little beer left.
Here goes.

Getting into the groove now. Where ... wait, I know where my bones are. They're inside my skin. Bemneath my littleknown muscle. Gavin's voice is fucking fantastic. Take another sip, commit to this expirement. Forget the inevitable typos, try and forget where your fingers know the Backspace key is. Get lost. Ghost man. Stare into the black ceiling of the inside of your eyelids. NO. DON'T open your eyes.
Oh, ain't that the truth. I'm at my best when it's on me. Ghost man. Ain't nobody that can save me from myself, for I am an ominous power in my own life... one who wreaks havoc, one who... loses bones. And that's the truth. I lose bones.

(Alright, I admit it. I just opened my eyes. And I realise that I'm typing better than I should be able to at... 3.53am. I'm going outside to have a smoke, tying a bandanna around my eyes, and hoping for the best. Or worst. Whatever.)

Oh man, I just ate a bit of grilled cheese sandwich that was laying around the house. I have no idea whow long this thing was sitting around! It's... crunchy. Okay, back to Bush. The things we do to the people that we love... Well, I gues we hurt them. That's pretty much true, or else it wouldn't be a cliche. We w3ish them safe from harm, that's what Mr. Rossdale says. But I think he's wrong. We wish them good, but sometimes harm is in the sake of good. Sometimes there's harm in the pursuit of good. Sometims you have to ride your bike down the street, around the corner, out of your parent's view, and you are in DANGER. Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Well, that's what happens.

(DAMMIT, I took off the bandanna and read what I wrote. I'm leaving the typos and randomness, but I broke the vein of honesty I was getting towards there... Alright. Take three. If it doesn't work this time, I'm calling it quits.)

Here goes. Bandanna se4curely tightened. I can only hope that the tape holds. Still listening to Golden Statye... and it's a mixture of nostalgia and hioping. Hoping. I had to type=-toufh thate from memory. Shit... there. There's the little nubvs on the keys.

I will post thils. I know it's wrong. I know it's not the polished thing I put forth. I know it's not the pressed, tattered-jeans, perfectly planned motif I usually show. I'm... tired of that. I'm tired in general of not knowing if I'm real.

I'm going to type that statement slowly to make sure I've got it right.
I want to make sure I'm real.

I hpoe I got tha last part right, 'cause this ssentence isnb't. Oh, I've forbidden myself the suse of the Backspace key, so I hope you can make sense of any of this. Fuck, I hope I CDAAN.

no don't read it yet, don't take the blindofld off....

Feeel the msuic. Type to the rhythyu. Find the colume, turn it up.

Remember writing lyrics? You wanted to expose yourself to the world, not in exhibioutinst picture form, but in words, in memories, in thoughts, in ideals, in behjaviousrs. It never worked, did it. It never worked. So... you can try writing something different... or stop. Just, you know? Find a respectable fucking job somewhere.

I can't take the blindfold anymore. I'm taking it off, reading what happpened, and then going away. Not forever.

More cuteness from teh aminals.

I realise I haven't blogged lately, but I don't really have anything of interest to say right now.
In the meantime, here's an adorable silent video of a tortoise chasing a tomato.

All hail the mighty 'stache!

More YouTube goodness, here emodied (or embedded) in the form of a fantastic ukelele tribute to the most manly of facial hair arrangements, the mighty moustache.

Also, I hate being sick and cooped up at home. It's partly due to the weather, partly due to the strange lumps in my neck. IT'S NOT A TUMOR.

The Devil

I can't really think of anything to blog about today, so instead, enjoy this video of PJ Harvey singing "The Devil" (off her incredible album White Chalk) live on a Danish television programme.

I love how the metronome carries an ominous beat throughout, and I totally dig the wicked piano and effects on her vocals.

Superheroes IRL

The picture above is of real-life "superhero" Master Legend, of Orlando, and his ex-sidekick Ace. It links to an incredible Rolling Stone article about the life of Master Legend, who rolls around in his beat up Battle Truck, firing plastic Easter eggs filled with rocksalt out of a Right Guard-powered aerosol launcher at villains and criminals in the mean streets of central Florida.

I'm not making this up. Google "superhero network" and you'll find a plethora of message boards and online communities of costumed vigilantes, trying to make their respective neighbourhoods just a bit safer.

The story keeps a nice balance between outside reality and Master Legend's slight nuttiness, but it's a heart-warming tale nonetheless, and I sincerely wish ML all the best of luck in his crime fighting.

Now where did I put my Lone Ranger mask...?

God will destroy the Internet!

Sorry I've been away for so long. The holidays are the suck. I'm such a Scrooge.

Anyway, click the pic above for a glorious look at business ventures of the End Times. The company You've Been Left Behind will, for a fee (of course), email up to 62 of your unrepentant heathen friends and family to notify them of your ascendance into Heaven! Because apparently, you just not being there is a bit too subtle.

If several of their key members don't log-in for a few days, the system assumes the Rapture has taken place and, barring global Internet collapse, will flood the web with spam. Good news though! According to the site:

Q:With all of the devastation after the Rapture how do you think the emails will be delivered?

A: I do believe that the Internet will be up and running. There may be some localized temporary outages. Today the entire global economic and commerce system is completely dependant on the Internet to function. They will keep it working. There is also huge redundancy and overlap in the system. A message keep trying pathways and services until it is delivered. Most of the net is buried underground. Eventually God will take it down, as he destroys the World system that has been built up by a people trying to do it all without him. That won't be until the second half of the tribulation though.

If memory serves, that means we athiests will have 3.5 years of wacko-free Internets. Whee!