Saturday, February 26, 2005

NP:Slint-Breadcrumb Trail

now i remember why i don't like to tell anyone anything or do anything with anyone.

i try to be social, but people seem to just be waiting for me to leave, so their fun can begin. i know that i do this to myself. i go out of my way to alienate myself from everyone. i either say nothing, save for a few one word mumbles and mild facial contortion, or i'm just a morbid clown jacking off in the middle of a tombstone circus, ejaculating cryptic one liners, cynical prose, and half ass impressions of all diferent species of asshole. i can't even tell when i'm joking around or pissed off or depressed anymore. it's all been blended into one monotone pretensious ramble with nothing to back it up.

i'd like to believe that i'm a nihilist or a misanthrope, which i guess i am, or maybe those are just easy answers (no shortage of those in the label-centric culture we hop-scotch through everyday). there's more to life than that i'm sure. there's got to be more options. it can't just be a choice between a turd sandwitch and a shit burger.

maybe i've supressed the love for too long. many people supress their hatred and that can lead to bad things, but what if love is supressed? what if love is denied in favor of the acids and venoms that i've bathed myself in for the last 6 years? well then you get this; lots of words, noise, and feeling that just reflect the ugly disturbing thoughts and nothing to remind you that there is love out there and in here, and it's just as powerful, destructive, and theraputic as the hatred.

i need to find a balance or i'm fucked for life.

NP:Slint-Washer

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

NP:Jesu-Your Path to Divinity

recent purchases;

CDs:

Jesu - s/t
Nasum - Inhale/Exhale
Benumb - Withering Strands of Hope
Halo - Gutterati
Slint - Spiderland, Tweez
Capitalist Casualties - 1996-1999 Years in Ruin

Books:

Hunter S. Thompson - the Rum Diary
Steve Niles - 30 Days of Night

Monday, February 21, 2005

We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like "I feel a bit lightheaded; maybe you should drive...." And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car, which was going about a hundred miles an hour with the top down to Las Vegas. And a voice was screaming: "Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals?"

Then it was quiet again. My attorney had taken his shirt off and was pouring beer on his chest, to facilitate the tanning process. "What the hell are you yelling about?" he muttered, staring up at the sun with his eyes closed and covered with wraparound Spanish sunglasses. "Never mind," I said. "It's your turn to drive." I hit the brakes and aimed the Great Red Shark toward the shoulder of the highway. No point mentioning those bats, I thought. The poor bastard will see them soon enough.


-from "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas"

Hunter S. Thompson: 1937-2005.