Saturday, August 20, 2005

woman and child
like a feather falls from the sky
so dark, so dark in the moonlight
naked we worship the night sky
no man can hold what the darkness can sow
gonna leave an ugly skull when ya go

tongues like horns violently born a new soul
the soft dead awake alive in love
hard for the hangmans daughter
naked we worship the night sky
no man can hold what the darkness can sow
gonna leave an ugly skull when ya go


- "Hangman's Daughter" by Agents of Oblivion

Friday, August 19, 2005

NP:Slint-Spiderland

the scent of freshly cut grass is making me nauseous. everytime i need to air out my room it happens. got my copy of Eraserhead on DVD, chinese-lettered synopisis and all. end of summer and i've got a cold or a flu or something. allergic to boredom and extensive self-reflection? possibly. this blows. fuck off.

Thursday, August 18, 2005

'Soon everything seemed dull: another sunrise, the lives of heros, falling in love, war, the discoveries people made about each other. The only thing that didn't bore me, obviously enough, was how much money Tim Price made, and yet in its obviousness it did. There wasn't a clear, identifiable emotion within me, except for greed and, possibly, total disgust. I had all the characteristics of a human being--flesh, blood, skin, hair--but my depersonalization was so intense, had gone so deep, that the normal ability to feel compassion had been eradicated, the victim of a slow, purposeful erasure. I was simply immitating reality, a rough resemblance of a human being, with only a dim corner of my mind functioning. Something horrible was happening and yet I couldn't figure out why--I couldn't put my finger on it.'

- from American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis

'Both the author of these notes and the notes themselves are of course fictional. Still, people like this exists in our society, and they have to, as a matter of fact, when one considers what our society has become'.

- from Notes from Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky

One should always be drunk. That's all that matters;
that's our one imperative need. So as not to feel Time's
horrible burden one which breaks your shoulders and bows

you down, you must get drunk without cease.

But with what?
With wine, poetry, or virtue
as you choose.
But get drunk.

And if, at some time, on steps of a palace,
in the green grass of a ditch,
in the bleak solitude of your room,
you are waking and the drunkenness has already abated,
ask the wind, the wave, the stars, the clock,
all that which flees,
all that which groans,
all that which rolls,
all that which sings,
all that which speaks,
ask them, what time it is;
and the wind, the wave, the stars, the birds, and the clock,
they will all reply:

"It is time to get drunk!

So that you may not be the martyred slaves of Time,
get drunk, get drunk,
and never pause for rest!
With wine, poetry, or virtue,
as you choose!"


- Get Drunk by Charles-Pierre Baudelaire

rattlesnake shadow cast over the heart
forever I am there barefoot in the dark
they're beating that drum in the cemetery
my death lays awake there whistling dixie yeah
if this is hell well then I'm lucky yeah
my death's alive there just waiting for me uh-huh
my death's alive there just waiting for me
my death lays awake there whistling dixie
if this is hell then i'm lucky
rattlesnake shadow cast across the heart
forever we are there barefoot in the dark
they're beating that drum in the cemetery
my death lays awake there aaah whistling dixie yeah
if this is hell if this is hell then i'm lucky yeah
my death's alive there just waiting for me uh-huh
my death's alive there just waiting for me
my death lays awake there whistling dixie
if this is hell well then I'm lucky
barefoot in the dark


- Barefoot in the Dark by Dax Riggs

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

a letter Marquis De Sade sent to his wife while he was incacerated in an asylum.
[July 27, 1780]

Well! there you are in your profound silence... That is well done; it is right sometimes torest upon one’s laurels. I am going to do the same thing, as you will find out. But the difference between us two is that I myself have nothing to say, and that consequently it is utterly pointless for me to write; but you, on the other hand, if you were willing, or if you were able, you would have a lot to say. Take careful note that I say: If you were able, and let this make you clearly see that I am treating you fairly, and to what a degree I am persuaded that you are as much constrained to perform the nonsense that they make you do, as I am to receive it. Let this make you see clearly once and for all, that through all this, my feelings for you will never change. My portion of hatred is not divisible; I would be too afraid that it would diminish by being shared, and I too much crave keeping it whole for her who deserves it most.

Despite all your kindnesses and all the lovely signals, my health is considerably deteriorating. It is impossible for me to live without taking the air, especially during this season. I am completely unable to eat or to sleep. When preventing me from taking exercise, they should at least leave me undisturbed at night. But to make me suffer dreadful headaches all day long by depriving me of sleep, and to keep me from taking the air, which is the only thing that can relieve them, this amounts to giving me every sort of suffering at the same time, and this lovely treatment I rather think I shall never forget. So send me, at least, the flask of eau de Cologne that I askedyou for a long time ago: if I had had it here with me all those days I so much suffered from nerves and from headaches, it would have helped me a lot. You will admit, that this is a perfect example of petty, gratuitous harassment--to refuse me even this slight assistance. Ah! what a fine lesson all that teaches me! and how I will profit by it! Always remember that I would much prefer to dash my brains against these walls than not to some day force your execrable mother into saying: “He is absolutely right; I repent of it. In dealing with that sort of personality, it was wrong to act in that way.”

I was really convinced the other day not only how much they want me to suffer, but even how much they would be heartbroken if an illness interfered with all the wickedness they heap on me here. By actual count, I have spent seventeen nights without for a single minute closing what is called an eyelid. I was like a veritable corpse, to the point of making me afraid to look at myself. The surgeon comes to ask me how I am. “My looks will tell you better than I can,” I reply. “But no... not at all. In fact, you look wonderful,” he says. Good, I say to myself, that is all I need to fully convince myself that this fellow sees me exactly like the surgeon of the Inquisition who takes the pulse during the torture in order to determine if one can bear it longer,and who invariably says: “Continue.” My surgeon (I truly believe it) has an order to report how I appear; but have no illusions: he fully understands, from the manner in which they speak to him, that they very much want his report to prolong the torture? By means of which, this fellow, to whom this essentially matters nought, always reports that things are fine, as long as he does not see me suffering a fatal seizure.

Moreover, for themselves, bear in mind that all these wicked people have their own interest in deceiving the families, and so they do it; in a word, the most horrible abuses which, under cover of this fine secrecy, are daily committed in these prisons, are one of the things that ought most deserve the attention of people with influence, if there really were justice in France and if those concerned did not have a much greater interest in stifling protest with gold or with pretty girls. Everything is fine, all is well, everything is the best possible when there is a girl in your bed and money in your pocket. Gold and c[unts], there you have the gods of my country, and would I stay in France, I, who will never have a lot of the former and who will be extremely ashamed to debase myself to the point of prostituting the latter in those so closely related to me?... No, no, I will not stay here!... I swear it, I would rather go and live in Japan; I would certainly meet with more honesty there and I would certainly not see so many horrors... And besides, do they punish over there? Just once in my life, I would love that, in fairness, they compare the life of the unfortunate victims they imprison here, with the wicked deeds of those who keep them behind bars, and then let them see which ones better deserve to carry the keys to the doors! A bit of bad luck, an indiscretion, some treachery by lackeys or friends on the one hand, compared to a thousand injustices, a thousand abuses, a thousand atrocities on the other, but which one is covered up and which one’s reputation is destroyed?...

Here are a lot of books I am returning to you. Two volumes of the abbé Prévost, the restof M. d’Alembert... What a man! what a style! These are people I would have for arbiters and for judges, and not the idiotic gang that dares to govern me! I would have no trouble being exonerated by judges like these, because one has as little to fear when the matter is in the hands of Philosophy holding the scales, as one ought to tremble when one sees it in the hands of bigotry and greed... In addition, the two first volumes of the Cérémonies; I am sending it to you pretty fast, it seems. I never told you that this was a book to be read in a fortnight, and I could see quite clearly, when you sent it to me, that this was a clever device by which you would have me know that I still had a long time to suffer here. But by now I am used to all your stupid nonsense; I am bored by it; all that no longer bothers me at all. It remains to be seen if a proper way to improve a man is to shrivel up all the sensitive faculties of his soul; and notwithstanding your Cérémonies, they have so little upset me that I will undertake--if that is what is wanted--to leave here only when they are read: proof that my estimate of my sentence is on the high side, and has ever been so. [As to] the rest of the books that I still have here, [I] will not read them in a rush. I am warning you about this, because they, along with the Cérémonies, can only be books for serious reading. So it will go slowly. As to books for my light reading, all I have is your Troubadours: that will take about two weeks, that is, until August 15. I am asking you, for the aforesaid light readings, to look, together with Amblet, for some novels, both very interesting and philosophical,but, above all, not too black or too melancholy, utterly detesting both of these extremes. Once again: some novels, because at night here, it is absolutely impossible to undertake any serious reading.

For the 1st of next month: one cake of marsh-mallow (not syrup) and above all, I entreat you, my flask of eau de Cologne; do not forget it, I ask it of you as a favor. If you would like tosend some figs, they would give me pleasure: last year, the ones you sent at around the same season, as far as I can recall, arrived in good condition and did me a lot of good. I leave you free to repeat your generosity, and I beg you not to forget me when the fine peaches of Chartreux are in season.

Moreover, you will deeply put me in your debt by obtaining permission for me to take the air, because I tell you a thousand times that I am suffering horribly by lack of exercise and that it is a disgrace to deprive someone of the benefits belonging to every creature. Could not an over-abundance of benefits also serve to send a signal? and would it not also be clever and moving whereas that other method would not be? Amidst filth and grime neck-high, bitten by bedbugs, by fleas, by mice, and by spiders, served like a pig because the promptitude with which they scurry out of my room as soon as they have brought me my food never allows me either to remember or the time to ask what I need, and the three scullions of our innkeeper always ready to shoot off as soon as they open my door, is all of that not lovely, does all of that not add up to a delightful signal?... a truly touching and poignant signal? Do you really have to add to this the torture of the pneumatic air-extractor [alluding to the denial of his taking the air, or perhaps to his faulty stove]? I will not mention my hair, which is falling out since one of these signalling episodes involved my no longer taking care of my hair: I will not mention anything about this because I am no longer vain about my hair, thank God, and because when I get out of here I will certainly take to wearing a peruke... That is a good definite...

And really, my best friend, am I not mature by now?... No more illusions--I had them these forty lovely years following which I promised to renounce Satan and all his pomp and pretense... Now I am past forty, it is time to begin, little by little, to acquire a slight pallor of the grave: one is less surprised when it comes when one is prepared for it... So let it come, let it come when it will; I will wait for it, neither desiring it nor fearing it. It is only those who are favored by fortune who regret leaving this life; but those who, like me, count their years only by their misfortunes, do not have cause to look upon the moment of annihilation except as the happy occasion of the breaking of their chains. May the dear friend who alone could still sweeten my last days spare me the grief of surviving her, and may those unfortunate souls who owe their existence to us be able to enjoy it more than us! These are the only prayers that I still dare to ask God, and the only ones whose granting would cause some roses to bloom on the thorns of my life.
NP:Darkthrone-Plaugeweilder

Tony Iommi
Tony Iommi....
You are very calm and dark but you can be quite
witty and amusing.


Which rockstar are you like?
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HASH(0x8c49224)
You Are Happy Time Harry


The Ultimate Aqua Teen Hunger Force Quiz
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i'm old school! wooo!!! the windmill!
you are: The windmill; one of the greatest things
ever invented! You can be done to most types of
hardcore and are always dope as in any pit.


Which moshpit move are you?
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Monday, August 15, 2005

NP:Deadboy and the Elephantmen-Heart of Green

another winner from the gooey trenches of the Myspace Bulletins;

I've seen plenty o' women say they want this kind of guy. I'M this guy. And you don't see them lining up around corners eh? Most of the time they say they want this guy, but if they find that one, they treat him like crap. Women want assholes so they turn the ones like this into them. All of the things like this are just natural things to me. Things you don't even have to make an effort in doing. But the second you do, women treat you like crap.

IS THAT BITTERNESS? Or truth? You decide.
------------------------------------------------------------------
I want the guy...

...who says i love you & means it.

...whos calls unexpectedly.


...who can tell me his problems
and let me help.

...who will listen to me talk


...who will kiss me and
tell me im beautiful.

...who will let me cry to him.

...who will hold me& kiss my cheek.

...who willl know when something is wrong
when im trying my best to put on an act



...who will brag about me
to all of his friends


...who can, when wrestling,
after letting me win, suddenly
flip me over and sit on me.

...who i can talk to about anything

...who laughs at my jokes.


...who lets me use his sweatshirt
for a pillow.


...who will kiss me in the rain,
in the sunshine, and in the snow.


...who will have many inside jokes
with me and remember each one.


...who realizes that i say things
but dont always mean them.



...who saves his genuine, big smiles for me.

...with deeps eyes,
that can see through faces into depths.


...who knows my full name--
first, middle and last.


...not afraid to give me a great big hug
right infront of his mom


...who wears cologne that i can subtly
smell when im leaning on his shoulder.

...who tells me i have a nice laugh
and a smile that lights up the room
and simply be mine to hold.


My Two-Cents?

they're not lying, you're probably just ugly. also you have a poor self image, because you're so ugly. you say YOU ARE THAT GUY, but chances are you're not. i used to think i was, but then i realized no i'm not. i try to be a gentlemen, but i'm certainley no victim....at least not all the time. like most of us who bitch about "nice guys finishing last", we're typically bitter mean spirited jealous pricks whose relationships and views on women border on near-violent infatuation. if it's turned inward, we hate ourselves for "not getting some" or whatver. outwards it turns into misdirected anger or misogony, which is a waste of time. either way, we're so obsessed with finding a girl that we serenade any girl that flashs a polite smile with howls of "I LOVE YOU!". it scares them away.....because you're ugly.

or maybe you're right. maybe you are that guy. but ever stop to think that maybe doing all this stuff that girls say they want in a guy just shows the girls that they really don't know what they want? they're just like anyone else; searching frantically for that perfect thing. trouble is sometimes when you get that perfect thing, you realize it's not what you want.

just be yourself everyone. i kid around a lot here, but seriously you'd all be so much better off just forgoing all this nonsense and just taking people as they are or looking at indivituals around you and really finding out what you want as opposed to living by some invisible rule-book.

this is dumb and it's late. bye.