Beautiful and beautifully symbolic!
Enjoy!
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Crab in a Glass Shell
I'm normally not the type to get all google-eyed over an image but this thing entrances me!
Beautiful and beautifully symbolic!
Enjoy!
Beautiful and beautifully symbolic!
Enjoy!
Monday, January 28, 2008
I DRINK YOUR MILKSHAKE!!!
Yesterday I went to go see There Will Be Blood.
I’ve been thinking about it ever since.
It is a movie I am going to buy and watch endlessly. I think I have just watched a movie that will sit on the top 10…maybe top 5. Daniel Day Lewis is one of my favorite actors and he has NEVER BEEN BETTER. I don’t think that the movie will win best picture, but it will score an Oscar for Lewis.
Kudos (or "props" as said in tha hood) to almost every inch of this movie. I think the main reason I adored it so much is the way I can relate to Daniel Plainview, Not with the oil or drive drive (Jesus I WISH I had his drive) but in the way he hates everyone and just wants enough money to go away.
Isn't that a pleasant thought.
PLEASE go out and see this movie.
Or I will DRINK YOUR MILKSHAKE!
I’ve been thinking about it ever since.
It is a movie I am going to buy and watch endlessly. I think I have just watched a movie that will sit on the top 10…maybe top 5. Daniel Day Lewis is one of my favorite actors and he has NEVER BEEN BETTER. I don’t think that the movie will win best picture, but it will score an Oscar for Lewis.
Kudos (or "props" as said in tha hood) to almost every inch of this movie. I think the main reason I adored it so much is the way I can relate to Daniel Plainview, Not with the oil or drive drive (Jesus I WISH I had his drive) but in the way he hates everyone and just wants enough money to go away.
Isn't that a pleasant thought.
PLEASE go out and see this movie.
Or I will DRINK YOUR MILKSHAKE!
Friday, January 25, 2008
Coffee
I’ve always hated coffee.
Not just the taste that bears a striking resemblance to bark (I’ve never tasted bark, but I imagine that it tastes like coffee) but I hate ANY food that is hot. I find myself putting food into the freezer immediately after its cooked and enjoying a premium lukewarm meal. So, shoveling coffee, which is equal, temperature wise, to magma nestled deep in the earth’s fiery core is not for Griff. Yet, even the heat is tolerable, and no reason to hate this deep brown concoction.
The absolute worse thing about coffee is a coffee drinker.
It pissed me off to an infinite degree to hear people whine and bitch and moan and completely unable to focus without their “morning cup.”
IT’S JUST A DRINK!
Nobody acts about milk the way people act about coffee. It’s obsessive and it’s annoying to have the ghost of coffee floating behind someone’s eyes when you’re talking to them. I hate coffee shops with their pretensions ass-clownery and people who feel “artsy” because they can order a double French vanilla mocha chino latte grande with cream and lizard feet or whatever the hell you pay $8 bucks at Starbucks for. I see you jerks and it makes me sick.
I’m even more sickened by the fact that I now like coffee.
Lord, why hath you forsaken me?
Not just that prissy stuff either. I love black coffee, blacker than the heart of the devil himself.
I guess I’m sweet enough. :)
It must be a job that starts at 8:00 in the morning and ends at 10:00 at night. If I want personal time I need help.
I NEED HELP DAMMIT! IT’S NOT MY FAULT!
Energy drinks are fine but I loathe the fact that people in my generation need to drink about five before they can be motivated to do anything. Black coffee has a lot less calories, sugar, and other things that can ruin a 10-year reunion that energy drinks have in mass quantities. It’s cheap. It keeps me awake. It’s terrible for your heart, but Adderall has already made sure that mine is paralyzed and 3 sizes to small anyway. Who wants to live forever? Not me.
I’ll take it black.
So, I’m sorry I hated all you coffee drinkers. I’m still not going to do the whole coffee shop thing because of the yuppie scum factor, but I can no longer give my spiel about coffee being “just a drink.” It’s good, dammit! It’s good to my face! I NEED IT!
I need my morning cup.
*Cry*
Not just the taste that bears a striking resemblance to bark (I’ve never tasted bark, but I imagine that it tastes like coffee) but I hate ANY food that is hot. I find myself putting food into the freezer immediately after its cooked and enjoying a premium lukewarm meal. So, shoveling coffee, which is equal, temperature wise, to magma nestled deep in the earth’s fiery core is not for Griff. Yet, even the heat is tolerable, and no reason to hate this deep brown concoction.
The absolute worse thing about coffee is a coffee drinker.
It pissed me off to an infinite degree to hear people whine and bitch and moan and completely unable to focus without their “morning cup.”
IT’S JUST A DRINK!
Nobody acts about milk the way people act about coffee. It’s obsessive and it’s annoying to have the ghost of coffee floating behind someone’s eyes when you’re talking to them. I hate coffee shops with their pretensions ass-clownery and people who feel “artsy” because they can order a double French vanilla mocha chino latte grande with cream and lizard feet or whatever the hell you pay $8 bucks at Starbucks for. I see you jerks and it makes me sick.
I’m even more sickened by the fact that I now like coffee.
Lord, why hath you forsaken me?
Not just that prissy stuff either. I love black coffee, blacker than the heart of the devil himself.
I guess I’m sweet enough. :)
It must be a job that starts at 8:00 in the morning and ends at 10:00 at night. If I want personal time I need help.
I NEED HELP DAMMIT! IT’S NOT MY FAULT!
Energy drinks are fine but I loathe the fact that people in my generation need to drink about five before they can be motivated to do anything. Black coffee has a lot less calories, sugar, and other things that can ruin a 10-year reunion that energy drinks have in mass quantities. It’s cheap. It keeps me awake. It’s terrible for your heart, but Adderall has already made sure that mine is paralyzed and 3 sizes to small anyway. Who wants to live forever? Not me.
I’ll take it black.
So, I’m sorry I hated all you coffee drinkers. I’m still not going to do the whole coffee shop thing because of the yuppie scum factor, but I can no longer give my spiel about coffee being “just a drink.” It’s good, dammit! It’s good to my face! I NEED IT!
I need my morning cup.
*Cry*
Courtly Love
I’ve always loved Dante.
I read Dante’s Inferno when I was 12 and I reread it about once every 2 years. I think it will permanently reside in my literary to ten. I love his sculptures as well, mainly due to his extremely dynamic in potential energy.
It’s bitchin.
But I think the thing that has always intrigued me most about Dante is Beatrice.
Dante only met Beatrice twice in his entire life, and the meetings took place over a period of 9 years. They met twice in 9 years.
2 times.
9 years.
Yet, Dante claimed, Beatrice influenced every aspect of his life.
It’s all so stinking beautiful.
It’s, what they called I the middle ages, “courtly love.”
Courtly Love - a secret, unrequited and highly respectful form of admiration for another person.
I think most guys today can relate to this in some sense.
When I was in kindergarten, I remember having a crush on a girl who I NEVER spoke to once. Yet, I thought about her every day and even when I moved to a different school, the vision of her and her “My Little Pony” quilted jacket stayed pleasantly in my thoughts for many years.
By junior high, I had found another courtly love and because we both finished our tenure at the same school she, to this day I still have much “courtly love” for this person and she is none the wiser.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
When I moved to Auburn I discovered yet another courtly love…does this mean I’m a polygamist of some sort? Anyway, same deal, I don’t want ANYTHING from these women other than what I already have from them.
Sweet, Sweet, existence.
These women do not intimidate me at all. I have asked out/dated girls who are “prettier,” I love talking to new people, and rarely find it hard to strike up conversation with anyone that looks even slightly interesting. I just choose not to seek relationships with these women, because they are perfect in my fantasy of them.
They’ll never roll their eyes at a stupid joke even after they’ve laughed at a hundred others.
They’ll never nag me to do something that they themselves are too lazy or scared to even attempt.
They’ll never question my intent or think my emotions are any less valid because they’re not the same as hers.
They’ll LET me do nice things for them.
They’ll listen to me AND hear me.
They’ll never use guilt.
They aren’t my cupcake.
They are my icing.
The perfect girl is not a girl I need.
She is a girl I want.
So, this blog isn’t a sad, pathetic plea for a woman…I HATE that shit and I’m doing better than ever in my little tattoo shop on the plains, thank you very much.
It isn’t a knock on my exes or “friendly friends.” I’ve been overly blessed with my past romances and have loved/been loved by some amazing women.
…in amazing ways ;)
just kidding…
;)
This blog is more of a tribute to the women that mean so much by just being.
They’ll never know how much they mean to this pig-tailed giant. They’ll never hear the songs, or see the drawings, or read the poems, or be aware of how they brightened a thousand of my days just because I once saw one of them in the hall and the way the sun touched their hair through stained Straughn windows was…perfect.
Dante would say
"La gloriosa donna della mia mente"
"the glorious lady of my mind".
So, I’m telling all of you, without telling any of you.
Thanks.
And people say I’m not romantic.
ARE YOU FUCKIN CRAZY!
:)
I read Dante’s Inferno when I was 12 and I reread it about once every 2 years. I think it will permanently reside in my literary to ten. I love his sculptures as well, mainly due to his extremely dynamic in potential energy.
It’s bitchin.
But I think the thing that has always intrigued me most about Dante is Beatrice.
Dante only met Beatrice twice in his entire life, and the meetings took place over a period of 9 years. They met twice in 9 years.
2 times.
9 years.
Yet, Dante claimed, Beatrice influenced every aspect of his life.
It’s all so stinking beautiful.
It’s, what they called I the middle ages, “courtly love.”
Courtly Love - a secret, unrequited and highly respectful form of admiration for another person.
I think most guys today can relate to this in some sense.
When I was in kindergarten, I remember having a crush on a girl who I NEVER spoke to once. Yet, I thought about her every day and even when I moved to a different school, the vision of her and her “My Little Pony” quilted jacket stayed pleasantly in my thoughts for many years.
By junior high, I had found another courtly love and because we both finished our tenure at the same school she, to this day I still have much “courtly love” for this person and she is none the wiser.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
When I moved to Auburn I discovered yet another courtly love…does this mean I’m a polygamist of some sort? Anyway, same deal, I don’t want ANYTHING from these women other than what I already have from them.
Sweet, Sweet, existence.
These women do not intimidate me at all. I have asked out/dated girls who are “prettier,” I love talking to new people, and rarely find it hard to strike up conversation with anyone that looks even slightly interesting. I just choose not to seek relationships with these women, because they are perfect in my fantasy of them.
They’ll never roll their eyes at a stupid joke even after they’ve laughed at a hundred others.
They’ll never nag me to do something that they themselves are too lazy or scared to even attempt.
They’ll never question my intent or think my emotions are any less valid because they’re not the same as hers.
They’ll LET me do nice things for them.
They’ll listen to me AND hear me.
They’ll never use guilt.
They aren’t my cupcake.
They are my icing.
The perfect girl is not a girl I need.
She is a girl I want.
So, this blog isn’t a sad, pathetic plea for a woman…I HATE that shit and I’m doing better than ever in my little tattoo shop on the plains, thank you very much.
It isn’t a knock on my exes or “friendly friends.” I’ve been overly blessed with my past romances and have loved/been loved by some amazing women.
…in amazing ways ;)
just kidding…
;)
This blog is more of a tribute to the women that mean so much by just being.
They’ll never know how much they mean to this pig-tailed giant. They’ll never hear the songs, or see the drawings, or read the poems, or be aware of how they brightened a thousand of my days just because I once saw one of them in the hall and the way the sun touched their hair through stained Straughn windows was…perfect.
Dante would say
"La gloriosa donna della mia mente"
"the glorious lady of my mind".
So, I’m telling all of you, without telling any of you.
Thanks.
And people say I’m not romantic.
ARE YOU FUCKIN CRAZY!
:)
27 and the Death of the Empire
I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately, not in that all encompassing way, but in a more personal way. I’ve been considering my own death recently.
Now, nobody panic. I’ve got no major health problems that I’m aware of, no enemies that hate me enough to want me dead, no immediately dangerous addictions (but I’m working on it ;), and suicide is NO option for an egomaniac like me. Myself. I. The Empire. So, I’m not planning on snuffing it anytime soon, but I do live next to a college campus and I do drive fairly recklessly. So I’d like to take this time to announce to the world how I’d like my funeral to be arranged.
To keep things light, however, I would like for this blog to be read to the soundtrack of this dancing banana.
Let’s start with my thoughts on death.
I’ve been lucky to have never been afraid of death. I’m afraid of the process by which it might happen…but never afraid of the nonexistence which comes with death.
Example:
I would be afraid if Buffalo Bill had me trapped in a hole in his basement, rubbing lotion on my skin because he was about to remove it and make a suit out of me.
That’s scary because skin removal and being custom tailored can’t be a pleasant thing!
I wouldn’t be afraid of the chair, or nuclear war, or having a heart attack whilst bedding my 18 year old super-model girlfriend in the back of a 1970 Chevelle SS…in fact I think I’d like my obituary to say just that.
If any 18 year old super-models out there own a 1970 Chevelle SS and are interested in helping an old man fulfill his last wish, just contact me via Myspace’s wonderful messaging system.
I digress.
The banana’s probably done singing by now, so try this while I continue.
I don’t see death as a big sacred thing. Everyone treats death like it’s SO special. How can death be special? EVERYTHING dies! Not just everyone, but everything. Flowers, fungus, badgers, bees, bacteria, Elvis, roaches, dinosaurs, mold, doggies, kitties, ponies, ferrets, King Kong, and best of all, Humans, will all die with the only exception being Keith Richards.
If you own a t-shirt, then it is more sacred than death because you will have experienced something that most living things never will, the cottony heaven that is t-shirt ownership.
That being said, I hope that my last wishes will be carried out with the understanding that death never really meant that much to me and if you ever cared you’ll see that these wishes are carried out.
First off, I want everything that can be donated to be donated. Give my pigtails to locks for love (If my hair hasn’t fallen out by then…who am I kiddin…that’ll NEVER happen) give my viable organs to those that need them, with the exception of my eyes and stomach, which I wouldn’t wish on ANYONE, ditto with blood and other fluids.
*Chuckle*
Fluids.
Hell, if someone wants a saddle with a neato gun pattern tattoo then stitch it up! I’ll be dead and won’t care. The key here is donation. Give my teeth to witch doctors, give my scrotum to someone that needs a REALLY big coin purse, and make sure my bones become one of those swell stand-up skeletons in a biology class somewhere. You’ll know it’s me by the steel plate and the enormous feet.
Come to class and pay your respects.
No matter what make sure that as much of me as possible goes to help in ANY WAY someone that’s still here and needs something that I have no use for any more.
Time to lighten things up again.
That being said, I’ve done my research, and know that science will either not use all of me, maybe none of me if I’m too old so that brings me to round 2.
Cremation.
Ashes to ashes and all that jazz.
Cremation is the best way! It’s cheaper and more environmentally friendly than being entombed like some kind of pharaoh in a concrete vault whilst you slowly turn to sludge in your J.C. Penny’s suit.
Maybe that’s just me.
Beware however! I wanted to be a mortician for a LONG time and changed my mind when I discovered how crooked the industry is. So, here’s the instructions to help avoid the high prices that might be incurred upon my demise.
No embalming. Yes, they still try to talk you into embalming even when you’re going to be oven roasted. No thank you, I’ll go with all my standard issue fluids if you please.
*Chuckle*
Fluids.
No clothes or prepping. They usually try to talk you into cosmetics and fancy clothes before you hit the furnace.
This.
Is.
Stupid.
Throw my ugly naked carcass on the slab and run me through! I don’t want any polyester or eyeliner mixed up with my dusty ass anyway.
No casket. In the biggest “what the hell” of them all, they also try to get you to buy a casket to burn with you.
I’d make a joke here, BUT IT ISN’T F’N FUNNY!
In your moment of grief you get talked into spending THOUSANDS on a box to be melted with your sorry butt.
No thank you.
I don’t need it and my loved ones SURELY don’t need it. Don’t even let them talk you into the cardboard box for the incinerator, which usually bears a price tag of $600.
For a cardboard box.
Yeah.
Oh, and they also charge around $300 for a “transportation vessel” to carry your ashes from the crematorium to your house which is also…another cardboard box. So, when talking to the morticians be sure to bring an industrial trash bag and a large Tupperware container. By law, they HAVE to use it. It’ll save you enough money to buy a Wii. Which I’d much rather you do than drop 3 bills on a cardboard box.
That always cracks me up!
Anyway.
That takes care of everything except what to do with the ashes.
I really don’t know…I would LOVE to be put in the A/C of my brother’s car so that I will get the last laugh in this ongoing car feud that we have going, but I doubt that anyone one will have the balls to do that.
*cough*cough* Kellye Wayne *cough*cough*
I don’t really want them spread anywhere because I was never that fond of the “Not-Indoors-Place” but I don’t want to be sitting on a shelf somewhere either. Maybe just slowly smuggle me into several movie theaters. They never clean those places and my loved ones will feel like they can watch a movie with me whenever they like, yeah…that sounds nice.
High-five!
As for memorials or whatnot, that’s more for my friends and family than for me. It’s a way to get closure on what will surely be the monumentally life-numbing tragedy that is my death. So, do whatever you like! Have a skating party for all I care. I won’t be around to witness it so do whatever it is that will satisfy the mourning and then continue on your merry way with the pocket-full of cash that I saved you on my passing. Just make sure that the typical southern thing is done and make LOTS of food and bring it to my Wife/Momma/Sister/Brother, whoever is most appropriate at the time. Lots of fried chicken, that’s my favorite funeral food.
Man is I hungry.
I’m honestly not saying all these things to be humble or elitist or smug or anything like that. My idea of a successful life is in my memory. If I lived the way I wanted to live, then after I die, the mention of my name will make people remember more fond things about me than horrible things. I want to be missed, don’t get me wrong, but I want those tears to fall from smiling faces as they say, “Remember when he got naked and jumped in the pool during the tornado?” or, “Remember when he went to the hospital and the Doctor gave him a prostate exam?” or “Remember how he threw things when he laughed” or “Remember when he tried to steal the Star Wars Toy from that kid in Burger King?” or “Remember how he hated Xmas?” That’s what’ll mean the most to me. The hope that I can live my life knowing that I’ve made a few other lives better by knowing me.
I think I’m doing ok so far. I certainly am trying.
Well, I think that about wraps this up! Thanks for reading and if something horrible like a piano falling on me happens, just follow these instructions and I will surely rest in peace with the knowledge that you have done right by me…now lets see that damn laughing baby one more time!
-G
Now, nobody panic. I’ve got no major health problems that I’m aware of, no enemies that hate me enough to want me dead, no immediately dangerous addictions (but I’m working on it ;), and suicide is NO option for an egomaniac like me. Myself. I. The Empire. So, I’m not planning on snuffing it anytime soon, but I do live next to a college campus and I do drive fairly recklessly. So I’d like to take this time to announce to the world how I’d like my funeral to be arranged.
To keep things light, however, I would like for this blog to be read to the soundtrack of this dancing banana.
Let’s start with my thoughts on death.
I’ve been lucky to have never been afraid of death. I’m afraid of the process by which it might happen…but never afraid of the nonexistence which comes with death.
Example:
I would be afraid if Buffalo Bill had me trapped in a hole in his basement, rubbing lotion on my skin because he was about to remove it and make a suit out of me.
That’s scary because skin removal and being custom tailored can’t be a pleasant thing!
I wouldn’t be afraid of the chair, or nuclear war, or having a heart attack whilst bedding my 18 year old super-model girlfriend in the back of a 1970 Chevelle SS…in fact I think I’d like my obituary to say just that.
If any 18 year old super-models out there own a 1970 Chevelle SS and are interested in helping an old man fulfill his last wish, just contact me via Myspace’s wonderful messaging system.
I digress.
The banana’s probably done singing by now, so try this while I continue.
I don’t see death as a big sacred thing. Everyone treats death like it’s SO special. How can death be special? EVERYTHING dies! Not just everyone, but everything. Flowers, fungus, badgers, bees, bacteria, Elvis, roaches, dinosaurs, mold, doggies, kitties, ponies, ferrets, King Kong, and best of all, Humans, will all die with the only exception being Keith Richards.
If you own a t-shirt, then it is more sacred than death because you will have experienced something that most living things never will, the cottony heaven that is t-shirt ownership.
That being said, I hope that my last wishes will be carried out with the understanding that death never really meant that much to me and if you ever cared you’ll see that these wishes are carried out.
First off, I want everything that can be donated to be donated. Give my pigtails to locks for love (If my hair hasn’t fallen out by then…who am I kiddin…that’ll NEVER happen) give my viable organs to those that need them, with the exception of my eyes and stomach, which I wouldn’t wish on ANYONE, ditto with blood and other fluids.
*Chuckle*
Fluids.
Hell, if someone wants a saddle with a neato gun pattern tattoo then stitch it up! I’ll be dead and won’t care. The key here is donation. Give my teeth to witch doctors, give my scrotum to someone that needs a REALLY big coin purse, and make sure my bones become one of those swell stand-up skeletons in a biology class somewhere. You’ll know it’s me by the steel plate and the enormous feet.
Come to class and pay your respects.
No matter what make sure that as much of me as possible goes to help in ANY WAY someone that’s still here and needs something that I have no use for any more.
Time to lighten things up again.
That being said, I’ve done my research, and know that science will either not use all of me, maybe none of me if I’m too old so that brings me to round 2.
Cremation.
Ashes to ashes and all that jazz.
Cremation is the best way! It’s cheaper and more environmentally friendly than being entombed like some kind of pharaoh in a concrete vault whilst you slowly turn to sludge in your J.C. Penny’s suit.
Maybe that’s just me.
Beware however! I wanted to be a mortician for a LONG time and changed my mind when I discovered how crooked the industry is. So, here’s the instructions to help avoid the high prices that might be incurred upon my demise.
No embalming. Yes, they still try to talk you into embalming even when you’re going to be oven roasted. No thank you, I’ll go with all my standard issue fluids if you please.
*Chuckle*
Fluids.
No clothes or prepping. They usually try to talk you into cosmetics and fancy clothes before you hit the furnace.
This.
Is.
Stupid.
Throw my ugly naked carcass on the slab and run me through! I don’t want any polyester or eyeliner mixed up with my dusty ass anyway.
No casket. In the biggest “what the hell” of them all, they also try to get you to buy a casket to burn with you.
I’d make a joke here, BUT IT ISN’T F’N FUNNY!
In your moment of grief you get talked into spending THOUSANDS on a box to be melted with your sorry butt.
No thank you.
I don’t need it and my loved ones SURELY don’t need it. Don’t even let them talk you into the cardboard box for the incinerator, which usually bears a price tag of $600.
For a cardboard box.
Yeah.
Oh, and they also charge around $300 for a “transportation vessel” to carry your ashes from the crematorium to your house which is also…another cardboard box. So, when talking to the morticians be sure to bring an industrial trash bag and a large Tupperware container. By law, they HAVE to use it. It’ll save you enough money to buy a Wii. Which I’d much rather you do than drop 3 bills on a cardboard box.
That always cracks me up!
Anyway.
That takes care of everything except what to do with the ashes.
I really don’t know…I would LOVE to be put in the A/C of my brother’s car so that I will get the last laugh in this ongoing car feud that we have going, but I doubt that anyone one will have the balls to do that.
*cough*cough* Kellye Wayne *cough*cough*
I don’t really want them spread anywhere because I was never that fond of the “Not-Indoors-Place” but I don’t want to be sitting on a shelf somewhere either. Maybe just slowly smuggle me into several movie theaters. They never clean those places and my loved ones will feel like they can watch a movie with me whenever they like, yeah…that sounds nice.
High-five!
As for memorials or whatnot, that’s more for my friends and family than for me. It’s a way to get closure on what will surely be the monumentally life-numbing tragedy that is my death. So, do whatever you like! Have a skating party for all I care. I won’t be around to witness it so do whatever it is that will satisfy the mourning and then continue on your merry way with the pocket-full of cash that I saved you on my passing. Just make sure that the typical southern thing is done and make LOTS of food and bring it to my Wife/Momma/Sister/Brother, whoever is most appropriate at the time. Lots of fried chicken, that’s my favorite funeral food.
Man is I hungry.
I’m honestly not saying all these things to be humble or elitist or smug or anything like that. My idea of a successful life is in my memory. If I lived the way I wanted to live, then after I die, the mention of my name will make people remember more fond things about me than horrible things. I want to be missed, don’t get me wrong, but I want those tears to fall from smiling faces as they say, “Remember when he got naked and jumped in the pool during the tornado?” or, “Remember when he went to the hospital and the Doctor gave him a prostate exam?” or “Remember how he threw things when he laughed” or “Remember when he tried to steal the Star Wars Toy from that kid in Burger King?” or “Remember how he hated Xmas?” That’s what’ll mean the most to me. The hope that I can live my life knowing that I’ve made a few other lives better by knowing me.
I think I’m doing ok so far. I certainly am trying.
Well, I think that about wraps this up! Thanks for reading and if something horrible like a piano falling on me happens, just follow these instructions and I will surely rest in peace with the knowledge that you have done right by me…now lets see that damn laughing baby one more time!
-G
Regret (Version)
A poem!!!
About growing older and knowing it.
Enjoy!!!
Regret (version)
I’m a reflection
a déjà vu
just a crippled little memory
of maybes and what ifs
of all the maybe nots
lots of of maybe nots
In a different day
In some different play
but not enough reason to really hold on to
and now you’re just like me
a destiny
the dreams of days
the older ways
the never stays
decay away
nothing ever happens quite like you plan
didn’t quite happen did it little man?
nothing ever happens quite like you plan
didn’t quite happen did it little man?
and now it’s clear
you finally feel
all you hold dear
is too fucking real
God looks down smiling
so smug and pissed and takes a little more than he gave
because he just wants to
ain’t it always the way
ain’t it always the way
While I’m stuck in the mouth and chewed so cold
I would’ve never thought I’d fall into the fold
Like back at the beginning
Marching
Crawling
but when its done
when it’s no more fun
The time was spent
and warped and bent
my fangs set free
so that you could be
nothing ever happens quite like you plan
didn’t quite happen did it little man?
and now it’s clear
you finally feel
all you hold dear
is too fucking real
try to stop it but it’s still gonna happen
Try to stop it
But…
About growing older and knowing it.
Enjoy!!!
Regret (version)
I’m a reflection
a déjà vu
just a crippled little memory
of maybes and what ifs
of all the maybe nots
lots of of maybe nots
In a different day
In some different play
but not enough reason to really hold on to
and now you’re just like me
a destiny
the dreams of days
the older ways
the never stays
decay away
nothing ever happens quite like you plan
didn’t quite happen did it little man?
nothing ever happens quite like you plan
didn’t quite happen did it little man?
and now it’s clear
you finally feel
all you hold dear
is too fucking real
God looks down smiling
so smug and pissed and takes a little more than he gave
because he just wants to
ain’t it always the way
ain’t it always the way
While I’m stuck in the mouth and chewed so cold
I would’ve never thought I’d fall into the fold
Like back at the beginning
Marching
Crawling
but when its done
when it’s no more fun
The time was spent
and warped and bent
my fangs set free
so that you could be
nothing ever happens quite like you plan
didn’t quite happen did it little man?
and now it’s clear
you finally feel
all you hold dear
is too fucking real
try to stop it but it’s still gonna happen
Try to stop it
But…
Mawwiage
You know, I had never really thought about gay marriage enough to develop concise feelings on the matter, but since I’ve been asked for my opinion on the matter a few times here recently, I felt the need to form that opinion and then post is and move on with my miserable existence.
First of all, most people believe that marriage is a sacred union between 2 people and the deity of their choosing. Unless you’re an atheist, then it’s just a sacred union between 2 people…or If you’re agnostic then God might be there or maybe not or maybe he’ll just send his brother Craig or…wait…I’m digressing. Anyway, I would assume that most people get married with love or shotguns being the main focus.
So I’m not asking why the government won’t let gay people marry, but why does the government have to be involved in marriage at all?
Well?
Why does the government have to be involved in every. Single. Stinking. Aspect. Of our lives?
I don’t understand why married people receive tax benefits over single people but more importantly I don’t like the fact that I have to get my marriage approved, taxed, and/or logged into Big Brother’s ever growing, squid-like brain.
“I love this girl. Is it ok if I marry her Mr. Government?”
Stupid.
Have none of you ever thought about this?
“What about if a person dies? Who gets what?”
It’s called a will. They aren’t new. You can get ‘em online now and a will will also handle that life insurance question too. Guess what? We don’t need the government clouding up any of this.
“Maybe it has to do with divorce?”
Nope, divorce should be settled as a lawsuit in which the ownership of goods and money are in question. These happen all the time. See: Judges; Wopner, Judy, Mills Lane, and (God forbid) Joe Brown.
And on the subject of divorce, why on earth is it an option on most multiple choice scenarios?
Check one:
Single
Married
Divorced
?!?!?
That’s like constantly having to tell people that you’ve made a mistake. That’s not right. What if the employment status read:
Employed
Unemplyed
Fired
Shit… I got off topic again.
Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that the government should have NOTHING to do with ANY marriage period! I don’t care if a guy wants to marry a goat, if you can get the thing to say “I do” then have at it. I think that this country has much bigger problems right now, not the least of which is…well, I’ll keep that opinion to myself and just quote the great 70’s civil rights legend, Dolomite.
“Stick it to the man.”
You may kiss the bride.
First of all, most people believe that marriage is a sacred union between 2 people and the deity of their choosing. Unless you’re an atheist, then it’s just a sacred union between 2 people…or If you’re agnostic then God might be there or maybe not or maybe he’ll just send his brother Craig or…wait…I’m digressing. Anyway, I would assume that most people get married with love or shotguns being the main focus.
So I’m not asking why the government won’t let gay people marry, but why does the government have to be involved in marriage at all?
Well?
Why does the government have to be involved in every. Single. Stinking. Aspect. Of our lives?
I don’t understand why married people receive tax benefits over single people but more importantly I don’t like the fact that I have to get my marriage approved, taxed, and/or logged into Big Brother’s ever growing, squid-like brain.
“I love this girl. Is it ok if I marry her Mr. Government?”
Stupid.
Have none of you ever thought about this?
“What about if a person dies? Who gets what?”
It’s called a will. They aren’t new. You can get ‘em online now and a will will also handle that life insurance question too. Guess what? We don’t need the government clouding up any of this.
“Maybe it has to do with divorce?”
Nope, divorce should be settled as a lawsuit in which the ownership of goods and money are in question. These happen all the time. See: Judges; Wopner, Judy, Mills Lane, and (God forbid) Joe Brown.
And on the subject of divorce, why on earth is it an option on most multiple choice scenarios?
Check one:
Single
Married
Divorced
?!?!?
That’s like constantly having to tell people that you’ve made a mistake. That’s not right. What if the employment status read:
Employed
Unemplyed
Fired
Shit… I got off topic again.
Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that the government should have NOTHING to do with ANY marriage period! I don’t care if a guy wants to marry a goat, if you can get the thing to say “I do” then have at it. I think that this country has much bigger problems right now, not the least of which is…well, I’ll keep that opinion to myself and just quote the great 70’s civil rights legend, Dolomite.
“Stick it to the man.”
You may kiss the bride.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Diary Excerpt: Setting the Tone
"Colors are enigmatic to me.
Not the actual perception of colors in your head. Your brain defines all things and of those things, I'm sure, colors compute a very small percentage of those perceptions. But like defining a time like 'the present' you can't accurately define any color. Is grass green? OR is antifreeze green? Is my grandmother's hair grey? Or are nimbus clouds? Is brown in Zsa Zsa's patches of fur? OR is it in the ground. I never know when i see a REAL color. My study in art has even furthered altered my perception. Blue can be calculated in numbers by CMYK, RGB, PMS, LAB, Hexachrome, and dozens more. But what was the first blue to be blue? Sky or Berry? Ocean or Eyes? A dead man's lips or a living man's veins? I have only one absolute in my questioning of color.
Blood. Is. Red.
And their will be blood."
Not the actual perception of colors in your head. Your brain defines all things and of those things, I'm sure, colors compute a very small percentage of those perceptions. But like defining a time like 'the present' you can't accurately define any color. Is grass green? OR is antifreeze green? Is my grandmother's hair grey? Or are nimbus clouds? Is brown in Zsa Zsa's patches of fur? OR is it in the ground. I never know when i see a REAL color. My study in art has even furthered altered my perception. Blue can be calculated in numbers by CMYK, RGB, PMS, LAB, Hexachrome, and dozens more. But what was the first blue to be blue? Sky or Berry? Ocean or Eyes? A dead man's lips or a living man's veins? I have only one absolute in my questioning of color.
Blood. Is. Red.
And their will be blood."
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