thank you mistress, may I please have another?

Follow-up: That was supposed to read "deaR god," but I guess "deaD god" works just as well. It's done with now. The machine hast spoken&$@#*!Absinthe: Centurion of The Mauve Army of Naked Chick Magazines.

smack

Dead god: Spare me from bad poetry. Good holy christ, no more bad poetry. I'll even become a better nonchristian! It's sent to me by well-intending people who want me to {shudder} critique it, I'm always being asked to come to readings that high schoolers put on... and then there's Robert Frost, for eff's sake. I don't know WHAT you were trying to do with Robert Frost. This isn't 100% bad poetry-- just most of it. *smirk* Ha! Obey the fist! I know-- I'm not a poet. I don't sit down and write poetry. It's never been my thing. However, I definitely read my share and think I can formulate a good idea of what works and what doesn't. A lot of these kids have poetential, but it needs to be further developed beyond "capitalism sucks, man!", angst, angst, angst, and how their parents won't let them cruise to Jack in the Box at 1am for e-coli burgers. Some of them DON'T have potential, and need to give up before the god of poetry smites them down. Heh! I want to smite people. I remember the last time I ended up at a bad poetry reading. The drug czar J and I went out afterward and got coffee at one of those tacky 24-hour places AND DREW ON THE PAPER PLACEMATS! That's the best. I didn't think I could actually eat anything on the menu, so I stuck to the coffee. After so long, my stomach can handle it. There's still something about those places that fascinate me like every other dysfunctional part of the all-american kultur experience. THIS is diner food. Cigarette ash on the formica, acrid coffee, cranky lesbian he-man of a waitress, questionable translucent orange residue on the dinner plate... the epitome of all that is wrong with foodstuffs. Ahh... the cheap all-American 24-hour diner. Teenage goths, alcoholic fathers, runaway convicts, truck drivers who try to rape my friends in the bathroom, rednecks who verbally assault us, drug users, farmers, bad poets... all in this horribly-concocted "pseudo-country-home" setting with single mothers on welfare dishing out the dead cows. Cows must equate the diner experience with hades. Or-- at the very least-- Jeffrey Dahmer's refrigerator. I wonder if it was a Westinghouse. Then we wrote our OWN bad poetry about it, in the style of everyone at the reading: "Oh, MAN these gaudy fake pine candleholders speak like a piece of my heart melted by ephemeral phantasmagoric spinning spirals lucid out of control the day is yesterday, non unlike that black velveteen oil painting of John Wayne over there in the corner. And I ask myself: why this obstructed social system? Why black patches of haze in the moonlight tear my vision? I am going to listen to Rage and eat some cheeseburgers now!"Fffffffffffff...... I need to leave.

well-forked but not dead.

& fuck you, fuck you. Wait! I shouldn't start an entry mid-thought like that. Thing of thee day: A few punk kids I know (Why do I always use the collective term "kids?" I'm not a "kid" myself, and they're both older than I am.) were arrested for propagating anti-current-events graffiti abhorrent vandalism. Good god, they must be socialists."Deranged Socialists!""But... but... that's the only kind!"Anyhow. I was mucking through the mud puddles and Pennzoil residue taking photos when this guy I'd never seen before walked toward me and said, "My GOD you're beautiful!!" promptly turned the corner, and went on his merry way. It was bizarre. I just kind of mumbled "Uhhh.... thanks, I think." or something equally stupid. Maybe he was only quoting Happy Noodle Boy.Today I also got a massive amount of hair hacked off. The hair-cutting human and I were observing the screaming children at the other end of the shop and talking about how we were stuck with our mothers giving us haircuts when we were in grade school. Ah. I remember grade school. It was during the 80s and I was enamoured with trying to look like all the silly high school kids, so the more voluminous I could get my hair, the cooler I was. Home perms-in-a-box, crimping irons, Aqua-Net... I'm surprised I'm not bald. It was horrible. Scientists genetically engineered the first dead poodle-mullet-thing attached to the top of my head. C.C. Deville didn't have anything on me. Couple that with the makeup samples I was always stealing from my mom's alcoholic Avon-selling best friend? I was such a dirty rockstar. Now all I need is a fridge full of liquor and a drawer full of drugs. *looks around* Oh.I hate talking about myself. A little bit is normal, but... hey. Maybe that's why I don't write here every day anymore. I need to start constantly bitching about the outside world again.

Me! I subvert you!

After a good 6 months, there's now a second Too-Much-Makeup-Boy comic! It's less than amusing, but can't be any worse than the first one. At this rate I should achieve mad notoriety by the year 498648716412.

faith & devotion

Here's to hoping everyone had a happy V.D. day. We held a ceremonial anti-dinner. No couples allowed! Be one with reveling in your non-relationship "support casual sex" freedom! Or... ah... something along those lines. It was fantastic. Fancy D.I.Y. punk-rock cuisine; red wine and hash. Someone brought over a documentary covering a an Indian holy celebration. It was very intriguing-- from what I remember-- although I think the Ira Cohen narrative may have been slightly over the top if I hadn't been stoned to Mars. (Post-beat? What?) But maybe that's half the experience. There still seemed something "off" about a bunch of mesmerized american kids eyeballing and romanticizing-- through a television screen-- a culture which couldn't be further separated from our own "value" *cough* system. Talk about how we could do without the current stomach-turning state of corporate America, but none of us could survive if we were suddenly dropped into the middle of nowhere, India. A happy medium, perhaps?I guess it could be worse. We could be rich and all-white american kids.--------------------------------------------------Confidential to Narx: (I was going to email it last night, but I've been experiencing dysfunctional email angst lately. I'll just put it here. Everyone else can sit and wonder.) Fucking awesome! I was bouncing around like a titillated schoolgirl! I'm in relive-my-9th-grade-year-but-in-better-stereo-quality heaven! You can bet yer ass I'm going to spend a portion of this weekend designing album covers. Geek yes. Negative 3 has been one of my favorites forever and ever. The remastered version sounds incredible. By the way, I saw your überhomo hero Scott on tee-vee the night it came. That was even better. Mmm. I miss his green hair and swanky fashion sense, as both have disappeared completely. The KMFDM is awesome, too. (I thought you hated them. *smirk*) Cheesy as it is, I love 'em. I know exactly what I need to send you, but I have to molest a VCR out of someone first. I'll mail the first part out next week (maybe even along with Nersh's unfortunate ton of duct tape. I'm sorry! I'M SORRY!) and get thee the video whenever I can. It's going to be an interesting project.

Piss Frond

&%#$@! entries don't write themselves; fer chrissakes I should be getting paid for this.Dear die-ary: why are people so bloody daft?WAIT! DON'T ANSWER THAT!! FOR THE LOVE OF... GAAAHHHH!!

Andy, where's my fifteen minutes?

The entry what has no preconceived direction! This must be what it's like to be an anarchist revolutionary. Posting pictures is exponentially easier than composing new entries. Who wants to see rockstars naked?! Service me, Martha!!Or else I could just fill out some overdone survey lists. Mmm....845) What is your favorite color? gayrainbow, gayrainbow, gayrainbow, black, gayrainbow846) What is your favorite lubricant?847) What is your favorite bad Geocities webpage?I keep hearing tiny bits & pieces on this album that sound like samples of other songs, but I'm not sure. Auditory hallucinations. Wait a minute... Damn it! It's happening again! Who put Brian Eno in a box? I can't be making this stuff up. This morning I was aiming to start the semester history project, but I can't work up any more motivation than drinking coffee and reading comics. I'm trying to decide whether or not I actually feel worse than I did yesterday. Hmm. A project having to do with history/history, not drug/history art/history pop/history trash/history, which usually means war and nothing else. OR freaky post-war suburban sprawl, molesting the american dream into cardboard husbands, sedate children, and happy wives with new improved cleaning products. I think that's what I'm going for. That class! On Friday I came in approximately two minutes after 2:00 and the scary german guy (Who, I learned, in his youth worked for a meat disassembly line. He enjoys cracking bad jokes about it in his free time.) was just like, "YOU!! With the HAIR!! You're LATE!!" *points at me and looks like death on a stick* I think my internal organs stopped functioning for a full three seconds. I need to stop slacking off. The other day I got a letter enticing me to join some kind of prestigious collegiate organization. Proper dress: Sunday attire. Heh! I think it's because those kind of high cult society functions always need to have the one "weird misplaced drug kid" wandering around to make everyone else feel more significant. No... I feel like my brain has been swapped with a brillo pad.

there goes my gun

Nersh, we are now one in "I feel like I am going to die-ness." Sometime in between last night and the present, I think I swallowed a fistful of nails and washed them down with Draino.(substitute for content)

777

Wow. Giger was 62 today. Someone had better hurry the eff up with creating an infinite life-preservation module.

There is nothing left to say!

One view on the belief-outlining essay.....that's why people don't write on beliefs and persuasions anymore-- at least not widely. (LJ and other projects being a sort of deviation. Heh.) Everything has already been said for them. It's like convenient shopping. Pick your stance on anything! Religion, government, human & animal rights, sociopolitical issues, sex, drugs, capitalism, meat in a can... there's already a written statement-- probably a good thousand-- available on every aspect of every topic imaginable. Ask someone where they thought the government should be headed during the 2000 election, and they'd likely just reiterate plans by their candidate of choice. Maybe even hand over some xeroxed propaganda. It doen't matter because the views are one in the same. Just less work & conveniently packaged for the average citizen. Like cheez-whiz. (Damn it! Every time I hear "cheez whiz" I think of fecking Bryan Erikson. And then pork rinds.) That brings us to the question: who had the ideas first? No one knows. They're passed on and on indefinitely, shifting slightly and revised for particular purposes. -------Besides, I already have extensive conversations about these issues with people I know. I read up on it and rant & rave mentally & verbally like anyone else. Why do I need to clutter the written world with even more bitching and rehashed verbatim, especially when it's already been said & ten times more eloquently? It's not laziness or amotivation... just that the need doesn't seem readily present. Time better spent on other things, seemingly... less on my shoulders.... not proud of it. It's probably always been like that. Few produce. I don't know. Just the way things have been skewed today. Kind of like staggering across the ice and completely eating shit in the parking lot after class, with a bag full of 20 pounds of STUFF landing on top of me and almost getting run over by thee go-tard van. I'm like a bad comic book character. Stupid random off-the-wall things keep happening but NONE OF IT IS AMUSING. Then I'd get cancelled after two issues and the creator would be workin' the corner for cans of fruit cocktail $1.99 and massive kicks... the suckers with tequila worms inside. I remember those. The ghetto convenience store in the town where I grew up always had them at the counter. They were... like... WOW. Utmost fascination. Mealy. I wasn't brave enough to inquire.And then---- after coming home and instantly flying out to the mailbox, receiving nothing but more goddamn advertisements (i.e. no subconscious special sauce) I cracked my hand against the door frame and have been feeling it ever since. Owwwww... I was all set to complete some half-finished drawings, but I can't even manipulate a pencil. I think everything's still in once piece, just momentarily fucked. At least I hope that's all it is. Maybe it'll stop hurting if I drink some more.

nemesis onlinE

The most gratuitously overused term in (sub)culture:How do you define pretension?

wow, people are deep at 3:30am. (&sarcasm)

Decision of the moment: there are few things more abjectly cruel than time.I said something about learning German in an earlier entry. The punks have had a German textbook laying around for ages. I think it was produced by a dumpster. It denies you freshmaker! Anyway, maybe I should look into it d.i.y. style. Bad pronunciation aside, I'd at least know how to say more than just stuff like NEGATIV NEIN! No... never mind. I'm going to delete some of that now..... <---The "journal issues" I talked about a week or so ago were mainly centered around how I'm sick of coming across as ridiculous and nothing else. No one can stand reading this anymore. That's not going to change anytime soon. Serious writing is not for the internet's public display. There's a definite line drawn there, at least for me. It's not going to get any better. Eff it. Especially at 3:30am. CATHARSIS! KIND OF!There were also stories about radar antennae men with obscenely large cases of soup & mullets & Michael Dukakis bumperstickers. He kept staring at me with an expression that clearly stated, "Uhuh huh huh... hey, bab-eh. Do you wanna... like... bump rumps in the trailer while teh missus is out wit teh youngin's? Uhhh huh huh huh."I was trying to think of some kind of way to sum up that event, but it's not coming.

they say s/he has no brain

New site is finished! Relocated here. In the end the process & the product came together differently than planned, but at least everything works. It looks too fragment-y pretentious-y just like every other personal site out there, the difference being that it has eggs and nails and ogres. (MINISTRY R0X0R5!!!111! Mostly that video. And Bad Blood because Al man-handles Paul Barker. Ha! I'll stop with it now. For good.)I was debating whether or not to include pictures of myself aside from the very nondescript (and old) ones already there. All too often people get so carried away with making a spectacle out of themselves that it completely overrides the content. Then again, I guess that's what "personal" sites are for. Who cares about content anymore? What I need is a webcam. Then I could switch on thee groovemaker and wiggle in front of it like a... a thing that wiggles. In turn, that may start off a chain reaction ending with rabid internet denizens buying me stuff. I do not fully understand this. It's a fuct, fuct, fuct, fuct world. *smirk* Any opinions on the subject of pictures are welcome.Why don't they pass a law making food labels simply state that a product is vegan? Things would be a hell of a lot easier.

=-+_+_--=-----=-=---+_____+_+-=----+_+-

WAU! The word "grok" is in the dictionary. Say whatever you want about Heinlein-- that book was about 398 pages too much for me to handle. I think I only got through it because I kept imagining that Mike the Martian looked like David Bowie.Last night I wrote an entry about issues I've been having with this journal. I can still see where I was coming from-- even if I had spent over 24 hours being awake at the time-- but I don't know if it needs to be posted. I worry about ridiculous things too much. Maybe I'll put it up again later. Stay tuned, and all that shite. Better than tee-vee, better than sex!Among other things, I feel really fucking cheap for never writing you.

Quick question for anyone who has half an idea...

Can anyone recommend a decent place for hosting my site? I want for something free or reasonably cheap, and no ads. I don't know where to start here. I'm not looking to register a domain name or anything. I just want to do more with my site. Envy.nu runs so s l o w l y and inefficiently that I literally can't browse through it most of the time. Besides, it's infamous for "those vile teen girl sites." I only require 20 megs or so of space. Ja, ja. Danke in advance.

more later.

This. Has been. The longest. 120 hours. Ever. Not interesting; just three weeks worth of back&forth crammed into a five-day time period&no time to breathe&no one to kill.Sex?Drugs?Rock & Roll?All three and triple your pleasure?Drawing class: creepy woman wearing a beret peers long and hard at my sketchbook and says to me: "Oooooh, I think there is an alien in you!" Jive, turkey.For some reason I keep thinking this person would be interesting to meet. Heh.

kraut!

Second semester in thee college of ghetto-über-allies didn't begin until yesterday morning. I've had to do nothing in the way of academics for nearly a month. Who needs brain cells anyway? Goes as follows, but subject to change:Mixed-media art(?): My mum was adamant that in one of my art classes there would "probably be people there who are like you." Her exact words: "Like you." What in fook is that supposed to mean? Maladjusted? Creme-filled? Non-Mormon? I don't know whether to be optimistic, offended, or horrified. Whatever it is, I don't think I found it. I was all sorts of excited at one point because I noticed someone coming out of class who, at sideways glance, looked rivet-esque. He ended up being an ugly death-metal guy. HEH. Still, it goes down as the closest thing resembling a rivethead that I've seen since starting university... or that I've seen in town since the year 1999. (If it weren't for the internet, roadtrips, and mail-order I'd implode.) Here's to hoping my plans for moving next summer work out. (And they will, too. Damn it.)Drawing: I used to do drugs with the professor's son.Math of some sort: Due to a scheduling messup I haven't gotten there yet, which is perfectly fine with me.History: Now this is something else. My professor is a long-haired German guy named Gerhard Grytz. Yes! That's almost as good as Wilhelm Schroder! Almost. He kept tripping over things like he was drunk, and he talks with his hands way too much. Quote of the day: "Plagiarism is the greatest sin of academia!!!!!11!1" *overly-excited in a German accent, with arms flailing about* And-- get this-- we're going to watch Dr. Strangelove. Rock.jesusfuck my head hurts. But it wasn't a bad day...

Edit.

I don't know if anyone I'm acquainted with in "real life" reads this. I was making things private when I mention names-- as in the previous-- but fuck it. Besides, I can always kick them face-first down a cement stairwell if any problems arise from it. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am.I also spent an hour writing an entire volume's worth of personal sorting-things-out mental spooge-type-stuff that was going to get posted, but writing it was enough. No one needs to read that! Good god. Eye-yi-yi eye have problems.Nersh: I'll email you sometime soon, but not by the morning. I'm too dead tired to string a sentence together nowwww and I need to be up at 7:00 am. Then I leave and come home around 3:00. Then I have to leave again at 6:00. Eye. am. so. dead.lab rat says: so what are u up to?Hypo Luxa says: In five minutes I need to check on what's in the oven AND MAKE BISCUITS!lab rat says: lolHypo Luxa says: Arrggghhh! YOU FOUND IT FUNNY?!lab rat says: pigHypo Luxa says: Pig?lab rat says: what?Hypo Luxa says: Ride the PIG! Ride Raymond Watts! I AM NOT ON DRUGS!Hypo Luxa says: Waitaminute. You are verbally abusive. I am going to call a police officer.lab rat says: on me?Hypo Luxa says: No, on the biscuits.lab rat says: that is what i thought.

Update....

....out of writing angst™. It seems like every time I'm three-fourths of the way through with writing something on a topic I have a definite stance on, I'm suddenly hit with all kinds of detractions. Reasons that make my original point seem unfounded. Holes wide enough for Divine to fall through. I need to have this written as soon as possible, and now I'm going to have to start over. Bitch, bitch, bitch. I should delete that.All writing issues aside, this is the week that rocked the casbah. I don't know how it happened. I've been overly busy/stressed/short on time, but that was balanced with getting out and doing a lot of things. Fun things. Overly lame fun things that are USDA grade-A certified r0x0r. W00T! I think it has to do with the feeling of actually getting stuff done for a change. I tend to be the flesh equivalent of a slime mold. I should be motivated more often. Chelsey dragged me over to Max's apartment because she had to give him something. I finally saw a bit of his artwork which, of course, was as amazing as everything else about him and he has now succeeded in making me feel entirely inadequate in three categories. He said we should come over more often. I want to eat him alive. Nate said I just need to get laid.(A great week so far. Now all I have to do is make it through Saturday without Infatuated-Guy trying to contact me. You and you know what I'm talking about. HA HA HA! Ha. The story hath developed new chapters. New chapters that are uglier than cEvin Key.)The more I read over this entry the less I enjoy it. Tastee cakes. DAMN IT. THERE IT GOES AGAIN.What really amuses me are über-anarchist "Smash the corporate machine! Rip the system!" webpages with advertising banner ads.

more %$#@&%

I started writing an entry yesterday, but the server had worms. I've barely been on the computer at all during the last few days. I almost, almost slapped some purposely atrocious photos up on the website that were taken a few nights ago. Then again, where do you carve the line between a "good" photo and a "bad" one? There's some in-too-lektualizing for you. GOOD: it doesn't look like this. Ah, yes. The "Tapes of Wrath." And what wrath! Talk about things to NOT watch for the first time whilst stoned out of your mind. I was laughing so hard I thought I was going to throw up. Now every time I go to the grocery store I'll be plagued with mental images of 80s Al Jourgensen and this terrible, horrible, bad, bad video. And OMELETTES WITH NAILS! Getting this tape was the best $7.99 I've ever spent, seriously. And I haven't even watched the entire thing yet.Little known "fun fact": 83.07 percent of people who decided to check out homosexuality in the year 1986 did so ONLY after viewing the "Over the Shoulder" video. Cheers, Al!Small note that no one will care about, but I have a dire need to write about it since I haven't had time yet: On Friday, after running around town and getting said shite over and done with, I came home to find the belated capitalistmas kulture-bomb from Inertia waiting for me. Rock! I had just sent off his sweet sweet goodies (after warning the perplexed guy at the post office: "You do realize that if customs is lusting after rummaging through this package they're never in a million years going to be able to put it back in one piece because there's a half-roll of duct tape barely holding it together.") so that says something for good karma. Or if not, at least it's an excuse to sound all spiritually introspective. (I can't wait until you receive it. The postal service makes me nervous.) I opened it up, and what did I see? England's Dreaming! Seriously, I squeeked like a little girl. That was the most fantastic thing you could've sent me. Arrgghh! Then I saw the S'Puppy sticker and squeeked again. Awesome, awesome. I don't know what else to say other than DAMN IT! we need to talk more. I miss those many... er... hours. *ahem.*</a> I did see some $5 calling cards for Canada somewhere around here...

wham, bam, thank you ma'am.

Real resolutions for the new year.* don't try to get drunk off of thee liquor-filled candy.* stop using the word "a'iight."* don't wake up in bed with any ex-lovers.* fully utilize thee medium of metal.* start acting like a girl.* stop using the word "fuck" so much.* save the braincells.* tell "infatuated guy" to knock it off.* stop looking like I crawled out of a dumpster.* find something about this place that I'll miss when I leave.* uhh... um.... ngggghh... *much staring and drooling*In other news, hey YOU!: I finally found a box, although I'm afraid you're going to end up with one pound of "stuff" and ten pounds of duct tape to ensure that it stays together. Ah, well. Whatever works. See if customs can claw their way through that! Huh?! Get down! :D

? kissing to be clever ¿

Last night: I wasn't going to overdo it, but (as I was just saying to Narx) today was declared "National Hangover Day" so I did anyway. HA HA! HA. ("You are such slick revolutionaries. Ha ha. Your grandma can suck eggs. Ha ha ha.") No regrets, no guilt, nothing done that I felt ashamed of in the morning. It's alright, it's alright. Just a slight nervousness about whether or not anyone involved in ______ (which was everyone) had communicable diseases or parasites of any sort. *smirk* How's that for a mystery? :DSummed up by this one particular quote:"When is this going to end?! Damn it, this is fucking weird. It's messed up. You guys are SICK!" --justinAs of now, 2001 can go to buggery and fuck itself. My goal is to forget that it happened. (Except for ohGr!) It may appear as sort of a mystery why, as I only include approximately 4% of all "personal" goings-on in thee journal of doom. BUT TRUST ME. Even so, today is just another day. No sign that anything has changed, as it really hasn't. Just a different calendar on the wall. Maybe we depend on this semblance of beginning anew to keep a sense of sanity for the next 12 months.Everything does seem better in retrospect. (?!)Which David Bowie are you?