AURAL FLAGELLATION

I filmed a concert by the scumfuck band Amebix tonight. it was swell. i got to wear a special wristband with a skull&crossbones on it and stand in front of the barrier that held everyone else away from the stage. the only downside to this was having my ear directly to the main amp and not having earplugs. the loudness and bass force of it all shredded into my ears, destroying hearing fibers & entire pitches and frequencies. at this very moment i am plagued by an intense ringing and a general fuzziness to everything i hear. at one point a gentleman jumped from the balcony of the theater (this was at the trocadero in philly), onto the giant side amp, and then onto the stage, from which he stagedived right over my head and back into the crowd. truly an impressive feat, met only by the severe aural flagellation wrecked upon my inner ear cavities. if you don't know Amebix they are like Motorhead but slightly more satanic and slightly less metal. they attracted a rather crusty crowd, and the scent of bag was ripe in the air. all in all a good show.

BONUS: a friend told me we spoke for several minutes last night and every sentence i said would end in BRUUUUUH. i don't even know what that means and i have no recollection of it due to profound drunkenness BUT this goes to prove my ongoing theory that when i reach a point of being black-out drunk my body reacts subconsciously by making me call someone on the phone to spew my drunkenness at them. it's kind of like casting a message-in-a-bottle out to the realm of sobriety. otherwise you might just slosh in a sea of drunk forever.

elimidate

there are many busies to be busied about. i don't make nearly enough money but i am always working at something. many times the work isn't necessary to my survival but rather the survival of my craft. i am a fucking artist, although much of what i do is in jest or simply without relevancy to anything anyone else would want to identify with. i am directing a movie called baby boner and hosting a show called smut cave. there is always the drive towards some sort of punchline, some striving that goes beyond creativity into "how fucked up can i be" land. i often regret that language cannot represent all the things that go on in my head. i think the only way i will make it big at this point is if someone who has already made it "discovers me" and decides to bring me into whatever echelon i can sing and dance my way into. mine is not the path of glory, rather the scenic route of curiosity and fringe possibilty. while kanye raps about getting arab money, i listen to the piano sections on drukqs and think about rainy days. someone told me recently that if they were in my shoes they would be really depressed. the only reason this is not so is because i am not usually in my shoes, rather floating somewhere above them. i'm making a music video with a cat that lives in my house. my facial hair looks really rugged lately. the heating system in my mom's house makes horror movie music. i stayed awake until the sun came out.

DOGRIDERS PART 2: BAYVILLE

THE STORY SO FAR: Somehow, completely unbeknownst to the scientific community, the Dogriders launched an Assault on the World of Man. Their purposes unknown but violently demonstrated, the Dogriders were once average house-pets spanning the globe in untold billions. Whatever consciousness existed within the animals, it chose to unleash itself in a terrifying unison as each and every breed & pedigree of dog on the planet simultaneously sprouted a nub on its back resembling a mottled troll of yore with a wicked countenance to match. Strategic masterminds on the urban battlefield, the Dogriders formed large hunting parties, systematically extinguishing any trace of human life their keen senses could detect. As the Assault wages on and fewer living souls remain, we join survivors JOSH and NICK, waging a desperate struggle to remain hidden in the sewer systems of Long Island, New York.



SEWAGE SYSTEM: Josh and Nick trudge through thick rivers of slop.

NICK: If this goes East, we could make it all the to Bayville.

JOSH: No, we're getting out of here as soon as we can. That smell... awful.

NICK: What, and meet up with those Dogriders again? I don't think so.

JOSH: I'm gonna throw up again.

NICK: Breathe through your mouth.

The ROAR OF DOGRIDERS echoes through the tunnels.

JOSH: Where's it coming from?

The ROAR OF DOGRIDERS swells.

NICK: Sounds like they're up top.

JOSH: Did they find us?

NICK: Not likely. I don't think they can smell us through all this ass-puke.

Josh vomits into the shit river.

NICK: Sounds like some kind of a rally. Could be hundreds of 'em up there.

JOSH: Let's not stick around and find out.



CONCRETE TUNNEL: Still covered in shit, the two take cautious steps down a massive underground pass.

JOSH: Shouldn't we get off the island?

NICK: You got a plan, I'm all ears.

JOSH: Well the mainland's back thataways right?

NICK: Oh, the City, brilliant idea. Let's go where even more Dogs are at.

JOSH: We go east we're just gonna run into the ocean right?

NICK: I'm counting on it.

JOSH: What, and take a boat?

NICK: Or a plane, or the L.I.R.R., or fucking ANYTHING, WE CAN FINDALRIGHT?? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT TO HEAR? Th-THERE'S A ROYAL CARIBBEAN OCEAN LINER WAITIN' FOR US IN MONTAUK IS THAT WHAT YOU FUCKIN' WANNA HEAR?

Josh is sullen, keeping his head low as they walk. The wind reverberates in low registers through the subterranean hall.

NICK: Alright, I'm sorry Josh. I just... I got nothing.

JOSH: It's OK.

NICK: All I know is if we keep moving maybe, maybe we'll get out of this.

JOSH: Yeah...

They follow the corridor, led by the growing gloomy note of the wind.



SEASIDE DRAINAGE OUTLET: A chickenwire mesh screens the steady flow of sludge arcing out over a sandy inlet. There's a wavering in the stream as bare hands grasp the mesh, tearing it asunder. Nick emerges first, dropping to the murky puddle fed by the outlet. Josh pokes a cautious head out and joins him on the sandbar. The ocean makes itself known with a subdued dashing of froth to the shoreline.



BAYVILLE BEACH, DUSK: Josh and Nick walk along the deserted shore, keeping an eye on the upcoming township.

JOSH: I don't see any boats.

NICK: I think there's a harbor coming up around this bend.

JOSH: You said that the last bend.

NICK: It's Bayville, there's gotta be... bays.

The staccato of summer rain pelts the surrounding beach.

NICK: How bout that. At least it's washing the shit off.

JOSH: Smells like rain.

NICK: I love that smell.

A faint bark nips the air, barely audible.

JOSH: This is good, we're not seeing any of them, right?

NICK: We haven't seen anything since we got out here, Human or Dogrider.

The rain is picking up, and already a a gray cloud brews overhead.

JOSH: Maybe they all left.

NICK: And went where? I don't get it. And why would they go after us in the first place? We didn't do anything to them. I loved my dog! And where's the armies? Where's the guys who're supposed to be saving our asses?

Nick trips, falling hard into the sand.

JOSH: You OK?

NICK: I'll live.

JOSH: Look what you hit.

Both pairs of eyes come to rest on a SHOVEL, partially emerging from the dunes.

NICK: Alright.

He picks it up, examining the blade as rain streaks patterns on the metal.

NICK: Could be a good weapon, right?

All the color has dropped from Josh's face, his mouth slightly agape.

NICK: Well, I think it could be.

Josh's head is shaking ever so slightly, as if in stunted disbelief.

NICK: Hey, quit it.

Nick turns the shovel blade so that it reflects to him what Josh is actually staring at: a dark shape approaching behind them. Nick turns to see the hundred or so feet between him and TWO EXTRA-LARGE EXTRA-VICIOUS DOGRIDERS. The Dogriders approach slowly in full-on hunt mode. There's a dark shaggy one and a pure white wolf-like one, the pair forming some kind of nightmarish yin-yang amidst the growing storm. Nick raises his shovel in a ready position.

NICK: Josh, I want you to run, run to the ocean and do not look back, got it?

JOSH: Nick?

NICK: You're gonna swim out as far as you can as quickly as possible, understand? And do not, look, back.

JOSH: Nick, what are you doing?

NICK: Josh, I'm sorry to raise my voice again buT RUNNNNN! GO! GET OUT OF HERE, RUN!

DOGRIDERS: BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF!

NICK: GO,WHAT ARE YOU DOING, GO!

Josh tumbles backwards but snaps into a sprint as the Dogriders begin to rush them.

DOGRIDERS: BROUF! BROUF! BROUF!

Nick swipes at the black Dogrider, slamming it aside with an astounding impact. The white Dogrider leaps past, keying in on Josh as his feet slap against the shoreline.

DOGRIDERS: BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF!

Nick raises his shovel high overhead, bringing it down hard on the felled Dogrider. For the first time ever, the horrific brown nub protruding from the Dogrider's back opens its infantile maw.

NUB: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEH!!!

It's a horrific noise, the sound of bitter troll suffering amplified to an unnatural resonance. The sound stops the white Dogrider dead in it's tracks; it's a distress call of the highest order! The beast is momentarily stalled: does it go for Josh or return to help its downed huntingmate?

NUB: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEH!!!

The white Dogrider doubles back with renewed anger.

DOGRIDERS: BROUF! BROUF!

Josh thrashes about in the choppy surf, bobbing among waves as the riptide pulls him farther out.

JOSH: NICK! NICK!!!

He swallows seawater as a wave slams into his face. Between the whitecaps and sheets of cold rain, he sees the white Dogrider lunge at Nick, knocking him to the ground.

JOSH: NICK!

He tries to swim back but the current is growing under the storm's power. His vision obscured in the brine, he catches one last glimpse of the white Dogrider and the recovered black Dogrider swarming their prey, now a mere red blob on the receding coast. Thunder erupts overhead as waves begin to blot out the shoreline. It's a struggle to merely keep afloat.

JOSH: NICK! NICK!!! NIIIIIIIIH-HIH-HIIIIIICK!!!

(end part 2)

Facebook 3.0

Facebook: Complete social networking made simple 4 U.

Network Socially over a vast Social Network of friends and advertising schemes. Totally 3.0 for Today's High-Speed Internet!

Facebook 3.0 is a totally revamped, reserviced social network allowing U to:

* Virtually connect with each and every member of your family, regardless of whether or not you want to let them in on the personal life you've so carelessly built up before there was even a possibility of them reading about it!

* Learn the minutiae of all the people you spent years trying to avoid in college while our servers publicly broadcast each profile you view and for how long (mandatory broadcast to all friends and subsequent friends of friends)!

* Built-in messaging system creates sense of guilt similar to e-mailing: simply receive unwanted messages and experience bitter obligation of crafting a response!

* Picture-tagger automatically sorts photographs based on how much fun your ex's are having now that you are a fading echo doomed to the bleak recesses of their long-disinterested minds!

* Fun applications!

* Homeland Security Monitor automatically lists which authorities are notified when you write "bong" in a comment!

* FacebookChat is the fast, easy way to see which of your friends are online and whether or not you need to sign out immediately (all online contacts notified exact period of time between their login and your logout)!

* Pay real money for intangible electronic pixels to decorate your profile!

* Lists. Endless, irrelevant, mind-numbing lists.

SKI SLOPES LIVEBLOGGING EVENT

I DID IT! WENT SKIING IN VERMONT AND AWESOMENESS SKIS FUN. HERE'S A LIVE VIDEO FROM THE HOTEL ROOM:

A.K.A it was too cold to take a camera outside (-26 at the top of the mountain) and all we could do at night was get retardedly drunk and play drinking games involving monopoly, risk, and the ice tray. it was fun though. glades, fresh powder, and the like. you should've come. virus download complete.

hit the SLOPES

i haven't been skiiing in years. i crave it so. which is why im foykin' PUMPED to be going SKIING this weekend. me and some bros are going to jay peak in vermont and fuckin RIPPIN IT UP. i've been bitching about this winter business for so long it's time i just fuckin got out there and ski'd all over it. just fuckin' GIVIN IT. this is the same mountain i got lost on several years ago and had to spend an hour and a half hiking through snowlogged terrain to escape within inches of my life. AWESOME. i can't wait to hit up those glades again. i love darting through the trees and running the risk of smashing your shit straight into one if you're being retarded (which i DEFINITELY have people). i want to do a liveblogging event from the slopes in the -5 degree weather but i don't have a gayphone or any technology with which to liveblog my events in realtime. suffice to stay i will conquer the mountain like a speedy stoned rocket and all the ski bunnies be waitin 4me at the hot tub later on (obv that song that goes "shawty u a tennnn, a tennn" will be playing).

i'm so extreme i don't really like listening to my own thoughts.

the controller spheres have disappeared

everything is at once thrilling and difficult. things are moving very fast and sometimes impossibly slow. i make noises to myself when i think about things, especially while driving. when i get excited about the ideas in my head they just sort of seep out, and i'll be cruising down columbus ave making little shrieks as the dogriders ride through my brain. i think an honest, rational man would probably disassociate himself from me. i want to be able to create all the things i have to offer from within, even the lego pirate story i transcribed to the cleaning lady when i was 7. there is so much to shine light on. i wish i could be artistic in all walks of life and you could pay your bills by drawing a nice landscape on them. i wish there wasn't a constant grinding down of the individual by the massive gears that have been turning since the dawn of history. of course there are reasons we can't transcend certain realities, but come on people do we really have to put a chip in our thigh so the government can keep tabs on us wherever we roam? i say progressive anarchy fueled by human mental evolution. self-sufficiency through telekinesis. i say let's all turn into god-like beings of pure light and colors and sounds that harmonize. wait, when did we wander into bizarre hippy territory? what the fuck, smells like fuckin patchouli and scrote hairs up in hur. anyway, i have many hopes for a hyper-evolutionary humanity-wide event, i just hope obama can get the ball rolling on this one.

heh, ball.

Dogriders: part 1 (rough draft)

DAYBREAK: Four dark figures huddled in a dark house. No electricity. We gather that a very unseemly set of events has led them to this moment. As our eyes adjust to the light we see:

HARRISON, 29, takes a furtive glance through the curtains, as if spying on someone. He is a solemn man wracked by many woes.

JOSH, 27, seated at an empty dining-room table, hands pressed against his forehead. He looks like he might be a jovial fellow in nicer times. But these days are very dark.

NICK, 28, leaning against the wall, deep in thought. A handsome man with a cool dark quality about him. Catlike almost.

BILL, 25, standing in a doorway methodically loading a revolver. His gruff exterior hides a heart of gold, but he's not about to let that shine through in times like these.

After an almost eternal and boring silence...

HARRISON: I think they've gone, maybe we should get moving.

JOSH: No. I'm... not going out there again.

NICK: We're gonna have to move eventually, they'll come back. (a beat) They always do.

BILL: Well, we're definitely not gonna sit here and argue about it. Either we get to higher ground or find a more defensible location.

HARRISON: Bill's right, we've outstayed our welcome.

NICK: Alright, let's get moving.

Josh shakes his head as the four of them leave the dining room.



STILLWELL ROAD: The four men walk along the center of the forested road, each one with a makeshift weapon (and Bill's revolver). They make sure to keep a visual perimeter around them, each man taking turns looking north, south, east, and west.

HARRISON: We've gotta be halfway to Woodbury by now!

NICK: Keep your heads up, we're not out of the fire yet.

BILL: Hold up.

The group stops, everyone having spotted the same thing at the side of the road... a huge, fly-swarming turd. Moist in the morning light.

JOSH: What is it?

BILL: (intensely long beat) ...Dogriders.

A massive beast covered in matted brown fur leaps from the surrounding underbrush with magnificent strength. It looks like a giant wolfhound and is fitted with a saddle upon which an armor-coated barbarian humanoid warrior rides.

No sooner does Bill raise his gun than the beast is upon him, biting his arm right at the shoulder! The remaining three pause in shock as Bill gets thrashed against the street like a rag-doll.

JOSH: GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO!

Josh, Nick, and Harrison all run full speed past the hellish nightmare creature. As they run, three more Dogriders leap from the woods.

DOGRIDERS: BROUF! BROUF! BROUF!

BILL: (faint, dying) nguh, heeelp.

Harrison stops, unable to ignore his comrade's pleas.

JOSH: WHAT ARE YOU DOING GO! GO! GO! GO! GO!

HARRISON: We can't leave him, he's still alive!

NICK: HE'S DEAD JUST RUN!

JOSH: COME ON WE GOTTA GOOO!

HARRISON: Someone's gotta save him!

A Dogrider pins Harrison to the ground, gnawing at his skull.

NICK: FUCK!

JOSH: RUN! WE GOTTA RUN! FUCK!

HARRISON: (braindead) Buhhhhelpme.

DOGRIDERS: BRAAUGHGRAGHGRRRR!

JOSH: GO! KEEP RUNNING! GO!

NICK: HERE OVER HERE!

The two leap over the side of the road, where a sewage outlet pipe runs. They climb into the open pipe, barely squeezing through the steel bars.

DOGRIDERS: BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF!

The Dogriders try to headbutt the sewage pipe, but they're stuck outside.

DOGRIDERS: HRRRRRRRRRRBROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF!

NICK: They can't get in here...

JOSH: (taking in the previous events) ... fuck.

Nick leans against the curved wall of the pipe. Josh buries his face in his hands.

DOGRIDERS: BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF! BROUF!

(end part 1)

january bullshit

this month is cold and rainy/snowy. 2009 is supposed to be awesome according to my highly optimistic celebratory blog but for now i am condemned to cold nights of aging in the mirror and trying to play the drums on hard in rock band. which is going ok by the way. anyway, this bullshit sucks and i'm ready for summatime. if you're resigning yourself to a cold bed in an underheated apartment like me, here's some pure white lightning to warm you up tonight:

let's hope the days start getting longer, warmer, and awesomer real fuckin' soon bra. can't wait to play some ULTIMATE FRIZZ.

2009

AND SO THE CYCLE TURNS ONCE MORE...

it's 2009. it feels pretty good considering the world is collapsing into molten pits of liquid-hot earthcore. so far i'd say we're off to a good start. and you can't really argue with the number 9 at the end of a year. i'm a strong believer in the power of certain numbers (even though i wrote all that shit about not liking math) and i think 9 is good news because 3 goes into it 3 times and 3 is an important number in my life. i hope this year is as good as i hope. i have a lot of hopes right now, as do many american citizens. and citizens of the globe. let's hope that at least a few more people can resolve their differences and live in peace instead of everybody bombing the fuck out of everybody else. seriously. and while we're talking about people changing and opening up their eyes, here's george carlin (rip) on the american dream:

fuck y'all, go 2009, i'm out, fuck you, peace, what's up, later.