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[14 Nov 2006|11:41am] |
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It's my birthday.
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[28 Nov 2005|02:01pm] |
New cell phone.
Blah blah blah.
Leave your numbers please.
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[11 Jul 2005|08:46pm] |
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Who wants to have a slumber party with Georgia and I Thursday?
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[02 Jul 2005|08:14pm] |
Thanks Rory.
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[20 Jun 2005|03:42am] |
What he said.
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[25 May 2005|07:24pm] |
John asked me to do this, and who am I to argue?
Total volume of music on my computer:
1300...Pretty decent for only having cable for a few months.
The last CD I bought:
Satanick Panick in the Attick-Of Montreal
Song playing right now:
You're gonna miss me-13th Floor Elevators
Five songs I listen to a lot, or that mean a lot to me:
I listen to these the most.
Baby's gonna die tonight-Adam Green
Beat my Guest-Adam and the Ants
Teenage Faces-The Exploding Hearts
Absinthe Party at the fly honey warehouse-Minus the Bear
Typical Girls-The Slits
Five to whom this plague is now passed:
dangerlazarus
arguile
wakeup_sleepy
markassmeagle
cheerfuladdict
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[25 Apr 2005|05:01am] |
"There is enough treachery, hatered, violence, and absurdity in the average human being to supply any given army on any given day and the best at murder are those who preach against it and the best at hate are those who preach love and the best at war finally are those who preach peace those who preach god, need god those who preach peace do not have peace those who preach peace do not have love beware the preachers beware the knowers beware those who are always reading books beware those who either detest poverty or are proud of it beware those quick to praise for they need praise in return beware those who are quick to censor they are afraid of what they do not know beware those who seek constant crowds for they are nothing alone beware the average man the average woman beware their love, their love is average seeks average but there is genius in their hatred there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you to kill anybody not wanting solitude not understanding solitude they will attempt to destroy anything that differs from their own not being able to create art they will not understand art they will consider their failure as creators only as a failure of the world not being able to love fully they will believe your love incomplete and then they will hate you and their hatred will be perfect like a shining diamond like a knifelike a mountain like a tiger like hemlock their finest art."
Amen, Mr.Bukowski.
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[09 Apr 2005|05:32pm] |
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Tomorrow is my boo Sarah's birthday.
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[12 Feb 2005|10:14pm] |
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music |
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good charlotte - i just wanna live |
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ben was hurrrrrr.
<33333333333
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[28 Jan 2005|05:19am] |
I'm done.
Byebye Livejournal.
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| Coney Island of the mind. |
[30 Dec 2004|09:19pm] |
Let’s go
Come on
Let’s go
Empty our pockets
And disappear.
Missing all our appointments
And turning up unshaven
Years later
Old cigarette papers
stuck to our pants
leaves in our hair.
Let us not
worry about the payments
anymore.
Let them come
and take it away
whatever it was
we were paying for.
And us with it.
Let us arise and go now
to where dogs do it
Over the Hill
where they keep the earthquakes
behind the city dumps
lost among gasmains and garbage.
Let us see the City Dumps
for what they are.
My country tears of thee.
Let us disappear
in automobile graveyards
and reappear years later
picking rags and newspapers
drying our drawers
on garbage fires
patches on our ass.
Do not bother
to say goodbye
to anyone.
Your missus will not miss us.
Let’s go
smelling of sterno
where the benches are filled
with discarded Bowling Green statues
in the interior dark night
of the flower bowery
our eyes watery
with the contemplation
of empty bottles of muscatel.
Let us recite from broken bibles
on streetcorners
Follow dogs on docks
Speak wild songs
Throw stones
Say anything
Blink at the sun and scratch
and stumble into silence
Diddle in doorways
Know whores thirdhand
after everyone else is finished
Stagger befuddled into East River sunsets
Sleep in phone booths
Puke in pawnshops
wailing for a winter overcoat.
Let us arise and go now
under the city
where ashcans roll
and reappear in putrid clothes
as the uncrowned underground kings
of subway men’s rooms.
Let us feed the pigeons
at the City Hall
urging them to do their duty
in the Mayor’s office.
Hurry up please it’s time.
The end is coming.
Flash floods
Disasters in the sun
Dogs unleashed
Sister in the street
her brassiere backwards.
Let us arise and go now
into the interior dark night
of the soul’s still bowery
and find ourselves anew
where subways stall and wait
under the River.
Cross over
into full puzzlement.
South Ferry will not run forever.
They are cutting out the Bay ferries
but it is still not too late
to get lost in Oakland.
Washington has not yet toppled
from his horse.
There is still time to goose him
and go
leaving our income tax form behind
and our waterproof wristwatch with it
staggering blind after alleycats
under Brooklyn’s Bridge
blown statues in baggy pants
our tincan cries and garbage voices
trailing.
Junk for sale!
Let’s cut it out let’s go
into the real interior of the country
where hockshops reign
mere unblind anarchy upon us.
The end is here
but golf goes on at Burning Tree.
It’s raining it’s pouring
The Ole Man is snoring.
Another flood is coming
though not the kind you think.
There is still time to sink
and think.
I wish to descend in society.
I wish to make like free.
Swing low sweet chariot.
Let us not wait for the cadillacs
to carry us triumphant
into the interior
waving at the natives
like roman senators in the provinces
wearing poet’s laurels
on lighted brows.
Let us not wait for the write-up
on page one
of the New York Times Book review
images of insane success
smiling from the photo.
By the time they print your picture
in Life Magazine
you will have become a negative anyway
a print with a glossy finish.
They will have come and gotten you
to be famous
and you still will not be free.
Goodbye I’m going.
I’m selling everything
and giving away the rest
to the Good Will Industries.
It will be dark out there
with the Salvation Army Band.
And the mind its own illumination.
Goodbye I’m walking out on the whole scene.
Close down the joint.
The system is all loused up.
Rome was never like this.
I’m tired of waiting for Godot.
I am going where turtles win
I am going
where conmen puke and die
Down the sad esplanades
of the official world.
Junk for sale!
My country tears of thee.
Let us go then you and I
leaving our neckties behind on lampposts
Take up the full beard
of walking anarchy
looking like Walt Whitman
a homemade bomb in the pocket.
I wish to descend in the social scale.
High society is low society.
I am a social climber
climbing downward
And the descent is difficult.
The Upper Middle Class Ideal
is for the birds
but the birds have no use for it
having their own kind of pecking order
based upon birdsong.
Pigeons on the grass alas.
Let us arise and go now
to the Isle of Manisfree.
Let loose the hogs of peace.
Hurry up please it’s time.
Let us arise and go now
into the interior
of Foster’s Cafeteria.
So long Emily Post.
So long
Lowell Thomas.
Goodbye Broadway.
Goodbye Herald Square.
Turn it off.
Confound the system.
Cancel our leases.
Lose the War
without killing anybody.
Let horses scream
and ladies run
to flushless powderrooms.
The end has just begun.
I want to announce it.
Run don’t walk
to the nearest exit.
The real earthquake is coming.
I can feel the building shake.
I am the refined type.
I cannot stand it.
I am going
where asses lie down
with customs collectors who call themselves
literary critics.
My tool is dusty.
My body is hung up too long
in strange suspenders.
Get me a bright bandana
for a jockstrap.
Turn loose and we’ll be off
where sports cars collapse
and the world begins again.
Hurry up please it’s time.
It’s time and a half
and there’s the rub.
The thinkpad makes homeboys of us all.
Let us cut out
into stray eternity.
Somewhere the fields are full of larks.
Somewhere the land is swinging.
My country ‘tis of thee
I’m singing.
Let us arise and go now
to the Isle of Manisfree
and live the true blue simple life
of wisdom and wonderment
where all things grow
straight up
aslant and singing
in the yellow sun
poppies out of cowpods
thinking angels out of turds.
I must arise and go now
to the Isle of Manisfree
way up behind the broken words
and woods of Arcady.
-Lawrence Ferlinghetti
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[14 Nov 2004|03:21am] |
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So I guess today is my birthday?
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| I'll be your mirror, reflect what you are, in case you don't know |
[11 Nov 2004|12:35pm] |
"Being born is like being kidnapped. And then sold into slavery."
-Andy Warhol
" Dying is the most embarrassing thing that can ever happen to you, because someone's got to take care of all your details."
-Andy Warhol
"I'd harbored the hope that the intelligence that once inhabited novels and films would ingest rock. I was, perhaps, wrong."
-Lou Reed
Listen.
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[08 Oct 2004|11:42am] |
I just want to let the world know that I am about to go see The Pixies.
That's all.
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[07 Aug 2004|04:42pm] |
Happy Birthday, Cami Nicole. I love you so much. Thank you for being my best friend.
( HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY CAMI )
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[02 Jul 2004|01:46am] |
It's not going to be any different.
I feel like something in my is going to explode.
All I do is go in circles. Life is just one big merry-go-round.
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[31 May 2004|06:00am] |
....w.........................w.....ww.......ww...wwwwwww...............
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.........ww........ww..........ww.......ww...........w.........................
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| I felt compelled to update Brandis journal |
[21 May 2004|02:55am] |
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-Ian
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