The Incurable Allure of Carrots

Podcast 8, We've moved to Alaska

2007-12-06T21:13:00.000-06:00

Podcast 8

We're back.
- Ralph's dead uncle, Langston
- Cybertronic Septic System
- Abigail's Diary

Songs:

- You wake up with no arms
- Abigail's Song
- "The lump goes at midnight"

www.incurable-allure.com

We're back

2007-11-22T13:15:00.000-06:00

After a long, long break, we're back in the blogosphere.

Much has happened since my last post in late June.
First off, I left Chicago, Moved to Kansas for a short while, and now I'm living in Alaska.

More on that later.

We're making music and film once again, though. Check out the IAC's latest project:

Frigid Waters, with Andre LeBleu
Episode 1, Alaska's Turnagain Arm

Dropping the Ball

2007-06-26T09:46:00.000-06:00

I've been a huge fan of Mediocrefilms.com for a while now, and I've got to say, Greg Benson, you're pretty much the greatest man who's ever lived.
Dropping the ball is my favorite of the Mediocre Films library.
Because, honestly, poop can be very funny.

Check them out
Mediocrefilms.com

A roof with a view

2007-06-19T11:13:00.000-06:00

the view from my roof on May 28, 2007

The Winds

2007-06-17T15:23:00.000-06:00

The Winds

It was in the early morn of my demented days
We took walks in the park
We hung from buildings

We watched the blades of the fan spin in endless circles of computed elation and bliss and hatred and mediocrity

But the sun never rose outside my bedroom door
Or my window
Or under my bed, filled with sleepy rats

And here, the day is half passed
And we always feel like we should give a damn
But never seem to do

We walked along the corridors of greatness
Smelling smells that went in one ear and out the other
We stopped for barbecue with the clowns of Nineveh
We wanted to be nice
Never told them we were vegetarians
And starved instead

Day 22 brought us closer to freedom
Bellies rumbling from spoilt milk and the cheese of the damned
We filled up on chili-lime pistachios
And everybody saw we were nuts

Regret became a commodity
Instead, we swam in gold
Never did we ever look away, not once
Until Trish went under
We had to dive down deep, so that she might live

The winds of change dropped their G-forces, and instead looked to the sea
The winds of chance took us home again
Where we didn’t want to be
Having left in the first place
We left again
And looked to the sea, ourselves

Graphics

2007-06-17T07:42:00.000-06:00

Henopause

2007-06-10T19:56:00.000-06:00

This cartoon is by Dan Reynolds.
It came from a wonderful little blog I like to frequent, called "Keeping Chickens in your back yard"
Or http://successwithpoultry.blogspot.com/

It's great if you've got a poultry related problem, or just want some friendly tips on how to keep your feathered friends happy.
For instance, yesterday, my White Crested Polish chickens' eggs hatched, and I wanted to find out how to tell the sex of the newborn chicks.
KCIYBY was just the ticket. So, if you have Chicken related questions, just like I do, check them out

I once punched a baby

2007-06-09T00:12:00.000-06:00

I like this. Possibly because it's 1:13am, but also because it's funny.

Samuel's Manual

2007-06-08T13:14:00.000-06:00

When Samuel read the manual he noticed something quite peculiar.

Said Samuel to the manual, I’ve the brains to read you not
For you’re nasty and confusing and a lot of nerve you’ve got.
Only the most of learned scholars understand you when they see

Your instructions are so many that your languages number three.

Podcast 7A

2007-06-06T17:06:00.000-06:00

The Incurable Allure of Carrots
Podcast 7A

-Down Wilson
-The Sparrow, The Sun, and The Moon
-Allegretto Kluge in Green
-The House of Nine Dragons
-Invasive storms

Send us questions. We have answers.
Aaron@incurable-allure.com

Incurable Allure Vidcast 1

2007-05-30T07:48:00.000-06:00

It's IAC Vidcast 1. Yay.

So, you may have wondered where we went. Or maybe you didn't and you just forgot about us.
Perhaps you thought we'd been eaten? Or maybe we fell in?
Either way, Hinky Binky is here to set the record straight.

Send us questions, we never tire of answering them.
Aaron@incurable-allure.com

The inner life of a cell

2007-05-27T13:00:00.000-06:00

This is friggin' awesome.
Not just for the computer animation, which is pretty great, and a work of art in and of itself, but also because it does a bang up job of telling you how a cell functions.
Because learning is, um, cool.

And no, it's not a coincidence that I'm posting this the same day as Ze Frank. I'm just sharing the love, that's all.

Alright, fine. I stole it.
There. You happy?

How much wood could a woodchuck chuck? (List #3)

2007-05-11T12:57:00.000-06:00

LIST #3

How much wood could a woodchuck chuck
if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

10. 550 board feet

9. None. Woodchucks are just Groundhogs in disguise, furry bastards.

8. None. Chuck Norris killed him with a roundhouse kick

7. How does one "chuck"?

6. All of Sherwood Forest

5. Ulysses S. Grant

4. "it is decidedly so"

3. More than Sweden could, even if they tried really hard

2. It doesn't really matter, because each time he chucks a tree, the EPA says he's required to plant another one.

1. 30 arbitrary units of generic wood, provided by local lumberyards at cost. Because, gosh darn it, we stand behind our local woodchucks.

You can hear "The Woodchuck Song" on my myspace
AaroneousTruths

Podcast 5D

2007-05-06T00:53:00.000-06:00

Podcast 5D
Travels in Time

What's in it?

-time travel
-lots of questions
-Irving and Mailbox
-What's ever become of Julie?
-Piano that Irving Filled

My Coffee Table #1

2007-04-25T16:28:00.000-06:00

The first in a series.

Podcast 5C

2007-04-24T14:07:00.000-06:00

Podcast 5C
Chucks wood

-The Woodchuck song
-We're sleep deprived
-The Homicidal computer
-Chariots of Fire

As always, send your weird questions to us at
Aaron@incurable-allure.com

Podcast 5B

2007-04-13T19:21:00.000-06:00

It's Friday the 13th, and Podcast 5B is out and about taking a shout out loud.

Check it out at
www.incurable-allure.com
This podcast features "The Allegory of Dan"
(as requested by Patrick, of St. Louis, Missouri)

Rest in Peace Kurt Vonnegut

2007-04-12T15:18:00.000-06:00

Kurt Vonnegut
November 11, 1922 - April 11, 2007
Rest in Peace

The Window

2007-04-09T17:36:00.000-06:00

My view of the window from my couch, as I have been habitating it for the past 5 days while sick.
These were taken this morning, just after I woke up, and before I ralphed on the floor.

-A

West town

2007-04-03T22:35:00.000-06:00

Represent.

Podcast 5A

2007-04-03T01:14:00.000-06:00

We're back from hiatus...

Check it, yo.

Podcast 5A

Send us your quandaries, queries, and questions at
Aaron@incurable-allure.com

Subscribe in iTunes...

Happy Passover

2007-04-03T00:17:00.000-06:00

Happy Passover. Here's wishing you syrupy wine and a constipation-free holiday.

Recent Addictions #1

2007-04-01T18:24:00.000-06:00

1. The Show with zefrank
Especially the scrabble episode. And I'm quite upset that I didn't find out about this a year ago. Thanks a lot, Ze.

2. Lions

(yes, that's my face on the lion)

3. The Lascivious Biddies

I heard these guys for the first time two weeks ago, and since then I've probably listened to their album "Get Lucky" about twenty three times. These women rock with some serious class. Not only are they amazing musicians, but the lyrics are great, and the tunes are about as catchy
as...

...I don't know, something that's really catchy.

Plus they've got hot voices. Score.
Check out their website. They've got a podcast. Double score.

4. Scrubs.
I'm sad to say, it's true. A friend lent me the first season and I indulged.

But hey, there are worse things to be addicted to, right? Like, say, heroine, or masturbation.
y'know, just hypothetically, that's all I'm sayin.

...what?

5. Direct sunlight.

It makes me happy.

Ahh.

6. Bread.
(this is the last day I can eat any before Passover starts)

And finally...

7. The Weekly WikiWorld Comic, drawn by Greg Williams
Well, that's it for today. Keep rockin' in the free world.

-A

Harry the Door

2007-03-31T20:41:00.000-06:00

A door is a door is a door.
Or so they say.

But not this door.
This door was different.

This door’s name was Harry, which was already uncommon, as doors rarely have names.
Occasionally you will meet a door named Archibald, or Woodrow, perhaps even an Edward, but not a Harry.

Harry liked his name though. It kept him content, and as we all know, there is nothing more important to a door than being content.

Well, almost nothing.

Harry was ajar. He was open. Quite wide, in fact, and had been so for about eight years now, which in door days, is quite a long time.

Harry was a very important door, or would be if he’d been shut for eight years. But an open door… an open door was a direct contradiction to Harry’s very purpose in doordom.

For you see, a door is meant to close, otherwise it’s merely a doorway, and the door, or rather, Harry, hangs on his hinges unused.

Harry’s mind rarely strayed from his predicament, for its cause lay directly in front of him for the past eight years.

That cause was Professor Cummings.

In the past, the Professor had always been a friend of Harry’s. Opening, shutting, opening, shutting. Every day it was the same routine. The Professor would climb the eight hundred and sixty two and a half stairs up to Harry, swing Harry open with a push of his flappy hand, grasp the tree trunk of a rope that hung from the ceiling, and with a mighty tug from his tusklike shoulders, he would ring the bell and call the students to class.

And so it went, every day, and Harry enjoyed this thoroughly. He enjoyed the affectionate pat from Professor Cummings’ weathered palm, he enjoyed the vibrations in his hinges as the mammoth bell would gong, he enjoyed watching the Professor clasp his hands over his ears immediately after releasing the rope and cursing loudly, only to be offended once more by the groaning sentinel that was never on the lookout, for it’s eyes had long since been silenced by the very ringing it produced.

And by the fifth or sixth ring, the Professor would stop cursing, grab hold of the large bell, and attempt to slow it by heaving his weight against its swing, which always ended in his being shoved backwards onto the stone floor, grunting.

“You may be big!” the Professor would shout, “but I’m bigger!”

Which wasn’t quite true, thought Harry, for the bell surely equaled, if not surpassed, the weight of Professor Cummings, who would then stand and rest his leathery hands on the stone, looking out over the campus for a moment.

“Yes, Harry”, He would say, through thatched lips, “Looks to be another day.”

Then he would turn, grasp Harry’s knob, and shut him as he left.
That was Harry’s favorite part. For as we all know, doors love being shut.

But all that was quite a long time ago. The ancient ringing of the mammoth bell hadn’t called the students to class for many months. Professor Cummings hadn’t shut Harry in quite a while. And now Professor Cummings was getting quite old, laying on the stone before Harry. So old, that he was, in fact, dead.

First had come the birds, eager to pick away at the fresh skin of the deceased. Then the rats, gnawing at bones, lashing out at one another in vicious quarrels for rotting organs.
Then the flies, sucking away the blood and laying their maggots to tunnel through the flesh till all that was left was the bone of Professor Cummings.
...And a tiny indentation in the great bell, where the Professor had unintentionally struck it with his head after shouting to the departing ship that never turned back.

One by one, the bats came, no longer blackballed from their roost by the ringing of the great bell, now silent as Harry lay open.
The bats dropped their guano, and picked at the last of the solid bones, and carried every last bit of Professor Cummings away, except, that is, for the skull.

The skull had been too heavy for the bats, and now it rest gazing up at Harry through vacant eye sockets.

And now the wind blew, and even the bats were gone, chased away by the mist from the waters, slowly rising to the tower beneath Harry, just months after the Professor’s unfortunate accident.

And no more students traversed the green lawns, below, for the Atlantic had crawled inland and swallowed up all but the bell tower, and Harry, and Professor Cummings’ skull.

And Harry was open. Eight years now. A disgrace to his doordom.

Harry’s hinges shook, but it was not the timber of the great bell, it was the Atlantic crashing her mighty arms against his tower. But this time, as his rusty hinges shook, Atlanta finally ripped them loose, after nibbling for eight long years.

And Harry ceased to even be an open door.

And Atlanta took a great swell, and with one foul crash, she invaded the tower and carried Harry away from Professor Cummings forever.

Chicago Avenue

2007-03-11T22:53:00.000-06:00

So, In an effort to get back to the good old days, where I was posting new stories and poetry and things like that, here's a vignette I wrote today.
-A

Chicago Avenue

It is Sunday, March 11, 2007

First day of daylight savings

First thaw of the year

The sun is out at 5:30 as I leave the theatre building with Brea, my director for Machinal, the show I’m composing music for. We’ve just seen “The workroom”, in the new studio.

We part. I make my way down printers row, through the deserted, vacant downtown on this Sunday afternoon in early march.

I enter the LaSalle st. subway to make my way north on the blue line, back home before I have to go tile a bathroom.

On go the headphones, on goes the iPod Shuffle as I hunker into the station and await the coming train.

I hear the clarinet of joyous klezmer celebration, clapping, wailing trumpets, fiddle,

I shuffle and sway slightly, my true feelings betraying my façade to the station.

Rumbling, on comes the train, round the bend and right to me. I board the front car and notice its vacancy. This is a day of vacancies. A vacancy of cold, a vacancy of crowd, yet today is more full of life than all the winter’s been.

I sit facing front and realize than I can see through the front window and view the oncoming tunnel.

I wait, I move closer as we descend down through the tubular depths, gliding past lights and signs briefly illuminated by our headbeams in the darkness.

A light approaches, we glide into Jackson

Glide into Monroe

Glide to Washington

Glide glide glide through the dark world of the underground

Then suddenly, the CURVE TOWARDS CLARK APPROACHES

We’re not going to make it, are we? It’s so steep, so tight! And just as the windshield and headlights prepare to kiss the curvature of concrete, it slides on past for moment after moment as we spin our tangent, a thing made of straight lines turning in a seemingly effortless cheat of option.

Glide into clark, glide down the ramp, deep into the belly, towards the long stretch to grand, past lines of staggered bulbs, illuminating a rat

A crawler

A cord

A sign

Up and down, an invisible roller coaster of secret joy, spinning and twisting, wheels nonexisting

Glide into grand, on a cushion of air.

The Grand Station

That which is wonderful

And though the Voice of CTA now says “This is grand… and Milwaukee”

We still know it’s grand.

With its euphoric blue lights at its stairways, a cool pleasing mother I will never touch, save for sight

And as soon as we see her, grand is gone, and a fat lady with skin both black and white sits in front of me to the side, so I can still see our path

With lights swooping past, gliding me home to Chicago, and up jumps the station and out jumps me

Double take, for now that I’ve seen the way here, is here really here?

Turning left up the stairs past the wet red floor that is always wet and red

and a floor

Out of the cage turnstile

Up into the clear and onto Chicago avenue

Joel rubin still playing his clarinet in my ears, more joyous than winter’s been

And I take a breath and smell the same smells I always smell upon exiting

The sewage, highway, wastewater, pizza, distant bakery

The birds are chirping past me, past the fire station, walking west, a young man

Clarinet clarinet clarinet

Army surplus on the left “Don’t Tread On Me!” says the snake

Over the Dan Ryan, slipping smoothly beneath

Clarinet, yada da,

The wind through my clean hair I washed this morning

The wind through my clothes and my eyes

My bag swinging at my left

My laptop hanging at my right

An old man smoking cigarettes, taking the first few puffs turns the same way I do

Clarinet, saxophone, joyous occasions call for dancing and shaking and hopping

Birds chirping

Hand on my iPod,

Pause

The Baptist church is having evening service and rocking down the walls

Clapping stomping sweating praising!

A little boy has the door propped open with his leg, looks at me

HA HA HA HALLELUJA!

Unpause

Clarinet up down up down screaming for what we know but can’t see

On the right, the park, children running with sticks clacking the metal fence, old woman sitting on the steps of the Ida Crown natatorium

Young couple walking past me as I near Ada, the smile and the laugh with the breeze and the early rays of the first sunlit afternoon of the love

Bubble bubble

Turning left on Ada, walking south, past the school for kids who aren’t smart

Guy sitting on steps with cigarette and cell phone

Looks at me

Fire escape

Parked cars

Fire escape

My parked car

Is still there, I have to check

Fire escape

Key in knob, door slam sticky, I shut it

Turning left up the stairs, second floor, the sun illuminating every shade of brown possible,

Door is unlocked

Roommate is home

I am home

Windows open

I sit.

Itzhak Perlman is damn cool

2007-03-07T01:16:00.001-06:00

So, recently, while listening to "Together" a Duet album with Itzhak Perlman and Placido Domingo, it dawned on me just how much Itzhak Perlman kicks ass.
Now, don't get me wrong, Placido is pretty great too, his performance as Figaro in The Barber of Seville is by far my favorite of any I've heard. But in terms of sheer amazing musicianship, Mr. Perlman takes the cake.

I enjoy this video particularly. For obvious reasons.

Honestly, this guy is amazing. He contracted Polio at the age of four, and still walks around on crutches, so someone always carries his violin out on stage for him.

He's won 9 Grammys, and performed all over the world.

Oh, and the coolest thing of all, He's signed the toilet at the Lied Center at the University of Kansas, where I went to band camp.

Podcast 3A

2007-02-21T21:06:00.000-06:00

Podcast 3A

Songs
-It's only Love on the Tuba
-The Mariner and The Leviathan
-Dinosaurs... Twice!

Stories
-"Aphrodite", w/ the first official lieutenant

Synopsis
The guys take a trip to Kenosha, Wisconsin,
and get snowed in, the heater breaks, the
pipes freeze, and they make a cave of warmth
under the bed. There is also a request for
money made by a wealthy African Banker.

Check out the new website,
www.incurable-allure.com
for updates and music

I like apples

2007-02-17T16:27:00.000-06:00

see?

Ok, the new website be up

2007-02-17T15:04:00.000-06:00

Yes, Incurable-Allure.com is up and running.

Don't believe me?
Go and have a look-see for yourself.
www.incurable-allure.com

Dirt Ripened and Freshly Squeezed.

Oh, and new podcast coming out in the next few hours/days/moments/theatrical beats

This podcast's theme is "Water of all shapes and sizes"
It's not yet finished, so please send suggestions to incurableallure@yahoo.com

-A

Podcast 2B is... yes, still up

2007-02-16T22:17:00.000-06:00

Podcast 2B is still up. Workin on podcast 3A, which should be a doozie. Send suggestions/comments/solicitations for money to incurableallure@yahoo.com

Mr. Tangerine @ Around the Coyote 2007 Winter Arts Festival, Chicago IL

2007-02-11T22:38:00.000-06:00

Mr. Tangerine
(A play about a Goldfish)
@ The 2007 Around The Coyote Winter Arts Festival, Wicker Park, Chicago, IL

Written and Directed by
Aaron Philips

Starring
Alex Balestrieri as Mr. Tangerine
Sean Neely as Dave
and
Arin Mulvaney as Lola

The Lonely Bicycle

2007-02-08T17:57:00.000-06:00

I took this whilst walking down Chicago Ave one afternoon in January. I usually get some good photos by the river, and upon seeing this bike lying there dejectedly on the pylon, I figured its memory needed to be preserved.
I think most days Chicago looks better in black and white.

Circles

2007-02-05T22:53:00.000-06:00

Ok, so that last one doesn't really fit with the theme, but I like it, so lay off.

So the Bears lost the Super Bowl

2007-02-04T22:05:00.000-06:00

Photo by Seannarae

Who Killed Mr. Boddy?!!?

2007-02-03T17:20:00.000-06:00

-The Cure
-The Broadway cast of "Seussical, the Musical"
-Fidel Castro
-Big Bird
-Guns don't kill people, people kill people
-Buffy, The Vampire Slayer
-Engelbert Humperdinck
-Sour Apples
-Professor Plum
-The Dominican Republic

The Luna Moth

2007-02-03T16:27:00.000-06:00

In my runnings around Chicago today, I decided to take a little walk through the Lincoln Park Nature Museum. Whilst strolling through (in my workout clothes, for I'd been running), I came across a woman who was talking about Luna Moths. She had two of these insects with her.
I had never before realized just how amazing these animals were. Luna moths are huge, compared to other moths. Adults can have wingspans of 5-6 inches. They're bright green with four separate wings (as all moths have), and they have long tapering hindwings that remind one of the tail flying behind a kite.
However, the most interesting thing about these animals (at least to me) is that these animals emerge as adults for the sole purpose of mating and reproducing.
They load up on nutrients as caterpillars, they go through the metamorphoses, then as adults they emerge without any mouths! Once they've grown wings they don't eat anymore! They live for around a week, then die once they've mated! Crazy.

Anyways, I thought I should share my recently acquired understanding.

Rock on, Luna Moth.

Double Dactyls

2007-01-30T16:08:00.000-06:00

In my stumblings across the ocean of information today, I came across a new form of poetry I'd not yet heard of.

I speak to you of the "Double Dactyls"

It goes like this:

Two stanzas, each comprising three lines of dactylic dimeter followed by a line with a dactyl and a single accent. The two stanzas have to rhyme on their last line. The first line of the first stanza is repetitive nonsense. The second line of the first stanza is somebody's name -- strictly speaking, a proper noun. Note that this name must itself be double-dactylic. E.g. Gloria Vanderbilt, Jesus of Nazareth, Gilbert and Sullivan, Archangel Gabriel. In the second stanza, one entire line must be a double-dactylic word. E.g. biopsychology, geopolitical, gastrointestinal, abecedarian, etc. etc.

Yeah! I tried writing one, it kicked my ass. However, here are a few I liked...

Twilight's Last Gleaming

Higgeldy piggeldy,
President Jefferson
Gave up the ghost on the
Fourth of July.

So did John Adams, which
Shows that such patriots
Propagandistically
Know how to die.

Tact

"Patty cake, patty cake,
Marcus Antonius,
What do you think of the
African queen?"

"Gubernatorial
Duties require my
Presence in Egypt. Ya
Know what I mean?"

-Paul Pascal

Divide and Rule

(circa 1992)

Havelly pavelly,
Czechoslovakia's
Federal president
Finally quit.

Now they'll be joining the
Geopolitical
Global community,
Lickety split.

-Alex Chaffee

Dysfunctional Society

Unabom Unabomb
Teddy the terrorist (or, "Unabom Theodore")
Cut himself off from his
Country and kin.

Now he's the star of the
National media:
Antifraternally,
Kin turned him in.

-Alex Chaffee

Well, that's that. Who knew it would be so hard to take flight with a pair of dactyls?

Podcast 2B, The Six Easy Steps

2007-01-26T22:32:00.000-06:00

In this podcast-
-Percy Bysshe Shelley is Bitchin'!
-A chicken powered computer...
-Flies discuss philosophy...
-Learn how to breakdance. (that's the "six easy steps")
-The Super Bowl Mumble (go bears)
-and of course, more of the funky Tuba that you've been asking for.

Check it out! Podcast 2B, The Six Easy Steps

My Odeo Channel (odeo/ac9014eb50428c01)

Podcast 2B is done, but Ourmedia is down

2007-01-26T13:59:00.000-06:00

Ok, so I spent the last five days toiling over this new podcast, titled, "The Six Easy Steps", and as I'm getting ready to publish it in the wee hours of the morning today, I find that Ourmedia.org (where I host my files) is currently down.
I think that this may be the straw that breaks the camel's back, and pushes me to finally get the website up and running.
More details to come soon.

In the meantime, you can hear two of the new songs that will be featured in the podcast on my myspace profile.

http://www.myspace.com/aaroneoustruths

"Six Steps", and "P.B. Shelley" are both new. (as in, created this week)

Oh, and in case you were wondering why that youtube link for "The Super Bowl Mumble" doesn't work, it's because we're being sued by the guys who own the rights to "The Super Bowl Shuffle" for copyright infringement. What fun.
It's a bogus claim, but it makes life more interesting for us. Oh, the goings on in a capitalist society sure are entertaining.

Anyways, look for the new podcast within the next 24 hours.
-Aaron

The Bears are going to the Super Bowl, and I am going on TV

2007-01-21T17:47:00.000-06:00

So, the Bears won!
Because of this, I'll be performing "The Super Bowl Mumble" Live with Yuri Lane on WGN Chicago on Monday at 11:30am.
We'll also be on NBC at 4pm.
I play the Tuba, and Yuri is the Human Beatbox
Check out his website: www.yurilane.com

Go Bears!

New podcast, comin' out tonight

2007-01-21T11:18:00.000-06:00

I'm currently cooking up Podcast 2B, "Six Easy Steps"
It should be out on the ether and available for your listening pleasure by late this evening.

Bonjour,
-Aaroneous

I am not what you think I once are

2007-01-20T21:09:00.000-06:00

So, in my inebriation this evening, I decided to walk the line.
Enjoy, you crazies...

*TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF - The Survey*
Name:	Zuno, Conqueror of the deep. All shall fear me or be stupid bastards.
Birthday:	1492, whilst sailing the ocean, blue.
Birthplace:	West of the Mississippi. That's all that matters, really.
Current Location:	Lower Mesopotamia
Eye Color:	Water
Hair Color:	Lion
Height:	6'0
Right Handed or Left Handed:	What do you call a deer that uses both hooves equally? Bambidextrous
Your Heritage:	Amoeba
The Shoes You Wore Today:	The same thing we do every night, Pinky, try to take over the world
Your Weakness:	Swedish Baronesses... and thumbtacks
Your Fears:	Whalers, and the occasional shark
Your Perfect Pizza:	Krill, lots of Krill. But no anchovies.
Goal You Would Like To Achieve This Year:	Master gravity. But that probably won't happen.
Your Most Overused Phrase On an instant messenger:	What is this "Instant Messenger" you speak of? It's instant, you say? Perhaps this could be of use to us...
Thoughts First Waking Up:	Oh shitballs- I gotta piss
Your Best Physical Feature:	My 12-foot long prehensile tail
Your Bedtime:	1974
Your Most Missed Memory:	it's gone. I can't find it.
Pepsi or Coke:	Urine
MacDonalds or Burger King:	Greenland
Single or Group Dates:	Basmati
Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea:	Smurf Cum
Chocolate or Vanilla:	Strawberry Rhubarb
Cappuccino or Coffee:	Trout
Do you Smoke:	when on fire, yes
Do you Swear:	Fuck
Do you Sing:	yes. Sometimes when I'm on fire I sing my swears.
Do you Shower Daily:	On some days
Have you Been in Love:	I love marine mammals
Do you want to go to College:	not tomorrow morning, I don't
Do you want to get Married:	yes, immediately... NOW
Do you belive in yourself:	Who's Aaron? I don't know any Aaron...
Do you get Motion Sickness:	Fuck off
Do you think you are Attractive:	Do Monkeys dream?
Are you a Health Freak:	perhaps a healthy freak...
Do you get along with your Parents:	I have no parents. I reproduce by mitosis.
Do you like Thunderstorms:	A-rip roarin' holler!
Do you play an Instrument:	Yes, many. My favorite of which being the Tuba.
In the past month have you Drank Alcohol:	aye
In the past month have you Smoked:	I cought fire yesterday. The burns are healing.
In the past month have you been on Drugs:	No. I would never do such a thing. How dare you ask such a thing. Shame on you.
In the past month have you gone on a Date:	Tomorrow I'm scheduled for Tea with the Queen at 4.
In the past month have you gone to a Mall:	What's a mall?
In the past month have you eaten a box of Oreos:	No, but let me tell you about where I stand on foreign policy...
In the past month have you eaten Sushi:	um... yes, we'll call it "sushi"
In the past month have you been on Stage:	I don't ever do anything like that. People frighten me.
In the past month have you been Dumped:	Never spend the night in a garbage can. It only ends badly.
In the past month have you gone Skinny Dipping:	I'm always skinny dipping.
In the past month have you Stolen Anything:	the fires from a thousand suns
Ever been Drunk:	that's just a stupid question
Ever been called a Tease:	tag, you're it.
Ever been Beaten up:	yes. Usually by my self
Ever Shoplifted:	Only when I'm feeling really strong
How do you want to Die:	I will never die, I will merely keep dividing until all the sugar in the bottle is gone, then I will be consumed in a fiery night of passion, and maybe get laid.
What do you want to be when you Grow Up:	22 feet. I still got some growing to do.
What country would you most like to Visit:	Zanzibar, to meet the Zanzibarbarians
*In a Boy/Girl..*
Favourite Eye Color:	black
Favourite Hair Color:	scilia aren't really a color
Short or Long Hair:	very, very short
Height:	(actually, length) 80-100 feet
Weight:	90 tons
Best Clothing Style:	Blue whales don't wear clothes
Number of Drugs I have taken:	well, maybe a topical sedative, to attach the radio tag
Number of CDs I own:	Blue Whales don't buy Cds
Number of Piercings:	One, the radio tag
Number of Tattoos:	Blue Whales don't get Tattoos... yet
Number of things in my Past I Regret:	what is the square root of 12,396? Tell me now ...or die!
CREATE YOUR OWN! - or - GET PAID TO TAKE SURVEYS!

Lord of the Muppets

2007-01-15T23:57:00.000-06:00

So someone pasted together some clips from Fellowship of the Ring, and underscored it with the "Muppet Show" theme song. This is the most amusing thing I've seen in several weeks.
I especially like Boromir playing Gonzo's trumpet at the end.

Raffi and The Space Whales

2007-01-13T00:14:00.000-06:00

I did this a while ago.
Humpback whales are cool. The sombrero galaxy is cool. Hence, they fit together.
Oh, and also, I feel it should be noted that Raffi is on MySpace.
Like millions of other kids, I grew up listening to "Baby Beluga", "Bananaphone", and other such songs. He's a great guy, and really cares about the world's children.
Also, in a recent interview with the Boston Globe, he said this:

Q: Your new album is called "Resisto Dancing". What does it mean, and why did you feel the need to produce it?

A: Psychologist Abraham Maslow wrote that healthy individuation requires resisting unhealthy enculturation. Add the dance element and you've got a metaphor for creatively (and nonviolently) resisting unhealthy "bottom line" culture. It's about being true to one's inner self. It's a fusion of Dylan, hip-hop, funk and Shakespeare in a genre I call "Hip Hope."

Q: Is it hard being known as the "Baby Beluga" man?

A: It's fun! Fans I meet get jazzed about the new book and CD. They're invited to join the compassion revolution, to help turn this world around, for their and their children's futures ... to make like belugas and form pods, be pod-pals, pod-cast, and pod-ruple their power to embrace a compassionate revolution in values.

Yes, let it be recognized that Raffi himself is an advocate of Podcasting.
Raffi, you forever have my undying love and devotion. Rock on, dude.

Raffi's MySpace is here:
www.myspace.com/raffichildrensmusic
I urge you to check out "Bananaphone" in particular. The world is a much better place now that that song exists.

The new Official Incurable Allure of Carrots graphic

2007-01-08T22:28:00.000-06:00

so I decided to sit down and spend a couple of hours cooking up a decent graphic for the podcast. This be it.
Soon, it shall accompany the podcast in the hot musical womb that is your iTunes.

Also, I'd like to say thank you to everyone who's been listening to the podcast. The numbers just keep getting bigger!
If you enjoy what you hear, please let me know at
Aaron@collaboraction.org

Podcast 2A

2007-01-08T00:08:00.000-06:00

Yep, Here it be. Podcast 2A. Fresh from the garden and ready for your ears.
A short rundown of what you'll hear in this here podcast...

-learn how to put on a suit
-hear some funky tuba
-the hero of canton (the man they call Jayne)
-a short story about an absurd lieutenant
-some lilting acoustic guitar
-learn about Saturn's moons
-Mail Call!
-building a rocket ship

Yes, it's all here in Podcast 2A.

(it should also be noted that this podcast has multiple personality disorder)

As always, you can subscribe here:

Subscribe in a reader

Podcast alley

2007-01-06T21:32:00.001-06:00

My Podcast Alley feed! {pca-43535ea749c324ad37bf80fd57d96ff8}

The Days of the Week

2007-01-04T22:34:00.000-06:00

So sometimes the weekend gets pissed and it goes straight from Saturday to Tuesday, because Sunday and Monday are like: “aaaah, fuck this!” So then it gets around to Wednesday, and Monday’s like, “ah, well fine”, and then Sunday’s like, “shit, now I feel unloved.” So it follows up. So then it’s like backwards, and Friday gets depressed, and brings Saturday down with it and it’s all just like whoooooooo!

So it goes Saturday Tuesday Wednesday Monday Sunday Thursday Friday.

Don't do drugs, kids!

The Ride to Kenosha

2007-01-03T16:29:00.000-06:00

So, over the past few days, life has been pretty boring for me, seeing that purple left and work is sparse and school's not in session.
So, in an attempt to break out of the boredom, I decided to go to Kenosha, Wisconsin.

"Kenosha, Wisconsin?" you say, "Why would anyone in their right mind want to go there?!!?"

And I reply that, my goal was to get as far away from Chicago for the least amount of money, in one day, round trip. So I got on Metra's website, and learned that Kenosha, Wisconsin, is nearly 70 miles from my apartment.

I jumped onto the Kenosha Area Convention and Visitors bureau, found all the "cool" things to do in Kenosha, fixed up my bike, and started packing.

The goal was to take the train to Kenosha, then bike up the lakefront north for the morning. Take some pictures, blah blah, maybe find a cool coffee shop or cheese place in Kenosha, you know, make a day of it.

Well, the only morning train leaving for Kenosha left Ogilvie Station at 6:35am, so I set my alarm for dark thirty.

At 5:45 in the morning, on January 2nd, I'm riding east on Grand St. It's dark, tired, and fucking freezing. I hit a notch in the road and my front tire goes flat.

So, after much profanity, and a new innter-tube, I am on the 8:35 to Waukegan, Illinois, which is 20 miles south of Kenosha.

Upon arrival in Waukegan, I realized why I'd never heard of it before.
The only things open were the gas station and the ComEd electrics plant sporting signs saying

"NO TRESSPASSING! POSITIVELY! Violators may be shot."

Even the beach was closed.

"DANGER! PELLIGRO!
ASBESTOS HAS BEEN FOUND ON THESE BEACHES!
KEEP OFF!"

So, I bought a map of northern Illinois, and over the next 6 hours, I biked the 20 miles through the Illinois Beach State Park.

Outside of Waukegan, the scenery was gorgeous, so I broke out the camera, and took a ton of pictures.

Upon arriving in Kenosha, I was very cold, for although I'd worn quite a few layers, It was January 2nd, and global warming notwithstanding, I was freezing my ever-loving Heiny off. Pretty much everything was closed for the holiday, which apparently lasts longer the farther north you go, but I found an open coffee shop called "Common Grounds", got a cup, and read my book for a couple of hours.

Kenosha was gorgeous. A nice little town. But it struck me a bit off guard when I rode out the the lighthouse at the end of the pier and saw, spraypainted on the concrete, a swastika and "Keep Kenosha White!!!"
I wasn't expecting it. Guess it gave me something to think about on the train ride home.

Well, that's that. Hope you enjoyed the photos.

Podcast 1B

2006-12-30T12:11:00.000-06:00

Yes, Podcast 1B is finally out. And this time, there was planning involved.

My goal is to bang out 2-3 podcasts every month (from now on), and for each podcast I will write, perform, and record an original poem, story, and song.

As always, they will lean more towards the absurd side, the ridiculous, the abstract, and of course, the weird.

Podcast 1B focuses on the soundscape and its influence on life. The narration is calm, collected, and bumped up an octave.
I do hope you enjoy it.

If you've not yet subscribed,
you can do so by clicking here:

And now...

The top 10 reasons you should check out The Incurable Allure of Carrots Podcast:

10. You're not about to die like this.

9. it's incurably alluring

8. How many surrealists does it take to change a lightbulb?
Fish.

7. Beaver

6. Jesus told me to

5. Electronic Tuba is almost as good as the real thing.

4. To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

3. It's a welcome change from the monotony of compulsively checking your e-mail, facebook, or myspace account.

2. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

1. Forty Two.

There you have it. The choice is yours.

-AP

as always, comments are welcome.
Aaron@collaboraction.org

Purple is Gone

2006-12-29T00:14:00.000-06:00

So, you may or may not care. You may or may not even know him. But, I feel the need to inform the world that Purple is, in fact, gone.
From Chicago, that is.

Yes, my sister and I drove him to O'Hare Airport Tuesday morning, and as far as I know he wasn't arrested or anything, (though I wouldn't be surprised.)

The long and short of it- it wasn't working out for him monetarily, so to speak, and he had to back ten and punt. Now he's in Ft. Worth, Texas. Yes, that's right, the revolutionary Communist has gone back to Texas, where he grew up. (I know, it has us all mystified.)

I've gotten over my grieving period, and am in the process of searching for another roommate, for, although I could pay all the rent myself, I would prefer not to live alone at this stage in my life. It's boring and depressing, and I don't like being bored and depressed. It sucks.
So, now you know the skinny on my situation. As for that podcast I keep meaning to do, it'll probably be a little longer in the coming. It's alot harder to do a podcast by yourself once your co-host has all but been destroyed.
So, more interesting posts to come, but for what it's worth, here's Purple.

GLOBAL ORGASM DAY!

2006-12-22T00:14:00.000-06:00

Yes, it's true, folks. Friday, December 22 is Global Orgasm Day.

To get the skinny on this (so to speak), check out
http://www.globalorgasm.org/

So their goal is a bit new-agey for me, but I'm all for their implementation of it.
The idea is that everyone on the planet has an orgasm, either private or with an other(s), and in doing so the world is made a more harmonious place. Whoopee.

But I think this is a good idea though. I mean, if everyone stopped worrying for just one day, stopped selling crap for Christmas, stopped doing business, stopped blowing each other up, stopped arguing, etc., and just took a day for sex and masturbation, it might improve everyone's general outlook.
So, tomorrow (I guess technically today), do yourself and the world a favor: have an orgasm.
(I mean, honestly, how often can you help the world by ejaculating? Better do it while you can.)

Projections for the future (we all know these are true... I mean, come on, people)

2006-12-19T17:15:00.000-06:00

Ok, first, I want to say, if you haven't listened to the podcast yet, wait. Another one is coming very soon. I just got a new computer and the previous podcast was pretty crappy (gimme a fuckin break, it was my first one!) so I'm recording a new one as soon as I get my mic hooked up and I figure out how the hell to record something. Otherwise it'll all be read by a computer voice, which might actually be kind of cool now that I think about it...

Anyways, here goes.

PROJECTIONS FOR THE FUTURE:

1. Outdoor streets will soon be a thing of the past in large cities. Anyone seen "iRobot?" or read anything else by Isaac Asimov, for that matter? Yeah. Streets are history. Here's what's gonna happen--
In large cities, such as my beloved home of Chicago, Illinois, there's no more room to build. As the years go on, and expansion continues, high rises will begin to grow together, branching out over the crowded city streets, and in the end covering them all together. It's already starting to happen in New York, Seattle, Chicago, and Des Moines (what the hell?)
I don't know why the hell Des Moines is doing this, but hey, we all loved the little engine that could, right?

2. THE ICE CAPS ARE MELTING, PEOPLE!
It's true, and if you don't believe it, fucking step outside. It's the middle of December and it's 60 degrees. Doesn't that seem a little wrong to you?
I understand I'm in the midwest, and yes, the weather here is erratic, but fuck, we're all gonna die.
Ok, maybe not die, but lots of other animals will. The polar regions will continue to get warmer, making it impossible for the phytoplankton and zooplankton that feed the majority of the animals in the arctic and antarctic regions to continue living. Their consumers will perish, and suddenly no one can find any polar bears.

Also, floating ice melting means water levels rising elsewhere. I'm not just talking about New York and Florida. If you have a condo in Venice, sell it.

Appalachia will become the new coast on the east, and everyone in southern California's gonna have to move east to the mountains, but Reno and Las Vegas will be underwater, so they'll be bored, except for the rich eccentrics who've already planned for this sort of thing, and are living in an underwater hotel in what used to be the desert. Right.

3. Life will be discovered on other planets.
Ok, so this one's on the list more out of hope than anything else. But I can back it up.
Life's not actually going to be discovered on another planet, it's going to be discovered on a moon. A moon, mind you, that is of comparable size to Earth.
And where, you ask, does such a moon exist?
around all of the Gassy Giants, doofus.
But the one I happen to be talking about is Europa, which orbits Jupiter.
Europa, Jupiter's 6th moon, is the smoothest object in the solar system. It's surface, we think, is made of sheets of ice (this is the quick "get to know Europa", mind you) and underneath that ice is believed to be a subsurface ocean. And as we all know, where there's water, there's life.
Europa was pretty important to NASA during the Galileo hype. It flew by, took lots of pictures, and did top secret things we'll never know about. Yeah.But really, Europa is the logical next step in the search for life in our solar system. I'm not the only one excited about it. Check out:
http://www.resa.net/nasa/europa_life.htm
or, if you just want to learn about the lovely moon,
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Europa_%28moon%29

4.CAPITALISM WILL FUCK US ALL UP THE ASS!
Ok, I can't say that I like it, but I can see it coming. So unless someone invents a better form of government, and finds a means to impose it on the world's greedy, we're all fucked.
for this prediction, I refer to a book by Max Berry.
This book is called Jennifer Government, and I beleive it paints a fairly realistic picture of the world to come in about 50 years if we don't all get up off our asses and do something about this goddamn product driven world.
Jennifer Government was pretty popular with the nerds and the techies. In fact, a whole online community called NATION STATES grew up around it.
http://www.nationstates.net/The idea is that in the not too distant future, government has pretty much collapsed to the point that it serves about as much function as the royalty in Britain.
Taxes have been abolished, and corporations rule the world. Yikes.
Everyone has a job, which stands for their last name, and provides their means for existence.
i.e., if I worked for say, Intel, my name would be "Aaron Intel", and if I was fired they could legally have me executed. Doubleplus Yikes.
Anyways, the point I'm driving at is, if America and it's big allies continue to make people believe that everything can be solved with money, we might as well tattoo the barcodes on our foreheads right now.

and finally...

5. THE EGGNOG IN THE BACK OF MY FRIDGE WILL FINALLY EVOLVE INTO A SENTIENT LIFE FORM, AND KILL MY ROOMMATE
It's true. The shit's been in there for nearly a year. See, I thought he'd just bought it, because you know, it's holiday time, right? Eggnog, yay.
Turns out no. It's the eggnog I bought last year, and it's been incubating there, behind the stuffing and corn salad for over 12 months. I'm amazed the smell didn't tip us off, in fact, it appears to be odorless, which can only mean one thing. It's learned how to use deodorant.
We're screwed. We really are. Because, while I'm away for the holidays, that Nog is going to rear it's ugly head and smite Purple (my roommate) when he leasts expects it. I'm only glad I escaped in time. I tried to call and warn him, but I guess El Nog-o Del Diablo has cut the lines.
So, when I return to Chicago on the 23rd, (which happens to be my birthday), and find Purple hanging from the window with all the blood drained from his body, I'll know who did it.
Nog, if you can read this, listen up. I'm comin' after you, fucker.

Discontinued Jelly Bean Flavors

2006-12-12T19:46:00.000-06:00

10. Roommate
9. Plankton
8. Gang Bang
7. French horn
6. Koala
5. Grandma
4. Elvis Costello
3. Tire Swing
2. AIDS
1. Detroit

2006-12-12T08:51:00.000-06:00

The Super Bowl Mumble

This is a little ditty I recorded along with Yuri Lane in association with our friend Jeff Ruby for Chicago Magazine. That's me on Tuba and backup vocals.

The world has decided to rape me tonight

2006-12-09T20:40:00.000-06:00

Ok, so I feel that this needs to be told, so others don't make the same mistake. If my experiences tonight have taught me anything (which they have), it's that people are assholes, and to never ever fucking trust ANYONE.

A short recap of the evening's events-

6pm:
Purple and I get in Frosty (my minivan) to drive to Glen Ellyn to see our friend Drue.
We take the 290 expressway where, as inevitably happens, traffic gums up and the going becomes slow.

6:30pm:
after much conversation, still in the traffic jam, we are abruptly hit in the rear by another car.
"What the fuck was that?!!?"

We pull over to the shoulder to assess the damage, which is minimal. We check to see if the other party is hurt, which they aren't, and tell them to stay so we can get their information as I call the police.
While on the phone with the police, I see them drive away quickly. Mother ripping cock sucking asshole douche bitch fuckers.

I exclaim "FUCK!" as I realize that we have yet to get their license number, and now the (see above title) are gone.

6:40:
I attempt to start Frosty back up, but he won't go. Mother Fuck.
I call Triple-A to get a tow truck.

7pm:
We wait for the tow truck and the cops to arrive

7:20:
Cop pulls up, fills out the papers and shit, he leaves, we wait some more.

7:40:
A tow truck pulls up, we get in, he starts towing Frosty back to the city.

7:50:
I receive a call from Triple-A asking if I was all right and got picked up. I reply to the affirmative, and we continue on our way.

8:30:
We arrive back in West Town near the mechanic I've decided to use (due to it's desirable location), and we search for a place to park it until the mechanic opens for business.

8:35:
We park, and he informs me that I owe him $150
I proceed to correct him, since I have triple-A, it's fucking free, bitch.

He informs me that he is, in fact, not from triple-A, and that I do, in fact, owe him $150

Ok, so here's the kicker, folks-
Turns out, this asshole works for a company that sends their guys out in tow trucks with police radio scanners. They hear that someone's had an accident, and rush to the scene before triple-A can get there. They neglect to inform the passenger(s) of their true identity, and upon arrival at the destination, instead inform them of their fee.

Now I write this because I want others to learn from my mistake. If I had waited 5 more minutes, fucking Triple-A would have been there, and I wouldn't fucking owe them any money.

But, I was stupid and trusting. What can I say? I generally believe that people, even if they're ugly, are good on the inside. Well I was fucking wrong.
Twice in 1 hour I was fucked in the ass by bitches that cared not for their fellow humans, only their own economic gain. And because of this, I have to borrow $150 from my father, whom I hate asking for money, and find another means of paying him back.

So, after 3 hours, we didn't see Drue, Frosty is fucked up and in a fucking lot I must retrieve him from tomorrow, and I'm $150 in the hole.

Moral of the story, kids, don't fucking trust anyone. As a matter of fact, don't even leave the house. People are fuckers. I hate them all.

Ok... Now our Podcast works. I think.

2006-12-06T13:53:00.000-06:00

Ok, so I think we've finally got it to work.
If you want to listen to us (and we hope you do)
Here's whatcha gotta do:

-Open up good 'ol itunes
-Click on the "Advanced" menu bar at the top
-Click "Subscribe to Podcast

-and in the little box it gives you, paste this:
http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/HKvN

Then Click OK.

That'll subscribe you to The Incurable Allure of Carrots, Podcast 1A

This week (our first) has purple and I conversing (like we do). We also read the death scene from "Othello" (I'm Desdemona), and he tells a story about a small horse while The Internationale plays.

I do hope you enjoy it. There will be much more to come as the weeks roll on. Please subscribe!
And if you like it... let us know!
E-mail me at Aaron@collaboraction.org

Podcast 1A

2006-12-04T21:12:00.000-06:00

Yes!
It's true!

Purple and I finally have a podcast.

It's very interesting, you should check it out.

You can subscribe to it here:

The Incurable allure of Carrots
...until I figure out the logistics of everything and make it easier. Go there. It'll hook you up.

All the best,
-Aaroneous

Everyone loves the Flu!

2006-12-01T14:00:00.000-06:00

Or maybe it was Raymond... I get that mixed up sometimes.

So anyways, I ventured home for the giving of thanks last weekend, and on friday went to the doctor to recieve my yearly flu shot. I told myself that this year I absolutely had to get one, because last year I didn't, and I got the fucking flu... which sucked major yak dick.
The flu escalated and soon I found myself with Mono and Pneumonia as well. I pretty much lost two weeks of my life. I watched a grand total of 42-1/2 movies (mostly strange art flicks), but don't really remember any of them too well, because I was doped up on codeine for most of the time. I vomited copiously, and the only thing I could stomach was "Slim-Fast!", which I got real tired of real quick, but it stayed down.
I missed my birthday (dec. 23), all of chanukkah, and new years. The sun rose on January 1st, 2006, and I thought I was still in middle school.
But I made it out alive.

So, as I was saying, this year, got my flu shot on friday, I'm driving back to Chicago on Monday and I feel like shit. It turns out that you can get the flu from a flu shot. Doesn't usually happen, but it can.

So I recieved the very thing that I paid $25 to prevent. Woohoo!
So what if I'm bitter? You fuckers are healthy, and know nothing of my anguish. The only thing good about this is that if I want to watch "Wallace and Gromit" 500 times in a row, I fucking can.

Don't

2006-11-28T22:14:00.000-06:00

Don’t drink coffee, it’ll stunt your growth

Don’t eat candy, it’ll rot your teeth

Don’t watch TV, it’ll fry your brain

Don’t read in the dark, it’ll ruin your eyes

Don’t chew with your mouth open, it’ll disgust others

Don’t do-

-hey

Don’t interrupt, it’s rude

Don’t:

Jump on the bed, talk to strangers, use bad words, drink water before bedtime, climb on the furniture, run in the house, yell and scream inside, spit, eat raw eggs, put things that aren’t food in your mouth, walk up the slide, hit, kick, punch, be mean, steal, be a tattletale, eat cookies when no one’s watching, put your head inside a plastic bag, swim for thirty minutes after eating, talk about people behind their back, keep your place in books by folding over the corner of the page, put salt in someone’s milk, make people wait for you, be ungrateful,

Are you even listening to me? I bet you have no idea what I’m saying to you! Oh really? Well then repeat exactly what I just told you!

Don’t ever forget to write someone a thank-you-note, squirm when you’re supposed to sit still, walk inside without wiping your shoes on the mat, spoil your dinner, tease your sister, stay up after bedtime, wet the bed, forget to flush, pick your nose, wash a red sock with white shirts, forget to brush and floss, leave the phone off the hook, bang on pots and pans, eat something that’s been on the floor, litter, leave the lights on after you leave, touch the walls with dirty hands,

I swear you do that one more time and so help me god I’ll turn this car around right now and we’ll just go back home, do you hear me?!!?

Mister, don’t’ talk about things that are done in the bathroom, take advantage of those less fortunate than you, run with scissors, play in the mud, be fussy, refuse to take a bath, gargle your drink, throw rocks, stick gum under seats and tables, be impolite, feed the dog chocolate, hide your vitamins, go out when it’s cold without a coat, complain, repeat everything people say, be annoying, be obnoxious,

If they’ve told me once, they’ve told me a thousand times

Don’t you hide when it’s time to clean, put metal in the microwave, leave open jars in the fridge, hold it when you have to go, be naughty, sneeze on someone, cough without covering your mouth, walk with a sucker in your mouth, shoot rubber bands, use band-aids as a fashion accessory, pretend you’re sick when you’re not, touch light bulbs when they’re on, leave the milk out, bite jawbreakers,

And don’t be bad.

Just don’t fucking do it.

After the Show

2006-11-18T18:38:00.000-06:00

Uh oh

…Swoon

No way of seeing

There are two

…Too

…Twoooooooo

The unpronounceables are friendly on this sweaty night of cold concrete in the bush where I lay my head in brambles behind the fallen corridor of splendor

Splendor has no place in this corridor of cold

my Peace wafts behind me

Like a sword in the night

A gale is with me Windless

We move at the same speed, perceivably motionless

And there’s a dog, and a house, and a wicked witch followed by a Tuscan raider at dawn.

It’s so nice to know I have soft

It’s so nice to know I have denim

It’s nice to know I have ears and eyes and all the senses to get where I’m going with my quick companion of silly names like “handahgooboo” and “Peter” and “Snugpugluffdrug”

Yes, it’s nice

And we’ll wrap that denim around our thoughts and let it take us to spigots

Unknown by many

Clouds neverending of blue and royal purple like that which only

Brake mechanics have seen…

A truly royal purple. All others are just waiting in line for the throne that’s been thrown out of their reach long ago by some mighty peon at “Crayola”

It’s been scientifically proven that you can’t make a decent candle from crayon shavings.

Even though that’s what I wanted to do.

“Pipe down” they said so it seemed obvious there was fleeing to be done, so it was executed.

And walking down that brick path, y’know?... just didn’t do it for me

And plus those bricks weren’t really the right shape anyways…

They tessellated off into the sunset and were never heard from again

Just like my crayon candle in the wind.

But the glass parts and I found soft and I found denim.

It sure is nice to know…

Borat

2006-11-14T22:20:00.000-06:00

So I've finally just seen "Borat", the smash-hit, critically (and publicly) acclaimed film by Sacha Baron Cohen. A notable Jew from Britain. He is an actor and comedian. A nice Jewish boy.
Yeah, so anyway, Purple and I saw the movie, and I'm terrified. I'm absolutely terrified that this movie is going over so well across the entire nation.
Ok, so fuck me, I'm a sourpuss. Right, I didn't think it was funny.
Purple agrees with me. I feel that we may be alone in our dismay at this film.
Let me explain further:
This film was recommended to me by many people I hold in quite high esteem, as well as respect and enjoy the company of. They will remain nameless. I'm not here to tell people their opinions suck.
I went to the theater with quite high expectations. I understood that it would be low-brow humor, probably cheap laughs, but again, I hearkened back to those that I respected that recommended this film to me.
It was not the film itself that upset me so greatly, it was the audience reaction to the film. It seemed that throughout the entire movie, Purple and I were the only ones not laughing.
What on earth was it that everyone in this theater was finding funny, yet Purple and I were not?
It was not original, it was not insightful, it wasn't intelligent, and it certainly wasn't witty.
What was it that we were looking for? Lets talk about the opportunities he had.
The man had a goddamn interview with Fucking Alan Keyes! A fucking black republican!
He carried a rooster in a bag throughout the entire film and didn't make one single cock joke!
Ok, but so much for missed opportunities, there were other humor outlets, right? WRONG!
This film did nothing!
Now don't get me wrong, when it comes to absurdest culture and ridiculousness, I'm totally there, I'm all for it. But this wasn't absurdest, this was cheap, and it played off peoples inability to question their own faults. I felt that by laughing at this film, I would be ripping up all traces of moral character that I've fought so hard to gain throughout the years.

It had the audacity to attempt a dramatic plot, which if it had achieved what it was gnawing at, would have been entirely unneeded.

Halfway through, Purp leaned over to me and said "I feel no compulsion to stay"
However, I felt that to make an intelligent decision, I needed to see the entire film. I had to take something away from this! Certainly there must be something I could glean from this screening that would lead me to the reason why America laughs at mindless drivel.

Ok, I'm gonna get down off my high horse now and just speak my mind.
I'm really fucking scared that everyone laughed so much and I did not. Do my peers think that bad stereotypes are funny? That foreign people who cannot learn social customs should be laughed at?
Now it's obvious Borat isn't stupid, it's just humor, right, I shouldn't be so goddamn fucking uptight.
But the truth is, I'm really scared about this. The movie wasn't funny.
How do you have a naked fat guy in a movie and not make a single cock joke?!!? Honestly?!!?
It was disgusting, perverse, embarrassing, predictable, terse, and shortsighted.
I really can't put my finger on what it is that worries me so much.
I think it is perhaps that most of the public, as well as many people I like and respect enjoyed the movie so much, but neither Purple or myself gleaned a single redeeming quality from it.
I'm truly scared.

Animals with people faces!

2006-11-07T23:20:00.000-06:00

I just thought I'd post a few graphics I've done of animals with faces of people. I'm always taking requests (I get the copyright) so if you like them, let me know!

(I've been into fish lately)

Master B

2006-11-06T21:12:00.000-06:00

You’re clean. Honest. You’re clean.

It was Fred Browning’s big day. Today was the day that his ad firm was unveiling the “Chiquita” ad campaign. Fred was going to get the city, as he put it, “back on bananas”. Produce sales had dropped immensely in the last five years, and Fred was going to single-handedly bring them back up. He was refreshed, he was excited, and with his laptop and projector powering on, he was ready.

Fred had been working on this project for almost a year now. In front of him sat the CEO, the Chairman of the Board, and his entire ad and design team, as well as liaisons from all the major distributors in the area. And they were all looking at him. This ad campaign was going to make him fucking rich. No “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.

The CEO nodded to him. “Well gentlemen, I think we can begin.”

Fred began his presentation. He blazed through the intro, but on slide 8, the banana thumbnails had been replaced with something else… they looked like porn…

He clicked forward, no one saw it- he was ok. Right?

Someone in the back snickered. Shit! He kept talking. He couldn’t let that mess him up. Some goddamn intern was going to pay for that.

He clicked. PowerPoint closed, and up popped a folder holding files with names like “Boob32.jpg”, “Pussylckmeldy108.bmp”, and “Dicklab.gif”.

What the hell? This wasn’t his shit! More snickers from the back.

“Problem, Browning?” It was the CEO.

“Sorry, technical, just a moment”

“Well for Pete’s sake, Browning, you should have had I.T. take a look at your machine before you began.”

“Next time, Sir.”

PowerPoint was back. Fred’s brow was sweating. He clicked to bring up the ad proofs for “Bananas have Peelings, Too”, but instead a video began to play. It was dark.

“Browning, is this a joke?”

“Um, no sir, this isn’t my presentation!”

The video seemed to be of two young women engaged in sexual intercourse with a donkey.

“Browning, if you think this is funny, You’ve got… well, you’re wrong.”

“This isn’t a joke! Honestly! Something must have gotten on my computer!”

A voice from the back, “Why don’cha whack off at home! Don’t show us this smut!”

Deep in the Ethernet, there was a grumble. No one could hear it, but it was a grumble alright. It was a laugh- a deep, guttural laugh that came from a thick, sweaty, rotund beer belly that hadn’t moved in ages. It was the laugh of Master B.

On the screen one of the girls screamed “Oh! Give it to me! Give it to me good, you stubborn Ass!”

The donkey brayed with ecstasy.

Master B lives in the ether. The internet, the World Wide Web, anything with a connection is home to Master B. Passwords, Firewalls, Virus Scanners… they are nothing to Master B. He has all the keys, all the tools, he can get anywhere and do anything on the Ether, and he does.

Master B likes to embarrass. He loves to humiliate. He enjoys making people squirm uncomfortably, shift their eyes, and try to pull the attention away from themselves.

But Master B is always in control. He knows what you fear, and he turns your volume all the way up and broadcasts gay porn over the monitor.

He has two kinds of victims. There are those that are embarrassed, and those that are intrigued. He intrigues the frigid housewife, the twelve year old boy, the nighttime janitor, the quiet businessman. He embarrasses the high school principal, the female psych student, the advertising executive. Both goals are of equal importance, and Master B knows that there will never be a shortage of innocence or intrigue. There will always be those that hate what he forces on them, and there will always be those that love it. Such is the world. This is known by Master B.

Master B has no form, so they say. But some know Master B as a glob; a glob of a man who sits in his sweaty La-Z-Boy recliner before his computer. Now Master B was not always this way. Oh no. Master B was written many years ago by Garibald, a crazed tech major sitting in a computer lab at MIT. He was later expelled on the grounds that he was insane. But upon leaving, he brought Master B with him.

Master B was nothing then, just a silly little virus that wouldn’t harm a fli-adapter cable. But as Garibald worked and clicked away at the keyboard, he began to take shape. He began to take trips to the ether and back. Soon he was jumping to entire networks in just minutes. Master B grew and grew. Finally it became clear that if Garibald was to set Master B free, he would first need a home. So Garibald set him up with a cozy little port in an erotic domain, and Master B was quite happy. He began to eat. He ate the temporary internet files people discarded before their spouses returned, he ate the dirty e-mails, the passwords, the credit card numbers. Master B began to get fat. He rolled through his domain, placing a pop-up ad here, a trashy e-mail there, but then one day Garibald lost interest in him. Master B waltzed back onto his desktop, but he didn’t greet him. He sent Garibald an instant message, but he was ignored.

Garibald, it seemed, had been hired by a company to design software, and no longer cared for his obsolete projects.

Master B felt alone, he felt unloved. He drug his feet through the ports back to his domain, curled up into his La-Z-Boy and cried big wet tears that muddled with the IP address, mixing up connections in an adjacent database and ended up sticking $4.13 into some guy’s bank account in Portugal.

Garibald left, and Master B felt cold and alone for the first time in his existence.

He withered. He had nothing to live for. Now that Garibald was gone he no longer had someone to report his mischief to. He had nothing.

But then came the kicker. Master B awoke one morning to find that his domain had been deleted. He was without a home, the final insult. Garibald hd gotten rid of it during the night to free up some space on the mainframe, and Master B was left to fend for himself.

But this time, instead of crying, Master B got angry. He had been given the skills, he’d been given the tools, all he needed was to use them. His creator had destroyed him, and now Master B would destroy his creator.

It was relatively easy. He knew all of Garibald’s weaknesses, and just like that, he filled the new server with smut and traced it all back to Garibald. He lost his job in six hours.

Having ended his first victim with almost no effort expended, Master B began to toy with people. He filled his arsenal with files and in no time at all he was popping porn onto people’s computers and ruining relationships. He never looked back.

Master B enjoys porn. Smut. Perv stuff. He likes cock, cooter, cunt, cooch, clit, dick, shit, tits, hoochies, ass, carpet, hooters, scrotums… He embraces straight, gay, lesbian, bi, bestiality, furries, showers of all kinds, gaspers, necrophiliacs, dentrophiliacs, pedophiles, technosexuals, teratophiles, katoptronophiliacs, everything! Master B loved it all and embraced it all. He puts these things on peoples computers when they aren’t looking, and he enjoys nothing more than to watch what happens.

Master B was waddling across the ether when he came across a sobbing victim. The man was huddled at his desk with big wet tears streaming from his eyes. Master B loved pushing his victims farther into sorrow, so he began a download and suddenly the man’s screensaver showed several couples fornicating and vomiting all over each other. Master B chuckled. Most people were revolted by Roman Showers, and this man was no different. A giant grimace appeared on his face and he began to click, escape, shut down—

No! It would not work! Master B backed off for a moment, and the screen returned to normal. The man wiped his tears away. His office was empty. It was very late, not even the night janitor was in. He was working on an ad campaign to replace one he’d lost earlier. Master B prodded again, a video of some “Furries”. Two mascots, a bear and a pig, were groping the other’s missing naughty parts. The man looked quizzically and began to laugh.

“No, that wouldn’t do” thought Master B. He changed it… Foot fetish, hand fetish, leg fetish… the man was dumbfounded, he seemed almost content to watch Master B scroll through his list of revulsions. What else could he do to press this man’s buttons?

Hybristophilia! …no, that wouldn’t do, all he had were several pictures of people holding guns and giving each other sultry looks. Oh, yes, he had just the thing! Mysophilia. Up came a picture of a woman shoving a conifer sapling up her shaved vagina. It was working. Master B was back on top as the man grimaced once more and tried to click away the image. But Master B wasn’t finished, oh no, he was feeling malevolent this eve, and he was going to end this man. A few clicks, a connection here and there, he began to inch onto the man’s motherboard.

Then boom! Algolagnia! Videos of women cutting off their fingers during intercourse! Faunoiphilia! Naked mole rats having sex! Pyrophilia! A young boy was setting his rock-hard genitalia on fire!

The man was repulsed, he was distraught! He jumped up to make sure no one had entered. But Master B knew there was nothing the man could do. Control Alt Delete? HA! That hadn’t worked since Windows 3.1! He was more interested now, inching more and more of himself onto the man’s computer.

Vorarephilia! Women skewered naked being roasted over flames!

The man was beginning to panic, and Master B was laughing.

Macrophilia! A man receiving oral sex from a 700lb woman!

He was typing furiously! His face was turning red! He began to whimper! It was time! Master B broke out the big guns! He pulled out videos! Turned the volume all the way up!

Klismaphilia! 60-year-old men getting enemas and screaming in pain and ecstasy!

BDSM! People with limbs cut off, vampires fucking, and men with oversized libidos thrusting them into eye sockets!

There were screams, shouts, gasps of pain! Orgasms of every shape and size! The volume was so loud, the man was afraid people on the neighboring floors might be able to hear, but he was powerless to stop it!

Murders! Slayings! Fantasized Rape! Sex with Children! Women consuming feces!

And Master B pulled his whole body onto the man’s circuit board, total control of the shaking figure in front of him!

Finally there were women and men shoving cockroaches into every orifice! They screamed and screamed and screamed and—

The plug dangled from the man’s hand. He lifted the CPU, walked down the hall, and dropped it into the incinerator, where it blazed in a green flame for a brief moment.

He stepped back, breathing heavily, looked around, then walked back to his desk.

He pulled out his laptop, logged onto the network, and checked his e-mail.

Everything was fine.

He’d just gotten a virus, that’s all, everything was fine.

…for now.

oom-pa-pa

2006-11-06T00:45:00.000-06:00

I have work again!
Yes, my mood is beginning to improve, because many interesting things are happening. I've got a gig next week, and I'm also working on remodeling my friend Yuri Lane's bathroom. (yes, I know it's not glamorous, but it pays well and he's the shit) I actually enjoy doing manual labor. It's fun, plus I can make gorilla faces while lifting heavy objects such as a clawfoot bathtub forged from wrought Iron! (Ungaya!)
Oh, and I'm finally buying that tuba I've been pining for. It's a great little half-size BBb I found out in elmhurst and it's totally affordable. It sounds like heaven and i do believe it's the new love of my life. I'll be playing with Mucca-Pazza (just sub and backup at first), which will be dandy, but I've decided on something else as well.
I'm going to start my own marching band. I need collaborative musicians. So my next quest is the search for them. I shall seek creators.
Holy fuck, I just realized the time. Fucktard.

You wake up with no arms

2006-11-03T21:22:00.000-06:00

So I finally created a MySpace account for my music. It's under my DJ name (Aaroneous Truths).
Thus far the only song posted is "You wake up with no arms"

So I was jamming a couple of years ago with a guy named Noam Katz, when this melody began to wheedle it's way into my brain.
You know when you wake up and your ams have been under your pillow, and the pressure from your head has slowed the blood flow and removed all feeling from them?
That's this song.

Noam-- No-Arms... yeah... you get it.
The song can be found here:
You wake up with no arms

Please enjoy. More to come soon.
-A

The Shoe Tree

2006-11-02T18:04:00.000-06:00

My dearest Yossarian,

I haven’t written in weeks and for that I am sorry, but I figured, why write if you don’t have anything to say? Hence my silence. But now I’m writing you.

Last week Purple and I decided that to celebrate the end of finals, we’d finally break open the Fifty Sack he’d brought up from Texas last month. So, being us, we had to search for a suitable spot to hit this dubage.

There was a dirt road about a mile down from Pisarik’s stables. We decided to check it out.

It’s about 7:30 and the sun is beginning to set as we venture onto the road and into the cornfields. No end in sight.

We walked for maybe half an hour, forty five minutes, when suddenly the road turns and just stops. There’s nothing left but corn.

“uh… what now?”

Purp (being Purp) says “dude, get on my shoulders”.

So I climb up there and as I poke my head up above the cornstalks, I see this tree in the distance. It’s gigantic. It looks like an apple tree, or maybe pear, either way it definitely has fruit.

“Dude, we totally have to get high there”

“Man, it’s like instant munchies!”

“I know man”

We run and after several minutes, the corn parts and there it is. It must be a hundred and fifty feet tall! In the setting sun I can just barely make out what kind of fruit it is…

“man, it looks like bananas or something…”

“Dude, they’re shoes! There are like a hundred pairs of shoes in this tree!”

“Fuckin A man.”

I start to climb up and grab one.

“Man, hold it.”

And he hands me one of two 8-inch joints he’s prepared for the evening. He pulls out his football shaped lighter.

“L’Chaim, man”

“L’Chaim. To life”

Our joints crinkle as we toast, I take a hit and pull down a pair of bright white ice skates.

I cough “dude, there’s a note in here!”

He’s pulling from the joint, the end cherry red. “Well what’s it say?”

I pull a tightly rolled piece of paper from a skate.

Lydia,

So it’s come to this, has it? As I look around myself I can see there’s no turning back. This decision’s been quite a long time in the contemplating. Why the hell are you so stubborn? It’s really a moot point, but I can ask it again, can’t I?

By the time you read this, I’ll be long gone from here. Say goodbye to Caleb for me. And tell him something, make something up. I don’t want him thinking his father was a coward.

“The ink’s run after that”

“That’s all it is?”

I take a hit. This is heavy shit. “Why would someone put a suicide note in a pair of ice skates?”

“Dude, it’s not a suicide note. The guy’s just leaving.”

“Man, it’s totally a suicide note.”

“Don’t buy it for a second”

I unroll the note in front of him as he pulls from the joint.

“It says ‘I don’t want him thinking his father was a coward.’ Dude, this guy’s not coming back. He hung himself from this tree!”

Purp turns to me like I’m full of shit. “No he did not!”

“Yes he did man. Listen, it’s this dad whose gotten in trouble with the mob or something, he decides that rather than wait for them to come gully him or something-

“Gullying is what pirates do, not the mob”

“-fine, then concrete shoes or something. Anyways, he kills himself to save his wife and kid.”

“You’re full of shit”

“Listen man, maybe it’s the ‘baked goods’ talking, but I think that’s the story.”

“Dude… we’re the baked goods.”

“I’ll toast to that” We crinkle. “Pull another one down, see if any more have notes”

He jumps and misses the branch. He grunts as he hits the ground.

“I can’t reach it man”

“Well that’s cuz you’re a goddamn pussy”

“Fuck you, Pussy McPusserface”

“It take one to know one”

He jumps again, he grabs hold, but only with one hand, and you know Purp, he’s a big guy. The bark rips off and he falls back down.

“Shit man, I think I messed up a joint.”

“Looks alright to me, still lit.”

“No man, I mean my shoulder or something…”

“…oh, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” I take a hit.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He takes a hit

In shaking the branch he managed to knock down pair of old Adidas. He picks them up.

“Nother note”

“read it”

Dear Miguel,

Fuck off, you lying sack of shit. I hate you so much I’m going to shoot myself.

BLAM!

Lisa

“What the hell?”

He takes a hit. “What the fuck kind of a suicide note is that?” I say. He sucks the smoke back in after exhaling. I’m starting to feel a little baked by now. He’s making smoke rings like a goddamn expert.

“I’m telling you man, these aren’t suicide notes. That one was a vent.”

“a what?”

“A vent. People vent when they’re angry but they don’t actually do anything. That’s that.”

“Whatever. I’m getting another” I start to get up.

“Wait man, we have to toast first.”

“To what?”

“Um… To Miguel, the lying sack of shit”

“Cheers” We crinkle and pull. I cough a bit. My throat feels hot, like it’s getting smaller. I take a drink from my Nalgene. It’s apple juice. We always drink apple juice when we get high. It’s like ambrosia.

I start climbing.

“get one from up high, man”

“Why?” I shout down.

“They’ve been there longer”

“What makes you say that?

“String Theory”

“Bullshit”

“Yeah, whatever, just get one from up high”

“Purple! We’re both high!”

“Very true my Jewish amigo! Very defi-totally true.”

“Like… I’m in the tree… and you’re on the ground, but we’re both fucking high!”

“I am the monarch of the sea!”

“You and your goddamn HMS Pinafore”

“I’ll cover you with British Tar!”

I’m about halfway up by now. Climbing a tree while high is surprisingly difficult. I’m reaching out but these branches are so interesting. I spot a speckled moth, which is like the coolest thing on the planet, by the way, because it is a living thing that blends in with another living thing just to keep other living things from seeing it and eating it. It like totally trusts the tree with it’s life…

But I make it to the top as Purple’s singing “Hardly EVER!!! I’m hardly ever sick at SEEEEAA!”

“Man! Sketchers! Taste the rainbow!” I grasp my pair of shoes that I have climbed so high to find.

“That’s skittles, pooper!” He shouts up. He’s laying on the ground now, looking at his hands.

“My bad!” and as I am holding on to the shoes, the branch beneath me suddenly gives out and the only thing holding me up are the shoes. “Shit! I think I’m hanging here!”

“don’t hang yourself man, you have too much to live for!”

“No, I’m hanging by the shoes, I’m hanging by a thread. My branch broke!”

“Dude, Jump into my arms! I’ll catch you!” He’s on his back with his arms stretched out.

“I don’t think so, Purpetraitor. I think I might die.”

“You will not die.”

I swing. It’s my only hope I go back and forth and back and forth until I’m finally on a branch that I think may have been there all along, but was just feeling sneaky and crept up to save me at the last minute. I grab the shoes and swing down like the monkeys I’m descended from.

“got a note”

“read read read read read read read”

First I must make funny faces. So I do. For several minutes. Then I unfold the note and read loudly and clearly.

First of all, I want to say I’m sorry for showing up yesterday and I’m sorry for trusting your father for so many years. I thought he could help, but now I realize that the only one who can help me is me. Sharon, I know you will go on to bigger and better things. You are the one true love of my life and for that I have been ever grateful. You are a remarkable human being and you will create wonderful things in your lifetime. I want you to learn and to not make the same mistakes I did. I have plenty of life insurance (that’s your father’s doing), which will help you get on your way. Plus, with me gone you won’t have to pay my health insurance anymore. You should take a nice vacation. Go somewhere with palm trees. Get the hell out of Iowa, Sharon. Just get the hell out. I want you to take Mickey and find him a good home. Some place with a lot of space. He’s still young. He needs places to run. He’s in the den in his Kennel. Don’t worry, he has plenty of food.

I know you want to know why, and I can’t really find the words to say. It just feels right. I’ve been living in a world of wrong and finally something feels right, so I’m gonna take that path and see where it takes me. I’m sorry I won’t get to see you again. I want you to know that I love you with all my heart. Don’t show this to your father, and don’t let him see me, please.

With all the love in the world,

-Mom

“Fuck.”

“Fuck is right. What a buzz killer.” He’s sitting up now.

“I mean… fuck.”

“I wonder if these all have notes in them”

“I think we should come back and investigate this further once we are in a state of mind that is less high and more sobriety”

“You mean when we’re sober”

“Yeahhhhh…”

He points his finger up. “I have an idea”

“What’s your idea?”

“We should come back with Yosie”

So, Yos, I’m formally inviting you to come back with us when you visit in two weeks to figure out the deal with this shoe tree. We’ve decided not to come to any conclusions until you have come to the scene and discussed it with us. I mean, honestly I know you’d totally want in on this. So write me back and we’ll check this out.

Hope all is well with you.

Word up, Dawg,

-Aaroneous

Move-in day

2006-10-16T16:26:00.000-06:00

My new apartment is dank. It is sordid. Morbid. Disgusting. The walls are white and dirty. It smells like paint. Sick.

Today was supposed to be our get together day. Our move in day. Our finish up day. Our get the fuck organized day.

I arrive at eleven o’clock in the evening and I am pissed. It’s still dirty, paint on the floors, dirt on the walls, roaches crawling everywhere. We’re still lacking a stove and a refrigerator. Fuck this. Honestly.

Today I have flown 600 miles from Kansas city AND opened a show. Yesterday was Yom Kippur, for Pete’s sake! Come on God! Cut me some fuckin’ slack! I atoned!

I’ve decided that god is an asshole.

WHY IS MY PLACE OF HABITATION A SHITHOLE?!!?

I am sick and tired of not having a home. I haven’t had a home since my parents were divorced, and that’s when I was 15. And now my new home is trash. It’s a bunch of pus in rotting vomit. Fuck.

Now the reason I say all of this is because I want you to understand my motivations for my actions following. I’m not crazy, I was just under a lot of stress at the time, and sometimes completely clear-minded people just snap. So sue me.

After my agony has overtaken me, I’ve collapsed in a heap in the center of the floor. My head sprawls out and I look at my boxes. Sticking out of the top of one of them is my black machete. The one I bought for camping and picking cacti. It’s a good machete.

My eyes also wander over to the 2-inch-long cockroach crawling across my floor. My Goddamn floor! So I do what any sane person would do. I grab the machete and cleave la cucaracha in two.

It’s still moving. La Cucaracha won’t sit still. I slice again. The head. I slice again, the thorax, I slice again, the antennae.

Why won’t you fucking die?!!?

Before I know it there are hundreds of ridges in the floor from all my thwacking and la cucaracha is now pureed.

My upstairs neighbor begins playing Ozzie Osborne with his bass turned all the way up and I realize that la cucaracha has a few brothers and sisters.

Thousands of roaches pour out from the ceiling tiles, escaping the bass from Ozzie’s double-necked 12-string.

And I snap. I’m not proud of my actions, but they were justifiable. I cannot have vermin in my house. And they always say “fix the problem- fix the source”.

So I went to fix the source.

I grab El Machete and blade gleaming, I walk upstairs and knock three times.

Knock Knock Knock.

“And we’re flying off the rails on our crazy traaa-aaaiinnnn!”

He can’t even get the lyrics right.

I knock again, this time louder.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

And as he opens the door, I slit his jugular. He falls and I smite his ribcage and cleave is heart in two.

I turn off Ozzie.

But the roaches are still there when I return.

I can’t have vermin in my house.

I turn on all the lights and they try to scatter, but there’s too many of them. They can’t scatter. The crawl on each other as a massive ball of roaches rolls across my floor.

My floor.

We have no stove, but we do have a gas line. So I light that instead, and burn La Cucaracha’s brothers and sisters into the Mesozoic era.

I exit the building just as the windows in my new apartment are cracking from the heat.

My next door neighbor whom I have not yet met is on fire and he flings himself from the second story window. He dies as he hits the ground beside me with a thud. His muscles spasm with the heat.

I guess I’ll stay at my girlfriend’s tonight.

The Shareholders

2006-10-16T14:54:00.000-06:00

And the shareholders screamed

"We want Ice cream!"

With their eyes that gleamed

And their bellies that teemed

But no one listens to the shareholders these days

Well, not when they act like that, anyways.

The Washroom King

2006-09-13T15:34:00.000-06:00

Gerald entered the washroom…

The scruff and grime of three and a half weeks on the street covered his face and body. He looked around, disgusted. There were no towels. How could it be a mansion if the washrooms had no towels?

Fuck it. He’d use their quilt. Yeah, that’s right. These fuckers who pretend to make the world a better place by taking in the local homeless for the night. Who the hell did they think they were, anyway?

The shower was bigger than any he’d ever seen. Made of stone and glass, it gleamed like an iceberg in the Caribbean.

He twisted the knob and the hot spray gushed out onto the polished granite basin, filling the air with steam and damp wishes.

He glanced at the soap, and out of habit reached to pocket it, but then realized he had no pockets cause he was nude.

He admired himself in the mirror. Glancing at his manhood, he flexed. Once, twice, cracking a smile at the handsome chap in the mirror looking back at him.

And he stood there for a moment, waiting for the water to get warm, feeling the spray every few seconds. Then in he stepped and the water burst onto his body and blessed him with a robe of steam.

The mirrors fogged up, and he was lost in thought for a while. He washed and lathered and rinsed and then repeated (for good measure).

He tightened the knob and the royal stream ceased.

Then he grabbed the quilt-turned-towel and mopped the lasting wetness from his body.

It took a while, cause he was pretty wet, and the quilt was pretty old.

Patches began sticking to his skin, peeling off the quilt like damp wallpaper, or pieces of American cheese that weren’t individually wrapped.

It disgusted him, so he threw it out the window where it spread it’s great billowing arms casting a morning shadow over the front lawn before finally landing in the briar patch below.

It caught. It’s gray patches pierced by thorns.

Then, still slightly moist, Gerald pilfered the soap and defiantly walked nude through the hallway to the room he’d slept in. A lone patch with pictures of dancing bears clinging to his left buttock, then rolling off, dejectedly. He entered the room.

His clothes were gone.

They’d decided to wash them, the fuckers.

Gerald grabbed his bag, which he could have easily used as a makeshift loincloth, but chose not to. Instead, he slung it over his shoulder like a continental soldier, and padded through the house hanging low.

Everyone was gone, or so it seemed. There was the dull rumble of the washing machines and dryers billowing away down in the basement. He walked past the maid, engrossed in her copy of “The Weekly World News”, the headline reading “Jesus returns and wins big at Vegas casino!”

He walked into the grand hall, the twinkling sparkles of the great chandelier casting little dots over his just-rinsed chest hair, changing him into a bipedal Dalmatian of light.

He grasped the brass handles of the front doors and threw them open, the morning sun crashing into the crystal walls screaming “GOOD MORNING GERALD!!! For you I will vanquish any demon!”

The maid shielded her eyes and turned away from the blinding light as Gerald ventured onto the front lawn, still wet with dew. He pushed into the briar bushes, cupping a hand over his genitalia, grabbed the quilt, and draped it over his body toga-style.

The Emperor had returned, and he was hungry. Very hungry.

And with the sun crowning him with it’s halos, he strode away from the house, in search of a royal breakfast.

Aphrodite

2006-08-25T13:09:00.000-06:00

Aphrodite was in ruin.

…To her original inhabitants, anyways.

But to everything else, she was a world just like any other. A place to live.

Aphrodite was a planet just like all the others. She’d had her fair share of play, to be sure. Mass extinctions, explosions of life, ice ages, Pollution, global warming, more mass extinctions, more explosions of life…
Lots and lots of time was what she had. Aphrodite was all about time, and boy did she have it on her side. Her sun wasn’t even five billion years old, and her dominant species had already vanished…

Aphrodite was a planet to be jealous of, of that you could be sure. She had everything. Rolling deserts filled with honey amber sands flowing into dunes that were miles high. She had great rainforests where the emerald trees reached into the stratosphere, their topmost leaves dull and papery, existing out of sheer will. Rivers teeming with freshwater fishes and mammals with fur and skin that slipped through the leafy aquas searching for a meal or a mate. Grandiose mountains reaching high and wide, with snowcapped peaks and deep crevasses. Caves and caverns, but that was just the part of her that was above the water!
Her seas… Her seas were mentioned in tails throughout the entire galaxy, for they were undoubtedly her most impressive feature. They were relatively small in comparison to those of others, covering a mere 64.82% of her surface, but it wasn’t their size that was impressive, it was their saturation.
For you see, her seas were not regular seas, sure they were saltwater, and had many great currents and tides that ebbed and flowed all over, but her waters were something different… light and life penetrated them differently… That was what made her different from all the others, but it was not what the others saw. They saw the beaches. Aphrodite’s land and water seemed to be mixed together if viewed from on high (which they rarely were these days), and that was because her oceans ran through the continents just as her rivers did, giving an inland beach some thousands of miles away from her main bodies of water. Prime real estate some would say, and perhaps they would be right, but none of it mattered to Aphrodite, for her treasures lied deep beneath the seas, far away from prying eyes. But that was all about to change…

“Sir, there’s something here I think you should see…”

“Shit! What now Johnston?”

“Um, I’m sorry sir…”

The First official Lieutenant padded onto the main bridge in his tidy whiteys.
“I said, what is it Johnston?”

“I’m sorry sir, it’s just… a planet”

“Bullshit!”

“No sir”

“You’re fucking kidding me”

“What’s a planet?” Cheryl, the lunch lady twaddled in on her heels, looking surprised. “Breakfast on the bridge today? Is that the consensus?”

“Look in the viewfinder for yourself sir…”

Somewhat skeptical, he padded over to the tiny screen.
“it’s corned beef hash today, sirs” Cheryl chimed in, “Fix those rumblys in your tumblys nice and good!”
He looked.

It was blue.

He looked again. Still blue. Once more…
“I think our viewfinder is sad, Johnston, that’s the problem”
“No sir”
And that’s when he noticed it. The small lines of white, flashing in and out in the background… well maybe not flashing, more like bobbing…

“Can you put this up on the wall for me, Johnston?”
“Of course, Sir”
He pressed a button and a great white bed sheet flapped down from the ceiling and hung there, like a big wet sail.
An oval of blue, with the same white lines covered the wall and the sheet, filling the room with its hue.
“Hmm…” The First Official Lieutenant rubbed his earlobes, as he was known to do on occasion. “I can’t make it out, I still think it may be upset, maybe give it some rose colored glasses…”
“I don’t think that’s the problem, sir”

And then suddenly, without any warning, a gigantic creature, as tall as the bridge, began attacking the bed sheet!
“AAA!”
The Lieutenant screamed and fell backwards, bumping his bum on the polished acrylic composite.
The enormous creature had six legs, was a bluish grey, and had two humongous claws.
“Johnston, how did that get in here?!!?”
Then the enormous creature jumped, right at the Lieutenant.
“AAA!”
…and splashed into the ocean.

As a great wave came and splashed over the viewfinder, the ship tilted upwards, and there was the sun, shining above them.

“Sweet Jesus, there’s a hole in the viewfinder!”
“No sir, I think that a star”
“A star? You mean like Jesse Von Heiseing?”
“no sir, like a big ball of gas that a planet revolves around”
“Oh… Does that mean the viewfinder is happy again?”
“I think you better put some clothes on, sir”
“Don’t you tell me what to do, Johnston!” And with that, the First Official Lieutenant stomped off to his quarters to change.

“Corned beef hash today, Johnston?”
“Go away Cheryl.”

And there, in the middle of the middle of Aphrodite’s middle ocean, floated the spaceship CS1234. It bobbed up and down gingerly, as if waiting for permission, but for what, it did not know.
And the Harlequin Shrimp that had climbed over the viewfinder was now drifting back down in search of the coral it lived on before the great splash had kicked it into the air. It was frazzled, and quickly eaten by a passing octopus.
Sorry Harley.

Tall

2006-07-26T23:16:00.000-06:00

Some buildings are tall
Some buildings are short

It's next to the mall
Or out on the court

But the think I love most
about high rises and quarries

is spitting into the river
from 29 stories

The Sparrow, The Sun, and The Moon

2006-07-23T19:35:00.000-06:00

The sparrow gingerly alighted on a branch as the sun began to peek out from over the horizon.
He cleared his throat-
"A-hm-HMM"
and coughed several times (for good measure)
He filled his lungs with air in preparation for song-
...but this morning was different

something was askew...

Because on this morning, all the sun would do was peek. That was it.
The sun brushed back the curtain of clouds ever so slightly, just to have a look...
And then decided, to hell with this whole rising and shining at six business. The sun would rather have a sleep in... maybe breakfast in bed... yes, yes that would be nice

But still the sparrow waited...

And the moon, waxing gibbous, who had not yet set, peered at the sun cautiously...
The moon was wary of change. It liked to have things set and dry, even on rainy days.
And the sun, who was not at it's best in the morning, shot the moon a fiery glance that seemed to say
"don't mess with me, bucko, I'm only running on ten hours of sleep here, and I haven't had a decent cappucino in millennia"

The moon sank a bit on the horizon, perturbed at such an outward display of passive aggressiveness.

And once more the sparrow coughed

The seed

2006-07-22T19:31:00.000-06:00

So this is what it's like...
The seed has been planted, it's been sewed deep into the mumbling thoughts and it's beginning to take root.
This could be a good idea...
So I went and checked out a new apartment this afternoon, and the girl there who I'd be rooming with mentioned that she'd be cool with pets, but she's allergic to cats
so I thought... I could get a dog!
And that was that, the seed was set, and it's been pushing it's shoots into the soil ever since.
It could be great! I set aside some money, and in return I'm never lonely! I could take it all around with me, it would be great...
I would definitely have to adopt... animal shelters are the way to go. Something small (ish?)
I don't know, I'd definitely want to take it for walks and things...
...I've always liked basset hounds
What am I doing? I'll get whatever animal is right for me when I find it... sure...
I find out tomorrow if it's a go for the place.
We shall see...

The first Official Leutenant

2006-07-20T17:39:00.000-06:00

The first official stepped up to the podium and looked.
He turned his back on them.
"No, this won't do"
"but sir-"
Johnson was always "but sirr-ing" him. He hated it. He wanted nothing to do with it. He wished that Johnson and his stupid retorts would vanish into absynthe.

"I said this won't do"
"But sir-"
There it was again
"sir, this is the last. there aren't anymore"
"Johnson, remove them. they are not up to par."
What did he care if the prime minister's caterers were not good enough? There were spots on the apples, and the pineapple seemed to be frowning at him.

"Sir, the meal is in an hour! We cannot do this!"
The head chef began to sob
"Ah am sorry, monseur! eet weel nevair happeen agaihn!"

But it would. He knew it would. As first official leutenant he had the gift of foresight, and he didn't like what he saw.
What was it with these damn cooks? Everyone knows you shouldn't serve guava on tuesday!

"Sir, Eduardo has been cooking here since he was twelve. To send him and his team to the street would be ravenously inhospitable."

a globule of spittle perched on the leutenant's bottom lip. He kept it there on purpose for the time being. He had an image to maintain.

"Sir! Ah Hav ah wahf and twelve loubstairs at hohm!"
He knew that wasn't true. The Chef had no wife.
The Chef began to sob once more. Big sloppy tears pouring over his lips onto indoor/outdoor tarmac that covered the whole facility.

The leutenant took a bite of rutabaga. It was soggy. Disgusted with himself, he swallowed it anyways, maintaining his composure.

"Sir... the souffle..."
"I Know about the souffle, Johnson!"
"Sir... Ah cahn save eet... thair ees steel taim!"

He knew how much the souffle meant to the prime minister.
"Very well... but only because you are indespensable. Never ever forget the elephant paste again, do you hear me, chef?"

"Oui, monseur!"

"Well, don't just stand there. Go save the souffle!"

"Oui!"
And the chef scuttled off to save the night.
And the leutenant new that no one would remember him for rescuing the souffle. The name that would be in the papers the next morning would be the chef's. Action was what the people wanted, no one cared about the decision makers.

"Johnson, get me a copy of tomorrow morning's paper"
"But sir-"
"Just do it, Johnson"

And the first official leutenant was left on the floor to his own devices.
He glanced at the soggy rutabaga.
That had better be a damn good souffle, or the whole country would despair by the time johnson got back...

2006-07-19T16:51:00.000-06:00

The story of Akimbo

2006-07-19T16:37:00.000-06:00

There once was a man named Akimbo. Akimbo was a stonecutter and every day traveled to the mountain near his house to cut stone. After he had cut many large heavy slabs, he would lift the gigantic slabs onto his cart and haul them to the marketplace to sell them. Sometimes he would strain his back.

This was life for Akimbo, and year after year he toiled at the mountain removing great slabs of stone and selling them for profit.

Then one day during the summer, Akimbo was tapping his chisel as the hot summer sun beat down on him, the sweat rolling off his bare back in great salty rivers, when suddenly he heard a jingle. He turned and wiped the sweat out of his eyes and there on the road was the caravan of a prince. The prince was resting on a platform that sat atop the shoulders of his slaves, he ate peeled grapes and held an umbrella above him to shield him from the sun.

“Oh, what a glorious life that would be!” thought Akimbo, for he yearned more than anything for respite from the sun.

“I wish more than anything that I were that prince with that umbrella over my head!”

And the mountain, which he’d tapped on for many years, finally revealed itself to Akimbo, and the spirit of the mountain whispered

“Then it will be so…”

And suddenly Akimbo was the prince.

He sat atop the backs of his slaves, and he had his umbrella to protect him from the sun.

And he was happy. …for a time

But then the wind came, and took Akimbo’s umbrella from him, and he was hot again. And Akimbo looked up and cursed the sun for being so hot, and he said

“I thought I was powerful as a prince, but I am not powerful! Oh, I wish I were as powerful as the sun! Then I could do anything I wanted!”

And the spirit of the mountain whispered, “Then it is so…”

And Akimbo shone brightly over the earth, giving life to the plants, parching the deserts, and heating the air. And Akimbo was happy.

…For a time

But then a great cloud came and swept over the land and Akimbo could not shine on it any longer. And Akimbo said

“What is this? Clearly I am not as powerful as a cloud, for it can prance in front of me whenever it feels! I wish I were a cloud, and more powerful than the sun!”

And so the spirit of the mountain once again smiled upon Akimbo and whispered

“Then it is so…”

And Akimbo flew across the sky creating shade and caressing the land with his rains. With his vapor he could save the land and the plants from the sun, or he could storm on them and kill everything he covered. He was a powerful cloud, and he was happy.

…for a time

And then one day, he came across a mountain and he stormed upon it, but he could not change it. And he said

“It the mountain more powerful than I? No matter what I do, it does not move! I wish I were a mountain, and more powerful than the clouds!”

And the spirit of the mountain whispered

“Then it is so…”

And Akimbo sat with his great girth, covering the ground and people were forced to build their roads and buildings around him, for he was far too big to budge. And Akimbo was a powerful mountain, and none could change him. And Akimbo was finally happy.

Until one day, when a stonecutter came upon him and he heard the distant “clink clink” of metal on metal and he looked down and said

“Mountain!”

And the great spirit replied “Yes, Akimbo?”

“How is this happening? I am a mountain! Nothing can change me am I not the most powerful thing in the world?”

“No Akimbo, You are not”

So Akimbo thought about this for a moment and considered himself.

And finally, after much thought, Akimbo spoke to the mountain…

And the next morning, Akimbo rose from his bed, ate his breakfast, took his hammer and chisel, and walked to the mountain to cut stone to sell at the market.

And he was happy.