What the fuck is this?

I found it on the Konformist website, but they don't mention where they found it. (n.b. I just found it.)

It's so incredibly creepy, that if the national emergency the sound clip mentions ever happens, I hope I'm already dead, or have a place to hole up indefinitely. What the hell is going on in this world?

Working Saturdays sucks somethin' fierce. At least none of the management types are around today, so I can circumvent the dress code and play whatever music I want.

Man, this customer's wearing a shitload of perfume. I hope she leaves soon.

Well, Beck's liters are no longer the special at Molly's, so I settled for Shiner and Spaten. They did the trick nicely. So did getting to play a shitload of Black Sabbath songs. A good night on all sides.

Got my applications in for new jobs, one of them dealing with corpses, the others with potential biohazards. Either group is far superior to customer service/retail/dealing with the public in general. Come to think of it, decaying corpses and lab rats are far more interesting and human than the miserable fucks that call themselves customers where I work.

Blew forty bucks on comics last night: couple issues of Hellblazer, a Hellboy book guest-written/drawn by some good folks, new Grrl Scouts, new Blue Monday, and both of Brian Wood's newest projects, The Couriers and Jenny One. The Couriers was especially good. (Note my lack of italics; this is due to laziness, and will probably continue.) I haven't been to the comic shop in a while, so it was great skimming over all the new books and being aware of the fact that I was buying the good stuff. They also had some cool Drinky Crow coasters I might have to splurge on. I'll explain their purchase by saying they're, uh, a housewarming gift. Yeah, that's it.

Man, reading comics is the way to go. I'm looking forward to the day when I make enough money to go apeshit every Wednesday at the comic shop. Of course, those days are a long, long way down the road, if they're even there at all.

Hey, sounds like the Iraqis are getting the commissar treatment from their officers. Figures. Let's just hope more of the poor bastards- the enlisted, not the officers- turn coat and help get Saddam off their back.

A note on the war. I'm still against it and every vile little thing that created it, but by this point, how you feel about it doesn't matter, because people are already dying. I just hope the graveyards, Iraqi, American, or otherwise, don't fill up any more than they have to. Not that they have to, of course, but tell that to the pricks we call the government.

Went to Catbirds last night with Jay and Andy to meet Matt and his cousin from Chicago. The yankees enjoyed the Lone Star and Shiner Bock we suggested they drink, which was cool. Tonight's drinking: $2 liter bottles of Beck's at the shitty Irish pub-clone here in The Woodlands. If I can get to the jukebox before the assholes do, I'll get to listen to Sabbath all night.

Almost lunch time. Shiner Bock and sunshine!

Everyone should do themselves and the rest of the world and stop taking so many pictures. Unless you're doing something interesting- which excludes overabundant snapshots of your children, your home, your church, or sporting events- leave your camera behind. I work in a photo lab and I'm getting sick and fucking tired of looking at babies (which all look alike), vacations to the same old places, and so on.



If the guy who made One Hour Photo wanted to be realistic, he would've had Sy go nuts because he had to put up with hyper-suburbanites incessantly, not because that family failed to be hyper-suburban (though, actually, they were perfectly suburban...). I wonder if my job would be any better if it wasn't located in The Woodlands (yes, capital T), which is easily the most yuppie-infested suburb I've ever seen. You can't imagine what wretched fucks call this place home, acting as if anything outside of The Woodlands is tainted and that they're all participating in some sort of benevolent, corporate social experiment that makes them superior to everyone from neighboring towns, e.g. Spring, where I live.


I'm getting incoherent. Adios for now.

Zero readership, zero self-advertising, zero complaints. So far, so good.

Wiley Wiggins was cool in Waking Life, and his website's pretty spiffy too. He's way more famous than I'll ever be, and for good reason. His writing's pretty damn interesting, and his acting's laid back. Laid back is always good.

Slow day at work. Been reading Finnegans Wake and eating bread when I'm not stepping out of work's way. No matter what anyone says about FW, it's an amazing piece of work, possibly the apex of sheer volume and love of language unfettered by typical narrative and grammatical structures. Ulysses is somethin' else, too.

Almost time for lunch. Adios for now.

np (well, in my head at least): Brant Bjork and the Operators, s/t

I intended to be in bed long ago, but I found myself distracted by Lord of a Visible World, a biography of H.P. Lovecraft pieced together through his correspondence. While I certainly can't sympathize with most of HPL's ideas, I do admire his fiction greatly. "The Strange High House In the Mist" has to be one of my favorite pieces of writing ever.

You know what's also good? Ulver. Those dudes can crank out some utterly mind-blowing stuff, music that seems much more than music, music that's actually a strange film being projected against a scribbled blueprint pasted to a wall somewhere in Oslo, in front of which all manners of characters pass, smoking cigarettes, staring sullenly at the streets or the firmament, drowning in lost love... everyone owes it to themselves to go purchase Perdition City, posthaste.

I can't figure out how to link this damned thing (this "blog," as it were, though I hate that term) to my email in such a way as to give any chumps who read this a chance to write me back, so until I solve that puzzle, I'll just put my email address here.

Good night, world, and don't let the whirlwind of corpses in Iraq get you down. If it's any consolation, and it's really not, this sort of fiasco has more historical basis than most of us realize. After all, humanity's hardly a rational creature, and why would we start acting otherwise now?

At work. Why is it frowned upon to drink on the job if it makes you a better worker? Someday I'm going to look into that.

np: some horrible shit

Quarter to five. Got some writing done, drank some more beer, read some of Lin Yutang's The Importance of Living, and talked about the short film I want to make this summer, All Right, with the dude that's going to be the brains behind the production, Andy Link. Thank God I know the guy; he's years ahead of chumps like me.

I love having Mondays off.

np: Black Label Society, Sonic Brew

Day one of what will probably be a failed experiment. It's been a long, long time since I maintained any sort of web presence, and I'm questioning the wisdom of entrenching myself again. Here goes nothing.

I'm on my third Lone Star of the day, and I finished reading D.B. Weiss' Lucky Wander Boy this morning. My new novel's coming along nicely now that I've gotten past one particularly sticky, protracted scene. I think it's time for a cigarette.

np: Spirit Caravan, Elusive Truth