6.28.2008

A mayfly really in the grand scheme of things

Sitting wrapped in her towel she tried to remember a time when she didn't feel trapped in this old house. It's gingerbread trim and bright colors should have inspired some other emotion, but it didn't. When passersby would stop to talk about the towering Victorian's history her mother would gladly oblige with dates and the names of previous owners, but to Alice she felt like a brief blip in the life of this house. A fly on the wall, and it made her queasy and produced feeling of unwelcomeness. When she was little she would pretend that she was a princess in her turret room. The days of such imaginings were gone. She counted the days before she left for University.

6.26.2008

diary 2

I exit the book-store clutching my copy of the diary of Anis Nin like a talisman against some unforeseen danger. The sun blinds me upon exiting into the street, and the crowds of people milling bout along the long brick avenue make me dizzy. My contacts bother my eyes and I curse my vanity that forces me to wear them even though they pain me. As my eyes adjust I see Jenna standing. She is, as she always is, resplendent in her ease. She stands in a floral skirt and sandals, her jet-black hair, dark skin and composed bearing remind me of the grace of the Indian women I see along the streets. She fumbles with a lighter and places a cigarette to her lips. This fumbling, I know, is the result of nerves. I inspect the scene with more care. Standing in front of her is Hunter, a former boyfriend, who has all the vulgar earthyness and bearing of a steel worker. Her hands flit and her mouth smiles but I can see the weariness in her eyes. He cannot. I suddenly feel so very protective and defensive of her, which makes no sense. I don’t desire to posses her, she interests me as she is, but this protectiveness bothers me and I do not know why. I approach her and she doesn’t notice me until the last moment. I am her escape from this unwanted conversation and when she notices me I can see the thought flicker through her mind. Her shoulders relax and she makes the excuse of our date to leave. As we walk down the red colored street the crowds of people that were so offensive to me suddenly melt away. I am elated to step by her side and wonder why she has this effect on me. We pause while she speaks to some people that we both know, but I am quiet, Jenna loves to talk and I let her, which is probably why she spends time with me. I watch her put out her cigarette on the sole of her shoe and I notice that her toenails are painted a florescent green and it reminds me if Sally Bowles from Cabaret. We had planned to get a drink, but she tells me that she has no money so I promise to buy her one. We enter the nearest bar, which is full of people and dark. She weaves through the crowd and finds a table at the back. Men stare at her wherever she moves and I am not envious. I always shrink from the masculine gaze, it makes me feel uncomfortable and uneasy. As if I am being analyzed and dissected, open and naked. Yet she seems to thrive, to blossom under the gaze which utterly destroys me. As we sit together and she talks of her difficulty with men. The difficulty being that there are too many. I want to hold her hand. I don’t. That kind of closeness that seems so easy for most women eludes me. My mother calls me a cold fish, I think it’s just emotional reservation that comes from being an over-sensitive child.

Ghost in a Teacup

She picked up the fragments of the teacup off the living room table. It had survived so many moves between houses and apartments and cross-state trips and now it lay in two halves. It was her own fault for leaving it in the living room where everyone got drunk and played games and had the kind of discussions that involved large sweeping arm gestures. She had just wanted some piece of her history in the community space like everyone else, but her history was laying there cleaved in two. She hadn't even been there to see it break. Even the cup itself seemed faded. She remembered buying it at the garage sale with her mother before they started fighting so much, when she was little and was still convinced that one day she'd grow up to mosaic the kitchen walls with sea shells. She would glue the pieces together but the cup would never again hold water. It seemed so appropriate, because it the early afternoon light, in the dirty living room, she felt as though nothing could stand the test of time. The dreams were just ghosts in that teacup, and now even the ghosts had nowhere to hide.

She felt naked.

6.25.2008

Chlorinated

The corporate courtyard fountain re-pumps it's water again and again in an endless loop. People ask me again and again if I'm OK, if I'm tired. Yes, I am exhausted. I am that cheap concrete fountain, recycling old joys in a glass cage courtyard. The water, stale and septic, reeks of chlorine and prays for rain. But even this water will evaporate, and I too will return to the lakes where I belong.

6.23.2008

Monday, June 23, 2008

There was nothing left. The houses had crumbled. The streets had grown over with weeds, their winding tendrils reaching over the tar that had become sticky under the sun. The corpses had long since rotted away, the bones bleached in the sun. The silence was unending and thick. There was a sickening wet crack and a tree crashed to the ground. It proved beyond any doubt that a falling tree makes noise, even if not a soul is alive to hear it.

6.10.2008

Dean Koontz interview with Newsarama.com

NRAMA: In the larger view of your works, many of your novels contain genre elements. Were you a comic book reader as a kid or did they or their stories influence you at all?

DK: I was never into superhero comics. I was fascinated with Tales from the Crypt and that sort of thing, and also with Scrooge McDuck and his endless battle with the Beagle Boys. Once I began having success with novels, I really had to restrain myself from building a giant money bin, filling it with coins, and driving around in it with a bulldozer.



I've never been a huge Dean Koontz fan but this might possibly be enough to make me want to read his book Frankenstein: Prodigal Son. It's being adapted into a new comic book by Chuck Dixon and Brett Booth.

4.05.2008

LadyKiller: A Short Film

3.11.2008

Bizzare Moments In Comic Book History

Lately, I'll admit, I've been addicted to stumble upon. Spending hours upon hours clicking the stumble button. Looking at the bizarre things that people put up on the internets. My favorite things to find however are the old comic book covers that seem to make little or no sense. It seems to go a little like this, Stumble: hilarious prat fall, Stumble: Scenic Photos of India, Stumble: GIANT GREEN NAZI GORILLAS!!!




No Kids I'm not joking. At what point did Hitler go, "Fuck this, it's giant green gorillas all the way!"

Or perhaps this classic moment...


Yes, ladies and gentleman, his superpower appears to be taking sterioids. And Wearing really shitty white hotpants.


Yet nothing hits me like this one...


HENRY THE NEIGHBORS CALLED AND THEY ARE CONFUSED. I'm confused why he wants to confuse the neighbors and why he needs a BOOK to do it. Who the hell wrote this tome? Is there a market for texts like these?

This too gets honorable mention...


Why is she a nurse at a castle and where did she get such a dope cape. I want it. Want want want.

And for the finale...


RIIIIIIIIIIIIIDE THE LIGHTNING!!!!!!!!





In other news, I am in Jersey and Drew is coming tomorrow to hang out for a few days. We're going to the MOMA! Hooray!

3.08.2008

Cool as Hell! Find Credit:Stumble Upon

Why didn't I think of this?
Now officially part of my memory castle.





Link to original blog: http://www.curbly.com/DIY-Maven/posts/3688-The-Amazing-Staircase

2.28.2008

Video Blog # 3

Hey yall. I know it's been a long time, but as you are all aware this is frequently the last thing on my to do list and therefore often gets pushed onto the next one and the next one... Just suffice to say that things have been really really stressful lately. I'm running on all caffeine and it's taking it's toll on my sanity. On the bright side boyfriend-face Drew is considering starting a blog of his own! WOOT. I'll keep yall updated. WATCH MY VIDEOS





BAFFLING ASPECTS VIDEO IS UP!!!!!

2.20.2008

A New Short

Based on Gabriel Garcia Marquez's "Eyes of a Blue Dog"

1.29.2008

Just Kidding

I love the song hash pipe apparently




lolzorz

So for some reason my party shuffle decided to only be Hash Pipe. I came home from old english translation and there it was. Suddenly my computer was the guy at the party pretending to be the guy at the party who listens to indie rock to pick up chicks. my computer was a frat-guy-at-the-party-pretending-to-be-emo.



oi vey. I'm sorrry it's been so long between posts. First I turned 21, which was pretty awesome. I don't have too much to say regarding that except I had a nice party. Here are some pictures!











Ok so then I've been wicked sick and then I had to make up piles of work...I had no blogging time. Let's leave it at that. I am planning on some really cool video shorts this semester at school. It seems like it's going to be a lot of fun. I've rediscovered coffee. Coffee is amazing. I was all into Tea, especially chai, forever but now coffee is my drink of choice. I may or may not be turning into Henry Rollins.



I had a crush on him in highschool. Which explains alot about me actually.

I'll be posting a vblog friday, but now I got work up to my eyeballs.

Peace

1.22.2008

heath is dead

Heath Ledger Discovered Dead in Soho
Posted by Michael Clancy at 5:55 PM, January 22, 2008



The actor Heath Ledger was discovered dead, pills sprawled around his naked body, in the Broome Street apartment of Mary-Kate Olsen, the NYPD said Tuesday. According to various news accounts, the 28-year-old Australian actor appeared to be a victim of an accidental overdose or suicide.

The NYPD released a short statement that did not mention the actor by name:

ON TUESDAY, 01/22/08, AT APPROXIMATELY 1530 HOURS, IN THE CONFINES OF THE 5 PRECINCT, POLICE RESPONDED TO 421 BROOME STREET AND FOUND A M/W/28 UNCONSCIOUS. THE VICTIM WAS PRONOUNCED DOA AT THE SCENE. M.E.'S OFFICE TO DETERMINE THE CAUSE OF DEATH. INVESTIGATION CONTINUES.
Voice film critic J. Hoberman had this to say about Ledger in Brokeback Mountain: "But moony as Gyllenhaal is, he's only barely able to hold up his side of the equation; it's the self- contained Ledger's repression and scary, sorrowful, hard-luck rage that fuel the movie."




>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

his last film was the dark knight



oh man this whole thing is whole weird

1.17.2008

UPDATE COMING SOON!



image from NatalieDee.com (she's pretty much a rockstar)

12.24.2007

CHRISTMAS EVE. THIS IS WHAT I WILL BE DOING EATING COOKIES FOREVER YUM

12.23.2007

Drew and I

12.22.2007

Short Story to Become a Short Film

Rainier lay breathing, her face planted in the cold snow. She lay, contemplative of the sensations around her. She felt the melting of the snow under her warm live body. The metallic taste in her mouth was from her bleeding nose, she watched the cardinal stain spreading on the snow before her face. Her arm lay at an odd angle up the hill behind her. Wind stirred the trees. She closed her eyes for a moment.

Jack waited on the side of the road looking for a ride into town. He was careful about who he let give him a ride, they had to be just right. No truckers or men alone, he would only stick out his thumb for little families and women. Hippies were alright too. His general rule for hitching, and he had developed quite the list of rules was “Nobody I couldn’t take down in a fight.” Though this generally spelt more walking for him, he didn’t mind. He was in no rush, nobody in town was expecting him to show up. He’d been gone for almost three years now. Traveling around the country, working seasonally on farms. He’d saved up some money traveling light. Jack considered this his grand adventure, there had been no rules, no one to answer to. By now, he surmised that he was certainly off police radar. His infractions had been minor mostly but after the last big job he felt like it was time to move on for a while. Yet something had drawn him back to the town where he had grown up. A car pulled down the lonely north-eastern highway, around a curve of snow heavy pines preceded by a cold gust of wind, a young woman was at the wheel. Jack stuck out his thumb.

Rainier ran panting through the woods, she didn’t look back. Her legs screamed out in lactic pain, she couldn’t stop. Fight and flight had surely kicked in now and there was only the gnawing on instinct on her mind. She sprinted at top speed down the path. Pursuit she though almost blandly, was inevitable.

Jack was surprised when the car pulled to the side of the road. His face, reflected in the passenger side window of the car looked scraggly, dark circles ringed his eyes. The window rolled the glass slowly down, revealing a petite dark haired slip of a girl. She smiled brightly.
“Hey stranger, where you headed?”
Jack shifted his rucksack on his shoulders.
“Just into Burlington.”
“Well that’s where I’m headed!” she grinned “One stop excepted, if you’re in no hurry I’m your gal.”
Jack grinned, “That’ll be just fine Miss.”

She was out of breath, her asthma was catching up with her. The path divided, which way did she have the best chance? She knew that there could be no escape. A hunter never lets go of wounded prey. The trees about her stood like thin dark tombstones, marking places long forgotten. Rainier chose a path and dashed.

“Unusual name, Rainier. After the mountain I suppose?”
She smiled at Jack, he seemed nice, a little down on his luck, but a good guy.
“Yup, hippie parents, the whole deal. Anyone expecting you in town?”
“Not a soul,” he said leaning back into his seat relaxing. “You know it’s dangerous to pick up hitchers on lonely roads don’t you?”
Rainier smiled again, “Well Jack I used to do a fair amount of hitching myself. Mind if I turn on the radio?”
Jack grinned, and ran his nicotine stained fingers though his hair. This was all too perfect.
“Sure thing missy.”

The hunter had caught up with the prey, the shovel slammed down over and over. Screams of pain reached nobody’s ears this far into the woods. The deep red splattered all over the snow, bits of skull and brain clung lovingly to the now crimson shovel. The colors were perfect. So perfect. Everything had been, just as the hunter dreamed it would be. The satisfying crack of skull, the pink mists of blood, and the chunks of brain stuck in dark hair.

Rainer turned down the radio.
“You mind if we stop on that trail up ahead? I’m a photographer and I want to take a few pictures. There’s a little brook not too far into the woods.”
Jack was pulled out of his daydream in disbelief.
“Sure Rainer.”
He always liked to say a new person’s name a few times, it helped to get their trust. She pulled the car over to the side and he got out.
“Would you mind running round the bend of the path and grabbing me a trail map? I want to make sure I don’t have us wandering all over creation.”
Jack knew that his little name trick had worked, she was so trusting already. He walked around the corner and out of sight of the car.
Rainer went to the trunk, and unlocked it with the key. Moving the large camera aside, she grabbed the rusted old shovel. She took a deep breath and prepared herself for the hunt.
Besides, who would miss a drifter?

prelude to a massacre

Her boots were dusty and her jeans were dirty but that wasn't what told sam she was from a place far from here, or no place at all, it was the top of a tattoo that peeked from under the back of her shirt. It sat there, calm, and half hidden, but there was no mistaking the shape. On her skin sat a cathedral window, but instead of depicting a bible story each window had a symbol he had never seen before. He followed her into the gas station's little general store. People opened up to him easily, he could get her to say something. But he was dead wrong...

12.18.2007

As per my request: Sofi writes the Ballad of Issac Hayes

12.14.2007

Vlog 2