El Bloggo del Keef

So I finally gave up and admitted to myself that I wasn’t going to be able to afford to frame all of my screenprinted show posters anytime soon, and hung them up on the living room wall with binder clips and thumbtacks.  It turned out pretty well:

And now another hit from Barb’s cake decorating class:

CAKE RULES EVERYTHING AROUND ME
BUTTER CREAM GET THE MONEY
FLOWERS MADE OF SUGAR, Y’ALL

So Barb’s taking a cake decorating class. Tonight was the second week of the class, and this is what she brought home. She said no one else at the class understood when she kept screaming, ‘KANEDAAA! TETSUOOOO!’

A gray-flannel life… worry about food and shelter.  A total ball-buster.  Dreams and Delirium… a wintertime scene… in the deep, dark woods… two homeless people frozen to death on a park bench.  You Can’t Always Get What You Want.  I am not who I think I am.  I am someone else, dreaming that I am me.  The machines have massive gears for wheels and they roam the landscape crushing tiny people with their teeth. The human brain exists suspended in aspic.  My empathy contains me.  A banana slowly rotting in a parking lot.

FRIDAY, JUNE 22
11:30 PM
NORA’S ROOM

“So what the hell happened in there?”

“I don’t know.  You put on that record and then all of a sudden we were just… we were just making out, you know?  It just happened.”

“What did you hear?  What did it sound like?”

“…”

“Tell me.”

“A cloud rolling over the sun in an otherwise cloudless sky.  A blender filled with ice, orange juice, strawberries, and thin silver metallic shavings of Neptunium, an actinide, with atomic number 93.  As the pulse button is pressed, the Neptunium oxidizes slightly and turns pale pink as it comes in contact with the ice.  The Neptunium smoothie being poured into a pint-glass with an orange tiger on the side, faded from repeated dishwasher journeys.  A bullet passing through a kneecap.  A snow fox reading slowly aloud from the Upanishads, its nonhuman vocal cords straining to hit the glottal stops.  A moustache in close-up being slowly shaved off with a pair of hedge trimmers.  The glare off snow in 1836 in Lawrence, Kansas, or rather in what would become Lawrence, Kansas, in 1854, almost two decades later.  A Rubens Tube– that is, a length of PVC pipe with holes drilled along the top at intervals and flammable gas being run through it from one end.  From the other end, a small speaker plays Metallica’s “And Justice For All” through the tube.  The flames form a standing wave through the holes in the top.  A snowy maple grove, ice-cold syrup slowly dripping onto my face from a spigot.  A black cat hiding in a cardboard box.”

“…”

“It just happened, okay?”

“Okay, fine.”

“Fine.  So.  Is he cool?”

“Clara, that’s my brother we’re talking about.”

“Who cares?  Is he cool?”

“…”

“Is he?”

“…”

“…”

“… No.”

— Message (#66) to Scratch Discordia at 13:18 on May 23, 2008 —
-OKAY CLICK ON TOOLS AT THE TOP
-THEN CLICK ON ACCOUNTS
-WHEN THAT OPENS UP IT WILL SAY ALL MAIL NEWS DIRECTORY SERVICE
-CLICK ON MAIL
-THEN DOUBLECLICK ON YOUR MAIL ACCOUNT
-IT’LL SAY GENERAL AT THE TOP AND THEN SERVERS
-CLICK ON SERVERS
-THEN DOWN AT THE BOTTOM WHERE IT SAYS ‘MY SERVER REQUIRES AUTHENTICATION’
-IS THAT CHECKED
-GO AHEAD AND CHECK THAT BOX
-OKAY THAT SHOULD DO THE TRICK

*** Message (#67) from Scratch Discordia at 13:19 on May 23, 2008 ***
>Wow, that’s really ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

*** Message (#68) from Scratch Discordia at 13:19 on May 23, 2008 ***
>How many times a day do you read that script?

— Message (#69) to Scratch Discordia at 13:19 on May 23, 2008 —
-So far 17 times today

— Message (#70) to Scratch Discordia at 13:20 on May 23, 2008 —
-18

*** Message (#71) from Scratch Discordia at 13:21 on May 23, 2008 ***
>How often do you want to break character and just go “Say, do you think I do a
>good impression of Larry Hagman of Dallas fame?” and then you do like a bad
>Asian “Me so solly!” accent.

— Message (#72) to Scratch Discordia at 13:23 on May 23, 2008 —
-EVERY SINGLE CALL