Slangin on the Go

Driving through town today I witnessed a hilarious drug deal. I couldn't tell who was the slanger or who was the buyer but two men were walking on the sidewalk towards one another showing no indication of an association, none of any kind.

Usually, you see a friend or someone familiar you acknowledge them in some obvious manner, but these guys appeared obliviouis to one another. They meet in the middle and in the blink of an eye exchange a handslap, and faster than they converged in the center of the sidewalk the instantaneously turned around, heading in opposite directions. I laughed all the way to my destination.

Picked up a new cell phone today, too. It was an intriguing experience. The young woman that helped me had the most hypnotic, elegant crystal blue eyes. I wondered if they were contacts - they were astoundingly gorgeous, and she had a voice so soothing I felt myself becomiong intoxicated the more she spoke. I started nearly slurring my words. The more she spoke the more I focussed on her eyes, and slowly, like a crescendo in a sonata, our lips began spreading into grins, grins into smiles; smiles into attraction (for me anyways). Her customer service was exceptional to boot.

I walked away without complementing her on anything. I was disappointed in myself. The opportunity has passed and now it's up to bizarre circumstances if we ever meet again.

Those kinds of second chances are the rarest kind.

Pencils for Death

Have been working extensively and vivaciously on the Texas Death project. After half-a-day yesterday of fumbling wtih the foreground to the forefront of frustration (see what I did there), I settled on a nonchalant, imposing fixture. I'm about ready to tackle the atmsohpere. 

Must keep blasting music.

Insufficiently, while taking a snack break, enjoying a ham sandwich, I happened to witness a rogue male hippopotamus get castrated. I chuckled at the situation. Life is just too funny.

Could've gotten further along with Texas Death if I hadn't blundered by losing my last twist-pencil. I absolutely love sketching with those things, their leads are just slightly thicker than a click-pencil, and they're fantastic to scratch your ears with. After today's work I was exhausted, but the caffeine injections of Code Red and Dr. Pepper from earlier were still working their abusive, bowel disrupting magic. I wasn't nearly in any sleeping mood and any trying attempt would have only wasted time. Instead, I went for a walk to get some groceries. This would have been around half-past-midnight; I returned shortly after one. The journey was ghostly and serene, cars in single sets drove past me on their way to where people desired them, and others to places where they desired a certain person; to place where they should have been, and others to a place where they have no business being. Such is the human condition. Either way people were going to awaken with new diseases the next day.

The greatest surprise was that punk-rock-girl was working tonight. I had not seen in her many months, her hair still fashioned in a black-length, white-bangs style tied back in a ponytail that completed the cuteness of her overall appearence while her eyes, as sweet as her look, but they told the truth. She is one tough soul.

Quite the attractive feature.

Unfortunately, I found no more twist-pencils. Luckily, after returning home I discoverd my lost one beneath a clutter of unpacked tools and other household objects that can force someone to scream.

Back to Texas Death, a temporary coma, and then training. Keep blasting music.

Oingo Boingo & Alligators

Wondering what it means to "have a good time," these days. I'm a simple person, gimme four walls and if there has to be company may it be pleasent.

But if I could ruthlessly indulge myself without consequences, on my application for Heaven's entrance, regarding the Hobbies section, there would be: Alcohol, Amphetamines, Weekends, Alligator Pits.

It was during one of my skill-earned trips to Austin when I came across the Escape from L.A. soundtrack.

It was high-school, ’97 – it was at a CD Extra, I was flippin’ through their soundtrack selections (new/used) and came across the Escape from L.A. soundtrack; blazing cover with Kurt Russell in his awesomeness that is Snake Plissken, who was last seen in that shit in Cleveland.

I’d never found this soundtrack back home. I should’ve but I didn’t. The other sad bastards that followed cd releases beat me to it, probably by waking up. I refused to do that for anyone. OR, I just didn’t go to sleep. Either one was fine with me.

Regardless, I love this soundtrack and really like the movie. Can I have my axe back, please?

Fucker.

Escaping Silence

This song inspired this particular piece. I have some plans for dear old Dan.....

Cassy was quickly running out of hallway and light. She slowed herself and the only audible was her winded breathing but inside her mind still echoed the thunderous footsteps of the maniac that had killed everyone, everyone but her. For a few more relaxed breaths she would rest, but was far from safe.

The hunt was becoming tedious. Myles had erased most of the names as he silenced their voices on Earth. The young lady was the last one – Cassy. His blood-caked glove pushed open the kitchen entrance to continue searching for the deviled misfit. Her voice needed to be silenced. Myles needed to sleep.

Cassy kneeled low before dipping her head around the corner, checking for the psycho – nothing to find but more carpet leading down another dimly lit passage, and for being a seaside resort she couldn’t believe the lack of windows in an inn as gigantic as the Haveshum, but she felt a spit-worth of hope when she came across the stairs leading downward. It was familiar to her, and anything familiar felt like a way out.

When there were multiple voices, Myles could function suitably, but when there was a single drone buzzing throughout his consciousness the harsh memories flashed in front of him, the memories of grandmother and grandfather listening to their radio all day long everyday. As a toddler lost in his own mind inside his crib he could hear the talk radio from the living room. Occasionally, one of them would enter his room to feed and change him, but always with them did they bring their radio god until the day Grandma and Grandpa stopped appearing, yet their radio kept talking. They would rather listen to their silly radio god. Then, increasingly more flies began to appear particularly when the putrid stench consumed the household. And then, the men in uniforms appeared and took him away from the voices. But the voices followed him. Whenever he turned on a radio, the voices would regenerate, but now the voices spoke names. They were the names of the wicked and the guilty, the kind of wretched decadents that Grandma and Grandpa said his mother was because she refused to listen to the word of their radio god, and they needed to be punished. Myles would write their names and silence their voices.

The lobby was a sweet sight. Cassy leapt off the third stair step on to the floor and sprinted for the open door leading outside. Once her feet touched the sand she could sense salvation’s nearness. Her voice cried “thank you” aloud to anyone listening, but as she tried to cry out again she couldn’t muster any words, and she slowed to complete halt which was when she felt warmth trickling down her body and as she gazed down she witnessed a crimson flood powering down her shirt. Cassy reached behind her neck and felt the knife handle emanating from the back of her throat. Her body could no longer create tears for Cassy to cry. Her voice had been silenced because Myles had been listening the entire time.

Unclogging

Unsure what the next art piece should be. The samurai is the likliest candidate, but it'll be the most complex piece I've attempted in a lyong time; plus, there's research to be done.

Figured out a new deltoid workout. I tried it, and I'm excited with the results. The rotation works the deltoid in a twisting motion, taking the muscle to it's tightest peak; possibly beneficial to a gymnast. Also gonna try a personally new protein from Nutrex - Muscle Infusion Black (ah yeah), cookies n'cream flavor (Chyeah!), but I selected it because it has all the positives of a Syntha-6: the isolates, egg-whites, whey and such, however, Muscle Infusion Black (M.I.B. Haaa!) contains far less carbs, sugars, sodium, cholesterol; I'm looking forward to that as well.

Work to do, work to do....

More Movies

Before...and deeennnn?...

....

Continued movie viewing with the original Bad News Bears - the authentic nature of the vulgarity couldn't be recaptured in the remake, only simulated.
While cooking breakfast I was trying to figure out the mood, so I settled on Ed Burns' The Groomsmen - excuse me, EdWARD Burns...but a good way to pass the time. It's a movie that questions the definition of being a man.

Legion - Sucked. Big ones.

Devil - A flashy 90-minute movie with a 30-minute plot that actually pulled it off. Fuck you comic books.

Ketchup? Catsup? Catch up?

Tonight's soundtrack was provided by....


....and while they haven't been the same since the first album I've still enjoyed their sound.

Been catching up on movies; recently watching 2001 Maniacs: Field of Screams (yeahyuuuuh), Somewhere in Time (shweeet), Open Road (noyce), The Door in the Floor (overly sentimental but cool), Three Amigos (clllassic), Hot Tub Time Machine (new clllassic), Poolhall Junkies (constant rotation), They (good effort), Batman ’89 (still shweeet), Despicable Me (I liked it better this time around), Evolution (always a pleasure) ….

.....Aaaannnnd……

Shakedown – A new Peter Weller fave, he delivers, and Sam Elliot’s acting yet again makes all functioning alcoholics proud and looking good (acting, teehee).

Sssss – A charming 70’s thriller that stretches into the horror realm, with Strother Martin playing the nicest serial killer ever, Dr. Carl Stoner. Aside from a casual stick-model, all of the snakes were real and used splendidly and still cautiously. Dirk “IAMFACE” Benedict plays a naïve college student assigned to Dr. Stoner’s assistance. Poor bastard.

And finally, Green Lantern; that movie earned itself a Whataburger, I tell yuh. Loved it, and what saved it was the pacing, because there was a lot of shyit goin on – good editing. What was UP with the HAIRSTYLES? Angela Bassett’s overpowering sexiness made hers bearable; Tim Robbins’ made the aliens’ and Hector’s gigantically mutated dome normal looking.

Despite lackluster numbers the sequel is thus far a go, I am glad. They need to tell Sinestro’s story. He’s too important and they have the best actor possible for the role in Mark Strong, good casting all around. This felt like a DC film, a fun atmosphere with insanity all around you.

Been re-editing Sympathy Circus; polishing, editing, adding, consciously averting overkill but not without testing the waters. Completing the sourcebook and first chapter outline for Drunken Monk, got a new idea for another novel, but first things first and that is an endless suck in itself.

Have also been watching and re-watching documentaries on these fellas........UP THE IRONS!!!