Posterity for the Second-Second-Blonde-Child-After-Brian Jones' Sake

BAM!

    “Holy shit, what the hell was that?”
    Almost whiplashing over, of course fucking him over there, a shotgun in one hand, a cigar in his mouth, both items wafting smoke out of them. I put the two-and-two together.
    “Did you just light your cigar with a shotgun?” Just to confirm.
    “Yeah, I did.” He said, completely nonchalant, I was in disbelief for a second, but then I remembered that he probably wouldn’t care less if that gun accidentally blew his head off. A non-inconvenient occurrence of simple circumstance; he wanted to smoke, if you look at it from all three angles he was going to die anyway, and by extension…Me.

    One: Scientific fact, smoking kills, as does second-hand smoke.
    “Do you want some?” He asks.
    “No.”
    Two: Probability, could’ve blown his head off, and I can’t hold them all off by myself.
    “You have to admit, I can handle shotguns pretty well with one hand!”
    Three: Math, not like that would matter much, there are still too many for the both of us to hold off.
    “They will have heard that, they’ll be here shortly.”
    “Yeah…” I said.

    “I should’ve warned you so you could take a picture… You know, for posterity.” He said, breaking the silence.
    “Is this a time to worry about posterity? We’re not going to be around to posteritize much about it.” I said.
    “Exactly! That is the kind of fucking pictures you see, you know? On the covers of magazines, and shown in documentaries, like that picture of the poor fucker in the Vietnam War you see about to get his head blown off. No one remembers his name or what he did…”
    “He killed like a dozen people that same morning or something.” I interrupted.
    “But that doesn’t really matter in the picture; you remember his face, that shit sticks with you.”
    He paused for a little bit.
    “I’ve never been much of the thinker…”
    “No really? Says the man that lights his smokes with a gun?” I interrupted again, and he puffs a cloud of smoke my way.
    “But that’s the kind of thing I care about.”
    “Looking cool?” I just want to give him a hard time.
    “No! I mean yeah sorta, but that’s not what I’m talking about…”
    He gives it another minute.
    “Being remembered you know?”
    “You’re such a rock star," I told him, "Hunter S. Thompson, Kurt Cobain…”
    “Edie Sedgwick.” He refutes.
    “Oh yeah?” He is more complicated than I thought.
    “Yeah, I completely identify with her.”
    “Then it makes sense why we are here now, when you look up to self-destructive kinds of people.” As if learning his lesson now will be of any use right now.
    “I prefer to look at it as ‘self-deconstructive’. For that I know who I am and what I want.”
    “And what’s that?” I ask, just to confirm.
    “A picture of me lighting my cigar with a shotgun.” He gives it a second before asking. “Does the camera still have anymore film on it?”
    I shuffle through my bag, whatever, dud plastic explosives, a few rounds, symbols of ideals that aren’t so much worth a damn right now, tools that failed us against these damn monsters trying to do crap-knows-what-and-even-if-we-did-who-gives-a-damn kinds of things to our planet. Yeah, the camera still has some space on it.
    “Alright,” he says, “let’s do it.”
    “How many bullets do you have left?” I ask.
    “I don’t know exactly,” He counts in his head “like 4 or 5.”
    “Ok, let’s get this in one, two at the most.”

Jumping ship.

http://excessivelysmartaspaint.tumblr.com/

Oh Shitter, Please Please Me.

Shifty shitter please do me this

Cut my cock off and say I am one of you

Otherwise I cannot learn

And move on, my comrades are next.

Delusional it might be

As someone obssessed with time travel

I cannot look uglier drinking my soda

Well actually I'm pretty fucking out-of-shape

And I can't trust them to be honest.

So that is why you wear black, huh?

Your an invisible kid.

Teenage blues, if only I could remember them.

Now why did I come in here again?

Take Care Of Yourself

If I was doing the soundtrack to a Neon Genesis Evangelion Movie it would be something like this.

Create a playlist at MixPod.com

At least in this present time, I will probably hear something else soon enough that I think should be in it too.

"I had a muthafucking dream too, Martin Luther King Jr." Pt. 2

Few nights ago I had a dream where me and my brothers were waiting to cross the train tracks in our car, there were two railways and on one there was a train stalled, obscuring the view of the other railway. The other cars in their impatience crossed the railway and we watched as one of them was hit by another train. That car exploded and a crowd gathered around the car as a woman pulled out from it the burned and semi-skeletal corpse of the person inside of it. The person was not dead yet, the corpse was still breathing so everyone watched him die, but it was contemplative and gradual, not like normal death. The corpse just curled into the fetal position slowly as if it was birth reversed, and that was it.

Chemistry is just a word we use to describe what occurs when subtle changes in your mind make energy from common lives.

So this blog, whats it for? For what its worth, I'm not entirely sure. Honestly, I think its because I do not really talk to anyone, so the excess thoughts I have on my head I use this as a cesspool to collect them. Its uncomfortable a little, but less so then actually sitting eye-to-eye with you and telling you these things through sounds and not text. If you can get me to make prolonged eye contact with you then thats something else.

Also, attention. We all crave it, we all want it in one way, shape, or form, and I am of no exception, lets just put that out there. Call it some Psuedo-celebrity-ism thing if you will. I am an artist, I may be a crappy, generic, run-of-the-mill one living in LA, but I am one.

However I can't be completely honest here, half of everything I type gets deleted. Because if I go too long at it I realize how stupid it is and give it up.

(I'm finishing this one though)

But what does it matter, really?

So we played a show, and if any of you are musicians and have experienced this same thing maybe you can help me out. We played, and though we didn't (by my account and the accounts of others) do extremely badly, I felt awful. Like I just wanted to start bawling but I couldn't figure out why, and its happened after every performance we've done.

I feel like shit for the rest of the night.

I'm not sure if other performers experience the same thing, I think they might but I never really hear people talking about it, just the rush, the thrill, the excitement...

I tried to think about it (the reasons), but all that would come up are self-indulging reasons. Tortured artist... I don't know, we have enough of those.

I'm too pretentious, and I do not feel genuine, what do I know of angst? Or problems, all of them are in my head and they are not real. Depression, OCD, BDD, all these perceived realities of a life that I have that is by all accounts not terrible, just the chemistry in my head explained by freudian causasions. I have no reason to despise the people in my life, they are for all intents and purposes just people and they have flaws the same as me, I've done some pretty shitty things too.

I'm not sure about the point I'm trying to get across, I think that I am really just scared of everything. I'm here really wanting things to work but lacking the time/talent/energy/opportunities to do it and that bums me the fuck out.

We have another show coming up, and I'm not sure how much more of this band I am willing to take, its becoming more of a chore as opposed to a pleasure, and yet we haven't really done shit. I'm hoping its the chemistry in that, and not the body, because the insecurities and failures that tie in and feed that are overbearing.

But I need to remember this, "Imagine an artist who never lived, never died a million times, never drowned. That would be some fucking terrible generic, unthought out art."

Chemistry? Hopefully. Believe It Or Not I Care's days are probably numbered, the chemistry needs to be fixed.

Your Beautiful, But Black Clothes Make Me More So.

Your violent fashion is a locked room and only I have the key, with a sweater so black their eyes will just slide off of the both of us.

No fucking originality in that one at all, both lines are a reference to something.

"Anytime, anyplace, adventure always awaits." Pt. 1

I think I'm going to take this time to talk about some amazing places in LA that I found in my adventures thats worth checking out, or places that are not so amazing but still worth checking out.

1- The Geologic "Center" of Los Angeles cir. 1990
To get there, I'll take you from the corner of Venture blvd. and Coldwater Canyon blvd. in the San Fernando Valley, from that corner head southbound into the hills, keep driving through Coldwater Cyn until you reach the intersection of Coldwater and Franklin Canyon Dr. and turn right. Drive down that street  and you'll reach the Franklin Canyon Resevoir. When you get to the first stop sign in the park (really stop, theres a camera) turn left into the parking lot. At the parking lot, head in this direction on foot:

The rest of the instructions you can find here in this website: http://laist.com/2008/07/15/eureka_i_have_f.php

I happened to just stumble by it and its still there. Its marked by a plaque, this is what it looks like.

2- The Museum of Jurassic Technology
I'm not sure yet exactly what this is, I passed by it on my way to the Hare Krishna temple in Culver city, but it sounds promising. Here is the link: http://www.mjt.org/

3- Cosmopolitan Books
My new favorite book store; cramped, claustrophobic, books-to-the-ceiling, musty, dusty, and dangerously combustible, you may not find exactly what your looking for, but you can try, and along the way you'll definitely find many other books that your going to want to get.
http://www.yelp.com/biz/cosmopolitan-book-shop-los-angeles

I'll put more up later as I come by them or remember.