I've thrown away a lot in my lifetime thus far. I need to learn to be happy with what I have.
Nonetheless, I keep chasing the feeling of that one morning at Phillip Island, lying on the couch wrapped up tightly in blankets, utterly exhausted from what had been both the most and least eventful night of my life, watching the outside world go insane with storms as inside the beautiful melody of Sigur Ros played out, fitting amazingly and making what remains the most transcendant moment of my life. In that moment, I understood nature and true beauty, and I was happy. In that moment, I, with the friends around me, were utterly alone, deserted in an empty world, and we didn't even care.
While that breath-taking feeling eventually subsided into Asian news and Pig Destroyer; a sense of hilarity, powerlessness and an over-abundance of emotion, I'm going to get back to that initial feeling one day.
I have to.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Monday, October 11, 2010
sunsets and sigur ros.
Today, I'd spent the entire day inside. Since I felt like getting out and I wanted a smoke, I decided to go for a walk, and put Sigur Ros on my iPhone and walked around. The orange sunset and purple clouds highlighted the surrealist qualities of the music, and the atmosphere really flowed well with the birds and other assorted nature to highlight the qualities of spring. For once, I didn't really think about anything going on with me, instead just really enjoying the beauty of my surroundings.
It's nights like these I truly appreciate everything that I have.
It's nights like these I truly appreciate everything that I have.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
bucket list.
1. Punch a magpie out of the sky.
2. Visit Chernobyl.
3. Visit Auschwitz.
4. Binge through the entire series of Lost without sleeping.
5. Get my writing published.
6. Get five club photos.
7. Get married.
8. Have kids.
9. Have NSLC perform a show to more than 200 people.
10. Have a threesome.
11. Own 500 CDs.
12. Conquer my fear of jungle cats.
13. Get in a fight.
14. Win a fight.
15. Meet Jesse Lacey.
16. Write and record a good song.
17. Win a hot dog eating contest.
18. Drink an entire slab in one sitting.
19. Perform stand-up comedy.
20. Do cocaine.
xx. Fall in love.
2. Visit Chernobyl.
3. Visit Auschwitz.
4. Binge through the entire series of Lost without sleeping.
5. Get my writing published.
6. Get five club photos.
7. Get married.
8. Have kids.
9. Have NSLC perform a show to more than 200 people.
10. Have a threesome.
11. Own 500 CDs.
12. Conquer my fear of jungle cats.
13. Get in a fight.
14. Win a fight.
15. Meet Jesse Lacey.
16. Write and record a good song.
17. Win a hot dog eating contest.
18. Drink an entire slab in one sitting.
19. Perform stand-up comedy.
20. Do cocaine.
xx. Fall in love.
three cheers for my morose and grieving pals.
I spent today complaining to myself and bumming myself out with Brand New and Explosions about a decision that I made only to benefit myself, only to get more bummed out when I got jealous about some shit that couldn't concern me less.
But that's it on it. I've got a fucking ridiculously killer streak in the Battle Arcade. I'm moving on and moving up, and I can only see good things happening.
But that's it on it. I've got a fucking ridiculously killer streak in the Battle Arcade. I'm moving on and moving up, and I can only see good things happening.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Thursday, September 2, 2010
bachelorette party.
It begins with a quiet air. A group of women, sitting together, drinking champagne to celebrate their friend's choice to marry her long-time boyfriend of eight years, high school sweethearts. They all knew that the two would marry, even at an early age. The two were seemingly destined to be together. Some women are envious, feeling that 'all the good men in this town are taken', others are filled with genuine happiness that their friend is in love. All of them are excited for the show.
There is a knock at the door. One woman goes to answer the door, leaving to bride-to-be asking the question with a big grin on her face, "what's going on? who is it?" The woman returns with a man in a police outfit who struts in with a powerful demeanor. The woman stands next to the CD player as the man begins to gyrate, seductively undoing the buttons on his shirt.
Thumping, pulsing techno sets the mood. The women are laughing, covering their mouths with their hands in shock and lust, unused to this show. His costume seems so realistic, not like the stripper policemen they've seen on TV. His gun, one woman remarks, seems to look so real. He gets closer to the bride, thrusting his pelvic region towards her face. She blushes, laughs, moves back slightly in her chair, demonstrating her discomfort to the situation. She has never been with another man aside from her fiancee, and the thought of another man acting so suggestively throws her. She gulps down more champagne and gets up to dance with her friends.
There is a slight noise at the door, but is more than drowned out by the blaring music and the thumping of her heart in her ears as the bride begins to dance with the stripper. His shirt is lying on the floor, his well-toned chest and muscular arms amaze her as she runs her hands over them. He rips off his pants, leaving him only wearing his gun-holster and underwear.
Another noise at the door, this one louder than the last. One woman walks away from the party to check, reluctantly glancing back at the party she must leave, if only for two seconds. The man is intoxicating, perhaps moreso than the champagne they had all ingested on an empty stomach. The man rips his underwear off, and none of the women can keep their eyes off him. There is a united sense being impressed and amazed among the women. He begins grinding up against the bride, who seemingly is giving into the man's charms.
In the doorway returns the woman who is followed by another man. A man in a clearly rented police outfit and a boombox on his shoulder. There is a sense of confusion between the partygoers and the newcomer. This is immediately changed to terror as the naked man lets out a terrifying screech before pulling his gun out of his holster and firing three shots into the roof. After the hearing returns to each of them, the sickening howl still remains. The man doesn't stop to breathe, he just continues to scream. One woman begins to cry as the new man, evidently the stripper they ordered, attempts to subdue the screaming, naked man. The confrontation is open not long before it started. A block. A throw. A leap going into a grab. A cry. Yelling. Tears. Blood.
The naked man ripped the stripper's jaw clean off, his tongue flailing around wildly. Before any of the women could realize the naked man's screaming had stopped, he flung his hands in the air, threw his head back and began again, all the while sitting on the blood-soaked body below him. He picks up his gun, aims it at one of the women. Bang. His arm rips back from the recoil, his shoulder moving in ways it is not supposed to. She drops. The next woman. Bang. His arm rips back again, as if it were going to come flying off, but she drops, too. It is as if this small gun has limitless ammunition, but before long, it is just the naked lunatic standing screeching over the huddled, blood covered mass that was once the bride. She, unlike the others, survived his gunshot. He shot her in the stomach, while the others are later easily identified by officials as clean kill shots.
What happens next is impossible to explain by the officials. He stands over her cowering, bleeding form and defecates, spreading his legs allowing it to drop cleanly onto the ground. She cries, tears mixing in with the bloodstreaks on her face, left by her deceased friends. The man reaches down, slipping one finger inside the bullet wound. She screams. Another finger, another finger, ever more screaming. It is not long before her stomach is open, and the naked figure is huddled over her. Somehow, she has not died and he knows this, lives for this. He throws his head forward and begins to chew on the contents of her stomach. She screams again, the agony is unlimited. He stands up and begins to walk back towards the pile of his things. The woman, assuming he is going for his gun, begs him to shoot her. "I cannot continue to live like this", she screams. "Just fucking end it, for the love of god, just fucking end it!"
He removes a small object from his pants. Her vision is so blurred from the loss of blood and the pain that she cannot work out what it is before lapsing into unconciousness.
She wakes in a hospital bed. The man had stitched her stomach back up, covering the wound with flesh he had ripped with his bare hands from the corpses of her friends. The wedding is obviously postponed, but her fiancee sits at her bedside until she is discharged, and vows to never leave her. However, this is proven false when he returns from running errands only to find his wife strung up to the light fixtures. She leaves no note.
There is a knock at the door. One woman goes to answer the door, leaving to bride-to-be asking the question with a big grin on her face, "what's going on? who is it?" The woman returns with a man in a police outfit who struts in with a powerful demeanor. The woman stands next to the CD player as the man begins to gyrate, seductively undoing the buttons on his shirt.
Thumping, pulsing techno sets the mood. The women are laughing, covering their mouths with their hands in shock and lust, unused to this show. His costume seems so realistic, not like the stripper policemen they've seen on TV. His gun, one woman remarks, seems to look so real. He gets closer to the bride, thrusting his pelvic region towards her face. She blushes, laughs, moves back slightly in her chair, demonstrating her discomfort to the situation. She has never been with another man aside from her fiancee, and the thought of another man acting so suggestively throws her. She gulps down more champagne and gets up to dance with her friends.
There is a slight noise at the door, but is more than drowned out by the blaring music and the thumping of her heart in her ears as the bride begins to dance with the stripper. His shirt is lying on the floor, his well-toned chest and muscular arms amaze her as she runs her hands over them. He rips off his pants, leaving him only wearing his gun-holster and underwear.
Another noise at the door, this one louder than the last. One woman walks away from the party to check, reluctantly glancing back at the party she must leave, if only for two seconds. The man is intoxicating, perhaps moreso than the champagne they had all ingested on an empty stomach. The man rips his underwear off, and none of the women can keep their eyes off him. There is a united sense being impressed and amazed among the women. He begins grinding up against the bride, who seemingly is giving into the man's charms.
In the doorway returns the woman who is followed by another man. A man in a clearly rented police outfit and a boombox on his shoulder. There is a sense of confusion between the partygoers and the newcomer. This is immediately changed to terror as the naked man lets out a terrifying screech before pulling his gun out of his holster and firing three shots into the roof. After the hearing returns to each of them, the sickening howl still remains. The man doesn't stop to breathe, he just continues to scream. One woman begins to cry as the new man, evidently the stripper they ordered, attempts to subdue the screaming, naked man. The confrontation is open not long before it started. A block. A throw. A leap going into a grab. A cry. Yelling. Tears. Blood.
The naked man ripped the stripper's jaw clean off, his tongue flailing around wildly. Before any of the women could realize the naked man's screaming had stopped, he flung his hands in the air, threw his head back and began again, all the while sitting on the blood-soaked body below him. He picks up his gun, aims it at one of the women. Bang. His arm rips back from the recoil, his shoulder moving in ways it is not supposed to. She drops. The next woman. Bang. His arm rips back again, as if it were going to come flying off, but she drops, too. It is as if this small gun has limitless ammunition, but before long, it is just the naked lunatic standing screeching over the huddled, blood covered mass that was once the bride. She, unlike the others, survived his gunshot. He shot her in the stomach, while the others are later easily identified by officials as clean kill shots.
What happens next is impossible to explain by the officials. He stands over her cowering, bleeding form and defecates, spreading his legs allowing it to drop cleanly onto the ground. She cries, tears mixing in with the bloodstreaks on her face, left by her deceased friends. The man reaches down, slipping one finger inside the bullet wound. She screams. Another finger, another finger, ever more screaming. It is not long before her stomach is open, and the naked figure is huddled over her. Somehow, she has not died and he knows this, lives for this. He throws his head forward and begins to chew on the contents of her stomach. She screams again, the agony is unlimited. He stands up and begins to walk back towards the pile of his things. The woman, assuming he is going for his gun, begs him to shoot her. "I cannot continue to live like this", she screams. "Just fucking end it, for the love of god, just fucking end it!"
He removes a small object from his pants. Her vision is so blurred from the loss of blood and the pain that she cannot work out what it is before lapsing into unconciousness.
She wakes in a hospital bed. The man had stitched her stomach back up, covering the wound with flesh he had ripped with his bare hands from the corpses of her friends. The wedding is obviously postponed, but her fiancee sits at her bedside until she is discharged, and vows to never leave her. However, this is proven false when he returns from running errands only to find his wife strung up to the light fixtures. She leaves no note.
Monday, August 30, 2010
"i'm gonna win the battle frontier fer sure!"
The most reliable thing in my life.
My Garchomp was hatched on July 17th, 2007. I was too lazy to breed for Adamant, which would reduce Special Attack in exchange for boosting Attack, so I instead opted for a Lonely nature, which swapped Special Attack reduction for Defense reduction. While at the time, this seemed like a bad idea, in its latest incarnation, the extra Special Attack points are a godsend. I maxed out Attack and Speed, with leftovers going into HP. Its attacks are Outrage, Earthquake, Stone Edge and Fire Blast, with Life Orb as an attached item.
Garchomp has been in every single one of my Battle Tower/Frontier challenge teams with the exception of Battle Factory and the brief time in 09 when I used a mono-Dark team, and he's been there for good reason. He outspeeds a lot and KO's even more. He also has the highest streak in the Battle Hall, at 93, as well as being in both of my 51 battle streaks in the Battle Tower; the only crossover member between the two teams, as well as my Gold Print run in the Battle Arcade, managing to destroy all three of the leader's Pokemon with its Stone Edge attack.
The reason I strive for excellence in my Pokemon teams is because it gives me somewhere to be good at what I do. I was never a good writer or musician, school work bores me, and I never played sports; but in Pokemon, I'm the best person I know. It's really lame, but it's the way I think. The way I have to think.
My Garchomp was hatched on July 17th, 2007. I was too lazy to breed for Adamant, which would reduce Special Attack in exchange for boosting Attack, so I instead opted for a Lonely nature, which swapped Special Attack reduction for Defense reduction. While at the time, this seemed like a bad idea, in its latest incarnation, the extra Special Attack points are a godsend. I maxed out Attack and Speed, with leftovers going into HP. Its attacks are Outrage, Earthquake, Stone Edge and Fire Blast, with Life Orb as an attached item.
Garchomp has been in every single one of my Battle Tower/Frontier challenge teams with the exception of Battle Factory and the brief time in 09 when I used a mono-Dark team, and he's been there for good reason. He outspeeds a lot and KO's even more. He also has the highest streak in the Battle Hall, at 93, as well as being in both of my 51 battle streaks in the Battle Tower; the only crossover member between the two teams, as well as my Gold Print run in the Battle Arcade, managing to destroy all three of the leader's Pokemon with its Stone Edge attack.
The reason I strive for excellence in my Pokemon teams is because it gives me somewhere to be good at what I do. I was never a good writer or musician, school work bores me, and I never played sports; but in Pokemon, I'm the best person I know. It's really lame, but it's the way I think. The way I have to think.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
unmasking the masked crusader: the truth behind bruce wayne.
We the audience see Batman the way he sees himself; a hero who makes a difference, a man who conquers evil using the gifts left to him by his parents, parents who were unfairly taken. We see Batman as a champion of the people, but just because we see Batman this way does not mean that we are on the same page as the citizens and more importantly, the CEOs of Gotham City.
First of all, and a very important fact to note, Batman does not go after the same supervillains we see him take down. The enemies that Batman sees in his head are quite different to those that he actually hunts down, being that Batman is the most literal adaptation of the term "corporate headhunter". Initially, Wayne was employed by Wayne Enterprises due to his familial connections to the company, but after the revelation of his mental instability because of childhood traumas (ie. falling into the well and being terrified by a swarm of bats, his sheltered upbringing and most importantly, his parents dying in front of him), the board of executives tried to move Wayne out of power within the company and attempted to buy him out. However, after he continued to be a nuisance, the executives decided to avoid a lawsuit, as the Wayne family was well-known for being universally liked within the confines of Gotham City for their charity work and kind hearts, and rather employed him as a sort of hitman within the company, allowing him to believe he was protecting the good deeds of his parents by defeating those who sought to destroy it. However, in reality, he was being instructed to defeat rival executives from companies whose power threatened Wayne Enterprises. While it started quite successfully, (competition was running scared leaving Wayne Enterprises to dominate the market, along with the anti-capitalist groups of Gotham City feeling as though someone was finally doing something in the city entirely dominated by businesses and run for the sole purpose of finances) Wayne eventually began to realize similarities between the 'fiends' he was pursuing and the executives of Wayne Enterprises, leading to his attempt on the lives of those who formerly ran the company. A sole executive, Lucius Fox, who had a guilty conscience for the manipulations he had taken part in over Wayne's mind, unwittingly seized an opportunistic moment for a takeover, buying out all the other members of the board in an attempt to stop Wayne from killing anymore; trying to allow him to start over fresh. However, it was too far gone; Wayne saw what he was doing as the ultimate good, but appreciated Fox's "attempt to rid Gotham City of the villains who had the good people in a capitalistic choke-hold." Before seizing actual control of Wayne Enterprises, Fox had tried to have Wayne committed without allowing the public to know what they had done to the orphan of the city's most beloved philanthropists. This is the event that lead to the outbreak in Arkham Asylum, as Wayne felt that Dr. Crane's therapy was invasive and manipulative, but as a normal citizen, Wayne could not harm him. This was why the persona of "Scarecrow" was invented; as a super-villain, Wayne could free his fellow mental patients who he felt were equally as sane as him and being held captive against their wills.
Lucius realized there was very little he could actually do to control Wayne, who had almost been entirely enveloped by the persona of "Batman" that he had created. Bruce lived alone in Wayne Manor and opened up to figments of his imagination: 'Alfred the butler' who represented a father figure and tried to protect him, 'Rachael Dawes', a girl he knew as a child who, early on in her life, was exposed to Gotham's seedy underbelly when she was hit by the car of a scientist who was at the top of one of the opposing monopolies of Gotham City, and therefore managed to get out. While these safeguards were around in Wayne's mind, it was impossible for anyone to break him out of the fantasy he was in, and the more he 'defeated his enemies', the deeper he fell. This was the point where Fox allowed Wayne to have a limited control over his parents company, but as he got deeper and deeper into his fantasies, the company got deeper and deeper into debt due to his greater expenditure on more elaborate designs. A notable one being the single-use monitoring system of everyone within city limits through their mobile phone in a set-up that would allow him, in his mind, to kill a rival CEO. This multi-billion dollar project was crudely destroyed after the murder, leaving a very evident paper trail back to the top of the company.It is estimated that 2008's year, with an estimated profits standing around $770 billion dollars were actually met, but were reduced by almost two thirds due to Wayne's insane scheming, with reports showing $290 billion for the financial year ending 2008. A warrant was placed out for Wayne's arrest, still to this day standing.
A more widespread effect of Wayne's psychotic crimes was found in the late 00's as the market took a fatal blow. As Wayne began dissolving opposing companies through his 'heroic work', and his own projects got bigger, the leading exporting companies in the United States began falling below projected budgets and very far into the red. While the market wasn't exactly stable anyway, Bruce Wayne played a large hand in destroying the specific US export market almost single-handedly through his psychosis and ease in taking the lives of those he deemed 'evil'.
It is these crimes that have lead Wayne to be a universally-sought criminal, facing in excess of two-hundred life sentences, twenty-three death sentences, as well as additional crimes against humanity with a yet to be determined sentence by the United Nations, as well as several other sentences in foreign countries. Wayne was last seen in 2008, and under advice of Gotham City officials, CIA experts as well as united taskforces around the world, the sighting of Bruce Wayne should be reported to your nearest law-enforcement officials so that the appropriate precautions can be put into practice and hopefully bring this menace to justice.
First of all, and a very important fact to note, Batman does not go after the same supervillains we see him take down. The enemies that Batman sees in his head are quite different to those that he actually hunts down, being that Batman is the most literal adaptation of the term "corporate headhunter". Initially, Wayne was employed by Wayne Enterprises due to his familial connections to the company, but after the revelation of his mental instability because of childhood traumas (ie. falling into the well and being terrified by a swarm of bats, his sheltered upbringing and most importantly, his parents dying in front of him), the board of executives tried to move Wayne out of power within the company and attempted to buy him out. However, after he continued to be a nuisance, the executives decided to avoid a lawsuit, as the Wayne family was well-known for being universally liked within the confines of Gotham City for their charity work and kind hearts, and rather employed him as a sort of hitman within the company, allowing him to believe he was protecting the good deeds of his parents by defeating those who sought to destroy it. However, in reality, he was being instructed to defeat rival executives from companies whose power threatened Wayne Enterprises. While it started quite successfully, (competition was running scared leaving Wayne Enterprises to dominate the market, along with the anti-capitalist groups of Gotham City feeling as though someone was finally doing something in the city entirely dominated by businesses and run for the sole purpose of finances) Wayne eventually began to realize similarities between the 'fiends' he was pursuing and the executives of Wayne Enterprises, leading to his attempt on the lives of those who formerly ran the company. A sole executive, Lucius Fox, who had a guilty conscience for the manipulations he had taken part in over Wayne's mind, unwittingly seized an opportunistic moment for a takeover, buying out all the other members of the board in an attempt to stop Wayne from killing anymore; trying to allow him to start over fresh. However, it was too far gone; Wayne saw what he was doing as the ultimate good, but appreciated Fox's "attempt to rid Gotham City of the villains who had the good people in a capitalistic choke-hold." Before seizing actual control of Wayne Enterprises, Fox had tried to have Wayne committed without allowing the public to know what they had done to the orphan of the city's most beloved philanthropists. This is the event that lead to the outbreak in Arkham Asylum, as Wayne felt that Dr. Crane's therapy was invasive and manipulative, but as a normal citizen, Wayne could not harm him. This was why the persona of "Scarecrow" was invented; as a super-villain, Wayne could free his fellow mental patients who he felt were equally as sane as him and being held captive against their wills.
Lucius realized there was very little he could actually do to control Wayne, who had almost been entirely enveloped by the persona of "Batman" that he had created. Bruce lived alone in Wayne Manor and opened up to figments of his imagination: 'Alfred the butler' who represented a father figure and tried to protect him, 'Rachael Dawes', a girl he knew as a child who, early on in her life, was exposed to Gotham's seedy underbelly when she was hit by the car of a scientist who was at the top of one of the opposing monopolies of Gotham City, and therefore managed to get out. While these safeguards were around in Wayne's mind, it was impossible for anyone to break him out of the fantasy he was in, and the more he 'defeated his enemies', the deeper he fell. This was the point where Fox allowed Wayne to have a limited control over his parents company, but as he got deeper and deeper into his fantasies, the company got deeper and deeper into debt due to his greater expenditure on more elaborate designs. A notable one being the single-use monitoring system of everyone within city limits through their mobile phone in a set-up that would allow him, in his mind, to kill a rival CEO. This multi-billion dollar project was crudely destroyed after the murder, leaving a very evident paper trail back to the top of the company.It is estimated that 2008's year, with an estimated profits standing around $770 billion dollars were actually met, but were reduced by almost two thirds due to Wayne's insane scheming, with reports showing $290 billion for the financial year ending 2008. A warrant was placed out for Wayne's arrest, still to this day standing.
A more widespread effect of Wayne's psychotic crimes was found in the late 00's as the market took a fatal blow. As Wayne began dissolving opposing companies through his 'heroic work', and his own projects got bigger, the leading exporting companies in the United States began falling below projected budgets and very far into the red. While the market wasn't exactly stable anyway, Bruce Wayne played a large hand in destroying the specific US export market almost single-handedly through his psychosis and ease in taking the lives of those he deemed 'evil'.
It is these crimes that have lead Wayne to be a universally-sought criminal, facing in excess of two-hundred life sentences, twenty-three death sentences, as well as additional crimes against humanity with a yet to be determined sentence by the United Nations, as well as several other sentences in foreign countries. Wayne was last seen in 2008, and under advice of Gotham City officials, CIA experts as well as united taskforces around the world, the sighting of Bruce Wayne should be reported to your nearest law-enforcement officials so that the appropriate precautions can be put into practice and hopefully bring this menace to justice.
back to the future iv.
The "Previously on Back to the Future" segment sets the scene, with the Doc returning to the current time, deciding he had given up on travelling time with his family, while Marty has had his first child with his girlfriend who he married, showing that he avoided the future shown to viewers in Back to the Future 2.
The first act opens with a frantic knocking on the door of the new McFly household, the kind of knocking that can only signify one thing: a time-travel experience. Marty stands up from the kitchen table, still wearing his familiar jacket and jeans, disregarding the fact he's now several years older for a marketing ploy wherein the jacket will be mass produced and sold as merchandise for the movie. He opens the door, and standing there is the one and only Doc Brown who blurts out, "Marty, we've got to go back to the future!" There is no explanation given as to why, as it is fairly clear to all that it would only be contrived and contradict the closure given in Back to the Future 2. Marty seemingly has no qualms with up and leaving his wife and child to travel time, despite the fact he has only encountered problems in his past endeavours doing so. The two run to the Delorean which is now parked outside the McFly residence and now cannot fly; another fact that is not explained. The familiar music starts up, and as the car hits 88 miles per hour, the lightning strikes and flames are all that are left in the present day.
Flash to 2020, where the car re-emerges in a future that looks exactly the same as our present, another contradiction to the previous movies. The car and our heroes begin slowing down as they hear a sickening thud and a scream, and the lifeless body of a small child is smashed against the windshield, which cracks under the force, and specks of blood manage to splatter against Marty and the Doc. Doc Brown slams on the brakes and the Delorean comes to a screeching halt; Marty is evidently shocked, visibly shaken and pale. He throws open the suicide doors, falls to his knees and covers his mouth with his hands as chunks of vomit find their way through the cracks between his fingers. Tears roll down his face as he screams at the Doc; "WE CAME HERE TO FIX THINGS, BUT WE KILLED A CHILD! WE ARE THE MONSTERS NOW! WE CAN'T FIX ANYTHING NOW!" The Doc is also pale due to the events, but manages to stutter, "It-it's okay. We can go back five minutes before this and... And prevent this tragedy from happening. We can fix things." Marty tries to stand up as the Doc puts the new time in the head unit of the Delorean. McFly stumbles to the car, wiping his tears away, and quietly says "I can't believe the damage we have caused..." He steps inside the Delorean, shuts the door, and speeds to 88 again, with an aim to avert the sickening events they themselves caused. However, in doing so, the Doc forgot to account for the time already spent in the future.The same events occur; the sickening thud, the lifeless body, the horrifying screams. Marty looks at the Doc and screams, "WE DID IT AGAIN! YOU SAID YOU'D FIX THIS, YOU WORTHLESS CUNT!" He grabs the Doc's labcoat and shakes him, his screaming now descended from his horrified thoughts to just primal, horrible howls of pain. Before the Doc can prevent his mistake, the Delorean from the first travel crashes into the back of our current heroes, destroying the Flux capacitor and leaving them stranded in the year 2020. Both pairs look at each other stunned; they have both taken the lives of a young child, and there's now nothing they can do to fix it. They sit in silence and await the arrival of the police, now understanding they deserve their fate and that there are consequences to their actions in the future.
Due to the brutal crime and recklessness of the perpetrators, there is a swift judgement on the case. Both pairs and the Delorean are to be imprisoned in a federal facility on a life sentence. The Delorean grows apart from the Doc and Marty, siding with white supremacists. Initially, Marty and Doc Brown go along with this, but after seeing that the white supremacists deal with other gangs in the facility, they cannot stand idly by. They voice their concerns and leave the group, bringing a swift revenge against Doc Emmett Brown, who is raped in the showers by the Delorean in a sickening homage to American History X and is left bleeding on the ground in the shower block.
The first act opens with a frantic knocking on the door of the new McFly household, the kind of knocking that can only signify one thing: a time-travel experience. Marty stands up from the kitchen table, still wearing his familiar jacket and jeans, disregarding the fact he's now several years older for a marketing ploy wherein the jacket will be mass produced and sold as merchandise for the movie. He opens the door, and standing there is the one and only Doc Brown who blurts out, "Marty, we've got to go back to the future!" There is no explanation given as to why, as it is fairly clear to all that it would only be contrived and contradict the closure given in Back to the Future 2. Marty seemingly has no qualms with up and leaving his wife and child to travel time, despite the fact he has only encountered problems in his past endeavours doing so. The two run to the Delorean which is now parked outside the McFly residence and now cannot fly; another fact that is not explained. The familiar music starts up, and as the car hits 88 miles per hour, the lightning strikes and flames are all that are left in the present day.
Flash to 2020, where the car re-emerges in a future that looks exactly the same as our present, another contradiction to the previous movies. The car and our heroes begin slowing down as they hear a sickening thud and a scream, and the lifeless body of a small child is smashed against the windshield, which cracks under the force, and specks of blood manage to splatter against Marty and the Doc. Doc Brown slams on the brakes and the Delorean comes to a screeching halt; Marty is evidently shocked, visibly shaken and pale. He throws open the suicide doors, falls to his knees and covers his mouth with his hands as chunks of vomit find their way through the cracks between his fingers. Tears roll down his face as he screams at the Doc; "WE CAME HERE TO FIX THINGS, BUT WE KILLED A CHILD! WE ARE THE MONSTERS NOW! WE CAN'T FIX ANYTHING NOW!" The Doc is also pale due to the events, but manages to stutter, "It-it's okay. We can go back five minutes before this and... And prevent this tragedy from happening. We can fix things." Marty tries to stand up as the Doc puts the new time in the head unit of the Delorean. McFly stumbles to the car, wiping his tears away, and quietly says "I can't believe the damage we have caused..." He steps inside the Delorean, shuts the door, and speeds to 88 again, with an aim to avert the sickening events they themselves caused. However, in doing so, the Doc forgot to account for the time already spent in the future.The same events occur; the sickening thud, the lifeless body, the horrifying screams. Marty looks at the Doc and screams, "WE DID IT AGAIN! YOU SAID YOU'D FIX THIS, YOU WORTHLESS CUNT!" He grabs the Doc's labcoat and shakes him, his screaming now descended from his horrified thoughts to just primal, horrible howls of pain. Before the Doc can prevent his mistake, the Delorean from the first travel crashes into the back of our current heroes, destroying the Flux capacitor and leaving them stranded in the year 2020. Both pairs look at each other stunned; they have both taken the lives of a young child, and there's now nothing they can do to fix it. They sit in silence and await the arrival of the police, now understanding they deserve their fate and that there are consequences to their actions in the future.
Due to the brutal crime and recklessness of the perpetrators, there is a swift judgement on the case. Both pairs and the Delorean are to be imprisoned in a federal facility on a life sentence. The Delorean grows apart from the Doc and Marty, siding with white supremacists. Initially, Marty and Doc Brown go along with this, but after seeing that the white supremacists deal with other gangs in the facility, they cannot stand idly by. They voice their concerns and leave the group, bringing a swift revenge against Doc Emmett Brown, who is raped in the showers by the Delorean in a sickening homage to American History X and is left bleeding on the ground in the shower block.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
fuck heroism.
I have no motivation to get out of bed on the holidays, and tomorrow I return to a place I hate in order to get a piece of paper which tells me I need further education to actually be qualified for anything.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
scenario.
Imagine this. You and your newly-wedded wife run from the church, smiles wide across your face with the thought of your union and life ahead of you, cheers of people who love you and well-wishers surrounding you as you pass the doors, jumping in the back of your rented limousine. As the car starts up, cans jangling along the road, the back window painted with the message of your momentous day. You cheekily and passionately begin to kiss your wife, crack open the bottle of champagne from the ice-bucket, and pour two glasses. Seemingly, nothing can go wrong.
The car hits a bump, spilling your drink over your wife. She says not to worry, it is the happiest day of your lives, after all. Still, you feel the need to clean up the mess you made, your wife jokingly says you just wanted an excuse to get her out of her dress. You whisper something back to her, and she laughs and gives you a saucy smile. You begin kissing again, and passion takes over.
40 minutes later, you realize that while in the throes of passion, it's possible that you missed the turn-off, or that the driver is lost. It doesn't even take half an hour from the church to the hotel, so you know it's overkill to be in the car for that long. You walk up to the seperating window, knocking on it. "Driver," you say, "what seems to be the delay? It surely does not take this long to get to where we are going, are you lost?"
The window slowly rolls down, and stifle a laugh when you see that he is wearing the cliche chauffeur's outfit, but something is slightly off. The first sign of this is that when the driver begins to turn, you notice that his face is longer and differently shaped than most humans. You notice his snout. As your pig driver turns around, he begins squealing and shrieking, flailing around wildly. You recoil in terror; a pig has been driving you the whole time. The pig's hooves are waving around madly, his eyes roll back into his head seeing white where there should only be black. You scream, falling back, scrambling back to your wife. The pig attempts to get through the dividing window; pushes its front hooves through, throwing its head back before squealing louder than ever; a sound far worse than nails on chalkboard. It bites at you; the pig seems to be stuck. You hold onto your wife, scream that you love her as you look beyond the bucking, screeching beast and see what lies ahead of you. The car is on the other side of the road, and a semi-trailer is hurtling towards you. The pig still has his chauffeur's hat on, biting wildly and making horrible sounds, sounds that will haunt you for the rest of your days. Or should I say the rest of your 17 seconds.
The limousine is destroyed, everyone dies. The truck is carrying petrol, and a spark from the crash ignites the scene. Twenty-seven people die in the explosion. Your family files a suit against the limousine company; the company says they've never had a previous problem with the pig, and file a counter-suit, saying that your actions must have caused the accident. The company win both cases.
Imagine this.
The car hits a bump, spilling your drink over your wife. She says not to worry, it is the happiest day of your lives, after all. Still, you feel the need to clean up the mess you made, your wife jokingly says you just wanted an excuse to get her out of her dress. You whisper something back to her, and she laughs and gives you a saucy smile. You begin kissing again, and passion takes over.
40 minutes later, you realize that while in the throes of passion, it's possible that you missed the turn-off, or that the driver is lost. It doesn't even take half an hour from the church to the hotel, so you know it's overkill to be in the car for that long. You walk up to the seperating window, knocking on it. "Driver," you say, "what seems to be the delay? It surely does not take this long to get to where we are going, are you lost?"
The window slowly rolls down, and stifle a laugh when you see that he is wearing the cliche chauffeur's outfit, but something is slightly off. The first sign of this is that when the driver begins to turn, you notice that his face is longer and differently shaped than most humans. You notice his snout. As your pig driver turns around, he begins squealing and shrieking, flailing around wildly. You recoil in terror; a pig has been driving you the whole time. The pig's hooves are waving around madly, his eyes roll back into his head seeing white where there should only be black. You scream, falling back, scrambling back to your wife. The pig attempts to get through the dividing window; pushes its front hooves through, throwing its head back before squealing louder than ever; a sound far worse than nails on chalkboard. It bites at you; the pig seems to be stuck. You hold onto your wife, scream that you love her as you look beyond the bucking, screeching beast and see what lies ahead of you. The car is on the other side of the road, and a semi-trailer is hurtling towards you. The pig still has his chauffeur's hat on, biting wildly and making horrible sounds, sounds that will haunt you for the rest of your days. Or should I say the rest of your 17 seconds.
The limousine is destroyed, everyone dies. The truck is carrying petrol, and a spark from the crash ignites the scene. Twenty-seven people die in the explosion. Your family files a suit against the limousine company; the company says they've never had a previous problem with the pig, and file a counter-suit, saying that your actions must have caused the accident. The company win both cases.
Imagine this.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
steve martin.
mental note:
Steve Martin, man of a different age, trained to hate the foreigners.
as the world grew, Steve Martin regressed, transforming into a hate-filled monster.
releases films to entice the white conservative male group age 30-55
as he gains a following, releases a malicious hate speech encroaching upon foreign races/gender groups.
following gains power, begins releasing anti-black propaganda a la prior to WW2.
becomes a cult leader, amassing millions worldwide, begins the preparation before a war.
as the last blacks are killed, Steve Martin's prophecy for the outcome is revealed.
not unlike Macbeth, Steve Martin is told by three witches that upon destroying an entire other race he will ascend to the status of a god.
becomes a Submarinemon, where he fires himself into the earth which will destroy all other life.
kills all except him, where he reverts to his status as Steve Martin, where he relaxes in peace in molten lava.
Steve Martin, man of a different age, trained to hate the foreigners.
as the world grew, Steve Martin regressed, transforming into a hate-filled monster.
releases films to entice the white conservative male group age 30-55
as he gains a following, releases a malicious hate speech encroaching upon foreign races/gender groups.
following gains power, begins releasing anti-black propaganda a la prior to WW2.
becomes a cult leader, amassing millions worldwide, begins the preparation before a war.
as the last blacks are killed, Steve Martin's prophecy for the outcome is revealed.
not unlike Macbeth, Steve Martin is told by three witches that upon destroying an entire other race he will ascend to the status of a god.
becomes a Submarinemon, where he fires himself into the earth which will destroy all other life.
kills all except him, where he reverts to his status as Steve Martin, where he relaxes in peace in molten lava.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
curtains.
When I lost control of the car and thought I was going to hit the bus stop, the only thing that ran through my mind was "oh well." No high points/low points flashing through my mind. No consideration for my loved ones. No regrets and no proud moments. Perhaps this is a good thing. Perhaps this means I live correctly. Perhaps it means I'm doing everything right.
But I'm really not.
This year, the ten hours I have spent on university work are matched by the effort to train an offensive Dragon Dance Gyarados and overshadowed by the 40 hours I spent on Voltorb Flip, the 100 hours I spent on the Battle Frontier, and destroyed by the 270 hours I've spent on HeartGold in it's entirety so far.
This year, I decided to expend my time and effort on a girl I immensely disliked, forced myself to like her, and had sex with her despite my previous ideals that I'd never do that with someone I didn't legitimately care about.
This year, I quit playing my guitar and real music to focus on the musical abomination known as National Sunday Law Crisis, and I legitimately enjoy it.
I don't really know what's wrong with me, but I'm getting by alright.
But I'm really not.
This year, the ten hours I have spent on university work are matched by the effort to train an offensive Dragon Dance Gyarados and overshadowed by the 40 hours I spent on Voltorb Flip, the 100 hours I spent on the Battle Frontier, and destroyed by the 270 hours I've spent on HeartGold in it's entirety so far.
This year, I decided to expend my time and effort on a girl I immensely disliked, forced myself to like her, and had sex with her despite my previous ideals that I'd never do that with someone I didn't legitimately care about.
This year, I quit playing my guitar and real music to focus on the musical abomination known as National Sunday Law Crisis, and I legitimately enjoy it.
I don't really know what's wrong with me, but I'm getting by alright.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
kitchen gloves and jagermeister.
This weekend has been just about incredible. Started Friday morning, waking up to Shay in my room, watching DVDs all day and just having a general enjoyable time. Dropped by Scott's to meet Reece, went back to Reece's. Got super high, watched computer battle on Super Smash Bros, listened to Leftover Crack records going super fast, imagined stories to go with them. Walked to the station through some road I have no clue where it was. Thought we missed the train, but it was late and nailed the time spot on. Train got delayed because some guy broke the doors, but I scabbed a smoke off him, so he was an alright bloke. Got to the city, still feeling a bit fucked but easing up a bit. The plan for the night was to hit Fash and then hit the cas, but it didn't really play out when we blew all our money on jagerbombs and just got entirely fucked. Had a smoke with Big Knox, ended up skanking our way to last train, yelling the riff to Blood Red by Slayer. Got another Fash photo that didn't get put up. Grabbed a taxi home because we would have never been able to walk it. Chucked on The Simpsons, but I fell asleep.
Woke up the next morning. Watched some more Simpsons, picked MattyT up from Auto Barn, dropped him home. Relaxed a bit before work, had some lunch. Got to work, didn't make a single burger all day. Worked out the back, walked to storage, chatted with the managers. Got let off early because I was going to an art exhibition. Didn't work out, track maintenance lead to me not making the exhibition. Turned around at Oakleigh, went to Reece's, got super high with him, Jake, Dani and Jake. Wrote a new NSLC song. Wrote a new Eminem single. Watched School of Rock. I fell asleep halfway through.
Woke up the next morning; Reece decided to have a party. We scraped $7 in change together, Jake had $5 on his card. We bought burgers, fries, apple pie and creaming soda. Paid for it with the change we kept the weed in, had to pick chunks out when we dumped the change down. Got back, started cooking, got drunk at 2PM off goon. Wanted to sleep so bad. Dom showed up, got drunk, we watched Spinal Tap. Had intervals of playing a 99 life game of Super Smash Bros, all Jigglypuff. Got them down to 15 lives after several hours of playing. Jake got back from skating, Tim arrived, Turner showed up, mood destroyed. Ashlyn showed up, mood surprisingly didn't sink lower. Got angry at Turner. Wanted to sleep. Bec arrived, went and got two bottles of jager. Tom arrived with garlic bread. Got horribly fucked up in a matter of minutes. Walked to Harry's, destroyed his house. Flipped a seat with Reece, punched a kiwi fruit into his phonebook, Jake and Reece flipped a couch, Harry threw us out. Walked back to Reece's, could barely stand. Remember thinking I haven't been this drunk in a long time. Reece spent the rest of the night with his head in the toilet, still wanting to party. Put on Marley and Me. Drunk texted. Fell asleep just after they had the first kid. Was probably for the best this time, would have cried like a baby if it hit the dog dying.
Great weekend, no repercussions. Except I'm out of weed and flat broke and need to raise $150 in a few weeks for Reece's holiday house, but on the upside, I'm feeling the happiest I've been in a long time. I've got incredible friends, I'm getting by, having fun, almost on holidays, and I've met a girl who I legit like and want to spend time with, which in a way is surprising.
Woke up the next morning. Watched some more Simpsons, picked MattyT up from Auto Barn, dropped him home. Relaxed a bit before work, had some lunch. Got to work, didn't make a single burger all day. Worked out the back, walked to storage, chatted with the managers. Got let off early because I was going to an art exhibition. Didn't work out, track maintenance lead to me not making the exhibition. Turned around at Oakleigh, went to Reece's, got super high with him, Jake, Dani and Jake. Wrote a new NSLC song. Wrote a new Eminem single. Watched School of Rock. I fell asleep halfway through.
Woke up the next morning; Reece decided to have a party. We scraped $7 in change together, Jake had $5 on his card. We bought burgers, fries, apple pie and creaming soda. Paid for it with the change we kept the weed in, had to pick chunks out when we dumped the change down. Got back, started cooking, got drunk at 2PM off goon. Wanted to sleep so bad. Dom showed up, got drunk, we watched Spinal Tap. Had intervals of playing a 99 life game of Super Smash Bros, all Jigglypuff. Got them down to 15 lives after several hours of playing. Jake got back from skating, Tim arrived, Turner showed up, mood destroyed. Ashlyn showed up, mood surprisingly didn't sink lower. Got angry at Turner. Wanted to sleep. Bec arrived, went and got two bottles of jager. Tom arrived with garlic bread. Got horribly fucked up in a matter of minutes. Walked to Harry's, destroyed his house. Flipped a seat with Reece, punched a kiwi fruit into his phonebook, Jake and Reece flipped a couch, Harry threw us out. Walked back to Reece's, could barely stand. Remember thinking I haven't been this drunk in a long time. Reece spent the rest of the night with his head in the toilet, still wanting to party. Put on Marley and Me. Drunk texted. Fell asleep just after they had the first kid. Was probably for the best this time, would have cried like a baby if it hit the dog dying.
Great weekend, no repercussions. Except I'm out of weed and flat broke and need to raise $150 in a few weeks for Reece's holiday house, but on the upside, I'm feeling the happiest I've been in a long time. I've got incredible friends, I'm getting by, having fun, almost on holidays, and I've met a girl who I legit like and want to spend time with, which in a way is surprising.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
life lessons.
I am a fucking idiot. I'm a fucking idiot for waiting this long. I'm a fucking idiot for liking a girl like that. I'm a fucking idiot because I don't learn, and I'm a fucking idiot because I'm already realizing I probably won't learn this lesson this soon.
I'm a fucking idiot for feeling like this.
I'm a fucking idiot for feeling like this.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
cold enough to hustle shit to kids.
I miss having problems that I could use to update this once or twice a week, and feel like I was accomplishing something. I miss that long character arc of mine, giving me a purpose that I felt like I could work towards. I miss having ambitions and a life goal.
It seems like all I do these days is attempt to tune girls, get high, listen to music, and occasionally write some god-awful music for my god-awful band. And really, National Sunday Law Crisis doesn't take that much writing. My short-story project is seeming dead for the time being with no new material coming out of my head, NSLC is at a dead-end for creating right now, my girls situation is at a point where I really have to make a decision, and all the music I've been listening to lately, save some exceptions, is just guys my age or slightly older complaining about similar problems to what I'm doing right now.
This week is crunch week. It's supposed to be crunch week for university work, of which I have a LOT due in this week. This is not the context I am using it in; my university work will be forced in at the last minute, and I'll get pass marks. No, this is crunch week for me for an entirely different reason; I have to make a decision on which girl I like the most. I've safely evicted one of them out of the three possibilities I currently have in an unusual, non-self-destructive action through realizing that she's only going to be bad for me, and the fact I'd have competition if I kept it up with a prize that doesn't match the effort expended at all. However, the choice I have left is minimal effort against putting in more effort than I have all year for what would probably be a better option.
Knowing me, I wouldn't be surprised if I don't choose either.
It seems like all I do these days is attempt to tune girls, get high, listen to music, and occasionally write some god-awful music for my god-awful band. And really, National Sunday Law Crisis doesn't take that much writing. My short-story project is seeming dead for the time being with no new material coming out of my head, NSLC is at a dead-end for creating right now, my girls situation is at a point where I really have to make a decision, and all the music I've been listening to lately, save some exceptions, is just guys my age or slightly older complaining about similar problems to what I'm doing right now.
This week is crunch week. It's supposed to be crunch week for university work, of which I have a LOT due in this week. This is not the context I am using it in; my university work will be forced in at the last minute, and I'll get pass marks. No, this is crunch week for me for an entirely different reason; I have to make a decision on which girl I like the most. I've safely evicted one of them out of the three possibilities I currently have in an unusual, non-self-destructive action through realizing that she's only going to be bad for me, and the fact I'd have competition if I kept it up with a prize that doesn't match the effort expended at all. However, the choice I have left is minimal effort against putting in more effort than I have all year for what would probably be a better option.
Knowing me, I wouldn't be surprised if I don't choose either.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
i can dish it out, but i can't take it
I just deleted everything I wrote. I have no reason to write an entry right now, because right now I'm in the mind frame of taking action and seizing the day. Right now, I'm pretty happy.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
build it up in that breakdown.
The only reason the title is so fucking gay is because this entry is pretty gay and useless.
Considering pursuing a girl who I like mainly because of her looks. Like, if it was just going to be, like, non-relationship, I wouldn't have a problem. It's shallow as, but outside of a relationship, that's all you look for. But asking her to the movies and shit? Can I really build something off a foundation of small talk?
At the same time, the last thing that I want right now is to get overly attached to someone again, because there's no way in hell I'm spending months on that shit again.
This isn't as eloquent as I used to write. I should probably work on that.
Considering pursuing a girl who I like mainly because of her looks. Like, if it was just going to be, like, non-relationship, I wouldn't have a problem. It's shallow as, but outside of a relationship, that's all you look for. But asking her to the movies and shit? Can I really build something off a foundation of small talk?
At the same time, the last thing that I want right now is to get overly attached to someone again, because there's no way in hell I'm spending months on that shit again.
This isn't as eloquent as I used to write. I should probably work on that.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Review of AC/DC, February 11th, 2010.
My expectations for attending this event weren't high. I drove recklessly all day, hoping to drastically injure and/or hospitalise myself in the hopes of missing out on going. Essentially, I imagined being forced to watch Thunderstruck over and over and beat off to pictures of Angus Young almost as much as he does daily.
However, I forgot the joy that pretentious cynicism can bring to any event, be it a bad concert or a family funeral. However, none of the joy that I had came from any of the bands playing.
Firstly, the crowd. I was surrounded by the lowest common denominator, people with bad music taste. A woman bragged to her friends how she had seen Babba in concert. I think that about sums up the level of humanity there.
I'll begin with the opening acts. Calling All Cars are hardly worth mentioning. I only caught the last song of their set, but with that, I had heard all their material. Utterly unremarkable band in a series of utterly unremarkable bands. When Wolfmother came on, my expectations raised, seeing as I was one of the many who had a previous vested interest in these guys back in 2006 when they won Triple J's album of the year. They still have no changed. The lead singer, Andrew Stockdale, had an air of superiority over being the only psych rock band on a night of commercialised rock. I've got news for you Andrew Stockdale, you ARE commercialised rock. I sat through the seemingly endless solos of an absolute wanker... No, it was probably useful as a warm-up. Nonetheless, the fact that their setlist blended together into one song is not a compliment in the slightest as could be said for, say, Scenes From a Memory (speaking of pretentious wankery), but rather as unremarkable dad rock. Again, probably useful as a warm-up. The highlight of Wolfmother's set was surprisingly, Back Round off their new album. The song isn't good at all, I've just connected it with Medicate by AFI because they're in the same set on Guitar Hero 5 and I usually skip Back Round halfway through, so the mental image of Davey Havok pushing Stockdale out of the way and just screaming, "MEDICATE, HERE WITH ME" into the microphone was just too good to be true. It didn't happen.
Now, for AC/DC, I took several hundred words of notes, just to be sure to capture everything I couldn't when my phone's internet connection died. However, looking back, these notes make... little sense. I will attempt to recapture the night as best I can.
The first song to cause me to take notes was The Jack. Prior to this was just Black Ice, a pitiful attempt at a career revival by doing the opposite of what made them famous (writing the same songs), and Back in Black. The thing about The Jack that really caused me to take notes was just the disgust and beginning awareness of what I was seeing. Young, potentially self-respecting women raised their tops to a song about a woman having a sexually transmitted infection, sung by a sleazy, sweaty fat man, who is accompanied by some kind of balding cenobite on guitar. The horrible demon, alternatively named Angus Young, then proceeded to do a striptease on stage. That's right, the cameramen willingly changed from young women to a sixty year-old man taking off his clothes. This was my first alert that things were not as they seemed.
As Hells Bells began, and Brian Johnson took a running leap onto the rope attached to the bell, I found I had my fingers crossed that he would miss and snap his spine. Not only to end the show early, but part of me would love to say I was at the last AC/DC concert, and yes I did see the singer plunge to his death. Unfortunately, he did not and I had to witness another hour and ten minutes of the same song. For some reason, I then had in my notes "baby's first rock group". It's true, I'm just not sure what prompted me to write this.
Whenever the camera would cut to Malcolm Young, he looked surprised and disoriented. I think it's a safe bet that he has alzheimer's, and that his band members should potentially begin researching treatment for this. This isn't a light-hearted joke, I'm really certain there's something wrong with him. Also, I had a note saying "Bob Rock on bass?" Bob Rock's the guy that played bass on St. Anger. Again, I have no idea why I wrote this.
Now, onto another good point. If I never hear another pointless outro solo of tremolo on a single chord or a slide for as long as I live, it will still come too soon. Nearly every song featured this, as if the audience was just waiting for this captivating piece of music to announce to them that the song was over. I know they blend together, but perhaps instead of just tacking this on the end of everything, perhaps, JUST perhaps, you could work on your songwriting skills. It's a long shot, but anything's possible. Look at U2, I would have given their career a year at best.
The next thing I had written was "lights too bright, rock music too loud". I suppose it was some kind of joke, but I don't find it funny now. However, something I still find relevant is the video they showed to accompany their new hit, "War Machine". The video, while essentially being a rip-off of an Iron Maiden song I'm failing to name right now (It's either Powerslave or Aces High), showed Angus Young piloting a plane that proceeds to drop girls out of it as if they are bombs. I know AC/DC has a history of treating women like objects considering their lyrical themes, but this is just ridiculous. After this, a tank (labelled with AC/DC on the side, just in case the viewer wasn't smart enough to make the connection) and a giant stone man walk across the desert. Then the plane drops a bell on a pirate ship, which Malcolm Young is on board. Perhaps this is the reason for his disorientation, the video is a symbol for the fact he wanted to quit the band, so they followed suit with their fans and gave him a frontal lobotomy. It seems to make sense. Also, high point of the show, as well as a real low point for Lost viewers, the CGI was only just worse than the submarine or the underwater island. This isn't a joke, a multi-season running, award winning show has only marginally better CGI than AC/DC. Only a few people will understand this, but those that will are certain to be disappointed.
Brian Johnson, the sweaty old pervert then announced that they would play "High Voltage Rock and Roll". As I awaited the opening notes of "Danger! High Voltage!", I was disappointed to find that they never came, instead playing an entirely unrelated song. On the bright side, they showed photos of a potentially disabled relative of Brian May. However, as the photos progressed, I became less sure it was Brian May's cousin with an extra chromosome, and rather felt that Dave Grohl had boarded Ajira 316 and been left there after the bomb went off. Either way, I laughed at this, as there's really no reason for this attack on Queen, and they could have easily gone for the less tasteless option of attacking Freddie Mercury for having AIDS.
They then managed to work the word "Australia" into TNT. I never realised how much I hate bands doing this, it's a cop-out for the audience to cheer just because they hear a place that they're aware of. To be fair though, the band members could have just stood on stage and waved keys for an hour and a half and 70% of the people there would have cheered. However, during TNT, the veiled rape threat of "lock up your back doors" became apparent to me when coupled with Johnson's menacing, lecherous leer. I will perhaps never look at AC/DC the same way.
They followed with Whole Lotta Rosie, which was subtly shown to the audience through an enormous inflatable woman with large breasts. At one point though, I thought it had stopped inflating, and laughed a lot remembering the line, "we salute you, our half-inflated dark lord." The next note just says, "woman must have been huge to ride on a train, possibly what killed Bon Scott?"
The next 20 minutes were devoted to Let There Be Rock, a song that really disappointed me on the night because I kept waiting for Henry Rollins to come out. Also, there were guitars and drums at the show prior to Johnson announcing "let there be guitars/drums", which makes him a dirty, rotten liar. I began to question the historical accuracy of the videos they continued to show during this song, as it showed an image of Angus Young, impaled on his own guitar, vomiting blood. I'm somewhat sure this never happened in the past, because I did not see a scar on his horrible, 60 year old body, but I suppose it could have been some kind of clone or shapeshifter in the photo. Or on stage, I'm still not 100%. Then it got to the solo, which took the last 15 minutes of the show, and as the solo neared it's climax, AC/DC released a horde of locusts into the air from under the stage. I'm kind of pissed that they stole National Sunday Law Crisis's idea, but more just concerned about how they'd get the locusts back in for the next show. Also, Angus Young would continually stop until he could hear the crowd cheering for him. I now understand why he's not in the Hellraiser cube with the other cenobites, this human quality of neediness and pathetic desperation is not something that the others would look on kindly.
I can wrap up the night quite simply. If I wanted to see a wanker play the guitar in an over-the-top manner, I would have gone to Eddie's house.
PS, they played an encore of Highway to Hell. I kept hoping the only good thing ever associated with that song would happen and Sam and Dean would send the demons on stage back to hell.
PPS, as I was walking out, I saw a group of indie kids. I am still confused.
However, I forgot the joy that pretentious cynicism can bring to any event, be it a bad concert or a family funeral. However, none of the joy that I had came from any of the bands playing.
Firstly, the crowd. I was surrounded by the lowest common denominator, people with bad music taste. A woman bragged to her friends how she had seen Babba in concert. I think that about sums up the level of humanity there.
I'll begin with the opening acts. Calling All Cars are hardly worth mentioning. I only caught the last song of their set, but with that, I had heard all their material. Utterly unremarkable band in a series of utterly unremarkable bands. When Wolfmother came on, my expectations raised, seeing as I was one of the many who had a previous vested interest in these guys back in 2006 when they won Triple J's album of the year. They still have no changed. The lead singer, Andrew Stockdale, had an air of superiority over being the only psych rock band on a night of commercialised rock. I've got news for you Andrew Stockdale, you ARE commercialised rock. I sat through the seemingly endless solos of an absolute wanker... No, it was probably useful as a warm-up. Nonetheless, the fact that their setlist blended together into one song is not a compliment in the slightest as could be said for, say, Scenes From a Memory (speaking of pretentious wankery), but rather as unremarkable dad rock. Again, probably useful as a warm-up. The highlight of Wolfmother's set was surprisingly, Back Round off their new album. The song isn't good at all, I've just connected it with Medicate by AFI because they're in the same set on Guitar Hero 5 and I usually skip Back Round halfway through, so the mental image of Davey Havok pushing Stockdale out of the way and just screaming, "MEDICATE, HERE WITH ME" into the microphone was just too good to be true. It didn't happen.
Now, for AC/DC, I took several hundred words of notes, just to be sure to capture everything I couldn't when my phone's internet connection died. However, looking back, these notes make... little sense. I will attempt to recapture the night as best I can.
The first song to cause me to take notes was The Jack. Prior to this was just Black Ice, a pitiful attempt at a career revival by doing the opposite of what made them famous (writing the same songs), and Back in Black. The thing about The Jack that really caused me to take notes was just the disgust and beginning awareness of what I was seeing. Young, potentially self-respecting women raised their tops to a song about a woman having a sexually transmitted infection, sung by a sleazy, sweaty fat man, who is accompanied by some kind of balding cenobite on guitar. The horrible demon, alternatively named Angus Young, then proceeded to do a striptease on stage. That's right, the cameramen willingly changed from young women to a sixty year-old man taking off his clothes. This was my first alert that things were not as they seemed.
As Hells Bells began, and Brian Johnson took a running leap onto the rope attached to the bell, I found I had my fingers crossed that he would miss and snap his spine. Not only to end the show early, but part of me would love to say I was at the last AC/DC concert, and yes I did see the singer plunge to his death. Unfortunately, he did not and I had to witness another hour and ten minutes of the same song. For some reason, I then had in my notes "baby's first rock group". It's true, I'm just not sure what prompted me to write this.
Whenever the camera would cut to Malcolm Young, he looked surprised and disoriented. I think it's a safe bet that he has alzheimer's, and that his band members should potentially begin researching treatment for this. This isn't a light-hearted joke, I'm really certain there's something wrong with him. Also, I had a note saying "Bob Rock on bass?" Bob Rock's the guy that played bass on St. Anger. Again, I have no idea why I wrote this.
Now, onto another good point. If I never hear another pointless outro solo of tremolo on a single chord or a slide for as long as I live, it will still come too soon. Nearly every song featured this, as if the audience was just waiting for this captivating piece of music to announce to them that the song was over. I know they blend together, but perhaps instead of just tacking this on the end of everything, perhaps, JUST perhaps, you could work on your songwriting skills. It's a long shot, but anything's possible. Look at U2, I would have given their career a year at best.
The next thing I had written was "lights too bright, rock music too loud". I suppose it was some kind of joke, but I don't find it funny now. However, something I still find relevant is the video they showed to accompany their new hit, "War Machine". The video, while essentially being a rip-off of an Iron Maiden song I'm failing to name right now (It's either Powerslave or Aces High), showed Angus Young piloting a plane that proceeds to drop girls out of it as if they are bombs. I know AC/DC has a history of treating women like objects considering their lyrical themes, but this is just ridiculous. After this, a tank (labelled with AC/DC on the side, just in case the viewer wasn't smart enough to make the connection) and a giant stone man walk across the desert. Then the plane drops a bell on a pirate ship, which Malcolm Young is on board. Perhaps this is the reason for his disorientation, the video is a symbol for the fact he wanted to quit the band, so they followed suit with their fans and gave him a frontal lobotomy. It seems to make sense. Also, high point of the show, as well as a real low point for Lost viewers, the CGI was only just worse than the submarine or the underwater island. This isn't a joke, a multi-season running, award winning show has only marginally better CGI than AC/DC. Only a few people will understand this, but those that will are certain to be disappointed.
Brian Johnson, the sweaty old pervert then announced that they would play "High Voltage Rock and Roll". As I awaited the opening notes of "Danger! High Voltage!", I was disappointed to find that they never came, instead playing an entirely unrelated song. On the bright side, they showed photos of a potentially disabled relative of Brian May. However, as the photos progressed, I became less sure it was Brian May's cousin with an extra chromosome, and rather felt that Dave Grohl had boarded Ajira 316 and been left there after the bomb went off. Either way, I laughed at this, as there's really no reason for this attack on Queen, and they could have easily gone for the less tasteless option of attacking Freddie Mercury for having AIDS.
They then managed to work the word "Australia" into TNT. I never realised how much I hate bands doing this, it's a cop-out for the audience to cheer just because they hear a place that they're aware of. To be fair though, the band members could have just stood on stage and waved keys for an hour and a half and 70% of the people there would have cheered. However, during TNT, the veiled rape threat of "lock up your back doors" became apparent to me when coupled with Johnson's menacing, lecherous leer. I will perhaps never look at AC/DC the same way.
They followed with Whole Lotta Rosie, which was subtly shown to the audience through an enormous inflatable woman with large breasts. At one point though, I thought it had stopped inflating, and laughed a lot remembering the line, "we salute you, our half-inflated dark lord." The next note just says, "woman must have been huge to ride on a train, possibly what killed Bon Scott?"
The next 20 minutes were devoted to Let There Be Rock, a song that really disappointed me on the night because I kept waiting for Henry Rollins to come out. Also, there were guitars and drums at the show prior to Johnson announcing "let there be guitars/drums", which makes him a dirty, rotten liar. I began to question the historical accuracy of the videos they continued to show during this song, as it showed an image of Angus Young, impaled on his own guitar, vomiting blood. I'm somewhat sure this never happened in the past, because I did not see a scar on his horrible, 60 year old body, but I suppose it could have been some kind of clone or shapeshifter in the photo. Or on stage, I'm still not 100%. Then it got to the solo, which took the last 15 minutes of the show, and as the solo neared it's climax, AC/DC released a horde of locusts into the air from under the stage. I'm kind of pissed that they stole National Sunday Law Crisis's idea, but more just concerned about how they'd get the locusts back in for the next show. Also, Angus Young would continually stop until he could hear the crowd cheering for him. I now understand why he's not in the Hellraiser cube with the other cenobites, this human quality of neediness and pathetic desperation is not something that the others would look on kindly.
I can wrap up the night quite simply. If I wanted to see a wanker play the guitar in an over-the-top manner, I would have gone to Eddie's house.
PS, they played an encore of Highway to Hell. I kept hoping the only good thing ever associated with that song would happen and Sam and Dean would send the demons on stage back to hell.
PPS, as I was walking out, I saw a group of indie kids. I am still confused.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
life is getting interesting.
Today, Jordan and I drove into a town that was supposed to be on fire. We knew, we just thought it'd be interesting. Recklessness is a way better way to live my life.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
rock and roll. dealt with it.
I've resolved my lengthy period of problem now, but I still feel as though there's something weighing on me. It's comfortable to know it's not what I wasted so many other months on, but discomforting in the fact that it may not have been that all along. But that's enough about this. 15 months of updates about something is far too much.
I've really begun to enjoy the literature of Bret Easton Ellis. Surprisingly, however, as much as I enjoy the film, American Psycho is not my favourite thus far. The Rules of Attraction is the tale of a desperate search for love and companionship that is presented through the eyes of a variety of college students (and Patrick Bateman, but that's neither here nor there). The one thing that I've picked out of the main relationships though is that there is a distinct lack of communication, which goes to show how ridiculous they are. Sean's attraction to Lauren is based entirely from letters that she isn't actually the sender of, Lauren's love for Victor is absolutely baseless as it becomes clear to the reader that they barely had a connection before he left and they surely don't when he returns.
However, I feel as though the most upsetting relationship of the novel is that of Paul Denton and Sean Bateman. While there is dispute as to whether the relationship actually takes place, due to the lack of updates in Sean-central chapters, I feel as though it lends itself to the fact that the relationship is there, but the connection is not. The reader sees that Sean is not above sex without connection, and his updates only center on things that he finds important. The only thing that the lack of news from Sean's perspective presents is that he doesn't care about Paul at all, regardless of the devotion that Paul clearly shows him throughout a large portion of the novel.
I feel that I relate to Paul Denton. The devotion that he shows for the people who don't care, and the eventual realisation of his flaws without bothering to correct them.
That and the fact that I like that Ian Somerhalder (Boone from Lost) played him in the film.
I've really begun to enjoy the literature of Bret Easton Ellis. Surprisingly, however, as much as I enjoy the film, American Psycho is not my favourite thus far. The Rules of Attraction is the tale of a desperate search for love and companionship that is presented through the eyes of a variety of college students (and Patrick Bateman, but that's neither here nor there). The one thing that I've picked out of the main relationships though is that there is a distinct lack of communication, which goes to show how ridiculous they are. Sean's attraction to Lauren is based entirely from letters that she isn't actually the sender of, Lauren's love for Victor is absolutely baseless as it becomes clear to the reader that they barely had a connection before he left and they surely don't when he returns.
However, I feel as though the most upsetting relationship of the novel is that of Paul Denton and Sean Bateman. While there is dispute as to whether the relationship actually takes place, due to the lack of updates in Sean-central chapters, I feel as though it lends itself to the fact that the relationship is there, but the connection is not. The reader sees that Sean is not above sex without connection, and his updates only center on things that he finds important. The only thing that the lack of news from Sean's perspective presents is that he doesn't care about Paul at all, regardless of the devotion that Paul clearly shows him throughout a large portion of the novel.
I feel that I relate to Paul Denton. The devotion that he shows for the people who don't care, and the eventual realisation of his flaws without bothering to correct them.
That and the fact that I like that Ian Somerhalder (Boone from Lost) played him in the film.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
re:stacks
2009 is done. It was a good year, it was an eventful year. That being said, I'm really glad it's over. 2010 has already given me a new start, new options, new freedom and a new motto to live this year by; "not my problem." As long as I remember that, 2010 should be fine.
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