I'm gon' set my soul on fire.
My heart beats low while the flames go higher.
Strike the match and then the truth is told.
I'm gon' set my soul on fire.
The Devil made me a Woman!...
I ain't no liar.
Her eyes burn black like the lake of fire.
She struck the match and then i sold my soul...
For the black haired girl from the lake of fire.
My heart beats low while the flames go higher.
Strike the match and then the truth is told.
I just set my soul on fire
EoDM
I'm not sure which is more unsettling, that the commencement was on Friday the 13th or that she celebrated with an impromptu wet T-shirt contest/water balloon war with her family.
and I was the front line photojournalist. wet-kneed as I was.
uncle gets his revenge.
in either case, Lauren is a college graduate. congrats.
&&&&&&&&&
the Dream Team was on tonight. another one of my precious movies that mention Trenton. with portions actually filmed at Trenton Psych, though they changed the name of the hospital in the movie.
"I'm an escaped mental patient with a history of violence."
not a very good movie, but it did make me start to wonder about something.
what do crazy people think about when they are by themselves?
Been catching up on Entourage in preparation for the next season. Wish I had seen this show when it first started. Not that it matters when I saw it, but I didn't get to catch it from the beginning so I know I've missed a few episodes.
Jeremy Piven is a god.
Oh, yeah. And I'm developing a massive crush on Samaire Armstrong.
thank you, and good night.
you have your choice of any five bands in history. and they are all
performing together. it doesn't matter if they are still around,
living or dead. and genre's don't matter. it's completely your choice.
who are they and it what order are they playing?
i first asked this question to frank and instructed him to make a flyer of said show.
because i am a complete nerd, i did the same.
can you guess which one is mine?
let the games begin.
***********
post script - an hour later and now I want to change that fucker. Peter Gabriel is out and Tom Waits is taking his place.
yes. that was good. i missed those.
***********************
in other news. i am very sore. in my state of despair over making little or no progress at the gym, i have upped my aggro factor. i'm not exactly working out with renewed vigor, but i am pushing myself in slightly different directions.
i need accomplishments. i need to DO something. at the (very impressive) Frantic show last night i was thinking about making music. i had ideas in my head. music, words, i'm like that. i am a sponge around creativity. i don't steal ideas, per se, i just get motivated when i am around the creativity of others. charged like a battery. unfortunately, like an old lithium ion, i do not hold my charge very long.
i wonder how Megatron is doing, playing out again. i am glad for her, she is one of the most talented people i have ever met. wishing her well.
the book i am reading now has me befuddled. i'm pretty sure i've never used that word before, but it seems rather appropriate. the book is called Parasites Like Us, and i am alternately very intrigued by it, or completely disinterested. the median outcome is a rather daunting ambivilence. at this point, i may be reading it just to finish and say i have.
i found a poem the other day that i didn't remember writing. as much as that should maybe set off alarm bells signaling my impending dementia, i rather like it. a pleasant surprise.
speaking of surprises, Borek of all fucking people got a tattoo. how the worm turns.
i gotta be honest. it's awful hard to maintain my PMA with this nonsense.
there is no good reason I didn't get that job.
i guess all i can do is keep my head up and work that much harder.
posi is as posi does.
and I'm so damn slack I don't post shit about it until the following week.
Happy belated birthday to that good friend of ours, Breakin' the Lawlor.
Here's some evidence of the fun that was predicated on yer special day.
A bunch of drunks milling around
The Birthday Girl and her obedient Man-servant and partner in water sports.
Is it Matt, is it Moby? You make the call!
The Orfn of Death Metal
As I am being a good little Carrie Nation boy until the 4th of Ju-la, I was able to partake in the festivities AND remember them. No small feat. It was one of those great nights when there was a bunch of people mucking about, talking, laughing, drinking, singing, and reveling in general good spirits. A hardy kudos to Michelle for having a birthday worth celebrating.
After that, the weekend just kept going. Saturday I worked, Sunday I played an abysmal round of golf at Miry Run. Still had a good time though, just proving that old maxim that golf, like sex, is one of those wonderful activities that you don't have to be very good at to enjoy. Unfortunately I was compelled by golf, stink, food, and Fatter's company to miss a friend's friend's bar-b-que. Hopefully it wasn't a crucial bar-b-q. Thanks anyway to the ladies for the invite. But Deadwood was great again.
Yesterday I played Pitch and Putt with Frank not once but twice. We hit up the Mo'ville Golf Farm and I whooped his ass, as per my usual. Then, after his tattoo appointment went down the drain we scouted out a place in Wall Township called Quail Ridge. The grounds were nice, but the greens were like the backs of whales sticking out of the ground. Seriously steep shite. Frank hit an absolutely spectacular shot that was two inches away from a hole-in-one and his tap in birdie gave him the stroke he needed to beat me.
I don't really work, so I don't really have a "weekend" unless you want to say my weekend runs from Sunday to Friday, since I only tend bar Saturday nights unless I pick up extra shifts. That gives me a whole lot of free time. Anyone got ideas for what I can do with myself, keeping in mind that I don't have much money. And replying "get a job" is useless, so in the words of Vincent, "Don't waste my motherfuckin' time!"
He came down the stairs in a hurry and almost fell from stopping so suddenly. Of course, he didn't expect her to be sitting on his couch. He didn't expect anyone to be in his house, but certainly not her. Not here. Not now.
She looked like shame would look, if it could fit into a light cotton dress. The coy look and the sudden shock of her being there again, in his house, combined to make him wish various things: first that he had better eye sight with which to study all of the perfection that was she, also that he wasn't in a hurry so that he had remembered to lock the door, and finally that he hadn't left his pistol hanging in the closet. For the few moments when he just stared at her, wondering how something so beautiful could be so deadly, there was almost a complete lack of sound. Even the usual noises of traffic or birdsong just held their breath for the slice of time it takes to realize your fate. She let the moment dangle, teetering just on the edge of whatever cliff he was about to join them over.
It was torturous to know that he would die without ever kissing someone as beautiful as her, and was beginning to wonder if it was worth the extra pain she would surely inflict if he fought her, if only to get closer. Close enough to kiss her. That would be his final act of defiance. She would kill him, she was better. But before he died, he would make a point of kissing her, and he would leave her messy. His blood on her dress. The perfect end for someone like him. Desperation, passion, an empty gesture, and ruining someone else's day. Once he understood the situation, he could think of no better way to die than trying to put his lips on her's.
You know, kid, ethics isn't about choosing between right and wrong; it's about choosing between grey and grey. It's about choosing between two equally desirable but mutually exclusive courses of action. Freedom or security? Courage or comfort? Self-examination or blissful happiness? Column A or Column B?
With kudos to Kelly Gierman, from whose journal this link was ganked.
"If being gay is a sin, shorting me a Taco Supreme is a war crime."
