02.27.07
Posted in words at 12:55 am by electricvishnu
happy 2-1, johnny d. he plays sexy bass for two bands (of dubious sexiness)
kudos to every winner (with and without blowout) that is on the “oh shit i better stop eating fat sandwiches at 2:15am and start getting my fat ass into the gym for the next two weeks before panama city, fl” plan. ps – sweet sweatband on the forearm, dude. (is that the same one you wear to the knight club, or does it not match the color of your polo? [see "green alligator brigade"])
lbsu v. pacific: big west basketball. lots of bombed-threes.
pacman jones was at a strip club in vegas. a fight broke out that turned into a triple shooting. apparently he was walking around the gentleman’s club with a plastic garbage bag filled with $81,000, showering the dancers with cash. pacman = a true mexico city bandito.
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02.24.07
Posted in words at 6:13 pm by electricvishnu
why am i smiling? (big smile, huge smile)
if i could explain the reason in thirteen thousand words or less
[and those thirteen thousand words not including the likes of "stellar, spiritual, rocked, glorious, epiphanic / epiphimatic, or fuckin' A,]
i would be onto something
something, however, not
so
big:
nobody reads (much less pays for) poetry, anyways
can you see that?
the way we’ve all been washed away.
the trees are huge stalks of wheat, and we are silhouette
[each face: a solar eclipse]
{can i send a video telegraph?}
“do not open until 2085.”
-and there we are again:
it’s much warmer than it should be,
or was, at least
we have our sweatshirts, and the songs and the chants and that damn good feeling of four cheeseburgers
(off the grill from under the tent) washed down with keystone light
(from the cooler in the back of the truck)
that sun. that sun i expect to see anywhere else, but here
it’s an emo album cover, it’s a promo poster, it’s the shot in that finale elegante (with that guy that acts quasi . . . french)
it’s that sun. it’s there. turn around and look.
as the pale yellow turns golden turns scarlet
and fields of grains turn to rows of cars and red dixie cups and charcoal spent
it’s an instance, past
so call me up in 2085
and if you ask me again,
maybe i’ll have a one-hundred-one word deposition
(but if you’re around too,
you’ll know
you’ll know far better than me)
on what it’s like to be there.
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Posted in words at 5:07 pm by electricvishnu
i don’t believe the waters that chop and sweep under the throgs neck bridge have ever been described as azure. if they have, i apologize to him / her who has born chromatic witness to this phenomenon. it was probably that silly twit j.g. with his silly little light. greenish his was more his cup of tea anyway. so it was not quite the color, but nearly, probably as close as it will ever be. i don’t know if one has ever used the word authentically majestic while talking about barges just off hunts point. i’m not sure if i can say that either. the wind, capping white, and giving the water a third dimension does funny things to an undergrad with a leaky adjectivistic orifice.
the bx still trumps all other peripheral boroughs.
cbx traffic vs the 405: like string theory vs that other theory? i guess that doesn’t really work out. it never does, just like fluids then . . . both more like the junk in the hot cup of coffee (the one that has been sitting out for awhile)
new type of centerfuge technique uses tea leaves in tea logic (why do they sit in the middle while stirring?) the vortex, of course . . . similar logic to catch the big stuff with an electrode type of thingy, pretty nifty and cost effective
on napping: nappers live longer and have a much less likely chance of heart troubles
“say you’ll be there!” the spice girls song, vid in the desert, first i thought it was mojave, but now i remember it was australia, if my pop-up memory serves me right . . . boomerangs, weird slow motion broken water vase shots and such . . . that’s the jam
that occupied a small corner of my brain (sans title,) that could have been much well utilized in just about any other way . . .
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02.23.07
Posted in words at 4:45 am by electricvishnu
new music vibin’, things have a habit of rolling over themselves nicely. staten island wasn’t that horribly atrocious on the drive from jersey to this horrific island. right now, however, i’m not really on long island. sure, one could say i exist within the confines of the borders of hicksville, ny, a census designated place (cdp, if you will.) that would be fine and dandy if this was just any house. national security (or state security <or maybe just ridiculous security>) dictates that i can’t tell you my exact location, but if you can figure it out, we’ll give you a free t-shirt (tierney will, not strangers wasted, we’re cheap.) (cheap plugs, too) so this house is technically the embassy of new jersey. it is a sovereign entity unto itself, not bound by typical long island restrictions. if one were to purchase gasoline at this house, they need not pump it themselves. if one were to buy a shirt . . . say a strangers wasted shirt! (click on stuff) . . . then that lucky guy or gal would not have to pay a sales tax (you don’t have to online either, isn’t that swell?)
about three new songs? four? sounds good.
invest now in karmic futures! pynchon for president.
what?
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02.22.07
Posted in words at 2:36 am by electricvishnu
-pat joyce
thanks pat. so trains are derailing in bergen county, the crash test dummies are bumping on my speakers, third eye blind coming to nj, the weather made today an “al gore might be right” kind of day, chlorine bombs over in whacky iraq (i guess that’s a clean bomb, and notsomuch dirty, right?) barack and slick willie’s wife trading barbs, not sleeping any time soon, even sigur ros not helping right now
“who plays right field?”
bobby abreu
listening for the 19th time in the past year to the sad tale of when the yanks beat the baltimore orioles in the playoffs: “only the yankees celebrate cheaters.”
maybe the yanks could pick up bobby bonilla.
welcome back andy pettite. andy is a solid left hander than wins more games than he loses. in the playoffs . . . he wins more games than he loses.
a-rod is still a toolbag: “I can’t help that I’m a bright person…I know that’s not a great quote to give, but I can’t pretend to play dumb and stupid . . . When people write (bad things) about me, I don’t know if it’s (because) I’m good-looking, I’m biracial, I make the most money, I play on the most popular team … ” – SportsIllustrated
the stuff of soap operas between jeter and him.
“randy johnson worked out well too.” thanks falk.
maybe a z or two
{democracy:3}
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Posted in snapshots at 12:20 am by electricvishnu
and that’s it.
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02.21.07
Posted in words at 9:40 pm by electricvishnu
panic at the disco sucks. i’m sorry: panic! at the disco sucks. no no no, on second thought, panic at the disco sucks. i refuse to insert punctuation in any band name, especially one that has committed atrocities against art approaching michael bolton magnitude. no, i’m not talking about opening or closing the god damned door. before tonight, i actually didn’t hate on them or any of the other bards of emo (fallout boy, my chemical romance, and so on.) i still don’t “hate on” them. i do, however, consider them terribly misguided. previously, i had seen on youtube a cover of the third eye blind song, “slow motion,” done by them. it was emo. it did not capture any of the original’s depraved gravity. it was not a new take on the song. the quality of the performance was at the level of a middle school talent show, but it was not necessarily offensive. (comments like this <”ok i am now addicted to this song…i just listened to the orgianl version and i just like the way brendon sings it more”> make me slightly queasy, but what can you do?)
“tonight, tonight” by the smashing pumpkins is one of the greatest songs ever written. i was thinking about linking the post “panic’s” cover of the song here, but i try not to respect people’s standards of decency. it was vulgar. it started out . . . dare i say . . . kind of alright. an oddly syncopated intro brought high hopes, hopes that were immediately smashed three notes into the melody. computer-altered vocals have no place covering a smashing pumpkins song live . . . basura! i have no more to say about this.
basura . . . like r u basketball
. . . and uconn basketball apparently
“sparkling wiggles?”
what the hell is a labor studies major?
i guess r u bball is worse.
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Posted in supposedly moving snapshots at 2:12 pm by electricvishnu
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6J8j6hfzdQg]
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02.19.07
Posted in words at 1:34 am by electricvishnu
(or at least one crazy person)
>$700 cash }change and green paper in plastic bags stuffed in each of the jacket pockets (over six in total)
>$70 in change }
$7 canadian
one (1) saudi arabian coin
one (1) yugoslavian coin
one (1) bermudan (or bahamanian, <– a much cooler word) coin
two (2) condoms
six (6) necklaces: two (2) “yellow”, three (3) “gray”, one (1) string
two (2) with cross
five (5) rings
four (4) assorted earrings (hoop, dangling, and such)
five (5) containers of chap stick
two (2) cuff-links [non-matching, one broken]
. . .
one (1) pack of “kool” cigarettes
one (1) “yellow” buddha
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02.17.07
Posted in words at 12:47 am by electricvishnu
fried ice cream (tempura) is a wondrous thing.
rachael ray is irritating. (from l.i. so it figures i guess)
anthony bourdain, however has the right idea:
“Bad food is made without pride, by cooks who have no pride, and no love. Bad food is made by chefs who are indifferent, or who are trying to be everything to everybody, who are trying to please everyone … Bad food is fake food … food that shows fear and lack of confidence in people’s ability to discern or to make decisions about their lives. Food that’s too safe, too pasteurized, too healthy – it’s bad! There should be some risk, like unpasteurized cheese. Food is about rot, and decay, and fermentation….as much as it is also about freshness.” – from an interview with Chris Tan
“Meals make the society, hold the fabric together in lots of ways that were charming and interesting and intoxicating to me. The perfect meal, or the best meals, occur in a context that frequently has very little to do with the food itself.”
“Vegetarians, and their Hezbollah-like splinter faction, the vegans, are a persistent irritant to any chef worth a damn. To me, life without veal stock, pork fat, sausage, organ meat, demiglace, or even stinky cheese is a life not worth living.” From Kitchen Confidential, page 70
food. steak and eggs on a foreman?
“eek! or are they?”
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