A Voyage Begins

I kept a travelogue and took a ridiculous amount of photographs when I went to Santa Cruz. I had planned on simply typing up the travelogue and linking in lots of pictures. I just could not seem to do it. I have opted for a somewhat more interesting and definitely more shoddy method of disseminating my travel writings. It's a slight revision of what's scribbled in my notebook but is nearly the same. Further entries will include the music I was listening to when I wrote them.

Here's to summer fun, cheers!


P.S. I live in Northern California, it was kind of engulfed in flames. My house was not literally burnt. I do not mean any disrespect to anyone who has suffered a loss due to these fires. The worst I've gotten is a black lung-esque cough from breathing all this shit.

The Shallow Shark Might Make A Mark

This may be an artistic travesty but I think it's an important piece. It is my personal opinion that not enough people read classic literature. It's also my opinion that when they do far too many feel obligated to think it's good. We don't want to admit we hated something that wordy types have been shrieking the praises of for centuries or more. It's okay to dislike old books, it really is. Just because a piece of literature has achieved a legendary status as a social commentary or psychological masterpiece does not mean it is going to enjoyable. I want everyone to go out and read one book regarded as classic or indispensable and be totally honest about how you felt about it. Start a dialogue, even if it's about why the book sucked. Go ahead, I'll wait.

Santa Cruz News

Greetings from Beautiful Santa Cruz folks and gentle ladies. Here for a good friend's orientation to the University we're making the most of it. I'm on her laptop at the moment in a hotel on Ocean Street. Lovely, absolutely lovely. I have to go now I have more pizza to eat, more poetry to write on the veranda and more Smash Brothers Brawl to play, so try not to miss me too much and don't be jealous bitches!






Travelogue and pictures out the ass on fri.....I mean on whenever I do it-day.

The Wages Of Sin

I have been very lax in my responsibilities of late, reprehensible, I know, but true. The tumult of my life has been soothed and I may now return to a schedule of posting.

I have been playing Super Smash Brothers Brawl a ton, I mean, a ton. Fellow gamers may understand how much gaming it takes to make me think it's a lot. I have slowly begun to realize the incremental poisoning of my mind. It finally became apparent about a week ago. I played through classic mode as Wolf. After the credits rolled a congratulations screen was displayed, nothing out of the ordinary there. On this particular screen the evil I was being subjected to was painfully obvious. Here we see the characters obviously engaged in a sexy game. "Oh no," Peach says in mock terror," It's the Big Bad Wolves! I hope they don't blow down my house and eat me." She's even dressed in her most alluring red dress and bunny ears. Could this be any more sexy? I think not.

Over the next few days I saw time and time again what this game really was. What was it?
Sexy. Terribly, terribly sexy.

In this game the perversion runs deep, it permeates your mind and turns you into an animal. "That's okay", the game tells you, "we're nice to animals". When the characters can't get their digital sex amicably they turn to force, a truly nauseating sight and one you see constantly. Everything a subversive could want is right here. Not even the children are spared.

Two of the characters are worse than the rest, some of whom appear to be innocent bystanders, Zero Suit Samus and Snake. Their voracious sexual appetites absolutely smut this game up.

If you play enough of this game you won't understand the damage it's doing to your psyche until your hard drive is full of anime porn and furries.

You've been warned..............

Oil On Canvas: A True Story

I have a story to relate. This is a story best served with a little history but I will not be providing it. That history is far too personal. Suffice it to say I have a "guest" in my home. Let me say that I completely fucking hate our "guest". It will be noted that this individual is in my home against my will. That should be enough setup.

This evening, late afternoon really, I became so distraught via my loathsome boarder that I slipped on my shoes and walked straight out my front door and into the street. I live in a sleepy, elderly, residential neighborhood and knew that a stroll would be calming. In the very least it would be a reprieve from my tormentor. As I marched up the street, which, coincidentally, is also up a rather steep hill, I was not really soothed.

Passing quaint, cozy house after quaint, cozy house I still fumed. As I passed the peaceful denizens of some I began to wonder if they could sense my anger. Could they see it in my movements? Could they feel it hanging in the torrid air around me? With these thoughts still on my mind I was nearing the next driveway when I nearly jumped. I had come very close to a young woman blending into the bright summer scenery and not even noticed. She stood a the edge of the street, straight and still, an eager expectation betrayed by her pose. She wore a pink sun dress and white heels. As I drew closer she turned, a little surprised herself, and said hello. She was pale but looked kind, her head wreathed in boisterous copper. She had a white motorcycle helmet clutched keenly in her hands. As I nodded and returned the greeting my anger evaporated.

A little further down the road I realized that I felt entirely calm. I reflected on the beautifully different character I had just beheld. It crossed my mind that I should return to thank her but I thought better of it. she had been a wonderful picture and would be best unaltered. I began to wonder just for whom she waited. I kept my eyes forward as I waited, would he appear? A moment later I heard it, a small engine. Speeding down the road toward me was a woman on a white scooter, wearing a colorful camisole and a silk scarf flying from her neck like a pennant. As she disappeared around the slowly curving road I laughed. It amused me to no end to see so obviously who it was that would meet the girl in the sundress. I thought it must be a relatively frequent event to necessitate her possession of a helmet.

As I drew up to my house again I felt collected, tranquil. I had a contentment in my soul after that glance into another life. I had been privy to a single point in space time, one to which no one else had borne visual witness. It seemed the dimmest telescope view of a distant star.