anthillz

FOR THE RECORD.

When you died something poured out of your mouth with the consistancy of thick and parlously sucked cigar smoke. It passed your bluish lips and split at your nose, the right side sliding more quickly past your cheek and eye. It dissolved as it blew from your face and it curled as it collided with minute movements of cold air. I knew it wasn’t your last breath because there was my own and it was white and vaporous. I shortly exhaled the heat from my own lungs again and again while I watched you disperse into the space around your head and mine. I wanted a jar to keep you in. Nylon rubbed nylon when I moved. I didn’t move for a long time. Snow melted around me.

More fun with the shuffle function.

Dear Cody ChestnuTT,
You are allowed to record songs and not put them on your album. But your album is still really good even if it is everything you’ve ever done.

Dear Ted Leo,
You’re pretty damn good. Having a song whose words I don’t know stuck in my head is a painful experience.

Dear Jonathan Richman,
If Lou Reed were less of a too cool junky I think he might be sort of like you and I think you’re a lot easier to identify with at least in my weird, nerdy, non-junky life.

Dear John Lennon,
Too bad you got shot. That sucks.

Dear Frank Black,
Try harder or reform the Pixies. You still write good songs and stuff but it’s not the same. Was covering Hang On To Your Ego irony? I like that stuff.

Dear Richard D. James,
Dude, lock yourself in another vault or something. Do something.

Dear Buddy Holly,
Too bad you got in that plane. Hahaha.

Dear Billy Corgan,
All these smiles and sweaters and shit make you look like a real poseur in retrospect. You weren’t feeling the corsets anymore?

Dear Stephin Merritt,
I’m not coming out or anything, but what do I have to do to get a song?

Dear Snoop Dogg,
Thanks for being cool and lanky. Consider me your student.

Dear Jeff Buckley,
Too bad you went swimming. I’m scared of drowning too. That must be a crappy way to die, huh?

Dear David Cross,
You don’t do music but you are just a lonely bastard. Haha.

Dear Guy From Soul Coughing,
Is Chicago, Is Not Chicago? Does that plane into building stuff still fly?

Dear Conor Oberst,
Thanks for touring with Arab Strap. Best move ever.

Dear Serge Gainsbourg,
You got to fuck Brigitte Bardot and you did on fucking tape so not only would I be jealous but I’d have to listen to it. You are a real bastard.

Dear Lou Reed,
Aren’t you about due up for dying?

Dear Bob Dylan,
I wanted to make this rhyme but fuck it I’m not a poet. You’re a cool ass old bastard.

Dear Kool Keith,
You’re perverted.

Dear Ramones who aren’t Dee Dee,
Now you’re ugly and dead.

Dear Dee Dee,
Uhh, you’re dead. That’s about it.

Dear David Byrne,
Let’s be friends. You are old but you move your head around like you’re 16. It’s cute.

Dear Morrissey,
I ought to be asleep. You ought to be laying around looking sassy.

1 2 Are you ready?
Do you want to hear it?
How can you love someone who leaves no impression?
Leaves nothing behind.
I love watching people make imprints and people not.

I am fucking sick of seeing the sun coming up. It’s wrong. And I’m out of Nyquil.

Just because I feel something poetic, it doesn’t mean I can write it down.

New experiment.
All my music: I’ve completed the task of ripping the cds that I want onto my computer.
Shuffle on: 890 hours.
7 random songs: what I think about this shit.
Song 1: Eminem - Brain Damage
Motherfuck, wouldn’t you know the number one selling album I’ve ever copied onto my computer would come up first. This doesn’t say much for my music tastes, I don’t really like this album (The Slim Shady LP) but his songs are definitely better than his stupid ass skits. I do like the results/volts rhyme move. One time my friend Andy Hass was freaking out because his boy Eminem was in Spin’s next big thing article. I had early cuts of My Name Is and Just Don’t Give a Fuck way back in the day. I don’t know I had friends that liked white detroit rap, take from that what you will. I think most things that come out of this guys mouth is trash. He does have a nice flow though.
Song 2: Silver Jews - Introduction II
This is a one minute song so I don’t have much time to talk about it other than as far as I know the Silver Jews have a guy named David who writes all the songs and Stephen Malkmus in them. They also sound countryish and they have a song that goes punk rock died when the first person said/punk’s not dead. I like them.
Song 3: The Who - See Me, Feel Me
Damn you have got to see that Who video when it goes slow motion and Daltry is on his knees sliding and Townshend is doing the windmills, I think a few of Moon’s drums are in the air, there are explosions and Entwhistle in character isn’t moving at all. I think this song is from Tommy. If it’s not it is, like most Who songs, part of some storyline that I don’t care that much about. They rocked. I think they may have sold too many of their songs to car commercials though. Listening to them makes me want to BUY BUY BUY! A band that I wish I had been alive to see properly before they became old. As for Kurt Cobain saying hope I die before I become Pete Townshend, congratulations, you’re dead.
Song 4: Derrick May - Emanon Begins
This is fucking electronic music. And those bullshit motherfuckers that say techno isn’t rock are fucking idiots, everything is connected. Anyway, this is probably on here due to Ken Meier playing music for me and then me asking him what I should get as far as early house goes. I’m pretty sure this is considered more Detroit Techno than House. Anway, I got all the Derrick May stuff I could find (aka Innovator) and the song is over.
Song 5: Wire - Brazil
Fucking 40 seconds. Get into Wire. Can’t say much more about that.
Song 6: Casino Versus Japan - Medery
I got this album from a guy who has every Warp album (It is not on Warp) and he said I would like them. This song is sort of in the ambient territory and does the trick. The album isn’t as good as some other stuff I’ve heard in the area but I could still throw it on if I wanted to chill out. And that’s a pretty decent name.
Song 7: Public Enemy - Brothers Gonna Work it Out
Uh! Yo bad self! I love Public Enemy. I don’t care if people think they were mugging, 98% of rap is mugging and at least they were mugging with a positive message. And people that think white people who like Public Enemy are posers, have you ever seen a Public Enemy crowd? That’s the most diverse shit in the universe. If all rock shows looked like that the world would be a better place. This song has that high noise line that just rules. Political music just has staying power for me. It takes more guts than singing songs about girls. Not only that but to take that to a place where millions of people can buy your albums and hear your message, that’s the only way to do it. This song is about a minute too long.

This is not fiction.
I must have not been paying attention, but at some point I became completely useless and incompetent. I’ll just sleep on that thought.

This is fiction. Don�t get confused.
And fuck you. And fuck this fucking chair.
And fuck you assholes helping me through god damn doors and and down fucking stairs and over fucking bumps, I don�t need your fucking help, I�m just letting you push me so you feel better about your sad, ugly fucking shit lives. I�m a rolling fucking charity program.
Anyway, back to the topic at hand: why you are a piece of shit. Hey man, I was bitter before my back got snapped by a motherfucking truck and the girl riding with me�s parts were laid out all around me and I didn�t even go unconscious until a few minutes later. And I remember that shit. But that�s not why I�m bitter. I have always been a bit of an asshole. But now we�re getting into my character and that�s not what I�m here to talk about. So yes, I�m an asshole, but not because I�m in a wheelchair. Just so you know.
Not that I�m not fucking pissed off about that.
But check this out: You are ugly. Odds are. I have more pull than you in a fucking wheelchair. That is just pathetic. Girls feel bad for me at the bar and buy me drinks. I guess it makes them feel good, and it gets me drunk. Rolling fucking charity program.
Sometimes they want to fuck me. How pathetic. They�re always a little relieved when I say I�m no good waist down. I mean, I guess technically I can fuck, don�t get me wrong. It�s just not that fun when you can�t feel anything and if I actually did do it I probably wouldn�t be very good. And waiting around for your dick to get hard with some slut from the bar is not exactly my idea of a good time.
And for every girl I ever meet again, I hope you are reading this: I was in a fucking car wreck. The girl I was with died. Yes, it was terrible. No, I can�t walk, I�m in a fucking wheelchair, but on the other hand you aren�t walking very well either but at least I have a fucking excuse.
Yes, you can sit on my lap.
I�m glad that�s out of the way.
And now this makes it sound like I go out all the time, but actually this is a new development. My best-friend-not-by-my-choice Ryan, the 25 and lives with his parents, jobless wonder, has been sleeping on my couch and taking me with him when he leaves the house. He sleeps on my damn couch. What am I going to do, kick him out? (Get it? I can�t feel my fucking legs!) It�s nice to be not alone sometimes, and he needs a place to stay when he stumbles back from the bars. He can usually afford a few beers. I think it also gives him some sort of clout to go out with the wheelchair guy, I mean, he�s so fucking open and unbiased. And horny. And you might be stupid enough to fall for it.
And another thing, if you haven�t gathered, I�m not exactly a faggy writer type guy. I�m just bored. I didn�t get hit by a truck and all of a sudden become some creative arty fuck. What the fuck else am I going to do? Go swimming? I hate that physical therapy bullshit.
Night time on the highway. One minute I�m driving to Wesleyan, the next minute fucking trucker guy decides he wants to be in my lane, and now he is and my car is torn into like it wasn�t there, metal pulled aside and now I�m not in the car anymore and I can�t move and that�s blood and that was Ashley. That�s the whole story. I wasn�t drunk. Neither was the guy who hit me. He just didn�t see me.
So yeah, really fucking traumatic, all that shit, but the real pain in my ass was the two fucking years of physical therapy where jack shit happened. Move this, touch this, let me tickle your numb fucking toes, fucking bullshit ass stretches not doing shit, and I�m still rolling around like fucking baby in a stroller.
And I would even go so far as to say I�ve come to terms with my disability and you�re the one who should really feel bad because at least I�m fucking doing something with myself. Use your working parts, run, jump, fuck, whatever.
I don�t feel like writing anymore, I�m going to do something else.

If you hadn’t heard, Google has bought Blogger. This is good news for a few reasons. 1. Blogger will continue to exist. 2. Google rules. 3. They will have a pretty baby. 4. I was right to keep using Blogger.
Some recent things that I enjoy:
Thinking about things as being stupid, doing them anyway.
Wearing all black.
New McSweeney’s.
Old pizza.
I don’t have to sell my soul, he’s already in me…
Some recent things that I don’t enjoy:
Pneumonia.