beating my vices. regurgitating pop dialog for cheap laughs. redundancy. making up vocabulary. thinking that my perspective is the best, and the most insightful. long walks on the beach. i like casual mix music and rc cars. geek cults, strategy games, income, dining, safety, escape, singing, low maintenance bowel movements, lists, and being generally unreceived on the railroad. it's a different breed of man out at my new "job" and that breed of man, is a gay one.
Music:
jonathon larson is my hero of the month. paul simon, neil diamond, miles davis is the protagonist of the american spirit. songwriters. jeru the damaja, the guru, premeirs gang, old funk doobiest. the heiroglyphics label. pink floyd under roger. ive got the most killer version of stompn at the savoy in 1936 on vinyl... swing boys were the og raver kids. love me some van morrison. bela fleck and the flecktones. of COURSE the 219 collective. i bow to jimmy and aaron. detroit minimal over speed garage. ryan al, and emily's nostalgia house. chicago is where its at. where it was at i mean. the 90's chicago scene is the seoul that drives me to this day. we cracked the earths mantel with our heels my friends. the old traxx warehouse, route 66, rainbow rollerrink, and to think at one time i would get pissed to find out that the party was at the photon. now i would slay lesser dieties recklessly just to be back there, and to hear the anthem of the week three times in nine hours. music is not a phase to me and mine. we had love before and after it was cool. we will die with it steadily pacing the afterlife.
Movies:
sargasm- its the damming off of a high degree of social displeasure, towards and past a threshold, resulting in involuntary, rythmic muscle spasms of spite, housed in a sticky waterproof goo.
Television:
justin wolske once pulled some shit brown rabbit out of his hat about looking like your scenery, and the dangers of being surrounded by mediocrity, and desensitization, and identity surrender. as i take off my 3rd day work jeans, wash the blue collar off of my collar, and put the preliminary old style to my midwest union blowhole, i begin to realize... i hate justin wolske!
