sliding sideways in U tubes and on stunt bannisters, vertical power spooning, car washes, books on tape, putting words together to make something beautiful, sliding sideways on watery substances, instruments and voices collaborating, singing in stairwells and parking garages, adding harmony to every song i hear, knitting with fuzzy materials, ms. pacman, canada esp my BC counterparts, fishing for anything but rock bass, bowling!, cribbage tournies, people watching, meandering, getting lost on purpose so that i can think, ripping open new cds after i leave the store. doing all of the above with my friends.
someone, come on I am not getting any younger here people.Men who write stories like this:“Last Name Snails†‘A Short Story in English’Gordon Snails had been awake for 32 hours. He was fresh off the plane, back from Ulan-Bator, Mongolia, where he had spent the last year taking care of mentally challenged reptiles of various shapes and forms. Tonight was his first time smoking crack since he left Ohio. He had been listening to the Collective soul cover band playing in the club for the last hour, and although the music rocked beyond belief, he just could not feel the ecstasy he once felt upon hearing the beautifully crafted songs of Collective Sold, Cleveland's meanest band.Gordon was feeling great. Smoking crack reminded him of his childhood in Nigeria, when he would swallow live scorpions with his nanny. The band had just finished playing " December", and was now off the stage for a quick break. Gordon, feeling somehow very attracted to a metal pole standing about 7 feet tall in the corner of the room, ran towards it head down, like a raging bull, not knowing what pushed him to do that. He was out for a few seconds, and when he opened his eyes, he saw what seemed like a beautiful dream. Standing before him was the whitest pony anyone's ever seen. It had large blue eyes with long lashes and a heaven like streak of golden hair that sat loosely on its red cheeks. Gordon stood up and hopped on his steed as it galloped away towards a beautiful garden of sunflowers and chocolate covered houses."Troski!" a voice was shouted in the distance. "Troski! Where are you?" A man appeared in the distance, he had a brown suit and a grey fur hat, and featured a great moustache, the kind Gordon had only seen in Russia on a leisure trip there a few years back. Gordon knew right away that the man was Russian, he smelled of Vodka and dead snakes. Although he found it hard to believe that anyone would be silly enough to name a pony Troski, Gordon had to understand that that man was there for a reason, he had lost his companion and needed to have him back. He hopped off the steed and walked away, with tears in his eyes and chunks of vomit in his mouth, because of the foul smell.Gordon Snails went to bed a different man that night, he had been to the most beautiful place with the most beautiful beast, and yet there was nothing left for him to keep in the end. Crack, ponies, great rock bands and Russian men may brighten your day but, as Gordon brutally realized on his first night back from Ulan-Bator, the finest things in life will make you feel hopeless and sad.The endMaxime Goulet, September 27th, 2005..
Pretty much the same obligatory list as everyone else. basically www.kexp.org defines it all.................... *PAT BENATAR* rules my world!!!!!!!!!! currently my auditorial sensories prefer: nada surf...
gummo, teen witch, american movie, garden state, slums of beverly hills, RAD, baraka, last house on the left, anything john cusack, Blue Velvet, real women have curves, amelie, donnie darko, the believer, best in show, pump up the volume, requiem for a dream, legend and dirty dancing.
LOST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and classics like seinfeld, MASK!!!, dukes of hazzard, the greatest american hero and punky brewster.
SARK, david sedaris, dave eggers, autobiography of malcom X, bee season, the curious incident of the dog in the nighttime, little engines, nanny diaries, black like me, joy luck club, Rand McNally maps
my gram