Pradiohince

The internet video that made my life today. Good audio quality, somewhat poor video. Wish I'd been there to see this over the weekend. Amazing.

The Way

Winter comes and snow
I can't marry you, you know
Without you the winter grows
I can't marry you, you know

Love me the way i love you
Love me the way i love you

Take a year in your hands
You can find another man
Let your unloved parts get loved
I will be your man

Love me the way i love you
Love me the way i love you

Places you should be afraid
Into the river we will wade

Love me the way i love you
Love me the way i love you

"The Way" by Bonnie 'Prince' Billy

One of my greatest achievements in life is to have remained a virgin till my wedding day and to have married a virgin wife. Clears up a lot of the trouble of worrying whether you're the best the other person's ever had. One can't compare what one has to what one doesn't know; with that in mind I'm glad I only know one woman's body.

I'm not sure if in that second verse, the bolded one, Will Oldham is asking the implied you of the song to go sleep with another guy for a while and then come back or what. Sure seems that way. I don't think I could be down with that. I'm incredibly paranoid. I don't think I could handle being with a woman who'd been with other men to get what she couldn't get from me.

Maybe Will Oldham is such a down fella that he can admit his own failures to this extent. I don't know. If that's the way he loves then I can see why it'd be hard to love him back that way. Not that songwriters write music that literally describes them or anything. Not good ones anyway.

Maybe I should start avoiding that trap.

Son of Man Music Video

I came up with the idea for this video. I filmed half of it, and I edited it completely. I don't care that it looks shitty, I love this video right now with a heart in my chest.



The idea was to slow down the audio while we recorded to half speed. Then we would lipsync/play along to that slow track and speed it up during editing. This all occurred. I just don't know if it really worked or not. The video effect I got from Boris Complete Continuum really helped though. Made the different lighting settings blend better since I added a flicker to the whole thing. Now it looks like it's supposed to be grainy. I'm pretty pleased with the audio mix too, I might add.

The Chipmunk's Story

I am a chipmunk. I live at the zoo, yo. I don't live IN the zoo... shit... that life's for suckas. I just live AT the zoo. I take what I want. I feel sorry for them animals all cooped up in their shitty cages, but hey, they got caught, and I'm free. Should have tried harder, suckas.

When I say I take what I want, I mean it. I don't need a soft life of waiting for each meal and eating from the hand of some bigass human-fuckin-being. Hell no! I make my own plans for dinner! That's real talk!

If I want to fall back on that ass with a bonafide gangsta lean, like just cold chill in my crib, then I make preparations so as I don't have to go out. I survey my hood (the Australian Outback or some shitty rendition of it) and I scurry across the stones till I smell a plate full of food. Mmmm, mmm, that shit gets my tail perky, know I'm sayin'?

Like the other day I went out to fill my cheeks and I could smell a plate of food somewhere near the bat exhibit. When I investigate, what should I find but that the fools enjoying that plate are a couple dumbass birds. Faggots, too, by the looks of that rainbow plumage.

Well they're on the inside and I'm on the outside. It's not only in the fuckin zoo where jailbirds are given better meals than free men. You gotta get used to that shit, though, that's life.

Getting to the cage is quite a scramble. Keeping out of sight from those loudmouth brats holding Dairy Queen cones is tough work, for sure. If I hear another snot-nosed punk call out "Hey mama, look at the cute little squirrel" I'm gonna go apeshit on his ass. Squirrel? Fuck those big-tailed monkey-ass niggas! Last thing in the world I'm gonna put up with is shortie belittling me with that kind of shit talking.

Anyway, I creep up on the cage outside the bat exhibit and start digging. Nothing comes easy. I hit a rock and I've gotta quit and find a better spot. So I creep over to the door, these are always a little loose, no barriers underground. I get underneath and then I realize I've gotta get under another door. They put two doors into these bird cages so that the zookeepers can always keep one closed, keep the birdbrains inside. Well, no amount of doors can keep me out. I smell that birdseed and those exotic nuts and grapes and... well you know, right? I gots to be about my food storing.

When I'm on the other side I stay under cover of the planted foliage, bushes and shit, till I'm under the plate. I'm about to make a go up the branch when I spot this damn guy.

He looks like a fag to me. Grey striped hoodie, short fucking shorts, tight t-shirt, half-assed beard, and blue mouth from a slushie he's holding. But even though he's watching, he's not making a show of it. This punk may look like a softie, but he's no squealer. He's not going to walk over to the zoo folks and tell em whats up in Gay Bird Cell #69. He'll keep it to himself. And that's all I need to know.

Go ahead and watch, punk. You might learn something.

Up the shrub I go, and the birds scatter. I doesn't matter how big they are, how sharp their claws, how long their beaks. Soft-ass animals know hard-ass animals when they see them, and I fit in the latter category. Best recognize.

That punk stares as I cram it in. I start with the seed first, pocket it in every crevice of my jaw that's too small to put the real goods. Then I start in on a nut, rolling it perfectly in my hands and nibbling away till it fits with the seeds. Then a grape, letting the juices soak what I've already got and making it easier to mash down for efficiency. After that I move to breadcrumbs, then back to seeds... the cycle continues.

Then I'm interrupted. No, not the punk. Some shortie standing next to the punk. He sees me too, and he's getting ready to tell somebody about it. That shit will not stand.

I'm out.

Back to the ground, under the brush. Have to make it to the gate before the kid sees me.

Too late.

I tried to make a break but I can hear this fucking kid's mom now. "That's right sweetie, that chipmunk is stealing all their food."

Yeah, and I'll take your eyes if you don't shut the fuck up, bitch. I've gotta blow. I'm under the first door, making it towards the second. The punk in the grey hoodie is just watching me with understanding. I'd almost let him help me out here, but trusting is for suckas.

I'm under the second door. The brat that tattled is making like he's going to try and get to me now that I'm on the outside of the cage. He might get too close before I make it to a bush.

The punk steps out in front of him, says, "Don't worry about it," and the brat is stopped in his tracks.

I'm under a bush.

"Hey! Where'd he go?" the kid is loud as a fucking bullhorn.

The punk repeats, "Don't worry about it."

What a fucking hero. Not like I need that shit, but still, every little bit helps. When the kid gives up trying to spot me in my hiding space, I creep out to the punk's foot and look up, trying to show him some appreciation, just a look of recognition. I think he sees it.

The moment stops when I catch a whiff of stale popcorn and decide that I could probably use it to top off my load.

That's what it's all about. Get what you can, take what you can get, and don't regret your take.

I Saw a Chipmunk Take What He Wanted

These little buggers take what they need. They don't play by rules. I need to get on this shit.

"Give it to me muthafucka"

"Yeah you, back the fuck up. Or die."

"I enjoy only the finest fucking wines and cheeses. Mmmm, mmm, bitch."

"I said fuck you, pay me my money!"

I Used to Be the Nice Kid

I hope I'm not as big an asshole as everyone around me says. I used to be the really nice kid. Shit.

I hope that in the end everything works out. I play the cynic, but I really live my life like life is gonna work out just fine. Please work out, life.

Please for the love of whatever just work out.

Racy Poster

I designed a poster today for a house show I'm playing at in a couple weeks. I really wish there was a real venue in town to play at. But anyways, here it is:
Background looks pretty familiar eh? I got the idea from a song by one of the traveling artists, Adam Balbo. He has a song called "Let's Make a Porno" that's pretty ridiculous. I used to think that it would be weird to see yourself in a pornographic movie.

That was in high school. I really wanted to be in a porno back then. I told some people once, as a joke; they thought I was disgusting. It wouldn't be for anybody else to see, just me. I could never have gone through with it. I was addicted to porn at the time, and I hated myself for it. One of the best nights of my life is when I was first dating my wife and I told her I'd been stuck in it and she didn't hate me at all.

Now that I've had plenty of sex I realize how ridiculous porn is. Not that I don't think it's a serious problem, for the actors and the audience, I just think it's so far removed from sex as to be a ridiculous imitation. It's weird that way.

Anyway, the poster is also influenced by a moment in the long-awaited return of The Office when Jan is giving Jim and Pam a tour of Michael's home and there's a camera and a tripod set up in the bedroom. She quickly folds it and puts it away saying nervously, "Michael, I thought you said you tidied up in here!"

Got Em

So that last post ended somewhat dismally. Thought I should post a follow up finally. So yeah, around 9:15 am (which means I could have slept all night) my refreshing paid off and I pounced on 4 tickets right up front in the pit for Radiohead. Behold:


Now I probably can't afford to pay rent. Oh well, I will succumb to credit cards for my obsession.

Still W.A.S.T.E.ing Away

I'm still here. It's ten after 8 am and I'm still waiting for Radiohead tickets to start presale. This is really sad. I could have gotten up at a regular time and not missed a thing. I could have slept in my own bed. I am determined to make it all worth it. I'm so dedicated right now.

The last North American presale went up at 8:51 am, so here we go. 40 mins left, maybe. Maybe not.

This Is An Obsession

I am completely ridiculous. It's just after 4am and I've been up for the last hour with Firefox tabs on Radiohead's ticket sale page set to auto-refresh ever 5 seconds. So that I can spend money I don't have on tickets for the greatest band on Earth.

I need a bigger life. I have a life. It just doesn't keep me from doing stupid stuff like this. You know, sleeping on the futon in the living room because my every-half-hour alarms were driving my wife insane. I'm a sad strange little man.

I have all my personal information and credit card details on a notepad at the bottom of the screen so I can copy and paste with lightning speed. I'm a little worried that I might not have a w.a.s.t.e. account for tickets but... hell you don't care.

I figured out why they call it waste.

I have clocks set to three different timezones. I hope this works. This could be my last or only chance to see my favorite band ever. And one day I'll die a happier man knowing I got to see them.

Let's Get Known

So hey, let's get known. If we keep it up, we can show the haters. It's gotta be soon, not later.

So begins the song Let's Get Known by the unbeatable Unicorns. Man, I wish I could write so honestly. When I try I just come off as a 14 year old brat trying to write shit poetry in his notebook before bed. Unfortunately I'm running right out of external problems to write about with any conviction.

Hmmm, how to draw the line between macro-generalized problems and the micro-specified mundane? Who knows.

Most of my favorite songs don't make a lick of sense. I can't even figure out what much of them means. Like Radiohead, Will Oldham, they leave out the full descriptions, but still provide such tedious details as to give vivid imagery.

Vivid images of who knows what. How do you write towards that?

I'm more worried that they don't even try and that the effort I use spells my failure with its very presence.

Motivation

Young Jeezy stays motivated. No doubt. He's got two full albums devoted to motivating thugs. "Because the thugs need motivation, a lawyer team a good case and some dedication."

These last few days I've found that some activities (or the anticipation of them) bring me a semblance of satisfaction. But it smacks of contentment in an animal. Like the horse that feels fulfillment in the pulling of a load and the meal at the end of the day, or the ant that finally gets that bit of breadcrumb back to the hill. It doesn't point towards anything but survival. And why survival?

I make music. I enjoy it. I don't know what I'm making it for. Oh yeah, I want to release a full album in a month or so. The problem is that the last few days I can't find motivation... okay, that's not true. I work on it, and I accomplish things, but I feel like I'm doing it to convince myself of something. I want to believe that it's enough. I'm trying doubly hard (and getting exhausted) in efforts to win me over to my side again.

I love my wife. Very much. I would never leave her, cheat her, or do anything else to willfully cause her hurt. Lately I'm even preoccupied with showing her more affection than usual. I send her cutesy messages throughout the day, I remember to mention all the positive details about her, I do chores and give her anything I can figure out she wants.

I'm just afraid that I'm doing it to convince her. When we're together, finally, I feel distracted, harsh, distant, nitpicky, irritated. I spend all day wishing she was around and then make her feel unwanted when we're finally together. Which is my true self? Can one self be truer?

I'm chalking some of it up to the exhaustion of doing so much. And for what? To convince myself to keep doing so much. Time to sleep. I have no conclusions.

I probably just need motivation like Young Jeezy

Silence as a Holster

Well, I ended up using those possible lyrics from an previous post and used a snappy title inspired by an even previouser (not a word) post. It came out in the form of a terrible recording in about twenty minutes. You can get the general idea here:

Silence as a Holster