Seriously, this couldn't have been better timed.
That is all.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Um, You're Soaking In It!
So not too long ago I found this little article about political revolution, and the seven steps to getting there. It's four short web-pages long, and fairly interesting if you have a passing interest in these things. If not, you should skip the rest and watch the gjoddang octopus video I last put up, cause meng, it's pretty fjucking awesome! (the soundtrack is also particularly soothing too)Anyways, if you're still here, we'll go explore a little deeper into the Fjords, hoping for some gjood stuff.
Today's post goes something like this.
I was thinking about back in the day (as I was someone old enough to watch it happen on my teevee) when the Berlin Wall came down. Man, that was a sight. It was a symbol for we idiots in the West, about everything that was wrong with the Soviet Union, and Communists, and all the stuff that made societies and economies work. And the thing is, no matter how you looked at the world -politically- before then, it all changed.
And by that I mean...when I was a young lad, I remember rootin' for the Mujaheddin to defeat the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. I remember gleaning out of the (pre-internet totally broadcast/press news) that we (in the U.S.) were actively supporting the native Afghan rebels, and enthusiastically wanting them to win. When the Soviets rolled out of Afghanistan, I literally felt like the forces of good had won, had, with our help, defeated the bad guys.
'Course, in those times, for those of you who didn't live thru it, (or did but were uber small) the common narrative that stretched thru everything was, the United states had 10,000 nuclear missiles, and the Soviet Union had like 50,000. (The reason being (so they explained) ours were so much more accurate, they needed 5x as many to make sure they took out the target they were shot at. 'Course, we all know you hit a major city with a nuke missile, it really doesn't matter where you hit it.) But anyway, this is all background crapola.
If there were to be a war, no matter who launched the first strike, and who launched the counterstrike before the first strike hit, the whole planet, well, life on the whole planet would be changed in such profound ways that I would not even be capable of this narrative, unless it was with twelve people gathered around a campfire after we had killed an 8-legged deer, and people were asking to hear how the world was...before. And, why everyone had five eyes, that fin, six breasts, and three testicles that were sterile. But that's a different story.
The Soviets were not just an enemy to us, they were the foe that could bring and attack so destructive, that it would destroy all life on our continent. An attack so powerful, that our only defense was to unleash a counter-attack so destructive, that all life on their continent would also be killed. And in so doing, destroy the world. Those were the stakes. No matter how it got spun, and no matter how I misinterpreted that spin...there was no mistaking those were the real stakes. I fell asleep more than a few nights wondering if I would wake up because a nuclear war happened while I was dreaming.
Okay. That's motha' fjuckin' nuts. I know it now. But I also know that's what the feeling was during that time. So to continue with my narrative...
When the Berlin Wall came down, We really had a common feeling like all the Warsaw Pact countries were free! In Poland, the Solidarity Union took over. In Czechoslovakia there was a velvet revolution led by a playwright...and after that, specifically, I can't remember the others. But one by one all the hard-line regimes changed. We thought it was going to be great. Gorbachev was a wise Saint, and no longer was there there a planet-threatening battle of ideology. (Clearly, nearly none of the people in the U.S knew a Russian, and vice-versa, we didn't hate each other, the hate was from our ideology towards theirs (and likewise, vice-versa))
There was going to be a "peace dividend" from all the money we were going to save from keeping a massively awesome global military on standby. And life was going to be AWESOME!
(And seriously, for me, the psychological weight from knowing I wasn't going to be incinerated by a nuclear warhead as I slept was considerable...even if it was, or wasn't ever real)
But around this time I thought about the downfall of Communism, and wondered, quite a bit about Karl Marx. Marx was the dude who came up with the idea of..."hey, instead of the fifty rich guys owning everything and taking the profits of the fifty-million workers working for them, let us do away with the fifty guys, and let the fifty-million workers share the profits of everything they make."
As it turns out the Communist Revolution (1917-ish, which the Germans helped along starting WWI) was run by some awful thugs, who, in pure Capitalist tradition, seized power, and made sure things for them, were pretty fjuckin' bueno. I'm no expert, and pretty sure I'm no novice when it comes to commenting about what life was like under that rule. I only assume, compared to what I know, it was pretty bad. Of course, from what I know, life is almost always bad...but I do know they got free healthcare, which isn't awful. But anyways, I need to get back to my point.
The whole deal with Marx, was a class-struggle. There were three classes, the lower, the middle and the upper class. In which, inevitably the upper-class (which already had all the money and power) would exploit the middle and lower-class workers, until the middle-class and the lower- class joined up, and united rose up in revolution, to replace the upper-class with nothing. In it's place would be a collective. A collective of people who shared the wealth that was created, thru their work and creativity. What would exist, would be a society that had no owners, and instead shared all their talents in ways to benefit the common good. Needless to say it did not work out as well as planned.
However, the reason I was thinking about Marx after the fall of the Soviet Union...was that, without this ideology to fight against, without this horrible (world destroying) enemy to keep our ideology in line, (taking full advantage of any leverage we might use against them, or persuade allies or perspective allies, against a foe that had no respect for human rights, or civil rights, or human freedoms.) we reach a simple conclujsion. In the global struggle for ideas and systems of government, order, finance, and manufacturing that work, the Capitalists have won.
It was at this moment (err, well, yaknow, it didn't happen exactly at one moment...it took a while to kinda work this idea out) that I thought to myself. "Now there's no-one to fight against, we'll see if Marx actually had anything."
Not to lead your thoughts too far along on this, but it does seem like in the last twenty-years, one particular class has already made class-struggle a pretty high priority. And it ain't the two that gots problems affording healthcare. Well, anyways, I do sorta' hope enough of 'em wake up to actually do something about it, but from what I've seen, it's already too late.
See, I told ya you shoulda' skipped this and just watched the octopus. That thing is pretty fjucking awesome!
Monday, March 03, 2008
They're baaaaack...
Mummies! This time Catholic mummies. Gjoddang they're everywhere! And of all denominations too! Pretty soon we'll be hearing about Jewish mummies, and Unitarian mummies and Buddhist mummies...My Gjod, when will it all end?
Course, in my mind, my greatest fear is that they'll team up with the jellyfish...
Saturday, March 01, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Wow...this makes it official. -900-
If I may make a small statement, "That's a hella' lot o' words."
Now, a small quote:
"I am not altogether on anybody's side, because nobody is altogether on my side, if you understand me."
(That's Treebeard from J.R.R. Tolkien's book The Two Towers)
This is how I feel about politics. I'm a proud registered non-affiliated voter in the Republic of California, and that was done for a particular reason. And before I go into that reason, I'd like to make a point. As a student of politics, so much that happens (may I say, all that happens) is reported in exactly the same format as the entertainment industry, which makes it extremely hard to stay informed on what your elected Representatives are really doing.
With the archaic rules of the Congress, and the back room dealings so impossible to follow by the average person with even a smidge of curiosity of the political realm (not a lot, I gather) only the largest of storylines can be grasped, which so misinterpret the actual actions of the ruling class that it's impossible to tell who's in bed with whom, and what the hell anything really means.
I am, not altogether on anybody's side, because nobody is altogether on my side.
(P.S. I AM TOTALLY NOT MAKING THIS UP, I JUST GOT A CALL FROM "OPINION ACCESS" WHO WANTED TO KNOW HOW I GET MY NEWS AND INFORMATION! I asked the woman who owned the company and where my information was going to go, she didn't know, but since she was clearly just doing her job, I bid her a pleasant, good-day.)
As much as you want people to be on your side, sometimes it just doesn't happen. Presidents, Senators, Congresspeople, they might get your email, and they might get your phone-message, (if they're really good, super-impassioned, or just something for the office to make fun of,) but when the CEO of Lockheed shoots an email or calls up, even to vehemently disagree, with said President, Senator, or Congressperson, you're damn right they get a response back toot-sweet.
We all know this exists in our space too. Bosses, co-workers, friends, they all operate on very similar principals. Who gets the callback? Who gets the immediate response? Is it based on friendship, performance, personality, connections, attractiveness, skill? Well, I suppose it's a combination of those, and others I've failed to mention. However, I would like to pull out another quote...this one from Miller's Crossing, (Still my fave of the Cohen Bros. films)
"Nobody knows anyone that well. Nobody."
Even your best friends can betray you because they're doing something that's actually good for you, or an action they take to fjuck you will be straight-up good for them, or they're just so damn surrounded by the chaos of their world that they can't see what they are doing will have any impact on you whatsoever, they're just thinking about themselves, and their situation, period.
Not that there's a whole lot wrong with all of that. It's life, and living in/on this stupid planet, it's what we as humanids do. It's just being thrust into a world of, "What side are you on?" over and over becomes awfully dumb after a while.
You have allies, and you know who they are...and sometimes they change. You have hopes and dreams that other people can help you towards. And there are roadblocks and people who wish to see you fail, and there are active interests that systemically try and keep you in your place. When even a few of the things I've just mentioned move across one line to another...I'd just like to bring back the quiet dignity of the first quote.
"I am not altogether on anybody's side, because nobody is altogether on my side."
Well, hope that helps. And if you need any further encouragement, please know that I'll be rootin' for yas!
-Tusnami-
Now, a small quote:
"I am not altogether on anybody's side, because nobody is altogether on my side, if you understand me."
(That's Treebeard from J.R.R. Tolkien's book The Two Towers)
This is how I feel about politics. I'm a proud registered non-affiliated voter in the Republic of California, and that was done for a particular reason. And before I go into that reason, I'd like to make a point. As a student of politics, so much that happens (may I say, all that happens) is reported in exactly the same format as the entertainment industry, which makes it extremely hard to stay informed on what your elected Representatives are really doing.
With the archaic rules of the Congress, and the back room dealings so impossible to follow by the average person with even a smidge of curiosity of the political realm (not a lot, I gather) only the largest of storylines can be grasped, which so misinterpret the actual actions of the ruling class that it's impossible to tell who's in bed with whom, and what the hell anything really means.
I am, not altogether on anybody's side, because nobody is altogether on my side.
(P.S. I AM TOTALLY NOT MAKING THIS UP, I JUST GOT A CALL FROM "OPINION ACCESS" WHO WANTED TO KNOW HOW I GET MY NEWS AND INFORMATION! I asked the woman who owned the company and where my information was going to go, she didn't know, but since she was clearly just doing her job, I bid her a pleasant, good-day.)
As much as you want people to be on your side, sometimes it just doesn't happen. Presidents, Senators, Congresspeople, they might get your email, and they might get your phone-message, (if they're really good, super-impassioned, or just something for the office to make fun of,) but when the CEO of Lockheed shoots an email or calls up, even to vehemently disagree, with said President, Senator, or Congressperson, you're damn right they get a response back toot-sweet.
We all know this exists in our space too. Bosses, co-workers, friends, they all operate on very similar principals. Who gets the callback? Who gets the immediate response? Is it based on friendship, performance, personality, connections, attractiveness, skill? Well, I suppose it's a combination of those, and others I've failed to mention. However, I would like to pull out another quote...this one from Miller's Crossing, (Still my fave of the Cohen Bros. films)
"Nobody knows anyone that well. Nobody."
Even your best friends can betray you because they're doing something that's actually good for you, or an action they take to fjuck you will be straight-up good for them, or they're just so damn surrounded by the chaos of their world that they can't see what they are doing will have any impact on you whatsoever, they're just thinking about themselves, and their situation, period.
Not that there's a whole lot wrong with all of that. It's life, and living in/on this stupid planet, it's what we as humanids do. It's just being thrust into a world of, "What side are you on?" over and over becomes awfully dumb after a while.
You have allies, and you know who they are...and sometimes they change. You have hopes and dreams that other people can help you towards. And there are roadblocks and people who wish to see you fail, and there are active interests that systemically try and keep you in your place. When even a few of the things I've just mentioned move across one line to another...I'd just like to bring back the quiet dignity of the first quote.
"I am not altogether on anybody's side, because nobody is altogether on my side."
Well, hope that helps. And if you need any further encouragement, please know that I'll be rootin' for yas!
-Tusnami-
Monday, February 25, 2008
What Does Tsunami Read?
Well, here's a list of all the places I visit every day. It's been put together over years of crappy job internetting, and I'm totally positive there's something on this list for everyone who thinks the internets are cool as fjuck.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/ (Best straight-up news site on the net. Plus their links never die!)
http://boingboing.net/ (duh)
http://www.darkroastedblend.com/ (cool as fjuck posts about...kinda everything that's cool)
http://seehere.blogspot.com/ (A link-blog that'll fill in huge chunks of stuff you've missed)
http://www.neatorama.com/ (riiiight)
http://www.futilitycloset.com/ (a stupidly super-good blog with astounding stories)
http://bldgblog.blogspot.com/ (Buildings, urban stuff, and their impact on society)
http://cuteoverload.com/ (Straight up cute animals 24-7)
http://kfmonkey.blogspot.com/ (Kung-Fu-Monkey...a T.V. writer's blog. Totally fun)
http://minortweaks.com/ (A super entertaining family-friendly personal blog)
http://www.warrenellis.com/ (He's the Fjucking internet Jesus.)
http://presurfer.blogspot.com/ (Presurfing, so you don't have to)
http://thinkorthwim.com/ (An interesting blog for smart peoples.)
http://blog.wired.com/defense/ (Wired's mil-blog, fun place if you like military/tech stuffs)
http://www.oddee.com/ (A bunch of fun, amazing things.)
http://overcompensating.com/ (My favorite web-comic)
Some of these I have gotten away from (thru disinterest or lack of rapidly appearing new content) but have come back to, simply because of strength of their material. Hope this helps.
-Tsunami-
http://news.bbc.co.uk/ (Best straight-up news site on the net. Plus their links never die!)
http://boingboing.net/ (duh)
http://www.darkroastedblend.com/ (cool as fjuck posts about...kinda everything that's cool)
http://seehere.blogspot.com/ (A link-blog that'll fill in huge chunks of stuff you've missed)
http://www.neatorama.com/ (riiiight)
http://www.futilitycloset.com/ (a stupidly super-good blog with astounding stories)
http://bldgblog.blogspot.com/ (Buildings, urban stuff, and their impact on society)
http://cuteoverload.com/ (Straight up cute animals 24-7)
http://kfmonkey.blogspot.com/ (Kung-Fu-Monkey...a T.V. writer's blog. Totally fun)
http://minortweaks.com/ (A super entertaining family-friendly personal blog)
http://www.warrenellis.com/ (He's the Fjucking internet Jesus.)
http://presurfer.blogspot.com/ (Presurfing, so you don't have to)
http://thinkorthwim.com/ (An interesting blog for smart peoples.)
http://blog.wired.com/defense/ (Wired's mil-blog, fun place if you like military/tech stuffs)
http://www.oddee.com/ (A bunch of fun, amazing things.)
http://overcompensating.com/ (My favorite web-comic)
Some of these I have gotten away from (thru disinterest or lack of rapidly appearing new content) but have come back to, simply because of strength of their material. Hope this helps.
-Tsunami-
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
If You Lived Here You'd Be Home By Now
Friday is Friday.
Friday is Monday, Friday is Tuesday, Friday is Wednesday, and Friday is Thursday.
Yea friends, for nearly the next four months, every day for your pal Tsunami is Friday. His position at the Casa Aloha H.Q. has been outsourced and the end is nigh! YEA, THE END IS NIGH!
As per the dream, the Casa Aloha H.Q. is moving to...THE CASA ALOHA! I can wake up and my commute is rolling out of bed onto my floor! I can leave work and be at my home in milliseconds. I can wash my dishes and clothes and chalk it up to "a business expense!" My Gjod...it'll be beautiful!
Anyhoo, I hope to leave you with a good impression in a zen-like state.
A state which would be something like this.
Wherever you are, and whatever you do, and whenever you do it...just do it like it was the last thing you had to do before closing time on Friday rolls in.
Because we all infuse our actions with positivity on Friday...I think it comes knowing it'll probably be the last time during the week we'll haveta' do the dumb fjucking thing. Well, there's no telling when the last time you're going to have to do the dumb fjucking thing. Ever. Hell, your first time could be the last time. So do your shit like that, and maybe you too, one day, (which might be tomorrow...err, Monday) might be in the spot that I'm in...rolling in eternal Fridays until the cows come home.
Happy Friday.
-Tsunami-
Friday is Monday, Friday is Tuesday, Friday is Wednesday, and Friday is Thursday.
Yea friends, for nearly the next four months, every day for your pal Tsunami is Friday. His position at the Casa Aloha H.Q. has been outsourced and the end is nigh! YEA, THE END IS NIGH!
As per the dream, the Casa Aloha H.Q. is moving to...THE CASA ALOHA! I can wake up and my commute is rolling out of bed onto my floor! I can leave work and be at my home in milliseconds. I can wash my dishes and clothes and chalk it up to "a business expense!" My Gjod...it'll be beautiful!
Anyhoo, I hope to leave you with a good impression in a zen-like state.
A state which would be something like this.
Wherever you are, and whatever you do, and whenever you do it...just do it like it was the last thing you had to do before closing time on Friday rolls in.
Because we all infuse our actions with positivity on Friday...I think it comes knowing it'll probably be the last time during the week we'll haveta' do the dumb fjucking thing. Well, there's no telling when the last time you're going to have to do the dumb fjucking thing. Ever. Hell, your first time could be the last time. So do your shit like that, and maybe you too, one day, (which might be tomorrow...err, Monday) might be in the spot that I'm in...rolling in eternal Fridays until the cows come home.
Happy Friday.
-Tsunami-
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Time for a 1st Quarter Checkup!
"Tomorrow will be the most beautiful day of Raymond K. Hessel's life. His breakfast will taste better than any meal you and I have ever tasted."
- Tyler Durden, Fight Club
How's your day? Beautiful?
How'd yer breakfast taste? Astounding?
How close are you to livin' The Fjordian Dream?
"Oh, I get it. That's very clever."
"Thank you."
"How's that working out for you?"
"What?"
"Being clever."
"Great."
"Keep it up then."
- Tyler Durden, Fight Club
How's your day? Beautiful?
How'd yer breakfast taste? Astounding?
How close are you to livin' The Fjordian Dream?
"Oh, I get it. That's very clever."
"Thank you."
"How's that working out for you?"
"What?"
"Being clever."
"Great."
"Keep it up then."
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
If things seem a little off lately
That's because they are. Please be aware you're sharing this with many others as we speak.
Perhaps this little yooo-tube video will help.
Perhaps this little yooo-tube video will help.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Well, here ya go...
A little something I was workin' on tonite.
“Not that I’m hiding or anything,” the voice said through the phone on a connection that made it sound like he was talking through a tin-can.
“But…” I answered slowly, drawing the word out as long a possible.
“There are a few people I’ve learned, who wouldn’t mind inconveniencing me, umm…physically.”
“You’ve got a fucking armored Bentley and two South African special-ops guys on your bodyguard staff. You’re worried about being physically inconvenienced?”
“They’re pretty aware of that, I’m sure.” He replied.
I took about six steps down the wide and nearly empty sidewalk that edged the park near my crappy apartment. My throat had a bunch of crap in it, so I cleared it without apology in my cell, and spat. I finished my thought. “You know what I’m doing right now, yeah? I’m walking home from the drug store with two Miller Lite tall-boys, and I’m about to drink ‘em, and forget my day.”
“I’m sure, however,” The tinny voice said. “I’m in a bind, and I need to ask you to do a thing for me.”
“Why.”
“Because nobody I know, knows I know you.”
That was true enough. The guy was just some dink I’d had a conversation with at a bar, and had stupidly given my card. It wasn’t even the business card from the last gig I’d been fired from. It was the one I’d made up in fun. That just had my name on it in 18 point font, so I could say, “Howdy, I’m Dario Tsunami. Here’s my card.” And it would reiterate in print, on an otherwise blank card, “Dario Tsunami”
The dink’s name was Walter Bruthers, and he kept on buying me drinks that night, and making pleasant conversation and impressing me with his bar tab and funny stories about important people about town until I happily gave over my real numbers. I didn’t even remember doing it the next day. But a week later it had come back to haunt me.
“Dario, this is Walter.” The conversation had started. “Enjoyed your company the other night, and was wondering if you’d like to swing over for a little thing I’m having tonight?”
“Okay.” I stupidly answered.
“Great! There’s a car outside right now.”
And that’s how I learned about his armored Bentley. His bodyguards, I learned about during a most uncomfortable series of conversations with his other guests at his mansion that night. I was doing my best to overcome the stereotype that it’s not what you do, or what you have, it’s who you are that matters. I failed miserably.
“Not that I’m hiding or anything,” the voice said through the phone on a connection that made it sound like he was talking through a tin-can.
“But…” I answered slowly, drawing the word out as long a possible.
“There are a few people I’ve learned, who wouldn’t mind inconveniencing me, umm…physically.”
“You’ve got a fucking armored Bentley and two South African special-ops guys on your bodyguard staff. You’re worried about being physically inconvenienced?”
“They’re pretty aware of that, I’m sure.” He replied.
I took about six steps down the wide and nearly empty sidewalk that edged the park near my crappy apartment. My throat had a bunch of crap in it, so I cleared it without apology in my cell, and spat. I finished my thought. “You know what I’m doing right now, yeah? I’m walking home from the drug store with two Miller Lite tall-boys, and I’m about to drink ‘em, and forget my day.”
“I’m sure, however,” The tinny voice said. “I’m in a bind, and I need to ask you to do a thing for me.”
“Why.”
“Because nobody I know, knows I know you.”
That was true enough. The guy was just some dink I’d had a conversation with at a bar, and had stupidly given my card. It wasn’t even the business card from the last gig I’d been fired from. It was the one I’d made up in fun. That just had my name on it in 18 point font, so I could say, “Howdy, I’m Dario Tsunami. Here’s my card.” And it would reiterate in print, on an otherwise blank card, “Dario Tsunami”
The dink’s name was Walter Bruthers, and he kept on buying me drinks that night, and making pleasant conversation and impressing me with his bar tab and funny stories about important people about town until I happily gave over my real numbers. I didn’t even remember doing it the next day. But a week later it had come back to haunt me.
“Dario, this is Walter.” The conversation had started. “Enjoyed your company the other night, and was wondering if you’d like to swing over for a little thing I’m having tonight?”
“Okay.” I stupidly answered.
“Great! There’s a car outside right now.”
And that’s how I learned about his armored Bentley. His bodyguards, I learned about during a most uncomfortable series of conversations with his other guests at his mansion that night. I was doing my best to overcome the stereotype that it’s not what you do, or what you have, it’s who you are that matters. I failed miserably.
You haven't forgotten the Jellyfish, have you?
I guess the good thing is we've advanced from spotters on ferries to...
scientists who managed to place tracking devices on the jellyfish
Yaay! We're now using that human inginuity to GPS those motha'fuckas! Oh, wait...
proved that they were not drifting on the ocean currents but heading determinedly - and at the speed of an Olympic swimmer - towards the coast.
Aaah, crap.
scientists who managed to place tracking devices on the jellyfish
Yaay! We're now using that human inginuity to GPS those motha'fuckas! Oh, wait...
proved that they were not drifting on the ocean currents but heading determinedly - and at the speed of an Olympic swimmer - towards the coast.
Aaah, crap.
Monday, February 18, 2008
In order to clense your palate after that last one...
I'd like to provide you with this link to a whole bunch of reasons David Banner gets turned into the Hulk.
Friday, February 15, 2008
It's Friday...890
Yeah, it's Friday. And it's dark, with the blanket of night that's turned The City into a place full of malice in every alley, and every sidewalk, and every space between parked cars. Only small pools of streetlights give the illusion of safety, but with the passing cars insulated by doors and locks and speed, no one is about to give tonite over towards good-samaritanism. Tonite, Friday is distinctly noir, and 2Pac floats down, flavoring the scene with a more honest modernity.
Let me welcome everybody to the wild wild west, a state that's untouchable like Elliot Ness. The track hits your eardrum like a slug to your chest.
Friday wore a long trench coat, and a fedora, and he carried what looked like a violin case under the crook his arm. Fanning out behind him in a pyramid formation were the assembled weekdays, dressed in suitable attire. They all carried black cases too. Monday had the handle of a guitar case in his left hand, and his eyes sent out waves of malice. Tuesday held over his shoulder the huge case of a stand up bass like it was a rocket-launcher. Wednesday, his suit and overcoat ill-fitting over his hunchback, carried a flat black suitcase and was constantly looking behind the crew. Thursday carried a square trumpet case, and looked at ease in a flashy black suit with a white tie (and black tie-clip), and when his overcoat blew back in the breeze revealed a square folded handkerchief in his breast pocket.
They walked until a driveway off the street crossed their path, and carried a dark river of asphalt up into darkness, into the park. There, two lamp posts lit the entrance - an open gate between an unscaleable fence that guarded the park. Against the left pole leaned a black man, dressed in black Nike shoes, black baggy pants, and a black hoodie which didn't quite cover the white L.A. stitched on a black baseball cap. He eyed the weekdays with barely concealed contempt.
Let me serinade the streets of L.A., from Oakland to Sac-town, the Bay area and back-down, Cali is where they put the mack down Give Me Love!
Friday and the weekdays pulled to a stop, noticing a Latino leaning up against the other pole. He was thick, young, and full of tough. He wore khaki brown boots, loose-fitting blue jeans, and a red hoodie, that likewise couldn't cover the white L.A. logo stitched on his red baseball cap. He flicked things out of his fingernails with a switchblade knife, and looked over at the gang of pulled up weekdays.
"You're late." He said.
"Word." The black man in black clothes responded.
"Traffic." Thursday responded without hostility, and a slight shrug.
"Ss'Aiite." Said the man in the black cap. "Still gots an hour to do dis."
The Latino in the red cap folded his knife and put it back into his pocket. He stared at the weekdays, but with a touch of irony said,
"Word."
He peeled himself off the lamp post, and walked up the road. The man in black turned his back on them and followed.
"Are you sure we should do this?" Said Tuesday.
"Well fuck, we came this far..." Wednesday responded.
Monday spoke with a hard edge...
"Only live once. And by Gjod..." His tone changed to something more friendly, "in it, is a lifetime of mistakes. C'mon."
He walked forward, and reached Friday's shoulder as he started moving too, not about to loose his place as the leader.
"Are you sure about this?" Monday asked Friday as they walked up the hill, following their black-and-red clad guides.
"Sure as shit." Friday spoke. "We're armed to the teeth. It'll get ugly, but there's nothing saying we can't hold our own like we always do."
With his free hand he opened a chrome cigarette case, slipped out a smoke, stuck it in his mouth, folded the case closed, slipped it back in his pocket, and produced a lighter which, in a brief moment of windless dark, he struck to life. It lit the cigarette with a bright light-blue flame blown back towards him in the breeze his motion produced. He drew a drag, and blew it out of his lungs.
In less than the time it took for Friday to finish his smoke, they had walked between trees and walked up a staircase, still following their guides. The formation of five weekdays had slowly gained a crowded following behind them, as people emerged from the darkened park in an ominous mob that began to follow them. Wednesday looked occasionally and tried to bring it up to the group.
"There's a few people behind us." He said at first. No one cared enough to respond. "There's about a hundred people behind us." He said next. Not one other weekday looked back. "There's about a thousand people behind us." Was the next thing out of his mouth. Not one other Weekday looked back. Monday responded.
"Wedneday," He said, "Shut up."
Deep in the park with a mob behind them the five weekdays followed the road till it came to a small outlet, where a small bowl-shaped depression peeled off to the right. There, a number of people gathered in two large groups. Words were hurled like weapons between them.
"I was busy fucking your mom in the ass last night!"
"What the fuck did you just say?!"
"It sounds like you have a cock in your mouth!"
"Yeah, your mom's cock!"
The two men they had been following, split off, to the left, the man with the black cap, to the right, the man with the red.
"Shut this shit down." The black man with the black cap said. "You know it's crap, and it's about to get serious!"
The Latino in the red cap replied in kind to his mob.
"Get your shit together!" He threw his arms out on a glorious display of bravado to his mob of people. "We're gonna' do this!" He threw his arms down as emphasis as he shouted, "Right now!"
Friday set down the violin case, and cracked it open. Inside were the component pieces of a tommy-gun. He began to remove the stock, and the barrel, which he affixed together, then he grabbed the wooden barrel handle, set that in it's place. He looked back at the assorted weekdays.
"You guys ready?" He asked hopefully.
"Fuck yeah Friday." Said Monday. The others nodded in agreement.
As Friday placed the firing pin into the barrel, members of both groups on their left and right moved forward to see what he was doing. As they moved forward, those behind them in the two mobs began to fiddle with cases, their jackets, and then, two trailers of searchlights kicked on lighting the scene with un gjodly light. Thousands of spectators had gathered around the shallow bowl where they were gathered.
"That is so fucking cool." Said a member of the black-clad mob, looking at Friday's tommy-gun.
"Mang..." A member of the red-clad crew said. "Word."
Friday put his weapon to his shoulder, and grabbed the cylindrical magazine out of the case, and fitted it to his weapon.
There was a moment of silence, which spilled out around him like a wave, and with the searchlights, everyone was riveted. Behind him, the weekdays frantically opened cases, and tried to get themselves getting ready for the battle about to begin.
"I've come here to make a point! That point will not be denied!"
Friday yelled.
From his left, the sound of a bass beat began. It was thick, and heavy, and fucking solid.
"we have come here tonite to bring this to a conclusion!" He shouted, just as a backbeat began coming from the right. Then he raised his tommy gun to his shoulder, he pointed at the sky, and began to fire!
Rounds spilled out in staccato, an amazing snare-drum rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat that lasted far longer than anyone in the crowd could have believed. In fact, it was still going after everyone in the crowd believed such a weapon was done firing its projectiles moments before. Friday looked back to the people from each group who had moved forward to admire his weapon.
"Just blanks." He said, taking the smoking barrel of tommy-gun down from his shoulder, and dropped the weapon at his feet.
"Shootin' real slugs is dangerous!"
As the audience had been blasted by the staccato sound of his gun, it took a few moments for them to realize the battling beats behind them had coalesced into a perfect mesh of driving force, and accents that revealed skilled DJ's, who had fought each other, and reached an agreement.
Behind that, a bass line appeared from nowhere. Tuesday, standing precariously on his angled stand-up-bass ripped a rock-a-billy vibe off his instrument, as Wednesday adjusted a washboard hanging from straps around his shoulders, and began running spoons across it, filling the space between the throbbing drumbeats with a soft scratchy rhythm that was echoed from the right, where maracas and castanet’s kicked in.
From the left came three men armed with microphones blaring the non-subtle, attention-getting words, "YO! YO YO!" Then one man came to the forefront, who exploded,
"We came to this place to make a mess of this place! And that's why you came too!"
Behind him, from the right, three trumpet players followed the melody of his eighteen words, and brought it into a grove. It swelled up and down and then cut out, only the throbbing beat, and backbeat were heard. Then Monday's guitar cut a swath through the beat. Echoing the best five notes in the repetition of the horn section following the rappers from the left, cut up a razor groove, where then the rappers blasted in perfect sychopation with each other.
"It's true it's hard!"
"It's true it's bad!"
"it's true it's never gonna be right!"
And just then a DJ (impossible to tell which side decides to kill this at the moment) just kicked in with a sample from the Prodigy song "smack my bitch up" at the bridge, where the woman is singing her gorgeous part, and everyone is transfixt. Like, even the guys running the beat, and backbeat, and percussion are shocked that something like this can be run over their their work.
Thursday waits until the sample of the woman has played out, then repeats the performance, only in trumpet form...a solid backbeat with one of the best, and most powerful melodies ever written, only repeated with tender skill and power forced through a fjucking trumpet. The crowds gathered are weeping even before he rips further emotions from them.
Then Friday reaches into his overcoat, and pulls out a small case. He cracks is open, and sets a Honer harmonica between his teeth, then from his other pocket on his left hand-side pulls a mic, and begins to echo the strains. It's sheer beauty, and it's sheer madness. It's a fucking harmonica.
Those from one side and the other are overwhelmed. There's just too much grove going on to stop. The trumpets kick in, along with another shot of chest-crunching bass, and Monday's shearing guitar...which has been joined by axe-players from both sides, combining only the best of notes and the best of space between them.
Friday took the harmonica from between his lips, and held the mic close to his face.
"I came here tonite to prove a point." He said in perfect time to the beat.
"And that point will not be denied!"
*the beat continues*
The trumpets kicked in to emphasize the moment. Then the rappers reiterated, echoing in unison, like the trainers of Ali.
"That point will not be denied! Fourteen things you gots a problem with, and ten solutions...
The mob gathered was stupid, following like a dog on a leash. They yelled back as loud as they could in agreement!
"We're stronger together!" Friday yells over the beat, "Than we ever could be alone!!"
The rest of the shit that happens is not worth my time to describe.
Happy Mothafjuckin' Friday!
Let me welcome everybody to the wild wild west, a state that's untouchable like Elliot Ness. The track hits your eardrum like a slug to your chest.
Friday wore a long trench coat, and a fedora, and he carried what looked like a violin case under the crook his arm. Fanning out behind him in a pyramid formation were the assembled weekdays, dressed in suitable attire. They all carried black cases too. Monday had the handle of a guitar case in his left hand, and his eyes sent out waves of malice. Tuesday held over his shoulder the huge case of a stand up bass like it was a rocket-launcher. Wednesday, his suit and overcoat ill-fitting over his hunchback, carried a flat black suitcase and was constantly looking behind the crew. Thursday carried a square trumpet case, and looked at ease in a flashy black suit with a white tie (and black tie-clip), and when his overcoat blew back in the breeze revealed a square folded handkerchief in his breast pocket.
They walked until a driveway off the street crossed their path, and carried a dark river of asphalt up into darkness, into the park. There, two lamp posts lit the entrance - an open gate between an unscaleable fence that guarded the park. Against the left pole leaned a black man, dressed in black Nike shoes, black baggy pants, and a black hoodie which didn't quite cover the white L.A. stitched on a black baseball cap. He eyed the weekdays with barely concealed contempt.
Let me serinade the streets of L.A., from Oakland to Sac-town, the Bay area and back-down, Cali is where they put the mack down Give Me Love!
Friday and the weekdays pulled to a stop, noticing a Latino leaning up against the other pole. He was thick, young, and full of tough. He wore khaki brown boots, loose-fitting blue jeans, and a red hoodie, that likewise couldn't cover the white L.A. logo stitched on his red baseball cap. He flicked things out of his fingernails with a switchblade knife, and looked over at the gang of pulled up weekdays.
"You're late." He said.
"Word." The black man in black clothes responded.
"Traffic." Thursday responded without hostility, and a slight shrug.
"Ss'Aiite." Said the man in the black cap. "Still gots an hour to do dis."
The Latino in the red cap folded his knife and put it back into his pocket. He stared at the weekdays, but with a touch of irony said,
"Word."
He peeled himself off the lamp post, and walked up the road. The man in black turned his back on them and followed.
"Are you sure we should do this?" Said Tuesday.
"Well fuck, we came this far..." Wednesday responded.
Monday spoke with a hard edge...
"Only live once. And by Gjod..." His tone changed to something more friendly, "in it, is a lifetime of mistakes. C'mon."
He walked forward, and reached Friday's shoulder as he started moving too, not about to loose his place as the leader.
"Are you sure about this?" Monday asked Friday as they walked up the hill, following their black-and-red clad guides.
"Sure as shit." Friday spoke. "We're armed to the teeth. It'll get ugly, but there's nothing saying we can't hold our own like we always do."
With his free hand he opened a chrome cigarette case, slipped out a smoke, stuck it in his mouth, folded the case closed, slipped it back in his pocket, and produced a lighter which, in a brief moment of windless dark, he struck to life. It lit the cigarette with a bright light-blue flame blown back towards him in the breeze his motion produced. He drew a drag, and blew it out of his lungs.
In less than the time it took for Friday to finish his smoke, they had walked between trees and walked up a staircase, still following their guides. The formation of five weekdays had slowly gained a crowded following behind them, as people emerged from the darkened park in an ominous mob that began to follow them. Wednesday looked occasionally and tried to bring it up to the group.
"There's a few people behind us." He said at first. No one cared enough to respond. "There's about a hundred people behind us." He said next. Not one other weekday looked back. "There's about a thousand people behind us." Was the next thing out of his mouth. Not one other Weekday looked back. Monday responded.
"Wedneday," He said, "Shut up."
Deep in the park with a mob behind them the five weekdays followed the road till it came to a small outlet, where a small bowl-shaped depression peeled off to the right. There, a number of people gathered in two large groups. Words were hurled like weapons between them.
"I was busy fucking your mom in the ass last night!"
"What the fuck did you just say?!"
"It sounds like you have a cock in your mouth!"
"Yeah, your mom's cock!"
The two men they had been following, split off, to the left, the man with the black cap, to the right, the man with the red.
"Shut this shit down." The black man with the black cap said. "You know it's crap, and it's about to get serious!"
The Latino in the red cap replied in kind to his mob.
"Get your shit together!" He threw his arms out on a glorious display of bravado to his mob of people. "We're gonna' do this!" He threw his arms down as emphasis as he shouted, "Right now!"
Friday set down the violin case, and cracked it open. Inside were the component pieces of a tommy-gun. He began to remove the stock, and the barrel, which he affixed together, then he grabbed the wooden barrel handle, set that in it's place. He looked back at the assorted weekdays.
"You guys ready?" He asked hopefully.
"Fuck yeah Friday." Said Monday. The others nodded in agreement.
As Friday placed the firing pin into the barrel, members of both groups on their left and right moved forward to see what he was doing. As they moved forward, those behind them in the two mobs began to fiddle with cases, their jackets, and then, two trailers of searchlights kicked on lighting the scene with un gjodly light. Thousands of spectators had gathered around the shallow bowl where they were gathered.
"That is so fucking cool." Said a member of the black-clad mob, looking at Friday's tommy-gun.
"Mang..." A member of the red-clad crew said. "Word."
Friday put his weapon to his shoulder, and grabbed the cylindrical magazine out of the case, and fitted it to his weapon.
There was a moment of silence, which spilled out around him like a wave, and with the searchlights, everyone was riveted. Behind him, the weekdays frantically opened cases, and tried to get themselves getting ready for the battle about to begin.
"I've come here to make a point! That point will not be denied!"
Friday yelled.
From his left, the sound of a bass beat began. It was thick, and heavy, and fucking solid.
"we have come here tonite to bring this to a conclusion!" He shouted, just as a backbeat began coming from the right. Then he raised his tommy gun to his shoulder, he pointed at the sky, and began to fire!
Rounds spilled out in staccato, an amazing snare-drum rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat that lasted far longer than anyone in the crowd could have believed. In fact, it was still going after everyone in the crowd believed such a weapon was done firing its projectiles moments before. Friday looked back to the people from each group who had moved forward to admire his weapon.
"Just blanks." He said, taking the smoking barrel of tommy-gun down from his shoulder, and dropped the weapon at his feet.
"Shootin' real slugs is dangerous!"
As the audience had been blasted by the staccato sound of his gun, it took a few moments for them to realize the battling beats behind them had coalesced into a perfect mesh of driving force, and accents that revealed skilled DJ's, who had fought each other, and reached an agreement.
Behind that, a bass line appeared from nowhere. Tuesday, standing precariously on his angled stand-up-bass ripped a rock-a-billy vibe off his instrument, as Wednesday adjusted a washboard hanging from straps around his shoulders, and began running spoons across it, filling the space between the throbbing drumbeats with a soft scratchy rhythm that was echoed from the right, where maracas and castanet’s kicked in.
From the left came three men armed with microphones blaring the non-subtle, attention-getting words, "YO! YO YO!" Then one man came to the forefront, who exploded,
"We came to this place to make a mess of this place! And that's why you came too!"
Behind him, from the right, three trumpet players followed the melody of his eighteen words, and brought it into a grove. It swelled up and down and then cut out, only the throbbing beat, and backbeat were heard. Then Monday's guitar cut a swath through the beat. Echoing the best five notes in the repetition of the horn section following the rappers from the left, cut up a razor groove, where then the rappers blasted in perfect sychopation with each other.
"It's true it's hard!"
"It's true it's bad!"
"it's true it's never gonna be right!"
And just then a DJ (impossible to tell which side decides to kill this at the moment) just kicked in with a sample from the Prodigy song "smack my bitch up" at the bridge, where the woman is singing her gorgeous part, and everyone is transfixt. Like, even the guys running the beat, and backbeat, and percussion are shocked that something like this can be run over their their work.
Thursday waits until the sample of the woman has played out, then repeats the performance, only in trumpet form...a solid backbeat with one of the best, and most powerful melodies ever written, only repeated with tender skill and power forced through a fjucking trumpet. The crowds gathered are weeping even before he rips further emotions from them.
Then Friday reaches into his overcoat, and pulls out a small case. He cracks is open, and sets a Honer harmonica between his teeth, then from his other pocket on his left hand-side pulls a mic, and begins to echo the strains. It's sheer beauty, and it's sheer madness. It's a fucking harmonica.
Those from one side and the other are overwhelmed. There's just too much grove going on to stop. The trumpets kick in, along with another shot of chest-crunching bass, and Monday's shearing guitar...which has been joined by axe-players from both sides, combining only the best of notes and the best of space between them.
Friday took the harmonica from between his lips, and held the mic close to his face.
"I came here tonite to prove a point." He said in perfect time to the beat.
"And that point will not be denied!"
*the beat continues*
The trumpets kicked in to emphasize the moment. Then the rappers reiterated, echoing in unison, like the trainers of Ali.
"That point will not be denied! Fourteen things you gots a problem with, and ten solutions...
The mob gathered was stupid, following like a dog on a leash. They yelled back as loud as they could in agreement!
"We're stronger together!" Friday yells over the beat, "Than we ever could be alone!!"
The rest of the shit that happens is not worth my time to describe.
Happy Mothafjuckin' Friday!
Thursday, February 14, 2008
The American Way
So lotsa' things is hapnin' down at Casa Aloha H.Q., that's been bringin' the noise. But I was gifted this, which I have'ta put up. Since it pretty much doevtails into my last post. This is what I remember America being.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
2-12-08-888. My Fellow American Fjordlings!
So I'm followin' the news about the FISA Bill which just passed the Senate with a 68-29 vote. This Bill (which has not passed the House, which has a difficult chance as the House Bill is much, much better) applies a blanket immunity to telecommunications companies for previously spying on everyone in the USA, and we won't even get to find out what they did...or who told them to do what, which also convieniantly insulates the Bush administration from any investigation into their own wrongdoing.
This means that 68 fjucking Senators of the U.S. of A decided that spying on you without a warrant was just fine, and in fact, even when they did spy on you before it was fine, is pretty okey too. Jeebus Christo! I'm as aware as anyone that fjuckling hi-skool Civics class was as much indoctrination as it was information. However, there were a few things I took to heart about our fair nation.
1) No man is above the law.
(Which means even the President of the US is held to the same standards as the lowest of citizens.)
2)Ignorance of the law is no excuse.
(Which means if you broke a law and didn't know you were breaking the law at the time, does not excuse you from punishment for breaking the law.)
It appears 68 elected Senators didn't get the same Civics class that I did, and it pisses me off!
I was thinking about a post in regards to the Presidential elections titled, "I'm Voting For Superman!" Which would have read something like,
"The reason I'm voting for Superman is because he stands for Truth, Justice, And the American Way! And those are three things I haven't seen for a while."
I'm not writing that post today, or any day apparently, as 68 elected representitives in the highest legislative branch in the United States of America, clearly have a different opinion of what "The American Way" is, and it fjucking sickens me.
I used to think the American Way was a good thing...sadly, I wonder now, if it ever was.
-Tusnami-
This means that 68 fjucking Senators of the U.S. of A decided that spying on you without a warrant was just fine, and in fact, even when they did spy on you before it was fine, is pretty okey too. Jeebus Christo! I'm as aware as anyone that fjuckling hi-skool Civics class was as much indoctrination as it was information. However, there were a few things I took to heart about our fair nation.
1) No man is above the law.
(Which means even the President of the US is held to the same standards as the lowest of citizens.)
2)Ignorance of the law is no excuse.
(Which means if you broke a law and didn't know you were breaking the law at the time, does not excuse you from punishment for breaking the law.)
It appears 68 elected Senators didn't get the same Civics class that I did, and it pisses me off!
I was thinking about a post in regards to the Presidential elections titled, "I'm Voting For Superman!" Which would have read something like,
"The reason I'm voting for Superman is because he stands for Truth, Justice, And the American Way! And those are three things I haven't seen for a while."
I'm not writing that post today, or any day apparently, as 68 elected representitives in the highest legislative branch in the United States of America, clearly have a different opinion of what "The American Way" is, and it fjucking sickens me.
I used to think the American Way was a good thing...sadly, I wonder now, if it ever was.
-Tusnami-
Monday, February 11, 2008
A little linkey?
DEATHBOT!!!
Then there's this super-duper microscope. Altho it's a full football field in size, from their actual home website, it doesn't seem like it's doing much of anything that's super-duper cool. Sad really.
Some Fujcking cool photos.
and mebby...a little about "the evil eye!"
Finally, this place is good for a lot of interesting tidbits.
Then there's this super-duper microscope. Altho it's a full football field in size, from their actual home website, it doesn't seem like it's doing much of anything that's super-duper cool. Sad really.
Some Fujcking cool photos.
and mebby...a little about "the evil eye!"
Finally, this place is good for a lot of interesting tidbits.
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