I was bored.
HERE IT IS...
Don't steal from monks:
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Happy Christmahanukwanzika
This holiday sucked. If you can call it a holiday. I had yesterday off work because we were closed, I called in sick on Christmas eve, and I'm back to work today (Boxing day). I hate being sick.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
The most discriminated people in the world.
Smokers.
It's akin to the persecution that the blacks felt four score and ten years ago. We're not allowed in some places, parents with children get all snarky. Some parents won't let their daughters date smokers. Some women won't date smokers, though that's personal choice and you could be losing a great guy over something as trivial as smoking, but that's just my opinion.
I know how it feels to be persecuted. Which is ironic because I'm a twenty year old white male living in Canada. The greatest nation on earth. Besides australia. Oh, and China, they're fuckin rad over there.
It's akin to the persecution that the blacks felt four score and ten years ago. We're not allowed in some places, parents with children get all snarky. Some parents won't let their daughters date smokers. Some women won't date smokers, though that's personal choice and you could be losing a great guy over something as trivial as smoking, but that's just my opinion.
I know how it feels to be persecuted. Which is ironic because I'm a twenty year old white male living in Canada. The greatest nation on earth. Besides australia. Oh, and China, they're fuckin rad over there.
Monday, December 04, 2006
All I want for Christmas.
I seem to have these flurries of fabulous funk that feel fantastic in regards to my rigorous routine of writing words in this area. Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don't. When I do, I do; and when I don't: I really don't. Odd, non? However I am BrandonBrown, which should be explanation enough for those foolish enough to be seeking it. I would highly recommend not doing so.
I have several odd traditions that circle around the holiday that may be known as Christmas to those who believe in christ and known as xmas to those that don't. (As a side note; I'd like Christmas to be called bysomeonesomeshittheydon'tneed day. I hate christmas. Stop buying all that pointless shit.)
One of these traditions is for someone I care about to let me down. For me to find out something horrible. Basically, every strong memory I have of this supposed "holy day" has been regarding someone deceiving me in the worste way possible. From the myth of Santa Claus when I was a boy, to empty boxes, to hits in the face, to falling in traps. All leading up to my father last year. I just wonder what kind of post-traumatic stress I'm going to have to deal with January 2007.
So, if you have anything of importance to tell me. Something you may have been hiding from me of importance. Something that you may have felt, said or did that led me to believe something that wasn't true. Save it until the new year, because this year's fucking full.
Merry fuckin Christmas.
I have several odd traditions that circle around the holiday that may be known as Christmas to those who believe in christ and known as xmas to those that don't. (As a side note; I'd like Christmas to be called bysomeonesomeshittheydon'tneed day. I hate christmas. Stop buying all that pointless shit.)
One of these traditions is for someone I care about to let me down. For me to find out something horrible. Basically, every strong memory I have of this supposed "holy day" has been regarding someone deceiving me in the worste way possible. From the myth of Santa Claus when I was a boy, to empty boxes, to hits in the face, to falling in traps. All leading up to my father last year. I just wonder what kind of post-traumatic stress I'm going to have to deal with January 2007.
So, if you have anything of importance to tell me. Something you may have been hiding from me of importance. Something that you may have felt, said or did that led me to believe something that wasn't true. Save it until the new year, because this year's fucking full.
Merry fuckin Christmas.
The man in black fled across the desert.
And the Gunslinger followed. The man in black was never caught in this story however. This is me walking away in the most elegant way I can imagine. Goodbye.
The First Step
The trick is to realize that you're dreaming in the first place, you have to recognize it. You have to be able to ask yourself; "hey man, is this a dream?"...
Everyone knows, fun rules.
Seems like everyone's sleep-walking through their waking state or wake-walking through their dreams.
I'm depressed. I have no real friends here. I have a couple buddies that I go to the bar with on occasion, and a couple women that I see once in a while. But I don't know whether or not it's part of growing up or what, but I have no friends. It's fucking depressing me right now. Tomorrow I'll be right as rain I'm sure, but for now; I'm not pleased.
I miss you.
Everyone knows, fun rules.
Seems like everyone's sleep-walking through their waking state or wake-walking through their dreams.
I'm depressed. I have no real friends here. I have a couple buddies that I go to the bar with on occasion, and a couple women that I see once in a while. But I don't know whether or not it's part of growing up or what, but I have no friends. It's fucking depressing me right now. Tomorrow I'll be right as rain I'm sure, but for now; I'm not pleased.
I miss you.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Friday, November 24, 2006
READ ME...especially Tess.
Grind House is a 2007 film that consists of two segments, of which both are feature-length attractions. One segment, Planet Terror, will be a zombie film written and directed by Robert Rodriguez. The other segment, Death Proof, will be a slasher film written and directed by Quentin Tarantino. There will also be trailers advertising fake films between the segments. Grind House is expected to be released on April 6, 2007.
What have I become?
As I sit here, at 12:16 in the morning on a Friday night, it hits me. As it often does (by it of course I mean ideas). I realize that I have no life right now. Now, some of you are saying, yes Brandonbrown, you have a life. You must, because it's unlikely that a corpse can string together the exact combination of letters and spaces to form speach, or in this case text. And, to you people I say, "Shut the fuck up", you're retarded. What I meant by having no life was not that I'm absent of a "lifeforce" but I seemed to have forced all the living that I'm used to out of my life. For the past couple weeks, since my return from PG, I've noticed that I do nothing here.
Not to say that I sit around the house all day, for I have school, and two jobs. I'm very busy, but I have no life. One true "friend", and that's about it. No love interest in this province. Essentially nothing, but family. Thank god I love my family. We're actually getting along this time. Which is really odd. I've never gotten along with my family my whole life. But, I can't tell whether it's because I've given up my rebelious ways. (which I suppose I have), or they've given up caring. Nevermind, I'd delete what I just said, but I'm too lazy and explaining it in more typing takes up space. This blog is like CNN 24 hour news. Fill it up with speculation and made up wordo's. Fuck George Bush.
Not to say that I sit around the house all day, for I have school, and two jobs. I'm very busy, but I have no life. One true "friend", and that's about it. No love interest in this province. Essentially nothing, but family. Thank god I love my family. We're actually getting along this time. Which is really odd. I've never gotten along with my family my whole life. But, I can't tell whether it's because I've given up my rebelious ways. (which I suppose I have), or they've given up caring. Nevermind, I'd delete what I just said, but I'm too lazy and explaining it in more typing takes up space. This blog is like CNN 24 hour news. Fill it up with speculation and made up wordo's. Fuck George Bush.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
The strangest thing happened on Saturday.
All right, here's the setup.
I'm to the point where I have the ability to hear the sound that I'm hearing. I can see it in the fabric of reality, I can feel it coarsing through my viens, moving the very soul of the brandon. I can feel the flow trying desperately to escape. I bust for 30 seconds. And, it's flawless. We're talking, flawless. I've made mention to my "mental clone" before. He had nothing on me. I was dancing without inhibition. A direct medium for my emotion and the music that I heard (which was killer by the way).
But, for some reason I found myself unwilling to dance for more than 30 seconds at a time. There was this guy there that had been dancing for like ten fuckin years that I was better at. He was the "king" of saskatoon and I knew I could school him, but for some reason I was unable to bring myself to show my true talent. I actually intentionally dumbed it down. And he knew, which made it worse. When someone says, "you can dance better than that. You and I both know", and you really do know; something's wrong.
I was trapped in my own mind, and I've figured out why and what I should have done to solve it. This realization came when I met the guy that "dancer X" was chillin with. It was his "dancing buddy"...as Will is mine, he had his. I can't dance without mine, or one to take his place. Though his gloves will never be filled. So, I didn't have my support staff and I crumpled. It sucked. So, I've begun a search for someone of equal talent that's flying solo.
Oh, and one more thing. Should I lose a friend over the woman I love?
I'm to the point where I have the ability to hear the sound that I'm hearing. I can see it in the fabric of reality, I can feel it coarsing through my viens, moving the very soul of the brandon. I can feel the flow trying desperately to escape. I bust for 30 seconds. And, it's flawless. We're talking, flawless. I've made mention to my "mental clone" before. He had nothing on me. I was dancing without inhibition. A direct medium for my emotion and the music that I heard (which was killer by the way).
But, for some reason I found myself unwilling to dance for more than 30 seconds at a time. There was this guy there that had been dancing for like ten fuckin years that I was better at. He was the "king" of saskatoon and I knew I could school him, but for some reason I was unable to bring myself to show my true talent. I actually intentionally dumbed it down. And he knew, which made it worse. When someone says, "you can dance better than that. You and I both know", and you really do know; something's wrong.
I was trapped in my own mind, and I've figured out why and what I should have done to solve it. This realization came when I met the guy that "dancer X" was chillin with. It was his "dancing buddy"...as Will is mine, he had his. I can't dance without mine, or one to take his place. Though his gloves will never be filled. So, I didn't have my support staff and I crumpled. It sucked. So, I've begun a search for someone of equal talent that's flying solo.
Oh, and one more thing. Should I lose a friend over the woman I love?
Thursday, November 16, 2006
The facts about meth.
I happened to catch about five minutes of the tyra banks show as my sister was watching it. It was about a woman that was a recovering meth addict. As I am. Unfortunately, she really wasn't a recovering meth addict. She was, I believe, a recovering heroin addict.
Why can't media simply give us the truth about things instead of trying to scare the shit out of us? I think that me going on television and laying out the facts about meth would be far more effective than the propoganda scare-tactic bullshit that they're using to try scare us off drugs. When I get home from work, I'll elaborate.
Why can't media simply give us the truth about things instead of trying to scare the shit out of us? I think that me going on television and laying out the facts about meth would be far more effective than the propoganda scare-tactic bullshit that they're using to try scare us off drugs. When I get home from work, I'll elaborate.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
The incriminating blog and how it made me realize I was an image accessory.
It is my belief that the english language is useless. Completely fucking useless. What's said by me is interpreted in as many different ways as there are people hearing or reading it. The same can be said about actions, and in this case emotions.
Because, isn't how you think you feel about someone simply an interpretation of a wide array of given stimuli that leads us to an, if I may say this, emotional interpretation? An interpretation, or belief that leads us to behave in a certain way or to do things that we feel are necessary? Now, knowing this information, is it fair, accurate or even responsible to think that I should behave in a way similar to the way anyone else behaves when faced with this sort of "emotional labelling"?
What I mean by this is not as confusing as my words above are. I attatch the feeling of love to a certain group of stimuli that I may feel about a person. You, or anyone has obviously attatched that word "love" to a completely different group of stimuli. Meaning that we can love different things. Some people love men, some love cats. I love neither, in the relationship sense of the word. But what's important, to quote two brothers; is the connection that the word "love" implies. Now, since I've established that people have completely different interpretations for the word love and the subsequent emotion that's attatched to it, isn't it possible for me to behave differently while faced with this emotion and not taint it at all? Isn't it likely that I would behave differently when faced with this emotion than others would. Isn't it necessary?
Disclaimer: This post was fuelled by a conversation I had with someone. But, it plays heavily on some things that I have been medatating over recently, and it seemed to be the key that fit, and allowed this to come forth. As rough around the edges as this post is, it still stands as true as its final draft will.
So, what I mean is this.
Affection is a fickle creature. At least for me. When I'm faced with the sweaty palms, the fluttered heartbeat, and the nerves, my logic goes out the window. If you're the object of my affection, you'll know. Because I'll tell you. I don't think, however, that I've simply been affectionate of only one person at a time ever in my life. Quite the contrary in fact, in my mind, or my "heart" (the part of my mind that deals with emotion. It's small. And black) reside many people to which I am Affectionate. Please, do not confuse love with affection. They are two different beasts, and there shall be a rant on the former in the near future. Now, as I sit here letting my skilled hands pluck the correct series of keys to let these thoughts flow out to the world I think of all the people that I'm currently infatuated with, ogling over, feeling an affection for, or just plain like. There are a number of them. But, does that somehow make any of them less important to me? Quite the contrary.
Before I go any further, I have to clear something up, if only to myself. Just because I feel this emotion for someone doesn't mean I'll act upon it. Quite the contrary, it's usually those that I have absolutely no emotional attatchment to that I have the easiest time talking to and have a much easier time getting empty sexual gratification from. It also needs to be said that I've ignored a desire for empty sexual gratification for, um. Let's just say, a long time. Celebecy has it's cost, but I believe that the reward is great. As strange as this is to tell people I'm sure I've never met, and as hard as this may be to believe, t'is true none the less.
Now that we've cleared up that I'm not a slut (in the physical sense, I suppose I could be called an "emotional slut", but perhaps that's an unfair accusation as well) I must continue. Right, the fact that there are several players on the ice doesn't take away from how important each one is or how I feel about any of them. As bad of a comparison as that was, it got the point across. Kind of. I kind of lost the flow, so I'll wrap this up. If I am with someone. In the sense that I'm dating them, we have a "thing", or we're married. That's it, I've chosen you out of many. This should not make you feel any less that there were others that I cared for, but should make you realize that I cared for you the most. It still sounds terrible even as I write it because using this damn language to illustrate something like emotion is like trying to use a cobra to scrape ice off a windshield. Brandon out.
Because, isn't how you think you feel about someone simply an interpretation of a wide array of given stimuli that leads us to an, if I may say this, emotional interpretation? An interpretation, or belief that leads us to behave in a certain way or to do things that we feel are necessary? Now, knowing this information, is it fair, accurate or even responsible to think that I should behave in a way similar to the way anyone else behaves when faced with this sort of "emotional labelling"?
What I mean by this is not as confusing as my words above are. I attatch the feeling of love to a certain group of stimuli that I may feel about a person. You, or anyone has obviously attatched that word "love" to a completely different group of stimuli. Meaning that we can love different things. Some people love men, some love cats. I love neither, in the relationship sense of the word. But what's important, to quote two brothers; is the connection that the word "love" implies. Now, since I've established that people have completely different interpretations for the word love and the subsequent emotion that's attatched to it, isn't it possible for me to behave differently while faced with this emotion and not taint it at all? Isn't it likely that I would behave differently when faced with this emotion than others would. Isn't it necessary?
Disclaimer: This post was fuelled by a conversation I had with someone. But, it plays heavily on some things that I have been medatating over recently, and it seemed to be the key that fit, and allowed this to come forth. As rough around the edges as this post is, it still stands as true as its final draft will.
So, what I mean is this.
Affection is a fickle creature. At least for me. When I'm faced with the sweaty palms, the fluttered heartbeat, and the nerves, my logic goes out the window. If you're the object of my affection, you'll know. Because I'll tell you. I don't think, however, that I've simply been affectionate of only one person at a time ever in my life. Quite the contrary in fact, in my mind, or my "heart" (the part of my mind that deals with emotion. It's small. And black) reside many people to which I am Affectionate. Please, do not confuse love with affection. They are two different beasts, and there shall be a rant on the former in the near future. Now, as I sit here letting my skilled hands pluck the correct series of keys to let these thoughts flow out to the world I think of all the people that I'm currently infatuated with, ogling over, feeling an affection for, or just plain like. There are a number of them. But, does that somehow make any of them less important to me? Quite the contrary.
Before I go any further, I have to clear something up, if only to myself. Just because I feel this emotion for someone doesn't mean I'll act upon it. Quite the contrary, it's usually those that I have absolutely no emotional attatchment to that I have the easiest time talking to and have a much easier time getting empty sexual gratification from. It also needs to be said that I've ignored a desire for empty sexual gratification for, um. Let's just say, a long time. Celebecy has it's cost, but I believe that the reward is great. As strange as this is to tell people I'm sure I've never met, and as hard as this may be to believe, t'is true none the less.
Now that we've cleared up that I'm not a slut (in the physical sense, I suppose I could be called an "emotional slut", but perhaps that's an unfair accusation as well) I must continue. Right, the fact that there are several players on the ice doesn't take away from how important each one is or how I feel about any of them. As bad of a comparison as that was, it got the point across. Kind of. I kind of lost the flow, so I'll wrap this up. If I am with someone. In the sense that I'm dating them, we have a "thing", or we're married. That's it, I've chosen you out of many. This should not make you feel any less that there were others that I cared for, but should make you realize that I cared for you the most. It still sounds terrible even as I write it because using this damn language to illustrate something like emotion is like trying to use a cobra to scrape ice off a windshield. Brandon out.
Tool have captured my interest again, or moreover...Still.
After reading Alycia's post on tool's use of the fibonacci sequence in the lyrics of tool, I sent my mind on it. I read, and confirmed that the drummer, Sir Danny Carrey AKA: God also uses it, as he is known to love sacred geometry. For example, Mr. Carrey is known to have studied metaphysics as well as geometry and utilizes sacred geometry in his kit setup. Stating that his drumming is more than just the making of those beautiful sounds that I love so much.
Furhtermore, I found this article...Which explains, based on the fibinacci sequence, a new way to order the tracks of Lateralus, I'm listening to it now and am quite impressed.
http://www.bofe.org/overthinking.htm
Furhtermore, I found this article...Which explains, based on the fibinacci sequence, a new way to order the tracks of Lateralus, I'm listening to it now and am quite impressed.
http://www.bofe.org/overthinking.htm
Monday, November 13, 2006
Saying it best.
I think Tom Cruise said it best...Or maybe, I'm looking for an excuse to rehash this lil' mishap. Damn Cracka.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
I found this quote, and I had to share it. I love it.
"The Dancer believes that his art has something to say which cannot be expressed in words or in any other way than by dancing... there are times when the simple dignity of movement can fulfill the function of a volume of words. There are movements which impinge upon the nerves with a strength that is incomparable, for movement has power to stir the senses and emotions, unique in itself. This is the dancer's justification for being, and his reason for searching further for deeper aspects of his art." ~Doris Humphrey, 1937
Monday, November 06, 2006
Conversation with a twist of Bitch.
Allright, for those of you that have always asked the question "Would would happen if I was a bitch to BrandonBrown after he had a bad day, was stoned, and was in a particular mood to use the english language as a weapon?", here is the answer.
We enter this conversation after I make a lighthearted comment about a photo of a pair of hands making a heart under a clowdy sky. Obviously, I say the picture is Emo, and this is what ensued.
Samantha says:
its not emo at all buddy
***The Brandon*** says:
relax, t'was a joke
Samantha says:
you obviously dont know what emo is
Samantha says:
no im not in the mood for fucking pricks like you
***The Brandon*** says:
I apologize for having obviously offending you
Samantha says:
fuck off
***The Brandon*** says:
interesting
***The Brandon*** says:
why are you so hostile at the sight of these typed words
***The Brandon*** says:
does it not seem strange to you?
Samantha says:
im in a bad mood and your pissing me off
Samantha says:
cant you get the hint?
***The Brandon*** says:
It wasn't a very good hint, actually it wasn't really a hint at all. More of a blunt statement. I think fuck off may have been the biggest clue. Or rather, the only one...Actually, you blatantly told me that I was irritating you
***The Brandon*** says:
Do you know the definition of the word "hint"
***The Brandon*** says:
the word "subtle" is involved somewhere within said definition
Samantha says:
you and your big snotty words need to fuck off and stop talking to me
***The Brandon*** says:
but you keep responding, and I'm having quite a lot of fun. As I'm saying nothing that a reasonable person would find offensive. And, yet, here you are; finding it offensive.
Samantha says:
mhmm
***The Brandon*** says:
now, you've left me with nothing with that statement, as you never really said anything. But, what you did do for me is tell me, whether you know it or not, that you're still reading what I'm typing. That's also quite amuzing to me.
***The Brandon*** says:
Finally, you've solved the puzzle of how to get me to stop typing at you. And, all I had to do was tell you what I was doing and the thing to do to make me stop.
***The Brandon*** says:
I thought you'd like to know. I'm attracted to Lois Griffin.
Samantha says:
its funny how your wasting your time typing all this bullshit to me.
***The Brandon*** says:
Even after I told you twice the way to make me stop, you keep responding.
Samantha says:
n id like you to know i think your the biggest goof i have ever talked to.
***The Brandon*** says:
And, still. You continue to respond, knowing full well that it's fueling my desire, for whatever reason, to continue typing.
***The Brandon*** says:
You know. I think I shall write my term paper for Psych on this behaviour. For, I cannot possibly comprehend your motivations in continually responding to this stimuli when you know its eventual outcome.
***The Brandon*** says:
You're really quite fascinating
Samantha says:
thanks i get that alot.
***The Brandon*** says:
You're very welcome. Do people also say things like "Hey, you don't make any fuckin sense" to you all the time also?
Samantha says:
nope
***The Brandon*** says:
One would expect they would
Samantha says:
one would expect ur a faggot
***The Brandon*** says:
Are there more like you, or are you some sort of interesting anomaly? Alone on your worthless and unknown cause.
***The Brandon*** says:
If you don't mind, and I'm sure you don't; I'd just like to ask you a few simple questions. Just to see where in my study you fit. How old are you? What part of the world are you from? What's your yearly income? And, finally. Did you vote Republican last election?
Samantha says:
im uhhh 39.. im from China.. im poor n i dont vote
***The Brandon*** says:
You know, falsified data will taint my findings, and I won't be able to make accurate representations regarding your specific disorder.
Samantha says:
thats just too bad
***The Brandon*** says:
It really is, and I don't know if you knew this but, the disorder you suffer from; stupidity, its rampant among poor asains in their late thirties and early fourties. But, there is hope
***The Brandon*** says:
I hope to one day find a cure.
Samantha says:
oh baby ur my cure.. cum in my mouth make me screaaaaaaam
***The Brandon*** says:
No, in fact, I actually just vometed a little in my mouth.
Samantha says:
thats too bad cause you make me so wet
***The Brandon*** says:
I'm not attracted to older, poorer, asianer women. I'm sorry
Samantha says:
who says im a woman
***The Brandon*** says:
that's a good point, Samantha is a unisex name. Like Sarah, or Brittany
Samantha says:
um it isnt.. but okay
***The Brandon*** says:
I think you misunderstood what I said.. but okay
Samantha says:
mkay
***The Brandon*** says:
You bore me. Goodnight Samantha. I hope you enjoy your emo-hand poor asain man/woman sleep.
Samantha says:
how is that emo
Samantha says:
like honestly
***The Brandon*** says:
How is anything emo? By being awesome. Emo just equals Awesome in my mind
Samantha says:
so you think im awesome?
***The Brandon*** says:
How can you not see the connection? They both rhyme and are spelled the same.
Samantha says:
do not
Samantha says:
lick my cunt
***The Brandon*** says:
What, in that previous statement could have possibly angered you?
Samantha says:
how is telling you to lick my cunt seemed angry?
***The Brandon*** says:
I suppose the use of the word "cunt" with it's initial sound of the hard "C", it's one-syllableness and the final "T" sound that makes that statement seem angry
Samantha says:
LICK MY VAGINA
Samantha says:
better?
***The Brandon*** says:
Yes, though I'd still rather not perform any sexual act with you. Including oral sex. Though, I did just discover that you really are a poor, thirty-nine year old asian woman, as I previously thought.
Samantha says:
lol fuck you.. you know i was joking
***The Brandon*** says:
I knew no such thing. I took what you said to be true. Why would you lie to me about such trivial things. You become more and more intriguing with each statement you utter. Though, please. Stop speaking to me. I must ignore my work and prepare for tomorrow.
Samantha says:
you must ignore your work?
***The Brandon*** says:
Yes.
***The Brandon*** says:
It makes sense, you're just not viewing the words with the proper sight. What I meant was, that I must ignore you, and this conversation, which is my "work", which is collecting data to help cure stupidity. Which you suffer from.
That's where she didn't respond for over twenty minutes. She still hasn't, but I've claimed a huge victory at this point and thought the conversation was done. I was right.
We enter this conversation after I make a lighthearted comment about a photo of a pair of hands making a heart under a clowdy sky. Obviously, I say the picture is Emo, and this is what ensued.
Samantha says:
its not emo at all buddy
***The Brandon*** says:
relax, t'was a joke
Samantha says:
you obviously dont know what emo is
Samantha says:
no im not in the mood for fucking pricks like you
***The Brandon*** says:
I apologize for having obviously offending you
Samantha says:
fuck off
***The Brandon*** says:
interesting
***The Brandon*** says:
why are you so hostile at the sight of these typed words
***The Brandon*** says:
does it not seem strange to you?
Samantha says:
im in a bad mood and your pissing me off
Samantha says:
cant you get the hint?
***The Brandon*** says:
It wasn't a very good hint, actually it wasn't really a hint at all. More of a blunt statement. I think fuck off may have been the biggest clue. Or rather, the only one...Actually, you blatantly told me that I was irritating you
***The Brandon*** says:
Do you know the definition of the word "hint"
***The Brandon*** says:
the word "subtle" is involved somewhere within said definition
Samantha says:
you and your big snotty words need to fuck off and stop talking to me
***The Brandon*** says:
but you keep responding, and I'm having quite a lot of fun. As I'm saying nothing that a reasonable person would find offensive. And, yet, here you are; finding it offensive.
Samantha says:
mhmm
***The Brandon*** says:
now, you've left me with nothing with that statement, as you never really said anything. But, what you did do for me is tell me, whether you know it or not, that you're still reading what I'm typing. That's also quite amuzing to me.
***The Brandon*** says:
Finally, you've solved the puzzle of how to get me to stop typing at you. And, all I had to do was tell you what I was doing and the thing to do to make me stop.
***The Brandon*** says:
I thought you'd like to know. I'm attracted to Lois Griffin.
Samantha says:
its funny how your wasting your time typing all this bullshit to me.
***The Brandon*** says:
Even after I told you twice the way to make me stop, you keep responding.
Samantha says:
n id like you to know i think your the biggest goof i have ever talked to.
***The Brandon*** says:
And, still. You continue to respond, knowing full well that it's fueling my desire, for whatever reason, to continue typing.
***The Brandon*** says:
You know. I think I shall write my term paper for Psych on this behaviour. For, I cannot possibly comprehend your motivations in continually responding to this stimuli when you know its eventual outcome.
***The Brandon*** says:
You're really quite fascinating
Samantha says:
thanks i get that alot.
***The Brandon*** says:
You're very welcome. Do people also say things like "Hey, you don't make any fuckin sense" to you all the time also?
Samantha says:
nope
***The Brandon*** says:
One would expect they would
Samantha says:
one would expect ur a faggot
***The Brandon*** says:
Are there more like you, or are you some sort of interesting anomaly? Alone on your worthless and unknown cause.
***The Brandon*** says:
If you don't mind, and I'm sure you don't; I'd just like to ask you a few simple questions. Just to see where in my study you fit. How old are you? What part of the world are you from? What's your yearly income? And, finally. Did you vote Republican last election?
Samantha says:
im uhhh 39.. im from China.. im poor n i dont vote
***The Brandon*** says:
You know, falsified data will taint my findings, and I won't be able to make accurate representations regarding your specific disorder.
Samantha says:
thats just too bad
***The Brandon*** says:
It really is, and I don't know if you knew this but, the disorder you suffer from; stupidity, its rampant among poor asains in their late thirties and early fourties. But, there is hope
***The Brandon*** says:
I hope to one day find a cure.
Samantha says:
oh baby ur my cure.. cum in my mouth make me screaaaaaaam
***The Brandon*** says:
No, in fact, I actually just vometed a little in my mouth.
Samantha says:
thats too bad cause you make me so wet
***The Brandon*** says:
I'm not attracted to older, poorer, asianer women. I'm sorry
Samantha says:
who says im a woman
***The Brandon*** says:
that's a good point, Samantha is a unisex name. Like Sarah, or Brittany
Samantha says:
um it isnt.. but okay
***The Brandon*** says:
I think you misunderstood what I said.. but okay
Samantha says:
mkay
***The Brandon*** says:
You bore me. Goodnight Samantha. I hope you enjoy your emo-hand poor asain man/woman sleep.
Samantha says:
how is that emo
Samantha says:
like honestly
***The Brandon*** says:
How is anything emo? By being awesome. Emo just equals Awesome in my mind
Samantha says:
so you think im awesome?
***The Brandon*** says:
How can you not see the connection? They both rhyme and are spelled the same.
Samantha says:
do not
Samantha says:
lick my cunt
***The Brandon*** says:
What, in that previous statement could have possibly angered you?
Samantha says:
how is telling you to lick my cunt seemed angry?
***The Brandon*** says:
I suppose the use of the word "cunt" with it's initial sound of the hard "C", it's one-syllableness and the final "T" sound that makes that statement seem angry
Samantha says:
LICK MY VAGINA
Samantha says:
better?
***The Brandon*** says:
Yes, though I'd still rather not perform any sexual act with you. Including oral sex. Though, I did just discover that you really are a poor, thirty-nine year old asian woman, as I previously thought.
Samantha says:
lol fuck you.. you know i was joking
***The Brandon*** says:
I knew no such thing. I took what you said to be true. Why would you lie to me about such trivial things. You become more and more intriguing with each statement you utter. Though, please. Stop speaking to me. I must ignore my work and prepare for tomorrow.
Samantha says:
you must ignore your work?
***The Brandon*** says:
Yes.
***The Brandon*** says:
It makes sense, you're just not viewing the words with the proper sight. What I meant was, that I must ignore you, and this conversation, which is my "work", which is collecting data to help cure stupidity. Which you suffer from.
That's where she didn't respond for over twenty minutes. She still hasn't, but I've claimed a huge victory at this point and thought the conversation was done. I was right.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
"The After School Show With BrandonBrown" Halloween special.
December 31st is the best day of the year.
(BRedit: That says "December 31st", it should have been October 31st. Ya know, Halloween? Only one person noticed.)
I like candy.
But, most of all, I like dressing up. My costume choice is never something I fear, instead I always choose a costume that will allow me to act the way that I want with no fear of any reprecussion. Hunter S. Thompson. It's the perfect costume for me. For, deep inside me somewhere, maybe in my left shoulder, lives the great HST. We are kindered spirits.
The night was not looking to promising at ten o'clock, with nothing in sight for the night. Damn you internal rhyming. Though, things started looking up when, after over an hour of pestering from me, my buddy ryan decided to accompany me on one of "my" adventures. We rented an easter bunny costume for him. Complete with a basket full of broken dreams (candy) and hope on a string (pink balloons). Now, we have a plan, and I had picked up some LSD, and he had some gel caps. A case of beer and a bottle of taquila were added as we began our night. We decided to eat only half the acid first. Which, I realize now is funny. And, I wish I'd spilled the other half on the sleeve of my red woolen shirt. So, we ate the acid, drank the taquila and some of the beer and headed to the "Double Deuce", which is packed every single tuesday for two dollar drinks.
I was a celebrity as soon as I walked in the door. For, when you consume as much liquor, MDMA, and LSD as I had, it's impossible not to act like the great HST. I was stumbling around, mumbling to strangers and I smashed a glass in the middle of the dance floor at one point. Intentionally. I only wish I'd had a bag of concrete mix. Next year. My first photo shoot happened about an hour after we arrived, she was dressed like a german beer girl...Yum. Then, I had to get out, vibrations were getting nasty and I'd gotten all the laughs out of this bar that I could have. So, we peaced.
The Overdrive International Nightclub was holding a halloween contest, as were most places but it's a busy place. Again, packed. Again, I'm an instant celebrity. We decided to eat the rest of the acid and another pill. I proposed to a shooter girl. She said no. I couldn't believe it, but my ego was running strong from the other women that I'd already had "contact" with earlier in the night. Then, something happened. I met the twin of someone back home. I became instantly infatuated and followed her outside for a smoke. We shared a couple quick kisses, then she peeked over my shoulder and started screaming at someone. Her ex. Fuck, I thought, what had I gotten myself into? Fortunately, the easter bunny is a super hero. And swooped in and saved me. We simply walked, or rather; flailed away. After I'd befriended everyone in this bar and angered every boyfriend in the place, it was time to go.
I can't remember the name of the last bar that we went to. But I do remember one thing. Beats. Hard, dirty rank house. It was perfect. I met to shambhalites there, and we shared a moment of pure dance energy. What I mean by that is we were the only people dancing for like 2 hours. We're friends now. Children of the beat.
After the dancing blur, the bar closed. Understandably, my buddy Ryan decided to have a party at his house. We, along with some friends from each of the bars we visited arrived at his house, danced, blazed, chilled. Then. Then, something happened. Ryan's roommate flipped. Seriously lost her fucking mind. Told us her mom was outside with the landlord (it was 3 am, there was no one outside) and that it was her house, and she was calling the cops. It was disgusting, I've never seen anyone freak like that. Actually that's not true, though I erased that moment from my memory forever. You're like a brother to me Ace.
So, we left the crazy lady be. Which I was greatful for, because the place we went to was the most beautiful home I've ever been to. It was one hundred and eight years old, and I could feel the essence of the house the moment I walked in. It felt as though it was alive, and it was happy. And wanted me to be happy too. Beautiful twelve foot ceilings, with arching doorways and long hallways that led to hardwood floor laiden bedrooms/bathrooms. several loving cats were the perfect props for this home, and they were also pleased that I was there.
At ten-thirty, with people going to work, there I was. Flailing in the living room of this home with the DJ with his back to the traffic. People going to work. Ha. It was perfect.
Needless to say, work at three o'clock that same afternoon wasn't that much fun. Hope you liked my night.
(BRedit: That says "December 31st", it should have been October 31st. Ya know, Halloween? Only one person noticed.)
I like candy.
But, most of all, I like dressing up. My costume choice is never something I fear, instead I always choose a costume that will allow me to act the way that I want with no fear of any reprecussion. Hunter S. Thompson. It's the perfect costume for me. For, deep inside me somewhere, maybe in my left shoulder, lives the great HST. We are kindered spirits.
The night was not looking to promising at ten o'clock, with nothing in sight for the night. Damn you internal rhyming. Though, things started looking up when, after over an hour of pestering from me, my buddy ryan decided to accompany me on one of "my" adventures. We rented an easter bunny costume for him. Complete with a basket full of broken dreams (candy) and hope on a string (pink balloons). Now, we have a plan, and I had picked up some LSD, and he had some gel caps. A case of beer and a bottle of taquila were added as we began our night. We decided to eat only half the acid first. Which, I realize now is funny. And, I wish I'd spilled the other half on the sleeve of my red woolen shirt. So, we ate the acid, drank the taquila and some of the beer and headed to the "Double Deuce", which is packed every single tuesday for two dollar drinks.
I was a celebrity as soon as I walked in the door. For, when you consume as much liquor, MDMA, and LSD as I had, it's impossible not to act like the great HST. I was stumbling around, mumbling to strangers and I smashed a glass in the middle of the dance floor at one point. Intentionally. I only wish I'd had a bag of concrete mix. Next year. My first photo shoot happened about an hour after we arrived, she was dressed like a german beer girl...Yum. Then, I had to get out, vibrations were getting nasty and I'd gotten all the laughs out of this bar that I could have. So, we peaced.
The Overdrive International Nightclub was holding a halloween contest, as were most places but it's a busy place. Again, packed. Again, I'm an instant celebrity. We decided to eat the rest of the acid and another pill. I proposed to a shooter girl. She said no. I couldn't believe it, but my ego was running strong from the other women that I'd already had "contact" with earlier in the night. Then, something happened. I met the twin of someone back home. I became instantly infatuated and followed her outside for a smoke. We shared a couple quick kisses, then she peeked over my shoulder and started screaming at someone. Her ex. Fuck, I thought, what had I gotten myself into? Fortunately, the easter bunny is a super hero. And swooped in and saved me. We simply walked, or rather; flailed away. After I'd befriended everyone in this bar and angered every boyfriend in the place, it was time to go.
I can't remember the name of the last bar that we went to. But I do remember one thing. Beats. Hard, dirty rank house. It was perfect. I met to shambhalites there, and we shared a moment of pure dance energy. What I mean by that is we were the only people dancing for like 2 hours. We're friends now. Children of the beat.
After the dancing blur, the bar closed. Understandably, my buddy Ryan decided to have a party at his house. We, along with some friends from each of the bars we visited arrived at his house, danced, blazed, chilled. Then. Then, something happened. Ryan's roommate flipped. Seriously lost her fucking mind. Told us her mom was outside with the landlord (it was 3 am, there was no one outside) and that it was her house, and she was calling the cops. It was disgusting, I've never seen anyone freak like that. Actually that's not true, though I erased that moment from my memory forever. You're like a brother to me Ace.
So, we left the crazy lady be. Which I was greatful for, because the place we went to was the most beautiful home I've ever been to. It was one hundred and eight years old, and I could feel the essence of the house the moment I walked in. It felt as though it was alive, and it was happy. And wanted me to be happy too. Beautiful twelve foot ceilings, with arching doorways and long hallways that led to hardwood floor laiden bedrooms/bathrooms. several loving cats were the perfect props for this home, and they were also pleased that I was there.
At ten-thirty, with people going to work, there I was. Flailing in the living room of this home with the DJ with his back to the traffic. People going to work. Ha. It was perfect.
Needless to say, work at three o'clock that same afternoon wasn't that much fun. Hope you liked my night.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
It's not what you say, it's how you say it.
I was on my way home from a Paturday night (for those of you not in the industry of Saskatoon's dining establishments, that's a saturday night at the Pat), when I had a revalation. Which was strange due, in part, to the fact that I was in no condition to drive, let alone drive, air drum to lateralus, ponder and dance....This is a sight to behold, especially if you don't know what I'm capable of while driving -wink-.
I decided that something that'd I'd heard all my life was true. The saying that my title reflects, which I've heard every time I was unsure why someone was mad at something I said that I believed to be completely innocent. But, I always assumed that people were referring to the tone of things that are said rather than the actual words chosen to get said point across.
I decided that I can now, with my mastery of the english language (both written and spoken, though mostly spoken) I can get almost any point across and make it pleasant sounding, or at the very least neutral. Meaning, that it's not the content of what you're saying that's extremely important but the wording that you use to illustrate this content. I'm not going to let into any of the words/phrases/letters that I believe to be the most "pleasant", because that would take away from my edge.
I decided that something that'd I'd heard all my life was true. The saying that my title reflects, which I've heard every time I was unsure why someone was mad at something I said that I believed to be completely innocent. But, I always assumed that people were referring to the tone of things that are said rather than the actual words chosen to get said point across.
I decided that I can now, with my mastery of the english language (both written and spoken, though mostly spoken) I can get almost any point across and make it pleasant sounding, or at the very least neutral. Meaning, that it's not the content of what you're saying that's extremely important but the wording that you use to illustrate this content. I'm not going to let into any of the words/phrases/letters that I believe to be the most "pleasant", because that would take away from my edge.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
I was out on a drive, on a bit of a TRIP!
So, as I sit here pondering what to do/where to go on my extra time holiday that may or not be surrounding the self-proclaimed holiday that represents the birth of a man who's status was literally elevated to that of god-among-men; an idea comes to me...
Why not just hop in the car and go somewhere? But where?
Is there somewhere that I could go that would be more fun than anywhere else? Why, yes there really is: Mexico...but, I can't really afford that shit right now...
Oh, I should be in PG for New Years....SHOULD. Throw me a party.
Why not just hop in the car and go somewhere? But where?
Is there somewhere that I could go that would be more fun than anywhere else? Why, yes there really is: Mexico...but, I can't really afford that shit right now...
Oh, I should be in PG for New Years....SHOULD. Throw me a party.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Um, Walks on the River, Mathematical religion, and Tripping over nothing.
So, I met some dude. His name is unimportant. I know that's a really strange name, but that's what it is, all right...That's what it is.
Well, we worked together, hung out a bit, and I found out that he's a flailer.
We did a quad and walked up and down and up and down and up and down and over the river. It was rediculously fun. Then, he decided at about 1200 that it was time for him to go home.
So, with nowhere to go, I decided that I'd do the same. Worste idea I've ever had, I laid in my bed for hours, terrified of the things around me that were becoming steadily more realistic. From my inability to think a good thought to my inability to close my eyes for more than 30 seconds, it was terrible.
Then, a few short hours later, and about a wink and a half of sleep, it was time to go to class. Philosophy. It was perfect, and in fact, was one of the only classes of that class that I actually understood. That's all for now.
Well, we worked together, hung out a bit, and I found out that he's a flailer.
We did a quad and walked up and down and up and down and up and down and over the river. It was rediculously fun. Then, he decided at about 1200 that it was time for him to go home.
So, with nowhere to go, I decided that I'd do the same. Worste idea I've ever had, I laid in my bed for hours, terrified of the things around me that were becoming steadily more realistic. From my inability to think a good thought to my inability to close my eyes for more than 30 seconds, it was terrible.
Then, a few short hours later, and about a wink and a half of sleep, it was time to go to class. Philosophy. It was perfect, and in fact, was one of the only classes of that class that I actually understood. That's all for now.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Ontological Argument
A being than which none greater can be thought. (Conceived)
In Philosiphy class, I had this explained to me as a proof or argument as to the existence of god. After pondering it for quite some time, I realized that it must be true. And to my great dismay, I began to renounce my athiest ways. For, by definition, a being than which none greater can be though must exist. Because if you imagine this great being, and imagine that it does not exist, there is a being that must be greater. Imagine the same being but imagine it existing, that being would be greater than the original being, therefore the original being was NOT a being than which none greater can be thought...Because I just thought of one.
Then, I pondered this a little more and thought that the greatest thing that this being could do was reveal itself to me. And, by this argument's own argument, I disproved it that simply. Because, if only to me, I thought that a being with all these great characteristics that revealed itself to me would be greater, and since this being has not physically revealed itself to me, I must conclude this argument incomplete. Also, universal belief in this being would be pretty great, and I think this being would have to have the belief of all thinking creatures for it to be a being than which none greater can be thought.
In Philosiphy class, I had this explained to me as a proof or argument as to the existence of god. After pondering it for quite some time, I realized that it must be true. And to my great dismay, I began to renounce my athiest ways. For, by definition, a being than which none greater can be though must exist. Because if you imagine this great being, and imagine that it does not exist, there is a being that must be greater. Imagine the same being but imagine it existing, that being would be greater than the original being, therefore the original being was NOT a being than which none greater can be thought...Because I just thought of one.
Then, I pondered this a little more and thought that the greatest thing that this being could do was reveal itself to me. And, by this argument's own argument, I disproved it that simply. Because, if only to me, I thought that a being with all these great characteristics that revealed itself to me would be greater, and since this being has not physically revealed itself to me, I must conclude this argument incomplete. Also, universal belief in this being would be pretty great, and I think this being would have to have the belief of all thinking creatures for it to be a being than which none greater can be thought.
Friday, September 01, 2006
I'm going to kiss and tell...the truth.
First off, I'd like to that Mr. Steven Colbert for that quote. There will never be a man that holds as much respect (from me) in the world (of news).
Actually, that was completely unnecissary.
Let's get down to brass tacks. This is a tale about a young(ish) man who did something that he's not too proud of. And, I (he) knows the only person he can really talk to is....um, well somewhere else.
Last night, I went to the bar with a woman that I fancy quite a lot. One might say I'm infatuated, others might say it's an animal lust, and still others might say that god exists. They'd almost all be true.
Sorry, last night I went to the bar with someone I fancy quite a lot. We've been flirting back and forth at work, with the unnecissary physical contact, prolonged eye contact and the rest of the steps that fall into the ritualistic dance that is the forced akward intimate situation known as dating, or more accurately the week or so leading up to dating. All signs were pointing to yes, including two huge blue neon one's. Damn, those eyes.
So, we're at the bar, dancing away. (for I know she could only resist for so long once the dancing started). We're dancing away, when she asks me to go for a smoke and leads me outside. "Oh goody" I think as I follow. But to my dismay (in hindsight, to my great joy) there's no vehicular sex involved, only talking. The talking is of a young man, another young man. One that she's been dating for 2 years.
There aren't words to describe how I felt. Crushed by the gravitational weight of a thousand icy-cold suns might be the best possible english depiction of how I felt. Couple that with a hundred memories that instantly confused the shit out of me. Why dance with me when you already have a permanent partner? I am good though. Sorry.
Now, the alcohol lessened this blow slightly, so I finished my smoke and went inside to dance again. For there is nothing on earth that can hurt me when I'm dancing. Any emotion I feel is overshadowed by the flow. It consumes me. And, the bar we were at was like a gathering place for dancers. I made a bit of a spash.
So, I'm dancing away when she comes back and decides that she'd still like to dance with me. Really dance this time, not emotional hell-like dancing. So we're dancing away and happened to make eye contact. I don't know why I did it, I was drunk after all. Maybe it was to prove a point, maybe to see what kind of person she really was, but I kissed her. Long and well. It was a nearly perfect kiss. Then, I just up and left the bar without saying a word.
The main reason that I did this post was so that I'd have another post in here as I haven't been posting very much, but it's also because it's the first time I've ever kissed someone that was dating someone else that I was aware of.
And in doing so, I've been attempting to figure out who's to blame here aside from me, because when it boils down to it; isn't she as much at fault as me? If not more? And furthermore Susan, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised to learn that all four of them habitually smoke marijuana cigarettes. Reefers.
Actually, that was completely unnecissary.
Let's get down to brass tacks. This is a tale about a young(ish) man who did something that he's not too proud of. And, I (he) knows the only person he can really talk to is....um, well somewhere else.
Last night, I went to the bar with a woman that I fancy quite a lot. One might say I'm infatuated, others might say it's an animal lust, and still others might say that god exists. They'd almost all be true.
Sorry, last night I went to the bar with someone I fancy quite a lot. We've been flirting back and forth at work, with the unnecissary physical contact, prolonged eye contact and the rest of the steps that fall into the ritualistic dance that is the forced akward intimate situation known as dating, or more accurately the week or so leading up to dating. All signs were pointing to yes, including two huge blue neon one's. Damn, those eyes.
So, we're at the bar, dancing away. (for I know she could only resist for so long once the dancing started). We're dancing away, when she asks me to go for a smoke and leads me outside. "Oh goody" I think as I follow. But to my dismay (in hindsight, to my great joy) there's no vehicular sex involved, only talking. The talking is of a young man, another young man. One that she's been dating for 2 years.
There aren't words to describe how I felt. Crushed by the gravitational weight of a thousand icy-cold suns might be the best possible english depiction of how I felt. Couple that with a hundred memories that instantly confused the shit out of me. Why dance with me when you already have a permanent partner? I am good though. Sorry.
Now, the alcohol lessened this blow slightly, so I finished my smoke and went inside to dance again. For there is nothing on earth that can hurt me when I'm dancing. Any emotion I feel is overshadowed by the flow. It consumes me. And, the bar we were at was like a gathering place for dancers. I made a bit of a spash.
So, I'm dancing away when she comes back and decides that she'd still like to dance with me. Really dance this time, not emotional hell-like dancing. So we're dancing away and happened to make eye contact. I don't know why I did it, I was drunk after all. Maybe it was to prove a point, maybe to see what kind of person she really was, but I kissed her. Long and well. It was a nearly perfect kiss. Then, I just up and left the bar without saying a word.
The main reason that I did this post was so that I'd have another post in here as I haven't been posting very much, but it's also because it's the first time I've ever kissed someone that was dating someone else that I was aware of.
And in doing so, I've been attempting to figure out who's to blame here aside from me, because when it boils down to it; isn't she as much at fault as me? If not more? And furthermore Susan, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised to learn that all four of them habitually smoke marijuana cigarettes. Reefers.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Where was I?
I awoke to find myself in an empty car in the middle of a gravel road. It was sweltering inside the vehicle that didn't belong to me. Looking around I realized the car wasn't the only thing that didn't belong to me.
Sitting beside me was an older woman. And with absolutely no recollection of who she was, I decided that I'd done at least something sexual with the girl.
And there was an odour. Some smell that I couldn't quite place but a smell that led me to recall terrifying memories of some fog-covered plain where a battle had been. A battle unlike any that I had ever seen. Friend blindly fighting friend for a prize that could not be seen or touched. A prize that wasn't there. The prize of faith. For it was in the winner that these people would put their faith, blind once again to the ignorance of their squandor and the hopelessness of their situations.
For, if I remember correctly, I was meant to win but somehow couldn't do it. I realized that when these people declared their faith in me, I would instantly change into that which I had hated and rose up against from the start.
And, the woman sitting beside me understood this. But she didn't know it yet. Just as I didn't.
Sitting beside me was an older woman. And with absolutely no recollection of who she was, I decided that I'd done at least something sexual with the girl.
And there was an odour. Some smell that I couldn't quite place but a smell that led me to recall terrifying memories of some fog-covered plain where a battle had been. A battle unlike any that I had ever seen. Friend blindly fighting friend for a prize that could not be seen or touched. A prize that wasn't there. The prize of faith. For it was in the winner that these people would put their faith, blind once again to the ignorance of their squandor and the hopelessness of their situations.
For, if I remember correctly, I was meant to win but somehow couldn't do it. I realized that when these people declared their faith in me, I would instantly change into that which I had hated and rose up against from the start.
And, the woman sitting beside me understood this. But she didn't know it yet. Just as I didn't.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
3 days
Until:
3 days until I see the greatest band ever.
Tool. I can barely wait, and be prepared for another acid-inspired, semi-religious based post upon my return.
3 days until I see the greatest band ever.
Tool. I can barely wait, and be prepared for another acid-inspired, semi-religious based post upon my return.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
As per the Roses request.
There are some things that most people should never ignore. The need to urinate and/or fecate, a desire to eat and drink and a request from anyone with the last name Rose.
There's a reason that I don't have any posts in here, mostly because I haven't been home much. I'm literally home just enough that I may wash my nazi military uniform so that I may go to war with a clean one every day. Fortunately, however, I have been sleeping. I've found a cure for insomnia. Christie.
Since no one wants to hear me drone on and on about some woman from work that I'm currently infatuated with, I'll go through a typical day instead.
I roll out of bed at about 1pm every day. Don't be fooled, this isn't laziness that you are "witnessing", it's necessity as you are soon about to find out. All right, I roll out of bed, get up and watch "The Daily Show" and "The Colbert Report"which I have automatically recorded on TiVo and enjoy a cup of coffee from my french press. (which I am doing right now).
When I hear the buzzer from the washer go off, I shuffle over (I save all my strutting for work) and switch the laundry and go back to the computer or my lovely TiVo. After sitting there for a full dryer cycle, it's time to get ready for work, which takes a little bit less time every day.
I pack my Tool backpack with everything that I'm going to need for the day. A change of clothes for after work, smokes, a lighter, 200 dollars cash, my cell phone and "the cell" by Steven King, just to remind myself how easy it is for the entire world to all die at once.
Then, I simply drive to work.
Once at work I wait tables. And, who'd have thought; I'm very, very good at waiting tables. It's like my sense of humor, rediculous sales skills and animal magnetism all work to my advantage in this setting instead of against me as in other labour-based professions.
So, while rakin in on average of a hundred bucks a night in tips, one would wonder what I do with it all. Well, most wouldn't wonder, but I just said that ONE would wonder what I'd do with it all. He or she can keep wondering.
I go out.
Every night after work. For the most part, and get some hookers and blow. Just kidding. Seriously though, we usually just either sit in the moxie's lounge and have some beverages, or go to one of the other many lounges in and around Saskatoon. From there, we've been known to go to the hotel rooms where the moxie's trainers are staying and party there until the mid-range hours of the morning.
6am is my average home time, so you can see why I sleep in so late. It's because I've inverted my sleeping patterns. I love it, and Tess, you would too. I only see the sun for about an hour every day.
There's a reason that I don't have any posts in here, mostly because I haven't been home much. I'm literally home just enough that I may wash my nazi military uniform so that I may go to war with a clean one every day. Fortunately, however, I have been sleeping. I've found a cure for insomnia. Christie.
Since no one wants to hear me drone on and on about some woman from work that I'm currently infatuated with, I'll go through a typical day instead.
I roll out of bed at about 1pm every day. Don't be fooled, this isn't laziness that you are "witnessing", it's necessity as you are soon about to find out. All right, I roll out of bed, get up and watch "The Daily Show" and "The Colbert Report"which I have automatically recorded on TiVo and enjoy a cup of coffee from my french press. (which I am doing right now).
When I hear the buzzer from the washer go off, I shuffle over (I save all my strutting for work) and switch the laundry and go back to the computer or my lovely TiVo. After sitting there for a full dryer cycle, it's time to get ready for work, which takes a little bit less time every day.
I pack my Tool backpack with everything that I'm going to need for the day. A change of clothes for after work, smokes, a lighter, 200 dollars cash, my cell phone and "the cell" by Steven King, just to remind myself how easy it is for the entire world to all die at once.
Then, I simply drive to work.
Once at work I wait tables. And, who'd have thought; I'm very, very good at waiting tables. It's like my sense of humor, rediculous sales skills and animal magnetism all work to my advantage in this setting instead of against me as in other labour-based professions.
So, while rakin in on average of a hundred bucks a night in tips, one would wonder what I do with it all. Well, most wouldn't wonder, but I just said that ONE would wonder what I'd do with it all. He or she can keep wondering.
I go out.
Every night after work. For the most part, and get some hookers and blow. Just kidding. Seriously though, we usually just either sit in the moxie's lounge and have some beverages, or go to one of the other many lounges in and around Saskatoon. From there, we've been known to go to the hotel rooms where the moxie's trainers are staying and party there until the mid-range hours of the morning.
6am is my average home time, so you can see why I sleep in so late. It's because I've inverted my sleeping patterns. I love it, and Tess, you would too. I only see the sun for about an hour every day.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
I can't sleep
Insomnia. When you have it, you're never really asleep and you're never really awake. Everything is just a copy of a copy of a copy. Reality melds with the dream world. You hear things that weren't said. You see the world as though you are looking at it through the eyes of a pet goldfish. Nothing seems as though it could be, yet everything has more being than it seems. Thoughts jumble inside the head as though you have no control over them. Emotions? Ha, I go from feeling nothing about everything to feeling everything about nothing. It's brutal.
It's not that I have anything better to do than sleep. Lately, I've just been laying in bed staring at the cieling or at nothing at all. Appearing dead to the world. My eyes being closed helps nothing. I simply lie there. For hours. It's excruciating, so I get up, read a book, or watch a movie or some bad late night television.
I say things that I shouldn't say. With my mental filter gone, all the things that I've "learned" not to say, I say. Things that offend. Things that shock. Things that put that "you're fucked" look on people's faces. Things I mean is what I'm getting at I suppose, though I haven't decided whether or not this is necissarily a bad thing or not. I mean, what's wrong with saying what you mean? Besides the fact, of course, that we've been taught our whole lives (especially men) to not say what we mean, feel, or actually intend. Choosing for a course of speach that leaves little to offend and even less to understand.
Unfortunately, I look like shit. Though be it asthetically pleasing shit, it's shit none the less. The bags under my eyes were checked at airport security and it took me two and a half weeks to convince them that they weren't full of heroin. Also, my memory and spacial abilities leave a lot to be desired. That combined with my slightly askew sense of perception makes waiting tables extremely difficult. And, I'm ranting. At work. To tables of innocent people and co-workers alike. It's giving people the impression that I'm wierd. Which I am, but in a setting like moxie's, which is essentially every good looking person from high school in one place, you can imagine what they're reaction is. Any straying from the status quo is strictly forbidden and harshly judged and "corrected". By both my "peers" and "management staff".
I've tried everything too, soothing music, chewing on honey comb, home remedies, Tea, babbling brook sounds. Nothing helps. I refuse to resort to perscription or over the counter meds as well as alcohol because they do not correct the problem and I haven't taken any over the counter meds in about 8 months. Just because, well, I don't know how much good they can really be doing us, and I'm fit as a fiddle. C'ept this damn not sleeping business.
Looks like the old blog is going to get some lovin, which it hasen't really been lately. And, I was accepted to U of S, and start on Sept. 6th, which means that I'll have a ton of time to study, but won't be able to remember any of it the second that I close my books.
It's not that I have anything better to do than sleep. Lately, I've just been laying in bed staring at the cieling or at nothing at all. Appearing dead to the world. My eyes being closed helps nothing. I simply lie there. For hours. It's excruciating, so I get up, read a book, or watch a movie or some bad late night television.
I say things that I shouldn't say. With my mental filter gone, all the things that I've "learned" not to say, I say. Things that offend. Things that shock. Things that put that "you're fucked" look on people's faces. Things I mean is what I'm getting at I suppose, though I haven't decided whether or not this is necissarily a bad thing or not. I mean, what's wrong with saying what you mean? Besides the fact, of course, that we've been taught our whole lives (especially men) to not say what we mean, feel, or actually intend. Choosing for a course of speach that leaves little to offend and even less to understand.
Unfortunately, I look like shit. Though be it asthetically pleasing shit, it's shit none the less. The bags under my eyes were checked at airport security and it took me two and a half weeks to convince them that they weren't full of heroin. Also, my memory and spacial abilities leave a lot to be desired. That combined with my slightly askew sense of perception makes waiting tables extremely difficult. And, I'm ranting. At work. To tables of innocent people and co-workers alike. It's giving people the impression that I'm wierd. Which I am, but in a setting like moxie's, which is essentially every good looking person from high school in one place, you can imagine what they're reaction is. Any straying from the status quo is strictly forbidden and harshly judged and "corrected". By both my "peers" and "management staff".
I've tried everything too, soothing music, chewing on honey comb, home remedies, Tea, babbling brook sounds. Nothing helps. I refuse to resort to perscription or over the counter meds as well as alcohol because they do not correct the problem and I haven't taken any over the counter meds in about 8 months. Just because, well, I don't know how much good they can really be doing us, and I'm fit as a fiddle. C'ept this damn not sleeping business.
Looks like the old blog is going to get some lovin, which it hasen't really been lately. And, I was accepted to U of S, and start on Sept. 6th, which means that I'll have a ton of time to study, but won't be able to remember any of it the second that I close my books.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
The non-conformist, sarcastic, smart-ass, tool loving stoner
This is some brutal fuckin shit. 13 days of finding out how many grams of chicken there are in every Moxies resturaunt in western canada. Then you take that number, divide it by the number of Chicken tandori ricebowls there are to find out how many ounces each one contains. But, before we get to learn about the menu, we have our "uniform check" which consists of all of us lining up like cattle, then being individually "checked" or "strictly and mercilessly torn apart" by the poorly dressed, messy haired, extra-ordinarily ordinary looking, bitchy coach woman.
I don't handle this well (no matter how good I look), as they try to get me to do things like "lose the faux-hawk", and "youre lip ring might not fit into the regulations for facial piercings", and always the "did you shave today?"...Though, at every possible chance, they are telling us how much they "still want us to keep our individuality and be ourselves", to which I snicker and the response is "Just, the best possible version of yourselves".
WHAT?! Hail Hitler. There's a small group of us, I call us "the smart ones". That's all I really wanted to say. There's a very small group of people there that actually have a head on their shoulders. Sad to say. But, at the same time happy, as it is infinitly times better than being the only non-conformist, sarcastic, smart-ass, tool loving stoner in the group....And that's a pretty narrow category.
I don't handle this well (no matter how good I look), as they try to get me to do things like "lose the faux-hawk", and "youre lip ring might not fit into the regulations for facial piercings", and always the "did you shave today?"...Though, at every possible chance, they are telling us how much they "still want us to keep our individuality and be ourselves", to which I snicker and the response is "Just, the best possible version of yourselves".
WHAT?! Hail Hitler. There's a small group of us, I call us "the smart ones". That's all I really wanted to say. There's a very small group of people there that actually have a head on their shoulders. Sad to say. But, at the same time happy, as it is infinitly times better than being the only non-conformist, sarcastic, smart-ass, tool loving stoner in the group....And that's a pretty narrow category.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Self-Loathing
Well, that title may have been a bit inappropriate, but I thought that it was fun to type, and may lead more people to read this. It's not as though I care one way or another who happens to read my "Insert Blog Title Here" blog on blogger.com...Which is the best site on the internet ever, and can be found at http://www.blogger.com. The preceeding message was brought to you by blogger.com which may or may not share some or all of the opinions or views written here.
I've been depressed lately. And I don't mean, "Hey, I'm a little depressed today" I mean I'm in a state of catatonic despair that's lasted almost three days and I'm unable to find the source. Now, some of you might be saying that this is an underlying (or overstanding) psychological condition that has both a name and treatment, but I believe there still must be a trigger.
Could it be my new job? Perhaps, the fact that the Moxies corporate staff who have stated that they encourage "individualism" are fucking liars. There's like a checklist of about 10-20 traits that everyone in my fuckin training class fit into. Well, the women anyway. I think they just hire the males to do all of the heavy lifting because you couldn't classify the FIVE of us into one mold. there's two "bigger" guys, obviously hired as they would be no threat to new waitresses. One long-haired, skrangly kid, that's obviously hired as a busboy (which he knows and has stated. Cool kid), a giant that's obviously got the bartender position as he has a "flavour saver" (see below), and myself (Insert brief physical description if you would like).
Could it be the fact that I MISS MY FUCKING FRIENDS? Yes, I'm sure that might have some small part to play in it. Or some immense part. See, it's not that I think that no one misses me, for it's been stated that they do, and I see no reason for all of them (you) to lie to me. For I believe that you do, but that's now making it worse. For, I know that if I up and left Saskatoon right now. Right this very second. Only one person would notice and moreover care that I was gone. My mother. Love her to death. But, she's not exactly going to smoke a doob with me and go over "Super Troopers" quotes with me and explain to some random why it's the best movie ever made.
Could it be that I haven't done anything fun since Motion Notion (best weekend ever)? Yes, I'm sure that I'm suffering a bit of cabin fever, and I feel a small sense of fear at the idea of leaving the house. Maybe I'll become a shut in, I think that'd be fun. With the yelling of people and throwing cats and whatnot. I've vowed to go out tonight, I know that bottled fun isn't quite the same as real fun, but when combined with smoke-able fun and sex with a stranger, it's close enough and sure to ease some of this tension (not the right word, but it worked) that I've been having to deal with on my own.
Writing this out made me feel worlds better. And what kind of saying is that? Worlds better? That's stupid.
*Note: Flavour saver: Type of facial hair located between the center of the lower lip and the chin, made popular in my circle by one Lil' Dave.
I've been depressed lately. And I don't mean, "Hey, I'm a little depressed today" I mean I'm in a state of catatonic despair that's lasted almost three days and I'm unable to find the source. Now, some of you might be saying that this is an underlying (or overstanding) psychological condition that has both a name and treatment, but I believe there still must be a trigger.
Could it be my new job? Perhaps, the fact that the Moxies corporate staff who have stated that they encourage "individualism" are fucking liars. There's like a checklist of about 10-20 traits that everyone in my fuckin training class fit into. Well, the women anyway. I think they just hire the males to do all of the heavy lifting because you couldn't classify the FIVE of us into one mold. there's two "bigger" guys, obviously hired as they would be no threat to new waitresses. One long-haired, skrangly kid, that's obviously hired as a busboy (which he knows and has stated. Cool kid), a giant that's obviously got the bartender position as he has a "flavour saver" (see below), and myself (Insert brief physical description if you would like).
Could it be the fact that I MISS MY FUCKING FRIENDS? Yes, I'm sure that might have some small part to play in it. Or some immense part. See, it's not that I think that no one misses me, for it's been stated that they do, and I see no reason for all of them (you) to lie to me. For I believe that you do, but that's now making it worse. For, I know that if I up and left Saskatoon right now. Right this very second. Only one person would notice and moreover care that I was gone. My mother. Love her to death. But, she's not exactly going to smoke a doob with me and go over "Super Troopers" quotes with me and explain to some random why it's the best movie ever made.
Could it be that I haven't done anything fun since Motion Notion (best weekend ever)? Yes, I'm sure that I'm suffering a bit of cabin fever, and I feel a small sense of fear at the idea of leaving the house. Maybe I'll become a shut in, I think that'd be fun. With the yelling of people and throwing cats and whatnot. I've vowed to go out tonight, I know that bottled fun isn't quite the same as real fun, but when combined with smoke-able fun and sex with a stranger, it's close enough and sure to ease some of this tension (not the right word, but it worked) that I've been having to deal with on my own.
Writing this out made me feel worlds better. And what kind of saying is that? Worlds better? That's stupid.
*Note: Flavour saver: Type of facial hair located between the center of the lower lip and the chin, made popular in my circle by one Lil' Dave.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
My spare time
I was google-ing myself today, an activity which takes up much of my time, and came across these things, enjoy.
The BrandonBrown Doll
http://www.hasbro.com/default.cfm?page=browse&product_id=14086
My life as a lover
http://detumescence.com/e-books/brandon-brown/
A video I apparantly made
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=1946860048873187940
Something I did in Cindy Crawford's house
http://www.roomstogo.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=showItem&ipac_id=9487&fc_cid=cid810
My additions to the Urban Dictionary
http://www.urbandictionary.com/author.php?author=Brandon+Brown
My honorary Canadian Citizenship papers
http://www.jenn.com/canadian/cert.cgi?name=Brandon+Brown
Some quotes
http://en.thinkexist.com/quotes/brandon_brown/
I'mma big city lawyers
http://pview.findlaw.com/view/3231902_1?noconfirm=0
Please don't kill me
http://web.amnesty.org/library/index/engAMR510102002?open&of=eng-2am
Vote for Brandon Brown
http://herndon1.sdrdc.com/cgi-bin/com_detail/C00400325
http://www.evote.com/players_section/candidates2004/SC_Brown_15080.asp
The BrandonBrown Doll
http://www.hasbro.com/default.cfm?page=browse&product_id=14086
My life as a lover
http://detumescence.com/e-books/brandon-brown/
A video I apparantly made
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=1946860048873187940
Something I did in Cindy Crawford's house
http://www.roomstogo.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=showItem&ipac_id=9487&fc_cid=cid810
My additions to the Urban Dictionary
http://www.urbandictionary.com/author.php?author=Brandon+Brown
My honorary Canadian Citizenship papers
http://www.jenn.com/canadian/cert.cgi?name=Brandon+Brown
Some quotes
http://en.thinkexist.com/quotes/brandon_brown/
I'mma big city lawyers
http://pview.findlaw.com/view/3231902_1?noconfirm=0
Please don't kill me
http://web.amnesty.org/library/index/engAMR510102002?open&of=eng-2am
Vote for Brandon Brown
http://herndon1.sdrdc.com/cgi-bin/com_detail/C00400325
http://www.evote.com/players_section/candidates2004/SC_Brown_15080.asp
I miss...
I miss my friends, first and foremost, they're my chosen family. I love you all.
I miss being able to say what I wanted when I wanted, with the only one consequence: someone else saying what they wanted about what I'd just said.
I miss being able to walk into someone's house without knocking. Sometimes this had some interesting consequences, but I miss it none the less.
I miss knowing where people would be at certain times of certain days. At about 4:15 everyday, everyone in the cote' residence would be down in the garage. Between 11am and about 6pm on sunny days, the people could be found at Fort George, not Connaught, fuckin connaught. There are no parks here.
I miss knowing what's going on. Like, what the fuck's going on here tonight? I don't know.
I miss being able to walk wherever I wanted to go. It actually takes longer to drive some places here than to walk to most in the P dot.
I miss people that know how to fucking party.
I miss my favorite families in the world.
I miss me in PG.
I miss being able to say what I wanted when I wanted, with the only one consequence: someone else saying what they wanted about what I'd just said.
I miss being able to walk into someone's house without knocking. Sometimes this had some interesting consequences, but I miss it none the less.
I miss knowing where people would be at certain times of certain days. At about 4:15 everyday, everyone in the cote' residence would be down in the garage. Between 11am and about 6pm on sunny days, the people could be found at Fort George, not Connaught, fuckin connaught. There are no parks here.
I miss knowing what's going on. Like, what the fuck's going on here tonight? I don't know.
I miss being able to walk wherever I wanted to go. It actually takes longer to drive some places here than to walk to most in the P dot.
I miss people that know how to fucking party.
I miss my favorite families in the world.
I miss me in PG.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Where have my thoughts gone?
Usually, I would have already filled this space with thoughts regarding the nature of existence, or my own self-diagnosi of my seemingly endless list of mental conditions that I may or may not actually have. But, lately I've been unable to produce, why is this?
Sunday, July 30, 2006
TITLE
Intellectual side (spelled correct?) ??, no for I use too many different kinds of .... damn what's the word... punctuation, yeah that's it, man that took a while. Damn comma splices and run-on sentences put me in a class of grammar all my own; lets call it: Brammar. Yeah, just so that I get my name in something else....What? Nothing.
I had a fun weekend this weekend, went to the old lakesbie, played some beersbie, and saw some people that I hadn't seen in about 10 years, t'was quite random.
This blog, as many that preceeded it had no purpose, storyline AKA plot, or meaning.
I had a fun weekend this weekend, went to the old lakesbie, played some beersbie, and saw some people that I hadn't seen in about 10 years, t'was quite random.
This blog, as many that preceeded it had no purpose, storyline AKA plot, or meaning.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Letter To Talis While Stoned at 1230 Named Like a Random Painting
Hey,
Haven't talked to tal in a while, heard she went to Whistler or something. No more ... um, fourth person I think that was. How the hell's Whistler, I think that's where you are. Oh, HEY...HI.... Email me back though, I love getting emails....Like regular letters in the mail, only faster and less personal...I wish I could handwrite email, and like draw pictures and stuff, that'd be great. I got a new job, cause my last one wouldn't let me work while going to school, so I serve at moxies. I bought a new car also, and just realized that I love making really drastic changes to my life in a short period of time. Know what else? I saw the northern lights tonight, and I"m stoned and went swimming earlier. I had hamburgers for dinner and swimming was fun. That might be the most random thing I've ever said. Bye.
Missin pepe's is:
BrandonBrown
P.S. Haha, pepe's
Haven't talked to tal in a while, heard she went to Whistler or something. No more ... um, fourth person I think that was. How the hell's Whistler, I think that's where you are. Oh, HEY...HI.... Email me back though, I love getting emails....Like regular letters in the mail, only faster and less personal...I wish I could handwrite email, and like draw pictures and stuff, that'd be great. I got a new job, cause my last one wouldn't let me work while going to school, so I serve at moxies. I bought a new car also, and just realized that I love making really drastic changes to my life in a short period of time. Know what else? I saw the northern lights tonight, and I"m stoned and went swimming earlier. I had hamburgers for dinner and swimming was fun. That might be the most random thing I've ever said. Bye.
Missin pepe's is:
BrandonBrown
P.S. Haha, pepe's
The northern lights.
I just saw the coolest northern lights ever. I know they were because I've seen the northern lights every time they've happened ever, and this time was the coolest by far. But, what's their gig?
Hmmm
As this is the fist time I've tried this here "blog", or wait, no it's just the first time I've used bloggER, is it more blog? Is that what they're getting at?
I wrote this blog just so I'd write it and then when I'm finished I'll have written one. Just to try out the ol new space. Don't expect any great insight into myself or life. In fact, you're still reading this and are unable to stop even though you know that this blog is about nothing.
I wrote this blog just so I'd write it and then when I'm finished I'll have written one. Just to try out the ol new space. Don't expect any great insight into myself or life. In fact, you're still reading this and are unable to stop even though you know that this blog is about nothing.
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