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.
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