a silent scream for self destruction, begging to manifest. to run through the streets. to throttle the shoulders of every painted whore, smells of decaying blooms and glossy plastic ashtray smiles: "what the fuck is wrong with you!"
what the fuck is wrong with me?
a more lovely sight, this ode man has built to shit and himself, there has never been. tear it down and rebuild it tenfold. men and women emptying themselves. pretenses plummeting to the centre of mass preceded by egos. they jumped out the window. they have nowhere else to go
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Saturday, August 14, 2010
so a guy goes in the jungle...
already i know i'm gonna be frustrated tonight. when i say the controls are very "japanese," what i mean is they're graceful yet inexplicably complex.
"hey, let's make O the menu confirm button, and X will be cancel"
you get my drift?
so when i complain about firing in first person, know that i've pressed and/or held 3 buttons and/or triggers.
david hayter is explaining the cold war to me. i've already heard a badass intro song. i can't believe i haven't played this game in 4 years.
oh, and for the record, my snacks so far this evening include jones berry lemonade soda, doritos late night jalapeno poppers, and aero 70% cocoa
about to jump out of a plane. see you on the ground
"hey, let's make O the menu confirm button, and X will be cancel"
you get my drift?
so when i complain about firing in first person, know that i've pressed and/or held 3 buttons and/or triggers.
david hayter is explaining the cold war to me. i've already heard a badass intro song. i can't believe i haven't played this game in 4 years.
oh, and for the record, my snacks so far this evening include jones berry lemonade soda, doritos late night jalapeno poppers, and aero 70% cocoa
about to jump out of a plane. see you on the ground
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Sunday, November 29, 2009
rote
"That is the worst sound ever" had at one point been used to describe his alarm. The electronic shriek emitting from his Blackberry certainly had a nerve-grating quality to it, but that was precisely why he had chosen it.
He rubbed at his eyes before seeking out the source of the commotion. The digital readout stared at him smugly as the cold, hard truth hit him; he had to work a double today. His reaction was as swift as it was predictable.
"Fuuuuuuck," groaned seemingly every fiber of his being. "Just 2 more hours, please!"
He decided then and there that the snooze button would be hit twice more. Though he would gain no additional rest in the coming 20 minutes, he relished those moments every morning. Curled up, comfortable and toasty in his futon fortress. The only way it could possibly get better, he thought, were if he were cuddled up next to her. His mind wandered to the coming weekend, when surely that scenario would play ou...
BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ...
"Christ on a cracker!" screamed his mind. He hit the snooze one last time and turned over to enjoy his bed for that final stretch.
When the alarm had been silenced for the last time, he swung his feet out of bed and set them down on the cold Berber. Pushing his large frame out of his unusually low bed, he noted that his sore shoulder had failed to improve overnight. A quick stretch failed to yield any relief. He shrugged it off and continued with his morning.
Though he could scarcely focus his thoughts, his mind still thick with the haze of sleep, his body knew the routine; kettle on, bread in the toaster, eggs in the pan, He could do it blindfolded, so ingrained was this morning ritual in his muscle memory. He quickly dressed himself in the unofficial uniform that lay crumpled at the end of his bed, with its grease caked camo shorts and coffee stained hoodie. it didn't matter that it was November, or that the temperature was a few scant degrees above freezing. He felt comfortable in his legless pants. He felt like a bit of a bad ass.
No sooner had he laid the eggs on their final, buttered resting places than he received an expected call. His coworker and he exchanged the same dozen words they did every morning.
"Hey man."
"I'm coming over the bridge."
"See you in a few."
He emptied the french press into the waiting stainless steel mug and scooped up his breakfast. After stepping into his beat-up, filthy and leaking Etnies, he checked his pockets for his essentials. Confirming that his keys, wallet and cell phone were all present and accounted for, he took one final glance around his home. Exiting into the hallway, he closed the door and locked it behind him.
He rubbed at his eyes before seeking out the source of the commotion. The digital readout stared at him smugly as the cold, hard truth hit him; he had to work a double today. His reaction was as swift as it was predictable.
"Fuuuuuuck," groaned seemingly every fiber of his being. "Just 2 more hours, please!"
He decided then and there that the snooze button would be hit twice more. Though he would gain no additional rest in the coming 20 minutes, he relished those moments every morning. Curled up, comfortable and toasty in his futon fortress. The only way it could possibly get better, he thought, were if he were cuddled up next to her. His mind wandered to the coming weekend, when surely that scenario would play ou...
BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ...
"Christ on a cracker!" screamed his mind. He hit the snooze one last time and turned over to enjoy his bed for that final stretch.
When the alarm had been silenced for the last time, he swung his feet out of bed and set them down on the cold Berber. Pushing his large frame out of his unusually low bed, he noted that his sore shoulder had failed to improve overnight. A quick stretch failed to yield any relief. He shrugged it off and continued with his morning.
Though he could scarcely focus his thoughts, his mind still thick with the haze of sleep, his body knew the routine; kettle on, bread in the toaster, eggs in the pan, He could do it blindfolded, so ingrained was this morning ritual in his muscle memory. He quickly dressed himself in the unofficial uniform that lay crumpled at the end of his bed, with its grease caked camo shorts and coffee stained hoodie. it didn't matter that it was November, or that the temperature was a few scant degrees above freezing. He felt comfortable in his legless pants. He felt like a bit of a bad ass.
No sooner had he laid the eggs on their final, buttered resting places than he received an expected call. His coworker and he exchanged the same dozen words they did every morning.
"Hey man."
"I'm coming over the bridge."
"See you in a few."
He emptied the french press into the waiting stainless steel mug and scooped up his breakfast. After stepping into his beat-up, filthy and leaking Etnies, he checked his pockets for his essentials. Confirming that his keys, wallet and cell phone were all present and accounted for, he took one final glance around his home. Exiting into the hallway, he closed the door and locked it behind him.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Licensed Plates
In the slang of the United Kingdom, Australia, New Zealand, India and South Africa, boffins are scientists, engineers, and other people engaged in technical or scientific research. The word 'boffin' (or 'boff' - often as an insult) can also be used to refer to any particularly clever person. The closest American equivalent is "egghead".
via Wikipedia
Friday, November 6, 2009
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