(Edit: Despite being the “code” view, the wordpress post editor function still has WYSIWYG properties at times, like automatically inserting line breaks even if it means breaking apart an existing element incorrectly, as was shown above for a while. Should be all better now though! )
I don’t know about you but I love the fact that my friends listen to notably different stuff. It means more opportunities to discover new things. Also, what a great example of a simple chart indicating massive amounts of information.
NotCot.org strikes again. This morning they posted a blurb about a book called Fifty Designers’ Current Favourite Typefaces. The book only costs 3£ and 100% of that 3 pounds goes directly to UNICEF to help aid victims - specifically the children - of the cyclone which happened in Myanmar (aka Burma) this past May.
I think I’ve been listening to too much Röyksopp lately. For context, I’ve found myself highly enamored of a certain track off their album The Understanding called “What Else Is There?“. It features vocals provided by Karin Dreijer Andersson from an electronica duo called The Knife (whose album Silent Shout has also been on repeat a lot for me) and I have fallen in love with her unique and expressive voice.
That being said, on the with the description. I was in this housing area, all cheap houses, run down and small. Looking on from a short distance, I saw a huge explosion rip through 3 or 4 of the buildings, seemingly at random. I looked to my companions (who defy description right now, just some people, I can’t remember) and ran towards the damage. I’ve dreamt almost this same thing before, I know it. Sudden fire in run down houses, or an explosion followed by fire. It was chewing up the old, dry buildings.
Then it all reset. Same place, no explosion, none of that. I rode in the mind of someone sneaking through these projects, tiptoeing by back doors and noticing as they all swung open by themselves. Screen doors, all, and cats of different kinds peering out from kitchens or living rooms. Sometimes there were people within, all walking away, not noticing that the door was open. The creeping person was a thief and although no entry was made into any of these houses, the big black bag s/he carried filled up. A small rip showed a blue and white striped piece of terry cloth sticking out. Perhaps the dishes wrapped in the towel to prevent noise? Who knows?
Finally coming to an unremarkable house near the end of the rows, the thief enters and discovers an old man and a fluffy white cat. There’s a moment of mutual surprise, then the cat makes a mad dash for the open door, and the thief follows, trying to track it down through these houses while still remaining silent and unseen, still carrying the full bag. The cat dashes under buildings built off the ground, and finally the thief is able to cut it off at an awkward turn near a wall and snatches the beast up, dragging it back to its master.
There’s a short conversation after that, and the old man says he’s not going to rat out the thief. The thief cautions that there may be some dangerous activity.
Cut to a group of about five or six people. Storm clouds are high, thready, and getting darker, turning the sky to a psilocybin vision of broadly patterned marble. The people are holding onto what appears to be the female end of extention cords, which are all tangled together and tied to a central location, looking to be pipes coming out of one of the houses. They stretch the cords into the road, fanning out in an uneven manner over about a 180° area. A stroke of lightning comes down slowly, almost like a weighted streamer: straight down, but wavering in the air. It is viewed from the eyes of one of the group before it hits them. The power goes through the cords and infuses the others. One by one they begin shouting, calling down the lightning on themselves, despite the presence of others on the scene insisting they stop (but too afraid to act).
There was only one left, hesitant, stupid, afraid of the lightning. The others had disappeared, disintegrated or wandered off or something. The one left walked away. It may have come back to the explosion at that point but I don’t recall.
Other points which are unclear to me now:
Pulling a large revolver on someone who wanted to come into a house where I lived. It was large and dull and akward.
Yelling and throwing things at a group of young, grinning hooligans who heaped things in the middle of the yard and doused it in gasoline, intending to set fire to the whole property
Counciling a very angry young man, sharing tales with him. We were both in Civil War era dress. I slowly went from persuading him to stay, to comforting, to seducing. Anything to distract him from this blind fury.
A master/husband type figure appearing during the “seduction” phase, unperturbed by the scenario.
Also, for your convenience here are the lyrics to “What Else Is There?”
It was me on that road
But you couldn’t see me
Too many lights out, but nowhere near here
It was me on that road
Still you couldn’t see me
And then flashlights and explosions
Roads end getting nearer
We cover distance but not together
I am the storm I an the wonder
And the flashlights nightmares
And sudden explosions
I don’t know what more to ask for
I was given just one wish
It’s about you and the sun
A morning run
The story of my maker
What I have and what I ache for
I’ve got a golden ear
I cut and I spear
And what else is there
Roads and getting nearer
We cover distance still not together
If I am the storm if I am the wonder
Will I have a flashlights nightmares
And sudden explosions
There’s no room where I can go and
You?ve got secrets too
I don’t know what more to ask for
I was given just one wish
Note: These are just what I found online, I know there is a verse or two missing and maybe a few lines wrong. Care to help me flesh that out?
A clear and flagrant disrespect for all things was extruded from the two young men chatting back and forth on the mostly empty train car and left the air palpably unclean. Crisp suits, slick and greasy hair, shifty bright eyes, and utter animal stupidity were readily apparent upon a quick glance. Typical upper-class white boys with no sense of purpose beyond where their dicks will be by the end of the night or who they can roll under the bus to get the next raise. No love except the long-since-abandoned love for mother, and a lust for money and the status associated with it that they assume is love. Read the rest of this entry »
Tales written for discerning young ladies with a keen admiration of the manliness of the male half of the species, this volume deals with heart-pounding tales of men performing stunning feats of self-surgery and suffering such injuries as would surely destroy men of lesser manliness. Yet never fear! For these manly men always get the better of every trial and tribulation that comes their way! Read on for more exciting stories of the manliness of men!
Mark was a willowy, handsome young lad, with shoulder length flaxen hair which he brushed into his pale, rosy-cheeked face often to cover his sparkling, glassy blue eyes in impish defiance of social mores.
One fine summer’s day he sat on his back porch, clad in his favorite jean shorts. This in and of itself was nothing significant. Yet the story behind his reason for sitting thus when there was action, adventure and, yes, even danger to be had out in the wide world is indeed a stirring tale.
Being as clever and crafty as he was, Mark had made these shorts himself when his favorite pants finally ripped so significantly that his girlfriend at the time had insisted with the venom only a lifelong student of modern fashions could that he do away with them. Yet young Mark would not be denied pants so well-worn that they had become something akin to a companion. Indeed, many was the week which had passed without him parting with them long enough even to wash them. He simply couldn’t bear to part with these pants! No, this was a man of deep concerns in his life who simply would not give up the familiar comforts of the threadbare pockets, nor the subtle sophistication which came with the various inked designs which turned the faded denim into a black and blue patina which echoed his triumphant past’s loves, hopes, and outstanding feats of stunning bravery. It was as grave a sin as asking an honored crusader to part with the finely wrought chain mail which had saved him from savage and ignominious death through countless battles with fierce and pitiless Moors and Turks!
So passionate had our young Mark been when confronted with the possibility of losing this treasure, he had snatched up a sizable blade from the kitchen counter in heated desire for swift yet just resolution to this disgraceful feud between aesthetic schools of thought, and with such fervor did he hack away at the offending lower portion of his beloved jeans that it caused him several injuries. Indeed, he was not mindful of such lacerations! An impassioned and bold man such as this could have no room for outward manifestations of pain when there was a battle of wit and craft at hand.
So deep was his anguish at the mutilation of this jewel of his possessions that he hurled the remnants of the pants - along with the now crimson-stained blade - as far as his slim, tight-muscled arms could manage with a pained howl escaping his chest. Regrettably his then-girlfriend hadn’t the presence of mind to clear herself from the path of the flying objects, and suffered a nasty shock as sharpened metal pierced the drywall beside her head.
What woman can understand the true nature of such manly displays, when the depth of feeling must manifest itself in a true man’s course of action? Few can, and alas this was the last he ever saw of or heard from that young lady. Indeed, though he had won a victory over an intractable situation, she simply couldn’t understand the depth of his sincere heartbreak, nor his truer, sentimental nature. In his woeful mourning over losing both his love interest and a significant portion of his most treasured pants, he neglected to care for himself and the injuries he sustained during the confrontation.
As a result, he found himself sitting on the back porch of his home in a grim and pensive state. He had moments before prepared himself for the task which lay before him in that golden afternoon. The slanting sunlight pierced the smoky air around him and cast a beam better than a surgeon’s lamp on the site of his concern. One of the the wounds he had sustained during his heart wrenching episode of confrontational tailoring had taken a turn for the worse. Such a strong believer in independence was he that Mark was not employed and could not provide the sum necessary to visit a trained medical professional. Nor did he believe in such ridiculousness. As a true student of manliness he felt strongly that anything which could be accomplished by his own hand should be! Oft was he praised for such, and oft chided by those who did not understand. Nevertheless he was prepared for the task ahead of him. His anesthetic of choice was taking hold, calming him adequately for the work ahead.
The wound in question was a clean slice whose depth had allowed all manner of dirt in, and despite having been liberally (albeit indirectly and not deliberately) splashed with cleansing alcohol during the last two weeks it was now a very angry shade of red. The protective layer of dried blood was flecked with dirt and a clear fluid leaked from beneath it with only the slightest pressure. If it was painful to look at, it was surely more painful to actually have and feel, yet young Mark showed no pain or fear. With a trusty pocket knife in hand, he paused only once to take a deep breath and hold it in before exhaling in a great rush. A sagely expression came over him, making his heavy-lidded eyes seem cloudy and distant. With a dazzling quickness he sliced open the hardened surface of his grave injury and Oh! what happened then! A rush of milky fluid rushed forth, gleaming wetly under the light of the afternoon sun. Unfazed by such Mark quickly wiped it away and proceeded to squeeze with the all the somber detachment of a true warrior. Once the rupture in his smooth skin was running with the pure crimson of a clean cut, he wiped his hands off on the comforting cloth of his shortened jeans and simply sat. Clearly this quiet contemplation was his way of cleansing his spirit as well as the site of his bodily harm.
His phone rang and with all the unhurried grace of a seasoned general, Mark reached in his pocket, saw that the name on the phone simply said “Cunty Whore That Dumped Me” and thumbed the silencer with unperturbed ease.
This concludes our first installment of Heart-Pounding Tales of The Manliness of Men Vol. 1: Wound and Infection Treatment Stories! Won’t you join us next time for more thrilling, fascinating and stirring tales of manly men and their aplomb in the face of mortal wounding and dire infections?
Let me preface this with the following: I love my job. I love the company where I work. But, full disclosure, I also cannot stand where I work sometimes. It’s a battle of the heart and mind every single day, and for the most part I would not have it any other way. We’re a young bunch, and an energetic bunch, and a painfully disorganized bunch on top of it. Everybody’s got fantastic ideas and everybody’s got to share them right away. Add on top of that the propensity for errors to happen in a tech-based company and you’ve got a stewpot of frustrated, disorganized, and passionate people all aiming for the same goals but rarely realizing them in a truly rewarding way. In truth, we all get a lot accomplished. I work with some really amazing people. Unfortunately circumstances set it up so that we rarely feel accomplished and absolutely can’t track what’s been done versus what needs to be done.
With that in mind, and for my own health (quite literally), I have been intently researching how we can be more organized as individuals and subsequently as a team. It’s going to take a lot of work but I’m determined to help myself and my co-workers to be happier. Happier because we know what we have to do, we know what we’ve done, and we know that we can keep going without the anxiety of forgotten priorities and missed deadlines.
One of the most highly praised and best supported systems or philosophies of organization that I have come across thus far is David Allen’s GTD. I recently picked up a copy of Getting Things Done, written by David Allen to introduce people to his researched and tested methods of personal organization, and I’ve been doing voracious online reading of articles by people who have implemented this methodology already and have come up with favorite ways to do things. Slowly but surely I’m trying to integrate things into my thought processes and into my daily habits. I feel as though just keeping in mind the need to write things down, and to refer to a system or set place for these notes is the first step to getting into the habit of being organized. So far so good, too, I already feel a little bit better about my day-to-day, I’ve already kept a few situations under control which otherwise would have been forgotten or stressful. Still, I know I’ve only scratched the surface. GTD might not be the be-all-end-all of organization techniques, but I feel like it’s a good place to start for a number of reasons. The concepts and habits are simple. It works in a digital or paper environment. It seems like something that’s easy to instruct others in, which will be important if I’m going to help my co-workers get organized.
All-in-all I feel like this current path is really promising, and I look forward to sharing my insights with you all as I get better acquainted with this method of doing things.
Because I love you all so dearly, gentle readers, I have put together another mixwit tape for your enjoyment. In this installement I share with you a variety of delightful mashups. What is a mashup, you may ask? Something akin to a remix, but in this case more focused on taking two (sometimes more) songs and melding them together in such a way that you’d never want to hear them any other way. Generally speaking, this mix is intended to at least get you chair dancing, if not full out dancing your ass off. Three from A plus D, three from Instamatic, three from DJ Lobsterdust.
A plus D - Love Will Tear You Apart (She Wants Revenge vs. Joy Division vs. Bauhaus)
Not much to say about this one. Consider it an appetizer for what A plus D has to offer.
A plus D - Sexy Peek-A-Boo (I’m Bringing Siouxsie Back) Justin Timberlake vs. Siouxie & The Banshees
Ordinarily I’d have nothing to do with Justin Timberlake. I really don’t go in for “pop” music. This changes things a lot. Trust me. Also, accordian.
A plus D - Don’t Stop Believin’ In Planet Rock (Journey vs. Afrika Bambaataa)
Journey never had so much funk. Nor did they expect to have it. Yet… it feels so right.
Instamatic - Crazy Marvin (Gnarls Barkley vs. Marvin Gaye)
That song you couldn’t get away from meets a soul master for a refreshing look at both.
Instamatic - Electric Loop (Judas Priest vs. Pendulum)
Chosen mostly for the liberal Willy Wonka (original film thankyouverymuch) sampling, in all honesty. Fast-paced and fun.
Instamatic - Ghetto Tits 2006 (Benassi mix of Outkast vs. Peaches vs. Scissor Sisters)
This is mostly Peaches, and therefore has liberal use of various sexually charged terms some folks consider foul. NSFW I guess. Probably my fav of the Instamatic remixes.
When they call this an allstar jam they aren’t at all kidding. This is my favorite mashup of all time. Just listen. The transitions are masterful, the songs flow like an undeniable force of nature, and I pretty much guarantee you’ll smile at least a little.
DJ Lobsterdust - RightNowRightNow (Beastie Boys - Love Psychedelico)
I think if the Beastie Boys had met Hot Chip, or hung out with the guys hacking their C64 to make chip tunes they might have made something like this on their own.
DJ Lobsterdust - Glass Octopus (The Beatles vs. Blondie)
This may be the most approachable mashup for people who don’t really care for hip hop or techno or dance-oriented music. It’s Blondie’s Heart of Glass mixed with The Beatles’ Octopus’s Garden in a really fun, natural way. Still got a great beat for those who do enjoy a good excuse to dance.
That’s all for now! I hope you have as much fun with this as I have!
Image on the tape is art from P. Robertson’s Kings of Power 4 Billion %. Download it. Watch it. He’s great.
Nothing makes you think harder about the quality of your life than having the shits. Truly. Nothing gives you more pause for thought than when your colon is doing things you know damn well it oughtn’t do at all. Read the rest of this entry »
This mix is kind of all over the place. From the plantive and hurt sounds of Neutral Milk Hotel and Folk Implosion to the sweetness of Hot Chip’s Made in the Dark and closing out with Das Pop’s high-powered Fool For Love, this mix is meant to evoke emotions.
(Didn’t check all tracks for consistancy, please let me know if any are wrong or screwy and I’ll be sure to fix it ASAP.)
Recently I picked up a purse from the local branch of the Goodwill. It was a small metal purse, with rounded sides and a beaded handle. It’s a pastel olive color, with a print of children playing on the lower half of the front and back. The graphic elements are derived from vintage J&P Coats thread adverts. It was immaculate when I got it and with some minor use I’ve already damaged the surface print in a few tiny spots. Before I go destroying this lovely item with regular use, I’d love to know more about it. Searches for J&P coats metal purse didn’t turn up anything conclusive.
So, to help you all I’ve provided some (mediocre) photos of the item in question, in the hopes a vintage thread or purse enthusiast might happen along and help me identify this really neat item.
I’m not going to use it much until I figure out when and where it comes from, as I’d hate to ruin a true vintage item. If a collector is interested I’d be willing to sell it.
Some kids play in the sandbox. We play in the.... litterbox??? The RKNet staff is pleased that you decided to stop by. Currently this is a 1 author project, with periodic guest posts. Contact giania [at symbol] gmail.com if you'd like to play here to.
