Friday, December 27, 2002

Two horrifying people.
Why is it that Radiohead always makes me feel claustrophobic? I bought OK Computer and Kid A after Christmas and whenever I listen to them I feel aggrevated that music as despondent and nihilistic as this is so tremendously popular. People everywhere absorb this image of a pale, lost little man floundering with an overwhelmingly greedy and materialistic society and they start do don that very persona. So in the end, instead of pointing out our ills to us, they've just created a sense of hopelessness, like there's some long, dark tunnel filled with monsters that we have to run through with no possibility of coming out on the other side. Maybe that's the case, but meditating on it just makes it seem all the more inevitable.

I like Radiohead in small doses. It's the musical embodiment of a large part of myself; someone who feels crushed by all this expectation to hold the population of Earth on their shoulders, but I also think music can challenge the system without crying. Hence the other pole, The Clash. Total disgust for beaurocracy with a militant cry of optimism. A fighting attitude. This is the kind of thing that changes society for the better. Here's to you, Strummer.

Tuesday, December 24, 2002

Jesus H. Christ, just spent the better part of my day (like six hours) playing Super Ghouls n' Ghosts, a stupid aborted fucking shit fuck of a game that I want to punch. Premise: you are King Arthur, super sexy knight who dies in two hits. King Arthur must fight the entire undead legion (all sixteen plus levels of them) to save his princess who was too stupid to tell you about this goddamned thing called the "Goddess Bracelet" early in the game. Each of the sixteen levels takes a minimum of ten tries to beat, sometimes more like fifty, and then after spending just under an hour on the first to last level, "oops, sorry, you have to play the entire game over again on a higher difficulty to find my damn jewelry! Have fun!"

Yaaaaaaaaaaar! Damn you, Super Nintendo!!

Saturday, December 21, 2002

So what you're that music is just a series of sounds and words designed to entertain you? Ooooooh.

Thursday, December 19, 2002

The truth about removing your humanity.

Tuesday, December 17, 2002

Like a soda bubble and all the feelings it brings to mind.
Psst, Valentin, there are no concrete rules of social conduct. Test the water before you jump in.

Monday, December 16, 2002

Right, well, some things have been sorted out so all I need to do now is try to make amends with a few of Miki's friends. So I'll start by saying I'm sorry and I hope I haven't fallen too out of favor.
What an imperfect day for a rainstorm. Rain, rain, go away, I have a feeling you're here to stay.

The hardship isn't an enduring quality anymore, and all my labors seem to wind up in blustery days. The world certainly stops in a blink of an eye. My eye at least. I had to eat that white dove. It sure as hell isn't getting out of my sight again.

Friday, December 13, 2002

Unfortunately, they cannot hear the music you are playing in your head. Oh well. Here's to the movies.
"Love You 'Till the End" by The Pogues has become my favorite song for secret reasons which I will never tell.

Sunday, December 08, 2002

Lately I've been heavily contemplating my exit from society. I don't know what options Scripps offers, but I've been wanting more and more to find a legally-sanctioned way of not going to school. I heard somewhere that there's some thing where you get your week's homework every monday and you turn it in completed the next week, which would be nice, but it also might get awfully lonely. Here's my reasoning for this change:

1. Compulsory schooling is the basis for a culture (our culture) that is ruthless, feckless and greedy. It takes you at a young, impressionable age and teaches you to be subservient, defeatist office worker. It disrupts every natural learning process and basically puts cages around your mental abilities. Pick up a copy of Dumbing Us Down by John Taylor Gatto.

2. The pacing. I don't need to be pulled around by bells anymore. I wake up every morning at 5:50, which doesn't help my mood. The bleak, uncaring atmosphere and the regimentation of it all make it seem more like a penal facility than a place of learning. It's needlessly exhausting and is really taxing my mental health.

3. I want time to develop my personal interests, and in the process, myself. At this age, it is crucial to try and explore yourself, because you're finally able to make some semblance of the world and how you view it and the people in it now will effect your opinions for a long time. I know your personality is constantly changing and under attack throughout your entire life, but I can't afford to have eight or nine hours of my time as a child eaten up by this monster determined to break my spirit. I've recently discovered a love for film in myself that I never noticed before, and I'm considering a career as a director. Naturally I'd like to devote some time to exploring this option, but with so much homework I don't really have enough time to give the notion the treatment it deserves.

4. School was founded as a means of social programming. It is meant to make children obedient and submissive for easy control, even when they're adults. It is also designed to break existing family bonds. "If we use schooling to break children away from parents--and make no mistake, that has been the central function of schools since John Cotton announced it as the purpose of the Bay Colony schools in 1650 and Horace Mann announced it as the purpose of Massachusetts schoos in 1850 - we're going to continue to have the horror show we have right now." (Gatto, 37)

5. The average mental capacity of a homeschooled child is five to ten years more advanced than that of one who has been publicly schooled. Consider that.

In a nutshell.

Saturday, November 30, 2002

I went album shopping with my brother and Bryan ( and came home with five CD's. I got three different Julian Cope CD's for about ten dollars. Music is so much easier when you read up on it. I suggest the compendium "The Book of Rock." Worth the money in terms of knowledge you will gain. Also looks really spiffy.

I's currently midnight, so happy not yesterday. Bryan's playing Grand Theft Auto 3 in the other room and I've been entertaining myself for the past half-hour with an internet device that comes up with a randomly-generated description of a "product" that you type into a text box. Here's a few samples, I have about fifty of these saved up for your enjoyment. Sorry about the spacing, the internet on my laptop isn't working so I have to use my mom's iMac with a wacky keyboard.


Mrs. Segade is a newly-discovered breed of fish that catches spiders!

DJ Ecto is a chainsaw that floats in water! It can be controlled by willpower alone and knows what you want before you do.

Wallpaper is a small plastic pyramid! It bounces up and down!

A prostitute is a housebrick that can be used in zero-gravity and recites haiku.

Oh, the fun we will have with this one. You would not believe the irony of some of these. Stay tuned.

Wednesday, November 27, 2002

My christmas list consisted mainly of musical requests but I'm afraid of what those gifts might bring. How do you communicate undefinable truths with a series of noises and words? You can hint at it and allude to it, but the real truth is that unless you are the one who wrote the song you can never fully understand what the author is trying to say (if anything), not to mention the necessary knowledge of the song's historical background or specific social subjects. If the song's a personal one (you can usually tell) I'd rather just admire the music than try to translate it into some half-assed botchery of the songwriter's original meaning.

A lot of the time I also feel like I should be teaching myself these things or absorbing them in an un-coded, direct way, like in the form of the Autobiographical Essay (which I love) so that totally skewed ideas don't wind up in my subconscious through my misinterpretation.

On the other hand, I do love music and on the occasion that I actually know enough about a musician and their background to try to garner some meaning out of their work it's a fulfilling event. Like Lennon. And sometimes Bowie (Oh! You Pretty Things, Life on Mars)

Tuesday, November 26, 2002

I'm making this post from inside my Physics class. I stole a few minutes to engage in personal signs of affection with you. The teacher's coming with an axe.

Matt Kelly and I spend entire physics periods using out stools in sexually provocative ways. The teacher, of course, doesn't notice.

Saturday, November 23, 2002

Another top 5:

1. Ice Cube - Juno Reactor

Feverish, pulsating trance music that has restored my faith in the electronica genre. The kind of techno that gives you goosebumps and makes your spine tingle it's so addictive. I want to throw a party just so I can play this song at its true volume.

2. Wicked Game - Chris Isaak

Of course. What young person in this country has not at some point listened to this song while staring out a window? The official theme song of people who flounder in the helplessness they exude from their orifices. But Isaak's still damn sexy to listen to.

3. Life on Mars - David Bowie

I know I'm following the trend here( , , but Bowie deserves the recognition. I don't know why, but I have all but one or two songs of Hunky Dory on my MP3 playlist and this is by far my favorite. It's so tender it feels like a tooth with an exposed root is stuck in your heart and a vagrant badger is gnawing on the red, fleshy stump. It's that poignant.

4. Independent Woman - Elbow

This is by far the funniest song I've ever heard. It's a cover of a Destiny's Child song done with accordion, xylophone, and crooning, gravelly vocals sung by a very smooth, very English (presumably unshaven) man. They cut out eight-ninths of the vocals and the satire is overpowering.

5. The Mystery Trend - Julian Cope

This song hasn't left my side for about a month. Rather indescribable and the lyrics are a bit beyond me but I'm starting to get it. A work in progress.

Wednesday, November 20, 2002

(gasp....gasp...gasp.) There's yer damn content.
Turns out Milli Vanilli doesn’t love me after all.
Just found out today
Just threw them my week’s savings
Oh well
I never was one for honesty anyway.

Turns out Paul Mc Cartney’s been lying to my face
And now he does handstands
For teary little eyes
And bent little minds.

Maya Angelou called me yesterday.
She told me I should buy a Nokia no-roam plan
Between bursts of static and garbled voices talking about “gnomes.”
I told her
I don’t have a cell phone
And she hung up.
I think.

Nine out of ten revolutionary icons
Prefer non-drowsy Tylenol,
And Malcom X takes little blue pills
With Coca-Cola.
He buys from Bob Dole.

Weird, Coca-Cola doesn’t show up on spell check.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha....Haahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahaah! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaahah! Hahahaha!!! HAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAAH!!
I thought it might be funny to make a followup to my compatriate Bryan Casey's newest weblog installations ( He's spent a few hours every couple days describing exactly why he likes the things he does and why you should too, with a mini history lesson to justify his undying love for the stuff. Let's go on the learning journey!

1. Given the Dog a Bone - AC/DC

A long time ago five Australian guys smoked, then screwed, then drank, then screwed again and smoked and drank a few more times (just to make sure). Hence AC/DC. I can say I like them without batting an eyelid. I don't really have much shame when it comes to these things. Dammit, they're fun. And they know they're only fun. Maybe their fans don't but me and Angus Young exchange little understanding glances between songs. Given the Dog a Bone. Pure, unabashed stupidity and I love them for it. All those times that Dark Side of the Moon makes me want to throw it against a wall I can breathe a sigh of relief while diving behind a couch from Johnson's blaring vocals.

2. Kill All Hippies - Primal Scream

Oh yes. Ooooooh yes.

3. Blitzkrieg Bop - The Ramones

The first. The best. Damn you old pasty people for domesticating it with your baseball stadiums and social events. Never gets any radio play anymore because it's all commercial Jeff 'n Jare stupid anus fuckery that I hate. I have to listen to that crap every morning in my carpool. "Hmm, maybe we should make jokes about the DC sniper now! OK! Hey Jeff, isn't Jennifer Aniston hot? I sure hope they keep Friends on the air for another...hundred years! (guy laughs in a shoot-me-in-the-face squeal)" Stick with what's decent and good. Please.

4. Don't Eat the Yellow Snow - Frank Zappa

I can repeat this one word for word now and my Zappa voice is finely honed. This is the kind of stuff you play in the car on long road trips just to drive the other people crazy. One of those. Yeah. Only this man could name his children "Dweezil" and "Moon Unit."

5. Mexican Radio - Wall of Voodoo

Lost in the desert. I can't name any of the band members but I still consider myself a fan. Unique and addictive and won't leave me alone when it's quiet.

Saturday, November 16, 2002

Watching AC/DC videos with your dad. Wow.
I wish I had special moves in real life. If I were mugged by a pack of mohawked space-mutant thugs in front of a progressively futuristic starport/killer robot manufacturing plant I would want the ability to press A and B at the same time, jumping into the air and spin on an invisible axis with feet extended in a mad flurry of fists and feet. It also might come in handy upon homework collection.
I want to damage pop-up windows like only The Rock can.
Round two of the Fatal Mistranslation Game! The first sentence is the one entered into the translator. The second is the mangled, unrecognizable nonsense that results from translating it back to english after translating it into a foreign language. This game's language is Spanish!

Can you please pass the butter? Translates to...
Can you pass mantequilla please?

I would like to stroke an elephant.
It wanted to rub an elephant slightly.  
My table likes to kick you and your little dog too.
My table has taste to also strike him and its small dog with the foot.

Saturday, November 09, 2002

I haven't heard violins in my mind for a long time. Too long.
Newsweek went to pot. "Aerobics for Anarchists??" Please, you offend me. I have the matches and you burn well. Now apologize. No? The fireplace is nice and cozy. TV's good for little kids? Bush is really a funny guy, huh? Warm? You don't know what warm is.

I am the flame-proof consumer.

Friday, November 08, 2002

Last night I saw Jackass: The Movie. It has certain redeeming qualities, such as when a guy puts an electric muscle stimulator on his gooch (the area between the scrotum and anus). Some of it's unnecessary and not all that funny, like giving yourself paper cuts in the webs of your hands and feet and getting shot in the gut with a beanbag gun.

A lot of people don't understand why this kind of masochism is so successful.

Our society has become convinced by the media that they live in an urban jungle hell. Peoples' careers even thrive on the misperception that the city is a cruel, bloody place (hence the entire rap movement) and millions of people die worldwide through genocide and mass murder.

In contrast with all the real violence in the world, Jackass seems cute. Maybe that's why it's socially acceptable now. The generations (my generation and the nintendo generation, as my brother puts it) that enjoy this kind of thing have been brought up under the concept that you should fear your neighbors. We've been fed so many images of horrible things that even our entertainment parallels it. We're given violent video games, violent movies and frantically-paced television. Jackass is rather mild compared to Kosovo or Afghanistan.

And people still wonder why shooting fireworks out of your ass is funny. You laughed at the Three Stooges. You tell me.

Wednesday, November 06, 2002

A poem I found written on a plank of cardboard used in my math class. It overshadowed the profound "Anal Cork!!!" jumping boldly from its surface.

Backpack, backpack
Backpack, backpack.
I'm the backpack,
Loaded up with
Things and knick-knacks too.
Anything that you might need
I have inside for you.

-Dora the Explorer

Dora, wherever you are, you can search MY cavities anytime.
I wonder if any of you remember DJ Ecto, an alter ego I keep stashed in the batcave for special occasions. If enough of you give word, I can start selling my albums for a modest price. The first pitch was a bit of a flop but I'm good enough now to make a profit.
Last night I met this guy at a political rally who was demonstrating for the legalization of marijuana. I gabbed for a bit about Bush, state of fear, the media, so forth. I asked for his email address and when he was finding a pen he withdrew a conspicuous-looking Altoids can.

"Now are those REALLY altoids?"

I forsee interesting conversations. I'm Mr. Impervious.

Monday, November 04, 2002

Unless this is some elaborate hoax, Robert Hamburger, the guy who created is being sued. SUED! For encouraging violence in young children. If you go to real ultimate power, there's a link to the CNN news article under the "news" section. Some stupid old fucker took him to court because her kids started "totally flipping out" on their cat and furniture. Is it just me or do I want to put my hand through someone's face?! She's trying to get one of the funniest and most original sites in history wiped off the face of the planet.

"Ms. Evans is a hard working Christian mother who is just trying raise her kids right.  How can she do that when you've got demented little boys filling the internet with violent lies?  People believe anything if it's presented on the internet.  It's a dangerous medium that must be controlled carefully" said Ms. Evans' attorney on Monday."

And of course Robert takes it in stride.

"When asked about the lawsuit, Robert Hamburger replied 'Ms. Evans is a frigg'n idiot.   She needs to shut her mouth right now or I'm going to take a skinny dump on her scalp. '"

"Despite Hamburger's passionate defense, the judge ordered him to remove the site until the website's effect on youth could be further investigated.  However in response to the order, Hamburger stated that the judge 'couldn't even pop a boner if he really wanted to and should shut his frigg'n mouth before somebody pees in it.'"

These kinds of people were the ones who got the Parental Advisory sticker plastered all over our music. These kinds of people are the chains around society's ankles. It's they who are the indecent ones and personally I think they should shut their stupid heads until I have a chance to kick them.

Sunday, November 03, 2002

Vin Diesel because he's ambiguously ethnic? Really, why.

Saturday, November 02, 2002

Last night I wrote a song about having sex...underground. Literally under the earth. I think my skills as a song writer need a bit of work.
I think bryan's getting a hammer.
Bryan: Are you unhappy that you spent the night?
Matt: No.
Bryan: Good, because I'm slowly falling in love with you.
Matt: No you aren't.
Bryan: Yes I am, you'll see when I rape you.
Spent the night with a seedy bunch of rapscallions meandering about Hillcrest. Fascinating place, especially the tatoo parlor that was willing to answer our questions, being mostly about genital piercings and the displayed pattern of two she-devils going down on each other. Sitting now in Bryan's room waiting for him to curteously wake the hell up so we can go to Science Olympiad and I can undo the turmoil he caused last time; he signed me up for a genetics event that requires hard knowledge of...well...genetics. Hard knowledge which I don't have and don't have the tenacity to attain. Oop...wait..he just rolled over and made a snorting/farty sound at me., no luck. Next comes the systematic beating with a copy of Big Mama's House I found in his room.

On a separate note.

School is implementing a "stuffed animal drive" for "lonely elderly people." "so they can have a companion for when they have no one to talk to." I cannot think of anything more patronizing or offensive as saying "Oh, well we don't care enough to ACTUALLY keep you company or lend a hand, so here's this inanimate, much drooled-upon rag for you to clutch in your senility." They're old. They're not fucking children and they certainly aren't stupid. If you want to help, volunteer at a nursing home.

Friday, October 25, 2002

Before I leave for the weekend...again...I wanted to part with a few words of wisdom. After school, while washing my hands I had this moment of sudden brilliance. Just, pop, hey I'm smart.

While soundwaves are traveling through the air, they disrupt air molecules, jumbling them. Although the soundwaves are making them jump up and down and side to side, there's another force affecting them, gravity. So while a molecule may get bumped up, gravity is pulling it down, changing the sequence the air molecules hit one another and therefore warping the sound. So does gravity effect sound? This all takes place so quickly I doubt gravity has much pull in the matter. But still, interesting concept.

Wednesday, October 23, 2002

Round one of the chronic mistranslation game!

Soy la grapadora del bote de basura de las montañas

Realmente quisiera morder su escritorio.

Exprima mi pelo.

El mundo de Wayne, mundo de los wayne, tiempo del partido, hola mi nombre es Raul. Soy de Nicaragua.  
¿Usted tiene gusto de tocar el refridgerator? Quisiera tocarle.

Por favor fracaso ahora.

Fabio robó mis llaves del coche.

Azote la enfermera secreta.

Mi fondo tiene gusto de acariciarle.

Tuesday, October 22, 2002

Well, what can I say? Spent the last three days in introspection trying to discern my romanticism. Choices choices and my head's tired. A weekend fly fishing in the Sierras was not enough to absolve the clutter circulating around my mind. Thought about just taking a break for a while but I know how much my mood fluctuates in this sense.

Oh woe is me, have pity, cry for me, I'm so dramatic. Christ.

Tuesday, October 15, 2002

No no, oh no, it'd be too much to ask for happiness, wouldn't it. Simplicity? Even worse. Great. The new love interest rejected me. Doesn't know me well enough. Great. Now I have to wake up tomorrow. What a joy that's going to be.
I can see by your vacant stare and lax jaws that you either need entertainment or a smack in the face, depending on your gender. This smooth operation goes out to vaginas everywhere.

How have I been, you ask? Quite well, given that my sense of humor is on the wax. Between bouts of staring at a screen and smelling my clothes to see if they're dirty, I've been staring at my homework and calling it filthy.

Just now someone said the phrase "rapanese" for the first time in memory, so I went into a little dribble about all the plays on words that have probably been used overkill. my favorites are "Lapanese: Japanese exotic dancing," and "Tapanese: Japanese Riverdance."

More updates on Senora Trott. Recently the class unilaterally requested to close all the windows given that our balls had turned to ice. In response she stood in that little superior posture of hers, lost in deep thought. Right away, I'm pissed. So she "makes a compromise with us." (what the bloody fuck.) She agrees to close every other window and leave the door open. Oh gee sparky, that's a real help. "And oh yeah, you have to ask in spanish you inbred little monkeys." I think it would take an apocalyptic rain of razor-tipped-killer-bee-shooting locusts pouring in through the windows to get her to take appropriate action. Even then, she'd probably die praying to god in spanish. "Hola. Me llamo Senora Trott. Cual es tu telefono?"

After this little fiasco she started telling us how much she loves "Novellas Romanticas." Ooooh jesus why.

Monday, October 14, 2002

Note to everyone: girls like poetry. A lot.

Sunday, October 13, 2002

Today I had one of those surreal, startling moments that stick with you for a week after they occur. I was in the back of my parents' van riding past Hotel Circle, looking out the window when I spotted a bizarre church with oblong, sixties-esque architecture that looked like a strange spaceship emerging from the hillside. Suddenly a mural of a man hacking at dead meat with a six-inch blade while giving the passing cars a tight, sadistic grin swirled into view. My dad's jerky driving jarred me around and when I looked out the window again my vision fell directly onto a marquee with the words "Open hearts" on it. I immediately correlated the phrase with the eerie butcher, bringing to mind images of a cold, lifeless heart sitting on his bloody table. The marquee was for the church.

The whole event happened in seconds and left me jarred and disoriented. My breathing returned to normal but my mind was more reluctant to stop running.

Friday, October 11, 2002

At my school today there was a tech faire (code for a schoolwide corporate backdoor deal) where all the cute little tools who design technology for the marines to use to kill people more effectively bribe us with free shiny things. One of the handouts was a pair of purple latex gloves that were actually pretty nifty. When I got tired of wearing the one glove Michael-Jackson style, I snapped it off. Somehow in the removal process all of the glove's fingers got mashed into the index finger. The result was something that looked just like a purple condom with the ability to be worn on one's finger.

So I assumed the alter ego "Captain Condom" and poked people in the ear with it to be chased around the gym with disgusted screams. My history teacher was quite amused when I made it dance at her. She actually stopped in mid-sentence and gaped. After she corrected her "hell" remark with a gentler "heck" I told her, "Y'know, you probably don't need to use euphamisms when you're talking to someone with a condom on their finger."

This is so precious.

Thursday, October 10, 2002

Ah, finally, a web test worthy of my time. Tell your friends.

My results:


You have been awarded the TPM medal of distinction! This is our second highest award for outstanding service on the intellectual battleground.
The fact that you progressed through this activity without being hit and biting very few bullets suggests that your beliefs about God are internally consistent and well thought out.

A direct hit would have occurred had you answered in a way that implied a logical contradiction. The bitten bullets occurred because you responded in ways that required that you held views that most people would have found strange, incredible or unpalatable. However, because you bit only two bullets and avoided direct hits completely you still qualify for our second highest award. A good achievement!

Tuesday, October 08, 2002

I'm surprised there isn't more of a competitive spirit between the local 'blogs, at least the ones I know of. Seems like, although most of our views coincide, Valentin, Bryan and I should be sparring for readers. More the merrier though, seeing as Bryan now has six staff writers (

As for myself it's still a solo thing, as I doubt anyone else could tell you about the workings of my inner psyche. The little prick keeps popping things into my head at the least opportune times. Why is it that I always think about philosophy when I'm running the mile and in the dentist's chair, not while interacting with intelligent people?

Friday, October 04, 2002

I've been thinking recently about how youth "culture" has lost it's will to fight. I saw the conversion to yuppie mentality as a weak and defeatist way of living in ignorance, and in many ways it is. But I suppose that on some level young'ns are biologically driven to pry themselves away from the institution and their families, and closer to their friends. With the new wave of advertising techniques, fads and market trends, we've been exposed to so many images of uniformly dressed "wild n' crazy kids" having fun and rebelling with their cell phones/unkempt hair that it's become a reality in everyone's mind. They live under the impression that those ads are just reflections on the way modern society works so they accept it.

So in their own right, walking around the desert with a pack of your friends while drinking Starbucks is indeed a form of horribly mutated, warped, bizzare rebellion. They see it as their only means of escape from social pressures or parents. Teen spirit packaged, freeze-dried, sorted and shipped to you through the friendly people at Nokia.

This quiz was supposedly taken directly from a Newsweek. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but stereotyping the girls of America to be shallow, snively, materialistic corporate tools shouldn't have a home in a news magazine. I like my crappy nonsense separated into distinct categories for easier chastizing, and when corporate bullshit intermingles with corporate bullshit it makes me uppity.

This kind of thing (the quiz) is what is slowly brainwashing our youth into vapid, driveling Mc Music lovers; the kind who mock the cell phone my parents forced on me that's half an inch thicker than theirs. "Geez fag, living in the stone age?"

You girlfolk shouldn't be contented to sit in a mall and try to look like you're twenty. Go express yourself. You don't need starbucks, hundred dollar sunglasses, a designer purse, and a cell phone to seem mature. In fact, lack of these things will now set you apart from the horde. You will get more attention if you dress differently. People will be inclined to talk to you.

There's a person under all that makeup and I'm sure they don't enjoy being suffocated.

Thursday, October 03, 2002

I have confessed my greatest sins to the omnipotent oracle of the internet "Heaven/Hell" test and it has judged me rigorously and truthfully. Now all I can do is trust in its immortal wisdom and give all the money I can to my lord the webmaster of .

I only have a 32% compatability rating with heaven, and will surely burn for all eternity for not owning a bible and accepting gays as human beings. What have you, I grovel before whoever wrote this with tears in my eyes and my ass thrust bare for branding and painful torture.
I took a "which Disney princess are you" test and these are the results:

You are Ariel from The Little Mermaid. You have the heart of a rebellious teenage girl. In your struggle to assert your independence, don't forget all your family does for you. You might have materialistic tendencies. It wouldn't hurt to take stock of your possessions and give all the things you no longer use to Goodwill. Everyone finds your youthful, innocent good looks attractive, but remember that you have a mind (or at least a voice), too. You are totally in love with the sea and would do well with a man who also loves the outdoors.

(Just for the record, I'm male.)
Ways to support Phobitopia:
-Give me money
-Give me CD's to keep my creative influx constant
-Manufacture Phobitopia T-shirts with memorable (and marketable) catchphrases on them
-Procure a small Texan cult for me to manipulate, and then release to intermingle with members of normal society
-Invite me to parties. I do tricks.
-Don't watch TV
-Don't wear yellow, it's the color of the devil and you'll be damned to hell.
-Kick shivery, hairless chiuahuas
-Get big-name celebrities to endorse my page, preferably not anyone affiliated with Geico commercials.
-Bomb your local Starbucks
-Sneak into movies
-Confuse your PE teachers with the word "ineffable"
-Put down the lipgloss. Please.
-Tell the clouds you love them
-Write poetry, not about how broken you are.
-Be liberal.
-Be happy.
-Make sweet, passionate, unbridled jungle love to me.
Anyone have any Wall of Voodoo CD's I can copy? Considering buying Call of the West Hey, free trade, free speech, Please?
Hey, new catch phrase! You kids gotta spread it around, y'hear?

Wicked savvy!
Someone needs to be a sport and pledge their firstborn daughter to me. I finally beat someone...fairly...playing Warcraft 3 over . I usually don't take the game or the *cough*soulless*cough* patrons of the community seriously enough to actually assert myself. It contents me just to thoroughly confuse and enrage them with two-syllable words, completely formed sentences, and snooty comebacks.

Even though I don't exactly shine at it, Warcraft 3 and other computer games are some of the many things that give me release and joy in life. I think it's crucial for everyone to find something they can enjoy simply and easily any time they want, so that school isn't successful in making us all vapid sociopaths. Sacrificing yourself at the altar of the TV gods doesn't count. Try to find a range to balance yourself out and take it easy. This weblog's a great help. But you can't start one. No. I said no! Don't make me get the spray bottle!
Valentin, , has openly declared philosophical rivalry to Phobitopia and, more specifically, me. Phobitopian peacekeepers are currently being deployed to key choke points. Every coffee shop, independent bookstore and movie house will shortly be maintained by grimacing men in khaki-green jumpsuits. I trust you will treat them with the utmost respect and we won't have any problems.

Tuesday, October 01, 2002

Everyone go and watch some Kurosawa movies, especially Seven Samurai. They make me feel all warm and squishy inside.

Sunday, September 29, 2002

New developments on the philosophical front. Found a definition for synchronicity.

Since we're all in constant sway with one another, each individual action influencing everyone else of the species, synchronicity is when you encounter the consequence for an action which you recognize either as your own or as someone elses' you know.

In fact, most things we hear or come across are probably synchronatic, but the action behind it has been lost in all the human interactions. A man buys some cigarettes, smokes one, drops the rest on the street. Young miscreant comes along, finds them and starts smoking because of it. The young miscreant ends up working for you filing papers. Synchronicity, just under your nose but impossibly masked and practically untraceable.

Happy hunting.

Saturday, September 28, 2002

After all these years of trust and companionship, my sinuses have betrayed me. I used to like colds, but now that i'm in highschool missing a day is the equivalent of shooting yourself through both legs with a harpoon gun.

Friday, September 27, 2002

Quiet, my friend.
Quiet waits for me
Quiet waits for me behind every smile,
Every sound
Every thought.

Crooners play on through the hazy night
On old rusted radios
Soon to be quiet.

Weeping girls you can't console
You can't console
Who don't want you to console
But you have to anyway.
Because that's what friends are for.
That's what friends are for.

Crooners play on through the night,
Breaking the silence.

Silence, vicious accomplice.
Why do you make me loathe you
Sneaking in between broken sentences
Filling their cracks.

The crooners croon on...
Through the dark night
And my teary mind.

Wednesday, September 25, 2002

Why do you think the universe is made of concrete? Perhaps it shifts its' taste of irony every other week so as to satisfy the full range of human intuition.
Hello, world...I see you. I see you.

Saturday, September 21, 2002

A word about christians.

I like finding sore, bruised spots on peoples' personalities where continuous prodding makes them squeal in annoyance. So in this respect, and following modern religious statistics, most people get completely offended when I talk about Jesus and his girthy black penis.

All heathenry aside I actually didn't have much against the church in general until Mulvey. For some reason the words "Burn in Hell you gothic freak" struck a chord in me that's been singing ever since. If only he were to walk swiftly into a wall of rusted spikes my life as a heretic would be all the more bearable.

I'm a Taoist. As you all know, I'm basically a pacifist-activist neo-yippie with a broad knowledge of antiquated prose. Mulvey, as you all know, is a racist, bigoted, blind nazi with his head so far up his proverbial ass he can't even tell when you're mocking him. His kind are the reason women still live in a persecuted social caste, the teaching of evolution has been banned from many southern states, and we continue to live in a state of ridiculous paranoia over the devil.

Christianity teaches tolerance, love, kinship and faith in nature. I think the institution has some wonderful moral lessons and many people understand to take the bible as metaphor. Mulvey, however, thinks the answer to the world's probelms lies in the smiting and genocide of evil liberals. Tolerance includes satanists, disbelievers, afghanis, and yes even women. I understand Mulvey does not represent the christian majority. So keep on blushing and yelling, it'll just raise your blood pressure and quicken the inevitable. You look so cute when your face puffs up like a tomato. As for me, there's a lot I could learn from the bible but It's hard to read when it's being thrust forcefully into your skull.

Did I mention I enjoy premarital sex with multiple, anonymous, Pagan partners in pools of goat blood?

Thursday, September 19, 2002

I've been inspired to start the Hairless Shivering Chiuahuas Who Need to be Kicked League. Now accepting donations.
School makes my head feel like an overweight desk clerk. Need to party, need to get out of the box, need to get out of the house. Let's throw a party, everyone. I'm sure you could all use the break so if anyone has ideas of how to go about booking a band or perhaps a locale?
So word on the street is that I'm a hardened spite-monger who hates everything. Hmm. The stuff I like is just so obscure (in terms of popular society, anyway) that no one's ever heard of it, therefore it's pointless to bring it up.

So to clear this up I've compiled the list.

Musical Tastes:
Tom Waits
Pink Floyd
The Beatles
Juno Reactor
Primal Scream
AC/DC (hehehe)
The Snaps
Tristrazea (that how you spell it?)
The Clash
The Ramones
(okay some of these are not so bizarre. in fact some of them define the mainstream. dammit.)

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Phillip K. Dick
Good Omens by Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman

Lawrence of Arabia
Turkish Star Wars
The Royal Tenenbaums
Bottle Rocket
The Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge (anyone in my english class will be familiar with this one)
Donnie Darko
Malcom X
Roger and Me
Blade Runner

I can go on and on and on...basically if you show me something bizarre or innovative I'll usually play along. It's just that everything's so consumed by the same Mc Music, Mc Movie and hack bestsellers that I never get a chance to flex my tastes in public. So ha.

Wednesday, September 18, 2002

This post will self-destruct in thirty seconds.

Tuesday, September 17, 2002

Bring out the good wine, my weblog now has an audience of THREE!
Writing a daily weblog is like talking to yourself. I have don't know who the audience is so I can't address you in terms that I would if I were in person. I guess this is a reflection of how i talk in my head but since it never occurred to me until a minute ago it's probably quite a bit off.
Oh me oh my, so many new people now. What to think, what to do, help me make some sense out of it. All going round in a merry haze, so I guess relationships are inconsequential in the "bigger scheme." But help me make sense of all the new faces. A few of them fascinate me but I'm pissed at the games now and I don't feel like playing along. Show you to me.

Monday, September 16, 2002

"Pissing is how the devil enters childrens' loins," claims my spanish teacher Senora "my ass is clenched so tight you can hear it squeak" Trott. She issued her wild, hormone-frenzied class of crazed baboons one paper ticket granting us access to a toilet. The ticket can only be used once...every six weeks. When our impatient young bladders are ready to explode out of our orifices and we actually have to ask to pee in spanish. So by this point some poor wretch, wracked with pain and sweating profusely, has to stand cross-legged in front of the teacher's desk while she pretends not to understand him with a look of cruel, mocking confusion plastered across her face. In the rare occasion that, through a series of intricate hand motions and sound effects, they are able to gain access to the hallway they must then spend a minute signing themselves out on a sheet she keeps tucked away in a dark, hard-to-reach crevice. If you're gone for more than five minutes while your now diabetes-infected genetalia are emitting pre-decayed urine she calls security to make sure we're not engaging in "inappropriate signs of affection."

Why in the name of holy christ in heaven does she need to punish us for posessing bowels? I mean, what the hell went wrong in her life that she has to give herself delusions of granduer in that she can subject fourteen-year-olds to mild torture and humiliation?

Sunday, September 15, 2002

Just something I thought up:

Sweet & Sour Desk.
I should introduce Dungeons and Dragons into my more socialble clique just to see their way of life slowly degrade into seclusion and itchiness. Ah, the nights spent in a Dr. Pepper-induced haze trying to penetrate the goblin king's lair while Valentin engulfs whole boxes of caffeine-mints. I'm sure my parents appreciate my shift of mind.

Thursday, September 12, 2002

(Dictation from random section of my dad's telephone conversation.)

"What about housing them though? Oh, and we can't oh i see, it was a labor force. labor...force... (dixie chicks playing from his headphones) Immigrants bring us the labor, and we can't house them. Of course we can't house lots of people now. (laughs)...well right now we look pretty unsustainable. And then it goes on. Well...good. (laughs) ohokay. I might add that. OK. Uh, later on it says, i need a short form here obviously. Is that over-simplifying it?...Alright. OK. (types) OK, gotcha. How bout a UCSD regionally based public program with the movers and shakers? Because you don't invite gardeners. (abrupt laugh) I'm scanning down here, I got Yankelovich and Mary in there too. Down near the end it says uh, Wallshock sees it as her rainforest analogy. I don't know if you've heard this before. Again she explains that earlier in terms of cross-fertilization, no species dominates, all of that. Urines. He also reports a great restedness among the Movers and Shakers. A San Diego kitchen table, where everyone gets invited for breakfast."

That's it, I can't take any more.

Wednesday, September 11, 2002

After a year of confusion that seems like five in my mind, my strife with Renee is finally over. Come one, come all, Matt is returned.
The first two weeks of highschool have been deadening. One thing after another has left a gaping hole somewhere between my heart and my stomach. The suicide threat, painful arguments with close friends and some bad teachers leave me feeling tired. My english class makes it all worthwhile though. Kelso is good good good.

I need some new friends, some new hobbies, and I need to finally go buy a bass guitar. Need that bass right about now.

Tuesday, September 10, 2002

Turns out the girl was just threatening to make someone feel like shit. Equally screwed up.

My dad is buying an ass-rapingly powerful iMac with DVD-burning capabilities, so my ninja movie is greenlighted. Script to be written soon.

Sunday, September 08, 2002

I found out an hour ago that a girl I once spent an afternoon with tried to kill herself. No one knows if she's alright or if her parents found her in time. No one's answering their phone, so we think they found her but who the hell knows. What the fuck is wrong with this world?

Friday, September 06, 2002

Whenever I start my computer now, there's a message that pops up that says "Mr. Dribble likes to smell you." And I don't really know why.
Why I don't like living with other people: Parents who come downstairs and talk on the phone sporadically about bipolar schitzophrenia when you're tired and are trying to philosophize. Not to mention I hear the name "Nancy" every ten seconds. I have no clue who the hell "Nancy" is, but apparently she's the source of all my dad's pains in life.

College will be better, when instead of having to listen to conversations in the background I will be subjected to humiliating pranks involving green face paint and a tank of lobsters.
I can't listen to "Imagine" by John Lennon without getting angry with myself for being a spoiled white kid who wields no power over international affairs. I am tired of this and you.

Give me the love.
My interpretation of the Tao is the synchronatic unification of every person of the world. Through cause and effect we are all under constant sway from one another, breathing moving and growing as a whole. It's like the "butterfly flaps its wings in china and causes a hurricane in florida" theory. Most Taoists take it to another level and say that the Tao is a tangible religious force, that we're all just materializations, representations of different aspects of it and that it's "just playing perpetual peek-a-boo with itself.

With the invention of the internet and cellular phones, we can communicate ideas instantaneously. The rate of exchange is incredible. Not only are our minds adapting to the constant influx of ideas, but our culture is as well. We're interacting faster and faster, in an innate state of frantic motion. We're rocking back and forth with one another at an extreme rate. The Tao found (or invented) a means for itself to reunite and merge back with itself.

All of these proposed "Big Brother" technologies, like computer chips implanted in the brain, will be the final step. If used with intense caution and a total lack of government or corporate interfering, we will unite as one, a hive mind of humanity. Possibly terrifying, possibly wonderful. I have no clue what would happen from there, but it's happening faster and faster.

Reading this has changed your life. Permanently.
So hard to find decent folk these days. All the potential prodigies at my school turn out to be bigoted homophobe social retards just like I've had to deal with since sixth grade. Dying/spiking your hair, wearing black clothes, and quoting the Sex Pistols won't make you a worthy human being. They're all so concerned with being seen as unique by prospectful girlfriends lurking in the crowd that they fail to develop any reasonable idea of why they did indeed pierce their foreskin. So in the event that their fishing wields catches, the girls are so appalled by their nauseating habits of scratching themselves and then smelling their fingers that they slip right through their hands. Put away the gel, remove the brads, and go to your room to think about what you've done.

Wednesday, September 04, 2002

Ever think that the pro-america movement of post-9/11 is identical to the nazi propaganda of WWII? Getting everyone gung-ho about killing Afghanis with subliminal messaging and propaganda? Careful where that goes now. Very careful.

Saturday, August 31, 2002

Interesting images:

There's two cars driving adjacent to each other on the freeway and a baby projectile vomits from one car into the other driver's window

When a man pees off a rock on a windy mountaintop his urine is carried in a straight stream on the wind. A biker on the path below is on a straightaway, about to turn a bend, just minding his own business and admiring the scenery. When he takes a look up, he sees a stream of hot, sizzling piss flying directly at him at eye level, coming from around the bend.

An elderly Huskie dog walks up to you with a dopey expression on his face. One of it's eyes is opaque white, giving it an eccentric personality. He just stands there staring at you with a clueless expression plastered across his face, panting. After three minutes of this, you notice the dog's eyes cross slightly. Suddenly and completely inexplicably a small stream of water squirts at a juxtaposed angle from his back.
You must not give into fear. As my master once said, "penis."

Friday, August 30, 2002

Matt's worst fears in life:

-When driving through the desert, having rattlesnakes fly into the car through the windows and biting me
-Being strangled by a dog
-Being trapped in a room with the Fandango guy
-Accidentally spilling Shwarzennegar's coffee
-VW Beetles made to look like Pikachu
-Children who dress their cats up on halloween in Pokemon outfits.
Tarot is alarmingly accurate. I was at a party and had a reading done by a friend and It covered every aspect of my inner emotion toward the topic I was inquiring on. I was also testing an I-Ching like device which was also eerily true, like the gods were pointing a finger right at my head and screaming. I plan on buying both.
I was at a friend's birthday party one afternoon, and during the downtime before we got in the cars to go play laser tag, we were sitting out on the street trying to get reactions out of passing cars. After we tired of this we went inside and the doorbell abruptly rung. This woman had been staring at us through one of her windows and was convinced we were giving people the finger. She singled out a couple of girls and started bashing them in this fake little english accent that made me want to kick a chiuahua. She was sporting the usual suburban wear: a visor, hundred-dollar sunglasses, white t-shirt, shorts that don't quite fit, and for some reason they're always holding their keys.

"No one flips people off in MY neighborhood, you little pricks. I never want to see you doing that again."

Seriously folks, how dead do you have to be inside to even remotely give a shit what some kid is doing, much less feel some kind of matriarchy over an entire region occupied by people who might not even like you. The only community spirit around here is the uniting distrust of anyone under twenty.

I wish she had even looked at me.

Thursday, August 29, 2002

News flash: a Rocky video game is currently in production, and the ad made clear that there was a "clubber lang" option, which means after long last, I will finally be able to fulfill my dream of beating people up as Mr. T. Sweet Jesus in heaven!
While I'm reminiscing I was reminded of an incident on my eighth grade school trip to Washington DC/New York. My friends and I were sitting in a food court at the New York Wharf and someone brought up tampons. We goaded the only female around into buying one for us from the girls bathroom dispensing machine. Someone carried it around until one night when everyone was in the hotel swimming pool (your predictions are wrong). We unwrapped it and smothered it in Code Red Mountain Dew, leaving it in a snack machine. We came back five minutes later and it was gone. No one knows what happened to it.
I remember one time when i was in first grade my father came into class and made a massive crawlspace structure out of discarded refrigerator boxes and called it Box City. When I got bored with it I'd set defunctional traps for the other little boys and girls, like this one time I set a 2x4 upright in a corner and waited for someone to hit themselves with it. Ah for the good old days.
Just a short story I wrote for someone with the blues:

Jimmy Fran likes two things: Tylenol PM and acid. He likes Tylenol PM so that when his acid high wears off he can take it and just sleep until the morning, at which point he takes more acid. He’s been living this vicious circle now ever since his girlfriend left him three days ago, resulting in total loss of contact with himself.

Every night he has the same dream, in which he’s a lion tamer, y’know, like in the circus, only instead of having a chair and a whip he has a little girl who keeps trying to steal his head. Had he not fried his mind he might have realized what it meant in the morning, might have been able to pull himself from the loop in order so that he might continue living as a social invalid, fall in love with some nurse in a psycho ward somewhere; the kind of place they send war veterans when no one wants to look at them anymore.

But Jimmy’s tired, and needs his sleep.
Okay, let me make this very clear. Just because you watch MTV on your thirty-inch television does not make you punk. I was just talking to a guy who considers himself punk, which is dumb to begin with, and he doesn't even know who The Clash are. In fact, his musical preferences consist of Nelly and Ja Rule.

Unless you lived in LA during the late seventies, you are not a punk. You may like punk music but the fact is that most punk, besides perhaps The Clash, were specific to that place in time. Don't get me wrong, i love punk and I love what it stands for, but there's a whole spectrum of human emotion that can be conveyed in music, and punk only fills a small niche, anger.

So if you're just trying to look intense so you can get laid it won't work except for on stupid people, so have fun. (Maddie, don't worry, you're punk.)
I just spent an hour dying an old pair of contacts dark red, like the color of congealed blood. My original intention was to make them light purple, but i spilled the red. I let the contacts soak for a few minutes and when i tried them on everything was bathed in a sickly red color and I looked like the devil. I considered jumping out with red food coloring dripping from my chin with the contacts in, when my easily frightened parents came through the door, but I decided against it, based on what happened when my brother spontaneously shaved his head one morning.

The food coloring made my eyes feel all funny, so i'm letting them soak. More antics to ensue.
More details on my personal life:

Religious Orientation: Taoist by nature, though I don't like pertaining to labels
Favorite Food: you
Girlfriend Status: you
Favorite Catch-O line: Life is a prison, I am the spoon which digs you free.
DJ name: Ecto
Favorite way to piss people off: making it clear that even Jesus had a penis.

If you want to contact me, (i am also available for instant messaging, as that infernal machine occupies much of my time)
Hello world. Perhaps a word about myself to begin with. My name is Matthew Louv, I live in suburbia, and I'm a loose cannon who needs to be kept under constant surveilance so I won't hurt myself or others with sharp words. If you've ever seen what suburbia has become you'll appreciate my life more. Most social occasions as of now, (without a car) consist of lurking around the local theater while my friends and I try to convince ourselves we're the wildest, most brilliant group of jackass rebels ever to grimace and look at people funny. You can never really take yourself too seriously when you're drinking Jamba Juice and whining about "all the damn yuppies."

Oh yes yes, I do go on about Starbucks and the lot but you've all already heard it, hopefully get it, and are probably damn sick of dealing with teenage malcontents so I'll save all the drama for trying to impress girls. As long as I'm only tolerably pretentious my postings should entertain.

Fight the good fight and all...say no to drugs...