Sunday, July 21, 2013
Blue scabs
So I will treat this as my old new blog from now on... I got shit in my in heart and word that need to come out. As I sit and feel treathened by the clouds lifting and new light shining in, I can see the sun beaming onto one particular tree in the neighbors yard. Yet, I think about the blue spots dispersed among the grey. Where the mist no longer controls the mood of my mind, and I can see the the familiar breaking of photons turning the sky blue. Blue skies sorta force upon us a benevolent feeling, blue means action... grey means dwell. Blue demands go, mist insist 'no'.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Jim carrey 2
Jimmy Tango's Fat Busters!!! I used to laugh my ass off at this skit! Classic Carrey... "You'll loose more weight than a Tijuana crack-whore" LOL
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Wow! I haven's stopped in here for 2 yrs and 9 months. I just kinda bumped into the link here from my old web-site after updating my profile on MSN. I might just start blogging again... visitin my mother in Oppdal for the weekend. She out and I got very bored... but my step-brother just got in so I'll talk to him instead. z ya
Friday, January 16, 2004
I'll Miss You
It could rain for a thousand days
Or something I don't know
Look to the sun and we're having fun
Beside the river flow
You're doing this and you're doing that
Workin' all the time
Tonight you'll call me on the phone
You've got a worried mind
And when you leave
You'll go away
Gone to stay
Don't feel so bad
It was nice what we had
You'll be glad
I'll miss you
There's a moon and it's bright tonight
The sun has gone away
Stop the sweat and I'll feel alright
You know I like it this way
You're packin' stuff for your big, big move
In just a couple of days
You'll be off on you're big, big cruise
Across the USA
And when you leave
You'll go away
Gone to stay
Don't feel so bad
It was nice what we had
You'll be glad
I'll miss you
It could rain for a thousand days
Or something I don't know
Look to the sun and we're having fun
Beside the river flow
You're doing this and you're doing that
Workin' all the time
Tonight you'll call me on the phone
You've got a worried mind
And when you leave
You'll go away
Gone to stay
Don't feel so bad
It was nice what we had
You'll be glad
I'll miss you
There's a moon and it's bright tonight
The sun has gone away
Stop the sweat and I'll feel alright
You know I like it this way
You're packin' stuff for your big, big move
In just a couple of days
You'll be off on you're big, big cruise
Across the USA
And when you leave
You'll go away
Gone to stay
Don't feel so bad
It was nice what we had
You'll be glad
I'll miss you
Monday, November 17, 2003
It is clear that the world is purely parodic, in other words, that each thing seen is the parody of another, or is the same thing in a deceptive form.
Ever since sentences started to circulate in brains devoted to reflection, an effort at total identification has been made, because with the aid of a copula each sentence ties one thing to another; all things would be visibly connected if one could discover at a single glance and in its totality the tracings of Ariadne's thread leading thought into its own labyrinth.
But the copula of terms is no less irritating than the copulation of bodies.And when I scream I AM THE SUN an integral erection results, because the verb to be is the vehicle of amorous frenzy.
Everyone is aware that life is parodic and that it lacks an interpretation.
Thus lead is the parody of gold.
Air is the parody of water.
The brain is the parody of the equator.
Coitus is the parody of crime.
Gold, water, the equator, or crime can each be put forward as the principle of things.
And if the origin of things is not like the ground of the planet that seems to be the base, but like the circular movement that the planet describes around a mobile center, then a car a clock, or a sewing machine could equally be accepted as the generative principle.
The two primary motions are rotation and sexual movement, whose combination is expressed by the locomotive's wheels and pistons.
These two motions are reciprocally transformed, the one into the other.
Thus one notes that the earth, by turning, makes animals and men have coitus, and (because the result is as much the cause as that which provokes it) that animals and men make the earth turn by having coitus.
It is the mechanical combination or transformation of these movements that the alchemists sought as the philosopher's stone.
It is through the use of this magically valued combination that one can determine the present position of men in the midst of the elements.
An abandoned shoe, a rotten tooth, a snub nose, the cook spitting in the soup of his masters are to love what a battle flag is to nationality.
An umbrella, a sexagenarian, a seminarian, the smell of rotten eggs, the hollow eyes of judges are the roots that nourish love.
A dog devouring the stomach of a goose, a drunken vomiting woman, a slobbering accountant, a jar of mustard represent the confusion that serves as the vehicle of love.
A man who finds himself among others is irritated because he does not know why he is not one of the others.
In bed next to a girl he loves, he forgets that he does not know why he is himself instead of the body he touches.
Without knowing it, he suffers from the mental darkness that keeps him from screaming that he himself is the girl who forgets his presence while shuddering in his arms.
Love or infantile rage, or a provincial dowager's vanity, or clerical pornography, or the diamond of a soprano bewilder individuals forgotten in dusty apartments.
They can very well try to find each other; they will never find anything but parodic images, and they will fall asleep as empty as mirrors.
The absent and inert girl hanging dreamless from my arms is no more foreign to me than the door or window through which I can look or pass.
I rediscover indifference (allowing her to leave me) when I fall asleep, through an inability to love what happens.
It is impossible for her to know whom she will discover when I hold her, because she obstinately attains a complete forgetting.
The planetary systems that turn in space like rapid disks, and whose centers also move, describing an infinitely larger circle, only move away continuously from their own position in order to return it, completing their rotation.
Movement is a figure of love, incapable of stopping at a particular being, and rapidly passing from one to another.
But the forgetting that determines it in this way is only a subterfuge of memory.
A man gets up as brusquely as a specter in a coffin and falls in the same way.
He gets up a few hours later and then he falls again, and the same thing happens every day; this great coitus with the celestial atmosphere is regulated by the terrestrial rotation around the sun.
Thus even though terrestrial life moves to the rhythm of this rotation, the image of this movement is not turning earth, but the male shaft penetrating the female and almost entirely emerging, in order to reenter.
Love and life appear to be separate only because everything on earth is broken apart by vibrations of various amplitudes and durations.
However, there are no vibrations that are not conjugated with a continuous circular movement; in the same way, a locomotive rolling on the surface of the earth is the image of continuous metamorphosis.
Beings only die to be born, in the manner of phalluses that leave bodies in order to enter them.
Plants rise in the direction of the sun and then collapse in the direction of the ground.Trees bristle the ground with a vast quantity of flowered shafts raised up to the sun.
The trees that forcefully soar end up burned by lightning, chopped down, or uprooted. Returned to the ground, they come back up in another form.
But their polymorphous coitus is a function of uniform terrestrial rotation.
The simplest image of organic life united with rotation is the tide.
From the movement of the sea, uniform coitus of the earth with the moon, comes the polymorphous and organic coitus of the earth with the sun.
But the first form of solar love is a cloud raised up over the liquid element.
The erotic cloud sometimes becomes a storm and falls back to earth in the form of rain, while lightning staves in the layers of the atmosphere.
The rain is soon raised up again in the form of an immobile plant.
Animal life comes entirely from the movement of the seas and, inside bodies, life continues to come from salt water.
The sea, then, has played the role of the female organ that liquefies under the excitation of the penis.
The sea continuously jerks off.
Solid elements, contained and brewed in water animated by erotic movement, shoot out in the form of flying fish.
The erection and the sun scandalize, in the same way as the cadaver and the darkness of cellars.
Vegetation is uniformly directed towards the sun; human beings, on the other hand, even though phalloid like trees, in opposition to other animals, necessarily avert their eyes.
Human eyes tolerate neither sun, coitus, cadavers, nor obscurity, but with different reactions.
When my face is flushed with blood, it becomes red and obscene.
It betrays at the same time, through morbid reflexes, a bloody erection and a demanding thirst for indecency and criminal debauchery.
For that reason I am not afraid to affirm that my face is a scandal and that my passions are expressed only by the JESUVE.
The terrestrial globe is covered with volcanoes, which serve as its anus.
Although this globe eats nothing, it often violently ejects the contents of its entrails.
Those contents shoot out with a racket and fall back, streaming down the sides of the Jesuve, spreading death and terror everywhere.
In fact, the erotic movements of the ground are not fertile like those of the water, but they are far more rapid.
The earth sometimes jerks off in a frenzy, and everything collapses on its surface.
The Jesuve is thus the image of an erotic movement that burglarizes the ideas contained in the mind, giving them the force a scandalous eruption.
This eruptive force accumulates in those who are necessarily situated below.
Communist workers appear to the bourgeois to be as ugly and dirty as hairy sexual organs, or lower parts; sooner or later there will be a scandalous eruption in the course of which the asexual noble heads of the bourgeois will be chopped off.
Disasters, revolution, and volcanoes do not make love with the stars.
The erotic revolutionary and volcanic deflagrations antagonize the heavens.
As in the case of violent love, they take place beyond the constraints of fecundity.
In opposition to celestial fertility there are terrestrial disasters, the image of terrestrial love without condition, erection without escape and without rule, scandal, and terror.
Love then screams in my own throat; I am the Jesuve, the filthy parody of the torrid and blinding sun.
I want to have my throat slashed while violating the girl to whom I will have been able to say: you are the night.
The Sun exclusively loves the Night and directs its luminous violence, its ignoble shaft, toward the earth, but finds itself incapable of reaching the gaze or the night, even though the nocturnal terrestrial expanses head continuously toward the indecency of the solar ray.
The solar annulus is the intact anus of her body at eighteen years to which nothing sufficiently blinding can be compared except the sun, even though the anus is night.
[from Georges Bataille "Visions of Excess Selected Writings, 1927-1939"]
Ever since sentences started to circulate in brains devoted to reflection, an effort at total identification has been made, because with the aid of a copula each sentence ties one thing to another; all things would be visibly connected if one could discover at a single glance and in its totality the tracings of Ariadne's thread leading thought into its own labyrinth.
But the copula of terms is no less irritating than the copulation of bodies.And when I scream I AM THE SUN an integral erection results, because the verb to be is the vehicle of amorous frenzy.
Everyone is aware that life is parodic and that it lacks an interpretation.
Thus lead is the parody of gold.
Air is the parody of water.
The brain is the parody of the equator.
Coitus is the parody of crime.
Gold, water, the equator, or crime can each be put forward as the principle of things.
And if the origin of things is not like the ground of the planet that seems to be the base, but like the circular movement that the planet describes around a mobile center, then a car a clock, or a sewing machine could equally be accepted as the generative principle.
The two primary motions are rotation and sexual movement, whose combination is expressed by the locomotive's wheels and pistons.
These two motions are reciprocally transformed, the one into the other.
Thus one notes that the earth, by turning, makes animals and men have coitus, and (because the result is as much the cause as that which provokes it) that animals and men make the earth turn by having coitus.
It is the mechanical combination or transformation of these movements that the alchemists sought as the philosopher's stone.
It is through the use of this magically valued combination that one can determine the present position of men in the midst of the elements.
An abandoned shoe, a rotten tooth, a snub nose, the cook spitting in the soup of his masters are to love what a battle flag is to nationality.
An umbrella, a sexagenarian, a seminarian, the smell of rotten eggs, the hollow eyes of judges are the roots that nourish love.
A dog devouring the stomach of a goose, a drunken vomiting woman, a slobbering accountant, a jar of mustard represent the confusion that serves as the vehicle of love.
A man who finds himself among others is irritated because he does not know why he is not one of the others.
In bed next to a girl he loves, he forgets that he does not know why he is himself instead of the body he touches.
Without knowing it, he suffers from the mental darkness that keeps him from screaming that he himself is the girl who forgets his presence while shuddering in his arms.
Love or infantile rage, or a provincial dowager's vanity, or clerical pornography, or the diamond of a soprano bewilder individuals forgotten in dusty apartments.
They can very well try to find each other; they will never find anything but parodic images, and they will fall asleep as empty as mirrors.
The absent and inert girl hanging dreamless from my arms is no more foreign to me than the door or window through which I can look or pass.
I rediscover indifference (allowing her to leave me) when I fall asleep, through an inability to love what happens.
It is impossible for her to know whom she will discover when I hold her, because she obstinately attains a complete forgetting.
The planetary systems that turn in space like rapid disks, and whose centers also move, describing an infinitely larger circle, only move away continuously from their own position in order to return it, completing their rotation.
Movement is a figure of love, incapable of stopping at a particular being, and rapidly passing from one to another.
But the forgetting that determines it in this way is only a subterfuge of memory.
A man gets up as brusquely as a specter in a coffin and falls in the same way.
He gets up a few hours later and then he falls again, and the same thing happens every day; this great coitus with the celestial atmosphere is regulated by the terrestrial rotation around the sun.
Thus even though terrestrial life moves to the rhythm of this rotation, the image of this movement is not turning earth, but the male shaft penetrating the female and almost entirely emerging, in order to reenter.
Love and life appear to be separate only because everything on earth is broken apart by vibrations of various amplitudes and durations.
However, there are no vibrations that are not conjugated with a continuous circular movement; in the same way, a locomotive rolling on the surface of the earth is the image of continuous metamorphosis.
Beings only die to be born, in the manner of phalluses that leave bodies in order to enter them.
Plants rise in the direction of the sun and then collapse in the direction of the ground.Trees bristle the ground with a vast quantity of flowered shafts raised up to the sun.
The trees that forcefully soar end up burned by lightning, chopped down, or uprooted. Returned to the ground, they come back up in another form.
But their polymorphous coitus is a function of uniform terrestrial rotation.
The simplest image of organic life united with rotation is the tide.
From the movement of the sea, uniform coitus of the earth with the moon, comes the polymorphous and organic coitus of the earth with the sun.
But the first form of solar love is a cloud raised up over the liquid element.
The erotic cloud sometimes becomes a storm and falls back to earth in the form of rain, while lightning staves in the layers of the atmosphere.
The rain is soon raised up again in the form of an immobile plant.
Animal life comes entirely from the movement of the seas and, inside bodies, life continues to come from salt water.
The sea, then, has played the role of the female organ that liquefies under the excitation of the penis.
The sea continuously jerks off.
Solid elements, contained and brewed in water animated by erotic movement, shoot out in the form of flying fish.
The erection and the sun scandalize, in the same way as the cadaver and the darkness of cellars.
Vegetation is uniformly directed towards the sun; human beings, on the other hand, even though phalloid like trees, in opposition to other animals, necessarily avert their eyes.
Human eyes tolerate neither sun, coitus, cadavers, nor obscurity, but with different reactions.
When my face is flushed with blood, it becomes red and obscene.
It betrays at the same time, through morbid reflexes, a bloody erection and a demanding thirst for indecency and criminal debauchery.
For that reason I am not afraid to affirm that my face is a scandal and that my passions are expressed only by the JESUVE.
The terrestrial globe is covered with volcanoes, which serve as its anus.
Although this globe eats nothing, it often violently ejects the contents of its entrails.
Those contents shoot out with a racket and fall back, streaming down the sides of the Jesuve, spreading death and terror everywhere.
In fact, the erotic movements of the ground are not fertile like those of the water, but they are far more rapid.
The earth sometimes jerks off in a frenzy, and everything collapses on its surface.
The Jesuve is thus the image of an erotic movement that burglarizes the ideas contained in the mind, giving them the force a scandalous eruption.
This eruptive force accumulates in those who are necessarily situated below.
Communist workers appear to the bourgeois to be as ugly and dirty as hairy sexual organs, or lower parts; sooner or later there will be a scandalous eruption in the course of which the asexual noble heads of the bourgeois will be chopped off.
Disasters, revolution, and volcanoes do not make love with the stars.
The erotic revolutionary and volcanic deflagrations antagonize the heavens.
As in the case of violent love, they take place beyond the constraints of fecundity.
In opposition to celestial fertility there are terrestrial disasters, the image of terrestrial love without condition, erection without escape and without rule, scandal, and terror.
Love then screams in my own throat; I am the Jesuve, the filthy parody of the torrid and blinding sun.
I want to have my throat slashed while violating the girl to whom I will have been able to say: you are the night.
The Sun exclusively loves the Night and directs its luminous violence, its ignoble shaft, toward the earth, but finds itself incapable of reaching the gaze or the night, even though the nocturnal terrestrial expanses head continuously toward the indecency of the solar ray.
The solar annulus is the intact anus of her body at eighteen years to which nothing sufficiently blinding can be compared except the sun, even though the anus is night.
[from Georges Bataille "Visions of Excess Selected Writings, 1927-1939"]
Sunday, November 02, 2003
Speculum
There's so many people dying
You complain about your situation
What about me?
Half the world wouldn't know
What it's like to lose your seed
Maybe you can understand
How I feel
I cannot reach that soul
You're probably watching over us
Know that I think of you
It's killing me
The guilt has lasted years, still cry
It was all planned out
Why was I last to know?
Don't you trust in me?
The table's cold, it's too late
To make up for these mistakes
Maybe you can't understand
How I feel
I cannot reach that soul
You're probably watching over us
Know that I think of you
It's killing me
How I feel
If I would have known
I can't say what I would have done
If you could forgive
I'd like to rest with you someday
How I feel
I cannot reach that soul
You're probably watching over us
Know that I think of you
It's killing me
How I feel
If I would have known
I can't say what I would have done
If you could forgive
I'd like to rest with you someday
Adema
There's so many people dying
You complain about your situation
What about me?
Half the world wouldn't know
What it's like to lose your seed
Maybe you can understand
How I feel
I cannot reach that soul
You're probably watching over us
Know that I think of you
It's killing me
The guilt has lasted years, still cry
It was all planned out
Why was I last to know?
Don't you trust in me?
The table's cold, it's too late
To make up for these mistakes
Maybe you can't understand
How I feel
I cannot reach that soul
You're probably watching over us
Know that I think of you
It's killing me
How I feel
If I would have known
I can't say what I would have done
If you could forgive
I'd like to rest with you someday
How I feel
I cannot reach that soul
You're probably watching over us
Know that I think of you
It's killing me
How I feel
If I would have known
I can't say what I would have done
If you could forgive
I'd like to rest with you someday
Adema
You wear it so well
So what if I was your lover
a thousand time before
you and all the others
still doesn't make me a whore
still doesn't make me yours
You try to say it's what happened, that you were there
Well so was I
You're mine, I know this now
I'll tell you something: you wear it so well
You're up here with angels
You look like hell
I'm not going down with you now
but baby, you wear it so well
Far
So what if I was your lover
a thousand time before
you and all the others
still doesn't make me a whore
still doesn't make me yours
You try to say it's what happened, that you were there
Well so was I
You're mine, I know this now
I'll tell you something: you wear it so well
You're up here with angels
You look like hell
I'm not going down with you now
but baby, you wear it so well
Far
Friday, October 31, 2003
I got a fucking headache in my pants... Queens of the Stone Age did such a great cover of Turbonegro's "Back to Bungaree High". I cannot begin to emphasize the badassness of this cover... It is tha shit... and all I got it a tweeny weeniy alibi.
Back to Dungaree High
I didn't mean to turn you on
Just wanna dance and sing my song
Clocking in, clocking out
No I don't mind it at all
Me and the danger dudes
We're on the news
So just don't bother to call
It's just a way to stay alive, boy
It's such a trip just to survive
So it's back, back to dungaree high
Just to get by, back to dungaree high
Just a great big boy
With a teeny-weeny alibi
Just a soul on ice
With a mirror and a blade
And a pocket full of mice
Cheap thrills done and the dirt cheap ants
'Cause I got a headache in my pants
Throb throb
It's just a way to stay alive, boy
It's such a trip just to survive
So it's back, back to dungaree high
just a great big boy -
With a teeny-weeny alibi
It's just a way to stay alive, boy
It's such a trip just to survive, boy
Back to Dungaree High
I didn't mean to turn you on
Just wanna dance and sing my song
Clocking in, clocking out
No I don't mind it at all
Me and the danger dudes
We're on the news
So just don't bother to call
It's just a way to stay alive, boy
It's such a trip just to survive
So it's back, back to dungaree high
Just to get by, back to dungaree high
Just a great big boy
With a teeny-weeny alibi
Just a soul on ice
With a mirror and a blade
And a pocket full of mice
Cheap thrills done and the dirt cheap ants
'Cause I got a headache in my pants
Throb throb
It's just a way to stay alive, boy
It's such a trip just to survive
So it's back, back to dungaree high
just a great big boy -
With a teeny-weeny alibi
It's just a way to stay alive, boy
It's such a trip just to survive, boy
Sunday, October 19, 2003
I wrote some more. Hate this and I'll love you ;)
Empty Wishes
Too many times I see
Too many times I bleed
And I just wish for an empty room
Too many times I'm sad
Too many time there is no sun
And I just wish for an empty room
Too many times I lay awake
Too many thoughts I think alone
And I just wish for an empty room
Too many misunderstanings
Too many "I'm sorry"'s
And I just wish for an empty room
Too much love I gave
Too many thoughts I extend
And I wish for you
I wish you where here
I'm empty without you
Too many times I see
Too many times I bleed
And I just wish for an empty room
Too many times I'm sad
Too many time there is no sun
And I just wish for an empty room
Too many times I lay awake
Too many thoughts I think alone
And I just wish for an empty room
Too many misunderstanings
Too many "I'm sorry"'s
And I just wish for an empty room
Too much love I gave
Too many thoughts I extend
And I wish for you
I wish you where here
I'm empty without you
As I said
Nothing was as said
Nothing was as spoken
Yet I proved
My ingnorance as my token
So I conduct my worry
As simple as a flurry
Not to be taken
As a fact to the wise
It will be as I said
And I said no less
And no more. No more
I'll carry all you need
The pain. The pain that
keeps you connected
I'll carry all your pain
Believe my call, I will carry
All your pain
Seem easier than mine
As mine is real and you're
Fooling me
Carry mine
Nothing was as said
Nothing was as spoken
Yet I proved
My ingnorance as my token
So I conduct my worry
As simple as a flurry
Not to be taken
As a fact to the wise
It will be as I said
And I said no less
And no more. No more
I'll carry all you need
The pain. The pain that
keeps you connected
I'll carry all your pain
Believe my call, I will carry
All your pain
Seem easier than mine
As mine is real and you're
Fooling me
Carry mine
Staring at the sun
So, now here I'm am
Wrestling with the "as"
The last time again.
I'm tired, but now is forever
You'll forgive my time
And time again. As you must
You and I keep forgeting
Just how hopeless I am
I stare at the sun
It is bright
It hurts
Blinded by ingorance
I stare at the star
Because I'm stonger
I'm stronger
And I look to the sun
I will change the world
While I stare at the sun
For hours and hours
So, now here I'm am
Wrestling with the "as"
The last time again.
I'm tired, but now is forever
You'll forgive my time
And time again. As you must
You and I keep forgeting
Just how hopeless I am
I stare at the sun
It is bright
It hurts
Blinded by ingorance
I stare at the star
Because I'm stonger
I'm stronger
And I look to the sun
I will change the world
While I stare at the sun
For hours and hours
Friday, October 03, 2003
Allright... I finally found a free web-host with no pop-up's or ads... that I'm aware of yet. Site be here: http://draczilla.8bit.co.uk ... and 'Yes' it is still under construction, but there is content there so go check it out - - and don't forget to sign my guestbook, or I'll capture your IP adress from the web-log and you know what happens then... p0VV|\|3d by Dr4cz1|_|_4 ;) See ya there...
Wednesday, September 24, 2003
Hysteria
it's bugging me
calling me
and twisting me around
yeah I'm endlessly
caving in
and turning inside out
because I want it now
I want it now
give me your heart and your soul
and I'm breaking out
I'm breaking out
that's when she'll lose control
yeah it's hurting me
morphing me
and forcing me to strive
to be endlessly
caving in
and dreaming of my love
because I want it now
I want it now
give me your heart and your soul
I'm not breaking down
I'm breaking out
that's when she'll lose control
and I want you now
I want you now
I feel my heart implode
and I'm breaking out
escaping now
feeling my faith grow old
Muse's new album is finally out... Absolution... and it sounds just awesome. Symphonic at times, fucken rawken at others... and just as full of angst and paranoia as their previous releases. Nuff said - - run and buy! I'm to busy listening to it to write anymore...
it's bugging me
calling me
and twisting me around
yeah I'm endlessly
caving in
and turning inside out
because I want it now
I want it now
give me your heart and your soul
and I'm breaking out
I'm breaking out
that's when she'll lose control
yeah it's hurting me
morphing me
and forcing me to strive
to be endlessly
caving in
and dreaming of my love
because I want it now
I want it now
give me your heart and your soul
I'm not breaking down
I'm breaking out
that's when she'll lose control
and I want you now
I want you now
I feel my heart implode
and I'm breaking out
escaping now
feeling my faith grow old
Muse's new album is finally out... Absolution... and it sounds just awesome. Symphonic at times, fucken rawken at others... and just as full of angst and paranoia as their previous releases. Nuff said - - run and buy! I'm to busy listening to it to write anymore...
Monday, September 08, 2003
Tampa Bay and The Eagles are playing tonight on Monday Night Football... yey! :( I really don't care that much about football anymore. It used to be fun when I was an avid fan of The Minnesota Vikings, even though they allways lost in the play-off's. I think I just haven't acclimated to the Denver Broncos yet - - but then again, the season has just begun ;) I got a job interview tomorrow morning so I just got back from a quick snipping, and my ears are now inches lower... hehe. So anyway, I need to look 'clean' for the interview - - I'm hoping this job at Alliance Data Systems will pan out as it might just keep me from going crazy while waiting to go to New York next year... oh well, time will show Y'all!! Peace...
Wednesday, September 03, 2003
Ooops... I forgot! For those of you that actually read this; I switched IPS today and I got a new email address... Click here to email me.... No! Wait! Here it is...
The verdict is finally in after keeping me nerve-wrecked all week long; the last candidate for the Junior Broker training program in New York accepted and that means I will now be attending at the earliest March 2004... :( Oh well, I'll just have to find something else to do for the next 6 months. Let's see?! What is new? I'll be applying at Alliance Data Systems for a job while I have to stay waiting in Denver... the money has to come from somewhere, right? Hmm... I re-read The Metamorphosis by Kafka today, as well as a few essays on his writing - - thinking of Gregor kinda brightens my thoughts of my drab exsistence... hehehe - - at least I'm not a giant cockroach trapped in my room and feard by my family ;) What else?... I actually sat down with my art supplies I got for X-mas and drew for a bit... I kinda impressed myself! Anyway, Labor Day Weekend passed by without much ado... went hiking at the Mesa Trail for 3 - 3.5 hours. I felt the burn - - I think I still do?! Until next time...
Monday, August 25, 2003
Wow!!! Time just flies... I can't believe a week has blown by already!!! Well, anyways.... it has been a good week all in all; my creativity has peaked and I've spent many hours working on an flash animation, adding stars and text to an old song I wrote 12-15 years ago... my cousin back in Norway liked the tune so much he re-wrote and remixed it for me. I'll post a link once I find time to tinker my web site together completely. This weekend was great: Chuck, my dad and I went sailing on Chetfield Lake... the weather gods looked favorably upon us and blessed us with 30 knots; we were practically flying - - we got in a good 4-5 hours before the rudder broke :( in other words; sail, we did!!! We stayed all weekend so my muscles are a little sore... happening tan going on too ;) Yesterday, Sunday, on the way back home we stopped by my friend Diego's house... Ribs, Shish-Ka-Bob's, T-bones, Sweetcorn..... aaaaarrrghh!!! His sister, Victoria, turned 19 so we had a few beers as well.... ended up staying the whole day; eating, drinking and laughing - - and: DAMN! I suck at dice ;)
Monday, August 18, 2003
See!!! I remembered to come back and jot a my day down... Loooong day today, got up at 6:30 AM and went for a long walk so I could wake up. I finished writing my resume and the accompanying cover-letter and got that sent of to Dan Barry. Made lunch and took a long nap - - probably shoulda skipped it but I get so bored... also ansy. I'm doing real good on the quitting smoking - - havent really smoked since Friday, well... smoked a couple on Saturday, but I'm still quitting and havent smoked since - - I'm proud of me c,") I can do this!! Well, it was an eye-opener when the nurse told me my blood-pressure is at critical levels... I need to watch for my health - - don't when to do like my dad and my grandpa; massive heart-attacks both of them! Fucken DNA!!
