Why did I say that?

Inside my head it’s all intersectional feminism, and socialism, and Mixolydian modes, and existential worry, and Zizek, and cosmology, and key lighting, and should I get that mole checked out, and colony collapse, and tar sands, and irony fatigue, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and

Outside my mouth it’s all HHLLLUUUUGGGGGGHH

Rambles the Facebooking clown

Sorry Facebook friends, but I like to keep my voyeurism strictly pornographic. It’s great you’ve drank a beer at a Belgian micro-pub or sweated a preposterous amount while walking up a large hill somewhere I don’t ever want to be, but the only peeks into the lives of others I want involve safe-words and stilettos. Strictly speaking that’s the employment of others and I’m willing to suspend my disbelief in such circumstances.

I don’t want to see the grainy, blurry, phone-cam shots from your trip to St. John (not Saint John’s). It’s great that your fiance and you have healthy gums that are tanning in the Oklahoman sun (and that will result eventually in the most interesting form of melanoma anybody will ever have) but it’s not great enough for me to Like it. At least until it metastasizes. Song lyrics? You’re not singing them. You’re typing them at me. If you’re not singing them they’re just shit poetry, which falls under the “all poetry is shit” moniker, which makes your status update a gravitational anomaly of crap. You’ve just divided mediocrity by zero. You’ve split two girls by one cup all over me with your GOTYE.

It’s not that I don’t care about you. I may in fact at some time be willing to venture towards audibly communicating my affection towards you! It’s that we’re all mostly boring together all the time anyway and I like that well enough. Do what you like with it, but if what you’re doing to the internet doesn’t involve some conflagration of Maru, trauma, and Ukrainians in the jpegs you’re sharing, I’m just not interested.

A big bag of dead me

Just shaved off the hair I’d been growing out for the past year and a half. Clipped my nails and tossed out some old ID cards, too. If there’s any stalkers in the neighborhood, or maybe just an amateur voodoo priestess, there’s an IKEA doll factory of creepiness waiting for you in the dumpster behind my building.

bagofhairandnails.jpg

Napalm Gaze

• To be a music nerd in my thirties is a bit like really being into trains, but I don’t think I’m supposed to care about that.
• Going back to 1997 and telling past-me about how all my favourite musicians then would be producing ambient, melodic and downtuned songs with clean vocals now would… I don’t know. Hopefully 17-year-old me would be OK with Justin Broadrick, Devin Townsend, and Mikael Akerfeldt turning happy and making pretty music. Realistically, I think he’d just feel betrayed because there’s not enough angst, attempts at poetry, and palm-muting.
• Poetry: the douchiest of the arts.
• “In the future you’ll drink green tea and eat organic vegetables! None of your friends will be punk! You will nap regularly! Sleeping with derpy models will get old!” yeah, that would have gone over well.

Context is for butts

If it involves Photoshop, the internet’s really good at it. If it involves sensitivity and empathy, the internet’s already shit itself at you in the attempt.

I GREW SOME FUCKS

STILL JUST GOING TO EAT A CARAMILK AND THREE BOTTLES OF CREAM SODA FOR DINNER THOUGH

fish and chips

The best thing about finding out that gluten wrecks my guts is learning how easy it is cook. There’s so many recipes on the internet that this shit’s like assembling Ikea furniture.