Jet Black Leather Machine.

Went for the most kickass gig yesterday. Could've been better though. Someone could've been kicked in the face. Broken noses and bloodshed make everything better.
Can't believe they played a Charged GBH cover. Fuck yeeeeeeeahhhh!!! If I had less bladder kontrol, I would've pissed my pants.

Anyway, movie for tonight:







Cholas gotta REPRESENT, fool.

This is some sickkkk kollekshun. I want everything.

So, today's exam was really catasphrophic as predicted and yet, not as bad as I had expected. It was two gruelling hours of sitting there, crippled by stupidity, going "fuck fuck fuck" repeatedly in my head and writing about a paragraph each for what should have been multiple-paged essays. But at least I managed to write something. Silver lining on my very large grey cloud of epic proportions.

Then, I had to endure a long bus ride back with Academic Success Story of the Year, who kept going on and on about Further Studies and Ambitious Endeavours. Dude kept talking about planning for the next semester and the year after and I felt sick to the stomach because I don't know if I'll even be around anymore for that next semester, much less graduation. I kept praying that she wouldn't ask about my grades, which thankfully did not happen, and had to describe my academic (un)progress in these vague, euphemistic terms. I don't know whether it was the direction of the conversation, the bad traffic or the lack of breakfast, but I wanted to throw up the whole time. Like epic projectile-vomit turbo-jet missile-fire throwing up. Also wanted to kry.

Today, I told daddy that I really don't think I can make it, school-wise, and all that disappointment and patronization that radiated thereafter made me want to vomit on the spot too. According to him, I haven't learnt my lesson from previous Close Brushes and I am always pulling this kind of shit. I couldn't have put it better myself. At this age, dropping out of school and having zero qualifikashunz is really no fucking joke. Even if I had a new school to start over in, I know I'll screw it up again because that's the way I am, lazy and uninspired. I need to be packed away to some sort of boot camp that will slap some discipline and prioritzing in me.

On a happier note, saw Cute Clean Boy in school today, looking Nice and Clean. Him sitting next to me made me sorta kinda really happy even though he doesn't know who/what the fuck I am. He's the sort you just want to hug and possibly adopt, or, marry and live Stably with. Then, I saw him driving out of school which added +1 point in his favour. You know, cos he drives. Drivin' that kar in a real Cute and Clean manner, awww.

Eastwood Guitars' Radical Vintage Remake series is based on popular designs from the '60s and groovy as hell. If these guitars don't make a nigga git his rock 'n roll on, I don't know what does.




Slick, classic, and goes with your Cadillac.



Mmm, dark chocolate with cream on top.



Ziggy played guitar, jamming good with Weird and Gilly and the Spiders from Mars.



This baby is ger-reaassee lighting.



If this guitar was a man, I swear I'll marry him.

And, of course, sommathat b-b-basssss,

If this was a chick, she'll be one of those broads that dresses like a lady but dances like a ho.

4 of my favourite people in one photograph! Bowie, Iggy, Lou Reed and Marc Bolan OMG.


Picture of Bonzo and Plant taking pictures.


Dead Boys, punk as fuck.


Nico, Warhol and the Velvet Underground. Who knew it was possible to fit so much hipster pretentiousness in one single picture.


Dee Dee talking to junkies.


Hangin'.


Plant and Page discussing midgets.


Joni Mitchell, baby, David Crosby and Eric Claption. Just a-chillin', boo.

Today's word is SIGH.
Seeing as I've failed my first paper, I don't know if I should even bother sitting for the rest.
I want to sink into a puddle of muuuddd now because that's all I'm worth. A Purdle of Murd.
I wish Robert Plant would fly here to adopt me and take me away from all this academik mess I've created.
I copied some answers from the guy sitting next to me because he looked pretty smart. But knowing my stupidity, I probably copied them wrongly. Straining surreptiously to look at little shaded ovals from the corner of my eye is bound to incur some parallax error.
Fuck.
I should've dropped out of school and run away when I had the chance. Like the time I almost joined the circus or the time I almost enlisted in the mafia or the time I almost married Iggy Pop. Sigh.

http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/?p=6473

Just give me a few more years, and a couple more buckets of chicken. Yeah.

Right now, I want to lie forever in a tub, playing Jimi Hendrix on repeat, and getting progressively more and more drunk on cheap wine till I pass out and drown or wake up to do it all over again.

Yeah, come to think of it, those are actually my top 3 most favourite things in life. In that order too.
1) immersing myself in water
2) really groovy (such a daddy word to use) music
3) alcohol
Lots of other things come come but none really sooooothe my sooooul as much.

Made me lol very slightly:


I love the way he speaks. Fast yet slow, spicy like pepper or cinnamon yet all dazed and confused. Man, Hendrix was amazing. Seriously fucking amazing. No one else has or will ever come close to that kind of legend and magic.

God, these babies are beautiful.
Lip smackin' finger lickin' gorgeous.




Lucille
Designed by B.B. King himself! Mah maaan.



Buckethead Signature Les Paul
Haha, yeah, Buckethead. I know. But whatevz, this the kind of guitar you could wake up to everyday. Sweet Jesus, I wanna lick it so bad.



SG Zoot Suit
Not so much tacky as fucking DELICIOUS. Pure candy. Melts in your mouth, not in your hand. Mmm...
According to gibson.com, multiple birch wood laminate pieces (each one approximately .075” thick) are used, each dyed with a different color then compressed and bonded together to form one solid block of wood. No paint is used.
Whoa. T-t-tasty.


And not forgetting some sweet bass,

Thunderbird IV
Rockin' it old skool and badass as hell.


Damn, I really gotta teach myself some gee-tar.

Quit your day job, write some rad riffs, start a garage band, get famous, get laid, get wasted, get spent, die young, die happy.

Things that have calmed me slightly:
- Coffee
- Cigarette
- Cereal
- Suitably reassuring email
- Completion of workload
-
- Morning rain
- Cloudy sky
- Hair conditioner
- Feeding of fish
- Comfort in the silence of solitude
- Tidying of room
- Compulsive filing and arrangement of notes
- Biting of nails
- Coffee

Things that have unnerved me slightly:
- Death of Daul Kim
- Slayer's Reign In Blood
- Exams and possibility of failure looming
- The rapid passing of time
- Not being near the sea
- Lack of breakfast

Some girls give me money
Some girls buy me clothes
Some girls give me jewelry
That I never thought I'd own

Some girls give me diamonds
Some girls, heart attacks
Some girls I give all my bread to
I don't ever want it back

Some girls give me jewelry
Others buy me clothes
Some girls give me children
... I never asked them for

French girls they want Cartier
Italian girls want cars
American girls want everything in the world
You can possibly imagine

English girls they're so prissy
I can't stand them on the telephone
Sometimes I take the receiver off the hook
I don't want them to ever call at all

White girls they're pretty funny
Sometimes they drive me mad
Black girls just wanna get fucked all night
I just don't have that much jam

Chinese girls are so gentle
They're really such a tease
You never know quite what they're cookin'
Inside those silky sleeves

Some girls they're so pure
Some girls so corrupt
Some girls give me children
I only made love to her once

Give me half your money
Give me half your car
Give me half of everything
I'll make you world's biggest star
... By half

Nothing left to do, but to sit and wait for imminent death.
Woke up at 5 a.m. in horror, but not enough to have me save myself.
Alone in the dark, slowly but surely freaking the fuck out.
This ship is going doooowwwwwwnnnn.

Am angry with myself no doubt (as I always am), but this time, it's a detached aggravation and I will just stay to watch things get worse. Fuck salvation. My life right now is the no man left standing gangster shoot-out at the end of Way of the Gun. Body perforated with bullets and then I just have to jump into an empty fountain of broken glass shards. It can only get worse.

Am suddenly hungry now, while waiting for my demise. Maybe I'll just starve it the fuck out like Gandhi, the man.

Yeah, who else but crotch-thrusting head-banging Poison! Give it up for these sexxxx machinezzzzzzzzzz.

So, I was feeling like shit the entire day, and looking like shit too. Took a cat nap that accidentally grew into a tiger and woke up feeling worse. But then I decided to blast some motherfucking Poison and like cake and magic, my entire life became better! There was a slight glimmer in my starless and Bible-black shithole of an existence and I began to once again believe in the universal lie that "Everything Will Be Alright".

Poison is The Shit, I tell you. Hair metal is The Shit. All that rock n roll fuck-you repertoire, all those well-hung dudes walking around in leather pants intentionally too tight to conceal that Almighty Bulge of heavy metal, all that fucking HAIR, all that backstage, onstage action, them sick crazy recycled riffs, and most importantly, all those chixxxx. Groupies are hot but '80s's groupies are fucking fast machines who kept their motors clean, shakin' you all niiiiight loooong.

I am beginning to notice my unhealthy obsession with All that is Sleaze and Tackiness. If it's tacky and it's sleazy and low-down dirty in-your-face nasteh, I'm there. Which would explain my undying love for my boo, Amy Winehouse, holllaaa to youu, babygurl.

Today, I thought about it and practically everything I remotely dig happens to be the exemplar of All that is Sleaze and Tacky. Trailer trash, rednecks, bikers, drunks, strippers, Spinal Tap, Suicide Girls, crotch thrusts, caged fighting... just to name a few.

Then, I came to two alternative conclusions (pop culture reference: badass multiple alternative endings to Wayne's World) (which also happens to be, like, THE best movie ever made?): I am,
either
1) Tasteless, totally dumb and culturally retarded, a somewhat complete embarrassment.
or
2) The coolest, raddest person who ever lived.

I couldn't choose which to go with, seeing as living by either one would highly probably/most definitely end in catastrophe and the ingestion of cheap alcohol. So... I decided to... Not have any point to this whole narration of crap and go back to writing my essay. Bye.


Obligatory kickass veeedeeeooo:

Loneliness, ineffectuality, entrapment and indifference at 8.30 a.m., haven't slept yet from the day before. My only relative solace now:
Led Zeppelin I, II, III, IV, Houses of the Holy, Physical Grafitti, Presence, In Through the Out Door, Coda.
:(

I hate watching the sun come up. It makes me feel misplaced and imbalanced. There is just something very wrong and disturbing about being present to watch the transition of the world from night to day (and vice versa).
Does this make me weird? Haha.
I've always thought it unnatural and kinda... intrusive. Deeply unsettling. Not much of a sunrise/set person.
Unless I happen to be atop a mountain, outside my tepee, smoking my marijuana pipe. Yeah.

Screencap of my 1,500 word essay:




Screencap of my 3,000 word essay:




The above: Status quo for the past few weeks.

To further illustrate my failure: Not only am I not writing the essays, I am taking screencaps of Word documents in their foetal unformed-essay state and posting them here.

If all we knew, felt and did was dictated and imperative from a higher order, life, I believe, would undoubtedly be easier. If we were told to do as we should and did as we were told and believed in this way of living and code of conduct, it would be a world of a one-way street and a long narrow path, with no straying.

It might be akin to a life in North Korea but who's to say that regimented thinking and directed action are necessarily bad? What you don't know won't kill you (my personal mantra), so living under conditions you know no alternatives to ain't gonna cause no grief.

Most of all, life would be a whole lot less complex. Not so much paltry but effortless and uncomplicated. If you told me to build a bridge over a river with cement and stone and jump off it after, I would do as I was told, believe in what was told, know nothing other than the clean, clear, absolute direction of building a bridge over a river with cement and stone and jumping off it after. (Thankfully, I can swim. But that's another story.) Telling me what to do and how to live relieves me of the fucking exhausting task and endless routine of doing it myself. I don’t have to find my own direction, I don’t have to be my own person, I don’t have to decide between the options of A, B, C or, the MOST TERRIFYING THING, all of the above. I would save a whole lot of time spent flipping goddamn coins.

If we do as we are told, it will always be right and true. If all we know is what was were told, what we know cannot be wrong. There will be no wrong because we know no alternative to being right. What we have done, are doing and will continue to do, are the only and eternal ways to do what we do. Anything that isn’t, ceases to exist. So, baby, you'll always be doing that thing you do.

This life today: too many choices, too many doors, too many roads, too damn much room for dissatisfaction, dissent, error, envy, inadequacy and massive confusion. All this freedom tires and overwhelms. Straight lines were always simpler than mazes and mess.

Wow, today, I endured a 2 hour bus ride with The Most Verbose Person in the Entire Galaxy.
I've known people who can talk the leg off a horse but this person could talk the trunk off a motherfucking MAMMOTH.
I've never heard anyone talk for so long without a single punctuation or pause for breath. Don't know how she didn't asphyxiate, dude must have gills on her neck.
Proper Respect.