| words to live by |
[Aug. 23rd, 2013|10:42 am] |
Grabbing is where you must begin,
Shaking for treasure from within,
Throwing hard is how to win!
Ultra Intergalactic Cybot G
M*A*R*I*N*A Liteyears
There's no time for snacks!
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 18th, 2009|12:23 am] |
blarp. 38 weeks since my last post.
hope nobody was expecting too much out of this one.
i have so many things i want, so many things i want to make, so many things i want to try, and no money. |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 27th, 2008|03:28 am] |
soooooo... fanime was cool.
I got goggles.
about a week before fanime was cool.
i got gradius 4 for my arcade cabinet.
tonight is not cool.
i'm still awake and i crave chocolate cake. |
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| Our Hero |
[Dec. 12th, 2007|08:37 pm] |
Protector of the occasional person even weaker than he, singer of grammatically impeccable ballads, savior of the terminally bored, and all around medieval rock star, Gargle "Gargle" Propernoun is the valorous and craven Gnome-ish Bard. His abnormal appellation stems from his own species' unwillingness to admit his relation to the rest of their proud race.
Famed virtually nowhere, he survives by adventuring 'only part time' in between alleged 'gigs,' mostly concocted by his 'adoring groupies.' With pity in their hearts, they assure him that he has, indeed, innumerable audiences waiting to hear him play just around the next bend. The question of who is fooling who, though, must be asked, because in spite of their humoring him, when he or his small career-related baubles are threatened they leap to the rescue without consideration or hesitation.
Among Gargle's alleged, misrepresented, entirely faked, entirely true, or entirely hallucinated accomplishments, one finds such great events as The Death Of Uncle Chortle, The Evil Windmill Uprising, The Time We Actually Pleased The Crowd, and The Time We Convinced Some Giants That You Could Find Lightning Underground. These events and others are all considered valid ballad material, and if you ever want to hear more about them than you actually do want to hear, you need only make the highly inadvisable mistake of catching his eye in a crowd, being within the two mile range of his voice, or simply existing on the same planet. He'll find you. |
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| And the funny part is? |
[Dec. 3rd, 2007|03:29 pm] |
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The window's gonna cost three times as much to replace as the stereo. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 7th, 2007|02:26 am] |
Resuming our fine, enthused discussion:
The desert, ahhhh, the desert. Desert of deserts.
Of deserts.
It bears mentioning that this, in the middle of a place that wasn't 'hellish,' but was in fact a hell, was what they called a desert. As in: distinguished from the rest of the forsaken place by its even-more-desertishness. Can you see the delirium creeping back in as I recall the place? Desert doesn't even feel like a word anymore.
You're here for more than the desert though, I can tell. The very least I can do is focus a little on what happened in the desert.
I ran some. My everything ached from the self-administered beating, but I found it in myself to push my feet faster into the sand which over-obligingly yielded to my feet and stole momentum and energy. It was disappointing, like landing on a clinically depressed trampoline, unable to stir itself to actually push me back up. Despite the running motions, the whole thing dribbled out as more of a theatrical jogging, the speed of walking.
The guns slung across my back clattered and reminded me that they didn't much like me either. I wanted to try strapping them to my feet, anything to get me walking higher on the sand, but again, my lack of gun knowledge waved its arms for my attention and warned me that I had no idea what being full of sand would do to my own personal implements of limited destruction. I just hoped I wouldn't have to use them. Failing that, I hoped they didn't have some kind of safety catch. Failing that, I hoped they made good throwing weapons.
Days passed. I don't mean to imply that I ran, walked, or even moved for days and don't feel like describing the ordeal. Days slipped by when I blinked. I would mysteriously be able to march for longer than I ever should have been able to, days it felt like. Then in the blink of an instant, while I stopped to look backwards or stare at my shoes for a moment, time would pass while I wasn't watching for it. I'd find my stubble a little longer, I'd open my eyes to find the $20 bargain bin 'combat boots' worn a little thinner. I tried to catch this happening once or twice, to feign distraction and wait for the shift, but a few failed attempts taught me better, and left me feeling simultaneously silly and more convinced than ever.
A particularly drastic one of these shifts would have floored me, had I not emerged from it already on my ass. After a figurative eternity spent in a place made of orange sky, blue-tinged sand, and the ineffable, smooth line which separated the two, the addition of a speck on the horizon changed everything.
The break in the horizon followed its own rules, coming no closer and growing no bigger as I trudged. The time shifts, though, deposited me ever nearer the speck. In the fast-waning spirit of exploration, I sat still and waited for a shift. When one finally manifested, I examined the distant something and determined that I was no closer. Hard work it was then. Whatever else had happened across the temporal jumps, I had healed from the potato incident and marched strongly along for the next few day-likes. The speck had become a low and wide rectangle, resolved itself into uneven teeth, and eventually I stood outside an approximation of three miles of New York skyline, the upper parts of buildings truncated unnaturally at varying heights as if by a bored and uncoordinated giant wielding a colossal weed-whacker.
I can't say how much the next time shift ate up, but maybe two perceived minutes passed between being a mile away and standing outside the most outlying building. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 6th, 2007|12:42 am] |
just a general fuck you to everyone, haven't forgotten y'all ^__^
( Click. It's awesome. )
One of these arrives probably tomorrow.
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| woot |
[Jul. 21st, 2007|04:25 am] |
good for the last 340 pages, a little slow 'fore that.
i liked it. |
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| And then there was one. |
[Jul. 13th, 2007|10:47 pm] |
I love my girlfriend and my friend and ice cream and the 7UP Bottling Co. and Bemani and feeling useful. I hate everything else. Makes sorting loads easier.
Songs you should listen to:
(wonderful) You Are My Sunshine,
(it has that sort of Hotel California, ballad-y feel) The Way,
Everything in these two folders, but if not, at least
Falling Away With You,
Take A Bow, and
Starlight.
But again, listen to all of it please. Every song has its own little merits and things done differently from all the rest.
Oh, and if you haven't by now heard (and seen) Knights of Cydonia, well, you haven't LIVED.
(pianos and electric guitars and electric guitars) Timepiece Phase II,
(a little pop rock won't kill you) Ocean Avenue,
(anyone who hasn't heard it needs to) Take It Easy (love nothing),
(and techno yay) Eternus,
(and more) The Twinkle Park Classic,
(oh and this. important. live it. love it.) Flagpole Sitter.
Nothing else of value to report. |
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| 'eyyyyy |
[Jun. 23rd, 2007|07:33 am] |
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later dudes |
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| antipodal |
[Jun. 15th, 2007|03:56 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Jondi & Spesh - MAX 300 Super-Max-Me Mix | ] |
All the reasons why my job sucks are also the reasons it's so cool.
To find oneself awake and at Scandia at 5:30 in the morning, is, uh, frankly disheartening. But to do so and be shouting in tongues across the arcade, drinking something which can only be described as an unholy fusion of Pibb Xtra and whipped cream...
Exhilarating. Still shitty, but exhilarating. Actually, let's pretend I just used that to describe my life in general.
So from injuries sustained last night, I need to wash the blood out of this blanket.
I'm working really hard to be happy in my life but it is not working.
Oh well, short-sighted spending decisions always cheer me up. Think I'll go make some of those. |
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| titles are useless |
[Jun. 12th, 2007|07:09 pm] |
Hot damn, my iPod shuffle's been playing for 18 hours straight.
I'm fresh out of my midday shower (this one happens to be midday, not implying here that I always have one of those, anyways, I'm just noticing that although it's quite bright outside, 7 PM hardly qualifies as midday.) and my hair smells delicious.
That is all, thought I'd have more for you. Sorry, try again later. |
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