Living Impaired

Wed, 23 Sep 2009 19:17:41 GMT

today we feast in pleasure
on the rotting blood of foes
tomorrow sees us burning
homes lived in by hearts of woe
the snake inside reveals its pride
upon the earthly knoll
where once hid shame decries its name
and vengeance takes its toll
tonight we feast in torment
for the dreams crushed in our wakes
we sought the love of lordship
but ensnared were we by snakes
the frothy lust is tempting
when the heart lies dead asleep
in silence lies our souls' contempt
for promise in the deep
today we starve ourselves of joy
to merit sins of old
in hope to learn our heart's true weight
before its blood runs cold

Fri, 11 Sep 2009 21:25:50 GMT

tiny fingers darting outward
seek enrichment from below
finding solace in a well
forgotten nest
yet they reach through depths
unknown, familiar only now
they've first been found
by the eager touch of many
wrapped inside the womb of one

The Dark Knight

Tue, 22 Jul 2008 16:52:48 GMT

Saw it last night. Totally worth every accolade and spoonful of praise heaped on it. It transcends superhero movie, transcends action movie, and could stand alone as a single story removed from the comics and previous films. It is Nolan's opus, Ledger's beautiful swan song, and one of the most well cast flicks I've seen in ages. Every character is acted to a 't', with Dent and Joker both being picturesque in my image of how they'd be.

Ledger far exceeded my expectations as the Joker. I knew he would be good, and more eccentric than Jack was, but man was I surprised. Talk about commitment to a role in all facets- the guy acted his ass off. He steals every scene he's a part of, and the subtle humor injected into his maniacal ravings only serves to sweeten the porridge.

The film does run long at just over 150 minutes, but it's not too long. It's just long enough to wrap the story up without feeling drawn out, which is vital to an ambitious film like this. I didn't get to see it initially at the IMAX like I wanted, but I plan to go back for a second watch sometime in the next week. I was giddy like a little school girl through the entirety of the film last night, including some AWESOME parts with the batpod (the bike that comes off the Tumbler). If you're like me, and Batman stories have warmed your blood since childhood, this will be like hardcore comic book pornography for you, complete with a cumshot facial and a smile at the end.

Go see it.

Twice.

9.9/10
(minus one tenth of a point for Bale's Batvoice sounding like Assy McGee)

P.S. On a side note, this is easily the least kid-friendly Batman ever. Please exercise caution before taking your kids. The quantity of ruthless killings far exceeds any previous sampling of the franchise.

ACLU Fighting FISA

Mon, 14 Jul 2008 23:34:01 GMT

Wired's Threat Level blog reports that the American Civil Liberties Union has filed a lawsuit contesting the constitutionality of the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act. Recently passed by both the House and Senate, FISA was signed into law on Thursday by President Bush. The ACLU has fought aspects of FISA in the past. The new complaint (PDF) alleges the following:

"The law challenged here supplies none of the safeguards that the Constitution demands. It permits the government to monitor the communications of U.S. Citizens and residents without identifying the people to be surveilled; without specifying the facilities, places, premises, or property to be monitored; without observing meaningful limitations on the retention, analysis, and dissemination of acquired information; without obtaining individualized warrants based on criminal or foreign intelligence probable cause; and, indeed, without even making prior administrative determinations that the targets of surveillance are foreign agents or connected in any way, however tenuously, to terrorism."

'Choke' trailer

Thu, 26 Jun 2008 17:55:18 GMT

Oh man that movie looks awesome. Sam Rockwell kicks ass. I really need to re-read the book before it comes out.

It's slated for limited release, so I really hope the Angelika picks it up.

George Carlin dies at 71

Mon, 23 Jun 2008 05:33:29 GMT

"LOS ANGELES - Comedian George Carlin, a counter-culture hero famed for his routines about drugs and dirty words, died of heart failure at a Los Angeles-area hospital Sunday, a spokesman said. He was was 71.

Carlin, who had a history of heart problems, died at St. John's Health Center in Santa Monica about 6 p.m. PT after being admitted earlier in the afternoon for chest pains, spokesman Jeff Abraham told Reuters."

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/25322638/

Aw man. Carlin was my favorite comedian, not to mention one of my favorite people anywhere in entertainment. I just saw him live back in April and he was fantastic. What a shame. This one makes me a little sad :(

Wed, 18 Jun 2008 04:10:54 GMT

As I watched Kevin Garnett moments after the closing buzzer, standing near Michelle Tafoya attempting an interview, he was overcome with emotion like few athletes ever exhibit on camera. That man is so passionate about his life, his career, and the sport he plays, you can't help but envy the ultimate joy he feels tonight as his team stands champion of all things basketball. Then he embraces Bill Russell, the man who established the Celtics with eleven championships in the 50s and 60s. The old guard and the new guard. It was a beautiful photograph that I will remember watching for many years- not as a Celtics fan, which I am not, but as a fan of competition and sports as a whole.

After KG and Russell hug, they cut to commercial. It's one of the popular NBA commercials with the piano music in the background, and the "Where ... happens" segments. Only this ad isn't about basketball, it's about regular people wearing 2008 NBA Champions T-shirts and slapping hands. Wearing shirts that didn't exist mere hours ago, leaping and high fiving as they revel in the moment that occurred minutes earlier. A 1-800 number scrolled at the bottom for you to call and buy your own shirt.

They had this fucking ad canned, just cocked and loaded to jizz out as soon as the coveted Celtics won the trophy. I hate this garbage, and this nonsense of having shirts and hats made and ready to hand out even before a team has claimed a championship. It cheapened the whole beautiful sequence I'd just seen, and was tasteless to me.

Earlier today I watched the 1998 Bulls vs. Jazz Game 6 Finals, and there were no graphics full of stats and info, each ten second interval sponsored by a different product or brand. Every transition had league logos and markings, not logo feces. It was so different just a decade ago, and now each minute of our lives has some sort of commercial endorsement. Why have we put our lives up for sale? It's hard to take in a happy moment without feeling like I need permission from the marketing department. I have a feeling it will only get worse.

Wed, 11 Jun 2008 19:53:12 GMT

SOUL POSITION!
On a mission to move crowds with ease
DJs, MCs, rethink your obligation to create!

Printmatic
Cinematic perfection
A blueprint for crews that lack direction
Auto! Matic! Just for my people!
Auto! Matic! Just for my crew.
Printmatic.

Wed, 11 Jun 2008 19:52:29 GMT

Where once they gathered stands no more, its lofty flag re-furled. Its once fat mother lies gutted and stripped, their umbilical cord knotted off. They gather, yet are left to stand, to spark fires beneath old storybooks and photos. As the flames light cigarettes and memories fill lungs with laughter, orphan tears collect beneath the wrinkled lids of a once lively band. Each person's thoughts echo seamlessly with the mirror images in the others' eyes. This microcosm, once teeming with life, grumbles mournfully it's departure- greeted only with bittersweet conclusion, pushing out the scattered records of countless happy rendezvous.

alliteration #2: a

Thu, 24 Apr 2008 01:17:32 GMT

amiable automatons amble along an acutely angled altar, as atmospheric amoebas arc aimlessly, an azure assortment altogether astounding.

'A' is harder than 'S'. Words I wanted to use:

ambien(ce)/(t)/(tly)
airy
awash
ambivalent
admissable

alliteration #1: s

Sat, 12 Jan 2008 17:25:42 GMT

Sat, 12 Jan 2008 16:40:08 GMT

Sat, 12 Jan 2008 16:37:27 GMT

Wed, 02 Jan 2008 23:41:24 GMT

Fantastic video editorial where Keith Olbermann owns Rudy Giuliani's use of fear to drive voters. I'm not a far leftist, or even a gigantic liberal per se, but this is a very articulate piece and right on the nose. Great watch.

Fri, 09 Nov 2007 19:08:31 GMT

Atmosphere on Jimmy Kimmel

I want to go see him.

Sun, 28 Oct 2007 17:15:12 GMT

the miles s t r e t c h, veinous
on a fleshy expanse of western flatland.
halfway between plains and deserts,
my map is a grassy beach of two-tone
topography.
far ahead, an embossed backdrop of white-
capped earthen knuckles clenches tight
to its mossy ~~chest~~ stage.
i'm in search of better weather,
where it rains in bold acrylics, and my
days will look like dreams because
all life appears so vivid.

simplify the means

Sat, 27 Oct 2007 00:52:52 GMT

Cynicism is a crushing mantra. In a world so wrapped within itself where no one focuses on the whole but rather the individual pieces, the brief glimpses of grace and integrity I experience are drowned out by overwhelming seeds of doubt in their genuineness. I cannot see the current path because I've succumbed to the futility that it will not reach the intended conclusion. There are so many others just like me that I feel sad not knowing a way to solve this conundrum- so instead, I curl into a metaphorical ball and hope the rest pass me by.

There is no marker, no sign of when this began. Through this natural progression of my psyche I've come to realize that my cynicism knows no bounds. I am still a positive person inside, but so rarely allow it to rise to the surface and overcome the negativity that feeds my waking self. It has paralyzed even my ability to write about it succinctly, to put it into words. That is what I do: I put things into words. And I cannot do that. I haven't been able to do that for years now. I haven't written much of anything since January of 2006, and before that it had been months since the previous. There is a mental drought evaporating the imaginative fluids of my brain, and with each passing week that nothing comes out, I feel writing and all it's magnificent beauty drifting away from me. Even my own diction has suffered as a result.

When I would write before, even if it was just something like this, I could read back over it and truly feel what was going through my mind and be satisfied with the way it was expressed; fulfilled by the word choices and figures of speech chosen to illustrate my suffering or elation. Not anymore. Now it feels hollow and incomplete, like I've left out a crucial thought or idea that would have completed my desire to vent. I never feel sated, and thus wish to write more but am unable. It is fucking torturous.

I am in search of a release. I know there to be one but am yet to seek it. I am not much of an artist, and I am not a visual expressionist. I am a linguist, and a useless linguist (currently) at that. What good is a painter without a brush? What good is a speaker without a pulpit? What good is a martyr without a cause?

Answer: Without a brush/pulpit/cause, they're not a painter/speaker/martyr at all. They are merely people... people with aspirations to find their brush, their pulpit, their cause. Until they do, they are nothing but ordinary folk...and I could never be ordinary. I won't stand for it. So, then, where the fuck is my pen?

Mon, 08 Oct 2007 23:04:45 GMT

Trying to write these days is like being in a large marble room with no paper. I walk from wall to wall scribbling furiously, only to realize that nothing is being written. I can feel the pressure of the words piling up, stacking atop each other and itching to burst forth, but I can't find the door to let them out.

anabel the righteous

Thu, 27 Sep 2007 00:32:33 GMT

This is mine. I can do what I want with it. I have always and will continue to use my livejournal to say what I feel about my life, society, movies, heartache, friendship, philosophy, and other people. I do this because I can, and because this is my place to let those things out.

I don't care if they hurt people's feelings, because when you don't like someone, those things aren't important. I don't care if I step on toes. It matters not one bit to me how accurate the things I say may appear to you when you think I could be talking about you. It is in our nature to deny negative criticism regardless of how accurate it may be. It is our instinct to defend ourselves to naysayers, and to take a stand when confronted with adversity. Great. Do that. But do it on your territory, not mine. I don't go to other people's journals and tell them they are wrong and lack insight - especially when they're people I don't talk to anyways.

I also don't waste time telling people if it IS in fact them I am talking about. It doesn't matter. 99% of what I say here would be repeated in person were I ever asked. I hide identities because I have no intention to cause public defamation and embarassment. But it is my right to do so if I use people anonymously. I am a fiercely opinionated and emotional person, and though not insensitive, I have no apprehension in speaking my mind.

I don't respond to heckling, or to passionate responses by people who think they KNOW that I DON'T KNOW what I'm talking about. Who cares? Go cry in your livejournal. That's what everyone does. And if it hurts your feelings, then it's probably a sign that we aren't friends.

Comedy Central Roast of Flavor Flav

Thu, 16 Aug 2007 03:27:59 GMT

Roasts are a goddamn farce now. Flavor Flav? Be fucking serious. I can't believe the NY Friar's Club handed over televised roasting tradition to Comedy Central. When it used to happen, it was for worthwhile public figures, actors, comedians, artists, sports moguls, and anyone involved in contemporary culture. People worth roasting, worth spending three hours of broadcast time, and people who were so well loved that the honorees ACTUALLY FUCKING KNOW THEM IN PERSON: Denis Leary, Hugh Hefner, George Steinbrenner, Chevy Chase, Jerry Lewis, Billy Crystal, Bob Newhart, Redd Foxx, Nat King Cole, Milton Berle, et al. Even when Comedy Central first began showing the roasts in the late 80s, they were real deal NY Friar's Club roasts.

Now they just do the shit for money. Pamela Anderson? William Shatner? Blue Collar Comedy? and now Flavor Flav. What a goddamn waste of brain cells. And the people they get on there...half of them have never even met the fucking individuals being honored. They're just the same rag-tag pool of raunchy, half-famous comedians that CC yanks from whenever they want to have some shitty hooplah. Greg Giraldo, Lisa Lampanelli, Andy Dick, and company. If I wanted to watch a bunch of rejects struggle through their careers, I'd travel the country in a van watching just the opening acts of concerts and shows and leaving before the star shows up.

Not to say that some of it isn't funny. The Pamela Anderson roast had its moments. But as a whole the entire tradition of roasting has been lost, and the quality of the honorees AND the talent hired to jab at them has gone down the fucking shitter. I want to see a real roast.

Mon, 13 Aug 2007 05:26:38 GMT

stolen words on lips refrain, a callous chorus sung
wasting loving virile hearts with pois'nous venom stung
in veinous wrath, in cold contempt, to blanket stars alight
anxious breath warms faces wet, and stirs young dreams afright

waiting for the nickel train with a fistful of pennies

Sun, 15 Jul 2007 22:58:33 GMT

I gave up the last of my heart today. A piece I'd stored away in a warm place so never to be empty inside. Today a twenty year endeavour was sold short due to poor communication. She had the last piece in a small box lined with velvet, cut in the true shape of a human heart- because I'd thought the expected wouldn't be worthy of her keep. She'd smiled, glittering pristine under sixty watt beams in a too-hot classroom where we liked to hide. We were children; elementary school lovers. We shared a kiss, young then- and now- not knowing its weight. She was mine, my only. She knows me, she adores me, she loves me, she gets me.
She left me.....
for a carbon copy of myself in uglier, more convenient skin. Her left hand glitters pristine under wedding day dreams, and I'm standing nearby with an empty velvet box and a chest full of echoes. In every thought, every picture, every scenario, it was her. Always. I waited for her my entire life, but that wasn't good enough...?

How can someone be expected to give more than their whole life? I keep saying goodbye to past love when all I want is a loving hello.

Wed, 27 Jun 2007 12:19:04 GMT

Knelt here before your mighty hand,
whose word makes law of thought,
enraptured, held in humblest bow,
in seek of mercy wrought.
From 'neath your fist the holy blade
drips red with heresy.
Imposing swift atonement on
the wicked minds of we-
unworthy beasts in need of faith,
with sinful pagan hearts.
Defying God we wholly earn
the justice He imparts.
Cleanse the wicked in our souls,
respite our temptations.
Cast your heav'nly sword on us in
righteous damnation.

Wed, 27 Jun 2007 12:12:06 GMT

we tried to rule the world with thetawaves,
but their spears pierced satellites. we waved
sparkling flags with subliminal embroidery,
and their torches leveled townships. we brazened
to shackle their hearts under tapestries of gold,
so they tore our paper chapel to the ground.

Tue, 26 Jun 2007 11:28:16 GMT

sit me down and preach awhile, you know i'll try to listen.
eyeing me with faint disgust, your spitty lips a-glisten.
your throaty sermon pains my brain, your screaming all i hear
writhing snake arms flail about, i'm hypnotized (in fear?)
quiet down, it's more effective, i suggest in laughter,
just before you throw a fist and put me in the rafters.