divendres, d’abril 27, 2007

I get up in the evening
And I ain't got nothing to say
I come home in the morning
I go to bed feeling the same way
I ain't nothing but tired
Man, I'm just tired and bored with myself
Hey there baby I could use just a little help

You can't start a fire
You can't start a fire without a spark
This gun's for hire
Even if we're just dancing in the dark

Message keeps getting clearer
Radio's on and I'm moving 'round the place
I check my look in the mirror
I wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face
Man, I ain't getting nowhere just living in a dump like this
There's something happening somewhere
Baby I just know that there is

You can't start a fire
You can't start a fire without a spark
This gun's for hire
Even if we're just dancing in the dark

You sit around getting older
There's a joke here somewhere and it's on me

I'll shake this world off my shoulders
Come on baby the laugh's on me
Stay on the streets of this town
And they'll be carving you up all right
They say you gotta stay hungry
Hey baby I'm just about starving tonight

I'm dying for some action
I'm sick of sitting 'round here trying to write this book
I need a love reaction
Come on now baby gimme just one look

You can't start a fire sitting 'round crying over a broken heart
This gun's for hire
Even if we're just dancing In the dark
You can't start a fire worrying about your little world falling apart
This gun's for hire

dimarts, d’abril 17, 2007

This alarm clock jumps off of your nightstand and hides, forcing you out of bed in pursuit of the wily lil rascal.

dilluns, d’abril 16, 2007

I'm calling parents of students at work now. It's not bad because they are usually willing to give, and much more willing to chat. I almost shit when I saw that one guy's dad gave $10,000 to the school last year. He didn't answer the phone, though.
I wrote several haikus during shift tonight, some of which I will try to regurgitate:

My stomach bubbles
A slow rumblin' down below

I fear for my life

Stuffed jalape
Deliciously filled with cheese
Fried to perfection

There were more but I can't recall them. I don't consider myself a poet, not even close, but I do love the Haiku. Something about being confined to a set number of syllables. All I do is think about what the haiku will be about then I just count on my fingers until I've got it right. It's a lot of fun; I should do it more often.
I'm almost through with Gravity's Rainbow. It's good, and very funny. Pynchon's style is bizarre, very digressive. At times it seems that the book lacks a coherent plot, but overall it is an enjoyable experience.

Welcome my son, welcome to the machine.
Where have you been?
It's alright we know where you've been.
You've been in the pipeline, filling in time,
Provided with toys and 'Scouting for Boys'.
You bought a guitar to punish your ma,
And you didn't like school, and you
know you're nobody's fool,
So welcome to the machine.

Welcome my son, welcome to the machine.
What did you dream?
It's alright we told you what to dream.
You dreamed of a big star,
He played a mean guitar,
He always ate in the Steak Bar.
He loved to drive in his Jaguar.
So welcome to the Machine.

This website has some funny shit.
a sampling:

dissabte, d’abril 14, 2007

Kurt Vonnegut's rules for short stories:

1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.

2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.

3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.

4. Every sentence must do one of two things -- reveal character or advance the action.*

5. Start as close to the end as possible.

6. Be a sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them -- in order that the reader may see what they are made of.

7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.

8. Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.

dimarts, d’abril 10, 2007

Holy shit, lesbians are tough in South Dakota (I guess you would have to be. there.)
I love pancakes

I tried to go and see Michael Dell's house the other day, but I could only see one little part of it, kind of disappointing. But it was still a lovely drive through West Lake Hills, which is where many of Austin's élite live. Dell owns his own very large hill, with several gated entrances and winding drive-ways. My former design professor was a project architect on the house when he worked for Gwathmey Siegel in New York.

Guess which house Mr. Dell lives in:

The semester is almost over and I can't wait. I don't know what I will do over the summer. I should take some summer classes considering that Austin Community College is only a few blocks away (so is UT, but fuck that), but I dunno yet. My roommate is studying abroad over the summer so we are subletting his room.
Goddamn state dept. has still not sent me my new passport.
My mom's 50th birthday was last friday, and I lived up to my title of "the good son" by giving her some cool antique stuff I bought at Uncommon Objects on South Congress, which is a really cool store.
I'm gonna watch Blood Diamond now.

dimarts, d’abril 03, 2007

I'm waiting on my laundry so I thought I would post some pics I've taken recently.

Here are two of what is left of the building that Intel never finished in downtown Austin:

Some other Austin photos I took while doing some research for my geography project:

diumenge, d’abril 01, 2007

Last time I was at the MFAH there was a beautiful Christo drawing that looked like the Hoover dam draped in orange fabric. Absolutely stunning.

The Franz Kline painting I mentioned a long time ago was hanging in the Cullinan Hall section.
In the flesh:
oh god, no