Rory Harman’s
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I woke up shirtless in my neighbor's living room today. Apparently I came home really drunk last night, with my shirt off, he invited me over to play Mario Kart, I got one round in and passed out. Party hard, I guess.
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Note to self: I need new clothes. Like a lot of them. Most of the stuff I own, other than underwear and socks, I've had for about three years, some of it more. The sleeves are all coming off, the holes are getting too big to cover up, and some of it, I just don't really care for any more. Unfortunately it's also really difficult for me to find anything I DO like and that actually fits me.
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I'm going to watch Endless Summer every single day between now and then. And try to surf on my couch. Fuck yeah!
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This is one of those days where I end up not sleeping and everything ends up gradually melting into a disconcerting blur. Also, I filmed a guy wearing an American Flag tanktop eating a bunch of sandwiches and then talking about how disappointed he was with himself for not eating enough sandwiches.
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I found this recording, a couple days ago, of a guy playing some old Black Metal songs as surf rock, but the guy who ran the youtube channel just shut it down, so I can't share most of it. I was able to copy a recording of his rendition of Dunkelheight by Burzum, along with his rewriting of the history of Burzum as an early 60s surf band called "The Burzums": "....During 1962 and 1963,...
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Me: So what you’re saying is I should intentionally get poison ivy on my dick for the sake of increased sexual gratification? Coworker: Yeah. Basically. Me: I think there are a few issues with that strategy that make it a bit problematic, but I don’t think I need to enumerate them at this moment.
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I got cornered by an old dude with a radio, which he turned on, announcing “can’t get this off an MP3 player”.And then spent the next two minutes asking me if the 60s folk that was playing was “The Kurt Cobain Band” or “Guns And Roses”. I finally brushed past him saying “Fuck dude, I have no idea. I only listen to improvisational jazz.” I hate improvisational jazz.
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I went to the store to buy cigarettes, and when I returned, my neighbor Chris told me some sketchy looking dude walked up to him and asked if he'd keep an eye out while they went into the dark corner because "my lady needs to change her skirt real fast." When I returned, we could hear him occasionally making moaning sounds and laughing, and saying stuff we couldn't hear, and something...
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I've been spending a lot of time thinking, and have been spurred to write this, because of a series of debates which took place in my Philosophy class, about what the underlying message of the Book of Job is, and what it signifies about the Nature of God and Faith. Here goes. One day Satan's all "Yo, I been lookin around and for serious, all these folks fucking suck eggs" and Jehovah...
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is about on par with Insane Clown Posse in a lot of ways, if you break it down. Both groups play to a very particular, niche segment of the United States, for whom he managed to tap into something inside of their collective subconscious. The same way that alienated, white suburban teens might see the appeal of building communities around wearing clown makeup and goth pants and drinking...
