Procrastination is…

…listening to this whole thing and then only realising at the end that all you’ve got to show for 45 minutes is a really detailed picture of mittens. I was supposed to be doing Spanish vocab.

At least I labeled them ‘izquierda’ and ‘derecha’. What a champ. That’s me. I’m a champ.

P.S.: Remember that version of Burning Down the House that Tom Jones and and the Cardigans did? Tom Jones. Now I’m thinking about Tom Jones? Well.
A few years ago, I once saw him outside an inner-city theatre when I was walking past. I distinctly remember he said “Hey, darlin’.” So I said something like “Hiya!” because that’s what you do when someone smiles at you and says hello or some such. I only realised it was him when I later passed a poster of him advertising the fact he was performing here.
My dad’s still kinda annoyed I didn’t stop to chat, which makes me laugh. I’M NOT SURE WHAT WE WOULD’VE TALKED ABOUT BUT I’M SORRY DAD OK

Ugh I’m messing around again

A derisive glance clad in pinstripes
Lets me know that he knows my type
And it will earn a look from me that will make him walk faster.
Oh, perfectly tailored master of the conference.
How he scampers from an errant gaze of despondence.

Our eye contact reveals the Great Divide.
A void for which he hasn’t got the time.

But he has got the ability
To sniff out my futility
And cast it the look of contempt he feels it deserves.
And now he knows beyond a possibility
That it has hit a nerve.

Uppity fucking cunt.
He may be dressed sharply, but his honesty is blunt.
And so is mine.
It’s just… harder to define.

All I have is a blank stare he’s scared of.
A look of honest misery he wasn’t prepared for.

As he boards his SUV that’s never been off the road,
I take a breath.
If that man is living what’s called life,
I choose death.

Formes Frustes – Perfectly Tailored (2014)

Hey, lookie here.

 

Malcolm Brickhouse, Jarad Dawkins and Alec Atkins are Unlocking the Truth.

Malcolm Brickhouse, Jarad Dawkins and Alec Atkins are Unlocking the Truth.

 

Jump over to this interview with them by Kevin Shea Adams for Noisey if you want to see their sweet bass-drum art and the unwitting implication that ‘Seven Nation Army’ is a warm-up and not an actual song (look at me tryin’ to rustle some jimmies. That’s not on you, Alec; you seem like a good kid).

I’d say it’s heartening (primarily because it is).

a Public Transport Memory, or Part of Why I Walk Everywhere Now

The time I was alone on a bus with two girls who couldn’t have been older than thirteen (they were wearing middle-school uniforms) and overhearing one of them say, “It hurts so much. Sweat doesn’t lube well, not good at all”.
The other one replies, “Haha, I could’ve told ya that. Is it bigger than any shit you’ve tooken (sic)?”.

FUCK OFF. NO NO NO NO NO.

If their parents were like mine, they’d be making friendship bracelets for each other or bitching about the piano teacher on their way home to finish what they couldn’t do in class BUT NO (. As their too-loud conversation clattered along, I overheard that one of the girls was on her way to see the aforementioned sweaty butt-hurter and the other girl was her cover / parental decoy. A human alibi.

I’ve covered for a friend who was up to pretty much the same stuff. Many times. But that was in my late teens and even then, I had a massive problem with being, in a way, her sidekick. The girl in question is in prison now due to assaulting someone during a manic phase (or so I heard), among other charges that I can’t remember. Or maybe she’s out now, I’m not sure. Which sucks, but the last time I talked to her, she was describing a home-job tattoo that got done when she was on some serious shit.

The story was all over the place and I got bitched at for not saying much, which made her feel self-conscious. Being accused of projecting insecurity by someone who’s projecting their insecurity is hard to deal with. Character assassinations and unsolicited insults for not approving of someone’s nonsense are also hard to deal with. So I noped the fuck outta that one, out of respect for myself. I hope she’s OK, but something in me tells me she’s not.

Damn it, decoy girl. You are not the co-star in your best friend’s ME ME ME show. Save yourself! Before your life starts sucking due to someone else’s shambolic idea of friendship.

Thought I’d share that lovely encounter with the sexually precocious dick-jockeys of Dunedin. Definitely not worth remembering or sharing, so I made sure to do both. Viva la Pointless.

Susan Herbert’s Shakespeare Cats

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If there’s any one thing that could instantly improve all of Shakespeare’s plays, what would it be? How about replacing some of his most recognizable characters with cats? You might think we’re joking, that’s exactly what artist Susan Herbert did in her 2004 book Shakespeare Cats, a collection of 32 hilarious paintings that reimagine some of the Bard’s most beloved works as acted out by felines. Thanks a post over on thaeger, we’ve gathered some of our favorites for you to peruse after the jump. We know the Internet will love these silly, cat-infiltrated scenes, but what do you think your high school English teacher would say?

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