john ingram – Page 13

You’re putting on your bedroom eyes

As I sit here, in my dank, subterranean abode, whiling away yet another Monday night accompanied by naught but my thoughts and the dulcet strains of REO Speedwagon, I find myself pondering the greater mysteries of life. Foremost being, how do I quantify a walk up to 7-11 to buy myself one last beer for the night (week)?

But, I think I’ve already answered my own question.

In order:
1) Oh, my fake paper girlfriend, why must you be such a tease?
2) This artist is represented all around my neighborhood, but this is one of my favorite pieces.
3) Mom?
4) Restroom philosophy, Pt. 2
5) Unfortunately, he didn’t leave his number. Sadness.
6) “But the hands we love so dear, are the hands we love to hear. Are the hands you give to us.”
7) Which is why, ultimately, Chuck Norris and Ted Nugent are fucking doomed. Doomed.

Until such time that X is in cosmic alignment with Y, make mine Marvel. Excelsior!

Graffiti!

Some days I bemoan the inconveniences of city living, such as noisy neighbors or the completely ludicrous parking situation of my new neighborhood, but I need only take a walk around my immediate vicinity to find treasures such as these to remind me why I stay.

Caveat emptor, motherfuckers.

DESTROY

I actually had a dream last night about running around Seattle with my two youngest kids, a girl I used to work with, and an old friend from high school – looking for DESTROY graffiti. It reminded me that I have a bunch of new pictures to post.

I also have a collection of interesting random graffiti pictures to share, but I think I need some caffeine and food before I make any attempt to post those.

Until then, etc. etc.

Oh bugger

I knew I was forgetting something. Settling down in the next stepping stone between the birthing bed and the grave. All the boxes that are to be unpacked have been, and most things have found new homes or niches into which they snugly fit*. I still need to sort out the work corner that will house my noise gear, keyboard and the work table that will *crosses fingers* see some non-aural projects come to fruition.

There have been some incredibly good sounds bouncing back and forth between Joseph and I, which I cannot imagine won’t end up on a new Nests of Disorder release. I really should try to shop this one around a bit and see if I can’t coerce some kind soul into a physical release.

The ex introduced me to something evil: http://www.teefury.com/

Super limited edition pop culture shirts for nerds, geeks and children of the 70s and 80s (and those who pretend to be). I was sold when I saw the Big Trouble in Little China shirt.

I feel like a grown-up. I bought a comforter for my bed. And curtains. Now all I need is an apron. Ah shit. Never mind…

This shiraz is terrible, but I suppose that is what I get for drinking on a school night.

* Read: Beat to fit; painted to match.

Choreography

I stumbled across this the other night while abusing the open space of the park as a more direct route to a destination. At first glance, I was amused; thought to capture it for posterity and then moved on.

Now I’m starting to wonder… What would my parents think? If they knew where my loyalties lie. If they knew where I had given my heart. Where I had given my soul. Where I had given my body. Would they be disappointed? Would they feel shame in what had become of their boy? Or would they feel pride in the man he has become? Would they be horrified to hear of my tribulations; thrilled by my victories? Or would they simply care as little about these things as I care about their opinions regarding them?

And you? What would your parents think?