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.



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?

Have mercy

Summer is finally creeping up on Seattle, and I am none too pleased. After listening to the other locals whining and complaining about the protracted Spring, the sun has finally made an indelible appearance, hastening the arrival of my freckle explosion, mild sunburns and a profusion of sweat. The last of these things brings about a multitude of woes, from rank undershirts to outbreaks of unsightly blemishes. Lamentable as all this may be, it skirts around the main issue, which is that I absolutely loathe sweating. Above and beyond any other physical condition, short of waterboarding, sweating makes me surly, argumentative and just plain cranky. The heat and humidity is also an oppressive force that fogs my mental faculties and degrades my already diminishing creative inspiration. Summer, the bane of me.

Among the millions of things I could be doing right now instead of whinging on my blog, is looking for a new job and a new place to live. The former should have already been resolved, but thanks to some cold feet too far up the food chain for me to throttle, that fell through. The latter is equally frustrating and difficult, but has to be resolved before the end of the month. Seemingly both of these things should take precedent over simple pleasures, like venting and trying to get laid. As it turns out, only one of those endeavors happens organically. The other requires more effort than I can muster at this given moment.

Oddly enough, The Dark Knight finally clicked with me night before last. There are still elements that I find worrisome (such as Bruce Wayne performing Batman duties in the middle of the day, sans disguise), but I finally GET why Nolan dispensed with all the fantasy trappings of Batman Begins in lieu of the more realistic setting. Sometimes I’m a tad slow.

I also finally find The Producers funny. Certainly it’s no Blazing Saddles or even Spaceballs, but after a few watches it has grown on me. Initially I wasn’t too impressed, because too much of the humor seemed like it may have been risque in the 60s, but was commonplace today (like the gay director). But some of the other jokes have worn well (like Franz complaining about the way Churchill pronounced “Nazis”).

I have a handful more DESTROY pictures that I captured earlier this week, along with some other interesting graffiti. I’ll try to get those up this weekend. Right now, I’m off to delve into a bit of atmosphere that Joseph has sent me for a possible revival of the Nests of Disorder project.

Auf wiedersehen, baby.

What manner, backlog

It appears as though I have accumulated quite the backlog of images that I intended to share with you, my faithful readers. Some of these will fall under the purview of the Graffiti category, while others merely amuse me. There’s even a DESTROY image, or two, in the mix.

Comments, left to right, top to bottom:
1. “I am the anti-Christ. I am the anarchist. Know what I want but the stupid Man keeps holding me down, and making me go to, like, High School, and stuff. Fuck him!”
2. Well. It hasn’t come to that quite yet. I’ll keep you posted.
3. Put yo hood up, Emperor Palpatine! Silly anarchists strike again…
4. It’s almost unfair to keep picking on them, but someone needs to point out how ludicrous this seems to people with cognizance and awareness.
5. DESTROY spark plug. Second of this design that I’ve seen.
6. DESTROY pig and CCTV camera. Or CCTV camera watching the pig. Hard to say which…
7. I’m particularly fond of the amateurish Crayola magic marker flames engulfing the detritus pouring out of that upside-down van.
9. Do not believe their lies.
10. I have no idea what this thing is, but I LOVE it.
11. Man, I bet that is a tasty brew.
12. Not a big fan of the “barf” phenomenon around town, but this one was too cute to pass up.
13. If I wasn’t so sure she’s jailbait…
14. This just cracked me up.
15. In some ways, immutable.
16. Ladies’ Room graffiti. A rare glimpse, for us men, into the seedy underbelly of female toilet humor.

I hope to return next week with some more compelling news/ramblings. Until then, etc. etc.

Partners in Strategy


There are things that are false, and then there are things that ring so clearly with all that is true that their tone can be described only as clarion.  Piercing the din of white noise that defines our daily lives with a shrillness and clarity that is simultaneously horrifying and mesmerizing.  Truth, like brown-flecked blue orbs, stares me in the eye and makes its intentions known.   I shiver as it grazes my soft underbelly. 

Undeniable.  Indubitable.  Immutable.  Inescapable.  Truth.

Be it ever so humble; bitches don’t know about my HTML.