Frinky Friday.

a minute in the head

Can you? No. Will you? No. Who does the? Me and no. Ring! I need. Pause. Definitely not this week. How about what I need! Ring. How's it going beautiful? Ewe. Barf. Say whatever it takes to get off the line. Ring ring ring where the hell did everyone go that ding-a-ling is driving me mad. Please hold. All lies. Management lies. Wait, lies are for the thinking, the thoughtful, these are not lies. Confusion. Age? Stupidity? Hell yes. What now? Hold on - one, two, three, four, five...eight hundred dollars. Ok, that's right. Bye for now. Huh? Count much? I know you're old but you counted it 3 times this morning in front of my very wary eyes. 3 times. Is he still with us? Sadly yes and his degenerating math and logic skills alone will drive me to insanity. Insanity by numbers. Death by math. Can I get his autograph? Oh dear lord. Wait no lord - I didn't mean that. How does this look? Lovely. Wonderful. Beautiful. Crap. That's gay - sorry - cutesy, doesn't go. Does it matter? On with the show and exactly 500 sheets of paper, exactly. Impressive. More death. Toll is 3. 1, 2, 3. Is it sad that I'm not? Tick. Tick. Tick. 4. If I grow old will I look at flowers too? Does a drive to the seaside to romp the dog count? Sweets or smut? Sweets or smut, sweets or smut, sweets or smut? Sweets, then smut. Ah sweet smutty sweetie smuttiness. Is that 5 I hear or have I lost count? Oh no, I can count just fine thank you very much. Count the hairs that need washed too. Vain much? Death and hairdos. Death or hairdos? Funeral and fabulous hair. Sadly I'm not sad for them. Empathetic maybe. Maybe.

See the stones coming at my window
See they left man no protection
Tell his family that he will be ok
K-I-LL!

Check the angles from both forces
overcome by the need to fight it
fight it
fight it
fight it
fight it

p.s. could somebody please make me a shirt that says
whatever your question is the answer is NO.

Hey! Look! I'm blogging on the weekend!

Oh lordy - why did I just watch House of Wax?
It was actually good for a teen-horror movie - way better than I had anticipated with very little dialogue from paris-i'maho-hilton, stuff that actually grossed me out (a good and hard to accomplish thing), and even some twincest...

I've recently come to the realisation that I can't write/think actual fiction anymore - everything comes out in script-form! And a story written like a script just plain sux! Freaking me out! Blogging is different - this is like writing an email to myself or my friends...hello? friends? are you out there?
I guess whenever I think about writing I feel the pressure to write a script with intent to do something with it - no writing for pleasure like I may have done before the whole film thing. Ack! I've got to write more...

Frinky Friday.

Carl frink...

Pete frink...

Carl & Pete frink...

any questions?

Mehr Wurste.

After a year 1/2++++ of waiting and searching I finally got a copy of Summer Storm and was able to watch it again (after seeing it at TIFF 2004). I'd say watch it yourself because it's angsty but very sweet and beautifully shot with an unforgettable soundtrack (which contains a song that I heard at the Underground at Dork U. like 10 years ago, and couldn't remember anything but a handful of lyrics to but I really wanted to hear again and then lightening sort of struck when I heard it in the movie, and I was mostly shocked because I knew that it was the song I had been looking for but didn't remember anything about), but thus far a copy is very hard to come by. (Or easy if you like that sort of thing...)

This is all Erik's fault really...

I've been busy - busy sleeping, busy obsessing over Pete Doherty and Carl Barat, busy having an evil cold that won't go away, busy reading band slash, busy catching up on the work that exploded onto my desk when I was off, busy doing, well nothing really.

"nice pants" (she pants)

So imagine this, a world of expiring pants, that is to say every pair of pants carries an expiry date and when their time has come, they simply go poof! and pants you are wearing no more...it just occurred to me that they would simply HAVE to sell very broken in/destroyed pairs so that hottie rock stars could still bare flesh to drooling fans...And there’d be clubs where people would go when they knew their pants would expire (and Erik suggested that someone at the door check for underwear to avoid indecent exposure, but I think that would be the whole purpose of the club - wear underwear at your own discretion). They'd also need special "pant expiry" detectors set up at school, work etc. to avoid incriminating incidents (teacher + students - pants = time). And Erik also suggested that upon expiring the pants would celebrate their ending by setting off fireworks or confetti or something...fun times! Aren't y'all glad I'm back?

p.s. OMFG - are they touching hands?