i should have loved a thunderbird instead

someday this madness

will have a name

that isnt mine

(pic via suzywire)

...

the only time economics will get people dancing

...

bye daul

we'll miss you

wayne levin

work of Wayne Levin

the ocean's a place of infinite beauty

i mightve been a mermaid in my past life

if your hearts unsettled with life on land

66% of the earth is made of deep oceans

...

my fave off battle studies

...

Come out angels

come out ghosts

come out darkness

bring everyone you know

if fear hasn't killed me yet

then nothing will

The Kellies: A Nepalese Prodigy

Killian Jones was an extension of the nickname “Killy” his father had given him at the age of 5, upon the slaughtering of a small chicken during which Jack (as he was known pre-fame to many relatives, but it has also been speculated that the names Ingrid, Michael and Birch had preceded Kelly’s now-worldwide infamy) proved his tiny arms quite capable, his father in an interview many years later noted a look of wild, transgressive pride flash across his son’s face as he saw the chicken’s corpse to its last quiver.

Killian had achieved a lot for himself-at the age of 25, during which many of his critics would argue Killian went through his most productive stage although it was more than two decades later that he won an Oscar, for his accidental undertaking as director and the main star of “A Fair Sickness”-originally meant as a bisexual romance set in the Middle East, Killian liberally altered its script to feature three complex but interlinked subplots, the most confounding of which had eight-limbed robots and humans fucking to produce a special multi-purpose liquid, which his protagonist, a dubious politician played expertly by Michael J. Fox, declared “would supersede demand for earth’s alternative energy sources and guarantee United States a strong position in global and inter-planetary negotiations come the year 2045”.

At 25, he was a bestselling author of children’s novels and an on-screen favorite-although his addiction to sniffing generic-brand butter and sexual proclivities involving numerous kitchenware and home electronics in ways even the Japanese would find stupendous-was uncovered by an overzealous journalist a year later, during which he lost the faith of his most loyal supporters- had his wealth and value as a performer dwindle to zilch-and he underwent a desperate period marked most significantly by having to sell sperm for money, five-fingered favors for lunch, but worst of all-physically mixing with the lowest underclass of society, he would discover much later diseases that would inevitably thrust him back into the spotlight, gaining the sympathy of new and old audiences who now saw a man forcibly cleansed of his old self: his name glowed on the front covers of dailies, glossy tabloids, all kinds of publications-all who sought this new image of him-skin pale as a corpse, a man built more on bones than flesh, skin riddled with scabs over which flies were normally seen trying to grab a bite. Killian’s reflection disillusioned him of a bright future, but to the public-in inexplicably and in large bold letters, spelt HOPE.

From the chaos of the crowd emerged one Santa Ballsy, a then middle-aged woman who had left her lawyering job in favor inventing what the New York Times editorial team would later deem the most memorable thing to have come out that year-by then she had hoisted Killian to his full potential, and for herself: burned all her plain, colorless flats and village-mother image in favor of towering, sharp stilettos that perked her newly-packed ass and heavily-corrected face to a stage of rabid popularity the President of Uruguay declared “preposterous!” in a press conference, Santa often pictured wheeling the now incapacitated Killian all over town and once in a while throwing tiny gold sacks of pennies into the face of stumbling beggars.

...

(part 2 soon)

britney's circus in melbourne

A few reviews have appeared of last night's performance,Britney's first ever gig in Melbourne-and like this one from local paper the Age,most predictably thrash her lip-syncing and the fact that she wasn't even doing that well.

To me,that wasn't much of an issue.It was a full-house stadium and as long as Britney threw us some easy dancing,lip-synced through her 27-song setlist without falling on her ass or accidentally exposing herself and yelled out some "Hello,Melbourne!" shit once in a while, the crowd would keep screaming.

I think the whole idea of her Circus tour was to make things over the top and freaky,we had trampolines and fire and all kinds of showy S&M/goth crap but there's something so unambitious and lacklustre in the entire presentation.Britney ushered in the Teen Pop genre and for a long time,was the amazing It girl,but today even as she sings about threesomes on '3' and tries to be sexy/cheeky with the obvious 'If You Seek Amy',and especially after having experienced her 'Circus' last night,I have to admit there is something distinctly 1998 and lazy about her.

Seeing Circus,its like Britney or any of her concert producers never saw a single So You Think you Can Dance? episode or Cirque the Soleil show,or even know Lady Gaga exist-to make today,you need to vamp the risqueness/vogue and I think there's a large part of Britney that thinks she can sell sold-out shows,lip-sync the whole way and still get a away with it because she's Britney Spears.

So yes,the most hardworking popstars today strive to be inventors,always ahead the average,but Britney's got her name and she no doubt realizes that alone suffices as a valuable asset.

Two last things.I think Britney used the massive 3-part stage well to her advantage yesterday,managing to connect to each part of the audience for the whole 150 minutes she performed.And secondly,yes she lip-synced despite people having paid good money to see her-to this I say who in their mind expects Britney to sing live-and,I've been to concerts where I paid more for and the performers sang live the whole way,but those gigs turned out considerably much worse-The Cure went through song by song singing monotonously and ignored the audience the whole time,and Jack Johnson sung live with the kind of heart and enthusiasm a twice-killed zombie would have.

So yes,I enjoyed myself a lot last night-and while I was there,wasn't bothered by her lip-syncing.I was surrounded by a bunch of fat girls who moved very little and only bothered to do anything when Britney came to our part of the stage,when they jumped a bit and whipped out their cameras (crowds can be SO lame-you pay this much,and you hardly even dance?).

As an entertainer,she's already being superseded by a growing number of singers,but she doesn't seem to mind much-as long as she keeps doing things the same way,its inevitable that the haters and journalists pick apart her concerts and public persona mercilessly.Keep playing to just your fans,and they'll be the only ones you win over.

...

The Kellies: Kelly 1 at the Doctor

Tell me about your childhood.

Well, there was my mum with her long, ghostly hands at the end of which always held something-usually it was a clove of garlic, basil maybe, there was something scented about her personality-to be honest I don’t remember what her hands looked like, much less her face, but I do remember her kindness-I’ve been quite choosy since young, and she’d pick out the bits I didn’t like before the plate came to me, and said absolutely nothing about it. They used to say I had her eyes, her nose, even her thighs a neighbor once said-but these days, considering what I’ve become-no one would compare me to my mother, though I’d like to think I have years ahead to live and time will unfold some beautiful, unexpected part inside me so I can claim to be my mother’s daughter again, or just to be connected, with someone something a dog, goldfish, a tree except they don’t speak much I hear-I’d give away whatever’s left of me, though anyone could see that it wouldn’t be worth much.

As for Daddy, I honestly don’t know why so many men, born gentlemen and white knights who inevitably lose that precious part of themselves to marriage, and turn out to be absent fathers. The friends I’ve had, or well, the people I’ve met in my line of business-technically colleagues, but I’d like to think us linked together by more than a shared payroll-anyway, none of these girls have had good fathers, I’m beginning to think they’re some clever Hollywood creation, just like fairies and flying ponies-manufactured so little girls have some fantasy to cling on, before the unreality of it comes apart. My father, for a while we were the closest buddies you’d ever seen, I’d insist to go everywhere he went-even braving the pre-dawn darkness to follow him to the factory, where he’d have paper and crayons to keep me occupied before we’d reconvene at lunch, and tea breaks. It was then I felt that someone was proud of me for exactly what I was, I didn’t have to be anything more. Only with Daddy, my mother was made of grace itself, but Daddy had more colors to him-tall waves of laughter, anger, sadness-always in the extreme and a little bit dangerous,but never from anywhere but the heart.

Anyway, Daddy vanished-he didn’t leave the house or anything, but there came a day when I realized how quiet the place was-and the few words exchanged between us, all trivial and empty-and when I strayed, “from the righteous path” as Aunt Mona herself declared to our church-of course Daddy emerged, the man I once knew and instantly recognized, passionate and full of things to say, except this time he was on the other side. Like the rest of them, all on the other side. My mother, she’d look at me and tear up and hold my hand meekly-as if what I’d done had blown all the wind out of her, she seemed frail and could barely manage a sentence in that condition-but at her weakest point, she didn’t even need to say it-she’d keep loving me anyway, that remains and I believe will eternally be my only encounter with love-its fierce, unquestioning and unconditional nature-when things changed, and darkness-my darkness-took everyone and everything I had, there she was. The only one on my side: my mother.

There you go Doc-tah, there’s all you need to know about my childhood. There were bigger events, more things-but I guess that about sums it up well: my own personal Pandora, inside it a ballerina jerking its way to a final dance.

...

From the file of Rashida Looms (or Kelly 1)

Age 18, McK****

From the desk of Doc. Phillip Staine,

(Notes to be referred to Case 14*A)