for christmas my brothers girlfriend got me an amazing book that everyone seems pretty surprised that i didnt have which is a testament to my tastes considering the subject matter. DEATHSCENES is a breathtaking reprinting of a 1920s homicide detectives scrapbook of crime scenes, suicides, auto accidents and collected phantasmagoria emPHASis on the GORE, i absolutely lerv it, it has all these pictures youd think you would have seen, except you havent and gives the saul williams title ‘…said the shot gun to the head’ a literal connotation instead of BANG! or that dweeb from nirvana/
she also gave me a fuckin lovely ass weekly planner in which i have planned to redraw a photo from the book a week, to practice drawing, which i should be doing. meanwhile young jj (thats my brother) gave me a hella old record book, from which a page was used for the above, the sister act soundtrack on cassette and the original score to Mrs Doubtfire, also on cassette. mind you, i said score- so its not that house of pain song they play during the birthday party when is it joey lawrences little brother? is jumping on the sofa like a ding-dong, its like cello and shit when sally fields is like why does my daughter hate me, and a richard feynman book on the country of tuva*.
*tuva is a miniscule mongol-russian country whos main (and perhaps sole) export might very well be their traditional throat-singing, which i have long been obsessed with after smoking DMT for the first time and a documentary about a fat, blind, blues player from the mission (SF) flies there to learn from the master throat singer his ways happened to be playing in the background, forever drilling into my heart it’s droning din.
‘When bread is baking some parts split; these flaws, though not intended in the baking, have rightness of their own, and sharpen the appetite. In the same way, ripe figs also split open. When olives are on the verge of falling, the very imminence of decay adds its peculiar beauty to the fruit. Things like the drooping head of a cornstalk, the wrinkling skin when a lion scowls, the slobber running from jaws of wild boars, and many more such sights, are far from beautiful if looked at by themselves. And so it happens that, if someone has a liking for and an understanding of the phenomena of nature, he will find that any thing, even if it be the accidental consequence of other events, has its own rhythm and grace.’
remember when the internet first came out and you had to wait for pictures to load line by line and shit? thats how slow my internet is. so imagine the sinful amount of time i just spent trying to research ‘lady gaga weight gain’.
every feww months or so i see this guy in a magazine and it fills me with such a rage that goes so deep that it bleeds through my mind, catches like a highway side fire and immediately goes to work on the surrounding areas where the hate then burns through everything and in half a minute you hate all of western society, magazines for existing and the idea of the idea of art makes you want to diarrhea. i hate this motherfucker so much its like the word faggot isnt hateful enough. and i dont mean the limp wristed, mesh tank top and shorts that are way too short kinda way, british cigarettes kinda way or the less relevant old school bundle of burning sticks kind of way i mean the way that makes you feel bad when you say it when youre stoned and the way south park wishes it could mean. i had to go out of my way to find out how to write words onto a picture right now just in case someone was looking at that picture and not bothering to read the words underneath it, cuz who does that, really, JUST to ensure that this invisible stranger would not think that i was giving this fucking faggot some kind of props or recognition. its been YEARS of this guy america, and im never bothering to learn his name which is why i took a webcam of the picture of the magazine so i wouldnt have to read it and then google it to get a picture to write about how much i hate this cuntfagdoucheshit. also there is no doubt in my mind that even his NAME would be annoying, some two word combo that conjures up elbow pads and rollerblades, drawing cartoon cats with sharpies, and the self imposed moniker of “graffiti artist”. and hair gel. his AGE would be cringing. i want to learn nothing about him, ever, even though i hope for his sake that he’s asian cuz if he’s one of those white, black or rare mexicans that just hella loves asian shit he’s the worst white, black or mexican dude ever. just ever. how does this guy stay in business? i bet he knows some fools or blows some fools or is one of those fools that shows up to all the things where all the people who knows some fools are at and has all the blow so people are just really nice to him which makes me want to blow his brains out and i bet he’s “the nicest guy ever” which by the way is the quickest cue for “unbearable/avoid like the herps”. lord i hate this guy. you realize he is proud of this shit, you realize his parents are proud of this shit, that he and them call him an artist andfuuuuuuuuuuuuck its so god damn gay and this gimmick WORKS fucking asians with their full back up for any fuck thats asian, its the same mindset that made mind of mencia for “latin americans” hey people you realize when youre giving too much credit for someone thats the same race as you its not being progressive or whatever the fuck its fucking racist. like any thing that most people misconstrue as pride or shit i cant really think right now, but its like when we were in high school there was all these clubs like raza or i cant say african american student association, but i can say filipino culture club ( hows THAT for an oxymoron) it’s all essentially perpetuating the idea that you are different simply because of what you were born as. see?! this is what this jizzslut does, it makes me hate ALL THE THINGS. or is that it? is that it and i didnt really get it until right now. is it that deeply abstracted cuz that would be… still not cool or brilliant or even borderline eyebrow raising cuz its still the gayest shit of all time.
and yes i am back from costa rica and it was earthshattering for me but this was way more important. my internet connection at the new place i am staying at -which was also not as important to update about- is nigger slow so pictures arent gonna come until i find a way where they are faster on the upload tip.
A few nights ago i was reading about construction of a new WALMART in Alabama being made complicated by a sweet patch of slave graves on the designated site, because that what i do at night, read articles in the business sector in my underwear while my boyfriend snores with his iphone in his hands mid-update to instagram.. im TOTALLY not bitter about not having friends anymore. Oh yeah, my point. so im reading this shit, and was hit with the ‘heeeeyyyy ive heard this one before..’ and whatcha know…
Construction of a Walmart in Honolulu in 2004 unearthed over 40 bodies in what was determined to be a native burial mound (honoluluadvertiser.com). Bones & bodies, parts & pieces, were kept in a trailer for a few years before they got around to “relocating” the bodies permanently.
In maybe its first reported instance of building on graves, after being told that construction of their store in Canton, GA, was turning up annoying indigenous body after body, Walmart execs in the mid-90s turned lemons into lemonade and set up a “permanent display of unearthed Indian artifacts next to its layaway counter.” annnnd FUN FACT! This Walmart was also the site of a super fun party in 1830 recorded in history as the “Trail of Tears”!! (ajc.com) and (trailofthetrail.blogspot.com)
This tactic was used again in 2007 when another stupid burial ground was turned up in an otherwise prime locale for a Walmart Supercenter in Anderson, CA, and a lovely statue was erected to quell direct descendants of the unearthed natives. And im sure they gave a lot of members of the nearby reservation jobs. (andersonvalleypost.com)
Walmart’s highest (disturbing the) deathcount was its Nashville, Tennessee location at Charlotte Pike where a whopping 154 bodies where turned up and tossed out to make way for great values and roll-back prices. (Elizabethan Star)