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Nov. 5th, 2007 @ 12:12 pm (no subject)
Travis: Purple hair, 5'8", pizza delivery driver, gay?

Cars are important, much in the same way that toasters are important. They facilitate the delivery of something useful to you within minutes, only one doesn't require butter to round out the experience.

Travis contemplated this while staring at a stop light. It wasn't a very profound thought, it was just kind of there. He needed very little to think about when he was working, mainly because he was usually stoned. Pizza delivery wasn't a very complex job, so he didn't really need much in the way of mental faculties to be good at it, just the drive to make as much money in as little time as possible.

The light changed, and he crept forward cautiously. His little stoner brain was tingling, and something was telling him to wait. He looked left and right as he eased onto the accelerator, and began to let the little monster of paranoia slip down the drain of apathy, just as a little compact speed demon zipped through the red light, almost grazing the front of his car.

He stopped. His heart was racing, adrenaline rushing cold
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Nov. 5th, 2007 @ 12:12 pm (no subject)
Travis: Purple hair, 5'8", pizza delivery driver, gay?

Cars are important, much in the same way that toasters are important. They facilitate the delivery of something useful to you within minutes, only one doesn't require butter to round out the experience.
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Oct. 31st, 2006 @ 07:01 pm (no subject)
Sean Sparks
PolySci Journal
10.31.06

This is a summary of what I've gathered from the various documents on the Bay of Pigs incident. The Bay of Pigs invasion happened in April of 1961, and started on April 15th with the bombing of Cuba by what appeared to be defecting Cuban air force pilots. In the morning of that Saturday, three Cuban military bases were bombed by bombers. In apparent chaos and confusion, a small force of US trained soldiers began to move.
When looking at a modern map of Cuba it is obvious that the troops would have problems in the area that was chosen for them to land at. The area around the Bay of Pigs is a swampy marsh land area which would be hard on the troops. The Cuban forces were quick to react and Castro ordered his forces into the air to stop the invading forces.
Off the coast was the command and control ship and another vessel carrying supplies for the invading forces. The Cuban air force made quick work of the supply ships, sinking the command vessel the Marsopa and the supply ship the Houston. With some of the invading forces' ships destroyed, and no command and control ship, the logistics of the operation soon broke down as the other supply ships were kept at bay by Casto's air force. As with many failed military adventures, one of the problems with this one was with supplying the troops. After about three days of fighting, Castro pushed back the troops of the United States forces back to their point of insurgence at Playa Giron.
The truth of the matter is, the project was doomed from inception. The United States underestimated the amassed forces loyal to Castro, and the weapons and strategic knowledge he had at his command. After the fact, blame was passed around internally while the US denied any involvement whatsoever. Eventually, during JFK's presidency, the truth of the matter came out, and he had to answer a lot of difficult questions.
Why was the United States meddling in Cuban affairs? What economic interests fueled the decision? What political interests? Was the United States really threatened by the appearance of communism in the Caribean, or was it simply a matter of protecting investments?

By the 1950s trade with Latin America accounted for a quarter of American exports, and 80 per cent of the investment in Latin America was also American. The Americans had a vested interest in the region that it would remain pro-American. When Castro came to power in 1959, the major opponents in America to him, as with Guatemala, were the business interests who were losing out as a result of his polices. The major pressure for the Americans to do something came, not only from the Cuban exiles in Florida, but from those businesses. Today, the tables are turned and businesses are loosing out because of the American embargo against Cuba. On top of this, the Cuban government is also home to one of the most respected medical health care programs in the world, despite the anti-communist suggestions of the United States.
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Jul. 25th, 2006 @ 06:13 pm Something to say
I get these floods of frustration and emotion sometimes that threaten to break through my skin and set hell about the world around me. It's all very personal, everything is, but I suspect that I'm not the only person who gets them. I imagine all people deal with this feeling on a regular basis, when confronted with their own failings and how those failings compound into their own undoing.

And they rage! How they rage at the bars in front of them, express themselves in drinking and dancing, flirting and fucking, fighting and yelling, writing and drawing, or just thrashing in bed at three in the morning, kicking their sheets around. When you look at the world, life, yourself, the universe, the cosmos, the idea of endlessness, the notion of timelessness, the inkling of nothing beyond comprehension, you realize that there's just you, standing at the edge of something, looking pissed.

-Sean
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Jul. 23rd, 2006 @ 10:50 pm This isn't what I'm supposed to be doing
I love her. I love her. I love them all.

I love.

I.

Ont rehe. Not here. Nowhere.

Never was.

Notwithstanding.

No.

On.

Blood and machines, eyes and vision, spirit and soul, your mom's your goddess, her breast an altar, her smile a confirmation.

Col D Or, a frozen entryway that burns it all away, skin and bone, nerve endings and your mind. It eats it all, leaving no place and nothing.

Eutopia is no place, is burning ice that eats me.

Beautiful flowers fuck bees.

-Sean
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Jul. 10th, 2006 @ 03:27 pm Extracted
Wish me dead, for luck is but fleeting, and death is a potential certainty.

-Sean
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Jul. 10th, 2006 @ 03:15 pm Explosion
He used it to find us
And now we are lost

It cost him his mind
Mind, mind you meant most motherly meter
Met, mend my microcosmic feeder

Give me back my bird bath, you thieving fuck.

-Sean
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Jun. 19th, 2006 @ 03:18 am Be well, John Spartan
Is it just me, or are Wesley Snipes pants in the opening scenes of Demolition Man just the dopest?

I have a sick facination with bad movies, but this one is definently a chart topper. Along with Tank Girl, I have to watch it at least once a month. The combination of cheese and sci-fi fuse into some kind of mental security blanket for me, probably because I'm a complete fucking dweeb.

There's a word I haven't heard abused enough in a while... dweeb.

What happened to dweeb? Did nerd, geek, and dork just sneak up on it one night in a back-alley bar and bludgeon it to death with an empty bottle of Shiraz?

Or maybe this bottle of Crown that I'm downing all by my lonesome.

Damnit, I get bored too easily.

-Sean
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Jun. 17th, 2006 @ 05:34 pm Apathy
It's funny to me that apathy is something so easily encouraged. It's like looking at a zombie, with its lifeless eyes and skin falling off its face, and saying to yourself: Gee, that looks like fun.

I honestly don't get it... but I'll succumb to it, just like the next person. Hell, I now live in a state of media reduction, because I came to realize last year that I really was losing my life to television and video games. My parents were right, if not about everything, then at least this one thing. I was becoming so lazy, I couldn't even get the energy up to do that exercise where you monitor how much time you spend on the TV or X-Box, because it was too much effort.

So when I moved to Denton, I didn't get plugged in. I left the Cable TV turned off, and only after living her for four months have I finally signed up for the internet. Even with that, I have to be careful with what I do on it. I'll waste my time looking at message boards or myspace, and let the machine make a dithering idiot of me.

What's interesting is how I see people's ability to get the energy up to do anything fading more and more, the further I immerse myself into media to encounter them. When I observe the writings and activities of people on, for example, myspace, I see people discussing issues with a defeatist attitude already in place. As if the discussion itself wasn't even worth the text, because really who's going to go out and turn their computer off to do anything?

Like this Fry Street demolition incident. I see people talking about the destruction of the one meritable bit of culture actually in Denton as a potentially good thing. Even though they know in the back of their minds that it's making the last section of the city that seperated it from everything else go away, they couldn't care enough to fight the notion of having another Starbucks across the street. Because, hey, Starbucks has okay coffee.

Even I have to make myself think really hard about the potentcy of their ignorance to get mad enough to want to fight for something. I'm not even fighting for the cause, really, I'm just fighting because a large majority are telling me that I can't or shouldn't, that it's pointless no matter how hard I or anyone else tries.

See? I'm getting all riled just typing about it. And I have to surf that rage like a wave, try to direct my intellect and emotion down this collapsing funnel of reality crashing in on my head, and pray that I can shoot out the other side.

I've tried many approaches to increasing my drive with regard to things I care about, from focus exercises to diet modifications, physical exercise, reading more (like I don't do that too much already), and meditating. It really makes me wonder if I'm being subjected to some kind of thought wave that's dampening my, and everyone else's, will.

I read a pamphlet for the Save Fry Street effort the other day, and wondered how many people would even muster the mental effort to read it as well. They're probably too busy figuring out how to get money together to get drunk tonight.

-Sean
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Jun. 11th, 2006 @ 02:08 am Sometimes things just really, really really really, suck
It's veritably the end of the week, so let's recap:

Monday through Wednesday was the fruitless search for employ in Denton. Apparently the city is actually populated entirely by bartenders and waiters/waitresses, thus creating a flooded market. It's probably because it's a college town. Also occuring during this three day period was the my-family-hates-me saga, in which no member of my family actually wants to talk to me. There are stories, reasons for, and lengthy explanations, none of which I really want to waste my text on.

Thursday was the death of the Tricorder, aka my computer phone, a T-mobile MDA. It flew, fell, slid, and cracked. Now it is no more, and because I didn't remember to get insurance, it's now a 350 dollar debt in my jeans.

Friday was pointless and boring, which was actually a relief.

Saturday I spent the day cleaning up my house, running errands for other people, and eventually going to work at Republic, where I scraped my car against some meathead jock's car when pulling in to the valet space. The guy acted like a complete asshole about it, and almost started a fight with me. I used large amounts of my brain, spirit, and some other resources I didn't even know existed, to keep myself from flying off the handle and completely going apeshit on the wanker.

I kept reminding myself that it was, technically, my fault. Whether or not the guy was parked correctly, whether or not there were many ways of approaching a situation like that... no matter. I did the wrong, and so I sucked it up and didn't let it make me go hulk crazy.

Then I went in the back of the club and screamed at a dumpster for about five minutes.

I really really hope that this isn't one of those "comes in three's" things, because this week alone has pretty much bankrupted me.

-Sean
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Jun. 8th, 2006 @ 04:53 pm In the event of my death...
It has occurred to me recently that although I now own property, a car, and have a savings account, I still probably won't be drafting a last will and testament any time in the forseeable future. As we all know, death just sort of happens. No appointments, no 80 percent chance of death with high humidity, less like painting and more like bingo.

Therefore, it is my intention to post an unofficial list of shit that should happen if I die.

I'd like Caleb Brodie, my past roomate and long time best friend, to be responsible for distributing my things among my friends and family. I know he'd be sure to take everyone's feelings into account, etc.

I would like Shawn Richburg to sit in with my family when deciding the manner in which my remains will be handled, and how my death will be commemorated. I do this because I know that my family will try to arrange some kind of Christian ceremony, and to be honest, either all the Gods get my soul, or none of them do.

Also, Shawn would be able to explain that I was a very silly man in life, and so it would only be fitting that I receive a silly sendoff in death. And it should be silly, with crazy music, maybe a parade, and posssibly a procession of ducks dressed like Cardinals and Priests.

I want to be clear about one thing:

My soul is MY soul. I do not want it sent off to God, or anybody else. If there's an afterlife, I'll find my own fucking way there, thank you very much.

That's about it, hope everyone enjoys the party after the funeral.

-Sean
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Jun. 6th, 2006 @ 10:12 pm I've just discovered something very important
Margerat Cho is not funny.

Not even a little bit.

I'm watching Assassin right now, one of her standups, and I'm aghast at how trite and played this bitch is. She's just hitting the national affairs points and putting gay parade on them.

Or screaming, really loud.

I want to punch my TV right now.

I'm angry at the homosexual community for encouraging this fat faced hooker to keep doing this to innocent audience member and television viewers.

-Sean
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Jun. 6th, 2006 @ 02:21 pm Five Alive!
A little exquisite album challenge between Mustafa and I:







-Sean
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May. 14th, 2006 @ 06:37 pm Peacockery
Greetings and salutations from the Shrine of The Peacock Angel!

As a new camp, we have an obligation to make ourselves known as loudly as possible, lest the din of madness consume us all. At the Shrine of the Peacock Angel, you'll find a shrine to Malaktus, the outcast angel who fell from grace for his love of God before any other.

Some events we'll be holding:

Calthumpian Caroling: Carol with us as we amass like a snowball into an avalanche, turning party into parade, absorbing people from camp to camp. The songs don't matter, and the instruments can be whatever you want!

Get kidnapped!: It could happen to you! Hedonism at it's finest, be kidnapped by some of the most experienced pleasure drones on the planet, and find yourself at the mercy of a fistful of peacock feathers!

Worship at the Shrine: Ritual worship of the Peacock Shrine will occur twice daily. You can participate, or just come to watch the show. See your Flipside schedule, handed out at the begining of the festivities, for times.

Headtime Stories: We've compiled a large library of mixed up, messed around, maddening lyrics. Come enjoy the tale of a thousand tales as the sun sets on our fair utopia, a perfect time to rest your eyes in our shade structures (with fans!).

We are also tenatively working on several performance plays, details will follow.

Questions? Comments? Go fuck yourselves? Send them to us at:

http://groups.myspace.com/malaktaus

-Sean
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Apr. 27th, 2006 @ 01:34 pm (no subject)
It's odd, I've been subtracted from most modern forms of media now for almost two weeks, and I don't really miss it. I really thought that not being able to watch cable or access the internet whenever would bother me, but I've pretty much gotten over it.

Even better, is the fact that now I spend most of my time doing constructive things. At least, things that are constructive to me. I've been catching up on my reading, and I'm tearing down most of the Crowley works that I've never read (And I call myself a magician!).

I'm listening to Smily's Temple at Dawn CD, mellowing in a computer lab, and enjoying the 70 degree weather.

Today rocks.

-Sean
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Apr. 24th, 2006 @ 05:06 pm Kekeke
I've been meaning to make a journal entry lately about how fucking lonely it is living in Denton by myself, but then something funny happened at the gym today that has wholly superceded that compulsion.

I was doing some stiff-legged deadlifts when this black guy comes up behind me (yes, awkward) and taps on my shoulder.

"Say, can you spot me?" He indicated the weights on the ground next to his bench.

I said sure, and pulled my earphones off so that I could give him my full attention. Spotting can be important if someone feels they really need it, so you don't want to fuck up and send them off to the hospital because you didn't know you were supposed to grab their arm and not the barbell, or something like that.

As he pops the weights up I grabbed his wrists for support, and he leveled out. He did his set and I went back to my deadlifts. Afteward, he came up and said, "Thanks, that's some dope shit your listening to by the way."

I almost choked from trying not to laugh, like physically convulsed in front of this guy. The impossible had happened, and no agents from the Matrix were walking through the gym to get to me. A 250 pound body building black man had just complimented me on the "dope shit" I was listening to, which happened to be Erasure's newest album, Nightbird.

That's right, Erasure.

-Sean
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Mar. 24th, 2006 @ 10:59 am Phantom Beard Syndrome
I shaved my beard off on Tuesday. I had that piece of facial flair for four years, and so I didn't know what to really expect when I saw myself in the mirror. Of course I had pictures of myself when I was younger, but that was four years ago. I had a lot more acne then, I was thinner, and time hadn't done what it does so well.

I catch myself stroking my face where my beard used to be. Instead of looking like a nervous habit of a beard bearing person, it just makes me look like a prat who's testing the smoothness of his skin.

Fuckhead Sean, rubbing his baby face.

-Sean
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Feb. 25th, 2006 @ 10:10 pm Thumbs: Runaway
I've taken a small freedom today, and skipped town for a bit. I left in a whisper, nay, a hush of early morning haze and regrettable Marti Gras traffic.

It really does my soul good to escape like this and just disappear. The bastards at home take up so much of my time and energy, parents especially right now. I haven't had near to a moment of time where they weren't either talking to me, calling me, emailing me, or invoking me in a séance.

However, the house renovations are coming along nicely, and pretty soon l'll be moved in, and this in-between cities constant-commuting nightmare will be over.

-Sean
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Feb. 24th, 2006 @ 05:41 am (no subject)
Current Music: Myself and Robert
Writing with your thumbs really makes you appreciate what it is you're writing a great deal more, because it takes some time to get each word down (by comparison to using a keyboard or pen and paper).

So why am I attracted to it so much?

Probably for the same reason that some of the writers I admire, like Douglas Adams or Warren Ellis, do. There's something energizing about being in the middle of the world happening and drawing on it as a source of inspiration, as opposed to sitting thoughtfully in a quiet room in front of a computer.

Granted, there's benefits to be had from that approach as well, for example not typing with your thumbs, but the novelty of this kind of technology has given me a fever.

This fever goes far beyond cowbell. This is the kind of fever that is usually being referenced when someone uses the colloquialism "feverishly fucking". It's hot, it's fast, and it's probably wet.

-Sean
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Jan. 21st, 2006 @ 03:12 pm Fall
I descended
Floating on the wind
Twisting, turning, inevitably falling;

Autumn air assaulted my senses
As I rushed past others like me
Engorged in robust explosions of gold
Tickling bits of green
Old, rusty red;

I watched them, watching me fall
As I finally met with the floor
I folded and broke apart inside myself
And I realized I would never rob a casino again.

-Sean
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