| first post to livejournal in like a few years |
[Dec. 20th, 2007|08:56 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | indescribable | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Hariot Hamilton-Temple-Blackwood, Marchioness of Dufferin and Ava | ] |
Just in time to tell you about the band I'm in now! We're called The Functional Equation and we use this: ƒ for our logo. Our music sounds like Tool but it's also kind of "Func-y!" We just put out our first EP (most of our songs are over 8 minutes long) called Calford Green, which is basically like our tribute to the bands like the St. Giles's Circus.
The first song, Tyrfing, has a lot of that Viking/Fantasy imagery that our drummer Huásabas can't shut up about, but it still rocks and it leads in to the song Lars Høgh really well because they both have that kind of Scandinavian Mysticism thing going on. Which is kind of like what the ballad Skoda-El Mir theorem is about, except it's much slower and longer. The shortest song on the record has the longest title, Hariot Hamilton-Temple-Blackwood, Marchioness of Dufferin and Ava which is about a girl. My favorite song on the CD is List of Items in JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, a song I wrote when I was really into Japanimation. The final song is called Sambal Ibaba and it's got these cool kind of Polynesian Tribal rhythms layered over our trademark Equation sound.
I'm so proud of how the CD came out. The songs all sort of grew out of this really, like, organic interest in using this sound effects CD that Lily, our bass player, got for her birthday as kind of something that would be playing throughout the whole album. And the cover looks CRAZY under a blacklight. |
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| Christmas Story Contest! |
[Dec. 19th, 2003|08:26 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | determined | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Soundtrack to The Yuletide Palimpsest | ] |
Mandatory! Everyone has to post a Christmas story on Christmas Day! Mine is called Detective Scotch Poster in: The Yuletide Palimpsest. Yours can be called anything! If you want to have any chance at beating me, you better get started NOW!
I want to link to all the different stories, so if you write a story, leave me a comment and tell me where I can find it.
Good luck! |
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| peep my new interests |
[Nov. 25th, 2003|04:14 am] |
Your soul is bound to the Burning Rose: The
Rapture.
"I go where my heart beckons me, and I go
with my head high. But sometimes, I get a need
until I bleed so my heart swims above my
head."
The Burning Rose is associated with passion,
intensity, and desire. It is governed by the
god Eros and its sign is The Flame, or Physical
Love.
As a Burning Rose, you can get lost in the moment
if you let yourself. You are a very physical
person, be it in relationships, work, or play.
You may be driven by your hormones sometimes,
but you know it's because you have to follow
your instinct.
What Rose Is Your Soul Bound To?
brought to you by Quizilla
eat your heart out, conor o. |
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| The Defenstration of Bill Gates |
[Nov. 18th, 2003|11:00 pm] |
Thrasher Jackson was spending his two week vacation with his college buddy Bill Gates. The two had not seen each other since Thrasher had moved to St. Louis over 12 years ago. The occasional letter or phone call, but never an actual visit in a dozen years. Few friendships can weather such distance, most fade. Bill and Thrasher, however, were kindred spirits. Two souls bonded through common interests and senses of humor.
"Man, what was the name of that girl at that 30's-theme party?"
"The one who was dressed like the Lindbergh Baby? That was Cathy...something. I forget her last name."
"Cathy! Man she was hot! I was so jealous of you that night."
"I don't get it. Why were you jealous?"
"I thought you two hooked up or something. Maybe we're talking about a different person."
"Oh shit! You're talking about Rosalyn! Dude I thought she was going to defragment my pants for sure!"
"Ha Ha hahahah! Dude, you hadn't invented the computer yet, you didn't think she was going to 'defragment' shit."
"Touche. Let's play Beer Pong."
"I'm totally there."
They were drifting along the Buckshot River in Southern Nevada in Bill's new three-story houseboat. Thrasher had let out a somber whistle when he'd first seen it.
"whistle! That is some house boat, dude. What kind of system you got in there?"
"It's a 2.7 gig with USZ switchable and B-level wireless nanoids."
"No, dumbass! I meant SOUND system."
"That's what I'm talking about. It's totally state of the art. Shit's bumpin'."
"Oh. I thought you were talking about a computer."
"You can't put a computer on a boat, dude."
They laughed as only life-long friends know how. Without shame or cool.
Eight days into the trip everything changed. Thrasher was tiring of Bill's constant references to Microsoft Corporation as "Bill-Co" and "Microshiz." The tension broke one night over a game of Speed.
"Man, you really suck at this game. Ha! Got you again, bitch!"
"Whatever, dude. I haven't played this game since college. I'm rusty that's all."
"Really?! Dude, I play this game everyDAY! Believe that!"
"Yeah, well not all of us invented a bunch of computer shit and can just sit around playing card games all day."
"HA! I knew it! You're jealous of how serious I'm bankin' these days."
"No, I'm not. I'm just sick of your egotistical head trip. You used to be totally cool, man."
"Screw you! Get off my houseboat!"
"After you, nerdhole!"
Thrasher lifted Bill over his head and walked to the window. Wielding the richest man in the universe like a squirmy plaid javelin, he heaved Bill Gates through the glass and into the still river beneath. As the man sputtered and splashed in the water, Thrasher leaned out of the window to deliver a line he'd been thinking about for the past three days.
"The system is down, bitch! Better restart your ass!"
The End |
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| Episode MCXII: Cap'n Caption steps on rake (version 4.2) |
[Nov. 9th, 2003|11:17 pm] |
Hey Everybody! It's Captain Caption and Subtitle Terry the Sabre-toothed Tiger!
Scene 1
"'Jackie knew what was in the french fries, but that was part of the charm.'"
"Ha Ha Ha! Terry you nailed that one! How about, '"Play...Doh!"' Ha Ha Ha!"
"I don't get it. 'Ummm...Do you have fake food for the Atkin's Diet? Something Soy-ish, perhaps?'"
"...'Soy-ish,' Terry?"
"Watch your tone, Cap'n."
(Terry turns to glare at Capt. Caption, Cap'n averts his eyes)
Scene 2
"Hey Cap'n Caption?"
"Yes Terry?"
"I didn't know you could play the sax!"
"That guy does not even look like me."
"You're right, you look more like a fat Don Knotts."
"F*** you, Terry."
"Hey hey hey, kid's show, baby, kid's show."
"No, seriously f*** you. You wouldn't even have a show if I didn't have my hand up your... (Capt. Caption steps on rake) OW! This SUCKS!"
"'Support old people playing music. Together we can keep these idiots from stepping on rakes.'"
Scene 3
"Hey Cap'n?"
"Leave me alone, you pre-historic a-hole."
"C'mon, man. Don't be like that."
"I hope you choke on your felt fangs." |
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| Camp Indian Mask; or, the Day After Halloween 1996, 1997, 1999 and 2003 |
[Nov. 1st, 2003|09:14 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  jubilant | ] |
10:48pm, October 31st, 1996
Eight out of a flat of thirty eggs stolen from Steak n' Shake land in the yard of the Husqvarna home. Some shatter on the front window, rousing Gus Husqvarna from the bed that he and his wife Virginia share. The two children, W. Virginia (age 7) and Gus Jr. (age 5) are fitfully sleeping through the post-trick/treat DT's. Gus Jr. dreamed of egg carton full of ancient Indian masks chasing him down a Pixie Stick beach.
10:52pm
"You f***ing punks!" Gus Sr. howled to the night as he turned on the hose to wash the egg off of his window. "I'm going to take my family to a nice cabin out in the woods next year so they won't be exposed to this chicken-s**t tom-foolery."
7:36pm, October 31st, 1997
An empty bag of hotdog buns catches a breeze and sails away from Cabin Seven, Camp Indian Mask Acres State Park. Chasing after it is young Gus Husqvarna Junior, now age 6. When finally caught, the bag has traveled a 6-year-old-serious 76 yards into a cave. Darkened by evening, soon to be black, always spooky and seldom a good place for 6-year-olds, the cave. Feeling his way back out and into the dusk, Gus touches something unusual in the hand not holding the bun bag. An ancient Indian mask, mounted to the wall of the cave with pine tar, underneath an illegible inscription. had it been written in English the inscription would have read: Don't Touch or Caution! Haunted Mask! Gus Jr. pulled the mask free and ran back to the cabin.
7:38pm
W. Virginia, now age 8, was arranging checkers into letters on the floor of the cabin. B-O-A-R-D. "Gross! What is that ugly face? Did you make that? If you made it it's stupid."
"I didn't make it. I don't know what it is, it was in a cave. You can't have it."
"I don't want it. I hate you and your ugly face. Also, I hate that ugly face."
"It's a mask, not a face. you put it on your face, like this..." Gus Jr. pressed his face inside the tar-sticky mask.
7:39pm
"At last! A hundred years did I spend in that cave! Who do I have to thank for restoring me to a be-bodied state?" The voice coming from the mask spoke a Mid-Western accent in a loud register. The voice was only heard by young Gus, and only before he ripped the mask from his face and hurled it into his sister's checker arangement.
"You jerk! Keep that gross thing away from me!"
"It talked to me! It said was 'be-bodied' after a hundred years!"
"No it didn't, I would have heard it. You're making stuff up and I'm telling Mom."
The voice returned, in a lower, more cautious tone.
"Who are you? Put me back on so I can have my body again. My work was interrupted over a hundred years ago and I've been itching to get back to it. I must have a body!"
"I'm Gus. What do you need a body for?"
"You're a dork. You need a body to walk around and play outside. I'm telling Mom you're being a weird dork."
"Who is that? Can I have her body?"
"That's my sister, and I..."
"Kids! We're home! Great buckets of s**t! What's all over your face?!"
"Mom! Dad! Gus is talking crazy and he.."
"Kids, take your filthy toys outside and get cleaned up for bed. Don't upset your father."
5:07pm, October 27th, 1998
"...with six wins on the season this very hungry MSU team is poised to move up in the polls." "Thank you Todd. Ummm... Frank, can we get like an abridged weather thing? They're signaling me for time..." "Okaaaay...sports ran way long..." "Just pretend to see the future and let's all go hit happy hour." "Meteorology is a legit science, it's not just...I mean, I know how to work all this equipment...it's expensive and it really does..." "Frank!?" "Okay okay! It's not looking like very good weather for Halloween this year. Forecast calls for some pretty heavy stuff. Probably shouldn't go outside. Todd, you owe me."
"Well kids, I guess we aren't going to the cabin this year."
"Good! I hate the cabin!"
5:07pm, October 31st, 1999
Gus Jr. shrunk low in his seat as the car pulled off of Highway Five and into Jimmy Injun's Krazy Kamp (formerly Camp Indian Mask Acres State Park). It had been two years since his discovery of the haunted Indian Mask, and his dreams had never been the same since. His sister still didn't believe the mask had spoken to him, and he was hoping she was right. Even if it meant he had to go to the 'booby hatch,' where his sister assured him he was heading.
7:18pm
"So, Gus-breath? Where's your imaginary friend? Aren't you two going to catch up on old times?"
"Leave me alone. I don't know where the mask is and I don't want to."
"Oh! I think I remember where it is! I put it under the cabin so I could prove to everyone that you're crazy and have to get locked up in the booby hatch! Let's see...here it is!" W. Virginia pulled the mask from under the cabin.
"Please! Keep it away from me!"
"Kid!? Kid?! Is that you? Where have you been?!?! At least you could have put me back in the cave before you left. And how come your sister won't listen to me? You bring me a body?"
"No! She can't hear you! I can't hear you either, I'm imagining you!"
"Listen to dorky ol' Gus Face! what are you gonna do now, Gus Face? You gonna cry?"
"Gus Face? What kind of a name is that? Listen, kill her and give me her body. In fact, tell you what. Just give me one of her arms and I'll kill her! How does that sound, Mr. Face?"
"No! You're not real! Leave me and my sister alone!"
"Fine! I'll take a foot. Gimme a foot so I can get going on my work."
"No! No feet, no legs, no anything!"
"Okay, now you're scaring me, Gus. What feet?"
"The mask want's your feet so he can finish his work."
"Okay, nevermind. That's stupid. What is he, a soccer player? You're a retard."
"I'm a meteorologist. I make weather and it's been getting out of control over the past hundred years. I have to have a body (or at least a foot or something) to do the ancient weather dances."
"Oh. I thought you were a monster or something."
"Who's a monster? Are you still talking to the stupid mask? I'm bored, here, take the ugly thing, dork face."
W. Virginia went inside to play with her new Coast Guard Barbie.
"So what now, Mr. Gus Face?"
"Husqvarna."
"What?"
"My name is Gus Husqvarna, Jr."
"Oh. I'm sorry."
"It's okay, listen. do you have to have a person's foot? I could make you a foot out of paper or sticks or Legos if that would work."
"Hmmm...what's a Lego? Paper is a big no-go, and I've tried the sticks. They break during the jumping part of the cycle."
Gus had an idea.
7:56pm
"Mom! My Barbie's gone!"
"Oh Honey, I'm sorry. We'll get you a new one when we get home."
"I hate this stupid cabin."
November 1st, 2003
Dear Gus Husqvarna Jr, Esq,
I am writing to thank you for the fancy body and life vest. Without your kind help The weather would still be out of sync and possibly really bad. Let me know if you ever need a day off school!
BFF,
Haunted Indian Mask
P.S. Does your sister have the new Galleria Playset? |
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| my sandwich at favori's |
[Aug. 30th, 2003|03:10 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  thirsty | ] |
| [ | music |
| | erik's addition to tallahassle, fla | ] |
wrinkle /\saus
in / \ a
the bread| \ g
/\| / e
/ /
onion/ /lettuce
/ /o
\ / n
\ / i
g\/ o
r n
a
v
y
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