Perspective (again.)

We're small.
Our planet is small.
Our lives are insignificant.

The end.

honesty? challenge accepted.

(FIRST SERIOUS POST?)

dear friend:

okay, here goes.
i'm going to miss you, kid. you're off to college, and i'm stranded for another year.

for awhile there, we had a big fight and didn't talk for a month. that month sucked. other than that we've always been hakuna matata.

i know you're not happy, and god knows i've tried to help you, just like you helped me when everything fell apart in my life. i owe my sanity to you, actually. but in a way, i've failed, because i can't fix you.

you're my best friend, and i'm not saying that lightly. i don't know what i'd do without you.


-me.

Waffles

Hello people this is from Jabri. The best food in the world is Waffles. This delecacy is so great with or without syrup, but best with syrup. My favorite ones are from the New Orleans Pancake and Waffles House in Belle Chase Louisiana. They make a huge Belgin Waffle with butter milk and mapel syrup. So good!!!! That and a glass of milk with there hash browns are the best breakfast in the world.

Important Issue Topic: The Triple Double Oreo.

The Triple Double OREO will hit stores this summer. Contained in its three layers of crackery goodness are two bodacious layers of creme-- vanilla and chocolate. This phenomenon has been a rumor on Twitter for some time now (cool kids. justkidding.) and has recently been confirmed by Nabisco.

Some OREO purists question the integrity of this revolutionary cookie. However, I disagree with them. While this confectionary marvel may seem excessive, it could be worse. Not only do you get the joy of a single Doublestuf OREO; you get the joy of two at once, all while eliminating one of those pesky chocolate crackers. (if that makes any sense at all.) Once fairs begin to deep-fry the Triple Double, then we will all be obese. Until then, come camp out with me at Target while they unload them from the trucks this summer.

I AM NOT JACK KEROUAC. (but i'm being asked to try and be.)

Original Passage

At dusk I walked. I felt like a speck on the surface of the sad red earth. I passed the Windsor Hotel, where Dean Moriarty had lived with his father in the depression thirties, and as of yore I looked everywhere for the sad and fabled tinsmith of my mind. Either you find someone who looks like your father in places like Montana or you look for a friend's father where he is no more.

At lilac evening I walked with every muscle aching among the lights of 27th and Welton in the Denver colored section, wishing I were a Negro, feeling that the best the white world had offered was not enough ecstasy for me, not  enough life, joy, kicks, darkness, music, not enough night. I stopped at a little shack where a man sold hot red chili in paper containers; I bought some and ate it, strolling in the dark mysterious streets. I wished I were a Denver Mexican, or even a poor overworked Jap, anything but what I was so drearily, a "white man" disillusioned. All my life I'd had white ambitions; that was why I'd abandoned a good woman like Terry in the San Joaquin Valley I passed the dark porches of Mexican and Negro homes; soft voices were there, occasionally the dusky knee of some mysterious sensual gal; and dark faces of the men behind rose arbors. Little children sat like sages in ancient rocking chairs. A gang of colored women came by, and one of the young ones detached herself from motherlike elders and came to me fast-"Hello Joe!" -and suddenly saw it wasn't Joe, and ran back, blushing. I wished I were Joe. I was only myself, Sal Paradise, sad, strolling in this violet dark, this unbearably sweet night, wishing I could exchange worlds with the happy, true-hearted, ecstatic  Negroes of America. The raggedy neighborhoods reminded me of Dean and Marylou, who knew these streets so well from childhood. How I wished I could find them.

My Garbage: 

Concerning the Forest the Other Day When I Went There
At noon I walked through the woods, feeling like some animal in the shrouded trees. I passed a dead bird, where its kin had once stood at his side.

It was at the bright noon I walked, shoulders burnt by the yellow sun, wishing to be a badger or something, feeling that the human world had disappointed me, not enough foraging for berries, not enough simplicity, or nightfall. I pulled up a tuft of grass and chewed on it absentmindedly. I wished I were a dodo, or even a poor ostrich, anything but an uninspired human. All my life I'd had human ambitions, which is why I had stopped growing a tail long ago, in my momma's belly. (Read your science books, kids.) Little birds camped in their nests like birds do. A gang of spiders raced by, and one of them thought I was a cat, but it was only me. I was only myself, a human, strolling in the heat of day under the sparse trees.The raggedy trees reminded me of my pet chinchilla that ran away. Oh, how I wish I could find him.

</endgarbage>

jack kerouac's style

can best be described as ballin'.

(elaborating)
he uses a lot of words. a lot.

(more elaboration)
it's called expansion. (also seen in frederick douglass. fun fact.)
he uses a lot of made-up, wonderful words.

a book about a guy driving around wouldn't have sold at all if not for all those words.
they're the best part, mon.

sentence structure: long, usually. due to all those long words.

and in his sketchbook (which he wrote whenever he was stoned pretty much), he just pours out whatever he's thinking, and sometimes it's ridiculous, but that's okay, because life is ridiculous. oh.

MORE EXCERPTS:

"It was an ordinary bus trip with crying babies and hot sun..." etc.

"I went to sit in the bus station and think this over. I ate another apple pie and ice cream; that's practically all I ate all the way across the country, I knew it was nutritious and it was delicious, of course. I decided to gamble. I took a bus in downtown Davenport, after spending a half-hour watching a waitress in the bus-station cafe, and rode to the city limits, but this time near the gas stations. Here the big trucks roared, wham, and inside two minutes one of them cranked to a stop for me. I ran for it with my soul whoopeeing. And what a driver-a great big tough truckdriver with popping eyes and a hoarse raspy voice who just slammed and kicked at everything and got his rig under way and paid hardly any attention to me. So I could rest my tired soul a little, for one of the biggest troubles hitchhiking is having to talk to innumerable people, make them feel that they didn't make a mistake picking you up, even entertain them almost, all of which is a great strain when you're going all the way and don't plan to sleep in hotels."

"whale" --yellow ostrich

 

hey look, a song about whales.

(favorite.)

inspiration.

i have none.

best place.

compassion pit

have problems?
go here.

want to listen to people's problems?
go here also.

overall this site is the best waste of your time you've never known about previously.

Jack Kerouac

I can gladly say On the Road was probably the only classic novel I've actually enjoyed.
Something about Kerouac's words really appealed to me when I was reading it.

On the Road broadened my views, for sure. Made me want to travel the world, go insane. Just like the Beats did.

He had a word for everything. Even made up some to display his emotions better. Had a whole sentence for every fleeting thought.

EXCERPTS FROM "BOOK OF SKETCHES" (another book of his.)

"The dead man's lips are
pressed tasting death
as bitter as dry musk"
--------------------------------------------
"A big piece of myself is stuck
is choking me in my throat"
--------------------------------------------
"Animals don't have pride
Men shouldn't --healthy
          men have no peacock
                   pride"
--------------------------------------------
"no kicks or
drugs available his
supple sad body,
just lies there
waiting for the
end of his 9 years"
--------------------------------------------

Basically amazing.

Seriously, read his books.
Fo' real.

I THINK BECK IS PRETTY INFLUENTIAL/ CHILL.

My influential person is Beck, because I enjoy his music.
But I didn't really know anything about him, other than my father thinks he's weird.
But my father thinks everyone is weird so.

Anyway.
Beck is pretty influential/chill.
On his bio his music is described as a "shambling collage-like sound all his own." That's pretty much completely accurate.
He was this weird eccentric artist of a singer who played a billion instruments.

I sound pretty ignorant right now. But that's only because I never bothered to find anything out about his life before today, like I said.

He was one of the best musicians of the 90s. And, oh hey, look at that, the 2000s too. (He released "Guero" in 2005 and critics say that is his most sane album. Fun fact.)

In conclusion (because this isn't really going anywhere), Beck is one of my favorite artists and I like his music. He's a rad bro.




BECK

Perception.

i think we're all just blind.

no one's really different. we just can't see past our own lives.


what's wrong, you ask?
sigh.
i'm really hungry is all.

best movie ever.

case dismissed. bring in the dancing lobsters.