Well, to call it a new studio is stretching it. I still have no heat and no plumbing, but my brother James came into town so I had to wire up two special outlets in which to plug in a computer and some amps. Then, a co-worker of mine had a special request for some punk-a-fied versions of Grease songs for his lady-friend.
How could I resist such a request?
So, here for your listening enjoyment, are some rough covers of Grease songs.
Grease: Murf doing vocals and drums, James on guitar, Josh on bass.
Summer Nights: Murf on drums, James on guitar, Josh on vocals.
Summer Love / Grease Lightning: Murf on drums, James on guitar and bass, Josh on vocals.
Prepare for first take brilliance.
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Thursday, December 22, 2005
A Christmas Diary
It’s getting hard for me to tell what the weather is like outside. As my tires grind over bottomless depths of ocean, the backsplash of water laps against the underside of my car. The condensation spreading on my windshield creates the illusion of a foggy Atlantic night.
I shift into fifth, and set my cruise control. In the failing twilight, I cannot see the dolphins I am following. When I crack my window, I can still hear them chattering, so I know my bearing remains sound. Just before dawn I’ll recheck my star charts and correct my heading by sunrise.
My sister told me I should fly, but I can’t stand that rushing feeling in my gut during liftoff and landings. And I’ve never minded a long road trip, or ocean trip, as long as I could drive my car. I have hours worth of mixed CDs and books on tape, and my cooler is packed with juice boxes and turkey sandwiches. Six days on the water, and then I’ll be home!
I stop for gas at a small island station somewhere south of the equator. It’s a bit pricey, especially for the fish/nut blend they offer, but their restrooms were nice. I pick up a postcard for my sister, and purchase a few plastic tree-frogs that are supposedly native to the station. Maybe the kids will enjoy them? I wonder if they will even recognize me after all these years….
Rotten luck has struck me! Less than 20 hours from port, and I’ve hit an old World War II buoy! My front passenger-side tire is destroyed, along with the axel. Traffic has been light, and it may be an hour or two before someone finds me. Hell, it’s Christmas weekend, so it might be days. Who drives the Atlantic the weekend before Christmas?
Only stepfathers and fools, it seems.
I have a few juice boxes left, so I’ll just put on my hazard lights and listen to my jazz mix. I wonder if they will even recognize me when I get there?
I shift into fifth, and set my cruise control. In the failing twilight, I cannot see the dolphins I am following. When I crack my window, I can still hear them chattering, so I know my bearing remains sound. Just before dawn I’ll recheck my star charts and correct my heading by sunrise.
…
My sister told me I should fly, but I can’t stand that rushing feeling in my gut during liftoff and landings. And I’ve never minded a long road trip, or ocean trip, as long as I could drive my car. I have hours worth of mixed CDs and books on tape, and my cooler is packed with juice boxes and turkey sandwiches. Six days on the water, and then I’ll be home!
…
I stop for gas at a small island station somewhere south of the equator. It’s a bit pricey, especially for the fish/nut blend they offer, but their restrooms were nice. I pick up a postcard for my sister, and purchase a few plastic tree-frogs that are supposedly native to the station. Maybe the kids will enjoy them? I wonder if they will even recognize me after all these years….
…
Rotten luck has struck me! Less than 20 hours from port, and I’ve hit an old World War II buoy! My front passenger-side tire is destroyed, along with the axel. Traffic has been light, and it may be an hour or two before someone finds me. Hell, it’s Christmas weekend, so it might be days. Who drives the Atlantic the weekend before Christmas?
Only stepfathers and fools, it seems.
I have a few juice boxes left, so I’ll just put on my hazard lights and listen to my jazz mix. I wonder if they will even recognize me when I get there?
Monday, December 19, 2005
The Future Is Not Bleak!
I cut my thumb.
It bled bled bled.
The wound. The sting.
The red red red.
Hum riddle diddle dum.
I split my lip.
The pain. The pain.
You kissed to fix
It back again.
Hip riddle diddle dip.
Hum riddle diddle dum.
I see today
Is gonna end.
I worry not
My friend my friend!
Hey riddle diddle day.
Hum riddle diddle dum.
The thumb I cut
Is on the mend.
The lip I split
Fixed by my friend.
Hum riddle diddle dum.
It bled bled bled.
The wound. The sting.
The red red red.
Hum riddle diddle dum.
I split my lip.
The pain. The pain.
You kissed to fix
It back again.
Hip riddle diddle dip.
Hum riddle diddle dum.
I see today
Is gonna end.
I worry not
My friend my friend!
Hey riddle diddle day.
Hum riddle diddle dum.
The thumb I cut
Is on the mend.
The lip I split
Fixed by my friend.
Hum riddle diddle dum.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Update Filler
I am one of two monkeys,
Or Maybe one of three.
On every second Sunday
I kindly take a knee.
I form one hand to hail you;
The other forms a scoop.
I grunt I smile I wave and
Prepare to fling my poop.
Um, fin.
Or Maybe one of three.
On every second Sunday
I kindly take a knee.
I form one hand to hail you;
The other forms a scoop.
I grunt I smile I wave and
Prepare to fling my poop.
Um, fin.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Untitled
Always the whaler, never the whale.
A harpoon in hand, but ne’er through tail.
Aloof on the ocean, eyes to the sea
I peer thru the spyglass; it ne’er at me.
A harpoon in hand, but ne’er through tail.
Aloof on the ocean, eyes to the sea
I peer thru the spyglass; it ne’er at me.
Friday, December 02, 2005
Detailed Instructions on Snowman Disguising.
Have you ever hidden inside a snowman? Have you ever taken the time to plant yourself right in the middle of a large ball of snow rolled from the layers of flakes spread across your lawn? You cannot easily manage this if you are wearing heavy layers of jackets and snow pants.
Wool scarves will be your downfall if you desire to hide inside a snowman.
No, you must first strip naked. You must remove all those abrasive textiles that catch and stick to the snow. Then, you must cover yourself in oil. Cooking oil will do. I haven’t had cooking oil freeze to my skin yet.
Once naked and oiled, you need to find a stick or maybe a good sized stone to burrow out a little hole at the top of your biggest rolled snowball. This is your entry point to the inside of the snowman.
But wait, I am getting ahead of myself. Don’t try to enter the first snowball until you have the second torso-ball rolled and also a good-sized head snowball ready and waiting nearby. It’s hard to prepare these after your initial snowball entry.
Okay, you are nude, oiled up, and have all three of your Snowman’s parts rolled and ready for assembly. You have dug out your entry hole to the base, and are ready to jump in. Now, you can enter in one of two ways. The first is to carefully climb up onto the big snowball base, bend your knees, spring upwards and then point your toes to the earth. Think of doing a “Toothpick” dive into a swimming pool. Think of trying to make as small a splash as possible. With some luck, you will get good depth on entry to your snowball. With just a small amount of wiggling, you can work your way fully into the snowball base. The second entry approach involves you rubbing your feet together, quickly, for about ninety seconds. This will generate enough heat friction on your feet to just melt a path all the way to the bottom of the snowball.
The difficult part is now over. To finish your snowman disguise, just bend over and pick up your torso snowball and slam it over your head. Since this snowball is a bit smaller than the base snowball, it should fit snuggly over your torso. You don’t want to pre-drill a hole in this piece, because if it fits too loosely, your snowman may rattle and you will be discovered. Just take the torso ball and mash it down onto your body. You can pop your arms out the sides… we won’t worry about them just yet.
With the snowman head, just do the same thing: pick up the snowball and just pop it right over your head. Make sure you’ve removed any hat you might be wearing, because that can ruin the whole thing, and you will have to climb out of your snowman and rebuild from scratch. Do not worry about your vision being blocked by snow. Snow is a natural sound amplifier, and you will be able to function using just your ears. It’s very similar to how bats use sonar, but not really.
Ah, what to do with your arms now? You thought I’d forgotten, didn’t you. Well, now that you are fully immersed inside your snowman, nobody will suspect your oiled and glistening arms will be REAL arms! You can just leave your arms limp and at your side if you like, or if you want to really get into character, you can stick your fingers out at odd angles. Don’t be alarmed if a bird or squirrel climbs on you or your arms, because they will be as oblivious to your hiding place as anyone else.
With luck, and a little practice, you and all your friends can spend the winter hiding inside snowmen.
Ah, pardon my arrogance: Snowwomen too!
Wool scarves will be your downfall if you desire to hide inside a snowman.
No, you must first strip naked. You must remove all those abrasive textiles that catch and stick to the snow. Then, you must cover yourself in oil. Cooking oil will do. I haven’t had cooking oil freeze to my skin yet.
Once naked and oiled, you need to find a stick or maybe a good sized stone to burrow out a little hole at the top of your biggest rolled snowball. This is your entry point to the inside of the snowman.
But wait, I am getting ahead of myself. Don’t try to enter the first snowball until you have the second torso-ball rolled and also a good-sized head snowball ready and waiting nearby. It’s hard to prepare these after your initial snowball entry.
Okay, you are nude, oiled up, and have all three of your Snowman’s parts rolled and ready for assembly. You have dug out your entry hole to the base, and are ready to jump in. Now, you can enter in one of two ways. The first is to carefully climb up onto the big snowball base, bend your knees, spring upwards and then point your toes to the earth. Think of doing a “Toothpick” dive into a swimming pool. Think of trying to make as small a splash as possible. With some luck, you will get good depth on entry to your snowball. With just a small amount of wiggling, you can work your way fully into the snowball base. The second entry approach involves you rubbing your feet together, quickly, for about ninety seconds. This will generate enough heat friction on your feet to just melt a path all the way to the bottom of the snowball.
The difficult part is now over. To finish your snowman disguise, just bend over and pick up your torso snowball and slam it over your head. Since this snowball is a bit smaller than the base snowball, it should fit snuggly over your torso. You don’t want to pre-drill a hole in this piece, because if it fits too loosely, your snowman may rattle and you will be discovered. Just take the torso ball and mash it down onto your body. You can pop your arms out the sides… we won’t worry about them just yet.
With the snowman head, just do the same thing: pick up the snowball and just pop it right over your head. Make sure you’ve removed any hat you might be wearing, because that can ruin the whole thing, and you will have to climb out of your snowman and rebuild from scratch. Do not worry about your vision being blocked by snow. Snow is a natural sound amplifier, and you will be able to function using just your ears. It’s very similar to how bats use sonar, but not really.
Ah, what to do with your arms now? You thought I’d forgotten, didn’t you. Well, now that you are fully immersed inside your snowman, nobody will suspect your oiled and glistening arms will be REAL arms! You can just leave your arms limp and at your side if you like, or if you want to really get into character, you can stick your fingers out at odd angles. Don’t be alarmed if a bird or squirrel climbs on you or your arms, because they will be as oblivious to your hiding place as anyone else.
With luck, and a little practice, you and all your friends can spend the winter hiding inside snowmen.
Ah, pardon my arrogance: Snowwomen too!
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
The Supermarket
So, in this dream you are running supermarket isles in first person view. As you take corners, the world swings left-to-right, right-to-left, and then scrolls beneath your feet. You see a store clerk stocking melons and immediately a rusty crowbar floats into your field of vision. You Half-life 2 the store clerk in the head with the crowbar, hear a digitized scream as his face explodes into a pixilated cloud of red, and keep on moving.
Behind you, following you, is a woman carrying two very full grocery bags. When you stop, she stops; when you move, she moves. She is relentless in her pursuit, and every time you swivel your vision to see her, her face becomes a mask of Hurry-Up-I-Don’t-Have-All-Day.
Another clerk spawns beside you, just inside your peripheral vision. He is holding a plate with little tooth-picked cheese samples. You swivel, pound him with the crowbar, and watch in high resolution as his body slumps against the far wall. The little cheese samples roll on the floor in a pleasingly realistic fashion. The woman behind you stares blankly ahead. Clearly she is unimpressed.
Once the deli isles are cleared of riffraff, you head toward the front doors of the marketplace. They open as you draw near, allowing you passage to a misty street that leads to nowhere. Nothing breaks the hazy horizon. The store is gone. You are left alone in a blank world with the woman carrying two very full grocery bags. This time when you move forward, she does not follow.
Turning to face her, you see her give a polite smile. Her face becomes a mask of Thank-You-For-Helping-Me-Out-Of-The-Store-Now-Go-Away. Her eyes are closed as she smiles, and all at once she is the sweetest and least sincere person you have ever known in your entire life.
In your dream, this realization scares you awake.
Behind you, following you, is a woman carrying two very full grocery bags. When you stop, she stops; when you move, she moves. She is relentless in her pursuit, and every time you swivel your vision to see her, her face becomes a mask of Hurry-Up-I-Don’t-Have-All-Day.
Another clerk spawns beside you, just inside your peripheral vision. He is holding a plate with little tooth-picked cheese samples. You swivel, pound him with the crowbar, and watch in high resolution as his body slumps against the far wall. The little cheese samples roll on the floor in a pleasingly realistic fashion. The woman behind you stares blankly ahead. Clearly she is unimpressed.
Once the deli isles are cleared of riffraff, you head toward the front doors of the marketplace. They open as you draw near, allowing you passage to a misty street that leads to nowhere. Nothing breaks the hazy horizon. The store is gone. You are left alone in a blank world with the woman carrying two very full grocery bags. This time when you move forward, she does not follow.
Turning to face her, you see her give a polite smile. Her face becomes a mask of Thank-You-For-Helping-Me-Out-Of-The-Store-Now-Go-Away. Her eyes are closed as she smiles, and all at once she is the sweetest and least sincere person you have ever known in your entire life.
In your dream, this realization scares you awake.
Monday, November 28, 2005
My Last Day at the Rodeo
I craved a Snickers bar and a Sundrop,
But I only had one quarter and five dimes
And three pennies in my wallet.
My last day at the rodeo
Was all of six seconds
Give or take a tenth or two.
Holding my rope
My gloved hand straining
Fit to burst.
I remember checking my office drawer for spare change
Only to discover an old red pen
That I used to love to calculate with.
Use your body or use your mind:
Both are physical enough to stress.
Both can feel the pressure of the rope.
Six point one seconds lets say...
He passed that six seconds mark lets say...
Not bad for his last day at the rodeo.
My need for chocolate and sugary water
Was perhaps symbolism for something deeper?
My desire to ride the eight-hundred pound monster
Was perhaps foreshadowing of my eventual destruction?
All the Ooohs and Aaahs of the crowd
Slowed and slurred through my arcing decent
Satisfy my hunger.
The snapping of bones and joints,
The ripping of tendons and muscle:
All audible proof that I existed.
My last day at the rodeo
Was all of six seconds.
But to a bug, a wave,
A thought, a dreamer,
Six seconds can be a lifetime.
But I only had one quarter and five dimes
And three pennies in my wallet.
My last day at the rodeo
Was all of six seconds
Give or take a tenth or two.
Holding my rope
My gloved hand straining
Fit to burst.
I remember checking my office drawer for spare change
Only to discover an old red pen
That I used to love to calculate with.
Use your body or use your mind:
Both are physical enough to stress.
Both can feel the pressure of the rope.
Six point one seconds lets say...
He passed that six seconds mark lets say...
Not bad for his last day at the rodeo.
My need for chocolate and sugary water
Was perhaps symbolism for something deeper?
My desire to ride the eight-hundred pound monster
Was perhaps foreshadowing of my eventual destruction?
All the Ooohs and Aaahs of the crowd
Slowed and slurred through my arcing decent
Satisfy my hunger.
The snapping of bones and joints,
The ripping of tendons and muscle:
All audible proof that I existed.
My last day at the rodeo
Was all of six seconds.
But to a bug, a wave,
A thought, a dreamer,
Six seconds can be a lifetime.
Friday, November 04, 2005
For your listening enjoyment...
Here is the hurricane tribute song recorded by The Michaels, entitled "You Can't Drown My Heart". It is a 20 minute long song, and it is encoded in the Apple .m4a format (it's the only way I could rip it... sorry!) but it DOES play in Winamp if you don't have I-Tunes. Your best bet will be to right click on the link and "Save Target As" the song, then open it in your music software. It's a 20.1 Meg file, so for those of you on dial-up, it may take you up to twenty minutes to grab the thing. It may be well worth it though!
You Can't Drown My Heart
Michael A. does Vocals, Acoustic Guitar, Electric Guitar, Electric-Violin-Bass, Jazz Bass, Moog, Mandolin, Slide-Guitar, Honky Tonk Piano, and discovered and edited sound samples.
Michael M. does Vocals, Acoustic Guitar, Acoustic Bass, Violin, Drums, Electro-Jazz-Flute, Moog, Banjo, and laughed at edited sound samples.
EDIT:
Produced by the Michaels and recorded at Michael A's Octopoidland Studio, Austin, TX, October 2005.
We would like to thank the makers of cheap instruments and musical equipment everywhere.
DISCLAIMER: if you have a heart you will be offended by this song. We apologize in advance for the hardcoreness of this project...but we felt it had to be done. Enjoy the rock.
You Can't Drown My Heart
Michael A. does Vocals, Acoustic Guitar, Electric Guitar, Electric-Violin-Bass, Jazz Bass, Moog, Mandolin, Slide-Guitar, Honky Tonk Piano, and discovered and edited sound samples.
Michael M. does Vocals, Acoustic Guitar, Acoustic Bass, Violin, Drums, Electro-Jazz-Flute, Moog, Banjo, and laughed at edited sound samples.
EDIT:
Produced by the Michaels and recorded at Michael A's Octopoidland Studio, Austin, TX, October 2005.
We would like to thank the makers of cheap instruments and musical equipment everywhere.
DISCLAIMER: if you have a heart you will be offended by this song. We apologize in advance for the hardcoreness of this project...but we felt it had to be done. Enjoy the rock.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
A poem about Texas.
Texas, you are a very big state. It takes forever to drive across you, and your gas stations are a bit scary.
Austin, you are a good city in Texas. Your skyline is beautiful in the evenings, and you have bats.
Dallas is dumb and chaffs my bum. Dallas, you go to hell and you die.
Austin, you are a good city in Texas. Your skyline is beautiful in the evenings, and you have bats.
Dallas is dumb and chaffs my bum. Dallas, you go to hell and you die.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
The Murf is on vacation!
Hello, this is interim Circuitry News Editor-in-lieu of Jan Simeopop. The Murf is waiting for his auto-detailing and super-trim to be done in the TX and cannot blog. For the next several days, we ask that you enjoy the above picture, taking into full account whatever tender parts you may be in possession of. Thank you for your time. Tool.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
More work-inspired pics...
My new desktop background:
And man, I may bet getting pwnt at work, but not as bad as THIS guy! Damn!
And man, I may bet getting pwnt at work, but not as bad as THIS guy! Damn!
Monday, October 10, 2005
Two quick things of note...
Number One, I found a fun, new internet toy. Check out my painting here: Rita
Edit: I am going to add paintings as I mess with them. It's too much fun, really.
Un-Self Portrait
Black and White Face
Number Two: I think my webpage (themurf.com) is no more. I don't know how or why, but it is gone, and I cannot access anything to get it back. 'Tis a sad day. Maybe if we make some kind of petition, we can...I don't know... garner support for it to be put up again?
The end.
Edit: I am going to add paintings as I mess with them. It's too much fun, really.
Un-Self Portrait
Black and White Face
Number Two: I think my webpage (themurf.com) is no more. I don't know how or why, but it is gone, and I cannot access anything to get it back. 'Tis a sad day. Maybe if we make some kind of petition, we can...I don't know... garner support for it to be put up again?
The end.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Another day of work.
Every day it seems I
Want to wake up even
Later than
Yesterday.
My boss came in today.
Into my room he came
And poked me.
Just for fun.
Some days I just stare at
The little analog
Clock with its
Arms so still.
Watching the hour hand,
This is how I pass time
When time is
Not passing.
My desk is so sterile
It is hard to even
Think of girls
Or movies.
This is what will fill my
Autobiography
Chapters six
Thru Thirty
This is what I will tell
All my good friends' children
When they ask
Of my life.
I am too bored to work.
I am too scared to leave.
A zombie
Of a man.
Only nine more hours
And then I can go home
Where my boss
Will poke me.
Just for fun.
Want to wake up even
Later than
Yesterday.
My boss came in today.
Into my room he came
And poked me.
Just for fun.
Some days I just stare at
The little analog
Clock with its
Arms so still.
Watching the hour hand,
This is how I pass time
When time is
Not passing.
My desk is so sterile
It is hard to even
Think of girls
Or movies.
This is what will fill my
Autobiography
Chapters six
Thru Thirty
This is what I will tell
All my good friends' children
When they ask
Of my life.
I am too bored to work.
I am too scared to leave.
A zombie
Of a man.
Only nine more hours
And then I can go home
Where my boss
Will poke me.
Just for fun.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Robotical Inspiration
To help inspire Andrew in his robotic endeavors, I am going to post the lyrics to my never-recorded song: "I Am Robot".
I am Robot: hear me beep.
And under this metal sky I sleep.
I am waiting to upload
A million gigabytes that you have told me
Of life...
And youth...
The stuff eludes me.
I am Robot: a thing of steel.
Cold to the touch but adamantly real.
You sit there staring at shiny skin,
But what matters is the circuitry within me.
The miles...
Of wire...
The sparkplugs fire!
Woo! Woo-wee-oooh-ooh!
Woo! Woo-wee-oooh-ooh!
I am Robot: the metal man.
Won't you reach out and hold my robot hand?
I'll take you places you've never been
We'll explore the universe from end to end.
To search...
To see...
To find what we need.
Woo! Woo-wee-oooh-ooh!
Woo! Woo-wee-oooh-ooh!
I am Robot: hear me beep.
And under this metal sky I sleep.
I am waiting to upload
A million gigabytes that you have told me
Of life...
And youth...
The stuff eludes me.
I am Robot: a thing of steel.
Cold to the touch but adamantly real.
You sit there staring at shiny skin,
But what matters is the circuitry within me.
The miles...
Of wire...
The sparkplugs fire!
Woo! Woo-wee-oooh-ooh!
Woo! Woo-wee-oooh-ooh!
I am Robot: the metal man.
Won't you reach out and hold my robot hand?
I'll take you places you've never been
We'll explore the universe from end to end.
To search...
To see...
To find what we need.
Woo! Woo-wee-oooh-ooh!
Woo! Woo-wee-oooh-ooh!
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
These things happen.
She slapped him hard across the face.
"That will teach you to mess with me, you jerk!"
He stared at her, mouth askew, his glasses dangling from his ears. Slowly his fingers opened and the multitude of roses he was carrying flopped onto the pavement. What the hell had just happened?
She glared at him, her face screwed up with the tension of fury. Her left hand, which had just imprinted itself upon the man's cheek, was now digging around in her purse, spilling ointments and candy wrappers around the roses. The twitch of her eyebrow showed that her hand had found what it was looking for.
I think I love her. Don't I think I love her?
Her hand left her purse clutching a six-inch switchblade. She snapped it open, and with a swift jabbing motion she plunged in into the man's chest, cleverly aiming it between the ribs. The blade felt cold against the muscle of his heart, and then a heat leapt out of his chest. So this is what it feels like to love?
The man had enough presence of mind to hold his hands out to cushion his fall. He rested his throbbing cheek against the pavement, and stared at one of the dropped roses. In the distance he noticed a pair of red high-heeled shoes, and saw their owner reach down and pick up three of the flowers, carefully avoiding the thorn in the stems. His mother was right: women were beyond comprehension.
"That will teach you to mess with me, you jerk!"
He stared at her, mouth askew, his glasses dangling from his ears. Slowly his fingers opened and the multitude of roses he was carrying flopped onto the pavement. What the hell had just happened?
She glared at him, her face screwed up with the tension of fury. Her left hand, which had just imprinted itself upon the man's cheek, was now digging around in her purse, spilling ointments and candy wrappers around the roses. The twitch of her eyebrow showed that her hand had found what it was looking for.
I think I love her. Don't I think I love her?
Her hand left her purse clutching a six-inch switchblade. She snapped it open, and with a swift jabbing motion she plunged in into the man's chest, cleverly aiming it between the ribs. The blade felt cold against the muscle of his heart, and then a heat leapt out of his chest. So this is what it feels like to love?
The man had enough presence of mind to hold his hands out to cushion his fall. He rested his throbbing cheek against the pavement, and stared at one of the dropped roses. In the distance he noticed a pair of red high-heeled shoes, and saw their owner reach down and pick up three of the flowers, carefully avoiding the thorn in the stems. His mother was right: women were beyond comprehension.
Friday, September 02, 2005
Update.
In September
House still broken
Plumbing broken
Wiring broken.
In September
Work still broken
Social broken
Head still rattled.
In September
Car not broken
Gas price broken
Travel broken.
In September
Shoes are broken
Style is broken
Hair is broken?
In September
Music broken
Health not broken
Month is young tho?
In September
Some things broken
Murf not broken
Murf has spoken!
House still broken
Plumbing broken
Wiring broken.
In September
Work still broken
Social broken
Head still rattled.
In September
Car not broken
Gas price broken
Travel broken.
In September
Shoes are broken
Style is broken
Hair is broken?
In September
Music broken
Health not broken
Month is young tho?
In September
Some things broken
Murf not broken
Murf has spoken!
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
(Haiku)^2
Andrew got me thinking about Haikus, and I wondered if I could take them into the second dimension. So, here, for the pleasure of the scientific community, I present you a working model of a haikubox:
Engineering work . Though the pay is somewhat nice . . . The hours are crap.
From dawn to dusk it's endless . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . How can I spend all this time
Maybe I should teach? . Rowdy kids can't be worse than . Fixing lines of code?
See, with the haikubox, you get four haikus, held together lightly by covalent bonds. This model is slightly unstable, but should last for at least a few days.
Now, I ask of you, the scientific community, this: Is it possible to extract the haiku into the third dimension? Can a haikube actuall exist in the bounds of our verbal laws as we know them???
Engineering work . Though the pay is somewhat nice . . . The hours are crap.
From dawn to dusk it's endless . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . How can I spend all this time
Maybe I should teach? . Rowdy kids can't be worse than . Fixing lines of code?
See, with the haikubox, you get four haikus, held together lightly by covalent bonds. This model is slightly unstable, but should last for at least a few days.
Now, I ask of you, the scientific community, this: Is it possible to extract the haiku into the third dimension? Can a haikube actuall exist in the bounds of our verbal laws as we know them???
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
A true story...
I knew this man who drank a lot of oil for breakfast and got really, really sick.
He wasn't drinking motor oil, but vegetable oil.
And he wasn't really a man, but more of a raccoon.
Anyway, I had to take the man to the vet and then got in big trouble when the nurse told me they only worked with domestic people.
Bitch.
He wasn't drinking motor oil, but vegetable oil.
And he wasn't really a man, but more of a raccoon.
Anyway, I had to take the man to the vet and then got in big trouble when the nurse told me they only worked with domestic people.
Bitch.
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