I am on Myspace.
http://www.myspace.com/frankmuddy
NOTE: It is nine kinds of Saturday evening. You have no idea, man.
Something is trying to claw it's way out of my stomach. If it were to be seen in the light it would probably resemble an iguana that had been liberally brushed with crazy glue and then sprinkled with shards of obsidian. It's geneology is distinguished enough to include the likes of Cthulhu and HR Giger. It is making my tummy hurt and my innards malfunction. I have named it Gutsuckthor, Belly Demon of Intestinal Disruption.
I spent the day in bed, sick. Sort of. I actually spent the day in bed reading. because I don't get sick. It's part of my personal health maintence strategy. Because I don't get sick, my all day head ache and aching belly aren't caused by any particular disease. In fact, because I don't get sick it's probably just some bad bangers, or a bit of stale mash or something. Nothing that 10000% of my RDA of Vitamin C and a good nights sleep won't clear up.
Yesterday I spent hours sitting in various tube stations, reading. After doing a bit of footwork and deciding that it would be irreverent and disrespectful to kick up my heels and lay into a good book in the middle of a church, I decided that the far end of a tube platform would be a peaceful, relatively quiet place to sit and read. I was right, and I highly reccomend Snow Crash to anyone with a taste for sci-fi or cyberpunk.
Eitherway, given my current demonic afflication it appears that I will not have a chance to go clubbing in London. I spent friday evening hiking back to my hotel after waiting an hour for a delayed train, which left me in no mood to clean myself up and then go out searching for a decent nightclub, and tonight my innards are rotting most unpleasently, which limits my ambition to go whirling myself around in a violently haphazard fashion. And tommorow is, you know, sunday. : (
The question of why I am in London has been raised. The easy answer is that it the will of the gods. But rather than leave it at divine provinence I'll say that at some point my family decided to visit London over spring break. They asked me, at the time, if I wanted to come. The matter was forgotten for several months until I was told, out of the blue, that I was planning a trip to a foreign nation. So here I am, more or less on vacation, which has now been rudely interupted by belly demons.
I have something to say. I want to live in a primitive, factionalized tribal society consisting of bands of no more than ten thousand people. This super-nation/state thing sucks. You can't do anything, and the scummy elements rise to the top. In a nation of ten thousand people I could change some shit, personally, and in my lifetime, or my kids. Here? I could take a shot at it, yeah, but the best I could hope for is to infinitisimally stay the progress of evil and chaos for the brief span of my own lifetime. Woo.
http://www.myspace.com/frankmuddy
NOTE: It is nine kinds of Saturday evening. You have no idea, man.
Something is trying to claw it's way out of my stomach. If it were to be seen in the light it would probably resemble an iguana that had been liberally brushed with crazy glue and then sprinkled with shards of obsidian. It's geneology is distinguished enough to include the likes of Cthulhu and HR Giger. It is making my tummy hurt and my innards malfunction. I have named it Gutsuckthor, Belly Demon of Intestinal Disruption.
I spent the day in bed, sick. Sort of. I actually spent the day in bed reading. because I don't get sick. It's part of my personal health maintence strategy. Because I don't get sick, my all day head ache and aching belly aren't caused by any particular disease. In fact, because I don't get sick it's probably just some bad bangers, or a bit of stale mash or something. Nothing that 10000% of my RDA of Vitamin C and a good nights sleep won't clear up.
Yesterday I spent hours sitting in various tube stations, reading. After doing a bit of footwork and deciding that it would be irreverent and disrespectful to kick up my heels and lay into a good book in the middle of a church, I decided that the far end of a tube platform would be a peaceful, relatively quiet place to sit and read. I was right, and I highly reccomend Snow Crash to anyone with a taste for sci-fi or cyberpunk.
Eitherway, given my current demonic afflication it appears that I will not have a chance to go clubbing in London. I spent friday evening hiking back to my hotel after waiting an hour for a delayed train, which left me in no mood to clean myself up and then go out searching for a decent nightclub, and tonight my innards are rotting most unpleasently, which limits my ambition to go whirling myself around in a violently haphazard fashion. And tommorow is, you know, sunday. : (
The question of why I am in London has been raised. The easy answer is that it the will of the gods. But rather than leave it at divine provinence I'll say that at some point my family decided to visit London over spring break. They asked me, at the time, if I wanted to come. The matter was forgotten for several months until I was told, out of the blue, that I was planning a trip to a foreign nation. So here I am, more or less on vacation, which has now been rudely interupted by belly demons.
I have something to say. I want to live in a primitive, factionalized tribal society consisting of bands of no more than ten thousand people. This super-nation/state thing sucks. You can't do anything, and the scummy elements rise to the top. In a nation of ten thousand people I could change some shit, personally, and in my lifetime, or my kids. Here? I could take a shot at it, yeah, but the best I could hope for is to infinitisimally stay the progress of evil and chaos for the brief span of my own lifetime. Woo.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
You want other proof of the endtimes? IM me when you get a chance. There's a brother needs a notastep ass beating.
When society finally crumbles, want to pool our gasoline and defend it together? Its not quite the literal return to tribalism wed both like, but it seems to be all were likely to get.
If were exchanging book recommendations, Ishmael by Daniel Quinn is a quasi-novel-cum-sociocultural-essay you are likely to appreciate. As per your suggestion, I may give up my hope of finding a rationally priced used edition of Snow Crash and just spend the $17.95+tax on a new paperback copy.