scylla

I... don't even want to speak of it right now. My entire day has been filled with depths of darkness and apocalyptic discussions that cannot cease. This is my only escape from complete saturation of inevitable... confrontation. And so I'll play the fool and talk about shiny things.

So a moment of silence...

Anyway, usual cavalcade of plugs. Because I'm addicted to free stuff. Incentive marketing is wicked! (I'd say wicked and naughty, but I save that sort of language for the dance-hall. And bed. During sex, I mean.)

Free photo ipods ... Yeah. Free photo ipods. Already. Hot damn. Sweet sweet 40 gig full color ipod... excuse the cum.
Free pvps (portable video players)
Free palms Free palm pilots. Because when this poor bunny's dollars to donuts needing to do research 24/7 but doesn't need a laptop, you KNOW I need a wifi palm pilot.

If you're cautious/doubtful of the veracity of these, check out This site, which covers it pretty well. Don't forget to use honest information and let me know if you try it out, kiddos.

Like... I really don't understand why everyone thinks that the cyclical nature of... everything-ness is so big and craaazy. Far out, Buchloh! I dunno, maybe it's something abut Marxist theory that makes people grumpy about producing and consuming?

There's going to be a senior seminar on the pictorial narrative. Oh, you KNOW I'll hell of abstract that shit...

I took these absolutely amazing photographs the other day. I'm still in the post-production phase of actually printing them, completely re-interpreting them, making bizarre, fucked up contact prints, etc. It's pretty cool, though . What I did was I took a series of slides and projected them onto a wall where my friend was posing. I got some hell of meta Cindy Sherman action going on. And I got a couple of really amazing pictures with these Gerhard Richter paintings... oh man, the death or... something, indeed. WHERE IS THE ORIGINAL?

Actually, I'm joking here, but really... aaaah. Sometimes I get so... paralyzed by infusing every single thing I do with loads and loads of theory that I can't even think. I should stop this journal entry before shit, I realize that language is a reification of grunts and hitting one another with sticks. So instead I'll curl up in a corner and listen to Gong.

BAM!