giggles.
i'm surrounded by giggles. not laughter, but giggles. giggles about absolutely nothing other than just that nervous reaction to trying to fit in. but it's gone beyond the trying to fit in stage. the giggles have continued and seem to be hiting new levels. it's not just one person (although one person's giggle annoys me more than i can state) it a choir of giggles.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Thursday, April 12, 2007
i can't believe how popular i've become.
it's true. i'm really really popular.
i'm thankful the jutebox reflects the changes taking place in me. while on phone calls to china discussing getting even cheaper deals, i have house music blasting as my back up singers. as this is going on i usually unbutton my shirt to expose chest hair and put my sunglasses on. it's our policy. we have a jute box at work. everyone can contribute. it's very democratic. a little bit of New Order. than some diana Crawl (like spelling her name that way). mixed in with sets of the newest of house music. standard classics. the two step. the 3 step. the 3.5 step. the -2 step for those in wheelchairs. we have everything. we have all of sting, i always appreciate that no one talks during his more somber pieces about gold in fields and wind blowing. people show respect... and that is good. if you speak during a slow song by George Michael its like slapping baby jesus.
i'm thankful the jutebox reflects the changes taking place in me. while on phone calls to china discussing getting even cheaper deals, i have house music blasting as my back up singers. as this is going on i usually unbutton my shirt to expose chest hair and put my sunglasses on. it's our policy. we have a jute box at work. everyone can contribute. it's very democratic. a little bit of New Order. than some diana Crawl (like spelling her name that way). mixed in with sets of the newest of house music. standard classics. the two step. the 3 step. the 3.5 step. the -2 step for those in wheelchairs. we have everything. we have all of sting, i always appreciate that no one talks during his more somber pieces about gold in fields and wind blowing. people show respect... and that is good. if you speak during a slow song by George Michael its like slapping baby jesus.
so here i am
i have this thought that writing to this blog is a waste of time. it doesn't make money, i think i get more raised eyebrows of concern and distrust by writing these. no one will ever lend me money or place bets on me like at horse races. i feel as if i have disguise myself with those fake glasses and nose kits we saw as kids while writing here. the puffy eyesbrows make it even better. i even sometimes even wear the wigs british lawyers wear during court cases. with that combination of disguises, i feel secure. or do i?
Sunday, October 29, 2006
another story
inverted situation.
the room was dripping. the bass was riveting through my body. i don’t normally dance but the entire crowd was. the environment was rather sensual, sexual and really intense. smoked machines made the air thick and slightly claustophic. one didn’t know which way they were walking making it easy to bump into people. the bass made me feel as if i had a second heartbeat. as i walked through it felt as if people were trying to grab my hand, whether or not it was intensional i’m not sure.
my hand brushed up against a door. so i pushed it open. i slide through its opening. i walked about 10 feet into the room that was also filled with smoke that the smoke machine created. i could hardly see in fact i couldn’t more than a foot in front. the bass seemed even harder. the energy in this room was more intense.
the smoke started to raise like fog does. i could see my feet but i couldn’t see at eye level too well.
i started to make out a few heads but they were all at waist level. actually there were several of these heads. i guessed everyone was sitting, but the heads were moving too much to be sitting. more of these heads started to come more into focus.
what the fuck.
there is hundreds of migets. all dancing. all freaking to the dj. fuck, the dj was miget too. what the fuck is this room. (sorry for the over use of the word fuck but i have no other word to grasp the situation) the room is very sensual, even more sexual and even more intense than the room i was just in. i was this towering giant in the center of hundreds of short people. their arms were in the air raised and swaying to the music.
should i get the hell out of here? i think i’m starting to panic. would i give off the wrong impression if i left? maybe i should give this a chance. so i started to move my body. my hands in the air. the bass pounding through my body. the small people were now jumping to the music while throwing the fist towards the dj. the dj was throwing his fist back. i didn’t know what was happening. i started jumping. throwing my fist. freaking out. this is awesome. the whole room was freaking. and so was i.
the room was dripping. the bass was riveting through my body. i don’t normally dance but the entire crowd was. the environment was rather sensual, sexual and really intense. smoked machines made the air thick and slightly claustophic. one didn’t know which way they were walking making it easy to bump into people. the bass made me feel as if i had a second heartbeat. as i walked through it felt as if people were trying to grab my hand, whether or not it was intensional i’m not sure.
my hand brushed up against a door. so i pushed it open. i slide through its opening. i walked about 10 feet into the room that was also filled with smoke that the smoke machine created. i could hardly see in fact i couldn’t more than a foot in front. the bass seemed even harder. the energy in this room was more intense.
the smoke started to raise like fog does. i could see my feet but i couldn’t see at eye level too well.
i started to make out a few heads but they were all at waist level. actually there were several of these heads. i guessed everyone was sitting, but the heads were moving too much to be sitting. more of these heads started to come more into focus.
what the fuck.
there is hundreds of migets. all dancing. all freaking to the dj. fuck, the dj was miget too. what the fuck is this room. (sorry for the over use of the word fuck but i have no other word to grasp the situation) the room is very sensual, even more sexual and even more intense than the room i was just in. i was this towering giant in the center of hundreds of short people. their arms were in the air raised and swaying to the music.
should i get the hell out of here? i think i’m starting to panic. would i give off the wrong impression if i left? maybe i should give this a chance. so i started to move my body. my hands in the air. the bass pounding through my body. the small people were now jumping to the music while throwing the fist towards the dj. the dj was throwing his fist back. i didn’t know what was happening. i started jumping. throwing my fist. freaking out. this is awesome. the whole room was freaking. and so was i.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
another short story.
mr. lope.
he listened to the radio inbetween stations. it was like he didn’t notice. sometimes it was a country music tune interfered by the news, each outweighing the other at random. he turned it up but it didn’t seem to be anything specific he was listening to or for.
when he was stressed he’d karate chop the air and yelled heehaaaaa. i think he was stressed a lot.
he tapped his pen on his front tooth when thinking outloud.
his writing was unreadable. he crossed his g’s.
he did all his math in his head, tapping his pen on his tooth, talking aloud then followed by a karate chop to the air.
the paper he wrote on seemed to come with pre-coffee stained rings.
he hacked something up before he spoke, especially if it was slightly confrontational. his armpit was constantly itchy. he picked his bum when he thought no one was looking.
spent most of his money on the lottery, he’d make it big one day. you’ll see he would say right after the karate chop to the air: heeehaaaaaaaaaaa, then followed by the tapping of his pen on his front tooth. he turned up the radio.
he listened to the radio inbetween stations. it was like he didn’t notice. sometimes it was a country music tune interfered by the news, each outweighing the other at random. he turned it up but it didn’t seem to be anything specific he was listening to or for.
when he was stressed he’d karate chop the air and yelled heehaaaaa. i think he was stressed a lot.
he tapped his pen on his front tooth when thinking outloud.
his writing was unreadable. he crossed his g’s.
he did all his math in his head, tapping his pen on his tooth, talking aloud then followed by a karate chop to the air.
the paper he wrote on seemed to come with pre-coffee stained rings.
he hacked something up before he spoke, especially if it was slightly confrontational. his armpit was constantly itchy. he picked his bum when he thought no one was looking.
spent most of his money on the lottery, he’d make it big one day. you’ll see he would say right after the karate chop to the air: heeehaaaaaaaaaaa, then followed by the tapping of his pen on his front tooth. he turned up the radio.
Monday, October 23, 2006
josh
josh clears his throat repeatedly.
starts quiet, slowly gets louder, than even louder. He seems to do it during moments in serious films. or during your favourite part of a song, when your trying to read. starts quiet, gets louder, than completely out of control. it never seems to stop, almost loops
is it intentional? no one knows.
he gargles coffee in the morning, says fuck off instead of thanks, but winks with a smile at the same time while clearing his throat.
he’s clever, he wears vests, he’s got power. his hair is thinning but only at the back, he has no middle name.
he winks, he jabs, snaps his fingers simulating funk tunes and sings along only when listeners don’t know what song he’s snapping. he’s go the knack of arm wrestling in inappropriate moments. he avoids white paper_he prefers cream.
all this while, he’s clearing his throat.
as you read this he’s clearing his throat. he refuses water, he says it’ll pass.
when he sleeps, kisses, whistles: he’s clearing his throat.
he buys cheap phones that crackle. while the phone crackles erratically, he’s clearing his throat.
starts quiet, slowly gets louder, than even louder. He seems to do it during moments in serious films. or during your favourite part of a song, when your trying to read. starts quiet, gets louder, than completely out of control. it never seems to stop, almost loops
is it intentional? no one knows.
he gargles coffee in the morning, says fuck off instead of thanks, but winks with a smile at the same time while clearing his throat.
he’s clever, he wears vests, he’s got power. his hair is thinning but only at the back, he has no middle name.
he winks, he jabs, snaps his fingers simulating funk tunes and sings along only when listeners don’t know what song he’s snapping. he’s go the knack of arm wrestling in inappropriate moments. he avoids white paper_he prefers cream.
all this while, he’s clearing his throat.
as you read this he’s clearing his throat. he refuses water, he says it’ll pass.
when he sleeps, kisses, whistles: he’s clearing his throat.
he buys cheap phones that crackle. while the phone crackles erratically, he’s clearing his throat.
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Sunday, October 15, 2006
the state of photography (bizzare times)
I'm sad about photography. Yesterday I went to see one of the best photo exhibitions that has come to this land, it came directly from the Deutsche Bank and showed work from some of the greatest german photographers since 1950's up to date. The exhibition included Bern and Hilla Becher, Thomas Struth and in general the Düsseldorf School: Thomas Ruff, Andreas Gursky, Candida Hoffer, etc. Although I loved it, and I very much appreciated all of the work I went out the exhibition with both a happy and a sad impression. Today I realized that my sadness was due because I felt for the first time that photography ran out as a medium, as a vessel that is no longer able to hold higher spiritual growth. I believe that it is not a matter of creativity per se, neither solely a question of representation, but about something more mystical; a new path the human spirit needs to take -and which is in fact taking-, where photography will not play a major role. Photography already did its amazing job but I feel it was over. It is very sad and i think we will have to overcome it soonner or later in order to find the new horizon our soul seeks. Maybe photography will come back again in the future, maybe transformed into something else, i feel.
by Alejandro Tamayo (former photographer)
Bogotá, Colombia
by Alejandro Tamayo (former photographer)
Bogotá, Colombia
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