Monday, November 15, 2010


holy moley. Also, that's in freakin' Paris. I'm pretty sure I want this more than anything, ever.

Still looking for my Annie Clark, I suppose. That's kind of an important component.

one reason I probably haven't found her yet is the fact that I spent time and effort looking up the etymology of the phrase "holy moley" to make sure it was spelled write. It can also be spelled "moly." Good use of time.

Friday, November 12, 2010

D.F. Wallace is the shit

"The next real literary “rebels” in this country might well emerge as some weird bunch of anti-rebels, born oglers who dare somehow to back away from ironic watching, who have the childish gall actually to endorse and instantiate single-entendre principles. Who treat of plain old untrendy human troubles and emotions in US life with reverence and conviction. Who eschew self-consciousness and hip fatigue. The anti-rebels would be outdated of course, before they even started. Dead of the page. Too sincere. Clearly repressed. Backward, quaint, naive, anachonistic. Maybe that’ll be the point. Maybe that’s why they’ll be the next real rebels. Real rebels as far as I can see, risk disapproval. The old postmodern insurgents risked the gasp and squeal: shock, disgust, outrage, censorship, accusations, of socialism, anarchism, nihilism. Today’s risks are different. The new rebels might be artists willing to risk the yawn, the rolled eyes, the cool smile, the nudged ribs, the parody of gifted ironists, the “Oh, how banal.”

stop reading my diary, David Foster Wallace

Thursday, July 15, 2010


this may have been the worst feeling I've ever been consumed with. for those who don't know, I work at that facility. you can see my elbow in the prayer circle video.

Monday, July 12, 2010


[ROUGH draft: I just don't want to forget this (I'm fired up and I like it). I'd also like to expand it into a post later]

to all those whom I've argued about music with in the past, whom've told me I need to take music classes and study theory, I remain in defiance of your agenda. how do you think your theory came about? the pioneers of everything musical just farted around in front of their pianos and tabla drums and they experimented with sounds and rhythms (I spelled that right on the 2nd try) that opened up different parts of their brains (insert research about ragas, etc). A friend's friend told that Stravinsky once said "good composers don't imitate, they steal." I can't seem to find any context for this. If you can put this in context, please let me know. I personally knew, by experimentation with my various instruments, that putting triplet pulses together with 4/4 pulses made things feel intense and created a conflicted feeling. I figured out how to make minor chords and major and minor scales by playing around with my guitar. I read that Joanna Newsom's harp teacher just straight told her that "polyrhythms" and "cross-rhythms" are a good way to make a conflicting rhythm and that was a major influence. I'm not trying to take anything away from students of music but I, personally, feel better when I use musical theory that I've developed myself.

In defense of theory, there are examples such as E.E. Cummings who (as far as I know, does not have a solo album) was a master or the English language and in most of his poems, he broke every rule possible because he knew how to evoke the desired feelings. I see the argument for both sides. The point of this was "hey, Adam Roorda/Brennyn from Skidmore/everyone else: you have your way and that works fine but mine works fine too, so don't tell me I won't get anywhere this way." I'm still open to this debate but everything I've done with music (except for how to make 7th chords, this being a recent unsolicited tidbit from a guitar friend) has been from experimentation.

it's raining and I really need to return some books and I hate not riding my bike in the summer. that just seems sacrilegious. also, I just heard that the spill in the gulf is now releasing methane in amounts that could basically poison every living thing on earth. if anybody knows of any good organizations that we could go through and promote that could help, lemme know.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

a drop of blood from a sugarcube

I've been feeling pretty darn lonely these past couple of weeks.

My best friends are in different states, kicking ass at moving on with their lives and making me feel like I live too much in nostalgia and memories. I went to New York to visit one of said friends and he, in short, has his shit together. All of my aforementioned friends don't even have summer roots here anymore, they've been completely transplanted. I have one true friend left in this town and we're on extremely different schedules and we will be going to different schools again come autumn.

I played a show in Pella for a high school band with some people I used to be close with. Not a single person came up to talk to me. When I branched out, the conversation felt forced and no one was really comfortable. Also, that show kinda blew. Like blew chunX.

I work at a job where I can't talk to anyone for 7 straight hours, I can only listen to the deluge of rushing water and the insignificant problems of overstimulated middle school kids. Even if I could talk to the people I work with, I have no connections to any of them. I've extended welcomes to everyone, all of them, but I just get passed off or straight up ignored. When I gave up talking completely, I get treated like the depressed-suicide-watch-case because I read outside before work. I feel completely insignificant.

EDIT: I guess I have a very social locus of identity and that's not good. Friends are important, not every single stranger and half-acquaintance. It's just that it was rejection in rapid succession that it made me question where I was in my life, which is a very important question to ask. It also helped me realize that I need to blaze some new territory. I mean in every realm of my life. I've been meaning to start drawing again. I've already got a project lined up (on that note, if you have a giant wooden [metal, plastic, etc.] disc about my height and are looking to get rid of it, let me know), I'm going to save some money to go to St. Louis and finish recording my album with Brooks (I sent the recording back for one more equalization change, unfortunately, I didn't notice the bass line is pretty covered up but whatever). I started working out, waiting for that day someone says "yeah, you can have this grand piano. If you can carry it outta here hahaha I'm so rich and my nose is so far up my own as I have no appreciation for anything." and I'll be like "stand back, these things," pointing at my massive forearms, "are declared a violation of the Geneva Conventions just for existing."


It's just that I'm living in a loop, unconsciously trying to keep everything constant and manageable while ostensibly trying to live like every second is blazing a bold new future, never compromising truth and/or happiness for comfort. The former is clearly the driving force as I am at my computer writing a blog entry. And yes, that was an indictment towards you, dear readers. Not really though. This is a great forum for half-cocked concepts. I like the idea of pouring your unfiltered ideas into your page because I find it difficult to be the same when I'm by myself and when the world is watching. That's like my definition of bullshit. And with that, here's a comic I printed off that I keep over my desk at school.

Monday, May 3, 2010

shit gets done

"so... many inputs..."

so my loop station AND my ukulele transducer came in the mail today but I've got 9 papers, 3 tests and 2 huge applications to fill out before next Wednesday... romantics are not good at cramming on such beautiful days.

Neptune, give me strength.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

how to disappear completely; HERE I AM

I changed my mind about these assignment. I don't want you to post them unless you feel you must. This blog is too small. Just make them for yourselves. That's what it's about anyway.

Anyway, I just watched 16 Blocks (it's a Bruce Willis movie with Mos Def; not great but it's whatever). A lot of flat characters die in said movie. This has never really bothered me until I thought about another post someone made a while ago about how we have a selfish view of humanity, how we see ourselves as the focus of the universe and other people are just passing through. Never the other way around. Well, thinking about that made me really freaking sad when these people have become part of the main character's narrative and therefore MY narrative for like 3 seconds and then they unceremoniously die. They get shot in the head or thrown from a building or their neck gets snapped *CRACK. A guy dies in the very beginning, gets shot in the back of the head and his head goes through the back door window of a cop car and just lies there. I thought about him in high school, just doing what everybody else is doing, maybe wanting to be a teacher or go into law enforcement. Maybe he dropped out to help his family with bills. I was thinking that I've probably seen someone just like him while working at the pool going down the slide with his parents. I might have even known him in high school. And he got shot in the brain. He didn't know he was about to die. It's just like when I went to see Toy Story when it came out and the reel just melted except instead of going home and planning to see it some other day, you loose consciousness with the projector. Damn, that was a stupid similie. Anyway, yeah, I just started thinking about that kind of thing and so the new assignment is ...
make plans for your body after you die. it's kinda morbid, I know but at the same time, I don't think it should be because it's pretty much inevitable. I don't think undeniable truths should be looked at like that; it's such a waste of potentially positive energy. Like I said, no need to post yours but I will post mine (my last project was a little too personal I didn't want to post it). happy trails.

ps. about the picture at the top, is it messed up that I see that as really romantic?

Monday, April 5, 2010


I try to live life like a movie; I think I'm cheating myself out of a lot of reality because of it.

I hate myself because I wish "To Be Alone With You" was about a girl and not God. Wholly.

"Well, the way I see it, if you're here for 4 more years or 4 more weeks, you're here right now... When you're somewhere, you outta be there. And when you go, is that place any better than it was when you got there?" - Northern Exposure

A friend and I have been considering going into some sort of ascetic lifestyle to figure out what's important in life. I don't think I can give up my music stuff. Even my shitty Casio. I've already named all my instruments; Gretchen, Icarus, Thurgood, the General, Mr. Saxophone, Sam(antha). My bike, would also be a shame to replace. If any of you have tried anything like this, let me know how it went.

this is my friend zany rockin' the turntables, a feat I had not seen in person before that night.

I got a little *buzzed (corrected from "drunk") for the first time ever this weekend (after almost 8 years of attending parties wherein I've been chided on a relentless basis to drink). It was ok. It was purely experimental. "The revolutionary is only as good as his analysis" as they say I suppose was my thinking. I had a whole bottle of Boone's Farm, 3 shots of Capt'n and half a glass of whiskey. A girl who I don't know spent the whole night fawning over me. It was kinda cool; that has never happened before.

I left the party, watched cowboy bebop while lying on my parent's couch (my bed during school breaks) and thrust my head back and forth while giggling silently because it felt funny. I don't think I was very drunk because I could walk relatively easily.

I made this for a record label I started with some friends that will never go anywhere:


Wednesday, February 24, 2010

I've got 400 more words in a 500 word French essay to do so I'll elaborate later but I'd like to post a series of comics that say exactly what I want to be able to remind myself of every minute. I'm thinking about getting a tattoo or something that I can see every day. anyway, that's for later. Here's the most recent xkcd that just kicked my ass.

(alt text: "Sometimes, I'm terrified to realize how many options other people have.")
There's a gillion others but, like I said, I've got shit tuh dooo.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Crooked fingers & mission #1

I took/made this handprint at the local watering hole in Pella.

“Bill Gates says, ‘Wait till you can see what your computer can become.’ But it’s you who should be doing the becoming, not the damn fool computer. What you can become is the miracle you were born to be through the work that you do.”

this winter is so shitty, i got a paper cut just now (or a little bit ago) and didn't even notice until i tried scratching my knuckles; the skin on my hands and hips and back and chest and ass is really dry and therefore itchy. It's Iowa. What should I have expected? it makes me think of that line in Water for Elephants (if you haven't read it, do and this won't spoil anything because it happens almost immediately). The main character is in the retirement home after waking up from a nap he doesn't remember taking and he looks down at his hands, really looking deeply at them for the first time since he can remember, and thinks to himself about them. the quote is roughly this: "these can't be my hands. they're all withered and splotchy and weak. my hands were strong and spot-free. they're bony and pale. they're shuddering constantly. these can't be my hands." the physical signs of aging are hitting me kind of early (probably because I'm so unhealthy because I don't sleep and I don't eat right). anyway, just before I was about to become depressed, I thought to myself all of the awesome things these hands have done. They learned how to play guitar by themselves (as well as a slough of other instruments). They saved a kids life at the pool last summer. One of the right hands fingers was spirally fractured and was never the same again; he still has trouble playing power chords.

MISSION: Trace your hand on a sheet of paper in any artistic fashion that you desire. Then on that same sheet of paper along the margins or within the hand, write all the amazing things this hand (or both) has(have) done from the perspective of that hand as if it were anthropomorphic. these can and should be both positive and negative things. Ex. "When I was 14, I met Julia's hand for the first time; she squeezed so softly that I nearly dropped to his side," or "when I was 12, I discovered masturbation. I didn't get the appeal but the chick attached to me sure seemed to." I'm supposed to be studying for French right now and I've got a ton more homework where that came from but I'll try and post mine as soon as possible. I'd like to have a place to post stuff rather than the comment section mais quelle que soit (yeah, I had to look it up).

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

"learning to love you more"

With the pending demise of "Learning To Love You" (check it out; old assignments are still awesome and there's like 70 of them;, I will be taking on my own version of this fantastic project. I will post a new assignment every week. Hopefully, if I can summon forth my best muse, they will take you out of your comfort zone, make you try something completely new, and maybe this will help you develop a routine that won't turn you into a zombie but will help you get your life organized while still having lots of fun. take pictures or write or whatever the assignment requires you do to record your things in the comment section (and in your own blog if you see fit). I'll try and post my results as fast as possible so you can have an example. I hope you non-existent readers find this fulfilling. I will post the 1st assignment NEXT WEEK which is the week of the 7th of February. Godspeed, you.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

"are we still on for tomorrow?"

I'm having an experience right now. Like I'm in the process of it right now. It has begun yet hasn't concluded. It's about 2 in the morning. I just got done watching Royal Tenenbaums with my brother and dad. I'm in my basement, with my laptop, listening to Bon Iver and playing guitar along with it. My brother comes out down the stairs to do laundry. He does his thing then comes back to the room I'm in and just listens with me. Pretty much silent. I have put the guitar down by this point. I, being tactless, ask him in a very controlled uncomfortable voice say "uhh... what's up?" and he says "nothing" and heads back up stairs. I didn't think much of it. He comes back after several minutes wearing a plain black shirt and asks me what he thinks of it, specifically if people will "projectile vomit like in the exorcist." Now first some back story. This is my younger brother. I only have one. He's 16, a freshman in high school, has had way more girlfriends than I, and we have seldom gotten along. Pretty much only when we're participating in something involving family we don't like or don't know or when the activity involves no talking like watching a movie. He used to stab me with the fact that I went to a community college for a year and how he's stronger than me. A sensible me would shirk it off but shit he knew how to get my blood burning. Back to the black shirt. I say, trying to keep up my anti-fashion veneer/make the other person feel shitty about themselves for wondering if something makes them look ok kind-of-way, "I don't know, it's a black shirt." He responds with "I know but I'm saying how does it make me look. I mean, I don't want people to see it and projectile v...etc." It's at this point I'm starting to realize we're in a different realm than either of us have ever been in with each other. He doesn't care how he looks in clothes. I probably visibly change my attitude at this point. I pretend to scrutinize the outlines of the shirt. I say "Yeah, no I don't think anyone's going to be hurling chunks at you." He says thanks and we exchange awkward, unintelligent banter about vomiting as he's ascending the stairs and I stay in place. I sit down here mulling it over for a while. He asks me about how his shirt looks? What was with that? did that movie start making him think about family or was he just tired of us fighting? He comes back down a third time for his laundry. As he's bringing it up, he stops to listen to the music again. I ask him what he thought of the movie and he said it was pretty good. He says something about the music. I explain to him the whole cabin in northern wisconsin thing and he attentively listens. This made me fumble my words a bit because I try and explain music things to him constantly and he usually condescendingly rejects my attempts. halfway through the explanation, I ask him if I already told him this. He says "no." I am 99% sure that I have. This leads me to believe something was going through his mind that made him willing to hear it again. I finish. He continues to stand. I continue to check my webcomics while reading interviews of people i find interesting. He goes from his current standing position by the amplifier to my right, to the blue chair on my left and lays in it Great Mouse Detective style:

He just sits there, looking up at the ceiling. Silent. I'm just kind of amazed the whole time as this is happening. We sit through a little over half an hour of For Emma, Forever Ago (from "Wolves" to "For Emma"). About half way through that, I decide to let him know I know what's going on and stop reading. I slide backwards so that my back is up against the couch on the other side of the room. I sit there and stare at the space inbetween the amp and the fridge. We sit silently for another 15 minutes after that just listening to the music. We didn't quite make it to flume; I adjusted my seating position which made some rustling noises and he got up and left. His eyes were wide open the whole time. I looked every so often. To cement the idea that I knew what was going on but wasn't orchestrating anything said "that was cool. we should do that again sometime." He agreed and said "yeah, that was good thinking music. I'm going to have to get that." He picks up his laundry and heads upstairs. Before his head went past the wall, he called "hey, are we still on for [Sherlock Holmes] tomorrow?" and I said "oh yeah, I forgot about that. yeah, definitely." These quotes are as verbatim as I can remember. The incident ended around the time I started looking for that picture of Basil playing the violin on his couch on google (Victoria: if you still need any help cajoling Kris into getting that as a tattoo, I'm way in).

I don't know about this whole thing. Maybe it was completely nothing. Maybe I'm reading more into that there is. But maybe not. Maybe we're starting to grow up. I see my cousins Gabe and Matt, who are brothers, that went to burning man together. I can't imagine that just yet but at the same time, I can totally see what's been hindering us. Whenever we start having a good time together or are about to verbalize it in some way, it's very clear that we throw in something like an insult, clearly in jest, but at the same time an attempt to keep distance. I think it'd be really cool if we started treating each other as humans instead of whatever you'd call our current/potentially previous relationship. Sugar headache; I need to sleep. I'll finish this in the morning. Good night. I hope your relationships are being held back by idiocy like ours.