DROG/BLOG

Friday, August 08, 2008

horror rant blah blah

Ultimate horror movie rant it is a night at the grave yard and there are demons crawling out of the ground with the dead bodies being worn like clothes, a minivan pulls up and chainsaw wielding maniacs go after them, tearing apart the corpses, and then getting possessed by the demons themselves, they grow wings and take to the skies, they are attacking an airplane, they go in and kill the passengers and then toss them out in to the air, one man , a cop pulls a cattle prod and starts fighting them off. The demons get to the cock pit and start the plane into a nose dive, the cop jumps out of the plane just in time and uses his coat as parachute. The plain crashes and explodes, the demons now going into sharks and coming after the cop, he electrocutes the water around him, causing great pain to himself, and he grabs a chunk of debris and fights off some more aggressive sharks with growing eyes. He fights them to morning and hears them eating the survivors, some of the sharks grow wings and fly off, the next morning he is picked up by life guards and everyone thinks has lost his mind so they throw him into a sanitarium where they do horrible experiments on him and start trying to examine how crazy he is, they take his head and put it inside a lady, and the lady is in love with a nurse and the nurse and lady take off together one night and the cop in the girl is falling in love with her, the docs at the hospital are so mad because they have to get them back to change the body back and they create a robot to go after them and the girl in the cops body is in a cage in the robot.

fightevil

Thursday, August 07, 2008

WHAT U HAVE FOR LUNCH?

Sarah had some poo off the toilet brush!

Waaaazzzzzup!

She was dusting the house with it!

OHNOYOUDIDENT!

We don’t let her use Windex.

Oh SNAP!

So she moistened the brush with her tongue!

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

…and there was poo in the bristles.

I’M GOING TO PUKE!

…and she licked it

BLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUuuuuuuuuuuuuu…. (cough) (cough)

I had a sandwich myself.

FIGHTEVIL
SD

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Wednesday, August 06, 2008

TINGS I.B. DIGGIN!

Hanging/movies/beer/wine/cheese/fruit/nuts/coffee/typing/music/people/movement/art/cereal/caffine/naps/writing/drawing/ink/pencils/pilot pens/sharpies/felt tips/80s new wave/punk/showtunes/film scores/a new ream of paper/krispy kreme donuts/Halloween/Christmas/holidays/callenders/journals/blogs/humor/concret blonde/spreadsheets/just one fix/pee/B-52s/all things be rock’n/water/starbucks cups/email/silversun pickups/family/email to cell phone/email to blog/safe/Cameron/steph/sarah/happiness/unlimited espresso/rocknit/colored lightbulbs/colored mattes on video with camera blur added and opacity turned down/old film filter on Windows movie maker/cheap cameras/Death Race/haettenschweiler/zombeak/york/Lakewood twin theater/friends

fightevil

Hello World! I AM READY TO ROCK!!!!!

Let’s get this thang rip rocking bang bang tudy fruit wo-wah!

Today at work, IMA GONNA ROCKIT!

Tonight at Starbucks, IMA GONNA ROCKIT!

Doing this report, IMA GONNA ROCKIT!

On my Mid-year review, IMA GONNA ROCKIT!

When I take my lunch break, IMA GONNA ROCKIT!

When I work on the flick, IMA GONNA ROCKIT!

When I get some sleep, IMA GONNA ROCKIT!

<<00034564.jpg>>

FIGHTEVIL

Monday, August 04, 2008

Talking to Myself

How did the day go?

-Yeaaaah.

Did you write Chris R about the synch agreement?

- Yeaaah.

Did you call Matt G back?

- Yeaah.

Leave a message?

-Yeah.

Make a time to finish the transcription?

-Yes.

When?

11pm – 3am everynight.

And the trailer?

11pm – 3am everynight.

What about Thrusdays?

4pm – 8pm

You working Starbucks tonight?

-yes

What did Weird Al say about directing?

-Know what you want and how to get it.

That’s not weird.

-I know.

How was Rambo?

-Bloody.

Good?

-Good and bloody.

Trailers looked bloody.

-It was.

How was Stallone?

Rambostein.

Frankenrambo?

Sure.

How was Midnight Mea…

-Shaddup.

Didn’t you…

-I said!

Ow!

-Drop it.

Was it…

-I didn’t go okay! There I said it. Are you happy now?! Does that make you happy? DAMN YOU!

One Clown's Perspective

We're not making anyone do anything they don't want to do. Making them anything they didn't already wish they were; nothing that they hadn't already prepared themselves to commit too. We're not some church, some club or cult. We're not some secret society, though there is a code, and this code does guide what we do day to day. Anything for a laugh.

Others would have you believe we bust into to peoples houses with bags of red noses and floppy feet and start converting people. But that wouldn't be in keeping with the code. We're not here to take over the world. Where would the audience be? It wouldn't be the monkeys, they hate what we do. Audiences of other clowns know too much about the tricks and where the zippers are hidden. They can admire the craft but no lose themselves in the show.

A man, a woman, a child. A family. The human race is our audience, and they depend on us to give them back all that they lost in the grinding process of growing up. Things are lost from childhoods that have to be relocated. Wonder, silliness, the acceptance that we are all often the fool. Life is cold and methodical without this element. People can not function with out this. They wander through the days looking just to survive to the next, but with nothing to survive for. A life without laughter is no life at all.

We are doctors of the soul and mind. We are treasure seekers that dive through the muck of man's experience and find that pearl of purity hidden away so deep. We hide it deep so no one can find it. But like changing the spot where you keep your wallet so you won't loose it, there it is buried and forgotten. We put our joy for life in a coffin and bury it to keep it safe, and then like a zombie we shamble forth in search of our daily bread.

See, monkeys can't stand this because a monkey is all doing and no thinking. All survival and no appreciation. Sure, they have their own code, and that code limits them. They are limited. They don't understand how something can taste like a banana and a strawberry. They can't enjoy a blend, a concoction, something that was created with the interest of uplifting people out of the mire. They love the mire. They love the fight. They love the hunt. Eat shit and fuck. And really that is all they do. It is all about the one. Clowns are all about the other.

A clown goes out into the world and gives. Monkeys adhere to their three loves with absolute fidelity. They are the unwashed that have begun to accept the coat of excrement as their true skin. Their humor is derived from the crude and infantile. An infant and a monkey will laugh at the same things. To that I do envy them. But there are experiences we have that cannot be unhad, and these create preferences in taste. A monkey doesn't accept this. It is all about embracing the primal and detesting all who have not.

We are both just trying to make sense of it all. But us clowns go out to try and open this doorway to people's inner spark. A monkey wants nothing to do with people. They pride themselves on having numbed themselves into a sociopathic me first mentality. If taking a shit isn't occupying a third of your waking thoughts, you are no longer socially acceptable, and no longer can be considered one of them. I have seen families destroyed when one of the younger begins to allow his mind to expand and question. They are ostracized from their own families and tossed out into the world. They are labeled as taint. They call their own children this name.

They believe themselves to be in some privileged caste. That only creatures of good breeding have the stamina to live by the code and reject society and its empty promises. Us clowns too believe in rejecting the empty promises of consumer culture, but we also know a person has to take care of their own base needs, and provide for his children. And in doing this you may have to do some mundane tasks. And in doing these mundane tasks, you may need to be reminded occasionally of how to have a good time.

A monkey depends on the gloatings of sycophants to provide for their needs. They depend on others buying into their supiority and serving them. It is always about receiving and taking from others. Clowns are the threat, because we have found the better way. We take care of our needs by providing a service that is vital to any life of quality. We depend only that people will be in need of a laugh, and in this world that is always the case.

Our better way has decimated the ranks of the monkeys. They lose entire generations to our code. They can not keep their children when the child finds that there can be a meaningful exchange with the world. That it doesn't have to be caring for your own hardwired instincts. That you can go out and contribute something needed. How do you stay in the cave when the circus is just outside?

To the monkey, the cave is the world. The jungle the universe, and the law springs from it. They have narrowed themselves to a point, and they use that to stab at us. Their aggression is boundless. Their cruelty is infinite. We have had to adopt a constant offensive guard against their invasions. Even as their numbers dwindle, their tenaciously never does, and they attack with renewed vigor for each attack. They know they are being phased out. And this terrifies them.

There is another side of the clown, one that can remind man of something else vital to his soul. It is the element of the abyss, dark and deep and forever. Uncaring, and unjudgemental, but always starving and wanting to devour you and digest you and make you apart of its ever descending well of shadows. A clown can be this as well. We cover our faces, we are mystery, and after midnight we are the ambassadors of the abyss.

To be afraid of the abyss is natural and normal, and why life is precious. The abyss is real, and it is always swallowing the people and places and possessions around you. Nothing you can do to stop it. From the abyss our lives appear and without warning they return. All indifferent, but cruel at the same time. It is important to always respect this duality of the abyss. It is important to not get bogged into the mundane tasks of this world. Laughter gives us wings, Fear gives us weight. Every coin has a head and a tail. Every clown has a side where the abyss opens and spills out from them. And this is the doorway that the monkeys open when they come after us with murder in their primitive minds. We all return to the abyss eventually, it doesn't care when; it has all the time that will ever be. If a monkey is ready to walk into the abyss, we ambassadors are happy to assist.

Clowns are what you lost and where you are going. We are the connection to the nothing. We are the severing of the ego by playing the fool. We are fear and hilarity. Monkeys are just hunger. They are stomachs on legs. There are not connected to brains or hearts, They are the abyss themselves, but a personal one that wishes to take as much and as fast as it can. We clowns can't allow this siphoning from the grand. When the sun goes down we open the doorway and allow the true abyss to come and take these impostors, these parasites out of the equation.

Friday, August 01, 2008

The Monkey Manifesto

The problem with clowns are they could be anyone. All the people you see walking around you right now, they could be one. Clowns are crafty and they hide. You can tell a monkey from a mile away. Even when out of the suit, you can tell who we are. It is more then the suit with us. It is our whole being. A clown is always posing to be something else, to get your trust. Just trust them a little and bam, out comes the nose, red and round. One for them and one for you.

Can’t trust them. Now a monkey you can. Monkey ain’t got the time to put up a front. A monkey is for the good things. Food fuck and shit. What more could you need. Maybe a little party, a little back scratch. Could always be dead tomorrow so might as well have a good time. Clowns say they are all about the good time but really they’re too pent up for a real good time. It’s all about suppression and control. About assembling an audience and converting them to their ways. Us monkeys don’t need an audience. A monkey by himself is still a pretty good monkey. A clown can fall on his face all day, but with out an audience to laugh, a clown is worthless.

But because they are “theater folk”, clowns are all about the attitude. All about thinking how awesome and superior they are. All about belittling us, patronizing us, feeling like they are our betters, our masters. Monkeys got no masters my friend, my white faced compadre. Monkeys are as free as the jungle, and twice as dangerous. We make the jungle dangerous. We are the jungle, we are the mountain. We are the wild and the wild doesn’t care how clever you think you might be.

Clowns can’t stand us. That freedom. That lack of forethought, pretence. Everything in a clown’s life is worked out to the billionth degree in a futile hope to get maximum effect. They are draftsmen, not artists. And though what they do might be nice, how a box might be nice, right angles and perpendicular lines, it is always hollow.

That’s how the war started. Clowns found that there was something that they could absorb from us monkeys, nothing they had innately, or could ever have, but something they could take. Anyone can be a clown. Even a monkey. Give a monkey a red nose and some baggy pants. You have not a monkey, but a clown making fun of a monkey. A bastardization. The monkey can never be pure again after selling out his race like this. Can never come back into the fold after getting that clown stink all over him. Us monkeys don’t like our heritage being mocked like that. Like traitors even less. Monkey comes crawling back, that’s a dead monkey. Pardon me, that’s a dead monkey clown.

And the clowns just love seeing our numbers dwindle like that. Love how the week among us are so easily seduced by the promise of likeability, respectability. Gushings from the mindless hoards that frequent their little tent shows. A monkey can never get that kind of wide acceptance, nor would we want it. It would taint our primal monkiness. Change us. You see the tainted monkeys everywhere. You probably are one. You are either Monkey, Clown, or Taint. Two of those ain’t no use to me.

To protect our numbers, to uphold or wild traditions of Eat Fuck Shit, we added Hunt and Kill to the mix. We had to go on the defensive. Couldn’t just sit back and watch our young get swallowed up and turned into these homeless creatures with no identity, no family. We had to stop the initiation. Reveal the clowns to be what they truly are. Taint that wishes to be a monkey, but so incredibly processed by civilization they are sad overzealous freaks. Only Taint can enjoy that pathetic display. It looks like freedom. It looks fun I guess. But it is designed so, meticulously designed so, to get you to come over, join the circus, be one that is in full agreement that what they are is what they say it is. If there is no one around to disagree, their façade becomes real.

But they will never be us. Never be a monkey. Never be true. And they know it. And they hate it. Ever wonder why most clowns are unhappy. They know they aren’t anything more then grease paint covering a lie, covering a sick twisted soul wishing it never left the jungle. Cause once you are out, you are out. No coming back. You’d infect the brotherhood. Can’t have it. You are out, so you stay out. That is why being a monkey is a privilege, and one that must be protected even if blood has to be spilled.

We’ve had some come back. Crawl back. Even had some clowns want to join up, get a suit, grunt and E.F.S. We don’t always eat them. Most of the time we eat them. But sometimes we let them hang around and give us money and safe houses and what not. It ruins their rep amongst the taints, puts them on the clown hit list, but by that point they want nothing to do with the hordes, that just want to be near something real. And when the clowns come around to wack them, they get a face full of pissed off monkey and a gut full of blade.

This has been going on forever. I’ve fought the war for as long as I’ve been able to walk and swing a bush ax at the some time. And it will go on and on until not every clown is dead, but when everyone who even remembers a clown is dead. Their memory has to be washed from the minds of all the Taints. Their images stripped from the text books. Their red noses all burned and the ashes scattered, and the big top buried. Only then can a monkey live in peace among the Taints, not that we care.

Eat Fuck Shit and Death to the Clowns!

ROAD HOUSE MEAT TRAIN

Road House may be the greatest guy flick ever. Just today I heard people talking about it around the water cooler. They say whenever it is on the tube, they just have to watch it. It’s like crack to dudes. Any movie that has a guy rip out another guy’s throat, that’s a good movie.

Guys just seem to respond and gravitate to this flick. The thing is twenty years old and people still talk about it. What won the Oscar that year? No one knows, remembers or cares. They defiantly don’t talk about it or watch it on superstation through an hour of commercials. Road House is beloved, and they hate that the Swaze didn’t come back for the sequel, and I agree! These direct to video sequels to 80s flicks are soooooo bad.

I here the new Lost Boys is SUPA-LAME!

I’m reading Midnight Meat Train now, worked on it during lunch and what a great story! Early Barker is like watching a great, really sick horror flick. You can feel the glee he takes in writing about entrails sliding around the floor. Makes me feel like I’m 14 and sneaking something past the authorities when I read good horror like this.

And then I get MAD because I need to be writing more short stories. Just little guys, simple in narrative, a concept fleshed out into a little drama. Just baboom. Short story. So many great movies start off as nifty little short stories and bladda blah. Over it.

I do spend most my days trying to gross myself out though. Maybe I could use it in a more disciplined manor.

Whatever, the list of deliverables has shrunk shrunk shrunk and we are soooo cloooose. Transcription and a new trailer are the two stumbling blocks. Just have to break its back.

Thursday, July 31, 2008

Things to say before cranking up a chainsaw.

Let’s take this shizz beyond thunderdome!

Who want’s some Campbell soup!?!

Feel da buzz baby!

Yeah, I might dress the kids as sanitation workers to save cost on clothes. They will be growing so fast, and needing clothes non stop.

Green jumpsuits are one size fits all, they’re nice and stylish, and are a fun way to pretend you are living in the future.

Maybe I should bring in the trend. Forrest Green jumpsuit baby! WOAW!

I’m talking to an insurance carrier, they mumble something, I responded, “Say what?”

Maybe not the most professional way to talk to biz people.

Saaaaaaaaay whaaaaat?!? Honkey say what? Cracker say what? Say what my lovable power suit goddess of number crunchosity?

All I am doing is just wasting time until Death Race comes out. Forget Batman, you can keep your Iron Man, I am all about Post Apocalyptic Statham with junk cars loaded to the gills with machine guns.

I saw the trailer on the tube yesterday, and fanboy overdrive went into effect.

I am STOKED! Finally something I can geek out over, Doomsday was sooooo long ago.

And this weekend, MIDNIGHT (MOFO) MEAT (DON’T STOP GET IT GET IT) TRAIN!