i slept really well last night. standing in the shower i recall what i was dreaming about.
somehow, i had done the mafia some favours, and had gotten a check for 60 million SEK. i carried this check around and fell very lighthearted.
now. what do you think that i was going to do with all this money? in my dream, in what is supposed to be a bastion of the wild and unfettered imagination, what did i do with 60 million SEK? did i plan a trip to the moon or hire milla jovovich to sit on my face?
no. i was looking forward to paying my student loans, and my biggest concern was if i was supposed to pay tax on the money since they had originated from the mafia anyway.
so, to recoup: i am so boring right now that you cannot believe how boring i am. even my dreams are boring. seriously, stay away from me people, lest you catch whatever brain rot has me in it’s grip. i’m done for. think well of me when i’m gone or something.
1) Still no job at the horizon.
2) My lip has split again. The price you pay for a full & kissable mouth.
3) I drink too much coffee
4) Caught the great white hope on camera last weekend, but it took me all of three days to find a way for a windows application to convert the fucking 3gpp format, finally settling on quicktime pro:
Also, because of my rather bleak mood of late, I just wrote this cover of summertime: Now, hum along with me:
Wintertime,
and the weather is comparatively easy.
Money’s tight,
and your friends are getting high.
Your daddy’s not rich,
although mom looks good for her age.
So hush little inner child,
don’t you cry.
One of these late mornings / afternoons,
you’re going to rise up and fall back down.
Then you’ll puke all over yourself,
and hope to die
But til that late morning / afternoon
There’s nothing that urgently wants to harm you,
Although daddy and momma might hire a spy.
Wintertime,
and the weather is comparatively easy.
Money’s tight,
and your friends are getting high.
Your daddy’s not rich,
although mom looks good for her age.
So hush little inner child,
don’t you cry.
And to round things off:
* Poor, poor girl. Is it just me or do the terms “bukkake” and “Tub girl” spring to mind?
* Smokey the bear-like artist.
* For some reason, people think that these pictures won’t end up online somehow. Only one way to teach them to behave. Teach them good. It’s turning ever so slightly into that Monty Python skit “blackmail”.
* Tes, this is yet again my cup of coffee. Right now, somewhere, someone, is having more fun than I.
* I created an account on Second life the other day, but the computer that I’m on is so slow that I experience everything as a set of stills. If anyone would try to strike up a conversation with me, I would behave as the total newbie that I am and not be able to answer (most likely cause the lag would be punching the shit out of the computer).
Reminds me of whats-his-name who does the black and white etchings of dead children (same guy who did “a series of unfortunate events” maybe?).
Yes, I know it’s extremely lazy of me to post these vids instead of making any new content. But as usual, when you can’t make noise yourself, don’t be bothered by the other people making noise filling the void.
Or something. I don’t know. What the hell. I just had three bowls of lentil soup and am in a food coma and just want to go to sleep. So. There.
1000 DJs is a group of people at my old school that are throwing parties. Last Saturday there was an exhibition, then there was a party, and then there was an exhibition about the party (“1000 DJs, the fuckup”).
In order of appearance:
* Rainbow. The leprechaun was mugged & his gold spend on crack.
* Lovisa from STHLM doing a move.
* Making this curl took Miranda 40 minutes. Well worth it i say.
* Making this body-tag took less than 1 minute. Inflated sense of “party” might be worth it.
* Now you see it, now you don’t!
* After the destruction derby, there are words exchanged regarding the artistic value of said derby, vis-a-vi the planned two-day duration of the show
* Privacy is hard to come by, but some people are not even trying. Ah, the decadence of frolicking art students.
If there are any concerns regarding the quality of the images and so forth, I’m doing this on a windows machine for the first time, and even though Picasa has some neat features, I’m not as used to it as i am to iPhoto. Plus I’m hung over from the fuckup-party yesterday.
Oh, and later today i’m going co-carting with work and a rival company. Free food, although I suspect that they will feed me pasta and taunt me and slap me with meat.
I’d like to apologise for not posting much the past week.
And this isn’t much in the way of making amends, but anyway:
* My back was hurting. Then it stopped. Now it’s hurting ever so slightly again.
* I cough something awful. There’s something charming about that.
* Nice party past weekend, even though I’m slightly under the weather.
* Someone crashed the party and the alcohol dried up. I have video!
* Yes yes, I’ll post the video later tonight
* Looked at my bank account and almost cried last Sunday.
* I’ve spend fifteen hours looking and calling for work. I need work. Moniez. If you prick me, do I not bleed? If I’m hungry, shouldn’t you give me food? That fucking computer I’ve been saving coins for looks further and further away…
As far as the studies go:
* The poster is done. Need to print it. Will post gif later.
* The “Appropriate christmas” soundproject is halfway done. Need to mix it and put up a homepage
* Haven’t done shit about the lockpicking project past week. Will do s’more tonite.
* Essay has a deadline for Friday? Friday? Moly mackarel Batman! That’s no way close to funny! Golly!
* I’m skipping a trip with the class because I’m too broke. How fucking depressing is that? On the other hand, I’m pretty good at convincing myself that I don’t like to travel, so I’ll be fine.
Ok. Now I need to go back degrading myself by whoring my time and effort in exchange for currency that is not made out of “good will” or “chocolate”.
Well. That’s interesting. Never happened to me before. Whenever i talk it’s like I’m taking a dump. Speaking in gasps. Can’t. Breathe. Properly. Nor type.
