Static Gathering

What I Have Learned About the Louisiana Creole People (They Made Me Do This)

2012-02-29T18:48:00.005-08:00

Before I wrote this really long paper on the Louisiana Creole people, my only knowledge to the culture was through my uncle, who used to be a trucker, and he stopped at a few restaurants in Louisiana when he was there and ate crocodile, which people say tastes like chicken, but I think it tastes more like a cross between chicken and catfish, which I guess destroys the "everything tastes like chicken" movement. He really "snapped it up," as he put it. That was probably my deepest insight into the Louisiana Creole culture. Well, that and this certain movie I saw more than a few times, called "Easy Rider," where a couple of hippies, and their girlfriends I guess, went to a graveyard in Louisiana during Mardi Gras, and weird things started happening. That, and maybe Hurricane Catrina, where I guess people were afraid to go outside, or didn't feel like going outside. And come to think of it, I don't think staying inside was a very good plan, because their lack of action seemed to result in their end.

So my knowledge was broken and corrupt by my ignorance. However, I am a changed man. I now know that the Louisiana Creole were people who made the world what it is now. If you live your life existing as a part of society, you have experienced some part of the Louisiana Creole. If you walk through Old Sac in late May, and hear the screeching sound of jazz echoing through the streets, your ears are experiencing a sensual assault that derives from the existence of the Louisiana Creole people. For they created jazz, among other genres of music. It's a Creole thing. I also learned about gumbo. For you can't escape gumbo. It is perhaps one of the most important things to come out of the culture, other than Louis Armstrong, that is. It consists of a lot of little tiny sea creatures. And one thing I noticed about gumbo is that it never seems to be the same twice. They always seem to be changing it up. Perhaps this could be metaphorical for the Louisiana Creole people's ever changing influence on western society, which has surely either directly or indirectly effected every one of us, weather it's through the music of the culture, bringing us the voice of Louis Armstrong and Pink Floyd, or just the food. Maybe your parents were both just obsessed with crocodile, and they met at a restaurant that serves crocodile, because again, they really liked crocodile. Had the Louisiana Creole people never experimented with the possibility of eating crocodile, then not only would your parents never have developed their enthusiasm for crocodile, but the restaurant they met at might have never existed, and even if it did, they would not have been brought together by their shared fetish. The result: no you. And everything you've done in life, everything you've created, would all be gone. Now if you take something as simple as crocodile, and consider the power it's relevance can have over just one individual's life, imagine how much of an impact their full body of creation has had over the rest of the world, directly, or through a chain of results.

To be slightly less abstract, I learned of the origins of the Louisiana Creole people, and how their cultures and languages and beliefs fused into making the culture what it became. We can only attempt to box in their culture with mere words such as "crocodile," or "gumbo," or, what else, "Louis Armstrong." But we will never reach the core of their diversity and impact, as these words are on the surface, and reflect our outside interpretations. They say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, this, in a weird way, could also be somewhat true for the Louisiana Creole people. Because they know what goes into that gumbo. Sure, we can know the recipe, but we haven't lived what they have lived. I also learned that Mardi Gras is related to Roman Catholicism, which probably explains the weird references to "Mother Mary" in that scene in Easy Rider, where the hippies are tripping in the grave yard during Mardi Gras. I mean not tripping, but you know, uh, being weird.

And as for a final thought, America should have had better levies, because people knew that Louisiana was prone to hurricanes, and plus, it's under sea level to begin with. And we knew that those levies weren't that strong, so it was like an accident waiting. And yet nobody bothered to fix it. But when that accident actually did happen, only then did the people realize that they should have put more thought into those levies, and as a result, Louisiana now is totally different from what it was ten years ago. So they were gambling with the lives of the Louisiana Creole, as well as Louisianans. We could all learn from this, as I know I have. As the Louisiana Creole people were a culture of ever changing culture in society, their land itself changed as a result of week levies. We too must gather what we can from this, and strengthen our own levies in life, so that we, like the Louisiana Creole people, can continue changing our world for the better, and last long enough to experience the effects on a long term scale.

Rhonda's Dream

2012-02-25T09:26:00.007-08:00

My first full on attempt at computer art, which may be evident in it's sloppiness. Inspired by the infamous cartoon character of the 90's, who resides deeply in my thoughts.

Note: For some reason, the quality on the small image is crappy. Click on the picture for better quality. Pretty stars.

Rise of the Slugs

2012-01-16T15:19:00.004-08:00

Possibly one of the worst poems I ever wrote, but endearingly so. And Hear It Is...

We were held prisoners.
Slaves to a wall of crappy literature.
And things will improbably turn out well here.
To begin this wall of pure agony and words, we bestow upon it...a first brick, to the cement nightmare of...big words.
It is the word "presided," meaning held to the position of authority.
Oh, the ways of big words.
How they seem so inconceivable to us.
But what we really wish to convey to you, to use layman's terms, is that we are sad.
The fact that we all are part of this corrosion gives me a slugabed feeling.
I feel tired.
For like my fellow slugabeds, I feel inclined to stay in bed.
Big words such as formidable are like salt to the slugabed part of my mind that would bleed internally at the thought of this inevitable wordy wall.
I SUFFER FOR YOU!
If I were to give into the libertine inside of my little soul, you would look outside on a rainy day, and you would see a little slug that is me on the sidewalk, holding a little picket sign saying something like, "TEAR DOWN THE WALL!"
Or, to be slightly more original, "UN-BUILD THE WALL!"
Or maybe just, "DON"T BUILD THE WALL! ...I'll just have to slime over it anyway!"
I would encourage other slugs, who weren't squished by the shoes of ignoramuses who don't care about protecting the smaller species, to join me in my protest against the construction of this wordy wall.
And then, maybe when we have accumulated the right intelligence, we wouldn't need to convince the humans to tear down the wall by giving them the impulse to do so.
We could create our own machines to briskly resign the wall to debris.
And we wouldn't stop there!
No, we would take it to the streets!
We would go international, destroying every single wall we could find, to the point that you could walk in a straight line around the entire planet earth without running into a single wall.
Because if there were no walls, then everybody would live in harmony.
The social wall between humans and slugs would be no more.
Crazy idea, sure.
But hey, if there were no walls, then nobody would be unfairly diagnosed as "crazy."
Or as having senility.
Or as being crazy.
It wouldn't matter if you were "crazy," because we would all be as one.
Besides, aren't we all a little crazy anyway?
Plus, if it weren't for the crazies, uh...

Meeting Brian Wilson

2011-12-23T12:23:00.000-08:00

My novel is titled "Meeting Brian Wilson." In it, we follow a fan in his quest to encounter Brian Wilson, and where he goes from there.

Chapter I: Moonlight Visitation

He arrived at the house of Brian Wilson at 2:00 a.m., with a knife and fork in his hands. He rang the doorbell repeatedly for several minutes, until a dazed, visibly tired Brian Wilson opened the door in his bathrobe, and, yawning, said, "Hello?"
"Say, Brian," said the fan, holding up the utensils, "do you know what these are?"
"Uh, it looks like a knife and fork," said Brian Wilson, sounding half asleep.
"When was the last time you used a knife and fork?" asked the fan.
"Um, I don't know, this evening, while I was eating my steak?"
"Do you like knives and forks?"
"Um, well, I guess. I mean, I'm kinda' neutral about them. I mean, they're good for convenience purposes, when it comes to eating steak and things."
"Do you know the difference between a knife and a fork?"
Brian Wilson started, "Uh-"
"Say no!," interrupted the fan.
"No," said Brian Wilson.
In a shaky voice, the fan said, "Well, allow me to demonstrate to you the difference between a knife and a fork." And he lunged at Brian Wilson with the knife and fork in his hands.

The End

Freedom Is Good

2011-10-26T14:52:00.000-07:00

Freedom is good.
It’s a way of life.
Freedom is good.
It eliminates strife.
Freedom is good.
It’s really fun.
Freedom is good…
Until you jump the gun.
Freedom is good.
Because it allows us guns.
It was freedom that killed Bambi’s mom.
And I can still remember that sound.
The echoing explosion.
The doe falling down.
The dreaded crack that echoed across the snow beds and in my head.
Raping my childhood with terror and dread.
And it was clear to me that Bambi’s mom was dead.
So take your freedom and hug it tight.
Along with your gun investment rights.
And what is the right?
What is the right?
You and I, babe, we could go to the moon.
Perhaps via house and abundant balloons?
Create our own world.
A world of guns.
Killing deer.
Having fun.
I love you, freedom.
You’re my apple pie.
Throughout the down times and the high.

Hair Dye Box

2011-07-20T18:54:00.000-07:00

I know I’ve never met you, but I’ve seen your face before,
Printed on a hair dye box, just lying on the floor.
I know this may sound crazy, and I won’t ask you to see,
But all I want to tell you is that it really set me free.

My Response to the Article On That Skating Rink That Burned Down

2011-07-15T09:04:00.001-07:00

Jeepers, that old skating rink burned down, huh? You mean the one with all those pretty girls who never paid any attention to me because I couldn’t skate, and the only time they actually paid attention to me was when they were all laughing at me because I would always go out there, fall and hurt myself, and later come back in a cast, and then break some more bones to the point where I now have to spend the rest of my life in this wheel chair? That skating rink? Oh my goodness! I wonder how it burned down. They say that it seemed to have been done deliberately. Or was it an act of God?

Thinking of this place really brings back a lot of memories for me, and none of them happy ones. I think the word “frustrating” fits it better. That’s right. Frustrating. For me, going to this skating rink as a kid was like going to church. My parents would drag me down there every day, and I would fall and injure myself, and everyone would laugh at me. My mom wanted me to be the next Brian Boytonno. My dad, on the other hand, wasn’t necessarily hoping to turn me into Brian Boytonno, unlike my mother. He thought that going to this skating rink would make me tough. That it would build character and turn me into a man. But that just didn’t seem to add up, because when I think of guys skating, “tough” just isn’t the first word that comes to mind. In fact, when I think of Brian Boytonno, the name “Boytonno” doesn’t seem to fit. He needs to get rid of that “boy” part of his name and put “girl” there. In fact, looking back on it now, I think that just maybe, my mom might have wanted me to be gay. For after she would send me out onto the cold, hard ice to injure myself and later have to be taken to the hospital, the pretty girls there would laugh at and mock me, and I took it as a sign that my mom thought that if the girls were mean enough to me, then maybe I would end up like Brian Boytonno by ending up on a cooking show, making “yummy” tasting things that are “scrumptious” and “lovely” and “decedent” and “sinful” and, oh what else, “naughty.”

Yep, that was how I spent my youth there. It wasn’t as bad in the summer time, even though I probably got the same amount of injuries and humiliation, because I was at least able to escape the heat. But why did they have to take me there in the wintertime, when there is already snow outside? Couldn’t they at least give me some new scenery? Besides, in the wintertime, there aren’t any pretty girls there. Sure, they were cruel. Sure, they always did their best to humiliate me, but hey, they were good looking. There was just a big group of mean guys who would stuff me into trash cans on my way home. And they were much better at skating than I was. And to make matters worse, they didn’t even look like Brian Boytonno. They looked more like Marlin Brando. And they had motorcycles. And the girls who laughed at me were usually riding those motorcycles on the back. And they never crashed those motorcycles, because unlike me, they were coordinated. And they could stand on the ice, and not fall down and break their bones. They could stand still on the ice and not move a mussel. And they could look cool. They were as cool and cooler than Marlin Brando. My dad would say, “You’re a screw up! Why can’t you be as cool as THOSE guys on ice? These skating lessons aren’t cheap, you know!” And my mom thought they were hot on ice.

So again, I wonder how that place burned down. I just wonder how the heck that place burned down. On an unrelated note, I wonder if all wheel chairs have the same tire track markings. I sure hope so.

The "Beth Gibbons & the Big Cheese" Series

2011-06-27T13:56:00.000-07:00

What you probably don't know is that I am actually an artist/album cover designer. Strangely enough, I was on Google images about two weeks ago, and I found some of my art online. So it got me in a mode of deep self-contemplation.

This is one I did in December, 2010, and is titled "Beth Gibbons & the Big Cheese." It is deeply inspired by dairy products, and the lead singer of Portishead. An odd combination, but hey. I made a sequel of it in January of this year titled "Beth Gibbons & the Big Cheese 2," which I will show you simply because.

Apparentlyy, I have a little thing called Hollywood Syndrome, where the sequel is never as good as the first one. While both were just as inspired, this one didn't live up to the magic of "Beth Gibbons & the Big Cheese." The cheese was cheesier. The Beth was...Bethier.

Here is a random picture of the real Beth Gibbons:

Does anybody here have Beth Gibbon's phone number?!

Grape Juice Ad

2011-06-26T08:33:00.000-07:00

I drink grape juice all the time.
I drink grape juice.
It's a habit of mine!
I drink grape juice when I'm stranded at sea.
I drink grape juice.
It sets me free.
I drink grape juice when I'm lost in the forest.
I drink grape juice while I'm chatting with Doris...Day.
These facts combined are proof I'm not gay.
You should probably drink grape juice too.
If you disagree, then shame on you!

Whether Or Not I Can Relate to the Main Character In the Great Gatsby.

2011-06-25T23:38:00.000-07:00

If I were living in bizarre world, I could probably relate with the main character in “The Great Gatsby.” Unfortunately, I don’t live in bizarre world. For one thing, I’m just not that into the music of the twenties. Probably the only song from the nineteen twenties that I’m really familiar with is “The Codfish Ball.” Or maybe also that song from the film “The Shining.” But was that really from the twenties, or just something made to sound like it was from that era? Also, didn’t Shirley Temples sing “The Codfish Ball?,” because I thought she was from the 30’s. This is the essence of how much I know about the music of the nineteen twenties. Plus the fact that most male singers back then seemed to have really annoying, nasally, irritating voices. In fact, the “roaring twenties” seemed to be more of a “meow” when it came to music as far as I’m concerned. Then again, I’m not too “Gaga” about the mainstream music of today either. But I digress.

Other than that, I really can’t relate to this character at all. I don’t live in a mansion. My house is not fit for throwing big parties, and on top of it…I don’t like big parties. Usually when I’m at a party, I’m just standing there alone (usually with sunglasses on) and I get the feeling that by standing there I’m creeping people out. And you know something…I know I’m creeping them out. And I don’t mean to, that’s just me. Because I’m really tall, I have long hair, I’m usually wearing all black, and it’s hard to see my face, other than the sunglasses I wear, which are actually mirrors. So when I’m standing there alone, you can try to look into my eyes, and end up seeing nothing but yourself. You see you and I see you, but you can’t see me. All this just doesn’t seem to help out with the whole social thing.

Another thing is that back then, people didn’t seem to care about their health that much. They didn’t know that you can extend your life by avoiding things that or bad for you. After all, living to be forty was considered a ripe old age. And usually, if you lived to be forty, you looked like you were at a ripe old age. So those people at the parties would probably be smoking a lot and eating foods without preservatives. And on top of it, they looked like they weren’t being preserved. One time I was at a party, and I had a cup of tea that I wouldn’t drink because it had sugar in it. A girl said, “I command you to drink this tea in the name of Jesus!” I thought, “Do I drink the tea and prove for her that there is a God, or do I refrain, and fill her with doubt, and make her skeptical and scientific by not drinking the tea?” She’s probably and atheist now.

Another reason why I can’t relate with this Great Gatsby guy is that if I am going to use big words, I am going to use then when they are needed, which is not often, unless you’re a snob, which the main character of this book seems to be. Snobbery can exist in many forms. One of them being wine tasting, where you smell the “bouquet,” or as I call it, the “scent” of the wine, and put it on your “pallet,” or as I call it, the “tongue.” It can also come in loving all the works of Shakespeare, and poetry that doesn’t rhyme. And of course in waxing beat poetry like what David Crosby did in that CSNY documentary. And in trying to get interested in things that are really boring, because I’ve noticed that if you’re into things that are really boring, people are going to think that you’re really smart. Because I just can’t figure out why else they’d be interested in something so boring!

So in conclusion, maybe I’m just not snobby enough to relate to this guy. I can't relate. But then again, I have only read six pages. Maybe by the time I’m done with this novel, I will be wine tasting (at a legal age that is!) and going to parties (and liking it) and listening to music from the twenties. Maybe it won’t be the great gas bag after all. Maybe to me, it will actually be “The Great Gatsby!,” as the title says. But for now, I just can’t relate.

2051 Ambrosia Cafe Ad

2011-06-09T14:29:00.000-07:00

Well, hi there.
Happy 2051.
I hope you’re having fun.
And what a year it’s been.
I wish I could return to the old days.
For I can remember these days that used to be.
Drinking orange juice in a tree.
But they took all the trees away!
And with them, they built…MACHINES!
And parking lots!
And houses, which ANY good stone cave could suffice!
And with the trees also went the oranges.
And thus put an end to our orange juice drinking days.
And things were never the same after that.
We would stay up until three watching MTV back when it was music television, not mind control television.
I would see the old people sitting on a park bench feeding the birds, and say, “Hey, maybe when I get old, I can do that too!”
Anybody here remember park benches?
And there were refills.
Oh yes, wonderful free refills!
Until “The Man” came around and took all the free refills away.
But in the midst of all this turmoil, there is still hope for you and me.
There’s a place I know where we could go and refill our cups for free.
It’s a little place called Ambrosia Café.
And you and I could go down there today!
And perhaps meet a few old friends along the way.
Don’t deny yourself of the cheap and abundant iced tea.
Because once again, the refills there are free.
So when you’re feeling helpless, when you’re feeling lonely and down, just remember, free refills await you.
And they’re just downtown.
Where the iced tea flows.
And it’s so affordable that your soul will sing.
So don’t leave yourself in the dark,
Down at the Star Bucks, looking for a place to park.
Follow me on the rail of light.
And when we get to Ambrosia, everything will be alright.
And you and I could just chill for awhile.
With refills so free, they’d make an EMO smile.
So when you’re traveling, then while you’re on your way,
I recommend you stop by Ambrosia Café.

The Love Hotel Ad

2011-06-07T23:27:00.000-07:00

The following was written on May 7th, 2011. It should be spread throughout the globe so that one day, it will be recognized by people from all walks of life, and just might become the global anthem. Feel free to print the following message out and send it as a message in a bottle, or tie it to a balloon. Without further a doo, here:

Hello. The date today is May 7th, 2011. This poem is a rewrite of an as of yet unreleased song by Neil Young titled “Love Hotel.” It is written as an endearingly awkward advertisement for the Love Hotel. It should be sung to the tune of the song “Look Out for My Love,” without the chorus.

If you’re traveling
On the highway for a long time,
You might experience
Sleepiness.
In other words,
You might get tired,
Being that
Most humans aren’t nocturnal.
So when that happens to you, babe,
You now have two choices;
You can risk a car crash,
Or enjoy the coolness
Of a place that exists,
And it is easily accessed
By simply checking in.
Alright, it’s called the Love Hotel.
If you’re at the Love Hotel,
You can sleep for awhile
In a bed so comfortable
It’ll make you smile.
And in the morning,
If you’re really starving,’
Just go down to the Lobby,
And get yourself a doughnut.
Unless you’re one of those snobs
Who doesn’t eat sugar.
But if you are,
You can go and jump in a lake.
Well, maybe not a lake,
But at least a swimming pool.
And yes, the Love Hotel has one
Because it’s just that cool.
And if you get bored
When it’s late at night,
Just turn on the T.V.
T.V.’s produce light.
Not only do they do that,
But they also provide entertainment.
So you can watch T.V.
All night in your hotel room (or basement.)
Except the Love Hotel
Doesn’t have a basement.
It has lots of rooms
Where people can stay.