Sunday, February 28, 2010


so last night i got this really weird surge of inspiration. could have something to do with the fact that i spent most of the day and night listening to the strokes and arctic monkeys. i love it how just zoning out and listening to music all day or going to a concert provides you with this weird renewed energy and incentive to create. its like as you listen to the music the idea going through your head the entire time is: "yeah. i could do that." (of course, that could always just be me being and overly-confident prick) anyway. got absolutely no sleep but i have a bunch of new music to show for it. so much for teaching inspiration to come at a better time. oh well. i guess i dont mind it controlling me.....for now.
current mood: quite pleased, thank you

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

I Hate it When: The Explanation

After reading Rag's post, seeing the responses, and habitually experiencing Rag's exact situation, I noticed there had to be some scientific evidence to just this situation. After all, being both writers and musicians, honing creativity is our number one priority. So there has to be some link to it improving and bubbling as we sleep, otherwise these sleepy revelations wouldn't come so often.

Here ya go:

Most of us have tried sleeping on a difficult problem before and using an elegant experiment, Denise Cai from the University of California in San Diego has shown that this old technique really does have merit to it

In the test, Denise Cai made participants play word association: Giving them three words with a mysterious fourth word that all three have in common. Such as "Cookies", "Hearts", and "Sixteen". With which the fourth word is "sweet".

Or the perfect concoction for "Molestation".

The tests were done at 9AM and 5PM, and the participants were made to rest or nap at 1PM.

After having their slumber and redoing their tests, the ones who attained REM-sleep, the deepest interval of the sleep cycle, did much better at the tests than previously.
Cai thinks that REM sleep catalyses the creative process by allowing the brain to form connections between unrelated ideas...[Her test] strongly suggests that in this case, the benefits of REM sleep lay not in boosting memory or general mental agility, but in specifically allowing the volunteers to create associations between existing ideas. Indeed, many thinkers have defined creativity as exactly that.
And this wouldn't be the first time a revelation was made in sleep. Especially considering many key scientific cornerstones, like the periodic table, came out of a nice little sleep.

Not that we're exactly devising the periodic table.

Though I did realize in my sleep once that the elements sound like Pokemon.

But, as creative people, we do have our very own creative "problems" to solve and "associations" to make.

I'll use one instance of mine as an example. I was trying to create a riff, at that point, with a certain boldness and flair. I couldn't/didn't want to force it, but because of that I constantly drew blanks.

Then, one night, I was dreaming about a supervisor of mine freaking out at work (The whole dream was like watching a TV show muted, by the way). She was coming to a realization that in order to solve her frantic issues at work, she'll need to be bold and prepared.

Somewhere in my brain decided it needed to formulate a soundtrack that best fit this increasingly frantic yet muted situation, and voila, a guitar riff was born. It was as though my brain had created the dream for the purpose of creating the riff to fill it in with.

Basically, REM sleep seems to be the perfect tool for not necessarily forming new ideas, but melding existing ideas and goals together into one harmonized revelation. And it's why our best thoughts come as we sleep.

Doesn't explain all the drooling, though.

Monday, February 22, 2010

i hate it when

i get a fantastic idea for a poem or song in a dream or in that stage of half sleep and half consciousness and stubbornly refuse to wake up and write it down. i think its my way of spiting good ideas that come to me at an inopportune time. like im trying to train them to come when its more convenient for me. another such casualty this morning; something about time and forever.....why do these things never come at dinner time, or when im bored in lecture? they’re like nagging little children; coming to me in the best part of my slumber; that hour or so before dawn when you’re half conscious and pleasantly aware of the fact that you’re sleeping and loving every minute of it. i tell them to go away and come back when im more prepared; they never do. slowly one small clever phrase turns into an entire sonnet, and all i can do is passively lay there and watch as it floats away from me as i ask myself why i cant be that poetic when fully awake and conscious. another casualty tonight, no doubt. another early morning hour of torturous inspiration and another day of small, silent mourning over its loss.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

"Crazed" blogger writes a "crazed" blog about broken American media.

I appreciate the ambition, but this probably isn't the proper way to go about it.

Airplanes don't kill people, people do. Lol!

It pisses me off, however, that every publication is going out of their way to call him "crazed" without any legitimate psychological proof of madness. Practially tripping over themselves to paint the pilot as a madman, all the while completely ignoring the duty of journalism which is to simply report the goddamn story.

This is how you report a story. Not one goddamn drop of the word "crazed". A simple presentation of a story without any agenda-based embellishment.

Unfortunately, that was from Belfast, Ireland.

Even worse however, his friends didn't think he was "crazed":

The crazed pilot who launched a kamikaze air attack on a Texas IRS office hid his anger so deeply, friends say they had no idea of his anti-establishment rage or the money woes he said were behind it.

Doesn't stop the New York Post from twisting it. Guess which part of that sentence is an assumption. Seeing as the rest of the article shows his friends didn't say he "hid" the anger, but only that they never saw any sign of financial struggle. Not once in that article do they say "He never had an anti-government position and despised the IRS".

I don't know at what point the media decided it had a place in deciding who is "crazed" and who isn't. Who was "hiding" their madness and who wasn't.

Because I thought the media's role was to display the goddamn art, not brush little fucking daffodils on it.

It's funny too. Because assumedly having a willingness to die or kill for a cause defines you as crazed, right?

I don't think the four fathers or the very concept of "Army" would agree with that.

Then, this must mean that what defines one as crazed for committing martyrdom is dependent upon the cause itself. How does believing that the IRS and the entire tax system is a blight on American society warrant him being called "crazed" or "bent"? And how is willing to die to reverse the problem or prove this point make him crazed?

I suppose it's because he rammed a plane into a building that probably had mostly innocent people in it. Granted.

But if he rammed the plane into the house of the man at the top of the IRS, wouldn't the media be just as quick to slap "crazed" before his name?

Listen, I hate the sin. Particularly because those who died were, again, probably innocent. There are also several more efficient and diplomatic ways to go about proving that the IRS is fucked and America needs to wake up.

But I can't fault him for his ambition or his cause. And I certainly wouldn't unabashedly call him "crazed". Because if the building were an "Al-Queda" terrorist hut, or full of Muslim extremists, we'd probably venerate him like a goddamn hero.

There are no pictures in this one. There is very little in the way of jokes. It's because I'm truly annoyed at the lack of integrity. I've had it with the American media. Truly, I have. I'm never going to listen to or read another American news report or story by an outlet poses itself as a serious news organization. The need to muddle up a story with agendas all for the sake of grabbing eyes yet at the cost of drowning the fucking story itself;

I'm absolutely done with it.

Happy Black History Month Everybody!

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Thursday, February 18, 2010

An Open Letter to Ke$ha:

Dear Ke$ha,

Please stop making music. You suck and I hate you.

Okay, I don't hate you.

Okay. Maybe I do.

Look, before I start throwing the verbal knives at you and rip your musical heart out, I want you to know it's because I'm sad. Not angry. Just sad.

I heard "Tik Tok". There's potential in there. It's got a catchy synth riff, and a very enthusiastic sound. It can really accentuate a good night out, you know?

But you smash all its potential like an abortion.

And it makes me sad that you're not-musical vocals would do that. I guess the assumption is that if it's not in a melody, you must be rapping. That's fine and all. If it wasn't trash.

Don't stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up Tonight, I'mma fight 'Til we see the sunlight Tick tock on the clock But the party don't stop, no

No way? Did you just ask the DJ to turn the speakers up and not to stop???? Wow!!!! I never heard that before!!!!

She has made demands to heighten the volume as it pertains to sound! Have you not realized it is not yet loud enough???

And "Tonight, I'mma fight"? Who? What are you fighting? Please tell me it's Missy Elliot. Maybe she can beat the rap into you and the shit out of you.

This message is not mean-spirited, though.

Okay, maybe it's too late to say that.

I just want you to know that you've made what is arguably the worst song in the past 10 years with this track, and probably regressed pop music by about 13 years.

It's just not catchy and fun when you're "making" songs that have "to-hell-with-the-expiration-date" lyrics (Credit to Jonah Weiner of Slate magazine for that gem), unforgivable "rapping", a chorus with about as much rhythm as a dwarf on stilts, and an opening line that references the fakest hip-hop artist that has ever been.

She won't float you out of your sinking career, Diddy.

You're even making girls happily indulge in how awful this is. Not just regressing pop music, but society. I mean, really? "Boys trying to touch our junk"? That's sexual harassment. Not drunk funsies.

And worst of all, I know you're probably happy about it. And making money. And all this celebratory stuff. And it's just not right Ke$ha.

Like I said, though, the song's music is cool and original.

Wait. It's not?

Sorry Ke$ha, but you've created an abomination that completely rips off another song's melody, has unimaginative lyrics, and you sound like Aunt Betsy from Hoboken.

And I wish you'd just stop existing around music. Please. Just stay from the recording studio. I'm saying this because I care.


P.S. Fuck your dollar sign.

Monday, February 15, 2010


Me and my friend were talking over the phone about how, seemingly, people are less likely to talk things out and make progress with themselves as people. You know, like when you tell someone "Hey you kind of do (insert problem here) too much and you should stop", and they either A) Get offended or B) Say yes but never manage to fix anything.

My friend, kind of sarcastically of course, wondered if the Greeks and whatnot ever had to deal with this.

I told them they fought tigers and lions for funsies.

But of course speculative evidence about B.C. people fighting wild animals doesn't mean shit. So to add to that pretense, I said "Well...people back then didn't have things to distract them. They didn't have the Internet, TV, radio, video games, movies, phones and stuff".

Which got me wondering about our society and its love of all things escapism.

When was the last time you had a conversation that wasn't about something entertainment-related? And if you had to pick out all the conversations you've had in the past 2 weeks, how many of them were about something on TV or in a movie or something?

Then even in our homes we give credence to having the screens that supply us with that. Each house has at least 3 TVs; one for each main room (The living room, or wherever everyone hangs out at, the master bedroom, and that third room that's probably yours). Think about that. 3 different screens constantly on, constantly spewing something.

Same with the computer, which thanks to advent of Youtube, can now host various videos that offer the same pleasure but at your very own convenience. And God forbid there's only one in the house; because there's probably a daily battle for its use.

It doesn't bother me to have entertainment around. We need escapism to keep our minds sharp; sometimes handling situations the moment they happen with the emotions you immediately feel isn't healthy.

Or else Wayne Brady would, in fact, have choked a bitch.

At which point escapism helps you ease your mind and return to the situation with a clearer head.

But when it becomes everything you are or your society is, when all you can point to for what defines you are pieces of temporary entertainment, then, aren't you just as temporary?

Saturday, February 13, 2010

John Mayer's Persnickety Penis

John Mayer must really enjoy the taste of his foot in his mouth. Yes, ladies and gentleman, (well, probably just ladies) he’s done it again; John Mayer said something stupid. Bloggers everywhere are in an uproar over the velvet-voiced white boy’s latest interview with Playboy magazine. For the record, i wasnt planning on even discussing this story; not in conversation, not on this blog, not in a box, not with a fox.....sorry. Its 4 in the morning. I’m losing it. Anyway, when i first heard about this, all i could think was “here we go again.” John Mayer has quite the track record of saying stupid things; its how he got his whole “douchebag” rep. I personally believe he’s not a douche (and trust me, i know how to spot a douche). I think he’s a true musician who, over the years has become completely disillusioned with “the industry.” Like all true musicians, all he ever wanted to do was make music. Not surprisingly, after being in the music business for quite some time, and realizing that its more “business” and less “music,” he naturally feels the need to lash out. And so, in a very passive aggressive move, he creates this douchebag persona and shows up as “that guy” to interviews. But thats just my opinion. Read some of his unsavory comments, and you can decide for yourself:

PLAYBOY: If you didn't know you, would you think you're a douche bag?

MAYER: It depends on what I picked up. My two biggest hits are "Your Body Is a Wonderland" and "Daughters." If you think those songs are pandering, then you'll think I'm a douche bag. It's like I come on very strong. I am a very...I'm just very. V-E-R-Y. And if you can't handle very, then I'm a douche bag. But I think the world needs a little very. That's why black people love me.

PLAYBOY: Because you're very?

MAYER: Someone asked me the other day, "What does it feel like now to have a hood pass?" And by the way, it's sort of a contradiction in terms, because if you really had a hood pass, you could call it a nigger pass. Why are you pulling a punch and calling it a hood pass if you really have a hood pass? But I said, "I can't really have a hood pass. I've never walked into a restaurant, asked for a table and been told, 'We're full.'"

PLAYBOY: It is true; a lot of rappers love you. You recorded with Common and Kanye West, played live with Jay-Z.

MAYER: What is being black? It's making the most of your life, not taking a single moment for granted. Taking something that's seen as a struggle and making it work for you, or you'll die inside. Not to say that my struggle is like the collective struggle of black America. But maybe my struggle is similar to one black dude's.

PLAYBOY: Do black women throw themselves at you?

MAYER: I don't think I open myself to it. My dick is sort of like a white supremacist. I've got a Benetton heart and a fuckin' David Duke cock. I'm going to start dating separately from my dick.

PLAYBOY: Let’s put some names out there. Let’s get specific.

MAYER: I always thought Holly Robinson Peete was gorgeous. Every white dude loved Hilary from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. And Kerry Washington. She’s superhot, and she’s also white-girl crazy. Kerry Washington would break your heart like a white girl. Just all of a sudden she’d be like, “Yeah, I sucked his dick. Whatever.” And you’d be like, “What? We weren’t talking about that.”

First of all, i’d like to just skip over his use of the word “nigger,” if that’s ok with everyone. I think the general public has pretty much beat this discussion into the ground. We know....its not ok. Moving on.....

What I really appreciate is being told by John Mayer what it is to be black. And all these years, I just went along thinking being black was all booty bouncing, purple cool-aid, and Chingy. THANK YOU JOHN MAYER for clearing that up for me. Thank you for shining your white light on the meaning of black life, especially for illuminating the daily struggle we black women face, dealing with penis racism. I finally have some direction in this miserable, painful little black life of mine. Really, THANK YOU.

there really is more to life than that right thuuuuure

The same night the interview was posted, at a Nashville show, he made a very lengthy apology (which was likely lost on the crowd; gotta love the chick at 1:44)

So John, if you’re out there, and somehow come across these words, i’d like to speak to you directly....lately it seems like any time you open your mouth to do anything besides sing, things go terribly wrong and we’re left making bets on how long it will be before the next twitter apology. Ok. We get it John Mayer; all you wanna do is make music. Fine. THEN DO THAT! Stupid, sappy girls like myself will still swoon over your sweet sweet voice and bluesy guitar riffs. You DO NOT have to make a douche of yourself. Besides, what did sweet little Kerry Washington ever do to you anyway?!

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Farewell Democracy. We Hardly Knew Ye

January 21, 2010 will go down in history as the day that the supreme court officially put the final nail in the coffin of the American ideal of free speech. On this day, the court ruled in the case of Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission that corporations are individuals, and as such, should be given the same rights as individuals, including that of free speech, particularly in regards to political campaigns. Any limits that were formally imposed on corporate spending in political campaigns have been removed and corporations are now free to spend as much as they want to ensure our elections produce the results they want. In a special segment of his program, Keith Olberman prophesies that this decision will result in the prostitution of out nation’s politicians. (Good news for you, Mr. Spitzer. Now EVERYONE’S a hooker!).

The always entertaining Keith Olberman:

Visit for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

Granted, I personally feel Olberman went off the deep end (shocker) with this little segment. However, I totally agree with his opinion that this decision is an epic fail and a total kick in the balls to Americans. This manipulation of the first amendment not only violates § 441b of Title 2 of the United States Code and ensures that the voice of corporations will strangle the public voice and voices of candidates who refuse to whore themselves out to Doritos or Wonder Bread; it also opens the way for foreign corporations to have their say in American politics. Prostituted politicians will be able to change laws in such a way that benefits the interests of the corporations (American or foreign) that back them. As President Obama put it in his State of the Union address: “...the Supreme Court reversed a century of law to open the floodgates for special interests - including foreign corporations - to spend without limit in our elections. Well I don't think American elections should be bankrolled by America's most powerful interests, or worse, by foreign entities."

I’ll be honest, I’m not really into politics. I’ll take the History Channel over CNN any day, no matter how superyummyfantasticwow I find Anderson Cooper (though i do turn to MSNBC every once in a while to see what Rachel Maddow has to say). But despite my lack of interest in politics, even I know that this decision is a no-no-oopsie (also Obama’s exact words, I believe).

So America, the choice is yours: either make it known that this decision is totally unacceptable and won't be tolerated, or prepare for your local representatives to abandon their suits and ties in favor of the new official uniforms of congress:

Sunday, February 7, 2010

The Death of Rock Culture...Almost.

The hilariously depressing downward spiral of the culture that used to be rock, from its fashion to its music, has been pretty evident. I don't think you need a douchebag to tell you that.

Especially this douche.

However, what do you say when someone's asked you? What if, one day, some one asked you to analyze the systematic alienation of a sub-culture? This is where this post comes in.

I've deduced that there are ultimately 5 distinct indicates of used to be associated with the culture of rock. And that (Almost) all 5 have been raped with a pickle jar. While it was open.

With the pickles still in it.

So here I present you the Death of Rock Culture by the numbers.

1. Skating

Their used to be a day not too long ago when a guy skating meant he most likely listened to rock music. Or, at least, probably had a very strong disdain for mainstream music.

Or, at least, you knew to get the fuck out of his way.

I mean, that's what rock music essentially is, right? The denial of radio-streamed music, or mainstream attitudes, maaaannn. Skating and rocking were intertwined through this marriage of resentment for pop music.

Well here, in his full glory, is Justin Bieber


The epitome of pop music. The "No way, that isn't a girl singing?" artist. Skates.

I think we're done with this one.

2. Hot Topic.

I know, I know. Hot Topic wasn't all cool with the hardcore kids to begin with.

However, it used to be Hot Topic was that ugly hole in the wall that weird, vitamin-D-starved people use to crawl in and out of. You just didn't go in there if you weren't apart of the culture; you felt strange, out of place in a way. If Hot Topic was anything, it was honest and proud; it knew it was strange, obscure, and gothic, and it liked it.

It also cut itself in ecstasy.

Now? Blondes with pink AE sweaters. Hispanic chicks looking for "them spiked belts". The gangstaest of the gangsta. In particular, I overheard one literally say to his friend as they exited a Hot Topic "Hey, let's go to the other store; they've got more skull stuff"

They've got more skull stuff.

I do, however, realize there's a legitimate counter-argument; "Hey, but that's just how popular the look is! Not HT's fault!"

Well, I present to you exhibit A.


Yes. Hot Topic sells Lady Gaga t-shirts.

Oh---it can't get wors--

Yes. Hot Topic sells Lil' Wayne t-shirts.


Yes. Hot Topic has sold the fuck out.

It's no longer the hub for your favorite rock band's t-shirts where people who look like AFI retreads work and everyone actively tries to avoid going in there. It's the cool mall store now that everyone, almost obligatorily, visits once. Hell HT barely even cares about being that ol' hole in the wall. They know they're place for popular clothes, and they like it.

3. The Mohawk/Fauxhawk.

While the Fauxhawk was admittedly born in a sort of poseur-ish manner, it was still only worn by people who clearly classified themselves as apart of the rock sub-culture. This, and it's much more ambitious older brother, the mohawk, were classic signs of a guy (Or even a girl. You dirty lesbian) who identified himself as a member of the rock sub-culture.


In addition to random speculation, I've lived through this myself. I first decided to erect a fauxhawk back in 2006. It was so strange to do so, so very rare, that I was afraid to actually go through with it. I would feel extremely anxious sitting on a bus, where every once in a while people would take a glance at me as though I've somehow pissed on their Jesus, but then realized I didn't.

Go ahead. Picture that. It's perfect.

I even had people talking about my hair on the back of those buses. My hair was an attraction. It was just a fauxhawk.

Anyway, it only took one and a half years later for it to boom. Not that this was my own doing, but it was to my disappointment that the then strange and unique hairstyle that embodied me had turned to become a thing. Now? Now I just look like everyone else. I'm almost indistinguishable.

It blows.

For example;


Fuck no. (Sorry kid, but not only are you 5, but whoever uploaded it called it a "mohawk" . So you're fair game.)

As-Salamu Alaykum no.

Oh hey I don't need to make up a funny caption for this one.

Do you get my point?

No seriously do you, because Google Images is running short on mohawks.

4. The Style.

Oh man. Where do I even begin?

The tight pants, the studded belts, the Vans sneakers, the Chuck Taylors, the skulls, the band t-shirts. Especially the band t-shirts; have you ever seen more "As I Lay Dying" t-shirts in your life? And could it be anymore obvious that they have no clue who that band is?

Absolute aberrations of what we used to call our very own style has become fodder for the masses who seek to indulge in the cool and now.

i.e. We look like everyfuckingone else.

However, 1-4 pales in comparison to 5. 5 is the last, but most fortified, bastion. Because ultimately, the rock sub-culture is about one thing and one goddamn thing only:

5. The Music.

And its hulls haven't been breached yet.

Though pop culture has broken four previously untouched mediums of the sub-culture, it hasn't yet managed to corrupt the very reason why we've all identified ourselves this way. And it can't.

Because actual rock music will always be ours. Ultimately, all this is is a trend. And soon, it'll go away. But the music was, is, and will always be around. And the actual rockers will be along for the ride, throwing the devil handsign like retards at a party, and proudly displaying their favorite band on their torso, as they blast obscure shit on their iPod.

And it's all because they love it; not because it's in style.

So while yeah, our sub-culture has been irrefutably sodomized, goddamnit, the music is still ours. And we should proudly wear that badge of honor throughout. So quit bitching. Because we still got our music. And so long as we have that, we'll still be around. And one day, the MTV-agenda will desert us for new grounds, and this hazy topsy-turvy dream of ours will go right back to normal.

Although Justin Bieber is our Antichrist. Keep your eyes peeled.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

My Long Time Belief Finally Confirmed: School Kills Creativity

As a first year college student, it didn’t take me very long to come to this realization. Everyday, walking around campus, I am surrounded by what seem to be empty shell-people; individuals who were once full of life and vigor and personality, but have been reduced to glazed eyed, sad faced, hipster zombies, addicted to starbuck’s expresso shots, skinny jeans, and their second lives on Farmville (though i must admit, i'm kinda guilty of that last one. CURSE YOU FACEBOOK!); the kind of people you stare at in awe and pity as you think to yourself “what the (insert expletive of choice here) happened to you?” Never in my wildest dreams (and they are pretty wild) did I imagine that I would be nostalgic for my high school days. I LOATHED high school, but at least the people i was surrounded by were interesting, full of life and creativity. A lot of this likely is because in high school, the stress level was minimal (though we didn’t realize it then) compared to the amount of stress and anxiety one is faced with in college. There have been studies showing that stress can destroy creativity, ( and I can’t say enough about Ken Robinson’s TED talk on the subject of school and its role in discouraging artistic ability:

Maybe I'm just being overly dramatic. Maybe i'm being too sensitive. After all, I could be wrong about all this. I could just be making something out of nothing........but i doubt it.