This Is It
The results are in and there is an addition to MAR-Z's FUCKING BEST ALBUMS (it should have read Mar-z's Best Fucking Albums, but that's just too ambiguous) collection.
If you love Mar-z (and we all do) you're gonna luuuuurve -> The Strokes - Is This It? It's Mar-z personified on CD - catchy, friendly and fun. Go out and download it and buy it... NOW DAMN YOU, NOW!
Now I know I'm quite late in joining the bandwagon, but good music is good music regardless of time, and it doesn't get better than this.
Mar-z Gets His Teeth of Wisdom Pulled Out. Hilarity Does Not Ensue.
Last Friday, Blogger Mar-z had his wisdom teeth pulled out at the local hospital and was under general anaesthetic throughout the procedure.
He is now recovering in a stable condition, bedridden with a diet of chocolate Moove, chocolate ice-cream and chicken soup.
He'd like to thank his Mother for the care, HCF for covering all expenses, the surgeon's assistant who kept playing with his latex gloves and the anaesthetist (thank you Dictionary.com for the spelling!) who played the whole injection process like a great poker bluff.
Despite the relative success of the procedure (there are two golf balls residing in his lower jaw; a new throbbing pain replacing the old wisdom-teeth-is-growing-sideways-pain) he is still scared shitless of anything associated with needles.
Some things will never change, I suppose.
Last Friday, Blogger Mar-z had his wisdom teeth pulled out at the local hospital and was under general anaesthetic throughout the procedure.
He is now recovering in a stable condition, bedridden with a diet of chocolate Moove, chocolate ice-cream and chicken soup.
He'd like to thank his Mother for the care, HCF for covering all expenses, the surgeon's assistant who kept playing with his latex gloves and the anaesthetist (thank you Dictionary.com for the spelling!) who played the whole injection process like a great poker bluff.
Despite the relative success of the procedure (there are two golf balls residing in his lower jaw; a new throbbing pain replacing the old wisdom-teeth-is-growing-sideways-pain) he is still scared shitless of anything associated with needles.
Some things will never change, I suppose.
Watch This Space
Tomorrow there will be a mother of a blog post, where this one is sitting. The topic - Latham's proposal to redistribute Government Funding for Education.
I tried to do it in two or three senctences but it didn't happen. What did happen was that I discovered that the sentences all shared a common, steely composition - much like an alloy - 14% Wankers, 22% Fuck, 22% What the, 12% Stupid, 4% Howard, 2% Go cry to the headmaster, 1% Trinity Boys are like the Rabbitohs, 13% Elitist, 5% Pretty, 5% Boys.
If my math is correct, that should all add up to 100% pure Mar-z commentary. The fuel that is firing this preview and the upcoming post is proudly brought to you by Howard and The Liberals - Choice Is for People With Money.
And if you want to read a cohesive argument that I completely agree with, read JB's topic titled Edjumacation.
Tomorrow there will be a mother of a blog post, where this one is sitting. The topic - Latham's proposal to redistribute Government Funding for Education.
I tried to do it in two or three senctences but it didn't happen. What did happen was that I discovered that the sentences all shared a common, steely composition - much like an alloy - 14% Wankers, 22% Fuck, 22% What the, 12% Stupid, 4% Howard, 2% Go cry to the headmaster, 1% Trinity Boys are like the Rabbitohs, 13% Elitist, 5% Pretty, 5% Boys.
If my math is correct, that should all add up to 100% pure Mar-z commentary. The fuel that is firing this preview and the upcoming post is proudly brought to you by Howard and The Liberals - Choice Is for People With Money.
And if you want to read a cohesive argument that I completely agree with, read JB's topic titled Edjumacation.
Invading Elite
There are pieces in front of me, little squares with letters on them. They came packaged in a neat plastic bag, along with a flimsy, balsa wood frame.
I'm trying my best to make do with the letters that have been given to me, but the only words that I can make are invading and elite.
I keep staring at the pieces, hoping that they would change to fit an image of words that I would want and be proud to display - vocabulary that commands respect, admiration, awe and maybe even a guffaw! Words that have been forgotten, words that are saved for crosswords, an eleven-letter-long monster that nobody but the best Latin scholar or Scrabble Master would know - that's what I want.
I keep re-arranging the pieces, trying to spur a hunger to make the most of my pieces - I want my epitaph to include the word insatiable and the phrase carpe diem without any sexual connentations.
I keep peering over my desk, in search for ideas from others or simply gauging my progress and quality against what they have. Some have an unfair advantage of useful letters and a creative mind, others are systematic and calculative with their words, a few are satisfied to have even made an arrangement, and one is happily typing away after pushing the interruption aside. I resign to sinking my head into my hands, wishing I could be like any one of them during various stages of mood swings throughout the dying hours of the work day.
It is 5:15PM and I look at my piece of balsa wood again, at the letters that it holds, at the words that I have created - invading elite. I've done nothing more remarkable than place certain pieces next to each other to the best of my ability and as true to my vocabulary, regardless of how weak or strong it may be.
And now, I'm experiencing grand delusions that I've discovered the key to life in two words, one afternoon, eleven squares and one flimsy, balsa wood frame.
There are pieces in front of me, little squares with letters on them. They came packaged in a neat plastic bag, along with a flimsy, balsa wood frame.
I'm trying my best to make do with the letters that have been given to me, but the only words that I can make are invading and elite.
I keep staring at the pieces, hoping that they would change to fit an image of words that I would want and be proud to display - vocabulary that commands respect, admiration, awe and maybe even a guffaw! Words that have been forgotten, words that are saved for crosswords, an eleven-letter-long monster that nobody but the best Latin scholar or Scrabble Master would know - that's what I want.
I keep re-arranging the pieces, trying to spur a hunger to make the most of my pieces - I want my epitaph to include the word insatiable and the phrase carpe diem without any sexual connentations.
I keep peering over my desk, in search for ideas from others or simply gauging my progress and quality against what they have. Some have an unfair advantage of useful letters and a creative mind, others are systematic and calculative with their words, a few are satisfied to have even made an arrangement, and one is happily typing away after pushing the interruption aside. I resign to sinking my head into my hands, wishing I could be like any one of them during various stages of mood swings throughout the dying hours of the work day.
It is 5:15PM and I look at my piece of balsa wood again, at the letters that it holds, at the words that I have created - invading elite. I've done nothing more remarkable than place certain pieces next to each other to the best of my ability and as true to my vocabulary, regardless of how weak or strong it may be.
And now, I'm experiencing grand delusions that I've discovered the key to life in two words, one afternoon, eleven squares and one flimsy, balsa wood frame.
With Dreams
There are voices everywhere
And an uprising from underneath
They beckon things unheard of in life
From the things
That are ripped at the seams
And in between the notes
There is silence
And in between silence
It can be seen
That there is something in the midst of this reality
That exists in a union with dreams
There are voices everywhere
And an uprising from underneath
They beckon things unheard of in life
From the things
That are ripped at the seams
And in between the notes
There is silence
And in between silence
It can be seen
That there is something in the midst of this reality
That exists in a union with dreams
Hmmm.
Do you ever get the feeling that you are under constant surveillance? That your life is being recorded by all those black bubbles in strange corners and high ceilings? You know, like The Truman Show?
No?
Well I guess I'm just a vain and paranoid fucker.
But I'm sure it's not much of a worry. Even the most dedicated viewers are sure to agree that my life is shit boring and tune off after a minute of watching me stare into space.
Again.
And again.
Do you ever get the feeling that you are under constant surveillance? That your life is being recorded by all those black bubbles in strange corners and high ceilings? You know, like The Truman Show?
No?
Well I guess I'm just a vain and paranoid fucker.
But I'm sure it's not much of a worry. Even the most dedicated viewers are sure to agree that my life is shit boring and tune off after a minute of watching me stare into space.
Again.
And again.
Da Da da!
There's a spring in my step, and a gold mini ipod in my pocket.
Hurrah!
My life, right now, feels so complete.
Oh, if only I could have this feeling everyday.
And to the regulars, visit -> JB
There's a spring in my step, and a gold mini ipod in my pocket.
Hurrah!
My life, right now, feels so complete.
Oh, if only I could have this feeling everyday.
And to the regulars, visit -> JB
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