ah let's dust off the shelves,
and also dust off the helm,
'cause my ship is sinking,
similar to not having the kitchen
sink to throw away.

yo what up thugs,
so i was doin some thinking and im gonna peace on the band man , yall just holdin me back from my dream of becoming a rap star
dont front biatch cuz i aint the type of brother made for you to start messin. i need me a Jeep(beep beep) and hoe, and whats more i dont want you punk Mcs flossin bout how you was the boss, and how much did it cost. that mark nigga be rappin bout dolls, ya need to grow some balls, I need me a escalade, and a bottle o Krys, no more guitars, and playing weak ass bars, nah nah, next time i come round, ill be rolling 20 deep, iced out reppin NP (what), like my man master p, with a fucking tv and a gat where my eyes can see. yall be sorry for fuckin with this G cuz im gonna blow up, like da hood got bombed!!!!

they call me J Drizzlle
BIATCHHHHHHHHHH...



( whats wrong with morale?)

News you can use / blowing some dust off the blog

1) yogurt is appearing to make a comeback in campus dining halls. morale is up already as far as this young buck is concerned.

2) no, my cds from polyvinyl haven't arrived yet. actually the big treat will be hearing mates of state's cover of "these days" on wax.

3) sauce can post again at his leisure as his spirited mop isn't at the very top of this page anymore. i don't think cuse fans knew whether to hug him or hit him when they saw him painted like that wearing a vintage Spartans zip-up.

4) janet drive, tense as ever and demanding snacks, are playing a show thursday night at the OPL with The Spines and local recluse Amanda Rogers. That's all for now. Help me out here fellas.

TONKA TRUCK!

I wait until 3pm every Friday to feel this relieved, and today's no different. Actually, the day's optimal February weather and the fact that we're playing a show tonight makes it even more special in a pick-slidin', Krauser-not makin' decisions, soon to be drinkin' wine older than me kind of way. Nope, not even pathetic fraternity brothers throwing snowballs at defenseless park benchers and pedestrians can get me down right now. That's right I said it, you pussies.

You still had me at hello, Koz. So shut up, just shut up.

New Cave In on the stereo. The window's open FULL BLAST. I just need to kill a few hours with you.

P.S. - i relived the magic that was with this last night. couldn't help but notice this caption from the 2nd tournament... "Though Mark did well, he uttered the words "GullyBall Sucks" and was promptly ejected from the match. The first GullyBall forfeight."

this statement is in the liner notes of the Tragic Epilogue by Anti-Pop Consortium and reads:

Throughout history, the preface "throughout history" usually intones grandiosity. Connotations of pompous pretense and condescending, color a revisionist agenda. Validation for all unsubstanciated occurances is inferred by the blanket statement "throughout history". This document is no different. With that being said, I will intrude upon your mental periphery for only a short time. This is not information to be retained. Do not allow yourself the liberty of nostalgia. Romance is slavery. As the "Anti-Pop Consortium" there are certain "obvious connotations". Dispell them. Most of them are inaccurate. We are post-modern vampire killers, driving analogue stakes through binary hearts. We are three-dimensional. We live, love, cry, bleed and feel. We do not fear the future. Our aim is to influence to governing body of collective thought. As sound bodies we proclaim "disturb the equilibrium". Our past is your future. We will crush you.

I think that about explains everything guys. Oh yeah and Mark, I need to give you back the digital video disc I borrowed. Thank you, it was a very disturbing film. Just what I needed. Smile with chuckles.

Suacedifer, je ne comprande pas...
whats this screaming eagle? is it a metaphor?
some symbol you had to analyze?
some peotic idea of patriotism?
or is it simply an extension of your deluded psyche?
and who's this Donald character?
is he losing some sort of match to Warner by 2 points?
is Donald a duck?
Warner Brothers?
they have screwed him, being as Daffy is prob more popular.
but i wouldnt give the WB a winning record.(i mean seriously have you seen Everwood?)
and then why not call it Screaming duck, or Crispy fried duck in orange sauce, i think that would explain things better.
Or perhaps if i take the first letter of each line ill come up with something?
whats a Swu Yacs, B?
wait i get it !!!
its so simple!!!
(who's Marcus?)


(and by the way: when by balls descended, they hit your mom on the nose)

I'm really blogged...

Okay...So, can somebody reassure me that I'm not the ONLY one who doesn't understand anything that Sauce writes? Am I simply of diminutive wit? Hmmm...[Frown]

Screaming eagle
why can't you represent
universal strife?
you flying bastard your skewed interpretation
across cultures
cost me 22 percent of an essay exam
Screaming Eagle take your wings and flee
before they represent extinction

Phillip Sidney you coward
what is the purpose of defending poetry?
Defend it in Latin you vernacular whore
so I don't need to go to the lengths of
memorizing your sappy pleas for recognition

Knowledge you elude my chase for ignorance
get off of the television and leave my mind alone

donald l. warner III

Visual imagery eating away at our souls only on screen destroying the outside weather, whether or not writings are posted on walls or on blogs, there are still writings in heads and hearts recorded for your pleasure.

Due to inclement weather the blog is down and The Yearbook will not be performing at Scaggz tonight with Coronary Radar and Heaven is in Effect. But you can still catch the writings of Mark, Pat, Al, and Bill on your local AM/FM dial being read to you by none other than keynote speaker Clarence Darrow as he speaks on the Leopold and Loeb case in front of seventeen people at a club near the University of North Dakota. Go Fighting Sioux!!!! in quotes will be displayed at every event of the 23rd century in proximity of every Munchie Mart and Thai restaurant in the United States.

Apparently changes in thoughts occur rapidly with chocolate icing on them being eaten extremely loudly by men who have not seen a television in a fortnight and refer to pudding as "cool daddy's silk sauce".

Oh and as for trying to listen to jazz and eerie Bali chants, let's remember to play with our lives first and than try to mix nature with technological evenings filled with soul and electronica.

This blog's starting to itch...

Passionately written. Almost vehement in it's expression. Lyricism bordering on poetry.

But content-less. Consisting of nothing more than nothing.

I can do that for 100+ pages...

Yeah. Definitely. Yeah.

Yeah.

Pump up the blog.

Let's hear a big round of sound for Alberto being old enough for it to not be cool to be drunk anymore. Happy birthday.



Ew...Your balls are 21.







Actually, that's not entirely true...Al's testicles didn't descend until he was almost 3. Weird, huh?












But his dad verifies that nowadays, everything's in the green with Al's dickbag. [Sigh o' relief, eh?]

So does anyone have any info about the show this Friday? All I really know is it's at 505 with the Jupe. Is Pat stuck forever in the mid-east? Where am I? Why need I write a 5,000 word annotated bibliography? Did Sauce really begin his 4-page paper at 1:30 last night? I think Berger muttered something about "tossing it to 'em," but he wasn't distracted a 'tall.

Krill rock-out (click me, i'm a big picture too!):

There's also some other quality snaps from the spinto band show here. Who inspires you?


(i dwell on this ish)

If there’s one thing that chafes my nips more than staying up till 7:20 to finish a project, its going to class the next day only to find out that class is cancelled because my fucksuck of a teacher is scared of snow, thus giving me another week to do my project.


(I quit)

WOOOOOOOOO...

I finished my project ... check the fucking time

BLOg...

Somebody fucking blog already.

Consider yourself blogged.

Check this out. Weirdness and coolness. So between classes today, me and my roommate Slevin go to get some Arby’s. We still have an hour before we have to go back for our lab after class, so we decide to do a little shopping. So we hit up Mediaplay cause he wants to get the new Supergrass album. I happily comply because I figure I can just waste some more money on some DVDs. So to Mediaplay we go.

I peruse the DVD section and find a number of things I like. I pick up “Apocalypse Now: Redux” cause it’s on sale for only $12. And I grab two anime DVDs. They belong to this four part series, of which I already own the other two. But they tend to be a little difficult to hunt down, and I had never found these other two. But lo and behold, months and months after I had originally gotten into the series and had basically forgotten all about it, here was the remainder of the episodes. I excitedly scoop them up.

Fast forward. Go to class. Come home. Record some vocals. Come home. Manda gets home from work. For no reason at all, other than the fact that she’s awesome, she whips out this wrapped gift from her purse. I’m all like “What’s this for?” She’s all like “Cause it’s Thursday.” And I’m all like “Damn, gee, you my numba one boo. You my baby momma, shorty.” I rip it open, and what do I see? THE SAME FUCKING DVDS I HAD JUST BOUGHT A FEW HOURS PRIOR. That’s fucking WEIRD. Neither of us had discussed the movies since maybe early last fall. And then I randomly find them and grab them. Moments later, my girlfriend, unbeknownst to me, walks into the very same store, and gets the very same DVDs. Completely at random. Upon sight of them, I burst out laughing hysterically. That’s gotta be more than a mere coincidence.

That’s weird.

Like your dad’s balls.

A good day had by all I hope. Interesting to find you here? Ah, indeed. What is that you say? No, no, by all means, please help yourself. I am in the 'waiting in the wings' period in my life, I'd like to have you know. Why yes I have. I have known them for many years. If I may prounounce whatever faith I may on you child that would be wonderful. So you see many people realize that I was once a giant killer. Yes, I do not lie, would I lie to you? I used to slay giants, that was my job and I must say I was pretty damn good at it. It is true I tell you (as I stand to profess my sanity). Giants ruled everything twenty to thirty years ago. They lived in poor housing and wonderful manchurian homes on the southeast side of Bismarck, North Dakota and all the way to giant glass duplexes in the hills of Beverly. The first one I ever saw actually attacked me before I even knew what it was, I saw it out of the corner of my eye as I was delivering milk and tacos to an elderly couple half my size. So you could imagine what they thought when they saw the twenty-four foot giant standing behind me as I handed them the delicious tacos followed by the mouth-watering glass of frosty cold milk served 'classic style' in half gallon glass bottles. And before the giant grabbed me from behind I watched in amazement as the young elderly couple scarfed down the tacos and spectacularly filled their bellies with the delicious milk. Oh, how proud was I right before that giant nearly ripped my head off. The concrete porch was like a wonderfully elaborate viewing window into the appetite of such a strange elderly couple, yet I was so filled with delight at the haste in which they ran into their house empty milk bottles and crinkled wrappers in hand screaming their dear lovely lungs out all the way through their house and out their doorwall, or backdoor as it was liked to be called by several non-denominational christian ministers in the year 1949. I sighed and then went back to work. As I turned to take the plunge into the moat that separated the front porch to the rest of the yard--funny how an old young couple built a two foot moat surrounding just their porch in a neighborhood the size of Springfield, Illinois, it seems like such an insignificant amount of land to barricade your private property with, in this neighborhood everyone keeps their garages open anyway so people can be a little more neighborly and come through the garage door--I found a giant hovering bear attacking an old man, but before I was able to react to that situation I saw this giant swinging his chubby hands at me. So I dashed off the porch towards the backyard fence when it caught and grabbed me and with no warning (he didn't say a word) he slapped me on the back, said "howdy" and lightly punched my arm before squaring me up and tackling me into the fence. I almost thought it comical the way he set me up for that little prank of his, I was more worried about replying with the right intonation on the "howdy" rather than preparing my body for the drubbing it was about to take. And wow, did that sonuvabitch pound me like no other giant before him. That's how I got in the business and that day was the reason I quit that day from the business.

My biggest fear in life, is that ill die alone, and unloved.



(sad)

This morning in my writing class the door was closed but out in the hallway I heard booming, hysterical, cartoon-like laughter. Of course I looked around the room for some acknowledgement but everyone just kept their eyes down on their desks or staring straight ahead.
So now I'm worried I'm hearing voices.

I’ll blog until I bleed.

YEAH. Well. I wish I had an adequate response to any of this. This...this...blueness...But I have it. I’m infested with it. It’s taking over everything I do. I hate it. I don’t know how to fight it. I don’t even know what it is. I don’t even know what I’m talking about.

BUT I do know this:
I’m sick of a lot of stuff.
I’m sick of the weather (and that’s not going to change.)
I’m sick of school (but I don’t know what to do about that.)
I’m sick of work (but I need to do it.)
I’m sick of fighting with my girlfriend (but I think that’s blown over, after a particularly large rumble.)
I’m sick of my roommates (I want to make them die.)
I’m sick of not having keys (and I think it’s dynamite time.)
I'm sick of me, I'm sick of you (in a generic sense, no offense to anyone in particular.)
I’m sick of feeling this way, but at the same time, not really knowing if I’m happy or not, cause maybe I am and maybe I’m just overreacting.

But maybe I’m not. Cause there’s no way to tell. There aren’t any answers. And I just keep on hoping that I’ll know if it was right when I get there. Where? I don’t know. Looking for answers makes more questions without answers. Maybe I don't even really care.

I am a waste, and all is wasted upon me. Am I even here at all?

Maybe we should just make more songs that make people punch each other.

see ive read the previous posts by my fellow Janet Drive-eers and i cant help but think that perhaps weve finally reached that point in the school year where your own minds start to turn against us. Can you remember the last time you were truly happy, did it involve a warm summers eve having a bar-b-q with your friends, a trip to the beach perhaps, or even something as simple as a relaxing night with your friends doing the same thing youd done for the past week and enjoying it only because you knew there was nothing holding back from repeating said event the next evening? Its sad but true folks, weve come upon a gray line that obstructs our path to future happiness, the question is do we cross it and start making today a happy day, or hide our heads and run from our shadow like our furry friend the groundhog and allow this dull, diluted existance to continue for another 6 weeks. Usually id be right there with you, i know some of you have specific reasons for this attitude, missing girlfriends, illness, work load, or the lack of anything at all sparking interst in your life, but i've learned from previous years, and the best remedy for your woes, besides actually getting out of here and doing something fun or investing in one of those Alaska visors, is beer. No, thats a joke. hardy har har... see im just trying to get your spirits up, and thats the point i was trying to get to. Keep in touch with that which makes you, you. Sometimes its as simple as remembering those fun events, and reliving them for a little while, use your imagination, its fun. Hell when people talk to me i always imagine them doing something else anyway, so dont get freaked out if you ever see me with a dazed look in my eyes and a stupid grin on my face for no apparent reason, its just me imagineering something entertaining. so yeah be a retard if it makes you happy...
im out


(the MOB is after you)

And you think you're sick. There is nothing like a sore throat sneaking up on you. Saturday night after our radio show I remember feeling that initial scratchiness, almost like there's a piece of hair back there that's impossible to detatch from behind the roof of your mouth. Only once in recent memory can I remember a sore throat not leading to some sort of ears/nose/throat congestion, so it must've been a fluke. Today I think I fought a hard battle, though, taking vitamins, decongestants, aspirin, and drinking about 15 servings of water in those biggens blue and white Residence Hall Association travel mugs. SHAWMANIA!

I can tell it's only a 24 hour deal, so that's good.

I remember at some point this weekend we were talking about how we have become dumber in college. How we reached our pinnacles senior year of high school and due to huge lectures, oblivious peers, no art and music classes (for me at least), and a pretty big lack of motivation/inspiration, we simply aren't thinking as creatively or maybe even as intelligently as we did two or three years ago. I don't know if this is true, but I definitely remember being, or at least trying to be, a lot more pithy or poetic in 10th grade than I do now. I'd go down by the river in Rockford Park, find a seat and open up a notebook from school, jotting things down on some of the back pages that I thought made sense and sounded good together. I don't think I've done that in months, and when I have, I've had a guitar in my lap haphazardly trying to put words to music. I remember every Friday or Saturday night my senior year I'd drive 20 minutes home from my girlfriend's house, crossing state lines and making curfew, and find something to write about, dissect, describe, etc. Maybe it's just the atmosphere here at school, the weather conditions, or something in the water. I feel like I'm still surrounded by over-achievers and people that "totally didn't study last night and are going to ohmygod fucking FAIL" the big test, but of course they barely sneak by with a 97 or whatever. I also think this university's dependency on Powerpoint can't be good for anyone at all. I understand it's probably the best method a teacher's got in this situation to convey the day's lecture notes but all you end up really jotting down is four or five broad bulleted points and telling yourself that you'll fill in the gaps by reading the text later on.

Don't get me wrong, there definitely have been wonderful things about the last year and a half but I can't help but wonder what some of my favorite teachers, excuse me... favorite people, would think of my abilities now. Maybe someone else has an opinion about this and could spell it out better than what I'm doing. I'm just hoping this pessimism is just a result of February doldrums, which I think can be defeated this weekend by the return of Spinto Group 2000 and a bare minimum of mushiness.

God I feel sick!

I think my girlfriend is mad at me, but i can't really tell. Maybe she's just upset, she did have a bad week, and she just wants to talk to me. I suppose we don't talk enough, or when we do; i don't talk enough, or when i do i don't say the right things or ask the right questions. Who knows, i suppose i could ask her, but then that opens a whole other can of sticky smelly worms. Because, if i ask her, she'll probably tell me, and that would lead to a long, important conversation, and it is truly a feet of stupendous strength to hold a long, important conversation on a cell phone. Especially with the reception we get in this house. I tell you what, why is it that we can put a man on the moon but i can't have a decent conversation with my girlfriend without my phone hanging up on at least twice during the conversation. Perhaps the space travel isn't a good example in light of recent events. Regardless, i can't have a long, important phone call with my girlfriend for two reasons, niether of which have anything to do with my unwillingness to talk: 1) I can't talk to her in privacy because i get zero reception in my room, 2) i can't hold a conversation without having to repeat statements every 2 minutes or call her again because my phones cuts out, and that, my friend, is taxing on a man's patience. There is little more exhausting than repeating the phrase "can you hear me" 18 times in a row before you find the place your head has to be in and your next has to be cranned to so you can just repeat the statement you made 5 minutes ago, all of which is to be repeated invariably at least once within the next three minute window. I live my life with my girlfriend in three minute intervals. Maybe i'll write her a letter. I bet she would think that is nice

But that's what makes the best showers, I suppose...I had nowhere to be. No one to be clean for. Just a desire to be cleansed. The water was hotter than normal. I don't like hot water, it makes my face red. But it was hot this time. I turned the shower head to hit me directly in the back of the head, making sure to turn the dial in the center towards "Needle." I stood perfectly still so that all of the water poured off the back of my head, except for two needles of water on the left and right sides. The needles hit me in the backs of my ears.

The rush of water filled my brain, like static, like someone was interfering with my signals. I listened. All I could hear was a dull, flat rush and the trickling of water. I closed my eyes, expecting to find myself completely relaxed. But the water got hotter, distracting me. I found that all I could think about was that patch of black mold in the corner behind me on my left side. I'd tried scrubbing it, but it didn't make a difference. Without a doubt, the small patch wasn't the whole of the mold. I pictured in my mind pulling down the plastic shower wall to reveal rotten wooden slats, crawling with crusty black mold, emitting spores into the air. I pictured the black goo pouring down into the tub. You breathe it in, and you don't even know it. Black mold kills you, you know.

It occurred to me that while I was standing there, naked, with needles of water rapping my ears, that I was dying. As surely as if I were sucking on a cigarette, or worse, squeezing the trigger of a gun pressed into the roof of my mouth, I was dying. I couldn't tell if it scared me or not. The water was awfully hot. What would it matter really? Dying naked standing up for twenty, thirty, forty years, breathing in tiny fungi that filled my lungs until one day, when I suck at the air and realize that my lungs no longer move and I drown in myself? Or dying of old age? Or a disease? Or an accident? I didn't think it mattered. We all went through it. But then again, that's easy to say while you're standing naked with warm water pouring over you. But nevertheless, I didn't think it mattered.

Not that I would ever try and hurt myself. It mattered more than that. After all, I have a paralyzing fear of injury.

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was water drops, all in a row, marching down the side of the tub. Toward the drain. A death-march. It seemed appropriate.

And then I noticed that for the first time in two weeks, the drain hadn't clogged while I was taking a shower, and I didn't have to stand there cleaning myself while standing ankle-deep in my own soapy filth.

I stared at the screen for awhile. I can't remember the last time I smiled. Its seriously been a few days now. I feel like I haven't eaten in a few days, but I try to eat two square meals a day. I listen to music that fits my mood, or that I remember fitting my mood at some point in my lifetime. A sweet rock tune, or a dope rhyme over a sweet beat, or a hip jazz kick--nothing can get me out of this funk. I just revert back to my middle school days of pent up aggression and no way to release it other than blurting out nonsensical phrases when I got angry or taking a long walk, you know, just disappearing for awhile. The latter I still do occassionally, or would do if I had a means to do so. As soon as I'm established here, don't be surprised if you don't see me or hear me throughout the house for a few days. A breath of fresh air every once in a while would do some good. My mind is starting to change again, at least I'm older now and can stall the inevitable switch for awhile until I can build up a nice cushion before I fall out of place on earth. So when I land back here, most people never even knew this place existed. Weird how that works, eh? Ah well...do not forgive me if I have sinned. At least not yet. Forgive me when the water is cold again because surprisingly enough, I got back on my feet again, sometimes with a smile on my face. Just remember that will you! And be on your merry way!

Time: 2:30 PM
Place: exterior of Bowne

I approach the driveway, after a brisk walk on the recently frozen quad. There stands a girl some 20 or so feet from the door, a tall girl, dark hair fair skinned, though awfully over made up for this time of day and these circumstances. Walking forward, hands freezing, breathing into the neck of my jacket, I spy a prada bag, and a long leather coat concealing a pair of high heeled, black boots. I avoid eye contact , assume the worst of her, and continue on my way, until i notice a voice; a cell phone, and a responce that simply baffles me.
Speaking into her silver phone, "Yeah we went to the bars last night... a few of em, but they were all pretty jappy..."

question mark.

GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!!!

THAT'S THE SECOND FUCKING TIME THIS HAS HAPPENED!!!!!!!!!!!

I JUST WROTE FOR LIKE TEN FUCKING MINUTES ON HERE, AND THEN WHEN I CLICK POST IT GIVES ME A FUCKING ERROR MESSAGE, AND ALL THE FRUITS OF MY LABOR ARE ERADICATED.

FUCK.

AND I'M NOT WRITING IT OVER AGAIN.

EAT MY FUCK.

They haven't had yogurt all week. What is up with that? I say, dear establishment, SHUT IT DOWN. Now I do not want to make it seem that I am half-assing my way to the top here, but it sure seems that way recently. Therefore, I have felt meaningless and subdued for a good three days. I have been restless and impossible to work with. The shoes are looking better though, I must say that day of rain sure gave me a smashing good time as it smashed my brain to the ground; into the ground, into it. So you have to thrust your fingers into the earth, grab the worm, get dirt underneath your fingernails. What a feeling that is...it makes me feel alive. This is why yard work is so envigorating. Helping mother with the flower beds was such a relaxing time. Digging up the roots from last year's planting, grabbing the hatchet from the inside wall of the broom closet and running outside pretending I was Natty Bumppo. I would hurl the hatchet towards the stump of the old Russian Olive tree that stood on the west side of our house. Than I would let loose on those darn plant roots, who would have thought that such beautiful flowers, perennials and the lot of 'em, would have such amazingly tough and deep roots. I was amazed to find so many hidden roots, but my motivation was to do a damn good job so my mother had an easy time planting the new ones. Such a sense of accomplishment I would have when I walked home from high school and stared at the pretty flowers, I created the space for them to bloom. I razed the dirt and everything upon it that stood in my way. So now I say to you sweet surreal children of smoke and sky...

Dear anyone,
read pat's previous message... that fact of the matter is that life drags when you’re not living it. In no way am i trying to imply that i live my life to the fullest, no far from it... in fact today i found myself looking forward to doing work, my only solace in this ridiculous world that looms outside the confines of home. I don’t know what to think, was my life designed to be this way, am i destined to wallow in self-pity for the little that remains of my youth. Does He have a greater plan for me? I mean who is He to decide, i don’t even know if their exists an "omniscient being whose foretold our fortunes a million times before we even existed", i mean id like to but i don’t think He’s some old man with a big white beard or nothin. So im forced to think of what could have been. Why am i here, and what is to come? And the only thing i can think of is doing something that makes me happy. I don't mean to imply that life should be meaningless self-gratification. No, i mean that one must do what one has to in the face of grayness, and longing. I personally figured out today that my life revolves around school, not willingly, but simply for the lack of any outside forces playing a role in my life. So ive decided that i will not be happy with what i have, no sir, instead ill will focus on that which will extend my being in some direction. I will make music. I will make art. I will learn that which I deem important. And furthermore I will find that which is missing in my life, and complete, by one manner or another, His almighty plan, My almighty fucking plan.

(we live meaningless lives, in a meaningless world, full of despair and misfortune, routine and vacancy... its a beautiful thing...)

Dear Blog,
Today was basically non-existent. I mean, I woke up, went to class, came back, sat around listened to music, watched tv, did some work and now here i am, writing you and preparing to hunker down til the morrow. Do you ever have days like that? I mean, its as if the day could easily have not happened at all. Is that a bad thing? Or is it just me longing for the noteworthy events of my week, namely the weekend, and disregarding the less noteable ones. Which bringds me to the topic of the all-too-elusive weekend. Shall i spend another evening watching awful movies and drinking malted beverage, or will something eventful happen this coming weekend? The latter is highly doubtful, and at least with the former i have fun hanging out with my friends, mocking all that exists outside of our confined space and consuming ourselves in our own small world of music and movies and inside jokes. But, i can't help feeling something has got to happen soon. Where have the all-night college bashes gone? Where have my first two and a half years of college gone? All things considered, i can't say as i mind much the way things are going right now. Everything seems to be coming up janet drive; the music is falling into place, the shows seem to be in the works. Don't get me wrong, we have a lot of work to do, but this could be our semester. So, despite the constant lack of things happening, of any sort, these times have been good. Even when it was below zero everyday for over a week, the snow was beautiful. It actually made me feel at home here. I guess seeing Syracuse under its natural cover for the first extended period in my college career made me feel as if i was under mine. I enjoy my time here, despite all the obstacles the band runs into, despite the infrequency of all out rages and despite the lack of accumulated stories to tell my grandchildren. I look back on my experiences with a smile and look forward to the coming weekends with hopes that this next one will yield a night of nights. Lets do it boys.

"...he had decided to live forever or die in the attempt."

-The ramblings of an upcoming senior scared of growing old

Today I never really felt like I woke up... I just kind of went from place to place in this groggy haze, bumping into people and park benches. Combine that with the feeling like everyone's looking at you like your fly's down (Sauce, we've discussed this before) and that about makes my Monday. Oh man.

Heading back to the Dome tonight for our game against big east rival Georgetown. Today I walked past Hakim Warrick and was all 'oh my gawd.' I think I'm going to start saying I'm six-three and a half just to feel a little bit better.

Apple Jacks?!
(We eat what we like.)

good evening to all... thank you markus for the pleasurable reading, i have no comments on the content, but i can propose a song title:

La dame d'etoiles

dont know why, it just gave me that vibe, plus i heard "666 The Number Of The Beast" was already taken.

(I do what I want)

HOLY BLOG. So, for your reading pleasure, feel free to feast your eyes on the newest lyrics from the Janet Drive library. For those of us who were there today, we all know what a beast the song is becoming. Keep in mind that this is a work in progress, and will probably change a lot. Suggestions are welcome. And I need a title.

VERSE 1:

My body floats over the rooftops of the town
Where we will meet someday.
I float through dreams, seeing my past, looking for
Someone I’ve never seen.
I find my mind is the guide on this flight,
Showing me the way,
Up through the stars, in the arms of my dreams, to
Her eyes. My love! I see--

CHORUS:

The lies I’ve told, the truths I’ve sold,
Those I’ve hurt, and those few bold
Enough to test me back.

VERSE 2:

But fear crippled my wings.
And so I fell, spinning out of control.
The stars swarmed up at me.
The sharpest point of the brightest star caught
My wrist, spilling my blood.
As I began to cry in pain, my tears poured down,
Mixing with the drops of blood.
It rained down on my past, covering
Those whom I’d left behind and all--

CHORUS

BRIDGE:

But then there’s you,
The dream I’ve never had,
The dream I’ll have someday
Making me forget it all.
But how long will it last before I hurt you?
How soon will I forget you?
Is this real?

CHORUS


Peace.

(testicles)

Low Gravity Sucks.. in fact, I've tired of it... High Gravity is Better.

• Ohh HTML THE COLORS you can produce are beautiful

WHAT...

(i do what i want)

why won't this let me upload a picture!!!... i shall remedy this when my inebriation has passed.

(testicles)