5) Wilco - LOL NERD
4) The Beta Band - HAHAHA NERD
3) Aesop Rock - SORRY BUT LETS BE REAL
2) Saul Williams - I LIK THUG POETRY YO CHECK OUT MY SAD SONGS
and finally
1) THE SEA AND THE CAKE
nerd1: YO BRO I GOT THE NEW SEA AND CAKE SHIT
nerd2: DAMN BLAST THAT SHIT YO
nerd1: (gay nerd music plays)IS THIS GOOD?
nerd2: PITCHFORK SAID IT ROCKED
nerd1: FUCK YEAH NOW I GET IT
nerd2: ME TOO BRO
nerd1: BTW YOUR DICK IS DELICIOUS
nerd2: YOURS TOO BRO
nerd1: THX PITCHFORK
nerd2: OMNOMNOM
Fuck I forgot all about Prefuse.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Damn Jungle Music
One of my favorite gaudy hip-pop tracks ^^
If you take this video serious, you're a bit retarded. =p
How did beyonce blow up bigger than her anyways?
If you take this video serious, you're a bit retarded. =p
How did beyonce blow up bigger than her anyways?
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Feb Playlist
SeeqPod - Playable Search
Random 50 tracks I can actually find on seeqpod. ^^
Kind of like the idea of making this a tradition here.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Allie's Tale Chapter V (Part III - Final)
I could hardly hear the conversation over the blood rushing in my ears, but it was clear that the girl's interrogation of her captive was not revealing much. The other two men, one of which I had known too well already, maintained their vigilance although I couldn't fathom the boy doing anything to antagonize Mania further.
Sirens wailed in the distance and sparked hope within me once again. They sounded far off, but it seemed impossible they wouldn't be heading here. Maybe some soul managed to get a 911 dial off during the massacre. Maybe a few hundred people can't go missing for very long.
Mania glanced about the room almost frightened by the new sound. She leaned in closely to the boy and her grin spread out around the sides of her face, "One last chance to talk," she purred.
The boy smirked and suppressed a laugh, unafraid.
Mania slid one of her two daggers up and down the boy's neck, shredding ribbons of skin with each pass, "Whatever whatever are you thinking."
"I'm thinking about the future, where our roles are swapped, where I have the knife pressed to you, and where I get to savor the pleasure of cutting that grin off your face."
I closed my eyes in anticipation of one more lost life, but no sound came, and upon reopening them, I found Mania a half dozen paces back from the boy, dejected and frustrated.
In that single beat of dead silence, as I sat, still crouching by the railing, I leaned in to see better what was happening below, and with that hint of motion, my attacker's eyes found me. I felt that hope the sirens carried with them slowly slipping away.
I thought for a moment as I nervously chewed my lip that none of tonight had anything to do with me. I was supposed to be here on a date. Yeah, I had wanted to know about Mania and, yes, I had begged Alex and Jet for information, but I didn't deserve to die for that curiosity. Dying here, right now, was totally senseless.
I was tired of being sick and more tired of being scared. The floor was warm and slick about me with proof of both. Thoughts of what that man would have done to me surged anger and revenge hot through me, and when his eyes locked with mine, fear was certainly not the first emotion on my face. I stood up, defiant and bitter, and really what else was I going to do.
He called out, half alarmingly and half jeeringly, and the others' attentions snapped to me. That isn't quite right. The girl's, her attention, turned indifferently, unsurprised, already well aware of my presence. I swallowed hard, tasting acid on my spit. She saw my face, anger and shame, and she cocked her head towards her man, read his smirk, and her neck rolled as her eyes narrowed with understanding.
Her face was childlike, angelic, slender but wide eyed, even as her eyes narrowed and her smile turned cruel, there was something of an innocent grace about her.
She smiled at me, and turned back to her man, speaking to him, though loud enough for me to hear, "Die."
It wasn't a threat or a request. My hands shook as they clawed the wooden railing tightly enough to give me illusions of snapping it.
The man's smirk vanished and he moved quickly, almost too fast for me follow, but only almost, and swung the pistol aimed at the boy to instead point into the girl's face, six inches from her unwrinkled, unconcerned brow. The same gun was pressed into my face not an hour ago, but her reaction did not in the faintest resemble my humiliating trembling. Her eyebrows flared with incredulity.
Facing the barrel, she titled her head to the side, and giggled. The laughter was awkward, but not forced -- it just seemed to last longer than it should. And it wasn't mocking -- she actually thinks all of this is funny.
I never had my moment to get away, to save my life, but I was sure that if there was a moment for this man, it would have been the first second of her giggling. It slipped right on by him, and I was happy it did.
I shouldn't be this angry, I reasoned. I should be scared. I should be anything but wanting her to rip this man's head off. Still, my breath came in hisses through gritted teeth and, shifting my hands off the railing, my nails dug fiercely into my balled fists.
The second man and the boy turned their faces away, afraid to watch. I leaned forward over the railing to see better, I wanted it, and I saw the man's death long before it physically unfolded.
My attacker's face flickered from anger to terror to misery to defeat. The girl nodded. His motion was quick, much quicker than before, but my eyes again didn't fail to capture it. The man dropped his arm to his side and then swung the handgun up to his face and then into his mouth, pulling the trigger, twice. His body hung suspended, briefly defying gravity, until a slight nudge from the girl sent him buckling and twitching to the puddled floor.
The boy shook his head in what could have been disgust and the man shivered as he kept his weapon trained on the boy. The girl looked up at me, her face innocent and proud, a child awaiting praise from her school teacher. I don't know why I nodded, but this man's death after what I'd seen, was something like catharsis.
She spoke to the boy, loudly, "Wait here." She grabbed the boy's wounded left arm by the wrist, pressed it up against the wooden side of one of the seats, and with deliberate motion skewered both flesh and wood, pinning his hand to the chair. My own hand burned with sympathy pain, but I wasn't sick. My stomach remained firm. I was done with all that. He didn't cry out as I nearly did but tensed his face, furious. I staggered falling backwards as her eyes swung back to find me.
She was on me in an instant. I can't begin to understand my emotions at that moment. Scared, yes. But stupid as it is, I was mostly ashamed. My dress torn by the now dead man, my hair and the carpet around me covered in my disgust, a total mess -- not just shame, I was angry and jealous. She was covered in blood, her once marvelous outfit somehow still gorgeous stained red. Her lips hung open, parted and curious, and her large white teeth glimmered even if stained a faint pink. She was somehow still beautiful, still marvelous if intimidating, and I was just disgusting.
She saw the shame on my face and her Cheshire grin became a mother's sympathetic smile.
And then she was hugging me. And then I was no longer scared.
She spoke soothingly, melodically, and she could have said anything with that voice, "I saw you, you're like me."
I nodded without listening before pressing my head into her neck, the smell of her skin gentle and surprisingly familiar, safe. The tears and crying I had fought all night came out explosively. I cried, pathetic as it was, because I had nothing else left. I had no energy to plead or beg. I sobbed into her shoulder not caring anymore if I lived or died here.
Part of me knew it made no sense, that this girl was a monster, that she would push me away in a few seconds, the grin would come back and my last sight would be watching my blood wash her pale face.
I'm sorry, Jet. I couldn't run. My moment never came.
I don't know how long I'd been crying. It could have been a minute or five. She stroked by hair and back, softly and reassuringly, whispering something to me, but I couldn't hear it over my own sobs. I choked them back as best I could, afraid to make her repeat herself.
Her face was soft but serious, "Don't worry. I'll never hurt you. Never. Never. Never."
There was a scream and a shot down below, but it felt far away and broke neither of our attentions.
She repeated the "never" over and over and looking up into her gentle eyes, I believed it. Tears ran down her red-stained face carving pale white streaks before vanishing over her chin. As I looked into her eyes and she into mine, I thought, well it was impossible, nevermind---
"Are you okay, now?"
I pushed back away from her, steadied my breathing, my throat screamed in pain from the sobbing, and spoke delicately through the pain, "Yes, sorry, I'm fine now."
She didn't reply beyond a gentle nod, but motioned for me to stand. I obliged and once up, tried to spot the boy. He was nowhere to be seen. The man with the gun lay dead, throat slashed, my monster's second dagger jutting out. She understood my glance and she made the same visual check, clearly failing to notice the boy's escape due to my sobbing. I felt an immediate surge of guilt. She paused, as if listening very carefully, and her face wore a new expression, worry. She turned to me, "More are coming."
"Who?"
"Donovan's angry." She hopped up on to the balcony with feral grace.
"The boy? How did he even get out of here? And what's between the two of you?" I couldn't stop. The questions came in rapid succession into my mind, and I lacked the ability to restrain myself in asking them as they did. "Why? Why all these people?"
She was facing away from me, staring intently at the three locked double doors down below, the same doors I had seen chained from the outside earlier. My questions hung empty and answered in the air, she acknowledged not a single one of them, but instead rolled her neck, and spoke without turning to me, "Go. Run. To the street."
I was anxious to get out of there. I wanted nothing more than to get out, to find Jet, to see my family, to crawl under my blankets and wake up in the morning and laugh about how this must all have been a strange nightmare. But, I was curious, and I wanted what happened tonight to make sense, somehow. Why did all these people have to die? They did nothing to anyone. Why did I live?
"You'll die if you stay." It was matter of fact and I quickly noted the protective tone from her voice was all but gone.
I agreed to live. "Okay."
She turned around and her face was serious. "Find the card cheat."
I stared at her, confused. After the pause revealed no more information from her, "What?" What was she talking about?
Through pursed lips, "And," grin returning as she handed me her remaining dagger, "stick this in the neck of anyone you see on the way out."
Upon closer inspection, the dagger was less of a blade and more of a long spike. It was cool and slippery in my hand. I shuddered thinking of where it had been.
I shook my head refusing, forcing the knife back onto her, and without thinking a moment longer, fled out the doorway barefoot, down the stairs, past my unbroken and discarded cell phone, out onto the street, aware and uncaring of the icy slush and don't know when I would have stopped if I hadn't ran full force into a young man two blocks out. The collision left both me and the boy on the concrete and ice.
Recognizing the victim, I hugged him ferociously.
Alex hugged me back and in an instant his jacket was wrapped tight around me.
We spoke at the same time,
"Where the fuck is Jet?"
"What happened?"
He ran his hand through his hair with an embarrassed, sheepish grin, "Sleeping. He hates classical music."
Sirens wailed in the distance and sparked hope within me once again. They sounded far off, but it seemed impossible they wouldn't be heading here. Maybe some soul managed to get a 911 dial off during the massacre. Maybe a few hundred people can't go missing for very long.
Mania glanced about the room almost frightened by the new sound. She leaned in closely to the boy and her grin spread out around the sides of her face, "One last chance to talk," she purred.
The boy smirked and suppressed a laugh, unafraid.
Mania slid one of her two daggers up and down the boy's neck, shredding ribbons of skin with each pass, "Whatever whatever are you thinking."
"I'm thinking about the future, where our roles are swapped, where I have the knife pressed to you, and where I get to savor the pleasure of cutting that grin off your face."
I closed my eyes in anticipation of one more lost life, but no sound came, and upon reopening them, I found Mania a half dozen paces back from the boy, dejected and frustrated.
In that single beat of dead silence, as I sat, still crouching by the railing, I leaned in to see better what was happening below, and with that hint of motion, my attacker's eyes found me. I felt that hope the sirens carried with them slowly slipping away.
I thought for a moment as I nervously chewed my lip that none of tonight had anything to do with me. I was supposed to be here on a date. Yeah, I had wanted to know about Mania and, yes, I had begged Alex and Jet for information, but I didn't deserve to die for that curiosity. Dying here, right now, was totally senseless.
I was tired of being sick and more tired of being scared. The floor was warm and slick about me with proof of both. Thoughts of what that man would have done to me surged anger and revenge hot through me, and when his eyes locked with mine, fear was certainly not the first emotion on my face. I stood up, defiant and bitter, and really what else was I going to do.
He called out, half alarmingly and half jeeringly, and the others' attentions snapped to me. That isn't quite right. The girl's, her attention, turned indifferently, unsurprised, already well aware of my presence. I swallowed hard, tasting acid on my spit. She saw my face, anger and shame, and she cocked her head towards her man, read his smirk, and her neck rolled as her eyes narrowed with understanding.
Her face was childlike, angelic, slender but wide eyed, even as her eyes narrowed and her smile turned cruel, there was something of an innocent grace about her.
She smiled at me, and turned back to her man, speaking to him, though loud enough for me to hear, "Die."
It wasn't a threat or a request. My hands shook as they clawed the wooden railing tightly enough to give me illusions of snapping it.
The man's smirk vanished and he moved quickly, almost too fast for me follow, but only almost, and swung the pistol aimed at the boy to instead point into the girl's face, six inches from her unwrinkled, unconcerned brow. The same gun was pressed into my face not an hour ago, but her reaction did not in the faintest resemble my humiliating trembling. Her eyebrows flared with incredulity.
Facing the barrel, she titled her head to the side, and giggled. The laughter was awkward, but not forced -- it just seemed to last longer than it should. And it wasn't mocking -- she actually thinks all of this is funny.
I never had my moment to get away, to save my life, but I was sure that if there was a moment for this man, it would have been the first second of her giggling. It slipped right on by him, and I was happy it did.
I shouldn't be this angry, I reasoned. I should be scared. I should be anything but wanting her to rip this man's head off. Still, my breath came in hisses through gritted teeth and, shifting my hands off the railing, my nails dug fiercely into my balled fists.
The second man and the boy turned their faces away, afraid to watch. I leaned forward over the railing to see better, I wanted it, and I saw the man's death long before it physically unfolded.
My attacker's face flickered from anger to terror to misery to defeat. The girl nodded. His motion was quick, much quicker than before, but my eyes again didn't fail to capture it. The man dropped his arm to his side and then swung the handgun up to his face and then into his mouth, pulling the trigger, twice. His body hung suspended, briefly defying gravity, until a slight nudge from the girl sent him buckling and twitching to the puddled floor.
The boy shook his head in what could have been disgust and the man shivered as he kept his weapon trained on the boy. The girl looked up at me, her face innocent and proud, a child awaiting praise from her school teacher. I don't know why I nodded, but this man's death after what I'd seen, was something like catharsis.
She spoke to the boy, loudly, "Wait here." She grabbed the boy's wounded left arm by the wrist, pressed it up against the wooden side of one of the seats, and with deliberate motion skewered both flesh and wood, pinning his hand to the chair. My own hand burned with sympathy pain, but I wasn't sick. My stomach remained firm. I was done with all that. He didn't cry out as I nearly did but tensed his face, furious. I staggered falling backwards as her eyes swung back to find me.
She was on me in an instant. I can't begin to understand my emotions at that moment. Scared, yes. But stupid as it is, I was mostly ashamed. My dress torn by the now dead man, my hair and the carpet around me covered in my disgust, a total mess -- not just shame, I was angry and jealous. She was covered in blood, her once marvelous outfit somehow still gorgeous stained red. Her lips hung open, parted and curious, and her large white teeth glimmered even if stained a faint pink. She was somehow still beautiful, still marvelous if intimidating, and I was just disgusting.
She saw the shame on my face and her Cheshire grin became a mother's sympathetic smile.
And then she was hugging me. And then I was no longer scared.
She spoke soothingly, melodically, and she could have said anything with that voice, "I saw you, you're like me."
I nodded without listening before pressing my head into her neck, the smell of her skin gentle and surprisingly familiar, safe. The tears and crying I had fought all night came out explosively. I cried, pathetic as it was, because I had nothing else left. I had no energy to plead or beg. I sobbed into her shoulder not caring anymore if I lived or died here.
Part of me knew it made no sense, that this girl was a monster, that she would push me away in a few seconds, the grin would come back and my last sight would be watching my blood wash her pale face.
I'm sorry, Jet. I couldn't run. My moment never came.
I don't know how long I'd been crying. It could have been a minute or five. She stroked by hair and back, softly and reassuringly, whispering something to me, but I couldn't hear it over my own sobs. I choked them back as best I could, afraid to make her repeat herself.
Her face was soft but serious, "Don't worry. I'll never hurt you. Never. Never. Never."
There was a scream and a shot down below, but it felt far away and broke neither of our attentions.
She repeated the "never" over and over and looking up into her gentle eyes, I believed it. Tears ran down her red-stained face carving pale white streaks before vanishing over her chin. As I looked into her eyes and she into mine, I thought, well it was impossible, nevermind---
"Are you okay, now?"
I pushed back away from her, steadied my breathing, my throat screamed in pain from the sobbing, and spoke delicately through the pain, "Yes, sorry, I'm fine now."
She didn't reply beyond a gentle nod, but motioned for me to stand. I obliged and once up, tried to spot the boy. He was nowhere to be seen. The man with the gun lay dead, throat slashed, my monster's second dagger jutting out. She understood my glance and she made the same visual check, clearly failing to notice the boy's escape due to my sobbing. I felt an immediate surge of guilt. She paused, as if listening very carefully, and her face wore a new expression, worry. She turned to me, "More are coming."
"Who?"
"Donovan's angry." She hopped up on to the balcony with feral grace.
"The boy? How did he even get out of here? And what's between the two of you?" I couldn't stop. The questions came in rapid succession into my mind, and I lacked the ability to restrain myself in asking them as they did. "Why? Why all these people?"
She was facing away from me, staring intently at the three locked double doors down below, the same doors I had seen chained from the outside earlier. My questions hung empty and answered in the air, she acknowledged not a single one of them, but instead rolled her neck, and spoke without turning to me, "Go. Run. To the street."
I was anxious to get out of there. I wanted nothing more than to get out, to find Jet, to see my family, to crawl under my blankets and wake up in the morning and laugh about how this must all have been a strange nightmare. But, I was curious, and I wanted what happened tonight to make sense, somehow. Why did all these people have to die? They did nothing to anyone. Why did I live?
"You'll die if you stay." It was matter of fact and I quickly noted the protective tone from her voice was all but gone.
I agreed to live. "Okay."
She turned around and her face was serious. "Find the card cheat."
I stared at her, confused. After the pause revealed no more information from her, "What?" What was she talking about?
Through pursed lips, "And," grin returning as she handed me her remaining dagger, "stick this in the neck of anyone you see on the way out."
Upon closer inspection, the dagger was less of a blade and more of a long spike. It was cool and slippery in my hand. I shuddered thinking of where it had been.
I shook my head refusing, forcing the knife back onto her, and without thinking a moment longer, fled out the doorway barefoot, down the stairs, past my unbroken and discarded cell phone, out onto the street, aware and uncaring of the icy slush and don't know when I would have stopped if I hadn't ran full force into a young man two blocks out. The collision left both me and the boy on the concrete and ice.
Recognizing the victim, I hugged him ferociously.
Alex hugged me back and in an instant his jacket was wrapped tight around me.
We spoke at the same time,
"Where the fuck is Jet?"
"What happened?"
He ran his hand through his hair with an embarrassed, sheepish grin, "Sleeping. He hates classical music."
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