Pervading

Last night, as it is in essence, I found myself the victim of what is now evident as the most brilliantly resilient temporary tattoo. I intend to use this as a metaphor for the individuals around me, those with immense personal contact with me. All around, a general mood of persistence exists within my loved ones, meaning a direct disregard for prior vision. It appears that experiential logic has been thrown out the window and that all things formerly unfeasible have been flipped on their fucking head, removed from the rotting slab that once was their resting place. A minor shift, mind you, but all the more genius when inspected, like digging the lice out of the pubic hair of some unfortunate sap who unknowingly bed the unclean in a solemn act of defiance. If illogical, I believe such an endurance is uniquely odd and miraculously beautiful, and is applaudable, yet somehow unlaudable, in the sense that prior conviction and restraint are respected by the wise for good reason.

Keep on truckin', though, and I will be back from Missouri on the 30th.

"This caring too much-I remember that it only developed with me about the time I first fell in love. And even then I didn't care enough. If I had really cared I wouldn't be here now writing about it; I'd have died of a broken heart, or I'd have swung for it. It was a bad experience because it taught me how to live a lie. It taught me to smile when I didn't want to smile, to work when I didn't believe in work, to live when I had no reason to go on living. Even when I had forgotten her I still retained the trick of doing what I didn't believe in.

It was all chaos from the beginning, as I have said. But sometimes I got so close to the center, to the very heart of the confusion, that it's a wonder things didn't explode around me."
-Henry Miller, pages 15-16 of Tropic of Capricorn

I was at Bradford's a bit back for a firepit and beer when I met this guy. Giant snakebites, not the usual man I'd think of as intellectually engaging. However, I quickly learned in discourse that he had Tropic of Cancer on his phone. The entirety of the novel. ON his phone. Amazing, no? Well, without necessity, I tell you that I do not have this; cut to this evening when I decide to turn off Christmas on Mars (I was incredibly disappointed, possibly because I was incredibly sober) and make myself a cup of tea, a cup only because my parents happen to be immensely different from me culturally and do not own either a tea kettle or a teapot. So I nuke some water in the largest, most conical mug they own and scour my bookcase of things I've left here in Euless to see if I can't pick out something good. I crouch down, all my bodyweight resting on the balls of my feet and notice immediately that my books have been rearranged, probably in the process of the remodeling my family's doing to their house, when seeing that my Henry Miller collection is not only out of order both chronologically and alphabetically, but these little nuggets of perverse beauty are separated and spread all across the shelves. I still have not adjusted this. But I think back to this kid, his name was Levi, and his marvelous phone. Now, I feel it should be noted that I haven't read the Tropics since I was 16, when I felt it slightly more interesting to masturbate to the sexual situations and overt, yet appetizing infidelity. I have loved this author's word choice and overall life philosophy since the first time I picked up Stand Still Like the Hummingbird, my first of his works to truly encounter. My younger self wasn't fully unfamiliar with the author, and the day I actually obtained that book (in a rather shifty way, though I think it to be unfitting to describe that manner in this situation), after expressing my desire to experience a breadth of his publications, my mother bought for me both Tropic of Cancer and Tropic of Capricorn. Like nearly each time when I acquire more than one literary work, I went for the smallest of the three, which of course was Stand Still. By the time I reached that worthless blank page at the back that I so often used in order to practice my signature, the author had enveloped me in a beautiful, yet revolting sense of internal separation. From the day I opened the text, I was an avowed Henry Miller fanatic. The choice of the word "fanatic" here is intentional, as I became not only a fan of the works themselves, but of the man and the way he approached la vie quotidienne.

I wrote earlier about how I feel myself extremely different from either of my parents (I do remind myself strongly of more distant family members, however), but my father acts in some ways much like me. By this, I mean to say that when this man discovers something that he enjoys, he is dreadfully devoted to it until the possibility of intense obsession disappears or in a manner more plausible, he discovers a new interest. In much the same way, upon the discovery of a novelist, or for that manner a visual artist, I tend to submerge myself in their writings until I either become burned out or I simply run out of works to engage myself with. During my mid-teens, I found myself in this situation with Salinger, Bukowski, Kerouac, Quinn, and William S. Burroughs. Of course, Henry Miller created throughout the majority of the 20th century an immense amount of novels, and so with this author, the former was the case.

Anyways, Tropic of Capricorn and Tropic of Cancer blew me out of the water as it truly connected me to the novel more so than any other writing I had ever encountered. This shit is real, every thought between the covers was a personal revelation of my feelings, and it fully made clear to me that I was not alone in my perverse thoughts and flighty nature.

Graceland

Due to my constant obsession with Simon and Garfunkel, sometimes I forget how much I love Paul Simon's solo work; occasionally, however, I find a catalyst and go dig up the Graceland and jam out to the sweet, sweet African rhythms. Albums like this force such beautiful emotion into the soul, and just make you want to dance your cares away in the arms of someone else, anyone else, and every time the bass guitar pops in these songs, your heart sings.

This is what I need right now.

fuck the unt library system

24 bucks is like half my money right now assholes

There's not much more than this out there.

"And I can't see your pretty face no more,
Since you found your perfect lover.
And I know my time with you is through,
Now you're living with another."

Like a rancid bottle of lukewarm egg nog, my nozzles are becoming much more clogged by the hour. In other words, I'm more restless than a warthog with worms or a mastodon with the knowledge of his bleak future.

Sometimes I feel I'm more emotionally grown than I've been in ages, only to realize now that adultness as an adjective is the most faulty concept ever conceived. To know someone's age (physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, however you'd prefer to think of it) is not how I pictured it a year ago, a month ago, a decade ago.

I suppose that I always figured that the age restraints that limited you to those born within six months either way of you, the ones that we've all had to deal with in our formation, that they stuck.


Now I'm finding wisdom in children and folly in my elders. How 'bout that?

day fucking five

"But I won't change it and neither will you,

When what seemed the appropriate are now the wrong things to do,
If in every act there's something good,
I haven't done all the good things I could."

I have not smoked a cigarette in five days, and the only thing that I've learned is that I don't really do much of anything. I'm able to fully concentrate my faculties of thought on movies, music, homework, whatever I really please. This situation feels like removing the necessity of eating or sleeping, or some weird drastic change; but all it took was a little prescription and a recognition that the vast majority of Americans do not engage in this fucking act. Quitting smoking has to be the goddamned easiest thing to do if you really want to do it. JUST DON'T SMOKE CIGARETTES, DUDE.

Whatever, fuck you and your pets.

weirdest wknd evr

"Let horsey bray break between the thunder boom.
Make grasses' swish meet the cricket's ring.
Let every sound consecrate our whispering words that Betta never heard."

Went and saw Milk yesterday. If you have the ability to watch this film, watch it simply so you can talk cool Oscar talk when March rolls around. There was a fair amount of gratuitous dude-on-dude action, but it's a great movie and worth the Angelika's 7.50 student rate and shit. The only thing I get weirded out about with Sean Penn is his fucking smile. There's just something about his face that bothers me; if there's one thing that visual culture has taught me it's that Sean Penn kinda creeps me out. But I feel it works with the gay jewishness of Harvey Milk, not to mention how badass this Brolin dude is. I still have yet to see W, I've begun to kinda forget that George W.Bush was ever our president. Too soon? Maybe I'm being preemptive.

I bought a bowler hat, I plan on getting a whole ton of use out of it. Got a problem with it, then eat it. Also, possible video blogging to begin soon, documenting all the tiny little towns in the North Texas, southern Oklahoma region? If anyone wants to get me something for christmas, domain names would be tight. Interesting ones:
pigsanddogs.com
leftovrs.org
leftovrs.net
handycandy.net

On another note, I'm probably the most emotionally disorganized that I've ever been after what happened last night.

We'll see how the rest of this semester goes.

"I wake up and I'm fine
With my dreamings still on my mind
But it doesn't take long, you see
For the demons to come and visit me."

If there's a time for peeeeeetering out, it's now. More than ever I want nothing more than to turn in my shit and leave. I don't really want to hang out in class, and this is really meaning my french classes. I still really enjoy the language, however, these classes are fucking killing me. Thank God that I'm done with them as of next week. La semaine fucking prochaine. OUT OF FRENCH FOREVER, ASSHOLES. I RULE. YOU DO NOT, OR AT LEAST NOT QUITE AS MUCH OR IN THE SAME MANNER AS I RULE.

This might be the time where I manage to keep my hair short for a while, and that sort of excites me. I've always hidden myself behind the hair, while numerous folks tell me to cut it (read: frank slater and nichole bufton and others over the years). It's part of my growing up process, I suppose; who knows.

I am already excited for SXSW and it's not even 2009. Fuck the new years, I want March. I'm gonna be legal and that means free food, free booze, free music, and hating to find places to pee. I'm going to have to find an extreme posse to spread across the entirety of Austin, Texas and we can fucking report to each other on some weird network system level. Denton, Texas gotsta reach out to spread the word. Denton needs more notoriety, we can make this shit like Haight/Ashbury if we really tried. Except without hippies and tigheter pants and looser morals and maybe a little less on the drug use.

Today is my number one don't smoke day. I've smoked a black and mild, and I think I might chill out with one daily. If I can will myself against cigarettes, I can will myself out of anything. The power of our own goddamned minds is incredible, I can't really wrap my head around it.

Denton's growing real fast, btw. In 20 years, who the fuck knows?

"oh cecilia, you're breakin' my heart
i'm beggin' you please to come home
whoa whoaaaaaa whoa."

steph's new house is like a badass timeless pit of kickass. i don't really remember after a certain point last night, but i do know that i got my work done today. sobray's tighter than i ever thought before, and their surround sound goes not only through his room, but also into the living room. gonna go see nick and norah's in a bit, i'm not really expecting a grand fucking opus of a film, but i'll give it a shot. The new phone's working out well, just started to upload photos from it to my laptop. An example of this is up there.



this week has been badass as shit

Finally, I have some shit in my room.

For the past 4 months, I have had very little in the way of ornamental decoration in my bedroom, but I finally decided to do my shit and put some stuff up.

Also, started taking Chantix on Thursday, so I'm quitting smoking. For real, for good. There ain't no pussing out now, even if I want to, I can't.

This Thanksgiving's going to be shitty. I'm gonna have to throwdown and get nassssstay.

sometimes i'm just a pussy

On friday

Sabrina and I parted ways. Right now I'm not sure if it's forever or not, but I hope we can resolve some things an piece us back together. I am, however, sick of talking about it to people. I'm way sick of being asked if I'm ok, because I'm not one to externally show how I feel in a situation such as this one. Not having her around feels exactly like I need a cigarette, so I've been smoking a lot, but it's not helping. Everyone I've talked to has said not to worry about it, and I know I can handle a break up, but it's just so weird because as far as I can tell, the only reasoning behind it was because we'd been weird for a while. I wish something big and emotional had happened, so I didn't feel so empty.

She's my best friend and that's what sucks the most. I could tell her anything, but now I have to walk on fucking eggshells around her as I don't want to seem too sappy and lose her entirely.

I also have written too much art historical data in the past weekend, drank too much alcohol, and eaten not enough. I vomited for the first time since June on Saturday, it was all bile and the water I tried to drink. The goddamned dog would go around where I was puking and lick the grass, it was revolting. I'm just glad that no one reads this.

T. Austin Huse

Sometimes, I don't feel appreciated.

AMEN BROTHA MAN

deb8s

john mccain sucks

last night

me and my girlfriend got beat up by x-heads with something to prove


fuck that, peace forever

I tend to fuck things up routinely.

This is solely for my own benefit.
I should probably just let things happen instead of trying to have an active hand in what I do. I cannot know anything, I simply have to trust. While that's rather frightening to me, this is what I must do.

Tomorrow I have to talk to the chairperson in art history at my university and determine when I am able to graduate, what I need to do, etc. I'm not necessarily feeling that I need to go to graduate school immediately after my undergrad; however, that would mean that I'd need to look for job possibilities with my undergrad degree. I know that I could fully manage a business, though I don't have the credit or the startup funds in order to do so.

Hrm.

Closer to finding better logo and visual ideas for the organization.

EFI Logo possibilities

I sort of think that the second one is godawful, but I kinda like the first one.

Also:

Lambchop- OH

Badass shit from Merge Records.  OH being Ohio, as well.  Check it out, it's well worth it.

LINK

Rajput Guard!

Shit's going doooooowwwwwnnnnnn.

I can't deal with irrational people.  At all.  AT ALL!