Saturday, April 23, 2011

Ichikoma

Vending Machines, No. 128

Unrelated Segments

Writing, writing, writing.... Whatever...

These days I'd rather take pictures or listen to tunes or drink beer or hang out or all of the above. Writing? Or, more properly, writing for pleasure? Way down on the list of "necessary things." Right up there with going to the dentist and shit...

It's like talking--sometimes you feel like it, sometimes you don't. Sometimes you feel like it but you can't. Sometimes you can but you don't. Or won't.

I don't trust words anymore. Not mine, not yours.

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Recently I've decided that I need more exercise. It's kinda like when, every once in a while, I "decide" to quit smoking. I've done this sort of thing before. Many times, actually. There's a general feeling of well-being and accomplishment. It feels good. Then one night I have a few beers and begin thinking that, hey, this isn't *really* you, Rick. You smoke and drink and generally don't give a shit about your health. What the fuck are you doing? And really, if you can't agree with yourself, who the hell can you agree with?

So, against every instinct, I've been doing this exercise thing for a couple of weeks. I'm very briskly walking 6-8 kilometers every day. I'm taking the stairs. All that crap. There's a nice walking path just outside my condo. It has these benches that you can use to sit down, or to stretch and do sit-ups and stuff. A few days ago I decided I would do some sit-ups each time I walked by one of these benches. The first few days were easy, but then yesterday I actually found myself crying out in pain on the first sit-up. I hate this time-delay shit.

Fortunately, I like walking. Some people enjoy running. When I die, I'll be walking... with an attitude...

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Say what you will about Motorhead and/or this video, but "Killed by Death" is about as cool a title for a song (or anything else) as I'm capable of imagining...


Yeah.

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I just now, literally this instant, found out that a friend--a guitar player with whom I've played, has recently suffered a minor stroke. He's younger than me by about 10 years. For now, he can't play guitar. What say you, religionists? God's will? He was a "sinner." Go ahead, say it if you really believe it. And then I'll tell you what I really believe...

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There is a war going on. A war without guns. At least not yet...

Saturday, April 16, 2011

An Odd Place for a Pair of Shoes

Message from Japan

Hi!

OK, if I've got this straight... if everything I've been reading is true--they wouldn't print it if it weren't, right?--then about half of Japan sank into the ocean when that big earthquake hit last month; and most of the other half was submerged by the ensuing tsunami, am I right? And anything left over was killed outright by or severely mutated by a radioactive gas cloud that threatens the very existence of all life on earth.

Right?

Right. As the last non-Japanese person--all my mates have split, y'know-- on the last square kilometer or so in Japan that hasn't sunk into the sea or been laid waste to by deadly radioactive gas that's radioactive and deadly to breathe or water that's been poisoned by radioactivity and is now poison because it's radioactive, let me tell you this: life is hell.

For starters, there are only a couple of hundred people left alive in all of what's left of Japan. Yeah, that may seem like some sort of existentialist heaven, but I was never that big on Sartre... And all you folks in the rest of the world have not likely noticed any reduction in all the wonderful Japanese products that have been making your lives so... well, *wonderful* for so many years...

Anime, manga, Toyotas, and more generally anything small and cool: they're all from Japan. And they're still being made--by me  and a couple of hundred other people (well, and several million gerbils on exercise wheels--that was my idea!). Sure, life is a bit tough, but it's the only way for us to fulfill our mission to raise Japan from the depths of the Pacific Ocean. I mean, we *could* ask Godzilla and his monster friends to give us a hand, but we can't really trust them. They're, like, fucking *monsters,* you know? They might help us rebuild Japan today, and then turn around and tear it all back down tomorrow. Monsters should only be employed in cases of alien attack. It's the only time humans and monsters share a common cause...

I'm actually a bit surprised that the Western media seem to tip-toe around the  issue of the monsters. They seem to have a good grip on everything else...

More later...

Monday, April 11, 2011

The Secret Lives of Tetrapods

It's not often one can use the "tetrapods" and "pornography" tags in the same post. When I stumbled across the scenes you see below... Well, I couldn't believe my eyes.

Possibly NSFW...




Walk long and far enough, and you'll see damned near everything...

Tuesday, April 05, 2011

Rusty


[This pretty much captures what's been going on in my guts recently. After x-rays, ultrasounds, CT scans and, today, an endoscopy, it looks like I'm in the clear--the usual "be careful about your eating and drinking, and try to get more exercise to relieve stress." I wouldn't recommend an endoscopy (colonoscopy) to my worst enemy...]

Buried Tetrapods