Fluid Retention

oliphaunts asked: Not an Ask, more of a Tell: I loved your entry about the show in the West Bottoms. So well written, I honestly wasn't sure if it was really you who wrote it! I've never read something of yours that was so articulate, yet focused, concise, and interspersed with wit. You should really, really consider doing more reviews and blogging about your show experiences. I'm really impressed.

Aw thanks Liv!

Yes, I really do need to concentrate on writing more. Only recently have I begun to realize how cathardic creative writing can be - perhaps due to the fact that the past couple of years my writing experiences have been almost purely limited to research papers and artist statements.

I’ve done stuff for the Malicious Intent Blogspot along with other Metal deejays (see: http://maliciousintent666.blogspot.com/) but one of my goals this Summer, aside from continuing writing for them, is to start my own music blog, and another documenting my progress as an artist now that my undergrad is finished.

This year I took a tip from a friend and started a media blog - documenting every film, album, book, and television series I have experienced in full, along with accompanying notes. It’s been an essential tool in keeping my thoughts straight XD

I was always a little afraid of writing - I worry about coming off as trite, and there’s always the time issue … but here of late I’ve really enjoyed the purging of thoughts to text.

Miss you.

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The Tara Brooch, circa 700 CE

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Perhaps people like us cannot love. Ordinary people can - that is their secret.

Hermann Hesse

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Author & Punisher. Current obsession.

New album “Ursus Americanus” was released last month on Seventh Rule.

Extraordinary music - fresh, innovative, captivating, and utterly evil sounding as fuck.

http://www.tristanshone.com/

Oh 2012, you rule hard so far.

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Gratuitous self-portrait time.

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Jelling Stone of Harold Bluetooth, Tenth Century C.E.

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I hate it when that happens. First World metalhead problems.

72 notes

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Boab saw it all now. While he was mechanically relieving himself upstairs by skillessly poking Evelyn in the missionary position, his parents were trying to cram the three-peice suite up each other’s arses. The very thought of them having a sexuality had repulsed him; now it shamed him in a different way. There was one aspect, however, where it was like father, like son. He knew he could not trust himself to see his mother’s shite. It would be too arousing, that succulent, hot sour faeces, all going into his father’s mouth. Boab felt his first conscious twinges of an Oedipus complex, at twenty-three years old, and in a metamorphosised state.

Irvine Welsh “The Granton Star Cause”

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