Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Joey Stalin's LiveJournal:

[ << Previous 20 ]

Friday, July 7th, 2006
5:15 pm	Ever Since I Have A Propensity For Digging One summer I will dig a hole in the earth with a shovel (because I can only use my hands on a beach) six feet long, three feet wide, and six feet deep. I will jump in, and lay down at the bottom and cool off. When the sweat has dried, I will take the knife and plunge it deep into my neck and bleed to darkness. They'll only have to push the earth back where it was before I disturbed it. For redemption. An americanized Seppuku, for you. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Friday, June 16th, 2006
12:39 am	Viva Like any proper revolutionary, Jesus had* a beard. *Is depcited as having. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, June 7th, 2006
5:45 pm	Telos I have a new goal in life. Ya know, one of those greater, serious things I have to do before I die. I have to master a two handed technique, and learn the McCoy Tynor's solo in Resolution on the live version of Love Supreme. I mean, it aint Coltrane that does it to me on that record. It is, I mean, ya know, he takes you on journeys and shit. It's just that Tynor solo really fucks with me... right in the solar plexus. But I aint denying trane is all I'm sayin. (Comment on this)
5:56 am	To Be A Rock (Even Though All Things Come To An End) Some people are so inflexible that it's admirable, and worthy of envy. Completely unrelated, Walt Whitman wrote quite a poem about astronomers. And also, I've known him for all his 17 years, and only today did I remember (was I reminded) that he was emotive. Maybe not as far off as all that and all. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Tuesday, June 6th, 2006
8:58 pm	At Risk of Beeing Varry Unpopulah Should ought supposed to ... thrown deposited designed molded etched chiseled sculpted branded imprinted programmed impressed (upon) driven in and BRAINWASHED by yourself. The self is a terrible thing to waste. _________________________ Heed the word, mothafuckas: Ecumenopolis (not here, not now, not ever (perhaps)--hiver... nuclear), you'll smell it by the summer's end. Started goin on that right handed adam fulara tip. pinky in pain. transmission--- (Comment on this)
7:12 pm	My First Piece Of Hate Mail Let's say "J." wrote me some hate mail today. Hate mail is usually a collection of angry, insulting words often lacking the backing of reasons, meant to degrade a person, or in some sense boost the self esteem of the person writing it. Suddenly, I feel like Socrates. I'm not trying to tell people that I know something, but just questioning them as to whether they know they think they know. The definitions of "egotism", "vanity", "megalomania", "arrogance" and "selfishness" seemingly have merged into a single great term known colloquially as "Ego". It reminds me of how Alanis doesn't write about irony when she says ironic. If you don't know the definitions of these words, learn them, have sufficient evidence to support why you think that, and then make that claim. Otherwise, you're speaking words but conveying no meaning. But then again, the purpose of hate-mail is not expressly to state truth (or meaning), rather to by means of insult for the writer to "bring someone down a notch" or assert their own qualitative betterness (in their own mind as much as the receiver). And I can't even say anything about hypocrisy. We're fucking animals with an immense amount of evolutionary baggage to deal with. Stop privileging yourselves for being moral robots, as if by adopting a morality you are truly adhering to "right" and "wrong". Justice is too subjective for all that. Ooh, and on a great note: I will actually write about an event later. AHAHAHAHAHAHA. Current Mood: thirsty Current Music: HUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM (Comment on this)
Monday, June 5th, 2006
3:01 pm	The Lost Art of Minding Your Own Fucking Business I don't know whether people are completely motivated by selfish means, think their opinion regarding a subject is better than everyone else's (everyone wants to be the psychologist), or whether they actually experience "moral pangs" or somehow actually have a sense of "moral responsibility". Or maybe people just don't know when something isn't their fucking business. Keep your keen observations (judgments) to yourself, they're probably all wrong. Apparently I walk into a room like I'm ready to do something, like I'm intent, but as far as I'm concerned, I'm just walking into a room. That's all you, that's how you read it. If a piece of music makes you feel a certain way, that's not the music, it's you. Hey Eitan, remember when you called up everyone you knew crying for hours about how Julie scumbagged you? Where were all those phone calls when things were going well? Nowhere. Why? Because nobody needs the good shit. Newspapers don't sell talking about all the good in the world. Movies don't do well when they show people being happy and normal and boring. It's all about the bad moments, the times when people need to open up about the negative side of a situation, and they just need an ear. So If i decide to talk to someone about my problems it does not serve as a carefully laid out status report of a relationship, only one side, and only certain feelings. You can't appreciate the beauty of a cat's coat if you're only looking at one hair... especially if it's the only decrepit one out of the bunch. So acting on half-information is stupid. If you don't know the deal, don't judge, though I doubt people have the ability to reserve judgment anymore, so just don't act, and judge all you want. Hey Logan, remember when Irene used to go to bars with you all the time to meet guys and stuff? Those days are over. College is over. In fact, though this may come as a suprise to you, High School is over. So grow up, and resign to the fact that she has changed and situations have changed. Friendship itself takes on a new face at this point. EVOLVE IDEAS (thanks, Billy Boy)when the current ones are no longer relevant. "You can't always get what you want." So stop trying to convince Irene to break up with me, you selfish child, I didn't fucking brainwash her. And really, if anyone has a problem with me, the way I act, or what I say (which apparently people do), then talk to me about it. I am lucid in conversation, and I will help you get to the bottom of things. My AIM is Bogey156, and my email address is Bogey156@aol.com. Or you can message me at myspace: myspace.com/breese Don't make Irene have to defend me. Ultimately her having to defend me comes from people making judgments and then forming an opinion based on said judgments. Really, I'd like to ask you not to judge, mostly because you don't KNOW ANYTHING (if you only see the bad hairs...), and if that is the case to shut your fucking mouth, but moreover because it's not your fucking business to be judging and taking a part in, whether or not you're friends with someone. I love it when guys get this whole "I would treat her better than he does, so I deserve her more" thing when they judge a relationship (from the outside, from the only place anyone except the 2 people in the relationship can judge it) the girl probably wouldn't touch you with a stick. Mad love to Galex, who has a concept of minding her own business, and knows what it's like to be in a relationship where people are constantly judging and think they know better. Ask before you hate. (Comment on this)
Friday, June 2nd, 2006
6:01 pm	This May Be A First (2 in a row)- Dreams of Recent Days The End: So last night I had an apocalypse dream. It all started with a bit of rain falling on this semi-hollow Epiphone I've been playing on, but it had a wooden bridge much like a violin (but in the realworld it has a tune-o-matic). The bridge fell off and I was very upset. The house was like my parent's house, but it was in the location of the Lazzarrapad. Something happened: ridiculous storm followed by a flood, earthquakes maybe. My mother said that it was god punishing us, that it was in fact judgment day, and that I should repent if I wanted to go to heaven. I went into the basement and it was very dark. I fell to my knees as if I were ready to pray, the hail mary and our father flashed in my head as complete, so I didn't actually pray them, but I decided it was useless and I couldn't wait to die, so I got up. I went outside to see most of the buildings around had crumbled, but the elevated train on 86th street still stood. I saw my father, and he was with a group of people walking about, inspecting the damage, when suddenly the el started to sway. I yelled at him to move, and he got out of the way just in time. At some point I lost my jacket, which had my cigarettes in it. I entered a triage tent where I saw quadruplets, all injured, but there was only one of them that was "real", the rest, I knew, were clones of some kind. The tent was set up where a bulding once was, and the stairs that went into the basement were still there. I went into the basement and it reminded me somewhat of an opium den. Late 19th century, perhaps earlier, dirt walls and floor, sepia-toned, but more brick colored. There was a computer in the room, and a number of Pink Floyd records. I never found my jacket. This is all I remember. I remember waking up at one point, but I went back to sleep because I actually wanted to continue the dream. I've had other apocalyptic dreams, zombie ones actually, and out of all of them I was only bitten in one, but it turned out that the bites didn't hasten death or zombism, so it didn;t matter anyways. Jupiter: A few weeks ago I had a dream where I was in my backyard and Jupiter was in the sky. It was 5 or 6 times the size of the sun. it pleased me very much. A week later I became lucid in a dream, and I wanted to will the sun to turn into Jupiter. It grew to the same size as jupiter appeared in the first dream, but never took on the physical characteristics of Jupiter (swirling gas clouds, the great red spot, etc.) - I recently had a conversation with someone about how our real estate in the solar system sucks. It would be much cooler if we were perhaps an earth-sized moon orbiting a Jovian at roughly the same distance from the star (the goldilocks zone), with a magnetic field that would shield us from the radiation that Jovians give off. I mean, think about it, the sun, the Jovian, and a bunch of other moons, as well as the distant stars, and the other planets in the solar system. I'm sure there are many such worlds in the vast expanse. I'm just sayin... (Comment on this)
Thursday, June 1st, 2006
11:23 pm	Stacking Minor 3rds, Baltika 9s, Notes on the Cessation of Thought Whole Diminished is a different world than half diminished. I mean, wow. A bb7 instead of a b7 and BOOM! everything is different. Angular. Coltraneish. And I owe it to the only guitarist I know that I truly respect on THAT level, Il Salvatore, Signore Salvagione, who recently returned from the old world. High gravity, motherfucker. Home planet. It's been all about sense experience and I'm more or less done taking stock of what may be my life. Unimaginably angry at Christians who just don't get it (I could never be a freemason.) Let's just say I'm ashamed to be an American. I wonder what would happen if you just never told a child about god... Self-awareness, consciousness, sentience/sapience, whatever you'd like to call it, is the ultimate joke of the universe, and if there is a god, it has nothing to do with us or is indeed the ultimate prankster. Bill Hicks was a prophet, and yous betta recognize. In revenge, I wanted to have Eitan deported, but upon realizing that in fact, I am not evil, I decided against it. But yea, the ecstasy I experienced upon bearing witness to this idea was and will be unequaled by any other act of revenge I have ever or will ever envisage. The gods were angry tonight. -I once saw a home video filmed at night, paused it at the moment of a lightning strike, and it looked like day. I am in Adam Lazzarra's living room. Judging from the taking back sunday myspace, there are literally 1million emofags who would die to be in this house, and all I wanna do is poke out his eyes for perpetuating the musicalgarbage he perepetuates. Ironic, Alanis would say, BUT THAT'S NOT WHAT IT MEANS! Cruel, yes. Indeed. (Comment on this)
Monday, March 20th, 2006
2:03 am	The world is not cruel. Only me. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, June 28th, 2005
2:05 pm	Ecce Homo Why I write Such Mediocre Books Indeed, in an attempt of self-analysis, or should I say, an analysis of the works I've thus far penned, I have not an extensive catalogue of material for which to pass judgment on as did my predecessor who first penned "Behold The Man". But a writer is considered so by the fact alone that he writes, and that he does so teleologically. Here I will discuss and scrutinize the two works I've composed that have a considerable enough length to be considered "major works". I say "major works" because I've written many short stories, plays, and poetry, which despite being major in regards to when I wrote it compared to what I had done before, I can soundly say that these were works of infancy, works whose only worthy remark is that they preceeded "Cold", a work which at its conclusion marked the end of the previous era and the beginning of a new one. "Cold" One day, bored at work I scribbled a few lines on a pad: "I'm cold. My jacket is too thin." I continued to write until I had what would eventually be the first few chapters of my first book. But at that time I had never written anything longer than 20 pages, and not prose either. I had been known to begin things that I never finish, and besides becoming a main theme in "Cold" it was my reason to go all the way with it. As I began to work on it, still with no idea of how the book would progress (let alone end), the work concreted itself seemingly on its own, as if it were writing itself and my hand was merely the means of it bringing itself into reality. Before I knew it I was in a rush to call it finished, I felt as if I no longer wanted to be working on it. When I gave it to Lady K to edit I barely listened to her suggestions and I feel as if because I was a bit hot headed about the whole idea of someone messing with my work I scared her from being honest and suggesting every suggestion. But lo and behold, I finished it and started to let people read it. People dig it, it seems, from what reveiws I have gotten. I feel that it is stylistically a work of infancy. Though the style changes throughout the book (showing the protagonist's return into sanity and society) from concise, unemotional sentences to richer more flowing language and imagery, it was not only the character changing, but my skill as a writer becoming more refined, my ability to express what I felt and wanted to express greater. A better story than a story told, I think, could be the final verdict, a young man (I) not knowing how to deal with these feelings and conclusions reached. I was still young at the time, a freshman in college, influenced by philosophies that I had difficulty at first understanding and then coming to terms with. A testament to what I was, exorcising the earlier part of my life, and allowing myself to move on. "The Death Of Athanatopolis" The first thing one would notice when reading "TDOA" is that the sections are short but the sentences are long, the farmiliarity of a single character and coherent method of telling the story is uprooted. The narrative switches between the present, the near future and the distant future, all with different protagonists; where "Cold" was written in first person past, "TDOA" switches from first person present to third person omniscient past, to first person past, depending on the section. It lacks a sense of complete and real characters that was evident in "Cold". One could KNOW James (protagonist in Cold) whereas the characters in "TDOA" lack depth. I have to say that I see TDOA as an experiment (I sub-titled it "a study in prose") as I had never written in anything but first person past. I also see it more as a vehicle for ideas than a story. Cold contained many ideas, whether or not I expressed them explicitly enough, but was ultimately but the story of a man. "TDOA" is more like a Platonic dialogue than a novel. But at a weak 19,000 words, it's far too short in mind of the conceptual breadth I intended to actually be considered "finished" beyond me saying "I'm done with it!" I had originally written it as a short story, which I then expanded upon into what it is today. In this respect I can say that it isn't neccessarrily done, as I can continue adding sections to give the characters more depth, expand on sub-plots and psychology, and all that jazz. I feel that I just got so sick of working on it so much for a few months that I called it done just so I wouldn't have to deal with it anymore. Perhaps it is a sign that no one bought it when I self-published it that I should finish it first. Whatever the case, in contrast to Cold they could easily have been written by two different writers, which they are, and if anything it shows that I have some versatility. "On Future Works" Cold will be in some sense revisited by my newest book, "The Life And Times of M. Docc Senaricc by M. Docc Senaricc" insofar as the character is much the same character (though far more outwardly disturbing), the concepts much the same (with new ones to boot, of course) but written by a better writer. I now have a far more advanced apparatus with which to animate this and a style that seems to me to be more organic and poetic. Lady K says it reads well, hopefully with as much ease as it is for me to write in, and as enjoyable. Finally, I have but one word: "Hermeneutics" (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Saturday, June 11th, 2005
6:32 pm	What's In a Name? She’s tall, thin, some would say beautiful, but indeed aged, more than fifty years. Treated like shit by a (wannabe?) mobster who died one night of a heart attack. She carries his picture in her purse wherever she goes. She tells me she sets a seat aside at weddings or like functions and on the table she puts his picture as if he were there. She has a grocery list penned on her palm, the fifty years evident. While reading the paper I drink a seltzer and think: “Seltzer ain’t too popular among the kids,” and I get up and leave without saying goodbye. I know his name and I have a jacket that he gave me and I refer to it as his: “The ____ ____ Jacket.” I barely knew him. But he had a great name. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
2:03 pm	Few Things of Its Nature Have as Much Surface Area An Ode To Your Ass I remember clearly that first sight On the campus grounds I saw it there I remember clearly that first night In my old house, drunk, I saw it bare Only few men can tell the story And I consider myself lucky That I can envision it at will I stick it in when you feel whorey A finger during fucky-fucky Gives to my penis the greatest thrill (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Thursday, June 9th, 2005
11:13 pm	Vorrei Dire All'Italiani "Grazie Tanto" Per Troppe Cose Pensare di An Octave for an Artist or a Piece of Art “What is your purpose, your function,” I ask thee? To teach, to learn, to express, or describe? A way to cope with life unexplained—could be. Or is it just to pass the time with a vibe? Your colors, sounds, and words: truer truth to see? Analogue of nature, science in disguise? It seems that all the noises, hues, and writing are nothing but another way of lighting. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
8:54 pm	O! Sweet Erin, What Paths You've Brought to Light! Limericks of an Enlightened Determinist i. Accept the truth and you will see, how truly free you can be without the burden of the will. Should it fancy you to kill you’ve no more choice than a tree. ii. I don’t feel bad for those who think, or those who cannot help but drink. They haven’t any other choice since the first move moved by god’s voice. “Reproach me not,” I say and wink. Limerick of an Epistemological Skeptic, on Determinism How can our being make it seem that choice is nothing but a dream? “We can only do what we must… free will’s as real as pixie dust!” Sounds just like a coward’s scheme! (Comment on this)
Wednesday, June 1st, 2005
2:02 pm	This is my first entry since may of 2003 it seems. It's pretty funny to think how much has changed. (Comment on this)
Monday, May 26th, 2003
9:16 pm	life, death and dali salvador dali brought me to tears "to speak would make it less great" i didnt know if i was about to vomit or cry (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Sunday, May 25th, 2003
3:16 am	It is sad when certain people die. (Comment on this)
Monday, May 19th, 2003
4:48 am	THIS ONCE SAID SOEMTHING (Comment on this)
Saturday, May 17th, 2003
7:04 pm	there was something poking its head out from behind the trees, but its face was greater than the sun that man meant something to someone, but i tore his picture just the same the eyes that stared at me will forever be burned to the back of mine enveloped by an incandescent white light, i levitated to a height i never could have fathomed before and came crashing down, all the same i could only hear you descending down the stairs of life and knew when you had stepped on me, the broken step and here you come,all the same (Comment on this)