It's Like Getting Your Ninth Telemetron After You've Lain Out In The Sun Too Long and Your Shoulder's Fucked, But Everything Just Makes Sense. Ironic

kasai (10:54:24 PM): p.s. i was just "smoking with the band"
friend (10:54:32 PM): hahashaha
kasai (10:54:32 PM): i'm soooo stoned
friend (10:54:41 PM): hahahahahahhaa


kasai (10:57:47 PM): it's pathetic how high i just got
kasai (10:57:51 PM): i'm like ashamed


kasai (10:58:02 PM): i feel like i'm literally in 8th grade


friend (10:58:09 PM): hahaha
kasai (10:58:16 PM): i'm wearing this big allover print hoodie and a zoo york shirt



kasai (10:58:27 PM): and looking at my bank account and wondering where it all went
kasai (10:58:28 PM): haha
kasai (10:58:42 PM): just resisting the urge to go to cyn [the bar i spent 15 consecutive hours in a few sundays ago -.ed]


kasai (10:58:43 PM): haha
kasai (11:00:23 PM): and the lenny kravitz glasses are on.


kasai (11:00:24 PM): here we go
kasai (11:00:33 PM): ps i'm taking the plunge and getting a macbook wed [haha what? -.ed]

working... working...

[picture is introduced by Kasai]


kasai (11:01:54 PM): the girl is like "i'm just gonna slouch over here cuz there's no way i can compete with THAT!"
kasai (11:01:55 PM): haha
kasai (11:02:42 PM): "like are you kidding, it's a maserati mc12 corsa. get the fuck outta heah!"
kasai (11:02:54 PM): "go fuck your mutha!"


friend (11:04:53 PM): 'haha
kasai (11:04:59 PM): ohhhh. i'm on a roll
kasai (11:05:10 PM): that's literally what she's saying in that photo
kasai (11:05:33 PM): she probably did like the blue steel catwalk thing, draping herself over the long, sensuous hood, for like 15 min


kasai (11:05:47 PM): and then realized that not ONE SINGLE GUY was looking at her


kasai (11:05:52 PM): or even close to her
friend (11:06:02 PM): hhahahah
friend (11:06:11 PM): i used to see that all the time [Ibid.]
kasai (11:06:30 PM): see what
kasai (11:06:35 PM): spot run?


friend (11:07:18 PM): seen girls do that


kasai (11:07:29 PM): oh yeah
kasai (11:07:31 PM): but
kasai (11:07:34 PM): this car
kasai (11:07:37 PM): like 2 mil


kasai (11:07:55 PM): and you can only drive it when maserati sponsors these racetrack days
kasai (11:08:35 PM): then after you're done driving, you have to sit down with engineers and discuss how the car performed, how it could be improved, and what you hated most about


kasai (11:08:38 PM): it
kasai (11:08:40) and there's only like 4 of em and they belong to the 4 richest kings of Europe! I'M SUPER SERIÅL YOU GUYS!
kasai (11:08:41 PM): haha i'm sorry
kasai (11:08:47 PM): all this just really fascinates a stoned kasai


kasai (11:11:34 PM): (spoken in that quick, nasally 1930s radio announcer voice) "a rare breed, the stoned kasai can often be spotted on epicly toxic 3 night benders in any one of the five fine boroughs of the majestic gem that is Glimmerin' Gotham. though he may ramble on incessantly and shoot you the deuce now and then, when he pinches your girl's ass and punches you out preemptively, don't take it personally chief."


kasai (11:12:01 PM): ps i'm archiving this convo
kasai (11:12:04 PM): cuz it's priceless, like a beer bong
“friend” signed off at 11:12:06 PM.
bye. byeeee. bye. byeye. buhbyebooptit! bai. bahhhh. late. the moops have come hoome to roost.





epilogue

1: "sir, sir! SIR! needtaseasumeyedeepreese!"

2: "yeah don't worry about it, i'm a stoo-dye at the scrole, over on mashmen, they got a good whim over there, it's peeshable, nite right?. yeah yeah yeah yeah right up there on the hirl. now uh, go shit in a hat, mail it your mutha."

MEANWHILE, IN THE BOY BAND: ONE sulks away in gleeful shame as TWEW triumphantly scratches his balls.

stupid twat, eeeeeee shouldn'ta lookt at me like that!

“I slept with faith and found a corpse in my arms on awakening; I drank and danced all night with doubt and found her a virgin in the morning.” - Aleister Crowley

this quotation and this painting by Egon Schiele seem to sum things up for me at the moment, don't they? fucken wow. it's where i am, and it's my best thinking that's gotten me here. so i guess it's onward and upward or whatever makes you feel at ease with the knife lodged firmly in your back. keep on smiling. it's what you do when no one's hooking that truly determines your character. or something like that. the devil's in the details, ay?

wait wait wait? who said that? who's there?!

shifting about nervously, like a startled, feral thing, devoid of a higher brain and all the wonderfully terrible abilities that come with it. honestly, get your wits about you... then a reassuring thing.

it was nothing honey, go to sleep. busy day tomorrow. no. no, it was nothing.

or was it? and nevermind that you live alone.

you know it's there. that... thing. always speaking to you when the lights are on, making you look the fool in all those important places you traipse about during the course of your hauntingly exciting day.

and you can feel its breath, hot on the side of your neck when the lights are off, making sleep impossible.

go on little one, follow it into the cool darkness. tumble into the technovoid, the neverending promise of the abyss, and emerge from the threshhold a changed thing, a true force of nature. something epic even.

look into it. it's the real bravery here ladies and gentlemen.

catharsis for your arses. blinded by the LIGHTS, dizzee new HEIGHTS.

because who doesn't wanna be like Mike? you wanna be like Mike don't you? that's what i thought. now sit tight, read on, and take some notes. there will be a quiz this coming week and i don't play with kids!

to be sure, there's honey nut goodness in every bite of Crowley's quip.

truth be told, i trust nothing.

not the ground beneath my feet or the twittering reflection in the mirror in lap or the birds and the bees and the trees atop the Pyrenees. and certainly not these much-lauded infrastructures of the mind and heart. faulty engineering. but no federal oversight means the builders will get away with it. bastards.

and neither should you. trust what's before you, that is. not even your own mama. she might still be bitter at you for stretching her twat to the size of a basketball hoop so many years ago. you just never know man.

wanh wanh wanh!

"but i wanna trust my mommy/daddy/gf/bf/sister/brother/pastor/friend/plastic surgeon/Kasai/mistress/home/city/life/husband/wife/radio/sensory experience/Congressman/dog/cat/tarantula/social worker/sponsor/newsman/contractor/bartender/god/neighbor/boss/co-worker/televison/favorite author/life coach/goldfish!"

i know. i know. i know. i know. i know. i know. but it's just not gonna do.

but wait, there's more. there's nothing more actually. hold on! right. let go of you.

(nervous stares toward the ground. tandem.)

don't listen to me. run off, before something B.A.D.D. happens. yes yes, i know i told you to keep reading my other stuff earlier. i know what i fucking said. but what's more human than contradiction sweetheart? now go. GO!

i'm changing into something terrible.

some sort of salacious, serpentine thing, fueled solely by costly cigarettes, complex chemical (chiral) compounds, and combustible, corrosive fluids. holy shit! that's a lot of Cs. and Ss.

what are you still fucking doing here? don't make me break my foot off in your ass! i'm doing these things because i love you.

don't be so wiggity wiggity wiggity wack!

ahhhh! remember fucking Kris Kross? jesus. it's really something that these two kids, who could've been completely snubbed by the hip-hop community, were not only commercially successful but also tastemakers. remember the backwards clothes shit! i used to rock that steelo like somebody was paying me to do it.

what's even wilder is that i went to the same elementary school as these cats. well kinda sorta almost. Calvert School had this enormous home schooling department called HID, acronym-speak for the the Home Instruction Department. occupied the basement level of our enormous school building. world-renowned home schooling curriculum.

we took a field trip to the external headquarters one year, and were pretty pumped to hear that Kris Kross and (ready for this?) Michael-fucken-Jackson were part of this program. works out well for touring kid musicians. peep the ad in the back of National Geographic.

Kris Kross'll make ya, jump, jump!

Genesis Does! You-Can't-Do-This-With-Nintendon't! Genesis Does!

The system was the Sega Genesis video game console. The game, Michael Jackson's Moonwalker. The year was 1990, the beginning of the end.

the greatest bit of cross media marketing since the saturday night fever soundtrack.

the plot was as follows, courtesy of Wikipedia:

Mr. Big, an insidious drug dealer (which drug we can't be sure, but since it's 1990, let's assume crack), has kidnapped children for no apparent reason. Michael, in an effort to save(?) the children, goes after Mr. Big, and eventually discovers his plot to take over the world using a large laser cannon built on the Moon.

Each level begins with a small comic book-style presentation of the ongoing conflict between Mr. Big and Michael, intending to show a transition from one level's setting to the next. Sadly, however, these cut-scenes do not reveal any additional plot details.

At the conclusion of the game, more of the story is revealed:

"Mr. Big's evil plot has been foiled with the destruction of his deadly doomsday weapon - the gigantic laser cannon. And with his massive fortress reduced to cinders, he is no longer a threat to mankind.

"But what of Michael?

"All that is known is that he was last seen soaring away from the crumbling enemy stronghold, heading toward the distant horizon.

"And the children that he saved?

"Well...

"They're smiling, because deep down in their hearts, they know that Michael will return one day to share with them another wondrous and magical adventure."

The foreshadowing here is uncanny. "another wondrous and magical adventure?" if by this the game's producers meant a number of protracted and highly visible court appearances defending himself against boy-touching charges, then we gotta give em props. they were truly Seers!

"Genesis Does! You-Can't-Do-This-With-Nintendon't!" If you remember the song from the Genesis pre-release commercial, congratulations, you're just as big of a nerd as i am.

i wrote a letter to Sega when i was ten, offering them a product idea that would revolutionize gaming: putting the game cartridges directly into the controller, so you didn't have to get up to change games.

they sent a courteous form letter back, thanking me for my input, letting me down easy, and giving me a free subscription to some video game magazine. i'm pretty tempted to write another letter demanding a remake of this 1990 gem. not sure how well it would work out in '07, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.

Beating the Michael Jackson Quotient, one day at a time

i read an article not too long ago about how deft Prince (the Artist) has been over the years at beating a phenomenon the writer referred to as the "Michael Jackson Quotient." put simply the quotient refers to the exponential talent, notoreity, and success of these artists, and the consequent potential for a post-prime meltdown, as evidenced by the last 10 or 15 years of Michael Jackson's life. amazingly, Prince has thoroughly avoided the pratfalls of hyperfame. no cancer boys, no ranches, no monkeys, no lawsuits over borrowed millions, no bankrupty, and hell, he's still banging out music that's worth a listen. the latest blurb on the cat might reference the lawsuit filed against the Artist for vandalizing (painting his symbol all over the walls) the apartment rented out to him by NBA player Carlos Boozer. not much more than that. it's only for like 70k anyway. better than millions.

watching Purple Rain last night helped me further understand the Quotient (MJQ). i mean the film is awesome, bottom line, but it showcases a lot of the early Prince egotism and eccentricity that could have easily resulted in some sort of prostitution scandal or high speed blast down the 405, maybe even tax evasion. but no, we got none of that.

instead, the man has remained culturally relevant, and we're laughing with him, not at him (those of us who know what's up anyway). According to the tenets of the Michael Jackson Quotient, Prince's stellar Super Bowl halftime show should not even have happened. he would have never been asked by the NFL or CBS to helm the program in the first place. no way. according to MJQ theory, he would either be in prison, preparing for a courtroom showdown of some sort, or freebasing moonrocks in a vegas motel. but instead, he beasted out to show the world that he's no mj. thank god.