Sucked into the bandwagon by a kid with a huge straw.

I now own an iPod. Funny story as to how i got it.

Essentially, a coworker of mine at subway was going on vacation, and his mother didn't want him to take his iPod. So, i suggested he buy a decoy and then bring his with him while the decoy sat in its stead. I helped pay for it, and long story short, we lost the receipt. So, he decided to let me have it, since my birthday just passed.

So, now i have the last iPod i would have ever picked. Its a white (augh jesus) 1gb nano (augh one gig damnit). I listen to alot of music, so that one gig is... terrible. But whatever. And lets not move into the territory of white. this iPod is a mere whim away from being spraypainted.

Anyways, since i can't get iTunes on this damn computer, i have to use my fathers. My brother has an iPod, and a small collection of music on said laptop. So, i sifted through some of that material and managed to find some good artists worth sticking on my 'pod tenatively (System of a Down's new album, Nine Inch Nails, Styx, and myself among others).

So, i have now jumped inadvertantly into the fray of popular culture.

At least the iPod is tiny and can be hidden.

*sigh*

All for a bottle of sting we never bought.

On July 20th, Brandon and i decided we were going to go out into the world to buy ourselves a bottle of Sting, a Raspberry Schnapps. Of the places we suspected sold it, we picked baltimore, maryland. The trip would have taken about and hour and a half, and was not too far away.

We were supposed to get onto i83 south, to get us directly to maryland.

We took i81 south at about 9:30am.

Around 1pm is was pretty apparent we were no where near where we wanted to be. We had discussed several times looking at a map and finding a way towards our destination, and each time decided not to. On the side of the road we saw a sign;

Roanoke, 190

Roanoke virginia. We looked at one another and shrugged. "why not?"

So we went.

It took forever to get there, but we did. We stayed there for five hours, touring the city and looking for Sting. We spent alot of time in the Valley View mall, and met some interesting people. We also bought some Moleskine sketchbooks in which to keep track of what we did, and to get signatures of those we met.

After a while, we were tired of Roanoke, and were going to go home. But...

we didn't want to go home. We rationalized that we should make a triangle, and head northwest before going home. We decided on Cincinnati, OH.

7 hours and 45 minutes away.

During the trip there, we stopped in a small town near the intersections of 77n and 19n. There, we met some interesting folks at a rest stop, and talked for a while. I played some of my music, and we checked out the cool Scion (complete with video monitors in the back) the girl there drove.

We arrived in Cincinnati around 4:45am on the 21st. There was no way i would make it to work that day, so i called off. It was a bit of a farce, the call off, but it worked. We found a Days Inn in kentucky, just outside of Cincinnati, and tried to check in. They said we had to wait till 7:30am, otherwise we had to pay fo two days.

At this point, a massive storm is rolling in. Lightening like mad, rain out the wang. It was nuts.

So, we killed time talking with a drunk/high woman on the third floor balcony, and looking for liquor in the suburbs.

At 7:45, we finally ended up able to sleep.

I had been awake since the 19th, that night i hadn't slept. Since i was up around 4:30pm on the 19th, i hadn't slept for forty hours.

I smoked a cigarette, and crashed. hard.

We woke up around 5:30pm, and got ready to go out. We ate at pizza hut, and then went into the city and walked around... for hours...

We found an excellent jazz club (after a whole lot of walking and such) called the Blue Wisp. We stayed there till 2am, and then went back to the hotel to check out and drive home. We drove to columbus, OH, and got food and whatnot. Afterwards, we went home.

Bear in mind, this is a very condensed story. I will be posting photos, and transcribing my travel journal into this blog, or a seperate link, so the rest you can read later. I'll also get images of the journal itself, so you can see the signatures and whatnot, as well as photos.

This was the first large spontaneous trip i've ever gone on, and it was freakin great. It will be one of many.

I'd type more, but the entire thing was quite overwhelming, and the things i learned and experienced will take a few posts to explain. Honestly, the daunting task of typing out the whole story is mostly exhausting to think about.

So i'll do it later.

Still my favorite

The Djarum Original Unfiltered Kretek. Hand rolled, long cut tobbacco and clove, among a myriad of other ingredients. It lasts, its smoke is thick and smooth. The taste of each is slightly spiced, deep and aromatic, with a dull tint of the tobbacco. It speaks when you smoke it, tells you whats up. Each pull ignites the tip, and as you become too earnest in your endeavor, it begins to crackle. I smile, and slow my pace. Burning it too hot simply keeps you from bringing it all the way down to the last centimeter.

the Black Djarum is what tuned me in to Kretek, but i've discovered it tends to be much heavier and harsher than typical Kretek. It fits a mood, and its black paper definitely is sexy. Thus, its great for certain circumstances.

The Super 16 is my favorite smoke-eight-in-a-row cigarette. Its a more fruity Kretek, and is easy on the lungs. A lighter smoke for a Kretek, and a decievingly large filter print on the paper. But they are delicious.

Last but not least, the Djarum Special, which is a brown paper and another small filter. Its an earthy flavor, almost (oh boy) smokey. I'm still out on this one, i'm not sure what i think of it... sometimes its ok, but mostly i feel like its a Black not quite executing. Still, it is unique and i keep two or three in my case.

ah Kretek.

i love thee.

Ah shit its here again

Happy birthday to me.

One more year without killing myself or doing anything stupid enough to be put in jail.

Well, not getting caught anyways.

Last cigarette

The last one, pulled from the pack on my back porch.

It lasted an impossibly long time.


I've spent my share of nights alone, just spending time with my brain. And its been a long time since i sat near a phone and wondered if it would ring.

A ridiculously long caricature of a cigarette, it was.

Ok, you made your point. heh.

I'm not bashing women at all, but, uh, watch this clever clip produced by some bright young lads. Just click the play button.

ok ok, let me start this over again

Alright folks, its time for a good old fashioned joe post. The last series of posts has been all introspectivy and metaphorical and blah blah blah...

man i can hardly stand to read them myself. So, let me explain my stupid demeanor to the masses.

I'm nuts. I'm freakin insane. At this point, i dunno where i'm going or what i'm doing, and i'm just kinda maxin' and relaxin' and not giving too much a crap about anything.

Mostly, i'm unimpressed with myself as of late, and despite my attempts to return to the odd, eccentric guy i strive to be... i end up being...

(drum roll)

a dork.

haha, same as always. And such is life, is it not? I'm a dork. And you know what, i like it. I am a dork who write melodramatic posts that flap thier arms in the wind lamely, attempting to get some air. They flit and flat about, and in the end look kinda wet and sad and... melodramatic. So, i lieu of this, i will try and be a bit less creepy kid and a bit more dork.

I fit better into the dork's pants, i think.

Or maybe, just maybe, i'm once again in an uncertain state as brought on by the presence of another (gasp) interesting person. Alas, i second guess myself! I AM UNSURE SOMETIMES! IT KEEPS ME AWAKE WHEN I SHOULD BE BOUNCING AROUND MY DREAMSCAPE WITH AN AK-47 FIGHTING OFF THE DEMON SANTA CLONES FROM NORWAY!

Damnit.

But hey, and artist is an artist, and hence i write stuff like the last few posts. It really is how my brain thinks when switched on to art mode. It just is. i'm tainted! its the stupid stereotype in my brain! AUGH!

oh well.

A triphop life indeed... jesus...

Chapter Four

Full, hard smoke from a kretek breaks the flow of oxygen to my lungs. The click of the lighter turning off and returning to my pocket punctuates the tendrils of smoke that rise from my lips, and i shake my head. Interjecting another bit into the conversation, i gesture towards my point, glowing tip tracing the route of my hand.

Smoke rises towards the trees.

A trip hop life indeed.

Its been a long time since i spent longer than an hour with someone, and still wanted to spend another hour sometime, somplace else. Most of the people i know around here have grown into known cycles, all produce predictable backgrounds to my normal everyday life. Still my friends, they fail to provide the one thing i crave as of late... something new.

I've met a few, but they all lend the same things, no one is truly intriguing...

But i think perhaps i have run into someone, inadvertantly, who is quite the opposite. She is like the ember that flew from the fire. She lends light and warmth where there is none. She holds two potentials...

On the one hand, she may start a blaze. She may be the begining of a series of events i can't begin to predict.

On the other, her time, in more ways that i can count, could be as fleeting as that ember.

Conversation illuminated only by the stray beams of light which fall from the moon, and the glowing tip of a cigarette. I can see her face, but only when one of us decides to strike another to burn.

A trip hop life indeed.

This was tiresome.

Mild disclaimer: In my last post i mentioned feeding ugly people and thier fat kids. I do not mean to say i abhor ugly or fat people, i merely point to the growing phenomenon and think "why?". There are very few of the ugly fat variety in some of the places i've gone, and how they managed to generate only relatively skinny remotely attractive people, i do not know. I do know, however, that we must find a way to duplicate this process and follow suit. Quickly. I am quite sure this does not include McDonalds or WalMart, and i am almost as certain it does involve some sort of physical exertion, perhaps in the variety of walking, or perhaps playing spherical sports. Like baseball. Or basketball. Football does not count, as the ball is eliptical. Anyways, on with the intent of this particular post:

I wrote a small, and very bad, poemesque piece which i titled A Poem for the Plankton. I wrote this poem some time ago, and have recently explained the concept of Plankton, and Plankton Bored, to some friends whilst smoking a cigarette and maintaining my balance on a railing. Anyways, here is the poemesque thing i wrote which sparked the idea. The formating is a bit messed up due to my page size. figures.

A Poem for the Plankton
By Joseph Schell
(ahem)

1This is my poem for the plankton
2The little bits of stuff you see floating in the air
3or maybe the little bits of stuff floating in the black when you close your eyes
4this is for the strands of light you see when you squint at street lamps
5or the way the rain on the passenger side of the car is only there in oncoming traffic

1This is my poem for the plankton
2the sugar packets you stacked into a castle on the diner table
3or maybe the last empty cup of coffee you filled with cigarette ash
4this is for the third time you stopped for food this trip
5or the way you struggle with one hand on the wheel and the other in the footwell

1This is my poem for the plankton
2the icons you never click on your desktop but leave there anyways
3or maybe the two hundred and seventeen buddies on your list who's names you can't remember
4this is for the blinking battery light on your cell phone
5or the way you'll flip it open just to see the cool photo you took ten minutes ago

1This is my poem for the plankton
2the empty mindless parts of an otherwise orderly world
3or maybe its for the last hour you spent wondering what it was you spent in the last hour
4this is for the connections you make between phone calls and the maps on your ceiling
5or the way i can't remember which definition i was headed to with plankton

Sidenote: This post, typed in about five minutes, took almost an hour to get online. why? that stupid fucking jpg of the plankton WOULD NOT FUCKING UPLOAD, and i nearly went insane trying to get the shit to work. I am tired and cranky and this god damn blogger shit is pissing me off. thank you.

They sat, anchoring two long shadows.

Yet another vauge and introspective post from me. If you don't like them, read something else. Why do i write them in here? Well, quite honestly, i don't have a book to write them in yet, and pens make my hands cramp whilst i write prose. But all things aside, here are my thoughts.

Pressing my hands against it, the depth of this wall seems to go on forever. Its not completely thick, not completely like an eternity. It is dense and it is wide, wider than any journey could follow.
The only way to the other side of this wall is through, to move through it, to pass beyond it. It has no doors and it has no face up which i can climb. It is infinite except in its depth. Behind me, there are similiar walls. Not the same, this wall is something much more profound. It is subtle, and yet imposing. It has presence, and yet could so easily be ignored, it would be as though it did not exist.
I press my hands against it, my ear, my body. Softly, not as though i might try to test its strength, i know its strength. I try to feel it, to give it form, to give it function.
This wall is the next thing i must pass, it is the point between where i am now and where i will be. It is a splinter in my mind. I can feel lies tear at my mind, and i refuse to allow them to come to bear. This simple sign is proof of the wall. I feel a pull, a need, an unsatisfied hunger to move. To advance. To arrive at some new place, to begin a new understanding.
And so, i strive to continue. I strive to build in myself the tools and disciplines nessecary to continue.
To this end, i will find a means. To this end, i will come.

And i will now make in myself the work of Art which i so desperately wish to be.

Sine Scientia Ars Nihil Est.

Tired ass me, being tired and saying tired things:

[13:39] Saberone DC: "refridgerator? what the hell is that mommy?"
[13:39] Saberone DC: "jesus why can't we call it a 'cold box'"
[13:39] Saberone DC: "Mitsubishi? god damnit"
[13:40] Saberone DC: "someone must have dropped thier low mein during a japanese board meeting"
[13:40] Saberone DC: "what do we name our compa- ah shit, mitsubishi...."
[13:41] Saberone DC: "and what the hell are we re-fridge-ing? how do i fridge something once?"
[13:41] Saberone DC: "what're you doing with that apple jimmy?"
[13:41] Saberone DC: "i'm fridging it. that way i can re-fridgerate it later."
[13:42] Saberone DC: Now i gotta go buy me a fridger.
[13:42] nuformzdesign: heh heh
[13:42] Saberone DC: they should put warning labels on shit like that
[13:43] Saberone DC: "warning, has been previously fridged"
[13:43] Saberone DC: "re-fridgerate"
[13:43] Saberone DC: because apparently, once you fridge it, it wants to return to the mothership at least once in a while
[13:43] Saberone DC: otherwise it gets infested with the local flora and fauna
[13:43] Saberone DC: and us wayfaring lettuce heads hate that shit.
[13:44] nuformzdesign: yup
[13:44] nuformzdesign: but we gotta makeroom for that stuff anyways
[13:44] Saberone DC: i must be tired
[13:44] Saberone DC: look at all this shit i just typed about my cold box
[13:45] Saberone DC: fuckin, mitsubishi....
[13:45] Saberone DC: japanese for "i drop my low mein again dam-mat"
[13:45] Saberone DC: "car go too fahst"
[13:45] Saberone DC: "make me drop noodle"
[13:46] Saberone DC: "fuckin mitsubishi"

Read this post to triphop, else you'll miss the point.

I sit here with Charles Schilling playing in the background, in a room lit only by the glow of a computer monitor.

Outside, there is a night yet again awaiting my return. So many things have happened in that night, so many brilliant and devestating things, and i can't help but smile.

Izmar, Tingling, begins playing on the radio... supremely appropriate to the feeling in the back of my head.

This life of mine, so little of it that everyone sees, and the parts they do see... i love it all. I love the world i live in, i love the friends i have, i love then enemies... well, thier place at least.

I am greatful i am an artist, that i have my thoughtful unsatisfied mind. I love this itch, this feeling like i have to be someplace, have to meet someone, have to create something...

I love puting on a black shirt and throwing my hair from my face. I love puting on the last coat of black nail polish. I love the last stroke of an unfinished peice of artwork. I love ten cigarettes put out in a mug. I love letting my coffee go cold. I love talking to canadians on the phone. I love being inspired by a good movie, a good song. I love climbing onto the roof. I love finding another way to do something just because.

My life is nothing to some people, it is a shell of what could be something else. Some people look into this world of mine, and gladly walk away. This place i am, where i come from, is not for everyone. This is exactly where i want to be... here in the arms of wonder, in the arms of simplicity. Its quiet here, its bold and beautiful and amazing... its the most intense feeling in the world, to just sit back with your shoulder to someone you care about and your eyes falling upon a scene unfamiliar, but just as much the same...

home.

(cue "Fresh Moods" - Decisions I Made)

Another definition

This place is growing old, boring. Or perhaps i am growing restless. Whatever the case, my outlook concerning this place and this life is growing increasingly bland.

I feel an intense pull to be artistic again, and no acceptable mediums to let it flow to. I want to write music, but i have no means with my current resources. It... sucks.

My friends grow thin. I keep letting certain people fade off, sort of allowing myself the opportunity to disconnect myself. I have one solid friend, Kyle Hoffmann, but as time goes on so does my need to do the same.

I find my mind wandering towards Canadia, and the city there i where i have a few friends. I think the opportunity to go there for a while will soon present itself. But even before i leave to go, i can feel a foreshadow of the pain of leaving. And then to where? Who knows. But as it is now, i am sick of this place.

Trip hop and playstation can't hold a kid forever, you know.

I need an outlet, i need some growth, i need to get the hell out of the bland basic boring conservative town i live in.

god damnit.

And i have a funny feeling i need to learn to spell.