Gunferty

BYE!

2010-01-05T13:20:00.000-08:00

Hi. Bye!

http://sorryiatethebabyheads.tumblr.com

Help me build a mountain from this little pot of clay

2009-08-04T09:23:00.000-07:00

Spurious Endeavors or Ugh! Ew!! Holy Fuck!! What’s in that Bowl?!??! is a story about something really fascinating if you're a beetle-type bug and have no prior knowledge or understanding of the vastness of the literary world. These ignorant, uncultured insects deserve to be as ashamed as they appear to be during the daily bases of their unfortunate, truncated lifespans. But as a wise man and a stupid man and many average men have said in their time, we're all friends here, even the beetle-type bugs of the world who never made it through Joyce's "Ulysses" without dying before the end. And even those were just the suicides.

So while beetle-type bugs have limited access to stories like these, where they happen to be featured prominently in the background, one can feel sorry for them on their own time, in private, on the hood of a pickup truck, in court, the ball pit, your grandmother's urn, or not at all. Or not at all.

Remember, we're all friends here. Which is why you and your favorite beetle-type bug should frequent the past modernist(s) and look out for redux versions of Spurious Endeavors or Ugh! Ew!! Holy Fuck!! What’s in that Bowl?!??! Parts 1 through 8 with additional deleted words, more allusions to marine biology and the threat of extinction beckoning sea otters and how congress has recently stepped in to help, and top secret golf tips my uncle makes me pay for. Also, do your frequenting and keep your pretty almond eyes out for the little-anticipated, illegibly written, sour-tasting Part 9 which reveals more secrets about your child's infidelity to the family pet. She's been petting all over town, if you know what I mean, which you do, because that's what I mean.

Remember. We're all beetles here. Even your friends. Never forget it.

Happy Eighth Birthday, This Story!

2009-06-01T13:16:00.000-07:00

Part Eight soon to be on the past modernist(s).

lyfe is on my syde! part seven, go forth and be.

2009-05-15T15:15:00.000-07:00

Part Seven soon to be on the past modernist(s).

There is no thing so great that you can never have enough. Having said that, BEHOLD! PART SIX!

2009-05-12T12:47:00.000-07:00

Part Six NOW ON the past modernist(s).

part five. are you climaxing yet? because this story ain't.

2009-04-30T12:35:00.000-07:00

Part Five NOW ON the past modernist(s).

part four. we're halfway to eight!

2009-04-27T09:24:00.000-07:00

Part Four now on the past modernist(s).

part three. it's probably the best part three so far.

2009-04-26T00:47:00.001-07:00

Part Three now on the past modernist(s).

#2

2009-04-23T15:24:00.000-07:00

Part Two now on the past modernist(s).

A new story to be unraveled in parts, like the squares of a toilet paper roll

2009-04-22T14:28:00.000-07:00

Part One now on the past modernist(s).

An Excerpt From My Film Adaptation of Foghorn Leghorn's Autobiography, "Done Soiled Myself"

2009-04-03T14:57:00.001-07:00

Fade to black.

Fade BACK IN.

INT. OUTER SPACE - NIGHT

A jellyfish enters frame. Then another. Then another. And so on until the frame is filled with jellyfish.

CUT TO:

INT. SPECIALTY GROCERY STORE - DAY

A person enters frame. Then another. Then another. And so on until the frame is filled with people.

A young girl walks on her hands.

YOUNG GIRL
I need more cake.

A younger girl rolls by, lying down on a skateboard.

YOUNGER GIRL
Move out of my way!!!

She CRASHES.

CUT TO:

INT. BATHROOM - LATER

Triangles hang from the door. The door opens. The triangles CLANG TOGETHER IN A CACOPHANIC ORGY.

A giant ant enters wearing poka-dotted shorts. He scratches his asses.

NARRATOR
Metaphors are different from similes. Metaphors are like a summer's breeze... in Winter.

Louis Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World" plays from the speakers, backwards. The ant pulls down his shorts, but instead rips them to shards.

ANT
Aw, man.

CUT TO:
INT. CLOSET - NIGHT

Hubert Shwamzy hides. He shakes and is sweating. He mats his forehead with a sandpaper handkerchief (a sandkerchief). He removes the sandkerchief revealing a bloody scratch, so it is revealed that it is made of SANDPAPER. He wrings out the sandkerchief into an empty glass. He drinks it.

There is banging on the closet door.

HUBERT SHWAMZY
STOP WITH THAT RACKET! I'M TRYING TO GIVE BIRTH!

NARRATOR
Old Hubert Shwamzy was always crazy. But not as crazy as those jelly fish.

EXT. CLOSET - SAME

Jellyfish BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF THE CLOSET DOOR.

My Bud Judd

2009-03-27T11:52:00.000-07:00

Just bagged Judd Apatow’s groceries. I asked him what it means to be funny. He said, “If you can’t tell by my work, you’ll never know.”

I sighed deeply and handed him his receipt. I guess neither of us will ever know.

Poetry Can Be Deadly and Sexy

2009-03-25T15:58:00.000-07:00

Make it hurt. Make it stop. Make it sound downtown Chicago.
Flee the place. Feel my face. As rough as downtown Chicago.
We shake hands. We fall dead. It’s never as splendid as that.
Wake the world. Trim my lump. Goodbye! Farewell! I tip my hat.

I slipped. Up. Legs scissoring the air.
Your eyes. All wet. Droplets on the lash.
Forgive. Accept. The ground does not support.
It falls. And leaves. All I feel is the breeze.

Elodie’s poems never made sense to me. I looked for my presence in them, and when I couldn’t find it, I searched for an influence I may have inadvertently provided. Compliments are not encouragement enough for a genius of Elodie’s caliber. Her caliber, it turns out, was 22 magnum. She often carried her Taurus 980 revolver around, with its silver, 12-inch-long stainless steel barrel, in a straw handbag she’d picked out solely for the size. She couldn’t exactly stuff the long, slender barrel down the front of her jeans.

Our courtship, incidentally, involved this gun (which she’d named Reggie), and my jeans.
“Lose your pants,” she said, aiming Reggie between my eyes.

“Lose them lose them, or just take them off?” I asked, hands trembling above my waistline.

She lowered the revolver and crept toward me, each word from her lips like a bullet from its chamber. “Lose. Your. Pants.”

She had backed me against the wall of her studio on the 43rd floor of a New York City high-rise. I fumbled my donated jeans to my ankles and shook them off my feet. I had lost the jeans to an extent, but I feared they weren’t acceptably lost, so I tossed them out the open window.

The wind eased them to the street and I felt I had safely lost them, and subsequently lost them for my own safety. Any relished moment of sanctuary was trampled by the mad, oppressive artist’s arms enveloping me, her jagged lips scraping my dry pair to a slaughterhouse scene, and the chill of the exceedingly long barrel pressed against my spine.

We were married that June. The above poem was her wedding vows.

So Much To Do and So Little Time...

2009-02-10T12:24:00.000-08:00

Who wants to back me in an epic recreation of this?

The Most Fascinating Piece of Writing of My Lifetime

2009-01-23T16:15:00.001-08:00

Note: Unedited, and totally real. This is what no editor in chief should have to face. Ever.

The Wizard of Oz Review
By Audilac Syree [name respectfully jumbled]
Staff Writer

The [respectfully omitted] Theatre Guild filled most of the theatre seats as it's anticipated play, The Wizard of Oz played at the newly designed Performing Arts Center on the [respectfully omitted]campus. This play was enjoyed by students,adults, children and most importantly it served as the perfect venue for families to enjoy a timeless and classic play.

As the presenters introduced the play,"The Wizard of Oz" the music directors played a musical score from the original production of the movie. The way the music was kissing the audience, it felt as if the musical score were just a tidbit of music that is played at the Academy Awards. The audience was filled with little girls dressed in smaller replicas of the character of Dorothy Gale, which was played by the actress Joy Norton.

The play takes place in Kansas on a farm where the Norton Family live. There a modest family were they depend on the land they care and harvest from. The crops are their only source of food and where the only company is each other.

Dorothy comes out and so she's in a monologue, before long she returns briefly on stage but this time with her best friend, Toto, her cute and adorable puppy. Children and adults alike could not avoid but feel the warm feeling of seeing Dorothy with her puppy Toto.

Dorothy is upset that the the character of Miss Gulch, played by actress Erin Rivlin-Sakata is tormenting her puppy and will not rest until she takes toto and makes him disappear. Her custom alone resmebled that of a stertotypical librarian with her hair in a neatly tight bun and the glasses. She claims that toto bit her and so she may never walk again. Dorothy's uncle Henry, played by actor John Morris is quiet a funny character, that his jokes are funny because they fall on cue.

Dorothy's familiy ignores her all the time because with one way or another she happens to find trouble, as is trouble were her middle name. Her aunt Em, played by actress Loretta M. Norton and her Uncle Morris seem to be distracted with other business around the farm, such as counting the grain seeds. The last straw occurs when Dorothy's family does not defend her from the evil Miss Gulch as she takes toto in a basket to make him disappear. It is clear that Dorothy is upset and so her plan is to run away from home and find a better place where someone will appreciate her and where she could make good friends.

In her journey in finding "somewhere over the rainbow" she encounter an imposter magician, also known as the Professor Marvel, that claims to forsee into the future. He attempts to con Dorothy into beleiving he is pychic, Dorothy is quiet naive, her character has always been hombodied and so she's supposed to lack some street smarts.

However, her character is also noble, loving and compassionate. The Professor soon realizes that Dorothy is a runaway and so tell her that she is being missed by people who care about her, which are her family.

The last thing that Dorothy wants is to cause ill to no one and so she journey's back to Kansas, but as she does she is caugth in a storm and so she is consumed by the treacherous winds and before long the bacdrop changes and all the audience see's is a dark starry night, filled with millions of stars and Dorothy flies through the air. The special affects, the technical director and the rest of the cast and crew did a phenonmen job in making the play as realistic as if one were at home in front the Television eating popcorn and watching the movie itself.

Dorothy's house falls on the witched witch of west and all one sees are her black/white bettlejuice stockings and those infamouse red shoes. The shoes have a special power, a power that her evil sister, the witched witch of the north, played by Rena Bailey-Barrett wished to obrain at all cost. Before long Dorothy is dressed in exact custom that her charcater in the original movie

She is now wearing those red shoes. One could not help to look around and see little girls dressed in smaller replicas of dorothy. It was adorable!

In her journey she comes across a scared scarecrow that lacks a brain, played by actor Jeff Vincent,the Tinman played by actor Ed Hill who lacks a heart, a coward Lion, played by actor Michael Collins who lacks courage and Dorothy, played by Joy Norton who lacks a place to call home. The cross a frightening forest with talking trees, Muchin Land, made up of small children, and a Poppy field that soon turns into a field made up of snow. The backdrops are vivid, filled with bright colors creating this fairytale world that exsist over the rainbow.

The end of the play is left without a conclusion. Wish to know how it ends see the play. I highly recommend this play for adults, children and especially families who love acting and singing. For more information on tickets contact:....

Did you make a wish?

2009-01-20T01:11:00.000-08:00

The dead don't age;
There are no celebrations
When all that remains
Are these cell abrasions.

Happy Birthday, Lisa.

Hooray! Hooray! Hooray! This day!
Each flatus is a fragrant spray!
We don't deserve your presence!
We hope you like your presents!
Hooray for yet another day
In which you laugh 'stead of decay!

Happy Birthday, Dad.

The Shrinking Backs of Albas

2009-01-06T12:52:00.000-08:00

The following day, the remains of a local plastic surgery addict were scheduled to be laid to rest. No matter that it's Christmas Eve, the woman's son told Lina on the phone, because most of the family had already begun mourning her passing after her first procedure. The addiction that befell the woman granted her children a reason to ignore her. It was something they'd been searching for after learning Mrs. Alba had swindled them out of most of the inheritance from their father, her second husband. She never found out that they knew, and believed her sagging flesh to be the reason they'd stopped looking her in the eye. So Mrs. Alba inflated her chest and had the skin of her cheeks pulled around to the back of her head. After having the bandages removed, she waltzed into rooms seeing nothing but the shrinking backs of Albas. Each time this happened, she looked surprised. But only because, after the facelift, she always looked surprised.

All she wanted was the attention once paid by her family, even if it was out of charity. Apparently the woman was "somewhat of a cow," as Lina put it, after their brief meeting at Eternal Walk following the husband's death.

So it isn't that the Albas are a bunch of purists when it comes to appearance. The son who signed the paperwork did so red-handed. Literally. The skin of his hand up to his elbow had been tattooed solid red. When asked about it, his eyes welled up as he took a tissue from the communal box on Lina's desk. "Your mother?" she asked, consolingly. "No," he said, with a sniffle. "The company." He rolled up his sleeve and revealed the rest of his arm. The number "34" was branded in black on his bicep. "The fires of Placerita Canyon a few years back. Squad 34. Most of 'em are buried here."

The son was too upset to finish his paperwork – a commonality at the desk of Lina, who always strategically places the sheet for epitaph approval last – giving her free reign over what it will forever read. Knowing full well of Mrs. Alba's excessive vacations under the knife, I believed Lina to be in top form when she had the plaque made.

Paulette Marianne Alba

October 3, 1943 – November 10, 2009

Wisely Did All Her Bodily Preservation Before Death

The bereaved aren't always pleased. Lina is often fending angry and exhaustive phone calls. Some stomp into the mortuary demanding a correction. Remarkably, Lina never seems to feel threatened. She always rises from her chair, tilts down her chin, throws up both hands in an attempt to calm the fiery-eyed grievers before her, and divulges a phrase that settles every argument.

"The only opportunity we have to be completely honest in life is in death."

Every time she says it, I blow air out my nose.

In 2008, I...

2009-01-01T14:54:00.000-08:00

JANUARY

Made faces.

Needed a haircut.

Enjoyed needing a haircut.

FEBRUARY

Imitated.

Carved.

Drew characters that spoke to me.

Made friends.

Had a new favorite number.

Drew ungrateful characters.

MARCH

Puckered.

Went mad love.

Fought the sun.

Saw hearts EVERYWHERE.

Defaced.

Supported ill-fated TV shows.

Whatev.

Made the same face twice in two days.

Christened Rose.

Couldn’t take a pee without also taking a picture.

Spread the message.

Became a sort-of musician.

APRIL

Got mouth raped.

There it is again.

Became OK with sunglasses, even if they still looked horrible.

Sang “Wish You Were Here” with thousands of people, one of them being the guy who wrote it.

MAY

:trickle:

Got paid a visit from Gentry Talbach, aka The Strawberry Man.

JUNE

Got hit in the face with Tom Bogdon’s guitar while food fighting on stage with The Monolators and Ema and the Ghosts, and wore the bruise with pride.

Wished it were true.

Made no sense.

Costume shopped.

Became OK with sweatbands but only if they’re sequined.

Was funny, even if no one else thought so.
Larger/readable version.

Jon Carling’d.

Judged a chili cook-off.

JULY

Gave life and death to inanimate objects.

Horchata’d, good and bad.

Didn’t watch gay witch shows, but only because its writers told me not to.

Wished Chrissy a happy birthday.

Wished myself a happy birthday.

Got the best presents evah.

Reunited brother and sister.

Was deprived of all the belly flops.

Hoped to unnerve.

Broke boxers.

Moustached cats.

Mostly hated The Dark Knight.

Costume shopped to excess.

Copy edited Trader Joe’s signs.

Recorded with Cobra Lilies.

Got stuck behind the train.

Laughed at this guy.

Loved ‘70s and ‘80s Dutch girl groups.

AUGUST

Ran out of faces to make.

Fell asleep.

Did indeed unnerve.

Had a new favorite bread.

Loved hoodies to excess.

Saw Stephin Merritt at the Coffee Table, which caused Ema to collapse into her omelet.

Built a home.

Suffered a great loss.

Hung towels.

Met Lando cat.

Refurbished.

Donated most of my clothes to a very worthy cause: Ema.

Regenerated.

Slid.

SEPTEMBER

Got hooked.

Drove recklessly.

Got a new desk.

Christened Martha.

Tracked Tayw Thight.

Gave the Hug Lady one last squeeze.

Ray gunned.

Clog danced.

Adored.

Found sunglasses that actually didn’t look horrible.

Inadvertently stalked.

Found lovely surprises in my bed.

Aww’d.

Saw the light (well,a light).

Sequenced.

Bounced high.

Never really liked beer anyway.

OCTOBER

Transferred bathrooms. I mean stores.

Just wanted one.

New milkbox. More of a milk triangle, actually.

Watched Ema and the Ghosts on the radio…

… and made more faces.

Red velvet cupcaked.

Dialed up the dead, and left several messages.

Experimented with upperwear.

NOVEMBER

Yep.

Was distracted.

Celebrated.

Wore protection.

Attended a midnight funeral.

Burnt the candle whole.

Decorated L.A.

Was well taken care of.

Prom shopped.

Prom went.

Prom posed.

DECEMBER

Duplicated.

Saw Joe Lo Truglio and A.D. Miles at the Coffee Table.

Ate good.

Ditto.

Became OK with dog sweaters (actually, just one).

<3

Christmas shopped.

Bundled up.

Wet smoochied.

Had no explanation.

Met Robin Hood (the Disney version).

Christened Dad’s new house.

Gave good finger.

Saw through the mask.

Didn’t use these.

Found where shopping carts go when they die.

Gave good hat.

Was crushed to find out this was entirely staged.

Made this.

A kiss goodnight...

2008-12-24T03:05:00.001-08:00

Heath Ledger Can Haz Oscar? Well...

2008-12-24T02:48:00.000-08:00

I'm mainly posting this because I want it to appear on The Huffington Post.

If Heath Ledger wins an Oscar next year, it won’t be for the right reasons.

Even before “The Dark Knight” opened on July 18, talk of the late actor snagging the posthumous honor for his turn as the maniacal Joker was far and wide. The talk has since evolved to such a cacophony of universal approval that the Academy might want to start preparing for riots should anyone else’s name be called on Oscar night.

The death of such a prominent, of-the-moment media figure, and one as likable and talented as Ledger, is sure to cause emotional whirlwinds across the nation, but coinciding with the release of a film as anticipated as a Batman sequel has bizarrely turned the actor into an emblem of acting worship.

Such defense is puzzling considering the initial backlash the casting decision caused. Following the announcement, Internet message boards were flooded with posts of shock and declarations of sacrilege. It seemed like conformity on director Christopher Nolan’s part to cast a young heartthrob-type, even one whose credits demonstrate more brave projects than light-hearted fare. For every “A Knight’s Tale,” there’s a “Brokeback Mountain,” a “Monster’s Ball” and an “I’m Not There.” No role in Ledger’s too-short career, however, was anywhere near as challenging as The Joker, and casting him worried those who treasured “Batman Begins,” the first in Nolan’s reinvention of the movie franchise. Ever since the nipples were removed from the Bat Suit and integrity was restored to its name, there has been a wide protectiveness of the series to remain relevant, and many felt the inclusion of Ledger would detract rather than uphold.

Minds were changed when the first trailers appeared online, featuring only Ledger’s voice and The Joker’s signature cackle. It was enough to raise curiosities and quell suspicions that he wasn’t up to the task. General curiosity, however, turned morbid after Ledger was pronounced dead on January 22, and “The Dark Knight” was to be his last screen performance. Suddenly, it was the most anticipated role – and consequently, film – of the year.

Because of the bleak circumstances surrounding “The Dark Knight,” it’s difficult to watch as anything more than Ledger’s last film. One’s perspective is automatically shifted to his corner of the sandbox. Thankfully it’s an easy shift to make. Ledger’s Joker is one of the standouts. His version of the Batman villain, with his slapdash clown makeup and a smile carved callously onto his face, is a genuine disappearing act. So soulless and unabashedly bad, watching Ledger play in such a flagrant playground almost eases the grief of his loss.

Almost.

The actor reportedly died from an accidental pill overdose while taking medication prescribed to help cope with the extreme physical and psychological demands of portraying The Joker. In other words, one could say he died for the role.

“The Dark Knight” is not about The Joker, but it has become about Ledger. Naturally, he gets all the attention. His every word and nuance is bound to be savored and scrutinized, while the film’s low points get off easy, and another bright spot is overshadowed.

Consider Aaron Eckhart, who plays Gotham City’s district attorney Harvey Dent, and later Two Face. Eckhart reaches as high a career peak in “The Dark Knight” as Ledger, and he does so in a role the film is ultimately centered around. Dent is given a full arc, beginning as Gotham’s “unmasked” hero and descending every bit before our eyes into unflinching, merciless rage. Meanwhile, The Joker’s psychology is dismissed by Batman’s butler Alfred as being that of a man who “just wants to see the world burn.”

Eckhart has the more complex part to play, and yet his Oscar talk is nowhere. In fact, his name is hardly better known now than it was before, when he was churning out one indie darling after another. It would be disquieting to pit the film’s two villains against each other in a Supporting Actor category come Oscar time, and no matter how deserving Eckhart or any other nominated actor may be, it would be unfathomable to make him the upset.

If Eckhart had died in his place, Ledger’s performance would likely be regarded simply as getting the job done. He’d have proved his skeptics wrong, and have everyone clamoring for the next installment. But because we know the extent of psychological torture Ledger suffered before his death, it’s hard to find joy in The Joker’s gleeful wickedness. The film’s most indelible images are of The Joker, but the more amusing his moments, the harder they are to stomach. To watch Ledger in “The Dark Knight” may not always be such a downer, but right now, it’s too numbingly sad to fully enjoy.

Ledger’s last performance is so memorable because audiences are prepared to remember it. If we were all granted the knowledge of when our last moments with others would occur, we’d all play closer attention. We would excuse their flaws and emphasize their strengths. Appreciate the time we spent with them, and vow to be strong in a world beyond them.

No one would dare say anything negative about Ledger’s final screen performance, and no one should. His Joker was likely always to be considered a landmark achievement in a budding career, but not necessarily for the craft. Oscar talk might have only been a chatter, but existent nonetheless.

If every performance by an actor were observed as his last, there would be no bad performances.

Had Ledger not left us in these waning days of filmmaking, the role would have been a thrilling step forward for him as an actor, and a monumental beginning for a certain character, whose cackle would forever terrorize and haunt us, rather than sadden.

2008-09-10T08:48:00.000-07:00

My new desk.

2008-08-22T21:25:00.000-07:00

The new Monolators album is impossibly good. Buy it Oct 25th.

http://www.myspace.com/monolators

2008-08-16T19:38:00.000-07:00

Our bath mat.