Class-Punk

I’m at the end of a creatine loading phase right now, burning through whey twice every workout day, and hitting the weights cracked out on jack3d which is good for energy. Yesterday I got in a shoulder and ab workout, then did burpees (my favorite form of cardio right now) till I was crawling to a chair; so that should help burn some of the dirty calories I took in this week. Tonight is back training. >.>

These will be..

Tomorrow is rest day. No cracked on jack3d. I must get coffeenated and write. >.>

Not much. There's a pair of dusty 13" boots. And the most out-of-place thing is a black cane with four skulls on top, covered in cobwebs, with an anti-depressant suicide warning sticker taped to the back. Anything else is packed away.

Thank you. Unfortunately, because of "bulking," they only appear standing up. Liking your shades, brah.

I first heard this song from someone before they went on a military tour.

Biological robots are not detachable.

I snapped this before working out today.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YXlKF0vVUvw

I saw this when it aired.

I recently finished some “prosetry” and decided to repost it from my blog since this part of the board hasn‘t got as many posts. --- Here in the Mortar Trigger hands, no trigger head.. and councils of constellation, and antonyms-- poison-doused tongues, no more unity, while men with better ciphers fade and disappear to synthetic clicks and pounds. Pound for pound, lethal formula bagged crushed bones and pseudo-stardust swallowed whole, gaping halfway out the throats of ugly, uniform eyes, but its nice to see a smile. Hidden trepidation mocks the surrounding environment, the fear assumes its rightful position as a result of inflexibility in greed; so truthful as to be so rightfully surreal. Eluding if not subtle, as the breathing mysteries it produces, trigger hands, no trigger head. Holding hands with gods, till cancellation's bright color drips to handleless, red-handed; from every thieving heart, a looter's run for a soul, triggered red where murderer's murderer is crossbred. Dungeon authorities speak from the dead, "This is not the wheel that stretches your limbs." And the darkness is so potent now, so satiated with hatred and fear, the collapse of the cards and spines, tokens and birthrights, checks for repetition, vestiges of the lost and insane, a gesture towards the face for a funeral, the underground laughter of adolescent pipe-dreams wrapped up in this, the game continues its role, wrapped up in this, but never a part of it, and never apart from collapse while on the wings of unknown systems, the algorithms soar on their final breaths clogging utopian sewers, dancing with the rats, negation and vague necessities blurring on with the story's ugly beauty; each beginning is more real and superficial than the last, the clay falls off and the flesh hardens, no search for symbols nor safety. And when the odds and rules crawl across fantasy worlds built by bricklayers, out smoking-- will be eventually, something happens other than rust. Where old, unsafe death cannot steal the subtle shine, the preludes of aging things, something happens, here in the mortar.

Frank (Just Frank) - Beneath

Watching Penn and Teller's Bullshit.

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I consider myself a meditative autodidact which as of writing this, broadens the paths in which I am able to be broke. I’ve put the most focus into my writing, having little to no social life except reading and critiquing good literature and writing; I have two Fiction novels to finish and I wouldn‘t mind making some money or a career as a writer. Lately this year I’ve been thinking about becoming a personal trainer and/or getting a science degree.

"Cookies and cream" protein shake.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XgwjLBvoInM

He's a pretty cool guy. I know mysticism is likely to get Atheist flak, but I find it hard to debate about since it traditionally consists of “non-conceptual” or “non-linguistic” states. I agree that feelings are not evidence of conceptual truth which is of course, why society has evolved. I remember Richard Dawkins in The Four Horsemen documentary, said something like he leaned towards the universe being infinite. I don’t consider myself to be challenging science, since I think any smart “mystic” would still see these experiences within the realm of scientific truth. In the West some might also see mysticism in the realm of “neurosis,” which I think the difference being that neurosis is thought and linguistic based, where mysticism uses thought to point at non-linguistic experience.

I'm picky. If I'm single three years from now, I will have recorded an entire album using only maracas, with the intent to get a label, and on the Top 40. Twenty-five and burnt out on vitamin water, the only path left for me will be a "Vegan" Maracstar (living in Vegas, not eating imitation breakfast sausage, which tasted nothing like spiced turkey, imho).

I don't mind "band clones," in this case, "Sisters clones," if the song is good. This song is one of my favorite songs in its genre.

I live in the country outside of the drain (Adrian). I'm more of a social moth than a social butterfly, and probably more accepting of isolation than the average person. I've given up on over-the-top fashion from having lived here so long, and given other settings and circumstances I wouldn't return to it. I'd like to move Northeast eventually, not so far that I'm out of driving distance from all the friends I have.