Neon Indian - Mind Drips from Josh Morgan on Vimeo.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Mind Drips
I made this video of the Neon Indian song Mind Drips with classic 80's break dancing and balloons! Enjoy.
Brain Strains
The coke stains
on my table strains
my brain
with the thoughts
of ordinary household cares.
Maybe
my thoughts were fought
to fight
the right
to fuck on ordinary
household
items.
on my table strains
my brain
with the thoughts
of ordinary household cares.
Maybe
my thoughts were fought
to fight
the right
to fuck on ordinary
household
items.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
Slumber Party
This fucking cold train station drains
the pain
for the laurels of a better tomorrow.
I tried to connect
to a better apparatus
in the republic of bibles and loose belts
but you just danced
yourself
into the yellowish and orange hue
of my puke.
My vomit is content
in the burning sun
of the south side fears,
where the queers
keep asking my name and dick size.
I only find myself
to feed off
from the time
we danced
naked
on each other,
begging for the sun to stay down.
I’ll be on that train
by the time it peaks through
our black curtains.
Tonight dies
and dries
with my vomit stains
by your side.
My name is nowhere
and I’ve never measured my dick
but I will
for an extra buck and
a warm place to fuck.
the pain
for the laurels of a better tomorrow.
I tried to connect
to a better apparatus
in the republic of bibles and loose belts
but you just danced
yourself
into the yellowish and orange hue
of my puke.
My vomit is content
in the burning sun
of the south side fears,
where the queers
keep asking my name and dick size.
I only find myself
to feed off
from the time
we danced
naked
on each other,
begging for the sun to stay down.
I’ll be on that train
by the time it peaks through
our black curtains.
Tonight dies
and dries
with my vomit stains
by your side.
My name is nowhere
and I’ve never measured my dick
but I will
for an extra buck and
a warm place to fuck.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
We Trip Alone
I pray
for self-sufficient bones
and all of my organs work
on their own.
I pray that I don’t forget
to breathe
when this trip
hits me.
That the colors don’t bleed
and that if they do
I hope they are nice to me.
for self-sufficient bones
and all of my organs work
on their own.
I pray that I don’t forget
to breathe
when this trip
hits me.
That the colors don’t bleed
and that if they do
I hope they are nice to me.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Everyone I ever knew
If you think you've ever connected with any other human being, think again. No one ever really knows anyone. The real true gritty parts of a human, the disgusting inner being, will always be hidden from the other. The inner sometimes flashes its glare of monotonous deviance from time to time. You just have to pay attention. Sure you might feel a connection during a drunken celebratory song or a good fuck, but you will never truly know someone. At the core everyone is full of shit and portraying themselves to not be who they really are. Be careful who you portray yourself to be. It's easy to forget and it could get quite confusing.
Just so you know all your heroes, the people you're probably portraying yourself to be, are in fact weirdos and would fuck whores to feel good and slit some bellies open and watch the guts ooze out to feel accomplished. Everyone is seeking the true potential of their being, or what they think their being to be, no matter how fucking nasty it really gets. Believe me, it'll get pretty fucking nasty. No one knows. No one knows anyone or anything. You probably don't exceed the rule of human nature. You probably don't know anyone, or anything.
Everyone I ever knew spent most of their time figuring out if they ever knew. They didn't.
Just so you know all your heroes, the people you're probably portraying yourself to be, are in fact weirdos and would fuck whores to feel good and slit some bellies open and watch the guts ooze out to feel accomplished. Everyone is seeking the true potential of their being, or what they think their being to be, no matter how fucking nasty it really gets. Believe me, it'll get pretty fucking nasty. No one knows. No one knows anyone or anything. You probably don't exceed the rule of human nature. You probably don't know anyone, or anything.
Everyone I ever knew spent most of their time figuring out if they ever knew. They didn't.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Levis Go Forth Campaign
Pioneers O' Pioneers by Walt Whitman. Directed by M. Blash
American by Walt Whitman. Directed by Cary Fukunaga
American by Walt Whitman. Directed by Cary Fukunaga
Monday, January 4, 2010
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Friday, January 1, 2010
Iconoclasm
I swallowed the aerosol left behind
by the kind
and often intrusive house maid.
I watched the computer screen
for hours
with the beautiful old ghosts
as background music
to my new life
of heresy.
The sanctimonious choir sang songs
in tongues
for the voices in my head.
They told me to
hit the streets
with my new found passion for
bitter beer
and psalms
that leave no qualms
and no other questions
to be asked.
After I found the door
I found myself
on the streets
with no petitioners with
likeminded minds
like mine.
I found bitter and battered
old hags
that told me my mind was leaking
fumes that smelled
like sour pine.
I told them it was just the
sweet scent
of believe
and my sins finally
taking flight.
I told them to beware,
be aware.
I hugged and begged them
to touch my scars.
I groped their borrowed
genitals through
their Sunday best.
I asked them if they have accepted
Michael Jackson
as their own
personal savior.
by the kind
and often intrusive house maid.
I watched the computer screen
for hours
with the beautiful old ghosts
as background music
to my new life
of heresy.
The sanctimonious choir sang songs
in tongues
for the voices in my head.
They told me to
hit the streets
with my new found passion for
bitter beer
and psalms
that leave no qualms
and no other questions
to be asked.
After I found the door
I found myself
on the streets
with no petitioners with
likeminded minds
like mine.
I found bitter and battered
old hags
that told me my mind was leaking
fumes that smelled
like sour pine.
I told them it was just the
sweet scent
of believe
and my sins finally
taking flight.
I told them to beware,
be aware.
I hugged and begged them
to touch my scars.
I groped their borrowed
genitals through
their Sunday best.
I asked them if they have accepted
Michael Jackson
as their own
personal savior.
Greenburg
From Noah Baumbach, the director of The Squid and the Whale, comes depressed Ben Stiller and LCD Soundsystem.
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