And party and bullshit in space
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Do you have a tumblr? If so, what is it?
i dont have one yet but i will soon. sorry kids im busy as fuck
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Whoooa, don't need to judge me
Whoooa, retaliation.
Whoooa, don't need to charge with the first offense yeah.
Whoooa, retaliation.
I ain't got no enemies
But if you diss me, i will retaliate
I ain't got no enemies
But if you diss me, i will retaliate
I ain't got no enemies
But if you diss me, i will retaliate
I ain't got no enemies
But if you diss me, diss me
Check one two, one two.
Where there's smoke there's fire.
(Nothing can stop the fire.)
comin' straight to your livin' rooms, Bouncin' off your walls,
Bouncin' off your car windows,
Alright we gonna talk about something old and something new.
Whoooa, don't need to judge me
Whoooa, retaliation.
Whoooa, don't need to charge with the first offense yeah.
Whoooa, retaliation.
I ain't got no enemies
But if you diss me, i will retaliate
I ain't got no enemies
But if you diss me, i will retaliate
I ain't got no enemies
But if you diss me, i will retaliate
I ain't got no enemies
But if you diss me, diss me..
(Nothing can stop the fire)
Gimmie Gimmie Sens-Sensimillia,
Gimmie Gimmie Sens-Sensimillia Whoa
Gimmie Gimmie Sens-Sensimillia,
Gimmie Gimmie Sens-Sensimillia Whoa
Gimmie Gimmie Sens-Sensimillia,
Gimmie Gimmie Sens-Sensimillia Whoa
Gimmie Gimmie Sens-Sensimillia,
Give me sensi right now.
Whoooa, retaliation.
Whoooa, don't need to charge with the first offense yeah.
Whoooa, retaliation.
I ain't got no enemies
But if you diss me, i will retaliate
I ain't got no enemies
But if you diss me, i will retaliate
I ain't got no enemies
But if you diss me, i will retaliate
I ain't got no enemies
But if you diss me, diss me
Check one two, one two.
Where there's smoke there's fire.
(Nothing can stop the fire.)
comin' straight to your livin' rooms, Bouncin' off your walls,
Bouncin' off your car windows,
Alright we gonna talk about something old and something new.
Whoooa, don't need to judge me
Whoooa, retaliation.
Whoooa, don't need to charge with the first offense yeah.
Whoooa, retaliation.
I ain't got no enemies
But if you diss me, i will retaliate
I ain't got no enemies
But if you diss me, i will retaliate
I ain't got no enemies
But if you diss me, i will retaliate
I ain't got no enemies
But if you diss me, diss me..
(Nothing can stop the fire)
Gimmie Gimmie Sens-Sensimillia,
Gimmie Gimmie Sens-Sensimillia Whoa
Gimmie Gimmie Sens-Sensimillia,
Gimmie Gimmie Sens-Sensimillia Whoa
Gimmie Gimmie Sens-Sensimillia,
Gimmie Gimmie Sens-Sensimillia Whoa
Gimmie Gimmie Sens-Sensimillia,
Give me sensi right now.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
If you had the means, the people and the choice, what would you like to do? - direct a movie? - design a fashion line? - put up an art exhibition? - direct and design a music video? or arrange a music festival?
If you had the means, the people and the choice, what would you like to do? - direct a movie? - design a fashion line? - put up an art exhibition? - direct and design a music video? or arrange a music festival?
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Sunday, January 9, 2011
hitchiker
This actually did happen to a real person, and the real person was me. I had gone to catch a train. This was April 1976, in Cambridge, U.K. I was a bit early for the train. I'd gotten the time of the train wrong.
I went to get myself a newspaper to do the crossword, and a cup of coffee and a packet of cookies. I went and sat at a table.
I want you to picture the scene. It's very important that you get this very clear in your mind.
Here's the table, newspaper, cup of coffee, packet of cookies. There's a guy sitting opposite me, perfectly ordinary-looking guy wearing a business suit, carrying a briefcase.
It didn't look like he was going to do anything weird. What he did was this: he suddenly leaned across, picked up the packet of cookies, tore it open, took one out, and ate it.
Now this, I have to say, is the sort of thing the British are very bad at dealing with. There's nothing in our background, upbringing, or education that teaches you how to deal with someone who in broad daylight has just stolen your cookies.
You know what would happen if this had been South Central Los Angeles. There would have very quickly been gunfire, helicopters coming in, CNN, you know. . . But in the end, I did what any red-blooded Englishman would do: I ignored it. And I stared at the newspaper, took a sip of coffee, tried to do a clue in the newspaper, couldn't do anything, and thought, what am I going to do?
In the end I thought, nothing for it, I'll just have to go for it, and I tried very hard not to notice the fact that the packet was already mysteriously opened. I took out a cookie for myself. I thought, that settled him. But it hadn't because a moment or two later he did it again. He took another cookie.
Having not mentioned it the first time, it was somehow even harder to raise the subject the second time around. "Excuse me, I couldn't help but notice . . ." I mean, it doesn't really work.
We went through the whole packet like this. When I say the whole packet, I mean there were only about eight cookies, but it felt like a lifetime. He took one, I took one, he took one, I took one. Finally, when we got to the end, he stood up and walked away.
Well, we exchanged meaningful looks, then he walked away, and I breathed a sigh of relief and sat back. A moment or two later the train was coming in, so I tossed back the rest of my coffee, stood up, picked up the newspaper, and underneath the newspaper were my cookies.
The thing I like particularly about this story is the sensation that somewhere in England there has been wandering around for the last quarter-century a perfectly ordinary guy who's had the same exact story, only he doesn't have the punch line.
I went to get myself a newspaper to do the crossword, and a cup of coffee and a packet of cookies. I went and sat at a table.
I want you to picture the scene. It's very important that you get this very clear in your mind.
Here's the table, newspaper, cup of coffee, packet of cookies. There's a guy sitting opposite me, perfectly ordinary-looking guy wearing a business suit, carrying a briefcase.
It didn't look like he was going to do anything weird. What he did was this: he suddenly leaned across, picked up the packet of cookies, tore it open, took one out, and ate it.
Now this, I have to say, is the sort of thing the British are very bad at dealing with. There's nothing in our background, upbringing, or education that teaches you how to deal with someone who in broad daylight has just stolen your cookies.
You know what would happen if this had been South Central Los Angeles. There would have very quickly been gunfire, helicopters coming in, CNN, you know. . . But in the end, I did what any red-blooded Englishman would do: I ignored it. And I stared at the newspaper, took a sip of coffee, tried to do a clue in the newspaper, couldn't do anything, and thought, what am I going to do?
In the end I thought, nothing for it, I'll just have to go for it, and I tried very hard not to notice the fact that the packet was already mysteriously opened. I took out a cookie for myself. I thought, that settled him. But it hadn't because a moment or two later he did it again. He took another cookie.
Having not mentioned it the first time, it was somehow even harder to raise the subject the second time around. "Excuse me, I couldn't help but notice . . ." I mean, it doesn't really work.
We went through the whole packet like this. When I say the whole packet, I mean there were only about eight cookies, but it felt like a lifetime. He took one, I took one, he took one, I took one. Finally, when we got to the end, he stood up and walked away.
Well, we exchanged meaningful looks, then he walked away, and I breathed a sigh of relief and sat back. A moment or two later the train was coming in, so I tossed back the rest of my coffee, stood up, picked up the newspaper, and underneath the newspaper were my cookies.
The thing I like particularly about this story is the sensation that somewhere in England there has been wandering around for the last quarter-century a perfectly ordinary guy who's had the same exact story, only he doesn't have the punch line.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
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