Life

It doesn't get better then a 2 o' clock therapy/philosophy session in a hot tub with some of your favorite dudes in their undies smoking cigs and drinking beers under a crisp, sparkling December night sky.

Merry NBA Season

Pabst & Jazz

Terri

"Life's a mess dude, but we're all just doing the best we can. You know? You and me and Samantha. We're just doing what we can. So if I hurt you or if I lied to you, all I can tell you is I'm sorry, and I will try to do better. Maybe I will do better, or maybe I'll do even worse, I don't know. I screw up all the time, cus that's what people do. You know?"

"I say this all the time but music is never damn loud enough."

"F@#k you if you only listen to music on your laptop speakers."

Hands up if you're broken but find a way to stand up.
Give it up if you're hopin' and never givin' up.

I would like an old convertible, a cute babe and a weird nose so I can do everything in this video.

Letter to a dear friend

Dearest You,
We hung out tonight. Kind of, I guess. If you still read this, you know who you are already. We used to be close. (In the sense that people can get to know each other pretty well in a quick-short amount of time.) Way good friends, at least to me. Someone that I cared about even when I was gone far away, or at least I tried to.
I'm not really sure what happened, but I guess people fall apart, like sand castles after too many waves from the sea. Physical miles create emotional miles and so on, or so it goes. Out of sight, out of mind, and all the other cliches that go along with this type of thing. Either way, I couldn't be more repulsed by what our friendship has become now, as if something great has turned to nothing. The remedy is your guess as good as it is mine, but maybe it's just that friendships are fleeting. Maybe some things aren't meant to last. Either way, it makes me feel about the same as when I lost an essential piece of a Shredder action figure down the bath tub drain; miserable and lost, and with a new found sense that nothing gold can stay. I dunno, maybe this is the least I can do. Maybe I could make a better move to amend broken ties. Then again, fuck it, maybe not.

Love you.
Jhené Aiko - In Love We Trust (ft. Casey Veggies) by pbrxb

Villains

And right when it was needed most, Common comes through with a fucking awesome video to save my day. Sorry for not keeping it posi folks, but sometimes people just gotta vent. I'm back though.

Dear 2011,

Fuck you. Remember 11 months ago when you promised you were gonna be awesome? Yea, you're a liar. I can't wait to be done with you. Goodnight.

Hate,

Tyler Boeyink

Sometimes I really like to come home after drinking (yea I know its only a Tuesday) and say everything that's on my mind and heart. Mostly because when I lose my inhibitions I like to get as raw and and personal and truthful as I can. Maybe its the only time when I'm really, honestly truthful to myself and/or to others. I dunno but either way, here I am, 11:20 pm on a school night feeling like I need to spill some guts.
My great Aunt Lynn died after a lengthy struggle with cancer yesterday, and I don't know how to feel about it at all. Mostly I don't want to feel anything, as is the reason behind the gin bender that led me here in the first place. I can't say that I was close to Lynn per se, mainly because 5 hours of Iowa farm land is more like an entire continent away, but I know that Lynn and RG have always been cherished and dear family members to me, despite the rare and few and far between occasions we've gotten to celebrate each others company. Despite the physical proximity, the memories I do share with her and her family will be pressed tightly to my chest for the next great amount of time, as I begin to take steps towards figuring out how to cope with such a loss.






Sometimes, despite all the words that seem to come out of my mouth at almost every second of every day to anyone that is around to listen, the ability to articulate myself is lost when I need to be at my most poignant. I have typed, deleted, retyped and re-deleted a million words to express what I'm feeling right now, but they are mere pixels on a web page when compared to the thoughts and emotions that have been weighing on my soul in the last 24 hours.
Death is something that we all experience. Not only at the end of our own timelines, but with timelines that have intertwined with our own. I can't claim to have any kind of insight towards it, I don't. My words fall inadequately short. I just know that it brings about this introspection inside myself that no other event can, leaving me unsettled and grasping for ephemeral answers that disappear like smoke in the wind.

CLOSE YOUR EYES - THE BULLITTS starring JAY ELECTRONICA & LUCY LIU from THE BULLITTS on Vimeo.

Have you ever had that feeling like you been falling for weeks in a well?
I was on the verge of dying like E.T. in the bald spot in the forest
right next to the speak and spell
Tryna phone home but the signal wouldn’t reach the cell
Tryna hold on a little longer teeth and nail
without a hand to wipe the tears away from my cheek when they fell.
When I couldn’t get peace from a pipe or chiefing an L,
I thought of the words of pastor Dunn when he said;
“Son, at first they screamed hosanna on the highest then turned around and crucified the christ after a week in jail”

Stick to the script
like paper clips and coffee stains.
Never let a seed of doubt deter you from your lofty aims,
The will is much stronger than the flesh,
And it only grows stronger when you’re going through duress.
Imagination is the factory that makes legends.
Close Your Eyes and dream B.I.G like Faith Evans.

Damn Hippies

I know its 10 years too late, and I know it hardly matters anymore, and I know conspiracy theories and theorists pretty much all sound like wack jobs, and I'm pretty sure there will never been any real "truth" to be gleamed from the countless investigations and analyses going on. But seriously though, with all theories and wild speculations to the side, from a completely unbiased and neutral spectator with no motives or preconceived notions, from someone who desperately seeks what is "real", didn't those towers fall just a bit peculiar to anyone else? I'm just saying.

Edit: Since the 10 year anniversary on Sunday, for whatever reason my mind has not stopped thinking about the tragedy. I'm losing sleep, I'm obsessing over it during my daily routine, its just constantly in my headc. I'm not saying George Bush did it, I'm not even saying Osama Bin Laden didn't do it. I'm not saying shit, cus I don't know shit. But seriously, the evidence, wherever it points to, is right there on the fucking screen, no matter how tragic, appalling, or damning, it is silly to look past the obvious.

Mr. Rager

Its been a really long time since I've come even close to appreciating anything Cudi has done. However this song is still pleasure to my ears, and the video is pretty neato as well.

Coooooooooooool

Another reminder: go out and live life.

No specific reason for either of these videos other then the fact that watching/listening to them makes my soul and my guts feel good. Also it just goes without saying what I wouldn't do to have those beautiful balls of eye staring straight back into mine.





Edit: Well darnit, now I've gone and spent the last 2 hours of my life watching Lykke Li videos online. Yummy.

I stay ridin' dirty.

Sophisticated Ignorance

I don't care. This is already one of my favorite hip hop videos ever. I've watched it like 4 times a day since it came out. Making it just one more reason why I wish I had more slow motion and explosions in my everyday life.

I have always been a pretty big fan of my taste in music. (Duh) But ever since I realized that my musical interests were usually superior to others I also realized that I could get a double dose of pleasure from making mixtapes and ipod playlists for my friends, family and coworkers. On the one hand its a way for me to express myself as a person through songs that mean something to me on a personal/emotional level. On the other hand it's also just a way for me to push my likes and interests onto other people in the guise of doing them a favor, when in fact the pleasure is all mine.
With that being said, I recently purchased a sizable amount of blank discs in the hopes that I could get back into the mixtape game. So anyone that would like a personalized, decorated disc of guaranteed good music, hit me up with a legitimate shipping address and personal musical preferences and I will bless your mailbox with some audio fire within a week or so. The best part of this deal is that 1. It is free for you. 2. It will make you happy. 3. It will make me happy. and 4. It will give you a small piece of me to carry around with you anytime you need a small dose.

I'm too busy living to worry about anything else. I told myself when I was little, I don't wanna grow up when I grow up... so far, so good.

Live Now Forever

Alien Cheese

I've always been a sucker for rappers going in on "hipster" tunes. Here's a few slices of yummy for your ear pieces. Enjoy the rest of your summer suckas.

It Doesn't Snow Where You're Going part II

When your entire body is covered from head to toe with poison ivy, bug bites and sunburn, you don't really know whether to laugh or cry. Laughing causes you to realize just how itchy the back side of your knee is. Crying causes the same. So does doing pretty much anything else. Hell, doing nothing is even worse.
When I had chicken pox as a child, all my friends and relatives would joke about how you could connect them and make pictures. The connection of all the current dots on my body would change my skin color to African-American, depending on the hue of ink chosen of course. I'm talking bug bites from head to toe, and every crevice, cleavage and cock in between. What I'm trying to say is that I'm really fucking itchy.
Working on a Christmas tree farm in the middle of the summer, you learn to tolerate that which is intolerable. Spiders the size of house pets are a normal appearance. When they start taking down cows in the pasture nearby is when you should finally begin to worry and if you haven't seen your shearing buddy in more then a half hour it is more logical to assume that arachnids got him then any alternative. If by some lapse of sanity you are so inclined as to go it alone in the west field for more then 20 seconds, you're survival without a shotgun is about as possible as survival in the west field without a shotgun for 20 seconds. That may seem a little bit redundant, but there is nothing less survivable on this planet then 20 seconds in the west field without a shotgun. So any other comparison would fall short. Just don't try it. But, if by some divine miracle you haven't succumbed to the creepy crawlies and unmentionables, you still must surpass the poison ivy in the second level of Hell that is Dante's tree farm.
If you haven't seen Little Shop of Horrors, then it would be difficult to visualize what the poison ivy looks like out on the tree farm. But for those who haven't, imagine the eyeless head of a Tyrannosaurus Rex attached to a plant stem and roots, with an infinite amount of poisonous tentacle vine arms protruding that can wrap around your throat with effortless power. Then imagine hundreds of them. Then imagine avoiding these abominations from a) eating you b) strangling you c) dismantling you or at the very least d) making contact with your skin. Option D doesn't sound so bad at first, but after 2 weeks of bubbling, oozing, pussing, and constantly itchy poison ivy rashes, you will eventually realize it is the equivalent of all of the above. Except slower. And itchier. So much itchier.
Hypothetically speaking bugs, spiders and poison ivy are survivable if you keep your head on straight, and adhere to Columbus' survival rules of Zombieland. (Look it up.) But the grand satanic wizard of them all is solar in nature. If your job requires you to work outside, it is your greatest enemy. Great in skill and size alike. It is known to scientists as G2V, the Mayans as a god, and myself as a fucking huge fucking hot fucking ball of fucking shit whose sole intention is to make my life miserable while attempting to destroy me at the same time. Yes, the sun.
Due to the dangerous nature of the aforementioned threats, anything less then a bombproof suit would be recommended for tree farm attire. However when daytime temperatures flirt with NBA score totals, it is unwise to cover yourself with Kevlar from head to foot. The common tree farm attendant can usually be seen wearing a long sleeve shirt, pants and work boots. Which seems harmless at first glance, until you realize that triple digit temperatures aren't even comfortable in your birthday suit, let alone when every square inch of your body is clothed to avoid rabid bugs and poison ivy monsters.
It would be inaccurate to say your clothes are saturated with sweat. It would be more accurate to say your sweat is wearing clothes. If Arizona firefighters were equipped with sweat instead of water they still wouldn't be able to soak a tree farm worker as much as a few minutes shearing does. In fact, I would be willing to argue that one day's worth of tree farm sweat would be enough to put out the worst of wildfires in the Southwestern region of the United States.
In order to best describe how hot it really is outside, one would need to somehow combine a sauna, hot tub, and steam room all into one, put that contraption inside a giant furnace, which is located inside an active volcano in the center of the earth's core. Even then it barely skims the surface of what kind of heat we're talking about here. It's fucking hot.
Needless to say, it takes a certain amount of, for lack of better words, balls, to survive in the wilderness that is Vander Streek Acres. If your dangly parts are not of requisite size, you can forget it. If the bulge in your pants is not noticeable from at least 50 yards, you will not meet the recommended requirements for tree farm sack measurements. One might think it cruel to discriminate based on genitalia size, but it is purely for the safety of civilization that this guideline is heavily enforced. Simply put, if you're not packing at least a .357 in your pants and holster, you do not have what it takes to succeed in this jungle. I mean even Mowgli and Tarzan are prohibited.
So next time you see a tree farm soldier, sweating from head to foot, covered in blood, of his own and of creatures unknown, thank him for making your Christmas tree pretty enough to be displayed for 3 weeks in the safety and comfort of your own home.
War is Hell.

Maybe there is no Eden

To those of you who follow this blog, from any distance, I feel I must always apologize whenever I have a month or longer hiatus, even though it is my own blog, for my own fulfillment/self masturbatory reasons, filled with my own thoughts and musings on life/music/cinema/bullshit/whatever. That being said, for those of you who enjoy this website for my musical tastes, here is a little some' some' from a Swedish duo my boy put me onto a few months ago. (there was supposed to be an embedded link to his blog website in there but apparently it has ninja vanished into thin air for the time being.) Outside of it being my new favorite song, the video is very intriguing/eccentric/beautiful in its own right.

For those of you who stumble into this little nook of the internet universe for my own personal lyrical prowess, stay tuned, for I have recently been so lucky as to stumble upon a muse or two, that have stimulated the flow of creative juices so to speak. Writings are on the way.

I know this blog has pretty much been dominated by cool music videos as of late, but there probably won't be much of a change for awhile. I don't write much, and I'm so deep in new music it would take forever to figure out where to even start to talk about it.

That being said, here's an amazing video by a band I've never heard of, for a song that isn't really important either. The video immediately brought me back to elementary school and the insane amount of guns I used to play. Enjoy.

LIFE.

This is a picture I reblogged from one of two of my favorite sister's blogs. It's entirely dedicated to posting photos, quotes, snippets, etc. of inspirational or heart-warming somethings for others to enjoy. This particular little number is somewhat indicative of the existential crisis I've been encountering as of the last few years. Sometimes a person can get so stuck in a rut that they don't even realize it is their own life that is going by. Something that isn't going to come back. It is absolutely easier said then done, but when it comes down to it, it's your life, and it needs to be lived how you want to live it. Shared with who you want to share it with. And enjoyed how you want to enjoy it.
With all that being said, after I cap off this ten minute little poopy, I'm heading outside to kick the soccer ball around with my pup. Hope to share some life with you chumps in the near future.

Screaming

Yea so what if I've heard of this band for years and didn't take the time to listen to them until today. I thought their name sounded to much like My Bloody Valentine, which sounds too much like Bullet For My Valentine, which is a stupid name and horrible band. That being said this song and video rule. What pushed me over the edge with this song though was a pretty ill session in the Black Cab. Unfortunately they won't allow me to embed it so just follow this portal to some techno folky goodness.

Dear Life,

I just spent a solid drunk half hour going through old photos of you with you the most adorable little Philadelphian grade schoolers a photographic lens could possibly capture. You are currently sitting around your mother's basement doing fuck-all, more then likely complaining about what life has offered you. Grow the fuck up and get back into the world and make a god damned difference.

Love,

Your future, soon to be sober, disappointed self,
Tyler

High Hopes

Try not to shake your booty.

Get Fresh

Mind Playing Tricks on Me

Often times during the day, I have paranoid Truman Show-like moments where I think I'm a character in a television show that every human in the world watches. What's worse is that every other human in the world also has mental telepathy, and can read my every deep, dark, and dirty thought as they manifest themselves in my brain. Fortunately for me they can only read my mind while I am in their presence, but still, not ideal when the usual thoughts going through my head are either boob, or zombie killing related. Oftentimes both at the same time.
When these revelations occur during a conversation or in groups of people, I try to throw them off track by thinking of absurd, comical situations, or attempt communication, in an effort to elicit some kind of indication that they have been listening to my thoughts the whole time. So far communication between minds have only been one-way, and the only indications of mind eavesdropping by outside parties are more then likely coincidental.
While I am too educated to actually think that the world revolves around a television program completely based on my life and daily doings, I would greatly appreciate it if at some point in the near future anyone tuning into my mental frequency would at least give me a subtle telepathic reminder that I've been staring at their chest for far too long, or that the guy making weird noises across the room is in fact not a zombie to be killed with whatever impromptu melee weapon I can get my hands on.

Diversity fact of the day:

Powder cocaine (largely consumed by wealthier citizens) and crack cocaine (largely consumed by lower class citizens) contain roughly the same amount of cocaine per gram. If convicted of possession, it takes 5 grams of crack cocaine to receive a minimum five year sentence, whereas it takes 500 grams of powder cocaine to get the same sentence.

The more you know.

I did.

Baby Talk

Why does this look and sound exactly like the national discourse of this same subject?

Stop Ahead

One might never guess how loud severed heads can really get.  I mean seriously, if I were to ask a stray passerby at what decibel level they think a severed head could peak, they would surely be wrong.  

“Well, they can’t be much louder then any other severed body part,” one might chance, “or any inanimate object for that matter.” Wrong.  

“They certainly couldn’t be any louder then a head still attached to a body.” Wrong.

 “They absolutely couldn’t be louder then a head still attached to an living body.” Wrong.  Wrong. Wrong.

While I couldn’t tell you the exact reading a severed head might clock on a Scosche Spl 1000f 135 DB Max spl decibel reader, I would be willing to say that they usually range somewhere between a howling fire truck and a construction crew pounding concrete right outside your bedroom window at 7 in the morning after you spent the previous evening pounding tall boy cans of PBR.  They are quite the noisy little things, for how small they are compared to said fire engines and jackhammers. Especially when compared to said fire engines and jackhammers.   In fact, I might be exposing my hand too early here in saying, don’t bank on the fact that these noise makers are going to be able to mask the sound a severed head makes when placed under your bed for more then a day or two.  There is just no competition.  They are the USA Olympic basketball team of making noise.  The 1992 Barcelona Olympic Dream Team obviously, as none of the ensuing “Dream Teams” were really worth that much of a damn.

Although I must say, severed heads aside, Christian Laettner should have never even been considered for a spot on that roster.  His decibel levels range somewhere between me taking a shit after pounding PBR tall boys all night and me throwing up at the thought of Christian Laettner being considered for a spot on the 1992 USA Olympic Dream Team.   Disgusting really.

I would never be so boastful as to claim expertise in the severed head decibel level field of study, but I would like to think that after babysitting a few boisterous craniums here and there, I might be the leading researcher amongst my colleagues in this field.  You must understand, for obvious reasons, there have not been many published articles or scholarly reports written on the subject, but of the associates I have compared notes with, we have generally concluded, scientifically speaking of course, that severed heads are loud as fuck.

One day it'll all make sense.

Mike Rock

Because sometimes the past is too good to not look back on.

A Meaning of Life

Sometimes there are things running through your head that you just can't get out in words, or express them the way you want. Sometimes other people have those same things swirling around in their thought cages and are more capable of making those thoughts tangible. Luckily for me that other person happens to be a friend of mine and also happens to write a blog that I happen to enjoy reading. Here is one of such blogs about topics I think about ceaselessly. Bryan, thanks for having the skill to put thoughts to words.

I am human. I am the result of a series of accidents. My very existence is purely coincidental. I was born out of chaos and unto chaos in the form of my body. It has arms, legs, a mouth, a nose, toenails and a clavicle, among other things. Most importantly, my body has a brain. My brain controls my body--everything from my eyelids to my liver. Interestingly, my brain controls my liver without having the slightest idea of how a liver works at the conscious level. My brain controls all kinds of things I don't understand, yet controls them with perfection. Without my brain, I would cease to exist. My body would remain, but an immaterial part of me would vanish. You see, I am my body, but much more.

I am human. I was born out of chaos and unto chaos, a human body paired with a human soul. By pure coincidence, I appeared in this universe, on this planet with billions of others like me. By pure coincidence, I appeared on a certain part of this huge earth, in this vast universe, amongst a handful of other humans who look and think and feel and exist very much like I do. They make the world a less lonely place.

I am Bryan. I am identified by my human body paired with my human soul--without both, I am no longer Bryan. I was born out of chaos and unto chaos. By pure coincidence, I appeared in this universe, on this planet with billions of other humans who look and think and feel and exist very much like I do. By pure coincidence, I appeared on a certain part of this huge Earth, in this vast universe, amongst a handful of family and friends. I am thankful for them, because they make the world a less lonely place. There many things that I do not know. I do not know where the universe came from, I do not know if the soul dies, and I do not know how my liver works.

All I know is that I am alive now, I have been alive for nearly 21 years, and in all likelihood I have less than 100 years left in this life as I know it. I know that I love the people around me more than anything else in this short life I have. This is as close to truth as I can get, and I can make some inferences based on these truths:

Our ultimate human drive must be to find love, and I don't quite mean it in the sense that society has developed it to mean. Love is a connection, a bond, a sense that you are not and won't be alone in this world. Love is not a sexual or physical feeling (lust) and therefore makes no distinction between gender. A man can love his best friend, his wife, his kids, or his partner. Sexual attraction and sex itself are physical manifestations of the emotion of love, but do not constitute love itself. Sex can be had in the absence of love. The ultimate drive to find love is driven by the avoidance of our greatest fear--the opposite of love--loneliness. Love is not one-sided, it is reciprocal. One-sided love is not love, but lust or desire mired in loneliness. The search for love is not the search for someone to love, but for someone to love you back.

As for where we came from and where we're going? It is enough for me to accept that speculating will never lead me any closer to the real truth. The truth will be only be revealed when the time comes. Until then, I want to be sure that I am doing my best to spread the love. The universe is like my liver, I don't know or much care to know why it's there or how it works, just as long as it does its job and gives me my fair opportunity to live and love.

Not really a F&TM fan per se, but this video is pretty rad.

Top Chef

Name a song that Raekwon has put out or been featured on in the last 3 years that he hasn't displayed his elite swordsmanship.

Water Wheel

Some dark visuals from RJD2's alter ego The Insane Warrior. I'll never stop being a fan of this guy, regardless of his name.

Prestigous

Money Making Jam Boys - The Prestige

Droppin bombs on em.

Eyes on the prize

"Most people live by the philosophy everybody is doing it, so it must be alright. This is exactly what we have done, so often, we have ended up feeling that the only thing right is to get by. The only thing wrong is to fall."

In case you blockheads haven't noticed January 2011 has slipped from our fingers into oblivion. Have you done anything productive or worthwhile in the new year? Are you keeping true to your resolutions? Here at base camp we've come up with a new slogan for 2k11 and the rest of our days. "You only live once." Because really, you only live once. Every second that passes is a second closer to death and further away from doing the things you've dreamed of and set your goals for. Every minute that goes by is a minute not spent doing what you love. Every hour wasted is 60 minutes of not doing what you love and 360 seconds of not fulfilling dreams and goals.
Are you tired of drooling every time pretty ladies float by in tight jogging pants watching their booty bounce all over the sidewalk? Jog up to them next time and say hi. What's the worst that could happen? You only live once. We here at Change Order are sick of the status quo and sick of just getting by. Its time to do something about it. Just remember, when times get tough, or you feel yourself starting to get lazy, you only live once. Is this the way you want to spend your life? Is this the way you want to be remembered? We're all in this thing together. And I'd rather get it in for the win then get by. So let's ride.

Hit play for 2011's gettin' it in anthem.

Truth

.

stolen from sis.

Hometown Hero

Yourstru.ly Presents: BIG K.R.I.T. & Grillade "Hometown Hero" from Yours Truly on Vimeo.

Nothing much to add, its just some super inspirational ish. Reminds me a lot of driving up 16th street to JFK and onto 76 to get to work. The only good thing about that drive was the flight and the jams. Miss you Philly cats.

The Fall

The only thing greater then a new Gorillaz album is an even newer Gorillaz album. Thank you 2010 for two of a few of the only things good about last year.

Banana Boat

To one of my best friends and crime partners, Santiago, keep your head up player. Stay posi in 2011.