tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123541482011-04-22T09:02:28.630+08:00Personality is a myth, created by those who lack the inclination or imagination to changeCal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.comBlogger1411100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-59237410850015273692008-06-16T13:26:00.001+08:002008-06-16T13:28:24.634+08:00

Brendan Heartheton had to jog in order to make the 5:21 train that ran express from the city. At home, or what she called his home, his mother was waiting for him sick and bedridden. She couldn’t cook in her frail condition and the sandwiches Brendan prepared for her every morning would only keep her satisfied until seven at the latest. So he jogged. It was a fairly bitter and wind

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-68662121010957844872008-03-19T14:09:00.000+09:002008-03-19T14:10:04.511+09:00

At first they thought it was a pair of shoes. An old pair of weathered red converse sneakers slung over the branch as is so common in parts of the city. The two young lovers had been walking for hours through the acres of parkland and the reddening sun cut low through the grass and scrub. Still talking as deeply and passionately as when they first met the conversation turned circles and found

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-83085707885484699692008-01-16T14:52:00.000+09:002008-01-16T14:54:31.243+09:00

This is my 2007 in music, Albums, Tracks and Live shows. Ah, 2007, the year that will surely be tragically remembered as the end of New Order and, worse, the reformation of Ace of Base. I stole this listmaking idea off what is probably the best indie music blog on the internet, You Ain’t No Picasso, which has supplied me with hundreds of great bands and bootlegs that are unavailable or just

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-16844063661604089152008-01-10T21:34:00.000+09:002008-01-10T22:02:50.291+09:00

Bill Westerberg’s House. It is Tuesday. The bees and the hot tarmac roads hum with heat and life as the city squeals in delight. There is more in the air today than global warming and asbestosis. Today is fresh. Outside of the house two men are talking in mock raised voices. Sniff, sniff, a tiny dog made of grey and white fluff investigates one of the man’s ankles. Some children watch from

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-39246810193655693572007-10-08T21:43:00.000+08:002007-10-08T21:44:38.067+08:00

Moregasm: A climax that is either so unsatisfactory or so amazing it demands further stimulation.Floorgasm: Climax/Sex so good you fall out of bed, off sofa, off table or just plain fall over.Boregasm: He’s into it, she’s pretty much already asleep.Snoregasm: Dream comes.Fourgasm: A mythical theoretical moment in which both the female and male simultaneously experience clitoral, shaft penile and

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1431288229826484512007-09-17T22:45:00.000+08:002007-09-17T22:47:48.559+08:00

A good friendship is a lot like a good novel, in so many ways:It’s immediate, yet lasting.You can always return to it and find more.It starts out with something important, then slows down, but builds to something great.It’s the right length.It can be surprising or it can be reassuringly secure.It’s full of great other characters.But perhaps most of all, and what I wanna bring real attention to

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-42553519426982490012007-08-30T22:14:00.000+08:002007-08-30T22:16:26.079+08:00

This crushing depressing burden of pointlessness is twisting my whole outlook on life and death.Or at least that’s what this little business card some emo handed me on the street said. Mikey fucking loved that. He took one look at it and made me turn the car around so he could go back and get a pile for him and anyone he wanted to give one to. There are a whole lot of women in bars along the

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-78839496683869871422007-08-21T23:10:00.000+08:002007-08-21T23:11:26.277+08:00

Let me throw you a few facts at you about Johnny Opinelli and see if you can catch the whole man.1) Johnny lived for sport. Especially the twin footballs of soccer and rugby, but pretty much everything else ever played in competition using human bodies was this guys domain. Everywhere we went together, you could have always found Johnny on his way to, or coming from, a bar with a big screen

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-30845226276353937432007-08-09T21:37:00.001+08:002007-08-09T21:38:51.147+08:00

Why do we separate things into ugly and beautiful? What standards are we imposing? Why is concrete ugly, a song bird beautiful, a hunchback ugly? By what comparisons are we making these affirmations of that which is positive in distinction to that which is not? There’s no logic to this, we just find things to be so. We find resonances of harmony, colours that “go well” together, sounds that form

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-47482198740266582352007-08-06T20:44:00.000+08:002007-08-06T20:45:52.680+08:00

“Look at that, J, shit man, wouldja look at that? Why do string buskers always insist on playing Handel!? I mean these guys are in a competition market with their homeless home-brand dinner on the fucking line and that’s the best they can come up with? I’m walking down the street, not getting married in a Richard Curtis film! Play me some Rachmaninoff! Fucking fly-by-nighters. Listening to these

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-34001421791013468422007-08-03T22:40:00.000+08:002007-08-03T22:41:29.650+08:00

Some quickly scrawled words by Flo Vale, transcribed (as accurately as possible) after being found on the floor behind my couch, written sometime in mid-late June, 2001.----I’ve got to focus. Dial – no, direct my enforce. Forcing. If I can direct all of my horses then I can recover. I can be the greatest girl for my man. Fuck that, I need to grab back onto myself girl! When did I fall down into

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-19753613284198885732007-07-30T21:31:00.001+08:002007-07-30T21:33:04.404+08:00

Mikey was always willing to acknowledge that some things in life are bad (they can really make you mad) whilst other things they make you swear and curse. Listening to Soho tell him to quit smoking and live healthy was a really kicker for proof of this. She was sprawled on my couch, drinking scotch on the rocks, pregnant, and repeatedly saying “you’ve got to take care of your body Michael”. But

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-25292858949392481772007-07-25T20:56:00.000+08:002007-07-25T20:58:13.966+08:00

One of the thousands of torn-off scraps of paper stuck to Mikey’s bedroom wall had a quote from Ovid scrawled on it.Daring is not safe against daring men.It was notable for a swarm of reasons, not the least of which was that it was on bright yellow paper and was one of the only quotes or thoughts separated from the rest by a little buffer of wall-space. What set it apart most though was that it

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-82629820899711401662007-07-25T17:41:00.000+08:002007-07-25T17:43:19.977+08:00

“I’ve been thinking about really wild sex a lot ever since this whole pregnancy thing came up,” is undeniably one of the best ways I can remember anyone’s ever began a conversation with me. The speaker in question was Maya Guardian, who in the few weeks since we’d recruited her had picked up the sometime-nickname of Mad Maya, or even just Mad, and she kept on earning it.“No really, Lou. Listen to

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-62157853141630015632007-07-05T17:44:00.001+08:002007-07-05T17:46:00.517+08:00

You don’t have to look very far in your city for a basketball hoop in some car park or courtyard where a few lonely half-hoods are killing the night. You can walk down any street and walk hard, dropping the tails of your jeans in the wet dirt and cutting your face against the wind laced with ice. You can pull your jumper over your wrists and you can sing together as you lean forward that when you

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-44758830045055502842007-07-05T17:42:00.000+08:002007-07-05T17:43:20.057+08:00

Events in life are often traced back by the scared human agents caught up in them to a single cause, something that helps catalyze the confusion. Some of these things are simple, for example pregnancy has a pretty cut-and-dry definite beginning, but most of the time it’s not that easy. Beginnings require explanations; they require contexts and back stories and other stories’ endings to help

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-91584341840037465092007-06-19T23:18:00.000+08:002007-06-19T23:19:44.099+08:00

The blue in the lights burnt low and hard the night I first kissed Flo Vale. There were two silver buckets, of all the things to snapshot in memory these damn silver buckets with thin coat-hanger-wire handles, and they were catching water dripping through the dying roof. It was somewhat appropriately Salvador Dali’s birthday, and I’d been angling for months to make a big night of it. I thought we

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-37072642252464521382007-06-11T23:00:00.000+08:002007-06-11T23:01:56.569+08:00

Fuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrk. Fuke, Feck, Funk, Fick, Frank, Fank, FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. Johnny was running like a madman, running down this golden street flushed with artificial light, running in fear, screaming in loss, in confusion, in the complete scared sacrificial agony of a man whose world is lost. A man whose life is wrenched from him at its sweetest.See, this wouldn’t be a

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-89611149808723607652007-06-07T00:21:00.000+08:002007-06-07T00:22:45.714+08:00

You know what though? The times were good. Some of those times were times where it was real good. The best.I drove down West Boulevard today and it was raining, but you could see the sun through this huge gap in the clouds. It was pouring in full light and it just changed the whole mood. Little things matter in the big movie of life you know, like lighting choices. So anyway this duck, one of

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-82863090630064941202007-06-04T22:32:00.000+08:002007-06-04T22:34:12.041+08:00

There’s a person in everyone’s life who gets blamed for a lot. A hell of a lot. You know the one, the backstabber. The girl who wronged you, the guy who sold you out for 50 pieces of silver, and must therefore be the reason the whole rest of your life looks like the back end of yesterday’s cigarette butts. Mine isn’t Flo, but Michael thinks it is. It’s Michael.I first met the guy on a cross

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-47617421405306281222007-05-27T21:09:00.000+08:002007-05-27T21:10:13.068+08:00

I said holly heyOnly her name wasn’t Holly, it was just a greeting. My name’s not Holly either, it’s Louis van Buren. Yes actually, before you ask, I am related to that van Buren, but only very distantly. I think he was a fourth great uncle. And her name was Flo. Good god, I mean what a name! The great crazy romances always seem to have a girl with a stand out name and a matching body and mine’s

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-60650092627071658202007-05-24T22:13:00.000+08:002007-05-24T22:20:21.055+08:00

Oh, and a somewhat public announcement.Maybe you've caught rumours, or heard my longings, or maybe I've already been in touch with you personally, but if not and you're just cruising, I'm moving to Melbourne on the 15th of July. Which is around 7 weeks away.This'll mean a few things, the relevant ones being:- Dearth of blog posts mid-year. Not like you're reading anyway.- Dearth of me around.I'll

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-58170054971072708792007-05-22T22:37:00.000+08:002007-05-22T22:38:29.476+08:00

We are 15 times more likely to have sex this week than receive hand-addressed mail. Only 100 years ago, people were roughly (and this can only be assumed, since there’s not a lot of pre-WW1 hanky panky data floating about) 55 times more likely to get the mail.And we say we don’t live in the greatest of times!I’m absolutely wrecked. My body feels like my brain is launching fireworks, and that the

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-6121430052763969252007-05-03T22:17:00.000+08:002007-05-03T22:19:47.960+08:00

Aw shit Roger, you know it ain’t like that. You know it ain’t!I don’t know anything. You don’t know anything either. I don’t know what to believe from you anymore.Bullshit! You have no right to say that! None at all.Sun sets slowly sinking sultry silken sluice into the corner of the snow-globe and the fear is in the hearts of the men. Fear of the darkness is binding fear of the anger, the

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-3481154295099773022007-04-05T22:37:00.001+08:002007-04-05T22:41:13.990+08:00

It’s no use deceiving, neither of us want to be alone. And you’re coming home.I remember when the couple that almost everyone who reads this will know exactly who I’m talking about, the couple couple, started being that way (and you ALL know what way couples like those behave) we sat back and said: “Ever since he fell in love, his writing is … well, shit.”I guess I’ve been deliberately writing a

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-69713248163678736422007-03-13T17:30:00.000+09:002007-03-13T17:31:19.848+09:00

“I killed a man today,” said Lucy to Luke.“How?”“I ploughed my van into him. He died before he knew what happened.”Luke noted this important anecdote.“I killed a man today,” said Luke to Lucy.“How?”“Many years ago in primary school I had a reputation for tree-climbing. I could scale the tallest trees the fastest, and as a 10-year-old this meant a great deal to both me and my peers. But on one

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-63579241271004434972007-03-06T22:18:00.000+09:002007-03-06T23:14:15.460+09:00

I'm a grown-up now. I'm a confident, self motivated, disciplined and dedicated worker who possesses critical communication and interpersonal skills. It would be nice if I didn't feel like such a little baby when it comes to finding a job.I merely lack empirical proof to my conviction that everyone loves me. Hey, if they don't need it for David Hicks' conviction, why should I play by the rules?For

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-29512307175016223872007-02-08T00:32:00.000+09:002007-02-08T00:34:25.160+09:00

Some things you do for money... and some... Blog you lazy bitch! I’m not fucking for your money, that’s for sure.Write me everything, world. I would very much like to read what you have to say.Here is a story that I heard from an old friend, after we’d spent hours complaining about our lives and their directions. We were sitting in a tiny blue café, completely empty but for an unattractive blonde

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-46275937219935808662007-01-05T22:40:00.001+09:002007-01-05T22:55:51.109+09:00

Tonight, it's just too much.x: I heard you knew my wife, years ago.o: Yes. We were friends for a time, back when we were young and idealistic.x: In her home town?o: Not really. Maybe in mine, I'm not sure.x: Oh right. It's hard when you lose touch with old friends.o: It's hard because it's so easy. It's much harder to stay with them.x: Well, yes. I've been lucky.o: We've all been lucky. At least

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-11730271178534479972007-01-01T21:50:00.000+09:002007-01-01T21:58:23.618+09:00

At this point last year I was telling you very same readers that I would like to use words to be happy, even though I might fail. “Then, at least”, I said, “I might know what’s going on”.Rest assured fellow Sevenians, I still have absolutely no idea what’s going on. Actually, considerably less. All I know for sure is that I still love the people I love, and am tired of those who tire me. I still

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-35725994265691798732006-12-25T20:31:00.000+09:002006-12-25T20:52:06.641+09:00

Merry, merry christmas. If you believe in that kind of shit that is. Special dates only make bad times seems worse and sentiment seem more important. Do you love them more intensely because sun is high and the shops open late? Do you think they should go hungry and cold in October? If Jesus walks with you, then that's a place you need to be. He's got my back, I'm sure. Someone must. If most

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-56314231916616344412006-12-25T20:14:00.000+09:002006-12-25T20:16:14.376+09:00

I did that seduction test thing that was on Rosie's Blog and I think it sums up my blog post for this week.

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-3156402102149966882006-12-11T17:43:00.000+09:002006-12-11T18:03:05.296+09:00

This week, I learnt a very important lesson. And I learnt it the hard way.You can spend your time and heart trying to make everyone happy, and be all things to all people, but in the end it's fucking pointless if you can't satisfy yourself. When it all catches up to you, you have to be able to throw in the act and be in the places with the people that matter.Lately, I've been learning pretty fast

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-14959581802702798522006-12-08T00:55:00.000+09:002006-12-08T01:02:13.552+09:00

We see the early signs of daylight fading only just before it’s gone.I’m just going out, this blog post may take some time.Wow. Ok, I am now several Canadian Club’s down. That took longer than expected, but was fun in its own little ways. Everything is, I suppose, as long as we don’t take it all too seriously. Some people spend amazing amounts of time on amazing things you know. I’m trying to

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-33074851216448024832006-11-25T14:20:00.000+08:002006-11-25T14:23:35.320+08:00

I feel great!A long time ago, we used to be friends, but I haven’t talked to you lately at all! Ah ah ah ah.I’ve been reading and re-reading a lot of Preacher (such damn good writing) since I just picked up book 5, and there’s some good observation. I feel like this character called Cassidy, who manages to make pretty much everyone hate him for storming into cities and lives, living life too hard

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-45172298426034627302006-11-19T17:37:00.000+08:002006-11-19T22:42:46.079+08:00

I took out some money, and you took out the trash. I asked you out on a date, but you said no, no, no. This feels like love but on crack.Well isn’t it funny just when you think the world is drained, and this town too small, it all gets big and not that funny at all? It reminds us to be insular while we have the youth to excuse ourselves.The problem with people who have something interesting to

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-47110304199225433082006-11-05T21:46:00.000+08:002006-11-05T21:48:34.485+08:00

And time marches on. It becomes apparent that the times when I feel the most alone are when I’m surrounded by other people. They ground me, and I long to fly.I have drank every day now for 14 days. It’s good to be an (un)responsible adult.Italics start/don’t start here.It is with some kind of jaded displeasure tonight that I swirl your eyes, dressed in silks and high heels you cunning bastards

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-42246806868380067482006-10-26T21:47:00.000+08:002006-10-26T21:49:17.899+08:00

But you let me down. You could have knocked off the evening, but you lonelily let him push under your bones… you let me down. It’s no use deceiving – neither of us want to be alone.So I shouldn’t be blogging. There is so much work to do and so little time, so many people that need impressing, women that need time and things, men that need mateship and drinking, older men that need my paid hours,

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-47431935605194411802006-10-08T14:43:00.000+08:002006-10-08T14:46:57.142+08:00

I don’t look a thing like Jesus… and I do talk like a gentleman… I guess that’s a bit depressingly average really.2 weeks until I’m 18, folks. Just two. Then I’m coming for you, inebriated and free, gnashing my way out of mundanity… for a while.I will soon relate tales unto thee, and you shall laugh, and weep, and wonder. These are the best kind of tales, the ones you wish I would tell again, or

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-85989133624985065222006-09-23T12:04:00.000+08:002006-09-23T12:30:19.943+08:00

So I just finished reading 'Special Topics in Calamity Physics', by Marisha Pessl, which makes you feel like you've just finished reading the whole bloody English canon, and then a whole other canon that doesn't even exist GOD DAMN POSTMODERNISM. You should go and read it too.I've been juggling work this week with uni, rehearsals for this comedy I'm in, a mess of a home life, rufus wainwright's

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1157206231941766022006-09-02T22:08:00.000+08:002006-09-02T22:10:31.956+08:00

You’re the one girl in town I’d marry, I’d marry you now if I were free.So Ryan was being inundated by the usual feelings and opinions down at what we’ll ironically call the mall the other day, and he felt empty. He was sitting eating cake/doughnut shit from a paper bag which he thought would make everything better, and begging the escalator to impart some kind of beautiful lonely message. It

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1155884484209868672006-08-18T15:00:00.000+08:002006-08-18T15:01:24.236+08:00

I propose we celebrate this lugubrious smattering of sentences' 100th installment with a British Sea Power themed rave party. Come as your favourite BSP song! I would have to come as Carrion, but I’d expect Timmy to go to the effort to comes as A Wooden Horse. Jai could be a Fakir.There are too many tank tops and not enough tanks on the beach today. There are too many Cons and not enough Air-con.

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1155093583964640842006-08-09T11:19:00.000+08:002006-08-09T11:19:44.173+08:00

Friendship is rare, do you know what I’m sayin to you? Friendship is rare. So how much of a let down was the census. Here was me, amped and excited, spreading the good word around for the last 6 months, and it was lame. You have a compulsory survey for all Australians only ONCE every five years, and THOSE were the best questions you could come up with!? Tips for 2011, though I hope not to be

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1154749745608789842006-08-05T11:49:00.000+08:002006-08-05T11:49:05.616+08:00

I wrote the following poem on a business card and a Gloria Jeans frequent caffeine addict punch-card, in the back of my taxi home last night. Except for the last part, which I wrote on my hand. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and I didn’t have a very nice night, so for posterity and wider appreciation of my inebriated grandeur, Here:I shall write poetry!In light of the chase. And though I

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1154603273133648882006-08-03T19:07:00.000+08:002006-08-03T19:07:53.243+08:00

Benjamin stared naked across the suddenly crowded room, completely at a loss for what to do next. Carey thumped him on the back and began to explain animatedly how the leaving party had taken their leave, and decided to return early for more of the squalor and sorority that the Manor had paid host to the past weeks. Carey’s girlfriend was still obscured by the rug they had been lying under and

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1154263101194980732006-07-30T20:38:00.000+08:002006-07-30T20:46:03.330+08:00

Ok, just putting this out there, but does everyone really attain heights of satisfaction word-wanking about themselves on their blogs, or are we all just a little hungry? SNICKERS.Hehehehe, now I AM snickering. Also, just running this up the flag pole, but Tim Rogers is GODAWFUL ugly!!! And I mean, the idiot had to tour with Tex Perkins who ranks as not just the best looking, but the only good

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1154003193824650132006-07-27T20:26:00.000+08:002006-07-27T20:26:33.876+08:00

DAMNIT! In case this was just some kind of uncommon knowledge, which I’m pretty damn sure it isn’t, I’m going to iterate in public in easy to understand swearing-prone language! NEVER FUCKING NEVER AND I MEAN ON PENALTY OF DEATH FUCKING BREAK UP WITH SOMEONE ONLY TO GODDAMNWELL GO START HANKERING FOR THEIR BEST FRIEND! God damnit you people must be morons. Die in a pit. And don’t think I’m

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1153741484968023632006-07-24T19:44:00.000+08:002006-07-24T19:44:45.290+08:00

I am ambling through oceans of Mineral Water,So let us drink to health. I am scrambling through acres of wheatgrass,But I can still see the sky. And it was like the first protons had reacted in the sun,As it burst over the horizon this morning. And it was like every one blinked out, sucked dry,When I saw you standing there. But I will drive for long distances that I might learn,Hoping that space

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1153129361877035482006-07-17T17:42:00.000+08:002006-07-17T17:42:41.983+08:00

Why can’t people mean what they mean. Like, people do say what they mean a lot, just that what they say and mean isn’t actually what they really mean to get out of that particular conversation. It’s too layered. Today is one Monday of many one days. Days are seen as singular units, even though they are made up of hours and seconds and milliseconds and femtoseconds and a second to the power of one

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1152455742939292242006-07-09T22:35:00.000+08:002006-07-09T22:35:43.003+08:00

I’m writing these words around 8. Listening to ‘Tomorrow Wendy’… the Concrete Blonde version, but the Andy Prettyboy version is better. Just harder to find. Anyway, this is irrelevant. Kennedy IS still alive. Like in Coffee & Cigarettes… the whole twin Elvis plot. Well it’s like that, but with Kennedy. “I told the priest don’t count on any second coming,God got his ass kicked the first time he

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1151417526777146512006-06-27T22:12:00.000+08:002006-06-27T22:12:06.836+08:00

And I go a little mad. What I lack, and oh people don’t get me wrong because I lack so few things, so listen closely disciples, what I lack – is direction. I feel a bit like untapped pool, without the heart to find a single thing that means everything to me. Instead, I am cursed to find that almost everything means something to me, and it’s a lonely, appeasing living. Well, I guess the upside is

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1151056196225392482006-06-23T17:47:00.000+08:002006-06-23T17:49:56.246+08:00

I just plain don't believe in politics. The affiliation thing makes me FURIOUS, because it bags you into beliefs you don't hold, just to support ones that you do. Rosie made me do this test thing, and whilst the questions were few and with poor choices, this reflects the polarity of my political opinion fairly well. I'd say I agree with most of these percentages. Your Political Profile:Overall:

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1150813361380628482006-06-20T22:22:00.000+08:002006-06-20T22:22:41.463+08:00

Is there anything that I could do, that someone doesn’t do for you? I’m that’s how it is, isn’t it? You know in primary school how everyone tells you that each individual has one thing they’re good at, one special thing they do better than anyone else. Well isn’t that bullshit and a half. For every talent you may have I can guarantee you’re not considered world #1, and even if you are that’s only

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1150185971324900922006-06-13T16:06:00.000+08:002006-06-13T17:10:41.416+08:00

I’m trying to centralize my ever-increasing internet operations here, because I happen to like this site, and the good people at Google who keep it easy to edit and Ad-free, so it’s undergoing some renovations. If something is screwing up in your browser, doing things that you think it shouldn’t, please tell me. I’ll hopefully be messing around with some weird features, and obviously they might

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1149505018017267362006-06-05T18:56:00.000+08:002006-06-05T18:56:58.086+08:00

Ann Lindbergh wrote that to write is to do more than live, it is to be conscious of living. I take this to mean that by writing we gain a deeper understanding of our own thoughts, expressing them through the funnel, if you will, that is coherent language. You might know exactly how something feels, or looks - anyone in all of existence has been able to do that. But to express it as a knowable

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1149485306593331922006-06-05T13:28:00.000+08:002006-06-05T13:30:54.093+08:00

Give me a BS for Blog Stealing!. This is kinda like a much better voluntary e-mail chain letter. I stole it off Veech, who stole it off someone else, so it’s ok. It’s not stealing if it’s continuous. Go to your music player of choice and put it on shuffle.Say the following questions aloud, and press play.Use the song titles that come up to answer each question.NO CHEATING.How does the world see

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1149260171550219992006-06-02T22:56:00.000+08:002006-06-02T22:56:11.556+08:00

I said I’m sorry to Maria for all the cold hearted things that I have done. I’m actually kind of proud of all the cold hearted things that I have done. I know a lot of people who disagree. I’m guilty with lack of guilt. So I’m watching Four Weddings and a Funeral… forgot how good that movie was, back when Hugh Grant was still good looking and funny. Tempus fugit. What it got me to thinking was

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1148822982782637722006-05-28T21:29:00.000+08:002006-05-28T21:29:42.870+08:00

She had blue back ink scratched into her lower back, said “Damn right he’ll rise again.” Yeah damn right you’ll rise again. As anyone who knows would know, I’m a big fan of religion. I’ll debate theological philosophy until the second coming of Christ or the ninth coming of Buddha. Passionately. But I guess up until very, very recently, the only religion I’ve not been greatly interested in was

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1148395245707836872006-05-23T22:40:00.000+08:002006-05-23T22:40:45.776+08:00

Ok, it’s a premature judgement, but I’m pretty damn certain I just sat through not only the best, but indeed the ONLY HALF DECENT episode of the O.C. for season three. It was AWESOME. Just when I’d completely given up hope and resigned myself to crap writing and dumb plot lines that really pushed the boundaries of realistic occurrences, (see Johnny plotline in its entirety, ahem) we get tonight

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1147354985957622902006-05-11T21:43:00.000+08:002006-05-11T21:43:06.003+08:00

Empty empty empty empty empty empty empty wrong. The whole of me is like there’s some massive big thing and I don’t know what the massive big thing is but it’s so big it’s pushed out everything including itself and I feel empty, but it pushed itself out and now I can’t know what it is. Pop-ups, not the internet kind but the people kind, or the problem kind, I’m the lucky one millionth visitor to

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1146750085356483642006-05-04T21:41:00.000+08:002006-05-04T21:41:25.403+08:00

I hate writing by popular demand… it’s never as deep or spurlock of the morgant. But I am indeed a man of the people, and in the interest of keeping you screaming baby birds happy, regurgitated worms are coming right up. I really don’t think anyone at uni gets me. And K-lo, if you’re reading this, and I know you’re junkie smiling now, then I’m sorry about spoiling your hard worked for classes…

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1145972885038218932006-04-25T21:48:00.000+08:002006-04-25T21:48:05.246+08:00

AD BREAK ONEOk, so I’m going to test a theory. I have noticed I do my most screwed up blogging directly after the O.C., when I’m all emotioned up and wishing for bygones and slow dances, but I tend to have a very random and variable emotional rollercoaster, almost all of the time, so I’m not sure if it’s just the late-at-night-ness of it all that makes it. So, I’m writing this in the ad-breaks,

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1145330746838898142006-04-18T11:25:00.000+08:002006-04-18T11:25:46.916+08:00

Aw, but she was too young to fall in love, and I was too young to know. Never fall in love if it can be otherwise helped. It’s very similar to falling in-definitely, only just when you kid yourself into thinking it’s flying, you find that definite bit. I adore finding gems of music in unexpected places. Obviously all those who know me will assure those who don’t that I’m a musical nut, and could

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1144667446585633532006-04-10T19:10:00.000+08:002006-04-10T19:12:59.410+08:00

I’m seriously looking into Scientology. Discourage me friends, before I get carried away; it’s really interesting. I’ve abandoned my previous spiritual quest which largely involved the Oculatum… a 16th century British text made up of chapters of 6 prosaic folk sayings, which you were to repeat a number of times. This endeavour was dissuaded by the persistence of the advice to suck, and by the

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1144231599971059542006-04-05T18:01:00.000+08:002006-04-06T19:50:05.840+08:00

DON'Thttp://home.earthlink.net/~bunny2u/1bdc5c80.jpgPIDGEON-HOLEhttp://www.nationalledger.com/artman/uploads/sharon_stone11.jpgMEhttp://www.thekryptonian.com/images/costumes/superman-red.jpg

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1144063848467403172006-04-03T19:29:00.000+08:002006-04-03T19:30:48.516+08:00

“Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze for long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.” –Nietzsche.It is overcoming me. I have touched the stars and they did nothing but burn my hands. I have tasted the heavens and found them empty of flavour, empty indeed of all but specks of hydrogen, and sometimes a stray atom of something else.Heard something that scared

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1143367217900277252006-03-26T18:00:00.000+08:002006-03-26T18:00:18.026+08:00

Listening to And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead while blogging makes for interesting posts. There is now an institute for the study of personal websites in Philadelphia. Times? Sign? What, no! I’m such a total prick. I just made that up. Why the fuck would I care about Philadelphia or what’s in it anyway? But you believed me, and that’s what’s important. LIES SPIRAL. I just made up that I

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1143115220604947942006-03-23T20:00:00.000+08:002006-03-23T20:00:20.643+08:00

You better not laugh, you better not cry, repress those emotions, I can’t tell you why, I’m not passionate enough. Humans have a tendency to mythologize people/events/narratives which really scares and interests me. To pick and example out of absolute thin fucking god knows; Benjamin Franklin. Here’s a man who’s known to the world by the wisdom snips and occasional invention he left behind, a

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1142830126681852412006-03-20T12:48:00.000+08:002006-03-20T12:48:46.766+08:00

Wow, like one comment in ten posts. You sons of bitches must really engage with my verbosity. If you are a regular reader of this thing, comment. Just so I at least know how many of you there are. I can count two. And one appears to be internet dead. My life is brilliant, show your solidarity people!

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1141991955438059592006-03-10T19:59:00.000+08:002006-03-10T19:59:15.480+08:00

What we got here is… failure to communicate. Out by the spindling soulless grey of the gum trees where those old friends who we called auntie used to live, there was a brook. If you were lucky and everyone was healthy summer meant at least a few days at the Junction, where us three would be picked up from the train station out south of nowhere and be taken to. And in the dark we fell down stairs,

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1141560782492546902006-03-05T20:13:00.000+08:002006-03-05T20:13:05.690+08:00

I just thought you should know that I have now had as many blog hits as there were years from Christ’s birth until America’s declaration of independence.Not that I’m American or Christian. I just thought you should know.

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1141541297042469602006-03-05T14:48:00.000+08:002006-03-05T14:48:17.096+08:00

Resplendent he strolls, perhaps a little self consciously, through the green overhanging leaves of his ego. Stately in purple, as all stately is, the waistcoat and the gold (just as you imagine!); “yes, this is how it’s meant to go.” No, I wish I really did have anything to stroll about, but the fact of the obsequious matter is stroll is the new mope, and hope is the tract of chatter; essentially

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1141129730364257762006-02-28T20:28:00.000+08:002006-02-28T20:28:50.380+08:00

I’m sorry, I wrote that last post after a phone conversation I never expected to have, which was nothing like I expected it’s unexpected existence to be. I was completely lost for words. I suppose everyone must feel that mouth sock some time. Rare for this little über-verbose monkey though. First fist of under varsity today. Lurvit. I’m currently really digging:The Arcade Fire – FuneralMy Morning

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1140939956264127572006-02-26T15:45:00.000+08:002006-02-26T15:45:56.316+08:00

I don’t know what to say.

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1140511496028749092006-02-21T16:44:00.000+08:002006-02-21T16:44:56.076+08:00

The storm rolls in! Cresting, furtive waves of pounding power, wreaks thunderous damage, sowing what we reap. Somewhat like my love life. I bought two pairs of shoes yesterday. Tangent pending. Also, Lawrence has heard this story, so he can tune out. Normally shoe buying is something I don’t think about. At the beginning of every school year I’ve needed larger or less scrappy shoes so me and my

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1140433368334663602006-02-20T19:02:00.000+08:002006-02-20T19:02:48.380+08:00

“And so tonight,” he cries from his weary slant across an African patterned futon, “we write!” Ah, the biting poisoned knife of “Every Rose has its Thorns.” See my wordplay there? Only the few, I suppose, all the sadder. Allow me to elaborate, with, since I can think of no better, an example from the aforementioned.      And well I heard you found somebody new,     And that I never meant that

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1139927293512888592006-02-14T22:26:00.000+08:002006-02-14T22:28:13.550+08:00

An all wheel drive system that senses when to engage… 20% more… if only sex were as easy as the new Rav 4.See, I should be a copywriter, none of this pansy driving through mountains shit.I’m a little… post OC.Oh god, my secret shame revealed.It leaves you in quite the lull. Maybe I should be invulnerable, I am invulnerable. Just over lengths of time.I have been worried about the present. The

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1139415551983792682006-02-09T00:19:00.000+08:002006-02-09T00:19:11.996+08:00

*licks*There are words written down on hidden things in dark places that are not meant to be read. They are the words of our other times, not our triumphs but of our unwanted illnesses and our sweet dying dancers. Sometimes we open these cupboards and we get what we want, and enhancement of our emotion, confirmation that it really does all suck and we might as well die, stop the confusing endless

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1139214799504048212006-02-06T16:33:00.000+08:002006-02-06T16:33:19.523+08:00

I am a spandex WARRIOR! Ok, so Big Day Out, here’s a quick review before I collapse off to get some vittles. Stripes – what? You think you’re gonna get a fucking bad word out of me here? Utterly the best; better than expectations. Wildly arty bitchin. Iggy – HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH Oh man is he saggy. Saggy, daggy and an excellent performer. Lone saxophonist? What the fuck Iggy? But otherwise

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1138539065626895192006-01-29T20:51:00.000+08:002006-01-29T20:51:05.636+08:00

The more time I spend in this place of my head, the more I like the way you look from where I’m standing. So the cute Cypriot lost that tennis game, but we whupped the cricket, so I’m ok. Balls and whistles. I will burn you mudders. Wit my whup-ass stick of no lagwage bitch. Suk on tat. I da boss! Da BOSS. Where exactly are the four/165 places Neil Finn intends to kiss that woman in “Throw your

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1138017525240844492006-01-23T19:58:00.000+08:002006-01-23T19:58:45.676+08:00

You know what’s a great word? Braggadocio. I find that everyone has one really interesting obscure place where they like to be touched, and for everyone’s it’s slightly different. “I don’t care if I fuck up, I’m going on a date, with a rich white lady, ain’t life great?” NO ELIOTT, LIFE IS NOT GREAT AT ALL. Life is one crushing blow after another until you want to hide in a small hole and just

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1137331587748711172006-01-15T21:26:00.000+08:002006-01-15T21:26:27.803+08:00

It’s not even pig sex unless you both enjoy it right? Fuck the letter of the law, I’ll send you a letter. Was there a cartoon called Preston Pig? Is that just me? Belgian Waffles, and also Belgian Wafflers, one leads to the next, I wonder if they’re all heterosexual. I wonder if we’ll ever know which things are important. OR, as Joyce Cary said, “The saddest thing is that we don’t know what we

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1136637892858930382006-01-07T20:44:00.000+08:002006-01-07T20:44:52.880+08:00

Catch, 22. Ah, you fucking dropped it ya ‘tard. Get into Wilco. Get into Yankee Hotel Foxtrot by Wilco. Get into my pants. If only my pants had written a ground shattering alt-country CD you sure would be in them. Curse you, whoever you are. Pleasures of the flesh and the sea, swimming, lazily, in both. Clenching my fist just to see if it makes a difference, in a larger sense, because the atomic

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1135590155817471432005-12-26T17:42:00.000+08:002005-12-26T17:42:35.860+08:00

Clandestine openings and slamming departures! Boxed, taped up, like a bastard son in a rug of family resentment, there is no home on this plane of existence for the loveless. Bridge gaps in your teeth as though they were whores, paid and sent away, the cards have been dealt well but the bidding poor. Where is that bridge now? I burn in the fiery passion of utter apathetic inner resonance. I would

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1135480596092798182005-12-25T11:16:00.000+08:002005-12-25T11:16:36.100+08:00

MERRY MERRY MERRY CHRISTMAS! I AM FILLED WITH LOVE FOR THEE, AND I SPLURGE IT ALL OVER YOUR BODIES, SOMETIMES FACES, TIME PERMITTING. May you all be healthy, happy, sickened and saddened, in the perfect balance of life for another year, and may you prosper where necessary, always, always LOVE.

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1135245135277338642005-12-22T17:52:00.000+08:002005-12-22T17:52:15.286+08:00

My credibility as a person who has something valuable to add to this discussion is waning like a mooning teenager at a four-night disco party. I feel like a large, empty colon, which normally speweth forth energy. STUPID WORK. TAKE AWAY MY HOURS OF DOING SHIT ALL TIME. Ok, so, here’s the crux, I’ve hit a new record low of productivity ever since I’ve been working at my new job. I have written ONE

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1134478148342629192005-12-13T20:49:00.000+08:002005-12-13T20:49:08.366+08:00

“I’ve invented this great new board game; it’s called ‘Life’”“Cool, what do you do?”“You move these little pieces around this circular board by throwing some dice.”“How do you win?”“You don’t.” “Well that’s well and good, but how does the game finish?”“Someone gets frustrated going in circles and sets fire to the board.” “If the game has no point, then why don’t you just burn the board at the

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1134129354559625452005-12-09T19:55:00.000+08:002005-12-09T19:55:54.573+08:00

So I was reading this interview, with a man who I greatly respect, and he mentioned a name that I hadn’t heard; Jack Trevor Story. He gave him great props as a writer. I’m currently reading one of his novels… he’s insane! Utterly amazing. He writes dialogue in narrative form, so it comes out like this:“‘Old Uncle Andrew was crazy’ Bertha used to say,” Rhonda used to say. The way he plays with

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1133871497566860462005-12-06T20:18:00.000+08:002005-12-06T20:18:17.603+08:00

Where do the Princes go to cheat? For when I am court jester I will weight their cards.And the mornings are dark nowBut the nights over-lit.Who will be left to remember us when we are gone? Where do Demons go to eat?For when I worship false idols I will serve their food.And the games are meaninglessThe philosophizing emptyWho will be left to remember us when we are gone? I’m rather in a peaceable

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1133600711048546472005-12-03T17:05:00.000+08:002005-12-03T17:05:11.053+08:00

There is so much in the world to be discovered. So many people whom history forgets. I would like to pin them to a wall and write a small plaque about the triviality of the search for meaning. In other news, I’ve found my meaning. By which mean I know what I have to do, I just don’t know what that things is yet. (Hell makes sense.) Let me re-phrase. I want to latch on to the next thing. I need to

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1133090617683047622005-11-27T19:23:00.000+08:002005-11-27T19:23:39.080+08:00

And who would have guessed that excessive alcohol consumption, sex and not really having to do anything would be so damn good? I just got back from my delightful binge and now must work. This saddens me. I am less sad though due to my new job at the glorious blue waters restaurant. Sexy. In other words there is much there for me, what is your life? It’s there too, but how?

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1132489426003978672005-11-20T20:23:00.000+08:002005-11-20T20:23:46.080+08:00

I’m so tired of being politically correct!Shit to that! I quit! Our whole society is so obsessed with not offending people, with doing out little bit of good to cancel out our whole lot of bad. “Sure, we drive 4-wheel drives in the city and mess up our kids by forcing them to act in telemovies about Jesus, BUT AT LEAST WE DON’T HATE NIGGERS. That makes it all ok. Look at all my fucking black

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1132225567781098512005-11-17T19:06:00.000+08:002005-11-17T19:06:07.790+08:00

WOOOOOOOOO! FREEEEDDDOOOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1And so forth. I also sent my angry “why are there no cartoons” letter to the West today. I’ll keep updating my verbal battle as it happens.

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1131965711053951492005-11-14T18:55:00.000+08:002005-11-14T18:55:11.060+08:00

Donald Rumsfeld is briefing the president about a military accident in South America. “And the bad news is that three Brazilian soldiers were accidentally killed,” says Don. “OH MY GOD!” exclaims the president. There’s a large stunned silence around the room as nobody expected the president to show such emotion and heart. “Wait… how many is a brazillion again?”

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1131875370505358032005-11-13T17:49:00.000+08:002005-11-13T17:49:30.523+08:00

Where are all the attractive bisexual nymphomaniacs hiding? I bet they’re at Mark’s house. Let’s all go to Mark’s house! So I’ve been listening to a lot of Death Cab for Cutie lately, (who by the way my mum reckons have the worst band name she’s ever heard, and this is from someone who loves ELO and The Bay City Rollers), and one thing I’ve tended to notice is that they don’t have a great deal of

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1131786972483856182005-11-12T17:16:00.000+08:002005-11-12T17:16:12.536+08:00

My sister gave into the iPod craze today. She’s a pod person. Frankly I think they’re pretty useless, and the whole digital music age has passed me by as a result. I prefer my record collection and my cd collection. It’s just so crap having all your music on an iPod. Or a computer. As if I’m going to keep my computer forever to hand down to my children. Or be bothered to burn it all to crappy

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1131436980463486772005-11-08T16:03:00.000+08:002005-11-08T16:03:00.476+08:00

Oh boy do I ever need to post here. Well, I would have, ya see, but there’s been a strange and wonderful lack of ANYTHING IN MY LIFE. I am be-swamped with study for these infernal examinations, (get to end of the goddam grass love heart bitch) and in any free moment I’m learning to drive and drawing my daily comic. OH! RANTI’m also writing a huge angry impassioned letter to the goddam West

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1130662654358796972005-10-30T17:57:00.000+08:002005-10-30T17:57:34.733+08:00

Who wants to take bets on whether I make 50 posts before 1000 blog hits? It’s so exciting, I have my birthday/xmas present video camera, so now I can be a deranged indie film nut who is after the “perfect shot” like surfers hunt the “perfect wave.” In other news, I am 4 days into my web comic experiment and I haven’t quit yet. I certainly outlasted MY expectations. Plus, today’s was long and in

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1130477143462189402005-10-28T13:25:00.000+08:002005-10-28T13:25:43.470+08:00

Just give me a moment of free time, and damnit, Look what I can do! My new Web comic, No Horse Town, is now up and running, and can be seen via the link in the sidebar, or by going to http://no-horse-town.blogspot.com/ GO THERE. In other news, I am the proud owner of new thongs, as well as a chocolate bar. I could not be happier unless the pope came down to my room and said, “I’m bored of God,

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12354148.post-1130320321800539362005-10-26T17:52:00.000+08:002005-10-26T17:52:01.806+08:00

Damnit my love life sucks. Just thought you should know. I really am lonely, but not that lonely yet. Note to readers, there were more comments on that last post than I’ve ever had here before. Much thanks for your patronage. There’s a long list of things that I have which I intend to now that I’m going to have time and I figure I’ll rant for a while about them here. It’s very narcissistic. I

Cal Samsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17797651891113341801noreply@blogger.com14