"How many of us are running without moving, hiding behind walls grown from the dim recesses of birth? How many of us believe, when hidden, that we truly cannot be seen, and seen through, at that? I would have to admit to the whole paradox, where I asked, and I think the song is asking us exactly that, nothing more or less."
-Jackson C. Frank on "Yellow Walls"
Friday, July 27, 2012
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Dolphin Rape Caves
Over 14 times each year innocent people are raped maliciously by dolphins. The male dolphin has an opposable penis that they use to grab wrists or ankles to pull you under water into "rape caves" where they violently ravage you. It happens very fast, and is blamed on dolphins intense libido that is not easily satisfied. This leads to a higher rate of drowning where dolphins are present.
Demi Moore is rumored to have ha a close encounter with the finny kind.
Greasy Pole
Wikipedia Entry:
Greasy Pole, or a grease pole, "refers to a pole that has been made slippery and thus difficult to grip.
More specifically, it is the name of several events that involve
staying on, climbing up, walking over or otherwise traversing such a
pole. This kind of event exist in several variations around the world.
The Greasy Pole Contest takes place every year during St. Peter's Fiesta in Gloucester, Massachusetts.
During this time, many young men try their luck at walking down a
greased, wooden pole in the middle of Gloucester Harbor. The goal is to
be the first person to grab the red flag at the end of the pole.
The Greasy Pole competition originated in Sicily in the 19th century or
earlier, and was brought to Gloucester by the Italian immigrant
population of fishermen in the early 20th century. The object is to walk
across a greased pole protruding from a platform about 200 ft from
shore. This platform, depending on the tide, can be anywhere from
10–25 ft above the water. The pole, which hangs over the water, is 45
feet long, and only about as wide as a standard telephone pole. This
pole is then heavily greased with biodegradable axle grease mixed with
anything from Tabasco sauce to oil, banana peels, and various other
slippery objects. A red flag (or sometimes the Italian Flag with a red
flag underneath it) is then nailed to the very end of the pole. The idea
is to run out on the heavily greased pole and try to grab the flag
before slipping and falling into the water. About 40 or 50 men between
age 18–60 go out from Pavilion Beach in Gloucester MA during the St.
Peter Fiesta, the last weekend of June. They walk the pole one at a time
in a pre-determined order. Generally, the men are of Italian descent,
although the walkers may include all nationalities. Because of the
popularity of the event, there are strict rules as to who is eligible to
walk on Sunday.
Seen in Gloucester, MA:
"The Rise and Fall... and RISE of the greasy pole, THE MUSICAL"
-The Curse of Mamma Scolafazza presents.
Showing only the last weekend of June at City Hall. Sunday, July 22, 2012
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
freedom, freedom, freedom
awoke under a mid-evening dull blaze. the fan rigged into the window wafting in smells of gun powder, barbequed meats, alcohol mixed with salty sweat seeping through porous foreheads, and an undulating ozone taunting us with the beginnings of an electrical storm.
made our way to shaws grocery and sav-mor liquors -- whose sign read something along the lines of burning out your nose hairs and free hotdogs -- to acquire the mandatory kit for a successful july 4th celebration: booze and meats. Had a lavish BBQ for two: swordfish, burgers, cobbed corn, green beans, guacamole, and sat in the backyard immersed in an air that was as hot and thick like freshly made gelatin until dusk, when we scoured the train tracks to the Kendal MIT parkade, the tallest structure around to attain a more eminent vantage point.
Arrived to the 8th floor, when we realized that this must be known firework contemplating location, as there were already families dawdling around their automobiles in throes, one young couple, perhaps lesbians, rolling around like sausages in a pan, making out on the tarmac while a husky onlooker watched with his gut held up by the back of his pontiac.
The horizon, open, and flat, made me feel like I was in the middle of a snow-globe, where the sides just end and fall off. In the northern sky, the electrical storm cut into the sky with fork lightning and dominated all the little pockmark-like fireworks that were erupting up from new england'ers backyards. Ten minutes before the allocated launch time of the fireworks, we looked around and saw a parking-lot that mimicked chaotic christmas-time rush shopping, only people were pleasant, full of libations, and sitting on top of their cars, some wearing illuminated paraphernalia, others themed in the appropriate coloring.
After the first few sprigs of pyrotechnics were launched, rain, a downpour really, two tablespoon sized droplets fell and bounced off the concrete knee-high. It was this, coupled with the fancy cube-shaped fireworks that enticed the group six cars down to chant: freedom, freedom, freedom.
The rain cleared, and the grand-finale slowly enveloped.
We, like thousands others filled the streets to attend our after-parties, all fully aware that we will feel like shit at work the next day, but that comes with the territory.
made our way to shaws grocery and sav-mor liquors -- whose sign read something along the lines of burning out your nose hairs and free hotdogs -- to acquire the mandatory kit for a successful july 4th celebration: booze and meats. Had a lavish BBQ for two: swordfish, burgers, cobbed corn, green beans, guacamole, and sat in the backyard immersed in an air that was as hot and thick like freshly made gelatin until dusk, when we scoured the train tracks to the Kendal MIT parkade, the tallest structure around to attain a more eminent vantage point.
Arrived to the 8th floor, when we realized that this must be known firework contemplating location, as there were already families dawdling around their automobiles in throes, one young couple, perhaps lesbians, rolling around like sausages in a pan, making out on the tarmac while a husky onlooker watched with his gut held up by the back of his pontiac.
The horizon, open, and flat, made me feel like I was in the middle of a snow-globe, where the sides just end and fall off. In the northern sky, the electrical storm cut into the sky with fork lightning and dominated all the little pockmark-like fireworks that were erupting up from new england'ers backyards. Ten minutes before the allocated launch time of the fireworks, we looked around and saw a parking-lot that mimicked chaotic christmas-time rush shopping, only people were pleasant, full of libations, and sitting on top of their cars, some wearing illuminated paraphernalia, others themed in the appropriate coloring.
After the first few sprigs of pyrotechnics were launched, rain, a downpour really, two tablespoon sized droplets fell and bounced off the concrete knee-high. It was this, coupled with the fancy cube-shaped fireworks that enticed the group six cars down to chant: freedom, freedom, freedom.
The rain cleared, and the grand-finale slowly enveloped.
We, like thousands others filled the streets to attend our after-parties, all fully aware that we will feel like shit at work the next day, but that comes with the territory.
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