My First Tag!

Pri, unfortunately, my life does not revolve around dark carnivals, requiems and masques and martyrs - and so you will be seeing quite a diverse soundtrack. Although I wish I did have something to do with killers that like candy, and pretty people that never lie. ;p

Opening scene : M.I.A. - Bucky Done Gun

Waking up : Cobra Starship - Kiss My Sass (my alarm ringtone)

Average Day : Sam Sparro - 21st Century Life

First Date : Sneaky Soundtrack System - You're Hot

Falling In Love : Signal The Escape - Borderline Stalker

Fight Scene : Jay-Z & Linkin Park - 99 Problems

Breaking Up : Rogue Traders - I Never Liked You

Getting Back Together : Paramore - My Heart

Secret Love : We The Kings - Check Yes Juliet

Life's Okay : KT Tunstall - Suddenly I See

Mental Breakdown : Any metal/screamo song. Most recently, Machinehead - Halo

Driving : Deep Purple - Highway Star

Learning A Lesson : Samantha Ronson - Built This Way

Flashback : Buggles - Video Killed The Radio Star

Deep Thought : Coldplay - Talk

Partying : (Wow. Don't get me started.) Family Force Five - Erfquake

Happy Dance : Cobra Starship - Guilty Pleasure

Friendship Moment: Hellogoodbye - Jesse Buy Nothing ... Go To Prom Anyways!

Suicidal Moment : Flyleaf - Cassie

One Night Stand : Porcelain and The Tramps - Fuck Like A Star; Buck Cherry - Crazy Bitch

Regretting : Rihanna - Rehab

Lone Night Alone : Cobra Starship - Hollaback Boy

Betrayal : Peaches - Operate

Death Scene : Angra - Waiting Silence

And Ta-da!

-No comment-

Bus Stories.

CHARACTERS : Pri, Ray of Sunshine and Exodusarrya.

The following are random outbursts of emotion that all occured in this little vehicle we all grew up with : The Bus. Also here, are reflections of our individual intellectual capacity.

Seriously. We are geniuses.

Scene 1 : Pri, RoS, and Exo are all sitting quietly in the bus ... OK, maybe not so quiet since Exo is in the picture ... but anyway, sitting nonetheless. And it is at this time we pass by a toll booth.

Pri : Oh Look. A Toll booth.

Exo : Why. Yes. It is. A Toll booth.

Pri plasters her face completely to the bus window, peering straight at the clerk in one of the booths below. The clerk then looks up at Pri, and makes a little backward whirl at the side of her head with her finger and raises an eyebrow to the sky.

This is a common reaction to Pri, by the way.

And also take into account that this occured at 10.30pm. When sane people are asleep and not riding back to school on a bus.

SCENE 2 : RoS is talking about a little someone-someone while we're waiting for the bus. And it is at this time the bus rolls by.


Exo : Oh, the bus is here!

RoS : He has a six-pack, you know.

And we remain silent long enough for the joke set in. After which we cannot stop laughing our asses off. Images of a bus will rippling sides come to mind.

Scene 3 : There is a bus with a Kangaroo painted on its side. We don't know how it got there, but it must have been a typical moment of high, just like this one where this scene takes place.

OK, I can't quite remember what went on here but I do know that RoS does suddenly exclaim :

'KANGAROOOOOOOOOO!'

To which I burst out into laughter. It is after this that I am convinced someone had spiked our drinks.

Scene 4 : This is where RoS learns a new word for 'peeing'. The bus driver pops out of his seat and runs off to the main buliding. So I say - with a completely straight face- :

'Oh, he must have gone to piddle.'

And RoS's face goes red, and she is silently vibrating.

(She's laughing, people. Oh COME ON.)

Scene 5 : Ah, our high school bus driver. He had a hairstyle completely created and owned by him. Pri named it The Tuft. And it was dyed a weird shade of brown, probably to accentuate his already-impeccable taste in fashion. We call him Tufty.

Scene 6 : Pri, RoS and I also had a theory that our Chemistry teacher was interested ... in Tufty. And you know why?

Because they had such good chemistry going on.

(Pardon the pun, I couldn't help myself with that one.)

Anyway, our Chem teacher used to sit right in front, always next to Tufty. And we'd always notice that they'd strike up a conversation sometime during the course of the trip. No, we are not completely making this up because we are bored with our own lives. So we decided to bless them with well-wishes ... and a song.


(To be sung to the tune of London Bridge by Fergie)


How come everytime I come around

My class, my class don't wanna come around

Like Tufty, Tufty, Tufty

Where are you now?

Tufty, Tufty, Tufty

Thinking of ya now.

And that concludes my compilation of Bus Stories. I'm greatly looking forward to another series of them, but this is only until ... ahem-ahem ... I get my fast car.

Ferrari Stories, perhaps?

-No comment-

I Declare That I Am Ghost.

I Am Ghost is Panic At The Disco gone bad.


It is the latest band discovery of mine, and probably the most fruitful since Escape The Fate. I can safely say that this band has more talent than any other deeply - underground band I've heard so far.


The band is headed by Steven Juliano (lead/vocals), Timoteo Rosales III (bass/vocals), Ron Ficcaro (lead guitar), Justin McCarthy (drums) , and Chad Kulengosky (rhythm guitar/back-up vocals). They have former members Kerith and Brian Telestai, Ryan Seaman, Gabe Iraheta and Victor Angel Camarena.


I'm gonna skip the long biography and the he-saids she-saids and get straight to the review.


Two words : Fucking awesome.


The vocals. Mind-blowing. And Z-o-m-g ... If there is anyone who sounds exactly like Brendon Urie - and I never figured there would be - this is him. The Brendon - voice twin. But Steven manages to add just that little bit of hardcore attitude into it and turn into something phenomenal. Not to mention the blood-curdling screamo. Steven Juliano knows how to rock a microphone.


The melody. Completely original. I have never heard anything like their sound. It's a thick melange of speedy rhythms and harsh rifts that bring this band up to a level completely owned by them. The bass (a must-have in a song) is so powerful, you cannot help but turn up the volume. You've got to let it control you.


The drums. OhMyGod. IAG reinvents the use of the double bass pedal. The awesomely fast drum beats gets you so pumped that sometimes it just isn't loud enough.


The theme. My favorite part. I'm sorry, people, but I am in love with vampires, death and their rising. This band has established themselves around a totally solid source of ideas. Not having enough ideas flowing is not an excuse, IAG. Their songs typically revolve around sordid tales of freakshows at carnivals, vampires living among us, and the inevitable element of the dead and their eventual rising. IAG lives up to their name, and deals with the paranormal - expertly.


IAG OWNS MACABRE HARDCORE.


And now a Hate message : To the assholes and douchebags who stand up and support fucking retarded bands that can't carry a tune and perform the same bass rifts throughout the songs on every album, stop fucking up IAG. Kerith had a beautiful voice. If Kerith left because of poor health, then all that happens is we lose one important element of the band. The band does not lack anything and sounds just as great with their new members. And the band is certainly not gay. The only fuckers who are gay are the ones who grow long unkempt hair and do nothing else but swing them in circles throughout shows.


Wow. I guess all I have to do is hold my guitar and swing my long hair to have wimp fans hailing me then.


All you fucked-up shits go around living for lame bands that lack all meaning and vibe and diss the good ones. You don't have any idea what music sounds like. Does fart also sound hardcore to you then? Why - it's the same monotonous rift you like to listen to.


Tell you what - Go Touch Yourselves. It's more productive than being bitched - up fags.


Phew. Sorry, I was mad. http://www.musicianforums.com/review_27507


Anyway, I Am Ghost - I love their new ideas, and the direction changes they have undergone. It's true, it's all about playing for yourselves, and not worrying what people say about your music, and playing the music that you want to hear.


That's what makes a band truly underground.


By saying Fuck You to haters, and loving the music you play. And not worrying about mainstream jerk-offs who listen to the Jonas Brothers in between your music and criticise constantly because they don't sound like a Miley Cyrus-Britney Spears orgasm.


Stay underground IAG, and the true fans will follow.


I already am.

-No comment-

And We Have To Get Degrees Before Setting Foot On The Runway.

This girl is still in high school. She isn't even an undergraduate. And yet she gets to prance along her models on the runway, and take a bow at the end.

OK, maybe this girl deserves some credit. Maybe she was gifted with a sense of couture and a head of new ideas for the clothing of our world population.

She has neither. See for yourself.

http://au.youtube.com/watch?v=NSAT_VBSeio

I have never seen so many ribbons in my life. Ever. Some even big enough to cover parts of the body. And that material - I can cut that up with my eyes closed and pin them on a cloth mannequin myself. I don't even need to sew anything together, just a pin here, a pin there, a dash of Kira money magic and ... KA-ZAM! A fashion line. Some of those clothes look like they've been picked out of her wardrobe, and shoved onto the models right before they step onto the runway.

And she must have chosen the models herself, because they can't walk to save their lives! I think they were picked out from the eliminated batch of girls from the various America's Next Top Model seasons. Think Lauren Season 10, and Hannah Season 11. Some look like dismembered robots, and others walk like their legs are jello. Hardly the case of haute couture.

And if you think her fashion shows are whack, it's because her dad pays for everything. Superstars like Chris Brown are paid big bucks to perform at her runway show. And you know what else daddy pays for?


The designers who design the line for Kira. Must be bloody shitty designers.



On a final note : To Kira, I don't hate you. You're probably a really sweet girl with lotsa bucks. And I bet you spend hours and hours coming up with creations to show the world. And you must have failed a couple of times, before someone discovered your great potential and gave you your big break.

Rightt.

-No comment-

I Wish My Dad Had A Multi-Millon Dollar Bank Account.

I am going to try my best to write this post objectively. It's going to be lacking all emotion, and is going to be totally based on facts.


It also helps that my blog is off public listings.


I'm talking about 16 year-old fashion designer, Kira Plastinina. I only found out about her a few months back when I was watching TRL. Yes, that's how big she is.


If you get it, the sarcasm is rich.

And I was thinking ... WOW. A girl my age from the back of beyonds (not to say Russia isn't awesome, but it isn't exactly a fashion capital) that has defied all obstacles and made it SO big, that her chain of shops has reached the other side of the world and MTV has picked up on that and put on her on live television.

She even has her own defined shade of pink, called Kira-pink.

And I continued to wonder : Fuck, her work ethics must be impeccable, and so must be her sense of style and incomparable knowlegde of avant-garde and haute couture. How else is she able to make it in the fashion world while still being a virgin?

(Yes, you can sleep your way to the top if you have a very accomodating vagina.)

I did not figure that her father is actually a famed Russian billionaire.

Take this scenario (in a thick Slavic accent) :

'Dad, I'm really sad.'

'Why, dear?'

'Because I don't have what I want.'

'But dear, you have a good family, you have your health, you have people who love -'

'Fuck off, man. Who wants to be happy with THAT?'

'Err okay, you have a car, your own mansion, maids at beck and call, 5 horses, 134 puppies, and my everlasting bank account. To name a few.'

'It's not enough.' Kira throws herself off the top of her father's desk, and a maid standing by her runs to break her fall.

'OK, dear, how about ... a fashion line?'

'Ooooh ... OK! But what about all those people who have to work hard to make it in the industry?'

'Do you want it or not?'

'Yes!'

And Kira Plastinina's fashion line was born.

-No comment-

The Internet Is A Motherfucking Bitch With A Vengeance.

Parental Advisory.


Because I am gonna curse my ass off in the post.


I am going to start off with something substantial. Maybe the Internet has a bitter past. Maybe she was abused when she was young. Perhaps she had a case of unrequited love. And after, she was jilted at the altar. Maybe she discovered she was pregnant with five little Internets and had no one to help her. All five Internets could have died sometime during the course of their lives. Perhaps ageing turned her into a prune, and everything went south. And it could even be that she hasn't gotten laid in a bloody long time.


But that gives you no excuse to ruin other peoples lives, missy. It doesn't give you the right to cut off while I am delivering urgent gossip halfway across the globe. Neither does it allow you to disconnect my online calls so you can be all pissy about it.


And neither does it give you the right to die while I am typing this post.


-xxx-


(Rips modem from wires and launches it through the window.)


-xxx-

OK, back.


Anyway, whatever her point or her last-wish-before-I-throw-myself-of-the-cliff-of-cyberspace,

STOP FUCKING DOING THIS!


It's not funny.


Peoples' lives are at stake, you whore!


What are you - the worst bitch alive?


Go touch yourself, OK? ... after you connect us.



And as I speak, The Bitch disconnects Again.



-No comment-



*PS : The Internet is definitely a woman. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Total. System. Failure.

I self-destructed.


I've always wondered what a mental breakdown felt like. People tend to complain of searing pains right through your spine and your head feeling like it's just been bashed against a huge brick wall, followed by that inevitable taste of bloody vomit as it trickles out through your chipped teeth.


It's tenfold of that.


Just imagine that for every moment in your life - you had a direction. You had a plan. You knew exactly what the next step was. You could cross any boundary and pass any obstacle, because you knew exactly how and when to step back to your safety zone. It was like that for me; everything was almost predictable.

And then it collapsed.

That feeling of uselessness that had been pushed to the back of my mind, had suddenly forced its way through those wrought-iron gates it had been locked behind and had proceeded to corrode away that path I had plotted out for myself. Like a map out on a slate totally erased by one gush of wind.

My self -esteem crashed, leaving me with as much worth as a shameless, diseased slut and her plastic body parts. Bascially, I had made up my mind that I was completely useless, with no need in this world, and no matter how much I tried I would never advance and never succeed, and there wasn't anymore point in trying. This was me : A regular good-for-nothing. Just another object to fill up the space on this planet.

I kind of put myself at a standstill. Like as if I was a mass, surrounded by pulsating static. Whose only identification was a number stamped on her forehead. I had no sense of time. Nor an aorta of feeling. In fact, the only way I could tell I was alive was the constant emotional war going on in my head, which I could not stop - or fight.

I literally gave up. On Everything. I was convinced that my friends were just there because they felt so terrible that a soul like mine even existed.

I had hit rock-bottom, but I was still falling.

-xxx-

And then, it started to get better (probably because there was nothing worse than what I had suffered.)

The Carver became a total nutcase. Faking British accents and teaching me elementary Math, when he's usually submerged in his work, leaving me to talk to myself. I could not resist laughing my ass off, because it became to hard to fake it.

God bless you, Carver.

And the Ray Of Sunshine then spent two hours in her car with me, talking me through my situation. She kneaded out all the bad energy, no service charge included. She is by far the World's Best Psychologist.

God bless you Ray Of Sunshine.

Maybe ... maybe I'm not that fucked-up. Maybe I can still hope. Maybe I could just let everything that needs to happen, happen. And I could just hang in there, day in day out, because something good will come out of it in the end.

And I could try drowning, but they'll always be there to pull me out.

- No comment -

* This post is dedicated to the Carver and our Ray Of Sunshine. Thanks for saving me, when I didn't ask for it.