Flash Flood Watches Cover The Southern Portion Of My Disposition

Discipline, discipline, discipline



Once upon a time a boy by the name of Kenneth Gaspar was born. A Hawaiian man he was. Soon to be a musician and have a beard. Somewhere between 1953 and 2002 Kenneth adopted the nickname of "boom" thus creating the organ, piano and keyboard master, Boom Gaspar. Why is this important? Becuase in 2002 Boom teamed up with a little band called Pearl Jam, and the free world became a little more free.

The whole world has gone to shit. I have far too much homework to do and it must be done before thursday. Why? Because thursday this reporter heads down to Georgia (possibly accompanied by the devil) to protest the School of the Americas as it is a training centre for human rights violaters and a breeding ground for killing machines. On top of all of this, Isabelle thinks I'm predictable.

I think I'd like to drop out of school and get myself a nice little patch of beach somewhere. I could build a nice little shelter, maybe hang up that picture of the dogs playing poker. During the day I would teach myself to surf and feast on the fresh fruits that surrounded my personal beach. Sometime in the early evening I could fashion myself a meal and pretend I'm Survivorman for an hour or so.
Once the sun went down and the moon was high in the sky I would go swimming, night swimming. Of course while I am night swimming I will be listening to the song "night swimming" by R.E.M. (I suppose I will need hydro and a stereo)
I would remain on this beach for the rest of my days. Safety, Obscurity.
Shortly before I died on this beach I would sit down and write a book. I would then ensure that someone found this book eventually. Then, Whoever possessed the book would be so excited and anxious to read my last words and life story. They would open the book only to find that I had written a book of clever limericks. Inside the back cover would be a picture of me mooning the reader.

If thats not happiness I dont want to know what is.

Maybe there would be a small villiage near my beach and I could befriend the townsfolk.
I could bring them something from my beach in exchange for a banjo, I've always wanted to know how to play the banjo.

Of course this all sounds silly
and it is
silly indeed

Simply picturing this setting is a mood booster
Maybe if Frank knew about this beach he wouldn't have burned his house down and hit the hollywood freeway. Poor Frank (See: Tom Waits' "Frank's Wild Years")

Needless to say I would prefer this beach to my current place of residence, suburban london. I'm trapped here, away from said beach, and the bus drivers are on strike. Oh well, life goes on, and then you die, seems about right. I suppose we're all in this together, in one way or another.

But just as a heads up
if anyone comes across this kind of beach in their travels
for the love of all things good, plant yourself there and never leave.

surfs up

*guitar solo*

-wingfield

Richmond Row And Bad Craziness

I figured that if there is one solid topic to really begin a new blog with
its me complaining

For starters, I live in London. London is a bizarre town, and thats on a good day. I have been here for about a year and a half now and I'm still not sure what to make of it. Between Monday and Friday, London, or at least my area of London is sprinkled with Western University students like myself bouncing around from class to class. Relatively non-confrontational, most stare at their feet or passing cars as they walk past eachother. Seems like no one is really a fan of eye contact. They blast around campus in outfits that are too expensive and their hair looks fantastic.

This brings up two problems for me. 1) I am not in engineering 2) my clothes are not expensive and my hair looks awful. This all may sound immature and trivial to you, and personally it did to me too when I first got here. I thought we were done with this nonsense when I left high school.
Fuck was I ever wrong. Now, you may be wondering about the engineering part. Let me explain.
Basically the engineers and the sports fellows collect the sheriff cheque around here. Folks like meself, all tucked away in the blanket of social sciences are relatively unimportant in the "Western" world, and probably soon to be equally unimportant in the working world.

NOW
this is not really troubling to me. I am not whining about how I am misunderstood or some stupid bullshit like that. Its just something I have been noticing during my 4 year sentence here.
seems a tad silly to me.

Of course as I mentioned above the hustle and bustle of campus crowds is a 5 day a week movement. Once friday night rears it's ugly head the gloves come off.
There are two names you need to know around here

1) Jack
2) Jim Bob Ray

Jacks and Jim Bob Ray's are two oversized liquor holes in downtown London. Not only are these places bars, but they are also brothels....Or maybe just dance bars, I can't really tell. Needless to say these places are oversized, multi story style. and every weekend the fill to the tits with kids around my age. They then proceed to do JagerBombs and drink cheap beer untill the bank breaks. Then comes the dry humping. The stereo system blasts the popular song of the day, usually comprised of a thumping bass drum and an auto-tuned voice, not much else. You know, the kind of stuff a ten year old could make on his mom's computer. This sound is the cue for those who desire a good dry fucking to hit the dance floor, and hit it they do. Dancing out the Kama Sutra untill they are either covered in sweat or semen. Then perhaps an exchange of numbers and if lucky enough, a "friend" to go home with.

Maybe I am the only one who doesn't see the appeal in this. Christ, considering my attitude and outlook on life I very well could be. Either way, sometimes it is just better to be on the outside lookin' in. Don't get me wrong, I love drinking. But when I do I prefer to do it in places where I am not a) bombarded by awful music b) paying too much for said drinks c) crowded and surrounded by too many people and d) having to pay 5-10 dollars to simply walk in the door.

Bad Craziness man,
Bad Craziness

I'm sure there are some people like me around here, just gotta know where to look I suppose. Untill then I will continue my resistance to succumbing to these bizarre and weird social norms that are so very apparent in Londontown. I think I'll start with a beer and a cigarette on my back porch and maybe some Nick Cave.

For those of you who are
keep on fighting the good fight. After all, there can't possibly be enough room on the dance floor for all of you

*guitar solo*

-wingfield.

Third Time Is A Charm. Or So I've Been Told

something very very strange happened

I bring to you my third installment of hot blog load
Welcome all of you to Nighthawk Postcards, a nocturnal blog.

I seek one thing and one thing only
a meaningful blog, and perhaps the odd joke.

I couldn't do it the first time. fitterhappiermore.blogspot.com

I couldn't do it the second time. getonthetable.blogspot.com

MAYBE
JUST MAYBE
I can finally pull it off

we will find out
so sit back
relax
grab a loved one and a nice glass of red

and join me as I spew ramblings and rants as best I can

I leave you now as I go brainstorm untill it hurts

*guitar solo*

-wingfield 3.0