Something is right in the world. Refused are not fucking dead.
hello vonnie
sheepfilms
occasionally subtle

Love Begins
The Bright Sessions

roma★
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

oozey mess
RMH

Origami Around
noise dept.
Fieri Frames
h
Not today Justin
Claire Keane
Doug Jones
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
TMBGareOK. The Official They Might Be Giants tumblr
untitled

Product Placement
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seen from Türkiye
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@kylebrowntumbles4u-blog
Something is right in the world. Refused are not fucking dead.
Happy Friday the 13th before Valentine's Day. I hate you, lovingly, go away, come back, I love you, I don't know.
Drunk man tries to sum up 2014 based on goals from 2013 and you won't believe what happens next
I’ll start by listing the goals that I had going into the year 2013:
1. Get published
2. Get a job (preferably in the city so I can
2b. move to Chicago [or if need be another large culturally significant area that is not suburbia])
3 (or not 2b). Weigh less than 200lbs
4. Build a sustainable online bankroll (poker)
Results:
1. I got published. A couple times early in the year. I stopped being creatively productive (see 2b).
2. I got a job. In Chicago. With full-time hours and part-time benefits. I'm much stronger these days, physically. Ask me about my guns. I've got a license.
I started out enjoying the fact that I'm a part of the employed masses, and not as much of a loser. But I'm still a loser. There isn't much of a difference between the unemployed and employed masses.They're different miseries, related by birth. There's always something to bitch about, if you choose to bitch about things. Me? I'm about to open another high life.
2b. This happened. Many things favorably came together (see 2). It's been nice living nearer the people I care most about. It's nice knowing they're closer, but unfortunately I saw them more when I lived forty miles away (and was jobless). I love you people, I really do. One day, maybe tonight, I'll see you again.
3. With a steady diet of beer and donuts, I got very close to getting under 200 lbs. I got down to 202 over the summer and felt sexy as hell, but then fall came, I got sad, and didn't walk as much. I'd blame the gain on added muscle mass from lifting toilets, but that wouldn't cause my pants to feel tighter (or do I have that fetish, too?).
Next year will most assuredly be the sexiest year of my life.
4. I went broke this year, poker wise. It happens.
Conclusion:
Some 2013 goals were met in 2014. I'll likely have similar goals for 2015:
1. Get a better job / Win the lottery
2. Do more creative shit, even if it's shit and you feel like shit, it's still more shit than the regular shit you shit out and probably doesn't stink as much as you think it does
3. Go to Europe, even if it's only for a couple weeks and it's Belgium or Luxembourg or Lichtenstein
4. Know all les mots francais.
It wasn't such a bad year, looking back on it. I accomplished some life goals, some goals from 2013. I drank a lot of high life and didn't create much. I also didn't read enough. I watched too much Netflix. I watched too much youtube. I sat at this computer too long without opening LibreOffice or Fruity Loops.
I didn't force myself to sit down and type things like I'm sitting down and forcing myself to type this right now.
Surely somewhere out there is a jobthing that pays twice what I'm making now, making the tumbling and somersaults and large wooden hoops one much contort themselves through a bit more worth the effort. The pulled muscles, sore hips, and rippling biceps are nice, but how about a desk job?
A short, lazy search later. Proposal writer? Sure, I can propose to be a proposal writer.
I won't kneel. That is stilted, hackneyed. It has a air of begging. (I'll kneel for you, HR lady/man, but I won't kneel for my prospective wife.) I'll just propose: Hey, wanna get away to Vegas for a weekend. We, hungover, awake in a suite on the top of the Stratosphere, and here we are, partners in crime. Now let us rob the Bellagio with George and Amal.
What this tumbl is, though, is just a vessel for my procrastination ooze, catching a little bit of spillage and the half serious idea to include this Awkward White Boy track in my writing samples for this proposal writer job.
"Television Man" - Naomi Punk
If the world ended and the rest of 2014 didn't exist because there was no one to write down the history or post a meme to facebook, the first song in this video would be my song of the year.
Naomi Punk is a grower. In all my listening experiences, the growers are the showers that last beyond all the endings of the world.
I almost bought a Danelectro recently. I'm more inclined to now. Reverb it. Reverb everything. Move to the Pacific Northwest. I already own the flannel, the Wayne's World strat, the Angst, the quiet, loud, quiet rhapsodic anthem for today, yesterday, the futureend.
Rock and Roll lives, shakes, and thrives in 2014. It's been a fantastic year to rock out and there's still over two months to go.
Beware the ides of ROCKTOBER
My new sounds:
Now you can stream Nile Drown everywhere! And theoretically fund a physical release--by streaming 24/7 for about three years.
Introducing a band I want to be in. My cute little Italian stallion loverboy Mike is the guitarist/bassist/backing vocalist. The last time I saw him, he let me listen to the instrumental demo tracks while I drove him around my dad's Chevy Cobalt.
I said something like, "Damn, it Mike. I want to sing and yell and scream to this."
Mike said something like, "Move to Seattle, dude."
I said something like, "Maybe I will."
I moved to Chicago instead.
"Boners, dude."
Stuck in another polar vortex? Dance,
it will warm you up.
I've cut all my hair off
again. It was necessary. Covered in fertilizer and cement and storm water and drying in the humid night air, walking down Elston with a coworker named Ross (I only meet Ross's in the city--Chicago, a city of Ross's, mostly card carrying lawyers
["And I promise you, Ross," I said to Ross, coworker, "I am in no need of legal advice"])
when I determined that I was going to cut my hair off
again. It was Jesus. He asked me while we were moving bags of rocks (rocks, say it quick, sounds like Ross) and Jesus asked me,
"Does that get hot?"
Jesus has a little fro, a scruffy beard. He's probably high. He likes to use both hand dryers at the same time for minutes on end, giggling.
"I've had it for ten years," I said to Jesus, coworker, "I'm used to it."
But I wasn't used to all the rock dust, the bags of cement splitting open and spilling on my sweat-wet shirt, the bags of fertilizer that are made from fish, smelling like rotten fish, splitting open and spilling onto my shirt, my face, my hair. I wasn't ready for the thunderstorm.
A few unanswered texts later and I cracked open my first can of Bell's Two Hearted and got out my tiny pair of scissors and cut away. I was nervous. I was pretty sober. But it turned out all right. I look in the mirror and I think
This is Kyle Brown
y/n?
It’s Friday. It’s time to dance.
34 years ago yesterday
Not recent but relevant.
A short short piece about Halloween and more than Halloween.