brickwallviews

for immature audiences only

       “The lower you fall, the higher you'll fly.”

     -chuck palahniuk

       "they call it rock bottom...
        not sure what i'd call it,
        but it smells like warm beer and piss."

     -brickwallboy

and who are THEY anyway?...

tossed salad:
i guess i wear my hair kinda spiky, you know, on top. my dear daughter informed me yesterday that her friends at school think my hair looks funny. this daughter, these friends. they're four.

not being an insider, of the mega show 'the sopranos', i guess i have no real right to speak. but it sure seems all the folks are a bit too ruffled about the "dead air" ending of the series finale. meanwhile, your bosses neighbors cousin just stepped on a mine in balad. perspective people. i mean shit, thierry henry was transferred to barcelona this week, you don't see me whining and moaning, do ya? well? do ya?

oh wait.

sorry.

(note: opinions expressed herein are often times stated without a great deal of forethought).

speaking of...

if you pull over at various truck stops. for the express purpose of sticking your peepee in a hole in the bath stall. i'm no shrink, but this is likely a small symptom of a much bigger issue.
if you enter said bath stall and see funny looking spiky hair poking up across the divide.
well...

(note: opinions expressed herein should be taken with a liberal dose of salt, say a 4 pound bag)

i was referred to as handsome yesterday...

                                          by a fella.

summer 2007 silverdale gaydar cup (results after 2 rounds)
brickwallboy - 2
mr hobbs - 1

(note: please contact local authorities concerning the source ip address herein)

gotta go, these legs ain't gonna shave themselves!

freddie ljungberg,
arsenal midfielder / calvin klein undies model

i knew i could find something for the boys and girls to  enjoy (?)

...while i'm (barely) still ahead...
brickwallboy (and my issues) are out.

and to your left...

finally some new sing songy stuff!

fear and loathing on wirt road

      “i'm addicted to altoids.
        i call them 'acting pills.'”

      -harrison ford

sure, why not?:
phil and allen.
they were heavy metal.
they were hard core.
fuck-ups that is. no really.
my boy the klocster got a job at a pizza joint.
this is late era high school.
so, this pizza gig leads us to some new friends.
phil was a reasonably good looking guy with dreams of being the ultimate evil metalhead frontman. he likely never read beyond an album sleeve.
phil was, what's the term... gangly. 6 foot 2 and 150 pounds soaking wet. not sure if he could even read said album sleeve.
so me and the klocster start hanging at their place on friday nights.
rousing games of quarters and shots of testosterone.
and about 300 bong hits.
their neighbors either went out, or did some serious chamber spinning.
daily.
so we show this one night for the status quo.
merciful fate blaring. smoke billowing.

and out comes the mirror.
a big mirror.

i'm thinking fuck yea, coke time.
nope.

the boys explain a friend of a friend of a fiend got em something special.
animal tranquilizer.
primate sedative (per the label).
"monkey toot" (per phil and allen).
i'm a fuck up in training here, no question. but i'm a lily white suburban white boy fuck up staring at some weird ass white trash cocaine. fuck you, it was the 80's ok.
they school us. extract with syringe. squirt on pyrex. bake at 350.
if grandma had only known this damned recipe.
so liquid primate dope, becomes crystallized monkey toot.
hip hip hooray.
a shitload.
klocster passes.
me. i'm scared shitless. and i'm in.

i woke up in the car, convinced i was dead.
they told me i had a good time. a really good time.
i remember the sting as it slammed into my brain.
i remember... no i don't.

it only took me 20 more years of similar decisions to realize it.
can it really be "fun" or "an experience" if you don't recall it?
just a stupid kid. a 30 something kid. same thing.
if phil and allen are not dead or behind bars. get religious.

if i had a nickel for every lost brain cell...


max ernst, the kiss (1927)

go forth and destroy oneself produce.
recovering (on many fronts), brickwallboy out.

ps... smile!

i know i know i know

well I heard you got a place and it's far away from here
reality has sunken in now confirming all my fears
i'm not gonna track you down
and it's too late to stop thinking 'bout the time that we have lost
(i'm happy without you)

-no use for a name, on the outside (1997)

ok ok, i'm almost over it already. almost.
thing is, i simply can't stop loving mr henry.
he made me fall in love with football.
with arsenal.
although a wee painful, i must wish him well.
always.
i have been tempted to more closely follow barca.
they play beautiful attacking football.
they now have thierry henry.
i'm in.
but if they meet the gunners in champs league...
you going down thierry!

a picture is worth a thousand tears:

**********************************

no use for a name... (nufan)... they are about to release their "all the best songs" compilation. if you fancy 65 or so minutes of consistently beautiful california melodic p-rock, this is a good disc to have handy. one of the most underrated bands for many years. highly recommended.

**********************************

life is pretty good at the moment (remember, we're getting over the henry transfer). work is steady and cool. family life is steady and cool. money is, well money. not letting shit i can't control kill me anymore. "real" sobriety nears 6 months!

i need to find some shit to be pissed about.

oh yea, how could i forget.
paris fuckin hilton.
ho is free and shit!
on the tele this morning, i could actually see hear and taste it as she strutted toward the waiting car  upon her release, and the bullet literally exploded her head... i mean it was brutal. beautiful too.
people screaming. flashes popping. i almost high fived my dogs.
psst.
didn't really happen.

damn. but a fellow can dream

peace out fellow subjects.
brickwallboy.

cindy sherman, untitled film still (1978)

it's against my nature

     “Choose only one master - Nature.”

     -rembrandt

i gotta admit, city boy kinda dug the nature camp action. we go back on next saturday, and (keep this under wraps mind you) i'm kinda looking forward to it. even without the once mandatory case of ale. the sounds the smells, a pretty nice respite from sirens, horns and the occasional gunshot. more to come...

22222222222222222222222222222

henry undergoing medical in barcelona today, he is to get his "shirt" and at 1500  bst be unveiled 2 hours later at the nou camp. yea, britain standard time. i think it's the same as greenwich, but the brits need their own standard for (god save the) queens sake.

meanwhile back in north london... every "class" striker in europe is being linked as the replacement for the irreplaceable. anelka, torres, tevez, babel, owen and on and on. although he has a colored past with the club i kinda hope nicolas anelka comes aboard. he has a presence about him and is deadly around goal.

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you gotta get a hold of "on the yard" by malcolm braly. this book is killing me nicely. when kurt vonnegut declares a tome the "great american prison novel"... well, enough said really. his memoir is out of print currently, but can be found via third party on amazon.

22222222222222222222222222222

not much else to report, a bit outta touch this weekend media wise. it was weird to go almost 24 hours without an internet fix. weird good, but weird.

i think marines are still senselessly dying in iraq. just a hunch.

go barcelona... one good thing has come out of the time warner becomes comcast here locally... i now get gol tv which broadcast la liga and therefore i can see the occasional barca with henry match. see, everything does happen for a reason.

now, where's that box with that barca shirt my dear sis sent me from spain 3 or 4 years back.

wayne thiebaud, pies pies pies (1961)

fa la la la la
brickwallboyeee.

open letter from thierry henry

I realize this is not an arsenal blog, and i will move-on here shortly. but arsenal football club is pretty much the only sporting club i really give a crap about nowadays and thierry henry (and yes, the club overall) is almost solely responsible for me falling in love with the beautiful game. in yank terms, imagine if joe montana left the 49ers right after his second super bowl win. or if larry bird was traded in, or near his prime. it is the front page story in every newspaper in europe. it is not a loss for just us arsenal fans, english football has lost a guy who not only makes the game a blast to watch, he has a blast playing it...

here is the letter published this morning in The Sun...

the arsenal website has also confirmed the transfer. time now to move on.
much to do in north london before fulham comes calling august 11th.

guess i can drag out my barca shirt now.

coffee?

blackarmbandwearing brickwallboy out.

that's not rain brother... it's tears

HENRY SIGNS WITH BARCELONA!

it appears "real" this time.

I weep.

have a looksie here. and here. and here. oh yea, and here.

fuck.

i don't know what else to say at the moment.

i think i'm sick.

out.

brickwallboy goes to camp

     “I could deal with this [Pokemon]
       if I smoked a couple of grams of black tar heroin.”

     -robert downey jr

rumour (and i do mean rumour) has it word has been issued to not include henry in any 2007/08 arsenal publications and that all production of arsenal merchandise bearing his name or image be ceased.

e-fucking-nuff already!

someone say something OFFICIAL about all this mess so a brother can make peace!

[next verse]

city boy goes camping.
yea, me.
tomorrow we go hang with the boy at nature camp.
nature. you know, that stuff that grows up through cracks in the sidewalk.
i know i know, free your mind and all that shit.
i will. i will put aside all my petty idiot-synchrasies

id·i·o·syn·cra·sy [id-ee-uh-sing-kruh-see, -sin-] noun, plural -sies.
1. a characteristic, habit, mannerism, or the like, that is peculiar to an individual.
2. the physical constitution peculiar to an individual.
3. a peculiarity of the physical or the mental constitution,
esp. susceptibility toward drugs, food, etc. Compare allergy (def. 1).

and will myself to enjoy time with my family, albeit out-of-my-element.
adventure. life supplies few. embrace them (he tells himself).
embrace mosquitos.
embrace humidity.
embrace heat.
embrace rain.

quit whining (speaking to himself yet again).

remember, troops. iraq. get over yourself western baby.
(this one sure speaks to himself a great deal)

[chorus]

THIS IS ALL CAPITALIZED BECAUSE I WANT TO GIVE THE EVER-SO CLEAR IMPRESSION THAT THESE WORDS ARE INTENDED TO BE SCREAMED. LOUDLY!

ok, i feel better, something made me think of the arsenal shit again. so sorry.

[bridge]

odilon redon, smiling spider (1888)

[verse]

all right then folks, enough about me right?

wonder if i will be able to get a wi-fi connect in the tent?

brickwallboy out.

today is "go skateboarding" day

     “There will be sleeping enough in the grave”

     -benjamin franklin

i assume that's supposed to make me feel better...?

still no definitive word on the annual "we're signing henry" saga... so says barcelona, milan, et al.

[end act one]

the boy has been at camp 4+ days now and no word...hmmm... me thinks he won't want to come back home.

                                                

ever.

hey, i saw the place, i'd be making long term plans as well.

[end act two]

i promise this space will once again get back to being your favorite locale for pseudo-creative angst ridden recovering alcoholic euro football fledgling writer... uhhh... rants. or something. just hitting hard and heavy at the new job and frankly it feels good. a few more miles on the road than i prefer the past 4 or 5 days, but the movement, the energy, the necessity to keep pushing is in many ways fulfilling. it's like spending 3 hours working in your yard on a hot ass h-town summer day and then sitting on the porch with a cold beer (or nine) and simply taking in your work. ahhhh...

sans the cold beers and lawnmower of course.

you know what i mean. maybe.

[end act three]

did i mention mr hobbs and i are throwing around the idea of being partners.
you know.
lovers.
i'm all over the place here.
but but but... mrs brickwallboy even confirmed she would likely think we were partners (there's that term again) had she seen us out running errands together on a beautiful saturday morning. and she hinted that perhaps i was the more likely to set off one's "gaydar".

not the first time i've been told that (right? skip).

the missus is real helpful that way.

anyway, back to hobbs... he's got commitment issues. i'll break him down.
that sounded kinda lewd... break him down.

i need a shower.

and 3 more quarts of coffee.

[intermission]

[begin act four]

us footballers play canada tonight. if you look at a map, canada is that land mass southeast of alaska. they used to play this sport called hockey, brew mediocre beer... i dunno, no one really remembers.
anyway, go red white and blueski! beat the team with the dope leaf flag.

speaking of canada, there is one cool byproduct other than steve nash, toronto hard core p-rock band "fucked up". yes their tunes are in fact about as subtle as their name.

blasting six minute and forty two second brutal hard core p-rock tunes as a coping mechanism.

francis bacon, painting

and it really is international "go skateboarding" day!

do some shit people, ima gonna try.
-brickwallboy.

[end]

all work and no blog makes...

   

     “They say that time changes things,
       but you actually have to change them yourself”

     -andy warhol

lack of time. time on hands.
change. chaos. order. schedule.
cancel. confirm. arrive. depart.
go stay run walk sleep shit eat.

have a popsicle.

need to make time for this here rant.
need to increase efficiency.
reduce body fat.
recycle.
reuse.
kill just to see what it feels like.
embrace each hour and not spectate.
have 1 bottle of water for every sin.
pay bills and then the piper.

shit man i dunno.

have that popsicle.

[page break]

we don't know where mr thierry henry will be playing his football next season (yet). but we do know where he was last thursday. in cleveland usa watching his boy tony parker dismantle the cavs.

3, as in 3 trophies. one may recall that arsenals cross-town blood rivals tottenham are also nicknamed "spurs" (tottenham hotspur)... kills a brother to see th14 in anything with spurs on it. this feeling is clearly shared by the dude on the right.

[page break]

recently completed bob flaherty's "puff" .what lengths will two brother go to score a good bag of weed whilst boston is being crushed by a blizzard. (hilarious, yet touching). also been working on "kick in the head" by steven rinehart (gritty short stories. creative structures. well told). just started malcolm braly's "on the yard". prison novel by someone who knows. i'm told this is his 1st masterpiece, his memoir that followed (false starts) is apparently pure genius. should be fun!

ok then, go forth and prosper and stuff!

sidney goodman, self portrait with arm raised (1993)

adios', brickwallboy.