Post by Jack of Blades on Apr 17, 2006 15:27:10 GMT -5
(What's this? Some different surroundings for this occasion. It seems as if this seminar will take place in the abode of Jack of Blades. But should the walls not be dirtied ebony? Should the carpet not be crusted with fallen claret? No.
This is a decadent palace. Ebony walls featuring sinister, if contemporary art. A sort of Feng Shui instructing the furniture. This is a million miles (and dollars) away from the home of a certain anorexic who haunts a local hotel.
The camera opens on the beautiful avantgarde carpet and traces its way forward moving over the antiquities and shreads of wealth. The movement is met with the final explosion of Finch's Ender. It continues in its trail until it skims over some spilled pencils and a few arbitrary sketchbooks. The camera slows its pace revealing that the artist is not one of shame as his depictions are of the phallic nature. It continues.
The camera finally demonstrates the jeaned buttocks of the house's owner who is moving towards an expensive sound system. His hands enter the camera's view and it watches him fiddle with a few controls. 'This is Your Life' by The Dust Brothers hits. The camera spins around revealling that it is Jack of Blades and follows him back to a step which he perches on. )
and you open the door
and you step inside
we're inside our hearts
now imagine your pain
is a white ball of healing light
that's right, feel your pain,
the pain itself,
is a white ball of healing light
i don't think so
Jack of Blades: So the powers that be have decided to constrain me to a striped shirt. Very well. Jack Blaine Nolan would have relished the opportunity, considered it a chance to perceive the artform from a different vantage spot. Jack of Blades sees it as a desperate attempt to subdue his 'charismatic' persona. A kind of 'letting the inmates run the asylum thing.' How the police will occasionally allow young denizens to ride around in their vehicles so that they get a taste of the chaos they are effectively creating. This is one of those times.
this is your life
good to the last drop,
doesn't get any better than this
this is your life, and it's ending
one minute at a time
this isn't a seminar
and this isn't a weekend retreat
where you are now
you can't even imagine
what the bottom will be like
Jack of Blades: But maybe I'm neglecting this opportunity. As Neitzsche says, manipulation when in power can only gain you more. Or something along those lines. It looks as if the Übermensch will have to play nicely and pick a side. Of course, the only two real sides are Apollo and Dionysus, with everything else, there is only two opinions and a graying division. To side with Dionysus, the Goddess of wine, the veritable Bacchae who vomited her drink on my face or to side with Apollo, the clean cut champion of a team of Gods?
only after disaster
can we be resurrected
it's only after you've lost
everything that you're
free to do anything
Jack of Blades: Of course, like Zarathustra announced from the top of the mountain, I may also have to do some announcing.
nothing is static,
everything is appalling (evolving),
everything is
falling apart
(A voice calls from offscreen. It's clearly a female's but it's gruff and hoarse from either a hard life or an addiction.)
Jack's friend: Jack. I can't find any condoms. Wanna just use the 'mind over matter' method?
Jack of Blades: Beep. You've run out of time and I've lost interest.Take this and get a taxi or roll it, light it and inhale. Whatever suits you.
(He throws a wad of crumpled notes behind him and a hand enters the view to pick it up. The same voice mutters 'Jackass' as her footsteps echo an increasing scale of length.)
you are not a beautiful and unique snowflake
you are the same decaying
organic matter as everything else
we are all a part of the same compost heap
we are the all-singing,
all-dancing crap of the world
you are not your bank account,
you are not the clothes you wear
you are not the contents of your wallet
you are not your bowel cancer
you are not your grande latte
you are not the car you drive
you are not your fucking khakis
Jack of Blades: Speaking of the Übermensch, there appears to be a new superman at the WCF. This talent initative thing seems to be getting out of hand. They scoured an institute to find me, a dead industry for JJ Biggs, the Betty Ford Centre for Ace and a chemical spillage for my Queen. Ironically, it seems that both The Superman and The Ubermensch both came from some mental facility. At least, I have some degree of elemental prowess. Superman seems to be one step away from wearing boxers above his tights and wearing a towel to the ring. I'd love to test the theory that he's faster than a bullet, but for the moment the Ubermensch will not allow himself to become his facsimile's Lex Luthor.
you have to give up
Jack of Blades: I have Wonder Woman in my sights at the moment. Admittadely, she doesn't exactly conform to the Amazonian archetypal physical figure but I'm pretty sure This Joker can turn her into my Harley Quinn.
you have to realise that someday you will die,
until you know that you are useless
i say let me never be complete
i say may i never be content
i say deliver me from swedish furniture
i say deliver me from clever art
i say deliver me from clear skin and perfect teeth
i say you have to give up
i say evolve, and let the chips
fall where they may
Jack of Blades: Of course, this week Jack will not play the antagonist and I will certainly not be the protagonist. I will be the adjudicator. The law maker not the defender. But then again, I've never been one to pay my parking tickets. It may be that playing the omniscient non-factor will shock my Queen into her metamorphosis.
i want you to hit me as hard as you can
This is a decadent palace. Ebony walls featuring sinister, if contemporary art. A sort of Feng Shui instructing the furniture. This is a million miles (and dollars) away from the home of a certain anorexic who haunts a local hotel.
The camera opens on the beautiful avantgarde carpet and traces its way forward moving over the antiquities and shreads of wealth. The movement is met with the final explosion of Finch's Ender. It continues in its trail until it skims over some spilled pencils and a few arbitrary sketchbooks. The camera slows its pace revealing that the artist is not one of shame as his depictions are of the phallic nature. It continues.
The camera finally demonstrates the jeaned buttocks of the house's owner who is moving towards an expensive sound system. His hands enter the camera's view and it watches him fiddle with a few controls. 'This is Your Life' by The Dust Brothers hits. The camera spins around revealling that it is Jack of Blades and follows him back to a step which he perches on. )
and you open the door
and you step inside
we're inside our hearts
now imagine your pain
is a white ball of healing light
that's right, feel your pain,
the pain itself,
is a white ball of healing light
i don't think so
Jack of Blades: So the powers that be have decided to constrain me to a striped shirt. Very well. Jack Blaine Nolan would have relished the opportunity, considered it a chance to perceive the artform from a different vantage spot. Jack of Blades sees it as a desperate attempt to subdue his 'charismatic' persona. A kind of 'letting the inmates run the asylum thing.' How the police will occasionally allow young denizens to ride around in their vehicles so that they get a taste of the chaos they are effectively creating. This is one of those times.
this is your life
good to the last drop,
doesn't get any better than this
this is your life, and it's ending
one minute at a time
this isn't a seminar
and this isn't a weekend retreat
where you are now
you can't even imagine
what the bottom will be like
Jack of Blades: But maybe I'm neglecting this opportunity. As Neitzsche says, manipulation when in power can only gain you more. Or something along those lines. It looks as if the Übermensch will have to play nicely and pick a side. Of course, the only two real sides are Apollo and Dionysus, with everything else, there is only two opinions and a graying division. To side with Dionysus, the Goddess of wine, the veritable Bacchae who vomited her drink on my face or to side with Apollo, the clean cut champion of a team of Gods?
only after disaster
can we be resurrected
it's only after you've lost
everything that you're
free to do anything
Jack of Blades: Of course, like Zarathustra announced from the top of the mountain, I may also have to do some announcing.
nothing is static,
everything is appalling (evolving),
everything is
falling apart
(A voice calls from offscreen. It's clearly a female's but it's gruff and hoarse from either a hard life or an addiction.)
Jack's friend: Jack. I can't find any condoms. Wanna just use the 'mind over matter' method?
Jack of Blades: Beep. You've run out of time and I've lost interest.Take this and get a taxi or roll it, light it and inhale. Whatever suits you.
(He throws a wad of crumpled notes behind him and a hand enters the view to pick it up. The same voice mutters 'Jackass' as her footsteps echo an increasing scale of length.)
you are not a beautiful and unique snowflake
you are the same decaying
organic matter as everything else
we are all a part of the same compost heap
we are the all-singing,
all-dancing crap of the world
you are not your bank account,
you are not the clothes you wear
you are not the contents of your wallet
you are not your bowel cancer
you are not your grande latte
you are not the car you drive
you are not your fucking khakis
Jack of Blades: Speaking of the Übermensch, there appears to be a new superman at the WCF. This talent initative thing seems to be getting out of hand. They scoured an institute to find me, a dead industry for JJ Biggs, the Betty Ford Centre for Ace and a chemical spillage for my Queen. Ironically, it seems that both The Superman and The Ubermensch both came from some mental facility. At least, I have some degree of elemental prowess. Superman seems to be one step away from wearing boxers above his tights and wearing a towel to the ring. I'd love to test the theory that he's faster than a bullet, but for the moment the Ubermensch will not allow himself to become his facsimile's Lex Luthor.
you have to give up
Jack of Blades: I have Wonder Woman in my sights at the moment. Admittadely, she doesn't exactly conform to the Amazonian archetypal physical figure but I'm pretty sure This Joker can turn her into my Harley Quinn.
you have to realise that someday you will die,
until you know that you are useless
i say let me never be complete
i say may i never be content
i say deliver me from swedish furniture
i say deliver me from clever art
i say deliver me from clear skin and perfect teeth
i say you have to give up
i say evolve, and let the chips
fall where they may
Jack of Blades: Of course, this week Jack will not play the antagonist and I will certainly not be the protagonist. I will be the adjudicator. The law maker not the defender. But then again, I've never been one to pay my parking tickets. It may be that playing the omniscient non-factor will shock my Queen into her metamorphosis.
i want you to hit me as hard as you can
