What current flows straight and true?

The powers that be are "we". Many theories exist concerning the human species being linked by electricity and "energy". I don't see it as much as I want to. I know it to be true, but it's not a common belief; connectivity and shared conscience is no Christianity, therefore it must be a liberal mirage. You can see the arcs bursting in children: the way they learn and behave, how pure of heart they can seem before our jaded and sometimes cruel society crashes down upon them. I wish it wasn't gloom and doom most of the time, but it is. Our crippling insecurities crush us down into what we believe to be shining diamonds, yet LED equipped billboards turn bedroom windows into televisions. The amplified guilty pleasures of a chimpanzee strapped to a chair attempt to negate good parenting, safe choices, and even the way we dress. Eventually ad agencies will fight over who will tag the moon with their species-deprecating slogan. The term brainwashed comes to mind...though it isn't correct; we buy into it, we want it, we want it to crawl inside our frontal lobe and fuck the crease. All that ails us as a society and a generation is a welcomed enemy; it stands in front of us with the biggest gun we've ever seen. That weapon is money. Every starved child cadaver we see, every fucking vagrant in a pool of piss, every screaming mother, every child molester, every coke addled prostitute with three kids sleeping on a soiled mattress, every rapist, and every cornered human being with one breath left in it's lungs that lives inside every one of us exists due to a monetary influence somewhere along the life line. Avarice is made tangible by a monetary system. Goods and services are in turn hoarded, our fear of loss and insecurities are then bolstered by our unquenchable want for new and better lives. The majority of this planet has no thirst for knowledge, because the majority of this populace is dead. Famine, diseases, rampant viruses, are all killing us and research can only be conducted when there is enough funding or public interest. We are only concerned with populating this planet and using it for archaic "good ol' fashioned" symbiotic habitation. That's our message to the infinite universe, "WE DON'T GIVE A FUCK!". There are days when I can't conceive of the human race being any better than a viral bacteria. Numerous accidents had to occur in order for water to even get here. We then crawled out of the water and decided more of us must exist in order to stay alive, thus creating the cyclic behavior of survival. We are a cancer, as many inhuman silver screen villains decree. We will eat it all up, until it's all gone; everything else we do in the meantime only exponentially perpetuates our extinction. I look up in the dark abyss and see nothing. I literally see nothing. Every bright star is already dead, and anything else that lives in the universe needs to avoid what they see here. If we find them they will be raped, interrogated, killed and sold to the highest bidder. We must reconnect the circuitry. Our resources on this planet must be completely compiled, tallied and shared. We must reverse this behavior. By the time our leaders do something it will be because our option of being symbiotic leeches has inevitably failed. Quite obviously by that time we will have also failed ourselves as living creatures and marked the human in the history books as the most ignorant and selfish beast in the universe. But hey...you already knew that, didn't you?

Pat & CuCu - Part I

Doodling on watercolor paper was the best Cu Chulainn could do. The stumbling hostess just about cracked her tailbone in half getting the materials (a Bic pen and said paper) as there were various brown fluids in patterns of Nike and flip-flop soles on the green granite floor. She sat next to the boy nick-named CuCu in one movement- the signature of a person who's had one too many. She gave a facetious gander around the vacuous entryway of her parent's home, and then back to CuCu with a shimmering grin. The house was a typical three-story Orange County wasteland, with plastic-like- seemingly varnished- banisters leading to empty white rooms with empty white walls. Her guests had all gone home or passed out where they stood. The time was 3:30 am. Cu Chulainn scribbled with vigor, hence the last girl standing had the nerve to ask his most loathed question. "So, you draw huh?" Her eyes boldly fixed on his brow, but they met no other set. CuCu was convergent; eyes on the pad of paper; ideas were swimming, flowing and merging. His thoughts melted together and the girl named Patricia was merely...there.
"Sure, I guess." He said coldly. She wasn't vapid- oh no, not this one. She was drunk. Which tends to accelerate vapidity- the perfect excuse for anything above the belt.
"Sorry, I'm kinda drunk." She slurred as she curled a lock of hair behind her ear and took a sip of what smelt like Ouzo. "So, like- you're the only one I don't know- and it's my house...I think I deserve more than just a cold shoulder." She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, feigning a cricket. Cu Chulainn gave no response other than a quick smirk and an intentional nasal exhalation. She looked over CuCu's cold shoulder and saw a stone covered in what looked to be paisley bandannas. "What's that?" Patricia asked innocently enough.
"Rag-na-rock." He giggled, met eyes with her longer than he wanted to, and returned to his terrible joke of a drawing. He shook his head. He had seen what a pretty girl she was. Big mistake. Now she knew she could continue. She could continue with her ruse, she was in control- "give 'em that look and you give it all up." he thought.
"What's your name?" She bit her index fingernail, yet she wasn't a biter: a sign she was a bit histrionic. Cu Chulainn slapped the paper pad against his knees- he knew...time to give the princess what she wanted.
"Cu Chulainn."
"I'm sorry?"
"Me too."
"What?"
"My parents...they named me after the Irish Achilles..." CuCu was tired of the story and always ended it the same way, "...but you can call me CuCu." He cringed at what came next: typically a shrill squeal and a "that's so adorable!"
"Cool. Hound of Ulster, right?" She sipped at her libation proudly.
"Did you just say that? Or am I truly that fucked?" He stared at her black and lustrous eyelashes, at her porcelain mocha skin and deep brown eyes. He had now noticed that which previously begged for attention. That which now had Cu Chulainn in the form of surprised and smitten lust.
"No. There's more to me than a big stupid house. My name is Patricia by the way." They shook hands.
"Is that Ouzo you're drinking, Patricia?"
"Good nose. Have you been to Greece?"
"No. My nanny was a bartender." They both laughed hysterically. "But seriously, is it time to go or something?" She was disappointed by the query and wanted to know why this boy seemed so uneasy.
"How did you end up here?"
"Um- my friends kind of left me here. I'm pretty sure I have no way to get home until...like six or something."
"Holy shit! Some friends! By what names do these fiends proclaim?"
"Brian, Mike, and Andy." He fidgeted.
"Andy is a friend...wow, I can't believe they left you...then again...Brian, Mike, Andy and...Cu Chulainn? I think you're the black sheep where ever you go!" She laughed until promptly embarrassing herself quiet with a few snorts.
"Now that's cute! I bet you snort at all the boys!" More snorts came as well as a friendly slap to the chest. Sociology and psychology were CuCu's majors. He knew what he was in for: a long early morning of fresh tales told by full pink lips he was allowed to stare at.

New Podcast on Radio Mana!

My Glo-fi tribute and breakdown. Listen here or below. New Writings coming soon!

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Mana Rebirth

So I'm bringing back the ol' "Radio Mana" the podcast where I give listeners an ear full of what I consider to be great music and a bit o' commentary. You can find it here or listen below. Not much else to say, just an update- going to practice trumpet now and enjoy my day off. Love you all.

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St. Patrick

What a strange time to be a human being in the world today. War, strife, death and irresponsible leadership on all fronts. It feels like we live in the dark ages. Although this time around we have heat seeking-infrared-dick-filleting warheads that can sizzle a nation to ash. So, here I sit with a Glenlivet on the rocks; it's St. Patty's day narrated by Titus Andronicus, and as I tap my gunboats to the beat I'm hoping their show in New York with The Pogues is going as well as it kicks off in my day dreams. Cheers everyone! Here's to love found and love lost- and of course to a very delusional and righteous fellow by the name of Pátraic: the Apostle of Ireland. Drink up me babbers!

The beginning is only the beginning.

This is a test.

A lame one at that. Why do I have to challenge myself to become productive?

Because I'm a schizophrenic & competitive nob-end, that's why.

I plan on being more creative and less wasteful: hence the name of my blog. By the end of 2011 I hope to be able to play jazz on the trumpet, finish editing my motion picture scripts, write a hefty piece of my novel (of which my lazy ass has written seven fucking pages), and produce an amateur ambient/alternative album. Here you will find the writings, suggestions, opinions, music, photographs and general musings of Conn Donato Cianci-McGraw. Thank you.