Below are the 4 most recent journal entries recorded in metalcricket's LiveJournal:

Thursday, September 1st, 2005
8:47 am	The Brownsville Syndrome Good times yesterday, eight men bound together under one single war-cry... "I want you to start living as a gay woman." Hilarious. [Revsionist post moved for next update.] Had the first practice today. Five Days From Friday is back, re-vamped, and who knows, maybe good? =P Time will tell. Today was also the day of the discovery of Galvan Logic, which follows.. "If a radio does not have speakers, it ceases to be a radio." I'd explain more, but doing so would drive me into another laugh attack, and I don't believe my ribcage and heart could handle that. But such is such. Stopped by hooters with the crowd yesterday. Typical american food. No complaints on the girls' department (although the Cuban and the Panamenian had a lively debate on the 'properness' of the establishment). People will get tired of it. People always get tired of things. It's the Brownsville Syndrome. Whenever something new opens, masses and masses of people flock, to get a whiff of the new place. Before long, they get tired, and only return every so often. I've seen it happen so often it stopped being funny. I shall analyze a few of these events. Past incident~ Galaxy Bowling When it opened, everyone wanted to go there. And everyone did. For the first 6 months, you couldn't find a place to play, it was so crowded. Then the novelty wore off. Only ones that go there anymore are actual bowlers and casual sportsmen. Gone are the crowds of blue shirts and khaki pants. Granted, the place scared quite a few people away with their exorbitant prices, but once they cut them, the novelty wore off. Present incident~ Hooters. It's kind of sad that the first mark of Brownsville becoming a true metropolis is not a barnes and noble, or a borders...but a fuckin' hooters. Went there, it's...bad to the point where you can consider it being good. Sad thing is, the Periwinkle Army (private school kids) have overrun the place, and times need to be chosen carefully to avoid running into these rather annoying individuals. The younger ones are particularly more inclined for mischief...little fucking shits think they own the world. Future incident~ Starbucks. Coming soon! And the Periwinkle Army will take control of it, prices will jack up, and people will just loiter there, think they're high and mighty because of a cup of coffee. It's good coffee, but it's expensive. I fear that even if I had enough discretionary disposable income(CASH XD!), I couldn't enjoy a simple cup of coffee without someone arguing loudly about makeup or something. I also fear the new horde of pseudointellectuals. Not that pseudointellectuals are common down here, but if there's a hooters now...who knows? Snot-noseed spoiled kids and snot-nosed pseudointellectuals..great. I think I'll have to resort to that lovely little coffee / pastry shop. Progress is as progress does...and common sense becomes the first casualty of this new progress. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Saturday, August 27th, 2005
12:42 am	Brutality and Luminescence Friday. There's a lot of things people don't like to see in the mornings. I've been on the world wide web for...six years now. I've seen some sick shit, but even at its sickest, it still doesn't compare to some of the things actual, tangible reality has to offer. Like asscracks at eight in the morning. Definitely not the time to see hairy asscracks. Actually, no time is the time to see hairy asscracks. (Why are we talking about asscracks, Mr.Silvertongue?) It happened today, the red and white dress down day, first of my senior year, and as it always happens, my eyes were constantly scanning the surroundings, sometimes my eyes feasted on something, but then they puked back that feast when they were laid on something else. One thing that was prevalent in "casual fridays" at the school, was tight shirts. Girls, guys, everyone loves to wear tight shirts. Why? In most cases, it is used to express a degree of hotness (which I can agree with), but in other cases, the reasons why escape my mind. Why, if you're of certain body proportions, do you wear shirts that most probably were your size...IN THE 5TH FUCKING GRADE. Doing so exposes your body, and a lot of your skin, to the general public. A few pointers- ~There is one thing that jiggles, and it's jell-o. I hate jell-o, so naturally, what I Hate more is all the flab that jiggles from your body. ~The only situation in which I should view your asscrack is if you were mooning me. I have no inclination towards that, so any sort of 'line' with 'hair' showing in it is not allowed, not in this life, not ever. -You will refrain from wearing such shirts that allow the 1000 people in your general area to view your...well, for lack of a better word, to view your fatass. Now, don't take me as a misogynist or anything. I just calls them as I sees them. Guys do it, too, to a certain extent. Kinda like [most] girls do it to announce "LOOK, I HAVE BREASTS." [most] guys do it to announce "LOOK I WORK OUT." It's a fashion show, basically. There are some, however, that like my friends, see these ''casual fridays'', as just that, casual fridays. An opportunity to wear clothing that does not draw the sun's blistering rage. But, women are beautiful, regardless of fashion statements or not, and I can't exactly be 'OMG FUCK FASHION !'' Girls have the divine right to look pretty, and most of the time they do, personality aside. (Let's face it, as much of a gentleman maybe, my thinking energy sometimes flows southward instead of northward). I survived the school day, catching up on some much-needed sleep the last two periods. 'Twas then that we did our regular friday ritual, and it dawned on me how versatile these meetings are, with my friends. Movies, and a three-five hour talk. It's interesting...the trascendence from mundane topics, to birthright, to new music, and finally to nostalgia, a topic which we've been dwelling on quite recently. It's a good feeling, looking back fondly at things, and humourously at some things which would have sent us into hiding when they actually happend. But that's age to you. It's all so different when you're in the top. There's nowhere else to climb, and due to family honor, you can't very well turn back without some major embarassments. No more economic paradoxes, we need to start loving our things more. Except hip-hop. Fuck hip-hop. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, August 22nd, 2005
6:18 pm	Harpies and Metal Blasphemy. Bzchirp, Bzchirp I am an artist. I love life. I love the smell of mornings, the damp soil, of movement. I love the musical silence. I fucking hate those who make me not love life. Those who blast perfume in my face. Those who desecrate the soil. Those who move only to block and hinder my own music. Those chatterboxes who deserve nothing short of a hatchet through the skull. El hombre es el unico animal que come sin tener hambre, bebe sin tener sed, y habla sin tener nada que decir. [Man is the only animal who eats without hunger, drinks without thirst, and speaks without having anything to say] Case in point, the harpies today. During a 50 minute period, in which I was one of three men in a 30-woman class. I was quietly reading, my back to the wall, and a circle of girls next to me, in the snippets of conversation I overheard, I could only form one conclusion; They were talking about the same damn thing. How is that even possible? On conversations with my friends, we spend a maximum of 20 minutes per topic. And we never break out into song. Because....that's just gay. But people love stupidity, and the same people I've been unceremoniously dumped with in my seventh period (where the boy-girl ratio is 3:28, but in terms of enlightened boy-girl, 1:28) are the same people who will provide most of the material you will be seeing in the following days and weeks. Ignorance makes my blood boil, and that in turn churns the creative energy inside of me, and I channel it through the silver-tongue that God has given me. (The fun part is that I will enjoy making snide remarks at the expense of my dull ex-kinsmen with the Wraith.) <--- Parentheses added upon Polynomial request. Moving on, I would like to declare something. VH1 sucks. I get home, get rid of my homework, and then flip on the TV. Nothing else of interest is on, Comedy Central is showing some lame movie, History Channel is talking about WWII (for the 292928928928298i29th time), MTV is showing the usual hip-hop shit, Mythbusters isn't on....etc. So I let the channel fall to VH1, where the show 'The 40 Most Awesomely Bad Metal Songs". I figure it can get interesting. Show starts out, and for a while, people actually offer constructive criticism, such as why chainsaws shouldn't be used, and other such advice. Then they show Iron Maiden's 'Bring your daughter...to the slaughter', as a bad metal song. Despite that the song is one of Maiden's best, I could perhaps agree that it left something to desire lyrically. It wasn't awesomely bad, it was alright. They showed some songs, like Creed and Insane Clown Posse, who are as metal as Toby Keith is hip-hop. Ignorant fuckers. But as the countdown kept on ticking down, all I could hear from the commentators who call themselves comedians, was "OMG THE SONG IS NOT ABOUT BOOZE OR SEX OR DRUGS OR SATAN, IT'S NOT METAL'' Well, fuck you, Mr. Skinny-Asian-Turned-Metal-Conoisseur. It was very infuriating, having a 5"1, 120 pound asian guy telling me that metal was about booze and sex and generally comparing it to hip-hop. These guys ain't metal, Viacom, they're dipshits who think Metal is listening to Limp Bizkit while sipping a martini on a suburban porch with a whitewashed fence. Seriously, the only metal that these fuckers would have in their body is if I ran them through with a sword. Which would be very metal, indeed. :) But back to the show. If it wasn't for my terrible aim, there'd be a controller jammed into the television right now. The sad thing, is that most people have that misconception about Metal music, all thanks to the undeserving fame a few death metal (See shitty metal) bands received. True metal is not about Satanism or Booze or fucking tons of girls. True metal is about love, fantasy, adventure, and the achieving of victory through obstacles. If you want music about fucking and orgies and doing roadies and drinking it up, That's poser metal, also identified with bands such as Motley Crue. The only good Poser Metal band is probably Van Halen. It's just that people who can't read are the ones that stain the name of metal, without bothering to look at the songs. For example, Iron Maiden's 'The Number of the Beast' is not about praising Satan, it is merely telling a story based on Revelations 13:18. Metal is Storytelling. But if you want me to be your Satan, I will be the Satan of your culture. The counter-cultural, silver-tongued, random Mexican. Brand me, but do not judge me, for I can only be judged by the One most High. People choose not to read, that's why lyrics are controversial. People just can't understand the lyrical and musical masterpieces these songs are. And that's why they gravitate to the ages old 'HAPPY LETS HOLD HANDS IN A YELLOW SUBMARINE YAY' pop standard, or the newly formed scum of 'YO MOTHAFUKA IMA BUST A CAP IN YO ASS'. Unlike most Right-wingers (and Left-wingers) that profess to follow my faith, I will not press for you to change. If you want to listen to prefabricated music, you're in your full right. If you want to listen to music about the degradation of women and the desecration of the right and good in society, then more power to you. I won't tell you to listen to power metal, or trance, or the things I like. However, I will state the facts. And the fact is, Power Metal is supreme. This is one unquestionable, unmistekeable truth. Following the facts is up to the reader. Quite frankly, I don't give a shit. And at the risk of plaguiarizing a phrase that Hot-Topic has already fucked dead.. "Your favorite band sucks." Thank you. Fuck VH1. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, August 20th, 2005
12:37 pm	Help Wanted The gentleman in me is grounded for now. I actually helped someone out. Didn't message me at all during the summer, now it's.. HEY CAN U HELP ME WITH HW. I should have said no, but blah. But I guess I'll do myself a favor, next dipshit that asks me for help and does not deserve it, gets blocked. And now, I created this LJ only as an outpost for my Blogspot - http://metalcricket.blogspot.com So what's there is here, and what's here is there. Welcome to the random musings from left field. I will be your loving host, the Metal Cricket, as I show you insights of what goes on inside my world. Today's Rant: Carbon Copies and You. There is nothing so irritating as unwanted noise. And noise is what echoes in our classroom walls when a teacher fails to control the situation. A reverberating, banshee-like shriek that is nothing but noise pollution. 90% of these...people, if you call them that, are nothing but carbon copies of each other. Mass produced, cheap, material made by some Third World Divinity. Shrill cries, interrogating about what happened during the summer. Guess what, little CC? No one cares. Because you all did the same thing. You bought your few cds, went to the island for a tan and to get piss drunk, stayed in the same hotel, went to the same night clubs, smoked from the same pack of cigarretes, sang out loud to the same song, and for all matters, had sex with the same guy. What I don't need is for you to bring shit no one cares about. The people you're chattering with about your summer are the same people you did the THINGS WITH. You go one night without talking with your friends or comparing cock sizes, and the world is in turmoil. And you can't bear not talking with your friends for just..50 minutes out of the day, maybe even more. Do they not teach you respect for the sanctity of silence? It's been observed by every single major religion and even the atheists for years. Silence..the beauty of it...it's almost tangible. Yet you break it with your constant chatter, or blurting out songs in the middle of class. Songs with lyrics about being yourself, being unique. You're not unique. Every other fucktard in your immediate vicinity has the same song on his stereo, on a burned CD with 6 remixes of the same song. The whole effect of being unique is kinda ruined when you look just like your friends, when you buy the same shoes and same style outfits, most of the time, way too small for your body, so the innocent public is witness to a body most of the cases, people don't want to see. If you have folds, keep them out of the public's eye. Being yourself..hah.. You look alike, you sound alike, you even talk alike. One mass plague, moving and throbbing as if you shared one mind, one heart, the collective mind of the carbon copy. Like paper dolls, one is all and all are one...but paper thin, shallow. Be smart and grow quiet...respect the silence. (1 Comment |Comment on this)