A nice rainy day today. I have noticed over the years that I like being woken up by thunder. I usually can sleep through anything, so the thunder has to either be extremely loud, or be happening late in my sleep cycle when I was about to get up anyways. Waking up that way just immediately sets a tone for my entire day. It breaks up the continuity of my quintessence. It's a thread of common experience that all humanity beneath the storm can share. My fondest memories are waiting in the dark for the power to come back on. That's one downside to living in the city, moderate consistency of utilities. Well, as long as you live near white people that is.
Speaking of rain, Tristram wrote a new song recently entitled "Heavy Rain." It is based on: A dream I had, the recent kidnapping of a local girl and a video game with the same title. It really gives me the heebie geebie lemon squeezies to think about kidnapping. The unknown is what scares me about it. If someone just shows up and stabs me to death, I can get that. One and done, stab and slab, prick and dick if you will. But to take me or anyone else and just do Kerry King knows what, that is what gets to me. Of course we all have heard of the recent case in Cleveland where a man abducted those women and had kept them in his house for almost a decade. In this day and age, the idea that things like that could happen blows my damn mind. I hate kidnapping, that is one thing that I do not think is coo. If X-Men were real, I would want to be Professor Xavier and use that sweet ass machine to track down every kidnapper/rapist/murdering asshole and make their brains explode. When I was a kid I used to wish upon a star that I could be a vampire, or that X-Men would be real and my power would be like Dante from "Devil May Cry." I know that's stupid, but I would use my demon powers to make sure shitbag kidnappers got ween slapped hard. Fuck those people. These are my thoughts late at night when I wait for the Sandman to spoon me...
If you have not played this game, please do.
As I suspected, it's been fucking done.
Give the fuck up.
And now to switch it up, let me tell you about something I witnessed the other day. I was at my place of employment at 6 in the morning. We recently acquired outside patio furniture that now has to be unlocked and set up every morning. Yeah, honks ass. Anywho, I was out in the cold blustery winds of a Michigan May morning and a young yuppie hipster couple walked by. I thought nothing of it and went on with my business. Then I noticed they got about half a block away and they stopped. They talked for a moment and then kept walking for a few seconds then stopped again. They squabbled for a minute then she began walking back towards me and left the King of Carrot Boners where he stood. She walked past me, pulled out her camera (because of course she always has her camera handy) and took a picture of something out of my line of site. She then put her gear away and walked back to her pal and back on the path of righteous Bohemia. My curiosity was peaked and so I walked over to what she took a picture of and was bewildered. It was a crushed Boxed Water container. That's it, the dregs of some yup-truck being documented by some bombastic beatnik. That is art nowadays. Think about this situation, it's 6 am, they walk past this "street art" and had to stop and turn around because she would be unable to live with herself the rest of the day for passing up the opportunity to capture the essence of such a grandiose piece of abstraction. Fuck art. I should specify, fuck conventional, pleasing, white people think it's just dandy art. If it doesn't challenge you, stir something inside you or disturb you then it's just paste. Lies enriched, homogenized, and monetized paste. Alienation is art. Aliens are art. Paint the red green, flip want and greed. Make this scene mean. That's my rap on that. Conky out.
If Bob Hoskin and Jason Alexander had a baby,
you would have my father. Good looking guy.
Up and early this morning. I have to go to work in a little bit unfortunately. Eating those almond St. Claus cookies and black cherry Kool-Aid for breakfast. You know, those clovey windmill cookies? Instead of getting stale they get chewy, but in a good way not a weird way. Like when you realize you like that one thing that you thought was taboo? Like when I accepted my sexual attraction to Disney characters? It's just a good healthy feeling. Or Jessica Rabbit, remember Jessica Rabbit? I think she robbed me of my innocence by 8 years old. And I tell you this sailor, I didn't miss it. All my childhood dreams were washed away by sparkly dresses and strangled with red hair. Good times.
Merrrrrrrr...
Jacky Boy...
Speaking of smothering my virtues like a lobotomized Jack Nicholson, I think I have recently been doing grown up things. I have found myself going to the home improvement center known as Lowe's almost every other day lately. I find myself wandering the corridors of this coliseum of timber and iron in search of my sense of self. I find anything with an ergonomic handle and I just squeeze and caress anything that is calling out my name. I wonder if this is the undoing of a man, or if I am a dwarf star compressing vapors and dark matter of masculinity and the Lowe's home improvement center is my basilica of redemption. But another thing has happened to me twice there, I suddenly violently have to release my bowels out of no where. One minute I am deciding between what color handle I want for my lifetime warranty-hassle free-nickel bound-corrosion resistant nipple saw and the next minute I am limping to the back of the store screaming "CLEAR THE WAY!!!! CONKLIN COLOSTOMY ON THE MOVE!!!!!!" When I do finally reach the bathroom and purge the beast from my depths, I take a moment to look around. And I tell you what, they have some really nice bathrooms there. The floors are nicely tiled, the stalls are painted with colors that are gentle on the eyes, and the locks really make you feel secure. Security is important when you have your pants around your ankles. I love being hermetically sealed into any bathroom facility I am in. So I guess the point of this whole thing is to let you all know that if you are looking for a great bathroom, check out Lowe's. Good stuff.
"We call out the beasts of the sea to come
forth and join us.This night is yours."
Now let's totally change the subject and talk about something that I have been thinking about for a while now: fish. Let's talk about the fish. Will someone talk to me about the fish huh? I think fish are fascinating. I have always had a desire to one day have a really nice aquarium and observe fish and have a little ecosystem going on in my place of living. But overtime, I have decided that I don't think that would be ethical to do. Let me tell you some shit about fish, for decades it was common thought that all fish had about a 3 second memory, that they do not have a nervous system and that being able to find the exact stream they were spawned was simply instinct. This is nothing but falsehoods and anthropocentric presumptions. By the early 90's, only about 6 scientific journals on fish had been published. Only a decade later and over 600 journals had been published within that time. Not only do they have a memory capacity that surpasses most mammals, they are able to build strong social standards within their school. They know who they can trust, who is mean, who is smart and who is selfish. Their sense of community and "greater good" far surpasses us mere humans. And it has been proven that fish have an intense and reactive nervous system equal to any other sentient being. So when I think about these things, and I look at an animal who's natural habitat is a vast endless ocean or river stuck in tiny fish tank, I can't help but imagine that they are in misery. And even if I built a tank the size of a house, it would still be nothing more but prison for my fish pals. So if you are reading this, I ask you to consider liberating your fish buddies. Trust me, they don't like it in there and they must have nothing but animosity for their apparent caretaker. They are beautiful and whimsical but some things just aren't meant for us. There is beauty and wonder in the unknown. Just imagine your fish friends swimming around freely in the oily, plastic bag infested waters of it's habitat. Boy oh boy will they dance and sing with gumdrop smiles in the extremely flammable carbonates and latex condom swamps. We should all be condemned. Good grief.
Me everyday. Except I'm not water skiing. Or doing anything
fun like water skiing. And I am fat. And the board is my penis.
Cause I am jerking off with my tears. That lake is my tears.
Winding down after a hard day of rocking. Tristram has been a well oiled machine of destruction. We have written quite a few new songs and have been working really hard to get ready to record in the next couple of months. It's been a long time that I have been genuinely excited to practice every week for any band. I get so wrapped up in being a shitbag that sometimes I forget it's coo to have fun every now and then. It feels nice to have something to look forward too. I am looking for some big changes in the next few months. I have no idea what those changes will be but I really need to break my routine. Which is basically jerking of stale-fish. Perhaps one day I will be cool...
Anywho, I just got done looking up a list of flowers and the meanings behind them. Isn't that the coolest thing you've ever heard? Now that's what I call jerking off stale-fish But anywho-diddle, I was thinking about getting a tattoo again sometime soon and I was thinking that flowers are coo and I think they look good as tattoos. I like plants, plants are just simple beings that don't try to get involved with my life. They just try to live their life and I respect that. Of course a lot of people fuck with them and that's unfortunate. One day the Ents will rise and murder us all and we will deserve it. Which on that note, I am thinking about getting a tattoo of the flower known as "Monkshood" or "Wolf's Bane" because it represents hatred and misanthropy. But then I wonder about the whole idea behind tattoos. As in my earlier posts, I have no stronger feeling about tattoos other then they are neat. I think they can be expression, or just personal reflections. I have no interest in maiming my flesh in the name of flare. I am not looking for people to approach me and ask me "What do your tattoos mean?" or "Did that hurt?" That second thing is just fucking moronic. Of course it fucking hurt you shit-shoveling shish-kabob. But as far as the meaning goes, I know a lot of people get pissed when people ask them what their tattoos mean. But I think it's a little unreasonable to think that no one should be allowed to ask that question. Obviously if you were willing to inflict that much pain upon yourself then I would hope that it meant something to you. Otherwise you're just a masochist which hey, to each their own. Fuck it, do it live.
We should all be so lucky.
But I don't think we should be shocked when someone asks us what our tattoos mean. How much inquisition you are willing to tolerate is of course up to each individual to decide. I personally think my tattoos represent the chapter of my life that I felt it necessary to get a tattoo. But I also don't have interest in conversing with most human beings so do it live. I guess my point is that if you have tattoos you can tell every person in the world to fuck off all you like but certain images and symbols bring about connotations and assumptions about people whether we like it or not. And it's up to you to decide if it's worth contesting those presumptions or if you just don't give a fuck. I think when it comes to tattoos, you can have your cake and eat it too. Some tattoos should represent who you are and some should be no one's fucking business but your own. Raise your flag, but burn your welcome mats. The Conklin Way.
Wow I really let that get out of hand. I just wanted to talk about some flowers and then Conky got carried away. I don't really have a good end-er for this, I am kind of just mumbling on feeling burnt out from ranting. Just feeling stressed and over-worked. I just try to live day by day. Being a loser Maggot is hard sometimes. Someone has to blaze the trail though. What the fuck am I even saying now. Blerp sherp mippity merp.
It's been a bit. I know you all begin to worry when you don't have insight into my comings and goings. You can all loosen the nooses and step back from the ledges Conky's back. I'd like to begin by talking about a subject I have had much interest in over the years: electricity. When I was in high school I was obsessed with the exploits and life of Nikola Tesla. Which is someone I found affinity with despite dying three decades prior to my birth. But that is a tale for another time, right now I want you to go to your fuse box and flip all the switches until all your power has shut off. I'll wait.............done yet?...well I guess if you did do it you can't fucking read this anymore unless you are on a laptop or some shit so I guess just pretend for a minute. Can you imagine an existence without power? Really think about it, how long could you deal with absolutely no electricity? Personally, I think I would last about an hour. Even now the heat of this laptop is warming my crotch, cooking all the sperm I have brewing downstairs. What would I do without sperm cooking technology on my lap at all times? I tell you what I would do, buy a bullet and rent a gun cause Conky don't play that shit. (Yeah I go by Conky now.) Speaking of brewing, can all these micro-brewery keg-humpers just fuck off already? God that shit is fucking dumb. And yeah, maybe civilization began because of beer. Civilization fucking sucks why would you use that? Have you seen civilization? Civilization is 100 0z. Racist Cola, Homophobic Hamburgers and cheese stuffed Misogyny Meal Combos. Fuck civilization and fuck these barley boners. Cut the power lines and watch the stone age wash away the carefully calibrated osmosis filtration systems, complete with stainless steel magnanimous foreskin magnification modulators. I reject this fucking race...
Have you seen this movie? Neither have I.
Well, now that I am finished with that rant, I have a fun story! For once in my miserable existence I actually went out of my way to go to a social situation and I didn't totally regret it moments after going! On the 5th I went and saw one of my favorite bands of all time The Dillinger Escape Plan. I was trying to decide whether or not I wanted to go because that's what I do with every situation. 9 times out of 9.1 I always decide to not go. But I knew I was going to regret it if I didn't take this opportunity. I had zero interest in any of the other bands that were playing. (Seriously, check out THIS VIDEO for the band The Faceless. Fucking atrocious...) But I decided it was worth the ticket to see DEP so I had a spotter go early and he let me know when I should make my appearance. I won't even bother trying to describe their live show. Relentless pathological sonic slaughter doesn't even come close. But despite their performance, probably about 75 percent of the room was standing around drinking and smoking. I forgot to mention this show was at a venue known as "The Intersection." Which for anyone who is not from Grand Rapids, it should be known as where the asshole intersects with the genitalia, "The Taint." This place is probably the worst place for a show but people who buy beer and like smoking weed in the pit, this is your paradise. Us "fans" will try not to ruin your homogenized existence. Only thing worst then those people are the giant mongoloid men who felt that the mosh pit was their turf and anyone making any sudden movements was disturbing the delicate ecosystem they were trying to preserve. They wear shirts that say "Mosh Pit Nation" or some other bro-core bullshit attire. I don't understand how they have fun standing like obelisks in the center of the fray and will abruptly shove anyone who comes near them. Fuck these bullies, fuck these vile vigilantes and fuck everybody now that I think of it.
Fuuuuuuuuuccccckkkkkk...
I wanted to end today on a sad note. As many of you know Jeff Hanneman of Slayer died May 2nd. This came as a crippling blow once again just weeks after the loss of Chi Cheng of Deftones. Though Slayer only entered my life a short decade ago, the mark they and Jeff have left on me is unending and it saddens me deeply to know that any of my heroes could be stricken down. Let alone the rib-cage rupturing riffs and penis piercing precision of Jeff Hanneman could be silenced forever. I think more and more about how sad it is that we don't realize what is important to us until it's too late. But no one has the energy to be pensive, or the patience to be mindful. We're all too busy with our routines we call living. These musicians I admire are truly alive and when they pass on I just feel empty. A shell of something I was trying to be. Once again, I have no answers or wisdom to bestow. Rest in flames brother, next string shredded wound will be for you.
