To: Friends, Family, and my fellow Americans
Subject: Get America Back On Track!
It's not too early to be thinking about the future of this country and who's going to lead it. Election after election we're given the "choice" between two unappealing candidates and have no choice but to vote for the one we dislike less. But now, that's about to change.
Stepping up to the forefront of politics is a new type of leader, motivated by his love for his country, not special interest groups. His distinct image and captivating voice you already know, and now it's your chance to make him the leader of the people, for the people, by the people. That's right... Christopher Walken is running for President.
Now, at this early stage of the campaign, is when the grass-roots voters like us can really influence the candidates we'll see in the elections. So take a few minutes to visit the Walken 2008 Home Page at http://www.walken2008.com, read about the man and his ideas, and send them a message of your support. This is how the system should work, and now's your chance to have your voice. Don't let it slip away!
Sincerely,
-David Biastock
Thursday
Wednesday
Monday
Sunday
So, here's a story. This post has been spurred by a series of recently acquired recurring dreams. I'm not sure I've posted this to my blog previously, so forgive me if I repeat myself.
About a year ago I had gotten this whim to visit the house I'd grown up in. For the normal individual, this involves a slow drive by in the hopes that the new occupants don't notice your interest and call the police. However my situation is a little different.
My home was built and owned by my grandparents. Of the two, my grandmother was the last to pass on. This left a house with no owner. Nobody in the family actually wanted the house, and it was decided that it would be easier to sell it to a real estate company and then divide the monetary gains between those mentioned in the last will and testament of Dorothea Biastock.
It took a period of time before someone actually purchased the four acres of property, and the house attached to it. When I had been notified that closing procedures had begun, this prompted me to go check out my old stompin' grounds.
It was an overall melancholy experience brought on by the changing countryside around the house, as well as the changes in the protective bubble surrounding my childhood recollection. At this point the house seemed more like a memory than ever, even though I was standing beside it.
As it turned out, the house was unlocked. The power was still on. I believe the water was still running, too. All in all it was a veritable squatter's paradise.
There were some areas I didn't dare visit. My reasoning at the time lost all ration. But I did bring my camera with me, and I did document the majority of my visit. It might not be as uncomfortable for the casual observer, but I could feel the figurative ghosts of the house pulling at me throughout my visit.
I haven't gone back since. I imagine that the house has been destroyed, and the land surrounding it has been paved over. Pipes and concrete having reshaped the ground and unearthed treasures long buried.
As I lived there, I hated that house and the daily frustrations associated with it. But when you spend over fifteen years in one location, it becomes indelibly marked upon your subconscious. If I had the ability to do so, I'd purchase everything and leave it to decay naturally. A sort of museum of remembrance.
About a year ago I had gotten this whim to visit the house I'd grown up in. For the normal individual, this involves a slow drive by in the hopes that the new occupants don't notice your interest and call the police. However my situation is a little different.
My home was built and owned by my grandparents. Of the two, my grandmother was the last to pass on. This left a house with no owner. Nobody in the family actually wanted the house, and it was decided that it would be easier to sell it to a real estate company and then divide the monetary gains between those mentioned in the last will and testament of Dorothea Biastock.
It took a period of time before someone actually purchased the four acres of property, and the house attached to it. When I had been notified that closing procedures had begun, this prompted me to go check out my old stompin' grounds.
It was an overall melancholy experience brought on by the changing countryside around the house, as well as the changes in the protective bubble surrounding my childhood recollection. At this point the house seemed more like a memory than ever, even though I was standing beside it.
As it turned out, the house was unlocked. The power was still on. I believe the water was still running, too. All in all it was a veritable squatter's paradise.
There were some areas I didn't dare visit. My reasoning at the time lost all ration. But I did bring my camera with me, and I did document the majority of my visit. It might not be as uncomfortable for the casual observer, but I could feel the figurative ghosts of the house pulling at me throughout my visit.
I haven't gone back since. I imagine that the house has been destroyed, and the land surrounding it has been paved over. Pipes and concrete having reshaped the ground and unearthed treasures long buried.
As I lived there, I hated that house and the daily frustrations associated with it. But when you spend over fifteen years in one location, it becomes indelibly marked upon your subconscious. If I had the ability to do so, I'd purchase everything and leave it to decay naturally. A sort of museum of remembrance.
Friday
More new things! I've also added a photo gallery to the site. This can be viewed under the Showing link. I've gotta get uploading!
Tuesday
May I please direct your attention to the left hand side of the web page for my newest addition. Brought to you in part by the good folks at celebrity death beeper dot com, I give you: Deceased.
Umm... basically, I made a pretty picture and I'm using it to stream information about famous deadies.
I give you this great service because I care.
But perhaps I don't care about your resolution... otherwise I wouldn't have made the picture so spectacularly huge.
Umm... basically, I made a pretty picture and I'm using it to stream information about famous deadies.
I give you this great service because I care.
But perhaps I don't care about your resolution... otherwise I wouldn't have made the picture so spectacularly huge.
Saturday
Friday
Wow... I don't know if you remember my little rant previously outlining how I find annoyance by people in wheelchairs who use their chubby little legs to propel themselves around PDX? As I'm sitting on my front porch smoking a cigarette, I see two people scoot past my yard on electric wheelchairs within the span of five minutes. Perhaps with serious maladies which have kept them wheelchair bound, and thusly the chunkiest of monkeys. One of these individuals was roughly in his twenties, listening to thrash metal on headphones while smoking a Virginia Slim... and it was comedy.
Looking for some new desktop wallpaper? Look no further! I'm completely enamored by Pixelgirl Presents, and you should be as well! Currently, David Biastock is sporting this one!
I'm also currently enamored by Paranoia Agent! Maybe it's because Lost has gone the way of reruns for the summer months that this little gem has caused my heart to be filled with such joy, I'm not sure. It sort've has the same overall plot structure. Each episode revolves around a different protagonist whose life is somehow intermingled with the other characters. And all the characters share the common bond of being whacked upside the cranium with an aluminum baseball bat.
My name is Mud.
Looking for some new desktop wallpaper? Look no further! I'm completely enamored by Pixelgirl Presents, and you should be as well! Currently, David Biastock is sporting this one!
I'm also currently enamored by Paranoia Agent! Maybe it's because Lost has gone the way of reruns for the summer months that this little gem has caused my heart to be filled with such joy, I'm not sure. It sort've has the same overall plot structure. Each episode revolves around a different protagonist whose life is somehow intermingled with the other characters. And all the characters share the common bond of being whacked upside the cranium with an aluminum baseball bat.
My name is Mud.
Saturday
Good morning world!
Good morning sun!
Good morning lack of creative inspiration which makes me want to make homicidal gestures towards walls and kittens and such!
Blargh.
Me 'n' Alicia are finally putting the finishing touches on our home loan, and I am ripe with the feeling of impending doom. Not so much that this is a bad purchase, as it's not. It's probably one of the most financially sound decisions Alicia has talked me in to. However, the inevitable mantle of settling down is wearing heavy on my shoulders.
In my more ambitious years, I never thought past the age of 21. That was the last great milestone in my life, and everything after 21 wasn't even worth a second thought. There was something about lowered car insurance at 25, but who owns a car?
Me... I own a car. I own a credit card. I own various amounts of accumulated debt... I own a house.
And with each new addition to the grand pile of accumulated responsibilities, I feel less and less inspired. More and more insipid. Less and less myself.
I guess I never really saw a future for myself where I'd be spending my free time mowing lawns and organizing finances. I've never worried or given a thought about consequence regarding anything before, and now I lay in bed at night obsessing that I've developed high blood pressure.
With the loss of youthful innocence, I don't believe I have gained anything worthwhile. I feel that I've simply become another muddled citizen kept quiet by the daily struggle to resist resistance in an attempt to maintain a carefully manicured lifestyle. Another soulless drone whose mind has become atrophied from the national deficit of free will.
There's no art for me in the everyday. There's no captured spirit in the mundane. I'm bored and average, and I hate it.
*Sigh* Phew! There! I feel better all ready.
Good morning sun!
Good morning lack of creative inspiration which makes me want to make homicidal gestures towards walls and kittens and such!
Blargh.
Me 'n' Alicia are finally putting the finishing touches on our home loan, and I am ripe with the feeling of impending doom. Not so much that this is a bad purchase, as it's not. It's probably one of the most financially sound decisions Alicia has talked me in to. However, the inevitable mantle of settling down is wearing heavy on my shoulders.
In my more ambitious years, I never thought past the age of 21. That was the last great milestone in my life, and everything after 21 wasn't even worth a second thought. There was something about lowered car insurance at 25, but who owns a car?
Me... I own a car. I own a credit card. I own various amounts of accumulated debt... I own a house.
And with each new addition to the grand pile of accumulated responsibilities, I feel less and less inspired. More and more insipid. Less and less myself.
I guess I never really saw a future for myself where I'd be spending my free time mowing lawns and organizing finances. I've never worried or given a thought about consequence regarding anything before, and now I lay in bed at night obsessing that I've developed high blood pressure.
With the loss of youthful innocence, I don't believe I have gained anything worthwhile. I feel that I've simply become another muddled citizen kept quiet by the daily struggle to resist resistance in an attempt to maintain a carefully manicured lifestyle. Another soulless drone whose mind has become atrophied from the national deficit of free will.
There's no art for me in the everyday. There's no captured spirit in the mundane. I'm bored and average, and I hate it.
*Sigh* Phew! There! I feel better all ready.
Monday
ARRRRGGGHHH
This is very upsetting. I was randomly clicking through amihotornot.com seeking something I had posted at least 6 years ago. When I realized that I still remembered my username and password, happiness and joy filled my brain for .097 seconds. This fleeting elation was quickly crushed when I noticed my rating.
After rotating in cyberspace for 6 years, it was a freakin' 5.6
See for yourself.
This is very upsetting. I was randomly clicking through amihotornot.com seeking something I had posted at least 6 years ago. When I realized that I still remembered my username and password, happiness and joy filled my brain for .097 seconds. This fleeting elation was quickly crushed when I noticed my rating.
After rotating in cyberspace for 6 years, it was a freakin' 5.6
See for yourself.
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