What are you doing here?

go here:

http://kelvakis.tumblr.com/

because my eyes

One, Two, Three, Swanky Swanky Pigs

So this video might be the greatest thing in the world, or it might just be almost six AM.

Either way, I am enormously entertained. It's a song called "Schweine" by Russian artist Glukoza. Stuck in my head much. Maybe that's why I can't sleep.

English lyrics (According to a quick Google search and Justsomelyrics dot com):

Flow of cars, I arrived peacefully
Without control and with obstacles in my head
I'm going home
Step, step, step - I ended up in the dark again
For the third time I was completely deceived
Already by you

I won't forgive, and the head goes*
I want to choose the words for them

One, two, three
Swanky-swanky pigs
Oh-oh

One, two, three
Swanky-swanky pigs

Quid pro quo - now a strike for the honest**
I'm in motion top center
Now you aren't mine
Piggy boy, I in no way expected
That I'm flying into a bum deal again
Now with you

Chorus

[Man speaking Russian in background:]
Attention! Attention!
To all cheaters of girl's hearts,
You are ordered to gather together and go on...
Or try to turn from pigs into people
And not cheat on those who love you.

[Woman speaking German in background:]
Attention! Attention!
This is for all liars who broke the heart of a woman,
You are given the order to stick close together,
and, erm, oh-oh, or try to turn from pigs into people
and never lie again to the ones who love you.

Thank you, StumbleUpon.

Anywho, once again I have become aware that I have been neglecting the internet. I think it's a productive thing to have a blog. Helps to give me direction.

BRB, forming healthy and positive habits.

The Highlight of my Week

Srsly.

Look at this tangle of thorns.

Lightning Across Lake Harriet

I Am Not On a Team

I have been so stressful lately, putting my life into boxes.

I am no longer a NE homie. I have moved to my mother's house by Lake Harriet. So now I get to take my life out of boxes and into a beautiful new house by a beautiful lake.

Transition.

Nina's Cafe. In St. Paul. I'm drinking Chai. It is too nutty. I keep seeing postcards for BASSGASM 2. Are Nina's regulars Dubstep fans? Maybe I should get a sandwich. I won't though. I'll just think about it. My Chai is too nutty.

Transition.

I love Dr. McNinja. I used to think it was the most badass thing on the internets.

I was wrong.

I mean, he's a doctor, AND A NINJA! What's more BA than that?
Answer: AXECOP

I can only dream of the day when something I write is this awesome. And/or when I'm on an awesome crime-fighting team.

Transition.

Nina's Cafe. In St. Paul. What's left of my Chai is cold. I don't really care. It was too nutty anyway. There is a woman with lots of tattoos. There is a man listening to music and reading Shonen Jump. There is a woman wearing a t-shirt that says "St. Paul is the new Minneapolis". I don't know how I feel about that statement, but she is beautiful. Hey old man reading the New York Times. How are you doing? I like your beard. It makes you look like a grizzled sailor.

13 Words: Taarradhin

So, I wrote this ten minutes ago, then got a snack, played two rounds of Robot Unicorn Attack, and went to the bathroom. Upon my return I have no idea what is going on, or how it applies to the word. But it's kinda neat and I dunno what I would write for this word besides. Something about chess maybe? Regardless, ten minutes ago I thought this was meaningful. I think it's me having a conversation with my younger self. The Taarradhin seems to be "There are children in the moon" so make of that what you will.

Taarradhin (Arabic): a way of resolving a problem without anyone losing face

A tugging on my sleeve. I look down to see wide eyes (teary) asking me about the stars. They ask me about Martians, about clouds, about the man in the moon.


These eyes want to see the whole world as a blue dot.


I can’t show them that world. I can show them oceans, I can show them skies, I can show them earth- not the entire little planet.


But would you look at the moon? There are children in the moon.


But would you look into space? There are galaxies in space.


Don’t tell me there is no center. There are children in the moon.

13 Words: Ilunga

I saw Inception again. Sooooo good. Like Teen Girl Squad.

Anywho, don't tell Sheryl Crow what I'm about to do.

Ilunga (Tshiluba, Congo): a person who is ready to forgive any abuse for the first time, to tolerate it a second time, but never a third time

Lights up on a small coffee table in SISTER’S kitchen. SISTER and BROTHER sit on either side drinking coffee. She is drinking coffee, he is drinking tea. BROTHER is on his cell phone, ending a call. He hangs up and puts the phone on the table. He is distressed, but trying to hide it. He takes a sip of tea and acts nonchalant. SISTER isn’t having it.

SISTER: What’s up?

BROTHER: Nothing. She… No. Nothing.

He puts his tea back on the table and spits out a sigh

BROTHER: Her dog died.

SISTER: What?

BROTHER: Her dog, the fucking- Her dog died. It’s been sick, apparently. God damn it.

SISTER: God damn it…

BROTHER: God damn it! Every fucking time.

SISTER: Hey…

She reaches across the table and grasps his hand, giving it a loving squeeze

SISTER: That sucks. What-

BROTHER: What am I supposed to do? “Oh yeah, that sucks but I don’t want to talk to you”… She doesn’t have anyone else to talk to, what am I supposed to do? Dumb.

SISTER: Hey, you’re a good man.

BROTHER: Whatever. I’m working up some good fucking karma is all I’m saying.

SISTER: You’re a good man.

BROTHER: What am I supposed to do? Every time. “Oh, talk to me I just had sex with my boyfriend and feel bad about. Oh feel bad for me this guy is getting kicked out of his house love me. Oh my dog died I need your shoulder.” I’ve had it. I’ve fucking had it with her shit.

SISTER: You can’t let her get to you.

BROTHER: Come on, you know it’s not that easy. Christ. We’re gonna be eighty years old she’s gonna call me all like, “Oh, I can’t sleep because of life talk to me”

SISTER: You’re going to have to put your foot down eventually. She can’t have this power over you. She just calls you- You hear her voice and just shut down. That’s not okay. You are your own person, you have your own life, you can’t deal with hers every time she has a little breakdown.

BROTHER: It’s not even a breakdown… It’s… I don’t know. God damn it.

SISTER: God damn it.

BROTHER: God damn it.

The scene continues. It doesn’t matter too much what happens next, the two characters are just projections of my thoughts, helping me to sort through ideas that are keeping me from sleeping and they’ve done their job. The audience becomes slightly uncomfortable with the public catharsis that has just taken place, but hopefully find solace in the fact that they see something in the situation that can apply to their own life. Suddenly the character’s conflict (as well as mine) takes a back seat as the question is raised:

BROTHER: If I write a story that is just for me, and don’t let anyone else read it, does it make it less legitimate?

SISTER: I don’t follow you.

BROTHER: If I make art just for me as a form of catharsis, is it selfish if I don’t let anyone else see it?

SISTER: No. That’s ridiculous.

BROTHER: But if I share it... It becomes something more. It means more.

SISTER: I don’t think so. I see no difference, besides public catharsis running the risk of offending someone close to you.

BROTHER: But if I don’t share it, it’s just a journal. A diary, my own private whatever. The second another pair of eyes sees the piece it becomes art.

SISTER: Huh. I see what you’re saying, I will respectfully disagree, but I see what you’re saying.

BROTHER: Emily Dickenson.

SISTER: What?

BROTHER: Nothing.

SISTER: No, I didn’t hear you, what did you say?

BROTHER: Don’t worry about it.

SISTER: God damn it. I hate when you do that.

BROTHER: Do what?

SISTER: Mumble something I can’t hear and then be like, “Don’t worry about it” It’s obnoxious, I want to hear what you have to say.

BROTHER: I said, Emily Dickenson.

SISTER: What?

BROTHER: Emily Dickenson.

SISTER: No, I heard you this time. I don’t understand.

BROTHER: See? I told you. Nothing.

SISTER: I want to hear what you have to say, but it doesn’t matter if I don’t understand the context in which you’re saying it. Then it’s just your own thoughts kind of randomly falling out.

BROTHER: I think it’s interesting.

SISTER: I don’t.

BROTHER: It’s art.

SISTER: No, I’m just watching you process thoughts. It doesn’t apply to me. I don’t have context.

BROTHER: Emily Dickenson.

SISTER crosses her arms and glares at BROTHER. BROTHER sips his tea and stares back

BROTHER: What’s up?

SISTER: God damn it.