Fireworks.

Fireworks: It's nice to ignore the tumult of everyday life and look at something burning brilliant beautiful and meaningless. It might be the best thing about America.

Super Villain

I had to write a 250 word about me for a Class. I'm trying to convince the teacher I have have the potential to be super villain. I think it's a little more honest than I'm normally comfortable with.

A Vague and Dishonest Self Evaluation.

I am suffocating on a shit pile of highly calculated affectations. I only am myself for appearances. I do not believe the things I say although sometimes I suspect I wish I did. I'm not sure about much of anything. I assume there must be a real human person somewhere inside of me but any serious thoughts on this matter make me doubt my relation to the rest of the world. I have parents that are fine. I don't like talking about them because I consider the relationship vulgar and annoying. I'd much rather not have an origin. I consider most relationships vulgar and annoying. At the same time I fear being alone terribly and always want company. There is a constant uncertainty and hatred that runs through me that I try my best to ignore. I feel as if more people were like me the world would loose its breath and slowly die. I don't feel Armageddon is something to be feared. Everything has an end. Oblivion isn't as bad as people make it out to be. I am floating through the sludge of the megaverse waiting for a great connection to be made between me and the rest of existence. I feel as if I have never truly touched anything in my life. There is a longing in me to be completely normal, wholly unremarkable, and healthy. I sigh when I think of this.

Reach Out and Touch Her

I wish I was the person who believed the things that I said. I look at her and stare in to her eyes and tell her I love her she smiles and looks down. I brush the hair back from her ear. You mean everything to me. I let my lips brush her ear as I speak. I keep my eyes sincere and smile tight, brimming with what must be overwhelming adoration. She looks back elated, comforted. I feel nauseas. She disgusts me, every inch of her being, soggy and too pale. Crinkles and bumps in her skin that were once invisible. I watch her walk naked to the shower, fatter than ever. To be associated with her is to become her. She lowers me. I watch her move around in my shit so comfortably. I try to find the specter of the girl I so proudly seduced, so drunkenly fell in love with. She sludges her way through the sharp static of hungover air like wet mold. I'll need gloves to remove her. She looks over her shoulder and smiles at me, ignoring the hatred in my smile retort. I go and stand at my window smoking. The sky is still morning gray and blends seamlessly with the parking lot city. I breathe in the smoke and my chest is too tight to enjoy it. I see my gay neighbors walk across the parking lot in to the building. I nod to them. Their faces are full of scorn and contempt for me. I turn the volume down on my television. There is an elderly homeless woman wearing a grocery store plastic bag as a shower cap. She moves through the dumpster comfortably being careful not to make a mess of anything besides her self. The snow starts to fall as the long ash of my cigarette drops to the floor. The homeless woman moves through the trash salvaging bottles and cans, somebody's filth Christmas sweater. She looks at me and I look down. A domesticated cat walks through her legs demandingly. I hear the shower turn off and she comes out naked, comfortable and oblivious. She puts her arm around me and buries her face in my shoulder. I take her in my arms and tell her I love her. I say it deeply and with the utmost sincerity.

I want us both dead.

Bari A. Khan

Fre1010

4-6-08

Bonjour!

Je ne attends pa pour vous arrivons. Como vous appelez- vous? Moi, je suis en frome. J’habite une petite ville Royal Oak nord de Detroit. Dans Royal Oak ce sont discotheques et The Main Art Theatre, nous regardons le film No Country For Old Men.

Ce sont grande nombre de restaurants dans Royal Oak avec ce sont varie le boire et la manger . Nous allons sud de Royal Oak a Detroit. Dans Detroit nous peux allons et regardons le punk concert a Magic Stick. Ou nous allons nord a Auburn Hills et regarde Detroit Pistons joue le basket. Aussi, Vous devez regardons Detroit Tigers jouent aux baseball dans in Comerica Park. Il sont tre jeune et sportif equipe.

J’ai 23 ans et je vais une fac de Wayne State dans Detroit. Wayne State est tres grande et tres vielle. Je prepare un B.A. en l’aganlais, mais je n’ai pas de mineure. Ce trimester, je suis un cours de chimi, un cours de Russian, un francais.

De ville est réconfortant, alors s’habiller par consequent. De ville il n’ pa ont de metro. Alors, nous allons en conduire dans voiture persque partot. Michigan est un vraiemont beau etat. Je sais vous aux bien temps.

Restor Or,

Bari A. Khan.

So-Cal surf-punk waves are crashing over Ann Arbor. In their wake they leave curbs grinded in to decay by skateboard trucks. Young acne faced, Adderall imbued punks are sweating side by side with their aging jaded vet counterparts. The tide recedes and leaves the hum of a muffled super-fuzz version of Misirlou emanating through the doors of The Blind Pig.

I spoke with Mike Palm guitarist/vocalist and the only remaining original member of Agent Orange. I put him somewhere between the Adderall and the arthritis punks.

Over the twenty-eight years that Agent Orange has existed, the DIY underground network has been completely revamped by the internet. A band can exist mainly in cyberspace, their city of origin completely irrelevant. Palm’s jaded vet half seems reluctant to embrace this idea, “Well it’s interesting with MySpace and the internet in general it’s easier to network, but it seems to me as the DIY ethic is not as prevalent as it used to be… Fanzines used to be more important, independent labels, the indie network used to be more of a community, technology has made people a little more detached.”

His continued enthusiasm for touring and playing with Agent Orange is still his main focus. He says that “It’s been the busiest year for the band ever.” I asked Palm how they keep things interesting, “The industry is always changing and that’s what exciting now, having the longevity we have, gives us the perspective to see how things evolve and change.”

Cigarette ash blanket and Agent Orange

Christ. My body's really suffering now. I think I'm being irresponsible. I probably am, any ambiguity is a tell. I'm being irresponsible. 58 beers litter my apartment, the one next to my computer is a little mangled and full because somebody tried to rip it in half last night. God bless them. There is a thin layer of cigarette ash covering most everything. Random inexplicable bits of plastic remind me what a pain this is going to be to clean up. The filth kind of nags and reminds you of yr hangover more than you would like. It was fun though. Great weekend as far I'm concerned. Somebody called me a cock-fag last night. It was remarkable. I have to interview Agent Orange. What the fuck do you say to Agent Orange? I was told to make bullets of my questions for Agent Orange. Here's what I got so far:

Agent Orange!

Hi!

How are you?

Me, I'm Great!

Yeah, Bloodstains was pretty cool.

Thank you.

Good bye.

I'll call and stumble my way through this soon. In other news my leg hurts and if anybody knows how to get the Black Lips to come here for Devils night let me know.

-Good Hunting

Bari A. Khan

Hogan Knows Shit

I plan on my first foray into investigative journalism is to follow the "Hogan Knows Best" VH1 show. "Hogan Knows Best" if you don't know is a show following around the lives of Hulk Hogan and addresses how he, a now retired wrestler has to deal with normal folk problems like raising a vapid non-person daughter, and an idiot car enthusiast son who is 2 months away from rehab and becoming a paparazzi hero, and his wife who is some broad who banged Hulk Hogan at least twice. My problem is with that the show is that it seems to me that the producers tell those people everything to say and do. I'm gonna call all the locations they visit, restaurants, hotels, etc. and find out how scripted the whole thing is. Hogan has made a career out of insulting our intelligence, making not only a mockery out of professional wrestling, but now reality tv. This double transgression will not stand and Hogan will be exposed as the poser he is. I will be petitioning Macho Man Randy Savage (long time Hulk hater)for full funding of my investigation. Hogan yr a lame old fuck, quit taking up precious VH1 airtime when awesome shows like The Pick-Up Artist only get played 4 or 5 times a day. Hulkamania is a dead dream, the ideology convoluted and broken. He will fall.

-Good Hunting

Bari A. Khan

It seems quite natural and painfully predictable that the next post would be, "I'm back on the wagon", or off the wagon, or whatever one has the booze on it. It's ok for now. There is good news though, good news like this : (whenever I write a :, it makes Kurt Vonnegut sad) I've started Journalism major at Wayne State and am really enjoying myself there. I've quit Caruso Caruso which is sad, but unavoidable. If someone from wyrk actully read this blog I'd stay so someone from wyrk say fire hydrant to me, and I'll wyrk for there for ever. I had been pestering and bothering Keith Doosenberry for sometime now and it seems to of paid off. I'm reviewing Thurston Moore's new record for Real Detroit, the record comes out sept 18th and the review should follow shortly afterwyrds. I have a hat now. It's going to take some getting used to but I ask you to take this journey with me and see where it ends up. Also if anyone wants my cat they can have her, she can be found on Adultswim.com under the fat cats in party hats page, she's the one with the Devo hat covering her face. Oh yeah, so William Gibson right? Awesome I know. His new book Spook Country is amazing so far. Completely up to par if not better than Pattern Recognition. He has an amazing ability to tap in to all our sympathy's to electronics and technology. Like this the opener for the book " ...She turned on the bedside lamp, illuminating the precious evening's empty can of Asahi Draft, from the Pink Dot, and her sticker-encrusted PowerBook, closed and sleeping. She envied it." Great huh? I had written this around a month before I read the book, scouts honor "

Their is a gold hum from the standby electronics, the faint orange glow of the led hibernate light rocks me in to obscurity. Brining forth many harsh realities about co dependence that I would rather not hear. The heat sink fans are a deep scolding exhale. I’m jealous of the stand bye.

I guess I'll just consider the similarity validation that I'm doing the right thing.

Good Hunting
- Bari A. Khan

Turning a new page for the #125890901 time.

Off the Sauce. Gonna try some serious measures to stay off it. Gotta learn to live alone in my head, something about calming my self. Healthy like. Shit. I mean GREAT!

Deerhunter and Bari status update

I'll make this brief.
I saw Deerhunter play the magic stick with The Ponys and Jay Reatard. I'll break it down like this.

Jay Reatard: Missed them, they where described to me as some loud punk stuff. I downloaded Blood Visions and loved the record, I am super pissed I missed them. They are loud punk stuff. And a little bit more.

The Ponys : They are ok, with a tendency to suck.

Deerhunter : Was swell, mostly blurry. I think most of that had to do with me though. After the show I think I creeped out some of the guys in the band by wandering back stage and asking why they didn't like the old album. It was a blast.

Bari A. Khan : I am largely dissatisfied with my life right now and feel completely stagnant, irritated and alone. Trips to Chicago and seeing old friends from Atlanta only further reiterate these feelings. And with that I'm going to poor my self a Johnny Walker Black on ice. Also I can't find a notepad so I haven't written anything down in a while. I did get some nice new shoes though.

Anybody remember J. Paul?

Well here is his blog http://thinkrad.blogspot.com/
That Budd Dwyer shit is gory.

Bari Fuct his Mom! Say What? Yeah!

7th grade, I was coming of an unpopular girlfriend free, kickflipless, poser suspect 6th grade and many of these conditions followed me in to the 7th making that year just as oppressive as the first But then during Christmas brake of 7th grade things turned around for me, I kissed a girl! With tongues! Twice even maybe! The problem is that it happened in Atlanta. So imagine this, the unpopular girlfriend free, kickflipless, poser suspect comes back and tells everybody about the unverifiable action he got when he was out of town... So I didn't attempt to tell a lot of people about it knowing that there would be doubts and further mocking, but I did confide in my loser buddy. He was my loser buddy and he was a fink, an opportunist and a scoundrel. He decided to take this as an opportunity to elevate himself in the popularity ladder. Bari kissed a girl with tongues, twice even maybe! Turned in to, Bari fuct his mom. Independently he would not of had the influence to spread this rumor, but one very popular upper echelon girl decided to confer with her popular coven and launch an investigation about it. The investigation went as follows.
Tell everybody I fuct my mom in Atlanta. And then approach me with around 5 other girls smiling brightly and anxiously. They interrogated me. The dialouge went something like this:
Popular girls "So Bari, I heard you fuct yr mom in Atlanta when you were both drunk..."
An outraged flustered unpopular Bari replied "Yeah, that's right I fuct my mom, fuck you..."
The sarcasm was noted but ignored for the sake of momentum. At that point they fled the scene cackling and shouting "Oh my god! He admitted it! He admitted it!"...
At the time the Red Hot Chili Peppers cover of "Roller Coaster of Love" was popular and some genius wyrd smiths came up with the Weird Al wyrthy parody...."Bari Fuct His Mom, Say What? Yeah! His mom was like a roller coaster baby, baby, I want to ride...."

Epilogue: This went on for a bit. I eventually rebounded by buying a Specials shirt before anybody else and was admitted in to the Kame Kool Krew (The good KKK). I actually had a girlfriend for around 3 hours in the eighth grade, and when she had her friend call and brake up with me I scoffed which was misinterpreted as crying which launched another series of rumors which I eventually overturned.
The Fink Loser friend, is still a fink loser. But not my friend.
The popular girl who spread the rumor is doing very well for her self in Chicago and took her go getter attitude and investigative abilities in to the wyrld of journalism.

I'll Drink A Million Beers, Fuck You!

"I'll drink a million beers, fuck you!"That was the last little scribble in my notepad last night. ?? till self destruct.

Killing concern with regret.

Christ I'm fucking bored. Even when I'm in school I'm bored. There is a certain oppressive notion about the future. I'm waiting for some sort of catalyst, some miracle. I just can't imagine a wyrld where I help my self in to good fortune. I just watched that SiCKO movie, it was miserable. It wasn't shit, but it was miserable. I'm skeptic and lazy, and that means I want to believe but I know better. Which leaves me some sort of lazy half-enlightened. I'm an idiot playing genius. I wonder how quick I will erase this tomorrow. No bother, nobody reads this besides me.

Sorry, I love yr chicken.

Try to say I wyrk at Chicken Shack with a sense of optimism.

Slumpt and Drunked and hypnotized.

I was going to post a story I wrote about Charlie Brown, but I think posting a story in a blog is just as obnoxious as forcing yr friends to read yr writing. It puts me in a tough spot. So I'll tell you this, I went to Gusoloine Alley last night and drank too much. As far as this blog is concerned that last sentence could be every entry in it's entirety. But who knows about the future, so lets just say "I went to Gusoline Alley last night and drank too much" covers everything that happened up until this point. At Gusoline Alley I ran in to John Tenney who was explaining things again. I should just be quiet when he talks, my interjections are useless and generally irrelevant. But anywho, he was telling me about hypnotizing people, so I'm gonna try to put people to sleep today at wyrk. The idea is that you take something so ordinary and so predictable as a handshake and change it so it throws people so completely off guard that they are open to suggestion, sleep. SLEEP! It's gonna be wild, and by wild I mean not much of anything at all. But you gotta reach for the stars you know? I'm so sick of being hungover, every day the first 4-6 hours is all puke and shit. Puke and shit. Fuck it I was doing real well for a while, I think I'll start doing real well again soon. I've been writing. Shit, I gotta get on this FAFSA stuff and get to wyrk and sling those jeans! Goodhunting.