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POSTED BY alexandre ON MYSPACE.COM

2005-01-24T15:15:02Z

Read Bulletin

From:	alexandre
Date:	Jan 23, 2005 02:42 PM
Subject:	1000 Kills - You Get Gawain + Transport
Body:	LIVE! THIS FRIDAY! The Return Of The Kings! Frank, fresh from his Aliasing Machine Tour of UB's CFA Gallery, and Keith, fresh from his Flu Tour of his bedroom, present: Zepplin takes to the stage once again making their triumphant return to Buffalo, NY. Zepplin finally leaves the dungeons of 231 to take this show on the road (down the street) at a one Jake / Sal Castle for their "This Damage Is Trample Damage Tour". It will be our first performance in over 6 months. If you thought "Rat Jesus" was the most horrible thing you've ever heard in your life, just wait till you hear "How To Advance To The Imperial Age With Only 300 Food Resources" guarenteed to kill a party faster than a spontaneous make out party in your living room. If you need the info let me know. An opportunity to see this legendary performance is extremely rare and anyone who has seen it will tell you it doesn't disappoint... and they'll mean that in the worst way possible. Frank will be giving away autogrpahed pictures of himself and I'll be giving away free dong hits. Jon will join live via satellite from the Tower Of Spite guarded by elite war elephants. Be prepared to enter as a Scout and leave as a Paladin.

posturing @ 2004-12-05T19:32:00

2004-12-06T00:51:46Z

To: Friends

Everyone! I am going to make this brief. I need your help! I've been working on this robotics project for the past semester, it is progressing at a very rapid pace. The plans have been drawn, and the coding is at completion. Yet, I am unable to gather the capitol for purchasing the limited pieces and parts which are essential to its construction...

I am not asking for more than a small gift on your behalves. Help me by sponsering an electronic component this holiday season. For $7 you can give a brand new start to the lives of a small LED or Relay. These poor pieces have lived difficult lives, sitting on warehouse shelves waiting to be packed up and shipped off to the highest bidder. Assure these little bundles of impedence find a safe home inside the workings of my machine! To insure your donation and continue your relationship with your sponsored component a website will be established where you will be able to find current information on your special little resistor or transducer.

Once it has been tested and prototyped this device will have anyone who has witnessed Zepplin tear apart a basement or hallway wondering how ridiculous performances could have existed for so long without such a fabulous recontextualization as this!

Paint, Lightbulbs and Relays are all on the list of things yet to be founded!

Please help in any form that you are able!

Contact me through email, or instant messanger!

THANK YOU!

napolski@buffalo.edu
aim: SIGNALswp

posturing @ 2004-02-10T00:48:00

2004-02-10T05:48:42Z

so, as most you have not heard, there is going to be a party at 231 minnesota (lower) this friday the 13th. my good friend jason voorhees is coming in from out of town with his ladyfriend, and i really want to show him a good time. so invite your friends to camp 231 this friday for a night of drinking and premarital sex.

jason visited us over the summer. it was sweet.

this is keith and i with jason by camp 231's mud lake. later that night jason destroyed my cowboy hat with his machete.

yea, notice the surreal ska clouds floating through tim's room. jason lived in the closet for an entire month.

SO GET READY.

posturing @ 2004-02-09T02:04:00

2004-02-09T07:04:32Z

my friend and roommate john ilardo is giving local and national charities a literal run for their money. he is single handedly responsible for the recent, and soon to be reknowned, decimation of the NAACP. john ilardo sponsors a random "homeless" man in our neighborhood. to most of us it is unclear whether this man is actually even homeless or not; he doesn't seem to carry much with him, besides a snow shovel or ice pick, though he is usually seen wearing his tailor-made maroon sweatpants and custom-fitted black nylon jacket with yellow trim accentuating the hood and shoulders. this is john ilardo's friend, though they recognize each other not by their christian names, but more or less the traits they perceive of one another. to this man john ilardo is the boy that drives the black 1992 honda accord with damaged side-view mirror and copious rust blotches who is very generous and perhaps naive, and to john ilardo this man is simply some saintlike entity carrying a shovel that is not as fortunate as he.

let us journey back a mere two weeks in time:

john ilardo's friend shows up to our house and attempts to destroy the glacial permafrost encompassing the driveway of 231 minnesota avenue. this was the first time i met john ilardo's friend. he was trying very hard to convince another friend of mine that he deserved eight dollars (even) for his duties. this would not have been an unreasonable request had he done more than casually brush fresh snow off the left side of the driveway. in a moment of spiritual clarity john ilardo determined he was destined to be this man's benefactor, and he quickly directed himself to the refridgerator, procuring a forty ounce of old english malt liquor of unspecific age. john ilardo's friend ended up leaving with a pocket full of change (equating to roughly $4.35) and a tasty beverage.

the next day john ilardo's friend came over again, this time with detectable motivation (he rang the front and side doorbells repeatedly for several minutes until someone, that was not me, decided it was time to let him know his services were no longer needed.) he expressed concern over the fact that we had shortchanged him the previous day, and was simply returning for the rest of his money. at this point he asked to speak with someone who through his vague description could be recognized as john ilardo. already familiar with his new friend's business strategy john ilardo managed to explain that he too was poor, bringing up the pink second-hand puerto rico shirt he was wearing as supporting evidence, and therefore was in just as unfortunate of a position. regardless of these things, john ilardo dug deep into the balmy inner cavities of his soul and found room for yet another selfless deed. a can of pabst blue ribbon and 75 cents later our acquaintance was apparently satisfied with his earnings and decided to call it a night.

i spoke with john ilardo this evening. at this point he feels like his weekly efforts to help this man will kindle a lasting friendship between the two that defies everything our evil world stands for. john ilardo's friend met up with him a few days ago as he was in transit from car to house. the man doubted that john ilardo would recognize him, but he was wrong. ofcourse john ilardo knows you! you are his friend. john ilardo inquired about business as of late. the man explained that business was slow on account of all the newly formed ice, though he had a new tool, perfect for dismantling the terribleness incarnate that is driveway ice. he made a very noble offer, saying he would break an entire driveway's worth of ice up for a mere $5.00. john ilardo convinced him this was a very bad idea because the amount of energy expended would not be worth that miniscule amount of money. instead, john ilardo explained, he would simply provide his friend with the money and they could both pretend he'd done some form of service. john ilardo's friend thought this was a decent idea. he asked john ilardo if maybe he would go inside and even ask his other roommates if they had a dollar each to pay for the "service." this was an even better idea, john ilardo's friend insisted. john ilardo returned with a handful of change to accompany the five dollars. his friend asked if he could leave his tool in our front yard while he went to the convienient store.

later that evening i heard the doorbell ring. sure enough, john ilardo's friend was back. i opened the door and asked if i could help him. he asked for john ilardo by describing the car that he drove. i told him i knew exactly who he was talking about, and that i would let him know his friend was here. apparently the door of john ilardo's friend's house had taken some damage and was falling off. he needed a drill. all we have, john ilardo explained as he dumped some change into his friend's hand, were a few screwdrivers that he was more than welcome to borrow. but john ilardo's friend did not need screwdrivers, he needed a drill. not yet so utterly dillusional as to fork over our only black&decker drill and metric/standard drill bit sets, john ilardo decided to let his friend be on his way. i can only imagine the crushing emotional blow john ilardo's friend must have felt as he traipsed into the white snow caps of minnesota avenue, sans-drilling device.

posturing @ 2004-02-05T17:55:00

2004-02-05T22:55:40Z

i am just a simple machine. they will soon find&fix me.

posturing @ 2004-02-02T21:19:00

2004-02-03T02:19:10Z

the police are still looking for me. if they ask you where i am just remember to tell them you were under the impression that i died several years ago.

231's phonelines are being tapped for certain.

FOR JASON ROVILLO <3

2004-01-27T05:38:36Z

if this isn't your desktop background (stretched) then we can't be friends anymore.

:]

'yr eyes shine with the greed of a misplaced tea strainer'

2004-01-20T16:32:42Z

i'm envisioning a grand teleportation machine, like those of my fathers' fathers. that should mean something. it might only be capable of transmitting its passenger short distances, but that brings in less chance for the occurance of molecular malcombination at the point of arrival. is it really worth it, to spend all your funding on a device that will inevitably have you resembling some oblique sculpture of yourself? how can i help but use your eyes as a means for self-asphyxiation?

hahohhhjeeeez.

the vicious adapter

2004-01-17T15:12:41Z

the stigmata of rat jesus has appeared on keith poplawski. after noticing i took matters into my own hands, formed a search party and attempted to explore the labyrinth beneath the hallowed halls of 231's forefathers. instead of finding rat jesus i managed to knock over even more bottles of beer and uncover a vicious machine designed for the pulping of infants. the world must have felt like it was ending, but i made no complaints. the search party disbanded, disrobed, discussed the prospects of finding the multifarious robes of our rat father, but to no success. i was singing the song in my dreams, still worried about the social boundaries being obliterated by its surrealist message. i was wrapt up in a crushed velvet web feeling the heat rising fast, minutes later i am inching closer to sleep on the hallway floor clutching ilardo's doorhandle begging for a dirty scrap of cloth to girdle my bared loins. at least i was a kind person, as secret mean friend hid with rat jesus in the undercroft of an inebriated pscyhe. we wishd the best to all fools who left through the door, and locked ours' even tighter to keep the desirables inside.

e.x.p.

2004-01-15T07:38:19Z

i was thinking today about the scar on my face, the elliptical stretch of charred skin, flagging the site where my gaunt cheekbones should be approaching their apex to cast a deep shadow on my flesh. instead, there's nothing but this stamp. i'm often joking around with people when i tell them about how it's a form of karmic affliction. you know? for all the awful things i've done in my life so far.

perhaps it really is something like a debt? an IOU? or better yet, like several post-it notes lined on a wooden kitchen table, each instructing me about a painful task i neglected. gaze into the mirror, cue the hollywood effects and we're trailing into the very essence of the scab. coursing through tissue, and cells and capilaries. it's been just over four months since, and i've been sure to watch out for every low hanging lightbulb.

and speaking of light... i saw this coming on.
shut down, but still secretly wishing i would have run faster than the continuum of time, to see this, and to feel no regret

posturing @ 2004-01-12T15:54:00

2004-01-12T20:55:24Z

this is a reminder:

frog and tode: girls like it when you write them love letters and draw them pictures of teleporters

posturing @ 2004-01-10T16:07:00

2004-01-10T21:07:09Z

haha, oh dear. what a very very exciting evening! keith's masterful execution of the arabian snake-man dance was awe inspiring . even tim's grizzly bear hugs, although immensly powerful, were enacted with such comforting precision and provided the true perception of a great friendship to all those within his embrace . i turned into a snow beast after i locked myself out of the house for a solid 14 hours, wandering up and down the barren snowland of the minnesota median . luckilly jason was there to tuck me in with a wet towel and a kiss when the night ended.

ohyea, i think someone's dead body was in the kitchen for a little bit last night? its not my fault though, i didn't bring the cattle. why is everyone staring at me like i'm responsible ! ?

things are on the up and up. don't think i'm fucking with you. i really do believe in this optimism shit, though i've spread these stories thin already.

he flies as a crow flies, in straight line, straight to her.
WHY?
to tell her something.
she flies as a crow flies, in a straight line.
WHY?
to listen.

he promises her he will not do all the things he has already done to her.

time flies as a crow flies, in a straight line, through you not around you.
your life is only that with which time has its way, with you.

go.
eat.
go eat that crow.

posturing @ 2004-01-09T18:04:00

2004-01-09T23:13:02Z

tim meehan returns to 231 and coincidentally the government turns off our internet fearing yet another attack from the deadly W32.LATES virus created behind the frozen corridor of meehan's room.

if anyone can read this, this is our S.O.S.

TONIGHT MARKS THE RETURN OF THE KING...

THE BEACON IS LIT! 10PM AT 231 MINNESOTA AVENUE

posturing @ 2004-01-08T12:49:00

2004-01-08T17:49:30Z

i'm thinking about something...
i'll be back to finish it off later.

posturing @ 2004-01-05T02:45:00

2004-01-05T07:45:25Z

nervousness........

i just want to escape the immutable discharge of notions like sex&love. it seems they are constantly streaming towards me. i cannot even bear to watch television or move around for long periods of time outside my house without feeling a great discomfort inspired by these varied propagandic and demonstrational influences. they are everywhere, and viciously teething. i want to forget it.

i wish it away. i'm bad enough already.

i used to be reprimanded for not having a good enough memory. but i remember my ray gun used to have 6 distinct settings, atleast one of which emulated a bomb being dropped from high altitude. i remember blue streetlights and yellow streetlights, dogs barking and my headlights flashing across a deer xing sign. i remember when i did not feel this universal weakness, sapping me.

posturing @ 2004-01-03T20:58:00

2004-01-04T01:58:35Z

every day i feel a little bit farther away

posturing @ 2003-12-30T01:10:00

2003-12-30T06:10:52Z

see the coastline?
there's them epistles.

sound out the first sentance,
& it sounds like static; like hissing.

see?

it all spells what we call silence.
there have been these sonances
that could escape our senses.
the street sea speaks them,
and spits them,
salt and all,
down the avenues.

goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
my splintering white blip
the speaking while blissed

the light was blinking, and i then i slipped

this is late

2003-12-24T19:24:30Z

i'm lining up my new years resolutions already...
don't even get me started

/

goodbye friends
new, old, & ancient

i will miss you all

posturing @ 2003-12-24T03:42:00

2003-12-24T08:42:24Z

DECEMBER 31st 2003 - JANUARY 1st 2004

COME ALL YE FAITHFUL TO THE GREATEST CELEBRATION KNOWN TO MAN.

AS THE NEW YEAR APPROACHES, SO TOO DOTH OUR SAVIOR. HE IS TRULY THE KEEPER OF HIS BROTHER'S BROTHERS, AND SHEPARD OF LOST OXES 10" LPs. THE KING OF THIS WORLD AND THE NEXT. DONNING A MAGNIFICENT PLEATHER ROBE AND SPORTING THE FINEST IN KENNETH COLE FOOTWARE, HE SHALL RETURN TO HIS GLORIOUS THRONE AT THE RIGHT HAND OF MINNESOTA AVENUE. GUESTS ARE ENCOURAGED TO ARRIVE BEARING GIFTS AND GENITALIA AND SUCH AND SO FORTH. FEATURING A SPECIAL PREFORMANCE BY OUR NEWLY REFORMED FRIENDS, ZEPPLIN, THERE SHALL BE MUCH REJOICING IN THE HOLY LAND, AND MIKE'S STEAK JOINT. ALL RISE IN HONOR, FOR THE RETURN OF THE KING IS NEAR!

posturing @ 2003-12-17T17:53:00

2003-12-17T22:54:05Z

i have been eating a loaf of bread for the past 3 days in order to stay alive. maybe drinking some gingerale too.

coherentilism incarnate

2003-12-15T10:21:33Z

i'm still up, i'm still up...
at night in the winter time everything outside has this luminescence...
a load of delicate fabrics & a bottle of wine meeting up in a washing machine.

i'm thinking about what i'll do to safe gaurd my apartment from the inevitable seige of crackheads. spears, trap doors, a house-wide spider web, you name it, i've got the blueprints drawn up. imagine a jungle version of home alone.

so i'm playing drums in this minimalist pop outfit called the mirror, the target...
and we're actually playing a show in a week at the mohawk place: december 22nd 8pm
&
i'm trying to put together some of my own private demos (tapes, ofcourse) to sell at the merchandise table...

pursuits: pending, pending, pending

posturing @ 2003-12-05T00:27:00

2003-12-05T05:27:28Z

dear existence,
can you please take it easy on me for a few days?

cooking conciousness. delicious

2003-12-02T14:55:00Z

About waking up: I awaken to horrible sounds. A cell-phone drum-roll throws the sleep off of me. Last wednesday I got knocked out of my coma by a blast of what my friend refers to as 'rasta music.' But since Sean Paul destroyed my stereo receiver I've been put in an odd position where I can only think about the music I'd play to fill out the void of mornings like these, where waking up is not some clamant objective, and you get a few chances to shake the images from your head and let your retinas roll back to their normal, world-watching position. Instead, it was silent after i pressed the phone to off, and it was necessary for me to turn on a light an stare into it just to keep myself aware, all the while mumbling in my mind something about how "it's time to get up." I never really have time for breakfast ever, but I always like to think about sitting down for a few minutes to get in the mood for leaving/living, and being anywhere besides my bedroom.

Frost, R. in your message

2003-11-19T04:38:41Z

i've got a stiff neck, and something of a sore throat...
maybe from all the driver's side hunching to avoid headlights at night,
and maybe from all the screaming, and singing across frozen miles.
i'm actually fine, or getting there

i guess by finally writing this you'll know i've been doing a horrible job of avoiding a baseless tirade. i don't even want to make a shift... even if the light is completely absent... i'd still know i was moving. i am not ready. am prematu re in tho ughts. life will life will go non. I AM TOO DRAMATIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i answer questions, and i grin and everything is lovely again thanks to some horrible excuses for smudging dreams
(my handprints are all over them. stretching and fondling til beeeeeauty escapes)
i am never aware of how i appear until i've got the mirror-like vastness of time to stare at road-stripes and remember haymarket square, or whatever color that train was

posturing @ 2003-11-16T21:21:00

2003-11-17T02:21:26Z

i leave for the weekend and get five million emails about buying discount valium / finding the love of my life, and then an email from the library troll about backdating. thanks interweb

and that's pretty much the extent of it