on burritos and liberty

when approached by the situation of being stranded in a specific place for the rest of my life, there are only a few things that i would need to survive: food, water, and a mental capacity to resist specific hallucinatory states over a period of time due lack of human interaction. the latter skill of resisting insanity would take such a toll on ones body and mind that the stranded would need to replenish their glucose levels by introducing systematic regiment of food to their energy converter (gastrointestinal system). taking into consideration that i would be stranded within the confines of a solitary location, my situation would only permit one type of food for the rest of my waking life. and what would this eternally satisfying food take the form of? within the criteria of the situation, the food must be able to provide nutritional value that coincides with the spectrum of healthy living. by stating the term healthy living i hope to corral my food into an all encompassing 'well balanced meal'. let us focus on what we have knocked out in the process of creating these perameters i have set up thus far. first and foremost, vegemite, you are out of here! why, oh why would you kick ye olde vegemite out of the running for the coolest... ahem... excuse me... greatest and most sufficient stranded island food so early in the contest? well let me tell you why compatriots. beginning with the most obvious reason, vegemite is bland and is more boring than the white bread that you spread it on. when you introduce it to a room of new, non-vegemite saavy humanoids, it becomes obnoxious, and creates an interruption in the comfortable lifestyle at hand. the only thing louder than its light hansa yellow label is the taint that it leaves on your mouth after invades your house and leaves a mess behind in your kitchen. if there was one positive characteristic of vegemite, which may or may not exist within reality, it would have to be its cute, malty accent, that seems to make anything it is spread on much 'softer' than if it was ordinary old american margarine.
but hold on their mate, if vegemite isnt the greatest food that you could happily spend the rest of your life with, than what is? well, for one, the greatest food was invented in america, duh, and was assimilated by the mexicans who we stole the whole idea from in the first place. need i proceed with the argument? i need. i need. to all the bogans out there that need it spelled out for them due to their lack of freedom of education throughout childhood, the greatest and most wonderful food in the entire world is the burrito. packed with diverse ingredients, ranging from rice, beans, meats, vegetables, and cheeses, these wondrous blocks of the food pyramid are thrown together into a melting pot created by the hot barrier of a tortilla where they all work in unison to create a wondrous, flavor infused, dining experience. the burrito then goes on to dominate every and all taste buds in its way until it gains total control and domination of the deployment centers for the 'tastes fucking delicious' hormone.
now if you still cant understand the reasoning behind why burritos are not only my deserted island food but also the greatest food ever invented, it may just be due to the fact that you are either australian or that you have no soul.

dont let this happen to your country

listen to milt jackson

vibes

from the grave pt. 3

when confronted with a fear, the human brain has the ability to create situations that transgress the limits of what most may consider reality. in the city of diversity, these byproducts of my cranial activity manifested themselves before my eyes, and became the last things my looking balls would ever process as visual stimuli. in my viewers eyes there may be some loss in the credibility of my words after stating that what i culminated in my mind came to life. so i shall prove to our visually dependent culture that my words are true with the final photographic essay... from the grave. on a side note; as i walk through the valley in the shadow of death, i find it comforting to know that there is wi-fi, because i would be pretty bored in the afterlife without an internet connection, and you wouldn't have this deathly wonderful piece of writing genius to enjoy.

upon return to our prison we wilted our way back into the ever-so-slow process of succumbing to our foreordination. visions of a land in which we ran free within an artistic hotbed had fluttered away as quickly as our desire to live another day in the house on nevins and dean street.

but why? where is the threat? why give up in a city so great as new york? one may ask these questions if one has never been to the land of nevins and dean. for within the confines of this well insulated home holds a danger that i would never have associated with my own blood relatives. and without further adieu, i will open pandoras box in the simplest of terms. my cousins are zombies. and these zombies ate us. and once they ate a walrus. but that is another story for another night.

innocent as it may seem, the relatives seen in this picture were housing us for the sole purpose of quenching their childrens thirst for californian blood. here they are pretending to read, but they were just at the table to make sure we were keeping our flesh pristine by filling our intestinal tracts with foods such as puffins cereal.


while appearing docile, meg creates a special meal that will preserve the flavors of our skin to the utmost degree, and fully satisfy her zombie children.


again, readers may find disbelief in my words after the last two shots, due to the extremely gentle looking hosts, but one cannot deny the words any longer after seeing the zombies themselves.


do not believe for a second that the smaller zombie may have a softer side and can be coerced out of eating your flesh, for she is the most dangerous of them all.

ZOMBIE ATTACK!!!


notice the pure joy of the zombies as they walk away from the killing floor. i snapped this pic off just before rigor mortis compelled my body to take on the characteristics of a fallen willow tree. the zombies saved my upper body for mastication later on when they were hungry again.


and so i say to you dear reader, when traveling to new york, remember to pay your respects and spend three days straight in mourning at the foot of ground zero. or else you too will be wishing you had... from the grave.

from the grave pt. 2

after arriving at dean and nevins street we were allowed a few free days out of the cells to roam the land of new york. being the cruel trick by our captors it was, we enjoyed swooning in its offerings, letting our eyes run free in the land of diversity even if our bodies would never escape the city on the eastern seaboard.
when trapped in an urban jungle and struggling for life one seeks those who survive in the harshest of conditions. survival becomes contagious. our journey brought to attention the struggle of trees within new york. few and far inbetween, they become an interesting creature emerging from the concrete as a testament to nature.

tree of nevins street struggles to be seen by the metropolitan citizens, in the dead of winter it is difficult


tree of madison avenue buried thick in the central layout of the city disguises itself from the viewer by pretending to be an art nouveau lightpost


although the city harshly ostracizes the subtleties of nature within its buildings and vehicles, there are several moments of hope. the central park haven supplies the drowning new yorker with all the nature they can handle. central park was an island within an island on our trip, it was our final fleeting moment of life, before we headed back to the cells for rations.


of course on the way back nature began to take a back seat again.


organic turned to mechanical


and industry taunted us with imitation. two mechanized trees stretch out to us with cold steel branches


harrowed by the trip outside seeking refuge, we were drawn back to our future grave. was it the loss of hope within the city walls that drove us back, or just the call of our stomachs for food, i dont know, but it was our last dance with the outside world. and i didnt even get to see the symbol of freedom that every immigrant looked to as a beacon of light for new lives in the early twentieth century; the statue of liberty!

oh wait. yes i did. and it renewed my faith in the united states of america.

from the grave pt. 1

last week i died. before i passed into the afterlife i traveled. before i transported my flesh pod across a country's fertile earth space i shaved, but that is another story within itself that you will understand when you get older.
they say that there is a land that stretches a very small length of the eastern seaboard, they being people that own maps. i trust them, or should i say, trustED them. this land contains within it a social factor that i had forgotten about, a benefactor to human interaction, a beauty via aknowledgement and acceptance; this land contains the definition of the noun diversity. having hailed from the central pacific region of califonia for the past half decade, i had forgotten of this ever-elusive crown jewel of humanity. feeling absent of the conglomeration of viewpoints of the world, i set out to find this fabled land they call new york.
when traveling, i always seek an intrepid companion, so as to avoid dying first when faced with a potentially fatal situation. and so a woman by the name of laura krifka was chosen to mobilize with me. how i tricked this innocent flesh pod to walk into her own grave willingly and close the casket is a long and complicated story. i told her that we were going to see artwork and stay with my relatives. thats actually all i needed to fabricate verbally to coerce her, and thus it actually was not as long and complicated as i had presented two sentences ago. did i believe my own farce story myself and dive into my own demise? maybe so, but i like to think of myself as a braniac, so no, i did not believe such a tall tale. and so begins the tale from the grave.

we caught a metal bird on december twelfth two thousand and seven. very approximately six years, three months, and one day from when several drunk metal birds deviated from their godsent paths of transportation. but that is another story for another night. we arrived in jfk and found our way to the land of brooklyn, where my relatives lived and invited us to stay with them.

a brooklyn doorway that is not exactly where we stayed but close


we were whisked away to our quarters upon entry to the house, and found quickly that this wasnt exactly the blissful visit we had expected within our nubile brains.

cell #1

cell #2

view from cell #1


the location of nevins and dean street would be like a mirage to us, so inviting and perfect, yet we would come to know it as the last place on planet earth we would ever know.

continued when i dont have to wrap presents... from the grave of course

beleber returns; darwin prevails

today, mr. michael beleber returned from the north and we set out on an adventure to skateboard our way into the history books.

belebrainiac


we should have accepted our fate when the gatekeeper told us we couldnt skateboard due to lack of protective accesories. but we forged ahead and hopped the fence when she wasnt looking. needless to say, there were fleshpods strewn about within minutes of entering the confines of the skateboard arena.

gravitationally disabled


magna cum laude


we quickly thereafter found our way to the safety of the finest vessel to ever charter the morro bay waters. a boat manned by the most outstanding captain, known as to the masses as chet. the THAI BOAT. healed we were.

and then we went back to brians house and tried to make a bonerhead halloween poster.

is robot takeover such a bad thing?

a short photo examination of technological culture and its peripherals.

morning robots


robotic waste


morning robots eat cats


escape the electronic rennaisance to start your wandering days