Rumble rumble rumble goes the engines of Spaceship-Omega. Here aboard, I’m straight chilling. It is Sunday whilst I type this, though for those without premonition and-or access to dimensions where it is not so, the column won’t be going up until Monday at 9 am. Hello! From the past! The aforementioned column is Monday Morning Commute. Within its walls we share the Enjoyable that we are partaking in during a given week. It’s a simple conceit, and through its execution we brighten our respective Existences. Communal exchange of arts. Maybe even fluids. If you do find a dance partner, please relegate your interfacing to the designated rooms upon the Spaceship.
This is the storage compartment of Spaceship OL dedicated to all the various bits of entertainment we’ll be using to get through the workweek. Think of it as an anti-boredom armory. After I show you the wares I’ll be using to fend off the ennui-goblins, hit up the comments section and do the same.
He tried to assuage my anxieties. “A pot of coffee wouldn’t affect a cat of thissere size. Neither would those there beers I fed it. Thawwaz just some fun for the tourists, get `em to toss me a coupla extra bucks. Tough `conomy means we all gotta scrappup bucks in ways we wouldn’t otherwise.”
But there was no way that I was going to feel comfortable. No matter what this guy told me. No matter how carefully the bus driver navigated through the streets. The fact of the matter was that on this particular commute home, I found my normal spot on Metro-Transit Bus 142 occupied by a seven hundred-pound feline that’d spent the day being force fed coffee and alcohol in the hopes of entertaining sunburnt yahoos. I was still six blocks away from my apartment, but I tipped my cap to the trainer and got off at the next stop.
Bus had barely vomited its fumes into my face when I heard jungle growls and smashing glass.
It was a real, mean-as-hell, man-eating tiger.
Welcome to the Monday Morning Commute! I’m going to show you some of the various ways I’ll be entertaining myself in the following days. Then you take your turn to hit up the comments section so as to display your own ennui-destroyers. What’re we all doin’ for fun these days?
In 1992 Dave Mustaine welcomed us to tomorrow. To be fair, this presentiment was most likely the product of combining hours of guitar-slingin’ with label deadlines and, of course, heroin. But the man wasn’t wrong. By the end of the 1990s, the world would be altered irrevocably, requiring us to adapt or perish.
A new Allegory of the Cave called The Matrix bullet-timed its way into our collective consciousness, reminding us that its of the utmost importance to wonder about the very nature of reality. The Internet skulked into our homes, providin’ us with unprecedented access to democracy and porn and free/stolen/whatever music. And then Star Wars fucking died.
Look around. Grandpa’s got a Bluetooth in his head, the teens use Twitter to goad one another into suicide, and SkyNet has invented a self-driving car in the hopes of obliterating human agency. So how do we survive the hustle in bustle of the post-cybernetic revolution?
We talk about the shit that makes us happy! Welcome to the Monday Morning Commute! This is the spot where I show you how I’ll be entertaining myself into the weekend. Your task is to hit up the comments section and share the wares you’ll be using. It’s really just show-and-tell with typing, but aren’t we all pretty much children these days anyways.
Aesop Rock is one of my favorite artists of all time. His mind-bending lyrics are complimented by his humor and social commentary, and through this he has had an effect on how I think and even how I spit out the mindcap nonsense around these parts. There’s been a dry as fuck spell from Bazooka Tooth when it comes to solo albums, and that’s pained me in the nuts. Thankfully it’s all coming to an end this July.
It’s Labor Day, so hopefully none of you are reading this after having put in a full day’s work. Today is the last HURRAH!, the final chance to high-five Summer before he starts putting his suitcases into the trunk of his car. Don’t worry, he’ll be back next year to regale us with hot-dogs and sunburns and countless hours of molasses-paced baseball. Everything’s going to be all right.
Besides, I can already see Autumn’s car down the road. He’s cruising towards us in a pickup truck full of pumpkins and foliage and warm apple pies. So as long as we stay strong during Summer’s departure, we’ll be fine.
Okay, let’s cut to the chase – this is theMonday Morning Commute, the spot where I show you all of the goodies that’re going to get me through the workweek in one piece. After you check out my wares, hit up the comments and show off your own ennui-destroyers.
And a sexy good evening to you all. It’s a perfect, perfect August evening here in the East Coast of the Empire. Crickets chirping, baseball dully playing in the background. A dew-dropped cold Dew in my hands. I can’t complain, I can’t complain. Now what am I doing here? I don’t want you to think that this column is the Omega Brothers’ slam pig, getting passed around. No sir.
You see the Rendar moved out yesterday, and he’s sans internet and with a lot to do. So I’m tagging in. A guest appearance.
This is MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE, the column where you and me give a run down of the arts, sights, and enjoyments that are keeping us loving the universe. Or at least surviving our status as glorious cogs.
The American Dream walks among us and we don’t recognize him. He’s not a weepy bootlegger, changing his name and spying on his babe from across Long Island Sound. And he’s not some punk-ass kid running away from Pencey Prep, hoping to bang broads in the big city and failing miserably. And he sure as hell isn’t some over-the-hill salesman who’s hopin’ that his suicide will save his family.
This is the fuckin’ future, so let’s pay it some damn respect. The American Dream is digital – aspirations have been converted to ones and zeros. The collective consciousness is uploaded and downloaded, torrented with the assistance of an Electrical Storm Zeitgeist.
You’re reading MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE, the weekly post where I jabber pseudo-philosophy at you and then show you what I’ll be doing during the week. We all know the drill – the workweek sucks, so let’s find some refuge in the shit that makes us happy. After I detail my plans, you hit up the comments section and share yours. And thus, a dialogue is born.
I don’t know much about hip-hop, but I know that Aesop Rock is a wordslinger like no other. In the same week that another artist dropped an album with some shockingly self-indulgent tracks, Aesop Rock tossed a new video onto 900Bats that proves creative word play isn’t dead…it’s just cruisin’ around in a shady van.
Check out the video and be reminded of the fact that language-arts entertainment isn’t as static as the major labels would like you to believe.