This isn’t standard fare for this blog, but I have to comment on it.

Project Runway Season 4 must not have been real… this entire season was a blur to me.  Looking back, all I see are candy wrappers, odd voice bubbles that say “fierce”,  Jillian’s static, unhappy face, and tear-soaked sparkle hats.

Oh, and Kit’s gorgeous, smiling face.  How I miss thee…

Before I get started, my PR background:
Season 1: Loved Jay. His final collection was cohesive and stunning.  He deserved to win.
Season 2: Danny V.  All I need to say.  Oh, and Santino Rice.  I enjoyed him.
Season 3: I guess I rooted for Jeffrey Sebelia.
Season 4: Kevin was my boy from day 1… then he got kicked off.  The rest of the season was an excersize in unhappiness.  Oh, and annoyance… Christian’s voice became increasingly grating as the season progressed.

Which leads me to the finale.

I had no idea you could win a “legitimate” fashion competition by sending 12 Honchkrows down the runway.

When did Christian’s ridiculous hat collection swell to a size that rivaled Ricky’s?
I think there were at least 8 huge black hats in that show… which isn’t a detriment apparently, as none of the judges touched on his headwear fetish.  The only way the headwear could’ve been worse was if Christian used that absurd headwrap Jillian had in the semi-finale.

Here is my nutshell summation of the finale:
Rami:  Gorgeous.  Detailed.  The most  bespoke collection.  It was superb.
Jillian:  Jillian gets the most wearable award.  I loved the knitted pieces (especially the scarf).
Christian:  It was nice that his collection was sponsored by Ruffles Potato Chips… I like to see that Lays is taking interest in the fashion industry.

My vote was for Rami, but I’m no Victoria Beckham.

-Brad McKenzie.

Legs are always the first thing to go.

I wrote the first 20 lines of this poem a few nights ago while I was trying to go to sleep.
Getting those lines out helped.

Poem on the first time policy changed inside of me.

When I go running to stay in shape
I usually bring my iPod,
but it was dead, so I left it at home.
The second I stepped outside,
Spring ripped my eyelashes out
and said “Look at what you’ve fucking missed!”
And all the scenery began to sing its name,
so the grass was going
grassgrassgrassgrassgrass.
It was annoying and repetitive,
but beautiful, like a grandfather clock
on fire in a hip-hop album.
The trees were whispering odes
to the nests inside their heads.
So, I decided to do the same.
I pulled my eyes out
like robins’ eggs
and threw them into the air
to watch them hatch into
6-inch tall kick boxers with wings,
more lithe and spritely
than I could’ve imagined my thoughts to be.
The freedom in their movement
was unbounded,
etching its way into the sidewalk
that stretched into the horizon both ways.
I stood there blinded,
listening to eternity
and I realized this forever was inside of me.
My empty sockets were forced upward
as wings tore out of my shoulder blades.
My hands turned into swarms of bees,
dancing the location of every word
that I needed for a poem.
I’ve forgotten every feeling
but the silence I hear, perpetual.
When I open the lids
where my eyes used to be,
the vibrations of eternity,
the buzzing of over-weight wings,
and the energy of one-sixbillionth God
cascades down my face
onto a book created
when I hit my knees together hard enough.
And all of this would mean nothing
without the rest of God’s
ability to dream.

<end>

I finished the poem just now.
Sleep should come easy.
Goodnight.

Starting today off right, with something I just wrote:

27 February 2008

You told me your stomach was a roller coaster.
I see myself distorted in your breasts
like a pair of fun house mirrors.
Your torso is a carnival.
My fingertips are children running screaming
across the fairgrounds towards the next ride.
I heard there’s a new ride called Twinfinity
where we roll down a hill, embraced,
and at the bottom, the sky falls out of our eyes.
Stars twist around us, forcing us to collide
in a kiss that lasts forever.

<end>

Sorry I’ve been gone a few days (yes, I’m apologizing to pretty much myself).
There are times I feel ridiculous addressing multitudes of imaginary readers,
but I don’t think it’s an unhealthy ide, so I’ll stick with it.

I’ve had the notion in my head for awhile that colors may vary from observer to observer. We’ll never know if one’s persons Green is our Green.
“Hey, what does your green look like? And don’t say ‘green,’ I have no way of verifying that.”

Imagine your hair growing to the floor in 5 seconds… I mean, just erupting out of your head, but steadily, like those play-doh barber shops where clay comes out of giant head pores.

The Contents of the Universe

The Universe is full of policemen
with femurs for batons
and bleached grins
for flashlights.

My head sunk slowly and steadily
into my ribcage.
Now I can’t see the forest
for the smoke in my lungs.

These membranes were once
innocent and translucent
like a gaudy portrait
of the Virgin Mary
on a glass lamp base.

The Universe is full
of schmucks like me,
who dare to meddle
in the affairs of gods
and ghosts,
only to wake up
next to failure.

All along, we slept with failure.

<end>

The title of this post is from a Venture Bros. episode, if you were wondering.

I played tennis today, in the sun.
My face… red to say the least.
Oh lack of melanin, you strike again!

Is there anything more stressful than something you’re supposed to be good at?
For instance, if one is terrible at break dancing, one will usually not fret about learning out to break dance well. Unless that “one” is Brad McKenzie… dammit, I wanna pop and lock.

The song of today is First Song by Band of Horses just for the use of “shaking-ass cold.”
That’s lexicon I can get behind.

I signed up on diggit yesterday and had to blurb about my blog. “Blurb about my blog” is way too much lingo for a 4-word span… Regardless, this is what I came up with:
A blog dedicated to the overflow of ideas beaten into the template of words. Fitful musings and poetry on a nearly daily basis. These words are important. These words can move buildings.

I hate the last sentence… I should’ve nixed that instantly. Nipped it in the bud, if you will. Bud or butt? It’s not important… which then negates the next to last sentence in my blurb. Damn.

Quickwrite: Untitled (as most will be)
Throwing insults and hairspray
like a fury of revolving cougars,
I’m watching mercury weasel its way
down my chest.
It collects at my feet
and pulls the lightning out of my limbs,
shaking the earth around me.
I’m the ghost of King Hamlet
on a gyroscope,
levitating perfectly
around the globe
of my own ideas.

<end>

Yep, quickwrite means I just wrote that… just now.
How did I do?

-b.mckenzie

Borderline by Sufjan Stevens has to be the prettiest song ever created.
It would make the pope cry.

I just told someone that Alakazam was my boy…
I meant every word of that sentence.
For those of you not “in the know,” (read: “nostalgic oddballs”) Alakazam is an old pokemon.
He’s fast… faster than fast…QUICKSTYLE!

I learned that word from a girl I was dugg on a few years ago.
I’m keeping it, along with some other things.
The desperation, for one.

Wordsworth Recollection Hour Vol I:
Hermosa Beach, Spring Break 2006

My hands have hatched a thousand baby tortugas,
the sand is wet on the bottom of my jeans.
It rained the entire night on the beach.
We had to keep our eyes out for snakes, birds,
and turtle nests.
I need a rest.

The sea is black and becoming part of the night.
It has its own stars and planets and moons.
It also has vocal chords, which call for me to explore
its space like a ill-clothed, aquatic John Glenn.
I’m saving nature, I’m a flip-flopped Wordsworth.

The sun is rising and I’m pulling baby turtles out of
cylindrical dens, lairs of reptilian refugio.
I’m defying the circle of life, bypassing birds and cold
to hurl an endangered species into predator-filled water.
I am the tortuga God…

These two are Cain and Abel.
This one is Princess Diana.
This one is me, with sand in his eye
and a heart in his back.

[end]

I called it the Wordsworth Hour because he said writing best occurred while reflecting in peace a nice nature scene from years ago… something about the spontaneous overflow of emotion of calm recollection.

Not a bad first post… there was some sort of substance, right?

-b.mckenzie