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The Unparalleled Theories, Ramblings, and Musings of One Aleksandr Walton
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Date:2010-04-27 01:12
Subject:The Ugly

 Another night with the ugly ones.

I wonder what everyone else is doing and if it's less boring than what we're doing.  Given that I can hear the sounds of Bessie Smith floating into my room underneath the sounds of B-Ryan giving Kevin a tattoo in our kitchen, I'm assuming no.

Really, I'd like to walk the line between the good guys and the bad guys, but I think I'm just stuck with ugly.

When am I?  

I laugh to myself at the juxtaposition of the person I am and the person I hope to become.  My life lately has been mainly the attempt to juggle monotony with nothingness.  In reality, I want to have my various cakes and eat them too:  school, friends, booze, and budding romance.  The last of which is something I haven't had in a long time..... a really long time.  I think (I like to think) that everyone is very supportive of me in this; thank you.

The only person I'm not getting any support from is me. Because I'm ugly.  I think most people I'm close to think of me as ugly.  I've had to bite my tongue as people make jokes about my recent weight gain.  But that's just the surface.  The inside ain't so pretty either.  Those closest to me are ugly too.  That's what I like about them.  

The issue with all of us lately is that we're all pointing fingers at each other's ugliness.  Everyone, I urge you to really look at yourselves.  Sometimes you see the good, sometimes you see the bad, but don't miss the ugly.

You're all ugly.

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Date:2009-01-13 19:50
Subject:House Dogs

 For those of you who missed it or for those of you who would like to read it, here's the poem I wrote for Ryan Amstutz on is birthday in an attempt to explain the quixotic lives the two of us live.

House DogsCollapse )


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Date:2008-11-16 19:17
Subject:The Secret Life of Jon Westfall

For those of you who know, I've been sitting on a film idea called "The Secret Life of Jon Westfall" which would be the story of the tragic struggle of Gaslight Theatre's  house drummer Jon Westfall.  Of course, since this struggle is a secret (hence the title) I would either have to uncover this secret life or author my own.  Anyway, I've been working on the cast list.  For those who are interested, here's what I have (pictures included!)

The Secret Life of Jon Westfall (cast)Collapse )

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Date:2008-11-04 20:18
Subject:Dreams are there for those who sleep

The following poem is selected from Humans: A Collection of the Artworks of Alexander Walton

A Day For The Birds
A Satire of Literary Device, Motif, Environmentalism, The Post-Modern, and The Folksy in Three Parts

Part I: Of the Feathers That Catch Wind and Shimmer with the Sunlight

In the morning, doves mourn
for the Mother that made them what they are
will make love to them no more.

The birds will come at the birth of the dawn
On white wing and golden sun.
They come to feast on my rotting carcass in the choking desert.
The birds will come to steal my last dawn.

An orgy of passion, love can never be
But the Tree of Good and Evil
where these birds weave their nests
And to unlock the forbidden knowledge, 
only the birds posses the key.

Ornithologists listen to birds singing happy aubades,
but if they seek rebirth from the dawn, they'll find different trades
Because, though they tweet, chirp and whistle,
They claw, scratch and tear.
So they fly and fly
And each morning slide down each sun ray.
Though you try,
The serpent will have his way.
You'll drive your car out of Eden
And dwell in the land of Nod
Under piles of composting orange peels
And when you arrive I'll say,
"Hey man, nice wheels."

So as I lay rotting I await the coming dawn,
And so does a fluffy rabbit and a playful fawn.
But so does the apple, and Eve, and the snake
And birds of prey line up on telephone wires.
Now look!  I see the sun peking his happy nose over mountains
And he winks to the bald eagle to show us his light
But the amount of arrows in his left talon
Outnumbers the olive leaves in the right.

Part II:  Never Turn Your Head From an Avian Gaze at Mid-day 
The Swallow

Tus manos me tocan,
pero existen sin mi

There was a time when insects were sovereign 
(but is it any different now?)
Then the fish grew its legs.
He left pelagia and stepped into Devonia
like a ritzy socialite,
in tux, in spats,
swinging to the Gershwins,
nevermind the Duke, nevermind the Count,
nevermind what the telegram boy dances to after work!
That first fishapod sprouted its limbs,
jitterbugged out of the sea,
and took the A-Train all the way to Harlem
and onto my plate.

And so it began,
The molestation of Planet Earth.
My hands groping,
penetrating all of the secret, special spaces
touching the deepest waters,
even diddling the ocean floor
(until the fish dance no more)
tearing open the Amazon,
the cheap dirty whore,
and poking her with my rusty chainsaw.

And so the fish are gone
but an eagle still soars.
Yes, look!  he is proud and noble
And only he knows the shame of these - 
these memories
That I try to clean, try to wash away
with the soap in the shower.
The watery beads roll down by shoulder blades.
I've been in here for over an hour,
cursing what I've done,
"I hate that I hurt you!
 I hate that it was fun.
I'm sorry Mother Earth
for this Oedipal addiction,
that we raped you Mother Earth
with flags and with affliction."
And yet I stand naked on wet tile
and hypnotically watch the water pour.
Mother Earth pauses from the dishes
to rap loudly on the door,
"Oy!  Get out!" she yelps, "Save some water for the fishes!"
But why should I care for the fate of a bass or trout?
And I still have enough time
to squeeze in a "squeeze-one-out".
I don't care, today is my day!
And the Eagle shits on Friday.

Part III:  All Ravens Are Black

Dusk comes swiftly,
bringing with it beasts,
a silky blanket of bats
looking like a flock of winged rats
or squeaking, rabid birds
though even owls would fly in fear.
It's a shame that bats hold the spot as flying mammal.
They're ugly and they're graceless and they're dirty!
Don't call me their cousin.
Don't call me a brother,
let's pretend we're of a different mother
Let them sip the blood from another man's hen
Let them drink from a separate fountain.
They are much too dark to possess a soul
so let them defecate in a different hole.
Oh!  But were we still talking of bats?

So goodnight Mother
will you shield me from these vermin?
And please protect me from those four men:
Pestilence, Famine, War, and Death!
Let me rest upon your bosom,
forget the hateful words I've uttered;
the spiteful things I've done;
the angry engines that sputtered,
the seeping smog, the booming gun.
Will you still nurse me?
After all this hateful scorn?
Or should I have been aborted,
Before I was ever born?


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Date:2008-10-24 14:23
Subject:Here's your lemming; where's the cliff?

Jeremiah said something sad.

I told him I wanted to grow up to be like Jeff Goldblum's character in Jurassic Park. He said, "Alex, you're 20. You are grown up. "

So this is it? This is who I'm going to be for the rest of my life?

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Date:2008-10-14 18:34
Subject:I'm a girl.

Write ten things you wish you could say to ten different people. Thank you B-Ryan.

1. Thank you B-Ryan.
2. I love you. I don't know why I don't say that to you more. I say it to all of the other people in my life who I love, but you're probably in the top 2 most important people in my life. I have lots of good friends, and I love them all, but you are my best friend.
3. It's a shame you didn't come around, it could have been great for the both of us. I'll still give you another chance though. Still, I would never tell you this, but I often refer to you as "The Poor Man's Ally". That's genuinely how I think of you.
4. There's a lot of weird sexual tension between us, and it makes being around you kind of stressful. I like that you get jealous when I flirt with other girls, but I wish you wouldn't take it out on them. I think we should just make out or something, it might help mitigate the tension (or it might make things worse). Either way, you're a little too young for me.
5. You kind of bore me. I'm afraid it will get to the point of annoyance if I actually spend any real one-on-one time with you. Whatever, I'll continue doing what I'm doing for the sake of doing it though.
6. I have a huge crush on you, but I'm also terrified of you. I don't have any clue how to take the next step, but more so, I don't know if I should.
7. Stop leaving your starbucks cups in my room!
8. I was never using you, I was trying to appease you (i.e. get you to leave me alone, for the most part). But it was nice to see how much of a dick I could be and still get away with it. It's not clever to attack someone's unique (though classically nerdy) interests, especially if they are planning on devoting their life to it.
9. I think I have a little crush on you. It's weird, and for some reason I feel guilty about it.
10. I don't know why they keep giving you roles in big high-production movies. You should have disappeared off the planet after Even Stevens. Then they give you the most coveted young actor role in a long time, the cool 50s son of Indiana Jones. And now you're going to be in that ridiculously stupid looking film Eagle Eye. I hope you continue to drive irresponsibly.

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Date:2007-04-05 00:01
Subject:Baby, It's You

"The Grindhouse" was so insane it actually hurts a little.

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Date:2007-03-27 12:15
Subject:I'm burning for you, bitch.

Reminder: Barbegeddon IV/My Birthday: Grazing in the Grass will be this saturday. Unless complications arise it will be at Ft Lowell park at 4pm. We'd like to move it to a nighttime location for a bonfire, but we haven't been able to secure a definite place. Open to ideas, open to ideas, please.

I wanna launch a supergroup called "Alexander and The Greats". It will be a musical project that will be mostly studio and will consist of me coming up with musical ideas/chord progressions/lyrics/melodies and an all-star cast of music geniuses (hence The Greats) will aide me in fleshing them out to highly produced musical jewels. I'm gonna talk about it with Chris Oakden this afternoon.

Oh, and I hope Stephen cutting ties with me doesn't mean he's quitting The Shaken Babies, because I've got to RSVP YMCA by tomorrow about playing the skate show and it'd be a bitch teaching a new guitarist our songs by then.

Chocolate City:
Ali in the White House
Reverend Ike, Secretary of the Treasury
Richard Pryor, Minister of Education
Stevie Wonder, Secretary of FINE arts
And Miss Aretha Franklin, the First Lady

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Date:2007-03-11 22:53
Subject:Love Him

Okay, so Barbegeddon IV (the fourth barbecue to end all other barbecues including the barbecues to end all barbecues previous to it but excluding possible barbecues to end all other barbecues that may happen in the future that would usurp the position of barbecue to end all other barbeques and hence end Barbegeddon IV) is tentatively planned for March 31, exactly one year since Barbegeddon III (the third barbecue to end all other barbecues including the barbecues to end all barbecues previous to it but excluding possible barbecues to end all other barbecues that may happen in the future, including the afore mentioned Barbegeddon that will usurp the position of barbecue to end all other barbeques and hence end Barbegeddon III) and of course, my 19th birthday. This is of course pending the approval of Jared Brock, Barbegeddon Co-founder (alongside Stephen CB Kozlowski) and one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. If Jared does approve then the Four Horsemen (Jared, Stephen, Kevin Bediant and I) will go into planning.

Jared, we'd love your approval <3. Barbegeddon IV will be under the subtitle of "Grazing in the Grass" and the theme will be ringing in the early days of spring in the style of the long-haired generation of Love. Yes, think the "Age of Aquarius" from the musical Hair, or if you're unfamiliar with that, the recent parody of the scene at the end of The Forty-Year-Old Virgin.
Since the Barbegeddon crowd seems to grow each time, we will need a big location, we're thinking possibly a park, unless some brave soul offers his/her house.

Once again, Jared... <3 <3 <3

Fun Wiki Fact: The gospel singer Merry Clayton (named so because she was born on Christmas day) performed the back up vocals on the Rolling Stones song "Gimme Shelter" with such intensity that she reportedly miscarried.
More about Merry Clayton? She played the role of The Acid Queen in the original 1972 London production of The Who's "Tommy". She sang the background vocals on Skynyrd's "Sweet Home Alabama" and get this, she sang on the last album put out by the band....Sparta. (fun facts provided by Wikipedia.org)

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Date:2007-03-02 17:32
Subject:First Kiss

It's BACK!!

No, not Monster Jam...

My mustache.

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Date:2007-02-28 18:32

I've been trying to convince my dad that we should see MONSTER JAM this weekend. I mean, what's more father-and-son than seeing the Gravedigger rip apart other cars, right?

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Date:2007-02-27 22:59
Subject:For You

I am soooo smarter than a 5th grader.

It's funny, when I'm in Calculus, I have two overwhelming urges that are constantly battling each other. The first is to swat my notebook off my desk and storm out the of the class. The second is to pick up a desk and throw it through the window, and then storm out of the class.

Prediction: I bet that they'll make a movie version of the book "The Giver" and supremely fuck it up.

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Date:2007-02-20 22:37
Subject:Fax me!

I like sleeping. I like it a lot. It's probably my favorite activity. As I've told some of you before, my dreams are more interesting than my real life (although often more stressful) so which "reality" would I put more time and energy into right? The answer seems more obvious to me than it might to others.

Anyway, you ever notice how as you're falling asleep, your internal monologue begins to lose solipsism and in turn any sort of tie to logic or order? Well, that's how I know I'm going to fall asleep, is when my internal monologue stops making any sense. However, the conundrum is that by becoming aware of the fact that I'm going to fall asleep, I'm forming a conscious, logic thought, which jolts me right back into a not-falling-asleep state.

yeah, it's fun.

Anyway, this morning, as my monologue drifted to nonsense, the result was an illogical, but fun song. Here's how it went:

Hey there Mr. Pee Pee Man,
Let's go to the Pee Pee Land
and play in the Pee Pee sand
and get a Pee Pee tan.
Hey, there Mr. Pee Pee Man,
I want to shake your Pee Pee hand,
I'm your biggest Pee Pee fan.

weird stuff.

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Date:2007-01-14 10:14
Subject:Remember God TV?

God, He's like Donald Trump. He'll smite you if you fuss.
He's got an apprentice Jesus who got fired to save us.

Stephen, can't we return to that song for The Shaken Babies? Oh, and I was looking back on old entries for Rich Gay Man (I couldn't find it) and I found that one of the ideas for a name for our duo (before we settled on Immortal Bacon) that I had come up with, but you shot down was Bring Back Eugenics. I still think that would be a great band name.

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Date:2006-12-25 10:51
Subject:Could you just slip away?

so, I drove sCouT loCC to his nEw housE TodAy AfTEr work (wE Also sToppEd off At jokEr's pAd for A liTTlE biT. wE plAyEd sAn AndrEAs. iT wAs good TimEs. I'm Also going bACC thErE To CElEbrATE ChrisTmAs Tommorrow.

so hErE's ThE quEsTion: whAT should i buy his fAmily for A ChrisTmAs/housE-wArming gifT?? Any idEAs?

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Date:2006-12-20 10:52
Subject:Thug Luv

I think I'm turning into Tobias Funke.

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Date:2006-12-19 07:33
Subject:I am your hard to get man

Good News: jokEr has been released from jail, two months early.

Bad bad bad bad bad bad bad news: Aimee V. put in her two weeks.

Fun Fact: I think Craig Ferguson is funny.

Hmmm, I always figured I would quit when Aimee did. To me that would mean it was finally time to get out of there. I wonder what I should do...

I did something pretty funny, pretty audacious today. I'll have to tell you about it in person.

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Date:2006-12-16 23:42
Subject:What is it about the night?

I spend a lot of time dreaming.  And I like it.  In fact, that altered state of conscious is much more interesting than the one that I'm currently functioning in.  For example last night's dream...

As far back as my memory of the dream holds, I was sitting in a big super-church surrounded by almost every single person in my life traveling back.  Anyway, it came to the point where the congregation was going to play a huge softball match.  The teams were divided based on who could read music and who couldn't.   I felt very superior to be a part of the music-reading group.  We gathered in two large mass and the group I was in was arranged in a bizarre Boolean manner.  It functioned in a way similar to cellular automata.  I was trying to get closer to these two girls and every time I would move in, the whole mass would follow me, rearrange and wind up looking the same way as it did before I had moved.  Realizing this power I had over the group, I moved several times laughingly.  However, while I was fooling around with my newfound God complex, I failed to notice that the two women I had being trying to get closer to (Dominique and Aimee V) had left the group and were heading toward the softball field. 
I quickly followed them and we got to the field which, as I pointed out in my dream, looked like it could have been a got spot to shoot a scene in a Vietnam war movie.  Anyway, I was stationed in the outfield, but there were so many of us that we were jammed together way too close.  Next to me was Alex Riney (whom I characteristically gave a profuse amount of undeserved shit) and Megan Allen (who looked very voluptuous for some reason) and some unnamed black movie star that was a cross between Morgan Freeman and Carl Weathers.  All three of them had recently starred in a big-hit prison movie and they were bragging about it to me. 
Then up rolled Caitlin Simonsen who told me about these dreams she had where a mysterious voice (whom she called Borat) would talk to her and give her advice and when she woke up she had left her with special items.  She told me to try it.  I was reluctant, but when I went to sleep  and had a dream-within-a-dream the mysterious voice (sounding nothing like the real Borat) told me that he would cure what ails me. How? I asked.  He told me that in the morning, as I began my search for my pants, I would find what I needed.
When I woke up from my dream-dream into my dream I put on my pants and in my pocket was a green bottle.  It said to apply the liquid to my "foveal area" which, thanks to Dawkins, I knew to be my eye.  It said it would make me do unbelievably well with women or something to that effect.  I went back to the super-church main building (I guess I was living on church grounds for some reason, and so was everyone else)  and went into the bathroom to put the drops in.  On the way, I met many people who had also received gifts from the voice.  David Gonzales told me it was a load of crap.  Randy Rodriguez on the other hand told me it had spectacular results.  I emptied about half the bottle into my left eye in the men's bathroom.  The bathroom was situated in the worst way possible, where you could easily peer into the women's bathroom and they could look in the men's (my mother confided in me later that my father Dennis had gotten so confused by the setup that he had, on several occasions, used the women's bathroom). 
I don't really remember how well the drops worked, but by the end of the dream I was alone on a desert road in the middle of nowhere and the owner of the mysterious voice (known only as Borat) drove up in a red mustang and picked me up. 

I love my dreams.  And for this reason, I invest as much energy and time into them as my non-dreaming life.  Eleven hours of my 24 hour days are devoted to these dreams.  I never know what's going to happen in them.  While my waking life is consumed by facebook, work, and watching tv with my friends.

When I finally woke up and embarked on the "search for my pants" at 4 in the afternoon today I looked for Borat's mysterious panacea.  I found nothing but a few coins.  But at that point I had mostly forgotten what it was I was trying to cure.

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Date:2006-12-14 20:55
Subject:You'll never see me fall from grace

Hello Livejournal, I haven't confided anything in you lately.  It's been a fairly long hiatus so I should write something prolific.
But I won't.

Yesterday I made a fool of myself.  I was talking to some girl (just some girl so it doesn't matter, but its a good story nonetheless) about the show Jackass.  I was trying to tell her that I hate Steve-O because he embodies an entire culture of red-faced, veiny, tattooed, gravely-voiced, short-haired punky bastards with no class and no perspective, as opposed to the respectable Johnny Knoxville, who, in all honesty, is a godly type individual to whom all men should look up to.  Instead of saying something like that, I simply said,
"I really don't like Steve-O because he's kind of a jackass." 
Of course she returned with, "That's kind of the point."
I could have chosen any word to describe Steve-O and I just had to choose the title of the show.  Idiot.

Prediction for the Future:
Lenny Kravitz will have a comeback by covering the song "The Boys are Back in Town" by Thin Lizzy.
(or possibly "Cult of Personality" by Living Colour or "Pump it Up" by Elvis Costello)

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Date:2006-11-05 07:33
Subject:Mr. Moustache

My manager Neil (you may know his as the older brother of Bro Legend Nathan Chamberlain) and I have decided to initiate a contest at work to see who can grow the worst moustache. There is talk that Kirby Overstreet and Drew may also be interested in joining the contest.

I never thought I'd ever grow a moustache, ever. I mentioned it to my parents, and their reactions were different from what I expected. My mother was actually excited and told me she thinks it will look great. My father seemed as if he was about to tell me that I would look stupid, until he remembered that he has moustache.

I can guess, however, that it won't do much good for me in the woman department. If they can't already smell my "pathetic" feramones, then the moustache will be sure to drive them away.

So right now, I can't quite figure out what I look like: Childmolestor? Crip? 70's pornstar? 80's gay man? Mexican? Maybe a little bit of all. But mainly Mexican. I wonder, why can almost no Mexican males grow an actual moustache. Yet, almost every one of them has that goofy hairy lip adolescent moustache? Don't they realize how silly it looks? Here's what I think:
Every Mexican man knows that most other Mexican men cannot grow a full moustache. So, they all try their damned hardest to actually grow a full one. Every now and then, one of them accomplishes this impossible goal. And those few and brave men, are the lucky ones who get to wear sombreros and panchos. Only those with full moustaches are allowed to wear these items of victory. Jorge? Any comments?

Is that racist?

Anyway, everyone, lets grow a moustache, and someday we may receive honorary the sombrero and pancho.

Some who have succeeded:


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