the wrought-iron fences i’ve built are actually decrepit veneers.


“we’re doing this–

they examine the new material, unimpressed. they themselves had come from the forge. they have an eye for weaklings. familiar with its oxidic darkness, backs burdened with decades of ache, knotted, emblazoned with lashes


that should have healed over ages ago. proof that they’ve had it much worse; it’s masochism and an odd notion of pride that keep them reopening. each wound a medal, an example set; each weapon smote, every shield borne out of pain. of course they feel–how can they not. they cannot lay on their backs after a day’s work without convulsing.  they actually have the gall to say

–we love you.”

“too weak. add more copper into the mix. try again tomorrow.” so be it. the flawed cast-iron is melted, back into formlessness.


you’re inexorable, stuck in the medieval age.

In middle school, I attempted to capture my immense admiration for this singer-songwriter. I spared no “role model” scrapbook project and no planner cover to do what I had to; the cacophonies of (unencumbered, numbered) words + scary-detailed photo collages were litanies of my adoration for you. I mean, just look at that flow chart down there. (Not to mention this entire category.)

You brightened up the better chunk of my childhood, and still are the undisputed champion of my Most Played list. You may never see this, but I hope you have the best of birthdays. Thanks for the inspiration, Jason Thomas Mraz.

Love, the Professional Clockwatcher.

P.S. Countless references on my blog have been made with your songs in mind.


There will always be certain characters that you can tell have amazing stories. Some of them, like these gentlemen, wear their stories on their sleeves–or on their skin, and with whatever they’re immersed in doing. The puppeteer wasn’t putting up a show, by the way–he was just spending quality time with his friend.

I really want to know your stories, but damn my shyness.

(On a sort-of related note: I miss having an actual camera. My phone can only take so much zooming.)

So I’ve been playing this horrendously translated Vietnamese bootleg of Pokemon Crystal. The amount of Engrish in the game is migraine-inducing. This article isn’t even exaggerating. Fresh out of playing another round of Vietnamese Pokemon Crystal, I’m not even sure I’m typing in correct grammar anymore. I’m not sure if that modifier is properly placed. Hell, I’m not sure of anything anymore.

In any case, please appreciate the fruits of my screencapping labor. Maybe I’ll post more when Nikko and I get to play it together again. (You can ask me for a copy of the game, as I hear it’s getting harder to find.)

dj walnut


Read More

Second in the series. Stay tuned for Cece.


(Click on the image to download a .rar of the mix tape!)

1. Your Body Is a Weapon (The Wombats)
2. Nothing New (Lisbonne)
3. Crueler Kind (San Fermin)
4. Miserable (Tokyo Police Club)
5. Sell Yourself (Cage the Elephant)
6. Taste Me (Griefjoy)
7. Sic Transit Gloria… Glory Fades (Brand New)

These are mixes inspired by Eugenides’ The Virgin Suicides (1993). I’ve been meaning to make these mixes for a while now, with the intent to capture what I felt while reading the book/watching Coppola’s film version. Here’s the first one in the series.

(Click on the image to download a .rar of the mix tape!)

“I know that my past bothers you a bit, so I am going to say a few things to try and ease your mind, okay? You are the most beautiful girl I have ever had the courtesy of being with.

No, no, let me explain, I haven’t even started yet.

I love seeing your eyes whenever they meet mine; that did not happen a lot before. Your hair has the perfect balance between curly and not, and not perfectly boring rebonded straight. It makes you look glamorous even on a normal day. You smile with all your pretty face. You’re definitely the best-dressed. I cannot stress this enough: you look stunning even without makeup. You have bangs. I like that. You paint and sing and play the guitar and read literature and write literature and are into Pokemon and Ib and popcorn and pizza and are willing to explore with me and appreciate corniness and give me cool links and actually let me talk in conversation and I like when you hug me a bit too tight and when we kiss each other early before we go home and we have a School page and a School book and 500 comments and we can bond over Sims or any of the above and how we say ‘good night, you’ and I don’t know about you but all that makes you more beautiful to me than a whole hell lot of other people.

Don’t be insecure, alright? You are the most beautiful. Don’t you forget it. I won’t let you. “


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