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freebooter4ever · 9 months ago

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Nono, you’re right about glasses Geno, but what does he teach?

My pitch would be Soviet art history, his phd is specifically in the soviet sculptural tradition and it’s a long running joke amongst his students that his apartment is probably full of weird-ass replicas and plaster casts of them.

Ahahahaha you must not have seen that old post i found last night - art was apparently geno's least favorite subject. He used to ask his mom to do his painting homework for him, poor boy. (go watch the gifs its cute, a decade ago but he smiles at getting away with cheating in the exact same way he did when he made the cartoon joke this season)

No, if this is gonna be my silly little fantasy where geno is still in pittsburgh but as some adorable bashful professor and more accessible than a famous hockey player, he's gotta be in a field more accessible. I was never cool enough for the art department, there was a reason i was an artist/computer scientist doing computer science research instead of art research.

Ridiculous fantasy under the cut cause this month has been horrible and who doesnt need escapism :P

Lets put him in the math department, he's good at poker right? Or literature. One of those nerds who likes logic puzzles, like for fun. The kind that enjoys supposing something is fact, and then following the logic train of how the world's dominos would change if this one (wrong) thing is actually true. That'd stick math professor geno's office somewhere in baker hall, which is warm (like 90 degrees ALL YEAR), and strangely soft (well worn), but somewhat industrial (carnegie built all these buildings with the steel industry in mind), he'd fit right in.

Also it's shared with the chemistry department, and the chemical engineering students installed a soda machine in the hallway of basement B. And its famous because it's the cheapest place for caffeine on campus (being run by students they sold the cans close to at cost) and connected to like four other buildings by indoor bridges so you can get your soda fix even during the winter. Before a doctor told me i had to quit caffeine or else have a stroke, i was frequently walking over to buy cherry cola, like a cigarette break only more sugary.

So we have to have a meet cute in this little fantasy and what better vehicle than chitchat over a soda machine. Geno's supposedly shy, right? So i imagine professor geno is even worse, like professors dont talk to media unless they actively want to go viral and become famous and geno strikes me as the type who'd instead be quietly brilliant. Anyway, im shy too, so obviously it's gonna take at least two years of accidental run-ins before there's even a conversation. Like the first year i'd probably learn the hot mystery professor's schedule and time my soda machine visits to coincide with his. The second year i'd probably find out his name from a friend of a friend of a friend who took his class back in undergrad. By the third year we might exchange four whole sentences and it'd be the highlight of my life.

Speaking of classes, geno's gotta be that professor with tons of quirks. Costumes every halloween, a teaching style that is very serious but somehow the funniest in the department, everybody has nicknames from him, all the women in his classes are in love with him and give him other nicknames and tease each other about him behind his back. His office hours are always full, which he's a little bit sad about because if nobody shows up he has an excuse to play video games on his computer for a few hours. He's always stopped in the hallways because everybody recognizes him - current and old students alike - and wants to chat or ask questions related to life or homework. You can hear his voice coming from a mile away, so he's easy to find and socialize with. By the same token when he's in a bad mood, everybody knows it.

Professor geno would also be unfailingly kind - the one who remembers what its like to be perpetually exhausted, hungry, and broke as a student, so he sometimes orders pizza and has it sent to the whiteboard study areas in wean.

I dont think math professor geno would live in an apartment, that's a little boring. He'd probably live with his good buddy who's a famous hockey player and understands that adjunct professors get paid shit until you get your phd and then, god willing, tenure, so doesn't charge him any rent. This version of sid doesnt live in excluseive rich people town but instead has one of those stately mansions in shadyside. And its a college town so sometimes when they go out people recognize geno from class more often than they recognize sid and sid secretly thrives off this.

At some point after maybe four years of soda machine conversation, i'd get up the courage to ask professor geno if i could draw his portrait. Maybe he'd also help me come up with ideas for new animals and creatures to sculpt for my research gallery.

Lmao look what you did anon, you got me writing self insert fic for the first time in over a decade 🤣

#This might be deleted out of shame later LOL #Geno

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triumphorce · 6 years ago

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under umbras of bundles of stars,

canopies of leaves & branches that shatter-scatter sky image held indirect

as a gleam in eyes

as conscious lay in fabricated gardens watching memories, & desires in dream form

from across highway covered by

blue-white,

yellow,

& orange lights

sound of tires, mufflers, sirens,

amidst a higher sense

attuned to

muffled far cries muffled while crossing empty lands

filled with chilling wind howls, stealing hope,

which

kickstarts the power on survival mode..

ups& downs

drown the cries further,

that

war, warn, or cheer..

or just sing..

maybe

a hymn made by souls for souls under same umbra to set free to lead to wonder & beauty beyond the surface of senses directly to free to seek love loss between me and me

buried beneath road of longest journey to reach

turn feet all around

all about a world I have no idea about

just mad ideas about Kept in journals i turn over

to all but from in front of views not yet exploited by value of which is, views are power, & are the will in word- to-page transaction

self diminished to substantiate

entries from entrails, not shown to be conquered

win or lose is how I never saw things.

win or win, only optionss, only progress..

yet..,always over complicating;

marathon sprints from start to finish

as I choose, If i choose, to continue to choose to overlook slopes in existence, where hides I, in ruins, digging for recognition

contribute to a mind overloading with what I know I owe society, &me,

burden of see-through beast, I see illusions of future thru,mistaken as truth, play victim, get stressed or believe I'm down on luck ,in dumps of depression and slum of beliefs,

in a slump with headphones on temple and music up, reminisce about the golden olden, me and broseph, SSB, PSO, kanto, johto, cartoon cartoons, many one saturday morning’s, plenty cinnamon toast, fruity pebbles, so many card games at Books-a-million

but when I open eyes from trance

I'm forever face to face with today is today

not then not later...

just

changes who changed how I changed regret and anger to compensate for blaming everybody but me

now I stare afraid at dilemmas mass effect decisions

daily in-and-out-terventions

to keep from falling back into resentment.. spite blinding shelves of subconscious-self- disappointed perpetuating judgment of others binding progression, tying tongue, boiling blood because old habits die hard and I continue fucking up, up raging rapids w/o a paddle, almost 3 decades of failing infinite (according to projections) feel I missed and am missing out on so much, so much world, so many words coiled inside, waiting to explode,

all the time, just like everybody.. everything mind sets sights on turns to target issue how unfortunate for aforementioned coordinates, for anyone close enough for me to put in poems' , important enough to torment conscious over, used to be everybody, used to be nobody, used to be just some people, now its just me and i dont know him

attempts to speak, to learn again, to teach me about me to learn to teach myself, to set example for ambition directed toward a better version, better verses, better reimbursement of time given tryna be an extrovert, free from bitter, free from bitch asses, set internal standards to never get fucked with again, fuck you, fuck him, fuck her, i only fucks with a journal & question everyone, everything, every word, every whisper, shit ima tell my children every day, breakfast lunch dinner, do your best and fuck the rest, get it, get lit off enlightenment, fuck rest, save roosting for death, dont look at me, looknat the sky, seize the day in everyway brain permits, dont reach for others' and if anyone tries to take yours, that means they dont fundamentally respect life, so always permeate passion, ignore distractions keeping you from creating, test limits, test intentions, challenge imperfections with wisdom, know that perfect is just cosmetics, but i remain quiet.. remain tied up being alone, wondering.. whether I'm right to do any god damn thing 'cause if I don't do it right.. was I right to think I could, wrong to think I understood

am i wrong not to try?

what of what's sacrificed ?

how do i keep count

how did I end up here in standby...

standing squeamish & deer eyed in light of opportunities rising in horizon of night skies, to step in to obtain warmth, maintain from days before, to do something, do the one thing, but when will I be ready will eyes be ready to comprehend right or wrong

only me, here. only us, on planet.

only who's responsible? how is who is affected by, afflicted by? when is too late? when is just right, always too soon to tell and.. if I don't do it now, then why expect change..

why, why, why

'cause I expect anything at all

anger toward unmanned vehicles imminent to collide with mine

driven mad up eighty-five degree angled walls during rush hour, sun beaming heat into ride, where i travel on path, thru battlefield of past where fallen intentions decompose to ignorance and wisdom sprouts in the mean time.. I'm in between times, feelin down, down down down down by the way

a trail thru fears past dead ends, rotting trees, looks like fallout hit

a past I try an' forget..

but remember out of reluctance

to accidentally revisit regret,

stand next to biggest fears, see if facing them uproots soul

rolls ideas in head, non-stop

like trolls troll under bridges

to which billy goat gruff temper charges like crono's katana on zenan crossing,

lodes of odes to oaths, lightning loaded, aimed at negative minded sapiens bioshocks via rhythm and syntax, cryo cascades of ideas, locked away in moleskine or computer files to put to rest the rest of an inside in arrest to judgment, in side quest of public playthrough, i feel im on public display, static complaining in front of pretty much strangers modes of awareness to mental problems i exploit to people who might not think im crazy, who might like what i write, might like to write about the same thing, might see giants in those same nodes i stand near, i hear crisp crackles filling an awkward air as i stare at words on sheets that i might tear, might let collect dust, or share prolly might be quiet, only sound is poetic drafts that fill in under open windows, I open slowly, cool rush, goosebumps, awake aware always, even when mind is a crinkled, crumbled candy wrapper still just construct wrinkles in time via hairs stand, ovation, and encores to

helping to cross over doubts, screams of slander, stop it all, right now, shed truth in another light, fed through veins like pen's ink to go over and correct vision of pinheads vane turnin art, free thought to cash and competition, trade purpose blow for blow with obstacles in the name of the next step, over opponents, trade nervous for nerves robust to withstand standing up to stretch and spread chest to stand up for work where time invested is braided circulation goin in circles, time wasted pet peeve number 1

a nowhere never felt before but something seems familiar.. overlooked, under yards, under pressure of bone leverage, give life a lift thru cracks of a collapsing effort stretched behind chest and ribs

a heart glows in

hot coal hues hearth warmth under carbon sheets

till blood boils till steam coils from pores to kill the cold along roads

sun or none

no light above, isn't lack of..

(look inside)

----

harsh heat of reality hot enough to feel cold

make me go ghost in dark times..

friction strong enough to spark moist..

continue until i sear nerves disembody fromm pain till im felt by meta-form of others

heartfelt arcs between soul and soul-mind 2 mind

light releases thru iris folds spectacle in spectacles----

spectrum wheel of emotions spins &spins to understand self an urge that intensifies the more i live life as well as I can Improve every day, no excuse, don't ignore the corners, get behind my ears,every nook and cranny in creative muse-um, uhm, duh, raised on books, nintendo, animation,& wishbone, outside, only myself as playdate, use every square inch as play-scape under every hair in head, a mind uses face and body as way to create 4 fourever& vice versa to escape who ever & know I can do whenever, wherever

wherever i go, a voice in mind goes

that keeps on talkin , keeps me talkin tellin me I've talk--, wrote enough hoped enough to last a lifetime, but that's not enough

and I still got a lifetime

to either solidify or fuck it up

gradually let go of

to concentrate on life's finest moments i build to build form in appreciation, saying get up, enjoy the sun rays breaching clouds just before dawn; gett off yo butt and do what you know what you taught you to do when you were at multiple low points and you promised you, you'd never fall to end, even if you fall again, again, and again, never stall in the middle of takeoff stop in middle of road, cant press play if you lost remote, might as well get up and do it, crawl, run or walk away when the times calls to brawl dark-inner energy only honorable mentions defend health during dishonorable discharge of nega, into rivers, into blue sky.. bordered by white clouds and linear silver

a safe place, work space, desk clerk sifting day to day thru file cabinets memories in memos in notebook; written relativity explaining how I see, what I think say what i want like im eight, glad i spent so much time with words and space-bars, to escape judgment, hatred,

anxious surrounded by bad vibes

above an Earth, below expectations; over a self under surveillance by approval from inside, crazy dimensions, On the fence between people and myself I close eyes, ride waves of nostalgia once more..

see plenty light to traverse pathways, walk fer hours, walk like back in younger days, playin, runnin, completely captivated immersed in games played, tv, roller blades, monopoly, scary stories, trampolines

&10thousand songs later, 10million thoughts later, here I am doing what I made me to.

can't wait for the next chance

supplied energy through lines to hidden gracelands.

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adambstingus · 6 years ago

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Macaulay Culkin: ‘No, I was not pounding six grand of heroin a month’

The Home Alone star talks about the drug rumours, dodging paparazzi and his cheese-flavoured Velvet Underground tribute act

Of all modern myths, it is the fall of the child star that most compels us. Whether theyre embarking on 55-hour marriages, throwing bongs out of windows or abandoning monkeys at customs, we cant seem to get enough. Theres something pathological in our need to tear down our icons of innocence, which might explain the overprotective nature of Macaulay Culkins US publicist, who wants to see all my questions upfront. I refuse. I thought we could just … have a chat? The interview, Culkins biggest in 10 years, is supposed to focus on his comeback. Im instructed to avoid anything negative. I ask if I can ask if he has any regrets. Regrets sounds too negative, is the response.

When we meet, in the lobby of a hotel in Spain, Im still trying to figure out what exactly this comeback consists of. Culkins filming an advert for Compare the Market, which is obviously not a passion project. It was fun, and we hammered that sucker out pretty quickly. The biggest scene was me sitting on a bench eating ice-cream.

Is he doing this to fund an exciting new venture? No, not necessarily. Hes dressed grungily, long hair man-bunned back, boots open-laced, blazer badge-studded. He doesnt project the focused careerism of most actors. People feel they have to be in perpetual motion, or drown. Ive never had a problem saying Ive got nothing lined up. Maybe Ill take the next year off. It sounds as if hes not particularly drawn to acting at all. Im not much active, he concedes. If I knew what I wanted to do, Id be writing it myself.

The trajectory of Culkins life feels like fallout from an atomic blast. By the age of 12, Uncle Buck, two Home Alone films, My Girl and (to a lesser extent) Richie Rich had made him the most successful child actor of all time. At 14, he became legally emancipated from his parents; both had been trying to gain control of his $17m fortune in their divorce. Culkin married at 17, and separated two years later. Sleepovers with Michael Jackson became public knowledge when he was called as a defence witness at the singers molestation trial. Im ghoulishly fascinated by this alien childhood. Id like to ask about Michael Jackson.

In Home Alone (1990). Photograph: Alamy Stock Photo

I think its best you dont, interjects his manager. She is one of three people sitting with us. Its not that its a painful topic … begins Culkin. His manager insists we move on, the PR next to her agrees. Culkin clearly wants to say something, but six eyes are telling him not to.

I suspect were both wondering why were here; 35-year-old Culkin doesnt do this sort of thing any more, having turned his back on the spotlight. I dont just turn my back, I actively dont want it. The paps go after me because I dont whore myself out. He has spent a decade turning down interviews, and mostly lives in France, where the aloof Parisians leave him alone. (Its also where Kevin McCallisters family were headed when they left him Home Alone, but we cant talk about that.) I get the impression hes as eager to talk about a price comparison website as I am to ask about one. Instead, I ask why people are still fascinated by him.

I have no idea. I was thinking about this the other day Id crossed the wrong street, picked up a tail, suddenly theres a crush of 20 paparazzi. Then people with cameraphones get involved. I dont think Im worthy of that.

With Michael Jackson in 2001. Photograph: Kevin Kane/WireImage

Has it got better with time?

Its been like that my whole adult life. You take on a prey-like attitude, always scanning the horizon. Its strange on dates, as it looks like youre not paying attention. But Ive stopped trying to think of myself in the third person, because thats just gonna drive me nuts.

You had to think about yourself in the third person?

Exactly. Macaulay Culkin is out there, and Im Mac. You guys can play with the first one.

Hes not averse to a bit of playing himself, for Culkin is the celebritys meta-celebrity. You may remember the meme-meltdown a few years back when Ryan Gosling was pictured wearing a T-shirt of Kevin McCallister. Culkin responded by creating a T-shirt that pictured Gosling wearing the shirt, before Gosling responded in kind, being photographed wearing a T-shirt of Culkin wearing a T-shirt of Gosling wearing a T-shirt of Culkin. They may still be at it for all we know.

Culkins previous ads, for the likes of Orange (and, in a Partridge move, the rebranding of Norwich Union), trade in close-to-the-bone self-analysis. For Compare the Market, he plays a hitchhiker picked up by the lovable meerkats, who see him as a child, buying him ice-cream and making him ride merry-go-rounds hes too big for.

In 2006, Culkin wrote an experimental novel, Junior, from the perspective of a certifiable child star with father issues. In web comedy :DRYVRS, hes a blood-spattered sadist, unhinged by the childhood trauma of parental abandonment, and defending himself against home invaders. Is all this self-quoting what hes drawn to, or just what he gets offered? A bit of both. It suits my personality and sense of humour. But I would be game for something non-self-referential.

Given this dilemma constantly returning to a past he wants distance from where does his sense of self come from? From me. I try to figure out what makes me happy and not in a superficial way. I keep my soul fit. Is he spiritual? I know enough to know I dont know. I was raised Catholic, so theres a lot of guilt. Were born with original sin. He veers off into a joke. Since I was told that, Ive been trying to come up with even more original sins, thatll really blow my priest away at confession. Like, heres one you havent heard it involves a pitching wedge, a donkey and a bucket of ice. And two meerkats? Yeah! You might wanna record this one!

With his brother, Kieran Culkin, c 1990. Photograph: Dave Benett/Getty Images

He reflects. Actually, Im very much at peace lately. I can debate with people, and my heart rate never changes. And Culkin is witty and affable. Funny, but distant. He offers confrontational figures of speech amiably. If you want to get into an argument with an artist, ask them what art is, he says. If you want to make an actor feel uncomfortable, ask them what theyre doing next. (I hastily scribble out one of the few questions Ive written down.)

Are his debates political? I have leanings, but Im the definition of a disenfranchised voter I think the system is ugly. This whole Trump thing is amazing. (Trump cameos in Home Alone 2, showing our hero the way to the Plaza Hotel lobby, although we cant talk about it.) Culkin doesnt want to be drawn further. Discussing politics is the quickest way to alienate people, so I dont wanna go into it. And Trump has enough column inches? Exactly! Hes like the Candyman, we have to stop saying his name.

Culkin was acting at four, an age at which no one knows what they want beyond watching cartoons and eating oversugared cereal. Having described himself as effectively retired, he works occasionally (voices for Seth Greens Robot Chicken, cameoing as himself in Zoolander 2), but: Im much more proactive with visual arts and writing, my notebook and little projects. Of the projects that reach the public, most could charitably be classed as divisive. There are paintings: one of the cast of Seinfeld on the set of Wheel of Fortune, being painted, nude, by He-Man. Theres The Wrong Ferrari, a Dadaist knockabout written on ketamine with Adam Green of the Moldy Peaches, shot entirely on iPhones. Most notorious is the Pizza Underground, his Velvet Underground tribute act that replaces the original lyrics with pizza puns (Im Waiting for Delivery Man, Take a Bite of the Wild Slice). At Nottingham Rock City, the band were pelted with beer and booed off stage as he played a kazoo solo. They cancelled their European dates, citing a cheesemergency. My question about all this is: what the hell?

Its one of those good ideas you have when youre drunk, and you wake up and forget about it. But were taking it to the end of the joke. We have an album coming out, a vinyl pressing with a childrens choir, a symphony orchestra. Were giving it away, our gift to the world. Does he still find it funny? Of course I find it funny! We rhyme mushrooms with mushrooms, come on. Its the same joke, relentlessly. Like, theyre really doing this?

Culkin enjoys the absurdity his fame bestows. But scrutiny has its downside. In New York, he takes walks at 4am to avoid harassment. On YouTube, one can find clips of him being harassed by wannabe-paps with smartphones. In 2012, photographs of him looking gaunt, almost transparent, set tabloids aflame with stories he was addicted to heroin and oxycodone, following the breakdown of his relationship with Mila Kunis. Given his friendship with Adam Green and Pete Doherty as well as a previous arrest for possession of marijuana, Xanax and clonazepam it seemed plausible.

Performing as Pizza Underground with Deenah Vollmer. Photograph: Sam Santos/WireImage

Were people right to be worried? Not necessarily. Of course, when silly stuff is going on but no, I was not pounding six grand of heroin every month or whatever. The thing that bugged me was tabloids wrapping it all in this weird guise of concern. No, youre trying to shift papers. Is there a story there he might want to tell one day, on his own terms? Perhaps.

Whatever his recreational habits, Im surprised by how unscrewed-up Macaulay Culkin is. Plans for the summer mainly involve roadying for Har Mar Superstar and Green (with whom he has another lo-fi film out, Aladdin). Home is where my boots are. Im a big fan of jumping on peoples tourbuses, making myself useful, doing load-ins and outs. I do everything except the merch table. I tried that, but … we didnt sell anything.

He has directionless days. He sleeps in, stays up late, indulges immature humour, bounces around with bad-influence friends. In short, hes enjoying the adolescence that celebrity stole from him. Ironically, his personal problems and turbulent relationship with the media have also given him a pretty grown-up perspective. Not a bad epilogue for a child star.

Its allowed me to become the person I am, and I like me, so I wouldnt change a thing. Not having to do anything for my dinner, financially, lets me treat every gig like its the last. He laughs, and this time addresses himself in the second person. If it is, Id think: Culkin, you had a good run.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/macaulay-culkin-no-i-was-not-pounding-six-grand-of-heroin-a-month/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/181995008877

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samanthasroberts · 6 years ago

Text

Macaulay Culkin: ‘No, I was not pounding six grand of heroin a month’

The Home Alone star talks about the drug rumours, dodging paparazzi and his cheese-flavoured Velvet Underground tribute act

In Home Alone (1990). Photograph: Alamy Stock Photo

With Michael Jackson in 2001. Photograph: Kevin Kane/WireImage

Has it got better with time?

You had to think about yourself in the third person?

Exactly. Macaulay Culkin is out there, and Im Mac. You guys can play with the first one.

With his brother, Kieran Culkin, c 1990. Photograph: Dave Benett/Getty Images

Performing as Pizza Underground with Deenah Vollmer. Photograph: Sam Santos/WireImage

Source: http://allofbeer.com/macaulay-culkin-no-i-was-not-pounding-six-grand-of-heroin-a-month/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2019/01/14/macaulay-culkin-no-i-was-not-pounding-six-grand-of-heroin-a-month/

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allofbeercom · 6 years ago

Text

Macaulay Culkin: ‘No, I was not pounding six grand of heroin a month’

The Home Alone star talks about the drug rumours, dodging paparazzi and his cheese-flavoured Velvet Underground tribute act

In Home Alone (1990). Photograph: Alamy Stock Photo

With Michael Jackson in 2001. Photograph: Kevin Kane/WireImage

Has it got better with time?

You had to think about yourself in the third person?

Exactly. Macaulay Culkin is out there, and Im Mac. You guys can play with the first one.

With his brother, Kieran Culkin, c 1990. Photograph: Dave Benett/Getty Images

Performing as Pizza Underground with Deenah Vollmer. Photograph: Sam Santos/WireImage

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/macaulay-culkin-no-i-was-not-pounding-six-grand-of-heroin-a-month/

0 notes