She paints me blue. She paints me. She paints.

Hey there

Meet the

girl who lives without a care She
laughs aloud then dissapears Into thin air
And everybody's jealous of her hair

Hello there
Meet the 'dumbest smart girl in the world' She
paints such pretty circles But she's running out of
bridges to burn
Will she ever learn?

I can't say anymore I've lost track of the
score Now I
just pray she'll be alright And
in the end I know
She'll be just fine

Hey you
Watch the ashes float out of the room
Try and
make the mona lisa swoon In mid-air All
the while
people stare

Finally something's making sense again
Give me til the weekend And I'll show you the
perfect friend
Just you wait & see

CAN'T say anymore
I lost track of the score
Now I pray she'll be alright
And in the end I know
She'll be just fine


-- Courtesy of S. Buckle

(this has got to die, this has got to stop.
this has got to lie down..

..with someone else on top)


head up, head down. turn around. sit down.

The Angel of Death hath strucken us-eth.

I blame Fiesta, really.
One good man at a time, we've all succumbed to the mighty Plague.
One good man at a time, I've seen run past the open door of my room to waste his breakfast/lunch/dinner in the toilet.

And just when I thought the worst was over, I woke up to worse.
Much. Much worse.


Prayers for these dying..



I'm not sure that's true.
940 hits?

Hello fame.

(update..make that 1,044)

Run, darling.

I had something to think about.

Make that an even Six.

So I ran.

I got as far as the Highschool track. The gravel crunched nicely as I lapped around. One, two, three, a fourth and the pulse in my wrists and on the inside of my knees was visible.

I race my mind, but it beats me every time.

The circles are stifling so I take off.
Nowhere in particular, maybe the ocean, maybe a rooftop, maybe I'll create my own landscape. It doesn't matter now.

My heartbeat, a fist, battering down the walls of my head. In a warm, friendly way.
"Hi, how are you?"
"Fine, thanks. And yourself?"

That's not really what I wanted to say.

'This is where the world drops off' says the sign.
I wanted to see what was underneath so I shimmied on down.

The rest is between me and the pavement..


and what do we say when our worst fears have come on us? and we don't know what to do..

I know you've been trying, baby,

and this is all so unexpected.

I heard you crying, maybe,
I know you must feel so dejected.

and what do we say when our worst fears, have come on us,
and we don't know what to do,

and what do we say when the ones we love, have gone ahead,
and we're left to fight it through?

still life goes on, in a million different ways,
and it won't be long,
till all of this fades,
and everything, is gonna be ok.

I know you've been hurting, baby,
you had it all, then had it taken away, I see you smiling, for me,
but I see your eyes, and you're not okay.

but you will feel his arms around you,
when your world comes crashing through,
you will feel his love surround you,
when you think you're alone...

and still life goes on, in a million different ways,
and it won't be long,
till you've run this race,
everything, is gonna be ok...

-- 'someday' by Charlotte de Gaalon

for Them.


We're serious about what we do..

Between jamming the guys get some fresh air.
They like sunshine.
They also like swords.

public decapitation...

Boys Are Neat.

Holy smokes, have a good one!!

Dear Heidi,
I remember when you were just a small fry.

Heh heh. No I'm only kidding. But I DO remember painting our body parts onto the walls of our room. Listening to that Clare character rambling on and on about that Mexican boy. (haha, love you Clare)

That time I dedicated "Yellow" to you on the radio? or we both put in lost-friend ads. That was pretty retarded.

Hitchhiking down to Florida from the top of Georgia to catch a flight when our car broke down. Crazy good story to tell the kiddos.

Then there was that time you got married. That's a good one too. It was pretty swell. Our little baby all grown up and running off with some boy.

In case you haven't guessed, I'm just dawdling around to get to the real point. You're a great friend!
Wish you were closer.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY you Perty Thang, you!


I've changed, I swear.


I'm not satisfied but it's gonna work for now. I'm just so sickened of seeing the same old chintzy blogger template.

Andrew Forsberg just got in today to lay the drum tracks for "The Prophet". We play like our lives depend on it
live truly like the world's gonna give it one last ditch attempt and then belch up the rejects.

Amen for rejects.
Amen for the lot of us.
In a time of universal deceit - telling the truth is a revolutionary act.

Why do we coddle ourselves? Is it easier in the long run?
Do we truly belive ourselves?
What liars and posers we unintentionally become

and the saddest thing is that we can talk ourselves out of that one too...
just like all the rest.

Amen to those that make their own path, regardless of popular consensus.


The ins and outs of the English language

Definition of sucky: When you have no dryer and so hang your clothes out on the line the old fashioned way. Sure they may smell good, but when it's raining for two days, you need to shower but your towel is hanging limply, wetter than if you had used it already...

QUALITY frustration.

Definition of nifty: When Sparticus caves in to his baser instincts and starts a blog of his own, hinting at wry humor and ingenuity to come.

Let me be the first to taunt you.


Where we deal with the attempted Silencing of Naughty Thumb: And his Triumphant Return

Sits alone. His bed unmade. Hair tousled, that is, if he had any.
He's been bald since birth and not ashamed to say a little proud of it.

Chicks dig smooth, shiny pates; or so they'd always crooned in his ear. He breathes in deep, the fresh air stinging his nostrils as he leans over the sink, glaring intently at himself in the barely reflective mirror. It distorts his features making his chin look too big, his forehead stretches to infinity...oh wait, that was real.

They always said he'd gotten his mother's mischevious looks. Those eyes. Those black eyes, permanently grinning, permanently improper.
In all social settings, those damn grin-and-thank-you-very-much functions, those were the eyes that always got him Trouble...
and laid.
Different words, same meaning to


Extraordinaire. His destiny was to Save the World but S.H.E. was conflicted. Too much pressure.
"And for what?", he asked himself between moody gulps of Jim Bean.
The World never noticed and truth be told, neither did he.

That is until the day that he almost lost his voice. And mine.

January 20, 1934

(Dry air. Unusual for this time of year. Cold. Bookshelves stocked to the max and I'm in a disheveled bed. Only 7:30 and Mr. Conscience leaves me wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. A body stirs and stretches next to me.)

"Penny for your thoughts," Liz murmurs behind him into his ear. Slides a red laquered hand over his adorable pot-belly and strokes his naked scalp with the other.

"Dang women! Send you to hell in a handbasket if they thought it would help!" charmed as he always is to give voice to his musings.

Naughty Thumb reaches for his glass of morning water and SHAZAAM!!! the glass explodes into killer fragments slicing themselves purposefully into his tender flesh.

"Jeesus, Mary and Joseph!!"

Too late, he was bleeding profusely from his bone deep slash.
"@#%#Glass!" he cries out in mass amounts of pain.

Liz lets out a dull whimper and passes out with the sight of blood fresh on the counter top. Clutching his squirting wound in both hands, Naughty Boy maneuvers himself to a more comfortable position -- sitting with his oozing wound at a more presentable distance, the Thumb of Fury calculates his strategy.
He sits still, knowing his fate rests on his own ability not to panic.

Help comes in the form of Masking Tape and a roughly splintered Twig. All that can be aquired under the circumstances.
Naughty Thumb is used to roughing it.

'For the next couple days I stay sharply alert. Glass has his cronies everywhere and I am not in top form. God, I hate feeling handicapped. I used to be so strong, so cocksure and now I'm reduced to this dependent "strapped to a board" halflife.

Or am I?'

(Cue Suspense in overwhelming doses)

Our next encounter comes swiftly and not without consequences.
Naughty Boy, Super Hero Extraordinaire is lounging, Pina Colada in hand, not unwary but not particularly vigilant when out of left field, Harmless Looking Wine Goblet attacks:

'Thank God I've honed my reflexes to razor-sharp edges. It was a subconcious move, granted, and my arm was flinging wildly but best recognize how ONE flick of the wrist and that cup is a Goner. I hope no one catches on that I am in FACT a Super Thumb.'

Naughty Boy curls his lip upwards in a sneer, yet tries to look nonchalant as he struts his stuff..

Man. This is going to get him laid at LEAST .05 times.

He uncocks his Beretta .45 and shoves the cold metal between belt and skin.
"Rainy day blues", he sighs to no one in particular and wipes the sweat off his neverending forehead.

Chicks dig that.

Something's amiss. He can smell that as soon his genuine leather Penny Loafers step into the apartment.

That smell of Glass and Chinese food.

"Sesame Chicken...my favorite. I wonder if there's any..."

Too late for thought of Teriyaki as Glass's acomplice RotorWasher opens fire and busts Naughty Boy's gash right open, faucet frikin Open.
Blood pours and Liz faints again in a senseless heap. (Witnesses discover her twitching in a pool of her own blood as she collapsed -- apparently with the noble intentions of staunching Naughty Boy's gory torrent but failing miserably)

"Dang woman!" groans Naughty Boy as he too, slips into unconscious fervor.

Upon reawakening, The Thumb is filled with a new sense of purpose and Trust, having narrowly escaped death and decapitation.

There IS suffering in life, and there are defeats.

No one can avoid them.
But it's better to lose some of the battles in the struggles for your dreams than to be defeated without ever knowing what you're fighting for.
(Hmm..I'm not sure what I'm trying to get at here)

Pablo Picasso recollected: (Who was in fact a VERY ordinary painter before he stepped out of the box, became UN ordinary, and rocked the socks off of convention)
'My mother said to me, "If you become a soldier, you'll be a general; if you become a monk, you'll end up as the Pope." Instead, I became a painter and wound up as Picasso.'

Hot damn if I don't devote myself to greatness. For what is happiness but to be dissolved into something completely great?

Naughty Thumb signing out.

End of log.
January 21st.


Who's up for a little domestic disturbance?

I'm back in San Antonio for a mini Grove Getogether. It's only 3 families (out of 9) but aren't we a rowdy bunch? I must be one of the few lucky people on earth because, boy do I like my relatives.

I'm only hoping we don't overwhelm the audacious Joe. He's holding his own, so far, and for that I'll give him mad props.

There's raucous laughter coming from the next room.
I'm gone.


The desecration of a hotdog.

I ran across this the other day. It's old, but is a nostalgic reminder of why I love waiting in long food lines and big homes.

Viva la Combo.


Friday the 13th. An auspicious omen.

It's not been a year quite that "Make a Name" has been doing just that, but I don't care.
I just noticed today while perusing my stats that the readership of this here monkey has shot up and is steadily gaining.

And it's all thanks to YOU.

So this ones for you, dear viewer.
--For spending valuable moments of your day:
--Perusing my patter.
--Critiquing my commentary.
--Supporting my scribbles.

As a show of gratitude; and a little sipple of some thing sweet, I bequeath upon you -- New Years Photos. [Muchas gracias to all the excellent photographers who aided and abetted me in the getting of these pictures.]

Buckle is Undone..or Outdone. However the case may be.

I was sick as a dog (tummy bug) so whilst the world frolicked and reveled I sat, like a orange ball of weakness, watching all those Eaters, Drinkers and BeMerriers stagger past. This was taken in the 15 minute slot that I actually strolled around in the social stream....

Whaddya know, my Gatorade Cap ACTUALLY color-coordinated nicely with my sweater. (Sorry, guys, for ruining a perfectly good picture, it was irresistible...wait,
I'm pretty sure Michelle is looking at her own breasts and Mike is checking out my...jeans)

p.s. This is the infamous "Fester Sweater". I will wear it all Winter long without changing so long as no one forcibly removes it from my person.
I love.
I fester.

The most handsome man at the ball. Don't let the red eye throw you off, he's a Mad Charmer.

...and the hottest whoman. True to form, Just Leaving. Danggit.

Jazz, dreaming of Apocalyptic Annihilation, no doubt. What a swellfer!

And traditionally: a picture from the Year before.
The New Years where I talked to people I didn't know and asked them questions that they couldn't answer.
The one that I played guitar with a chick and she gave my a microphone, "just because" and I knew that from "now on" would keel me over and I wouldn't be able to handle it but it was

A-OK because THIS year everything I touch will turn to Gold.
Solid gold.

Fo' Shiznit.


Tony's T-Brush

I'm sure you all have one special object of personal hygiene that really does it for you. And I mean Really does it.

For Tony, it's his tonguing techniques.

Tony recently bought THE most superb toothbrush. Not only does it brush your teeth, but it ALSO brushes your Tongue!! Simply slip around the head and you will experience the ultimate in tongu-topia! Hunch over your screen! Look closely and be wowed.

Tony's nostril is nice too.

(This ad brought to you by REACH. "For Tongue-steckacalicious Tonguing a' rockodile" )


Fess up..

I have a naughty thumb.

Best RECOGnize..

I am riched and increased in goods.

A very huge thank you to my dear Aunt Isabel in Frenchland and my Papa dearest for helping me get this nifty laptop, a Compaq Presario V2424NR.
It's one of the sexiest pieces of battery operated machinery I own (excepting that electric toothbrush I keep under my bed, ahem)

I anticipate many quality hours spent together, sharing secrets, tasty treats, and warm feelings.

I will never be lonely again.

Juuuuust KIDDING!
HA! Boy, did that ever sound depressed and loserish! I gotta be straight with you -- those two words are NOT in my vocabulary...yup, I actually had to google antonyms to Happy and Winner -- on my laptop!
What a good wittle waptop! Who's the best wittle waptopth in the world? Who is?? You are! yes you ARE!! (smooshy squooshy)

I've sufficiently sickened myself.
I am ashamed.


Beach Smeach

Took the day off and went to Padre Island.
It was a fine day.

The wind blew 50 miles an hour from the north and if you happened to be standing where there was loose sand to be had (we were) it hit your lower legs at that precise magnitude and stung the crap out of your calves.

Keeping our positive side predominante we hastened to the nearest Circle K and bestowed upon ourselves the gift of beer. Thank you Jesus for Beer.

Had ourselves a little praise time on the Beach.

After about an hour, we were feeling pretty Pumped on the Most High and in turning back to go home were completely Inspired to get pierced.
Stopped into a surf/piercing joint and started grilling the hapless Iranians about prices and locations etc. Complete con artists.

We ended up having to pee too bad to stick around and by the time we got back the Inspiration had left us. Besides, I couldn't think about what I should do it on. What's good?

A happy surprise waited at home in the form of Marky, Niki and Tony.
Golly bob howdy, but we're gonna rock out with our c**ks out.

Thank you God.


Exclusive: Stephen Un-Buckled!

I have some good news and some bad news. The bad news is that I've been captured and held for ransom. The good news is that I've finally been able to break the silence and have been permitted to interview my captors.
Silence me no longer!!

I'll set the stage.

So they've taken me to their lair, nestled snugly somewhere in "The Valley".
A little town, it's got about 200 people and 1 BAR. Yes, only one and it's called The Seething Donkey.
I'll let you think on that.

Since I got thrown in here, I'm going to make good use of my time and do a little reconnaissance work as a favor to all you ladies out there and candidly interview all the hot, young and upcoming musicians that have congregated to make this a little slice of history. I can tell you now folks, this is going to be raw and it's not going to be pretty.

(Prudish or those easily offended by occasional foolishness or playful banter should be cautious from here on out. This is not about world politics or religion. For an interesting nugget on that, read this.)

First up:

Stephen Buckle, producer extraordinaire and co-pioneer of the recent band "Fool Moon" and their controversial first album "The Healing" sits back on his knees disarmingly. A glass of tequila sits EMPTY in his hands.
At 24, "Stuffer", as he likes to be called by his friends is a charmingly intense man. His brown shirt and loose fitting khakis accentuate..... the colorful thread-dreads in his sandy blonde hair. He leans forward further, and smiles accomodatingly.

Me: So, Stephen, start us off right. What's your favorite breakfast cereal?

Stuffer: Well, as you can see from my nickname, Liz -- I don't eat cereal. I prefer a good bratwurst to begin MY day.

Me: Hmm, very interesting. File that away for psychological analysis. Speaking of screwing, have you ever made embarassing noises while love-making?

Stuffer: Nobody cares about this Liz.

Me: Fine, kill my fun. We'll get back to that. Let's be boring for a minute. How many times a day do you masturbate...ahahha, I'm kidding, just testing you. Who inspired you to be a producer?

Stuffer: Well I will answer your first question with a question of my own (pause for Blue Steel...) What is the sum of 12 times itself, divided by 24? While you ponder that, I will answer your 2nd question.
I'd have to say God is my biggest inspiration yes. Mostly, because he produces heavily.
Next, I would have to say Jesus because he's God's son and pretty much is taking over the business as far as I can see. From what I hear He's learning fast.
Lastly, Pedro (AKA Gavin to all you Americans) in Brazil because he's got long hair & looks like Dave Grohl who rocks, so thats cool in my book. Man I wish I could write songs like Pedro, I wouldn't have to kidnapp Liz for ransom. And she doesn't have any money, so it looks like I'm gonna have to actually pay someone to get rid of her. Any takers? The woman is crazy, I tell you...crazy.
[Note from Editor: I can confirm that.]

Me: Oh. Oh boy....that IS a lot....um...so you get your inspiration in the shower mainly, I'm surmising?

Stuffer: (Chuckles softly and refills his glass) Do you ever wonder why it goes so high into falsetto at the end of "Under the Olive Tree"?

Me: (Not sure I like the direction this interview is going...) What are you most excited about in working with all these talented musicians? What are your hopes for this venture?

Stuffer: I'd have to say that we're most excited about the possibilities that lie in wait (like roaring lions) if we stay tight and focused. By which I mean, if Liz stays tight and we stay focused. Ha. Don't worry, Liz, I'm only kidding.
Liz looks nervous and not a little like a rabbit with a foot caught in a forest trap. Squeaking for mercy and scrabbling with it's little front paws, trying to get a hold on the ground to pull itself out but the dry leaves keep slipping around making it hard for it to get a firm....
By the way, Liz is drinking all the tequila (or tequillie as it would be said, if the Damn Frenchies had their way).
[Note from Editor: Am not.]

Me: You're a cheeky boy. And insulting to boot. But you've got nice kneecaps, I'll let you go with a stern warning. I'm guessing we can move on past the boring now. Tell our esteemed readers what most excites you about a woman?

Stuffer: (Shifts pensively and lets out a loud, "UMM...") Good one, Liz! I guess you could say, I like a woman who enjoys a hefty Kielbasa for lunch. And then is up for some tasty Kosher Dill in the evenings.
Also! I love it when a girl is comfortable with her self enough to know EXACTLY what to do when it's 7:30 in the morning and she's on a couch with nothing but a blanket and her imagination. Yes. While pretending to listen intently to a sermon on priorities.
Wow... my Schwanzesser is wide awake now.

Me: Boy, that was detailed. I'm guessing YOU have a good imagination. So more about yourself, how do you rate American girls as opposed to Canadians?

Stuffer: American girls know how to walk like none other. They can also dance like there's no amanha. And that is damn sexy -- never underestimate a girl who can dance.
I just want to say that I want to make-love to American girls. But I want to have sex with Brazilian girls, and schtup Swedish girls. But here's the thing.... I also want to make-love to Canadian girls. They are sexy and can hold their alcohol like you wouldn't believe.
I'm torn.
I will make-love to them all.

Me: (scooting further away while smiling broadly) sooooo, Steve (I purr) before we close this interview do you have some parting words for the world?

Stuffer: (Leans back with a weighty pause and then begins:)
Hmm...mmm..(looks around room, rubs eye, rocks back and forth)
I watched Chicago the other day. It was very inspirational and I want to tell you all that someday I'm going to make a musical, with Liz (if she dares). I believe that music and film are 2 of the highest forms of art, and I would like to combine the 2. So keep a lookout, we may surprise you. In the meantime keep making-love (you know I will).

Liz: Hmm. Thank you, Stuffer, for your time and excellent insight.

Stay tuned.