…but I can’t stop watching it.

I don’t really enjoy the acting. Most of the characters annoy me. The science in the show is, for the most part, nonsensical technobabble. The technology is usually unimaginative and inconsistent. A lot of the alien and robot designs are dated and just…corny (though I believe most of them are throwbacks from the original series meant to make diehards jizz). The writers are too liberal with deus ex machina. And Billie Piper’s sexy big toothed ass ain’t get naked once.

But I can’t stop watching, and I don’t know why. It’s fucking insane.

I could talk about how “charming” the show is, and how The Doctor’s character is actually pretty interesting. Or how you’re not really supposed to take the show seriously, and that the show, sometimes, is aware of its own ridiculousness. I could even talk about how the show is more about the “ride” than convoluted plots or characterization, and that the accessibility of the show makes it highly addictive.

However, I’m inclined to think that there’s some sort of subliminal messaging going on in the show, keeping me interested in its shittiness.

Christopher Eccleston is my favorite incarnation of The Doctor. :|

anonymous

ahumbledyouth:

Hey everybody. I’m putting out a new project in the coming week and I wanted to share a little teaser.

arckatron:

diasound:

zoe kravitz.

in a real way.

Y.E.A. yeah…

LAAAWD

(Source: heyitsjuan, via nellybellspeaks)

here is a new song that will be featured on my upcoming rap LP Sushi. click the image for lyrics.

arckatron:

conceptually programmed, produced, mixed, mastered, and designed.

cre3soltaste:

A view of the Baltimore Music scene. What do you think?

nyxamor10:

In cased you missed it…watch my vid i did talkin a little about some observations and my thoughts on the baltimore music scene.

i think i am officially one of those people that cannot get their day started without coffee. i’m not sure how much of that attitude is imprinting though. it could be the caffeine, but i’m not sure. i don’t care enough to research it either. not now anyway.

i wonder what other “adult” idiosyncrasies i’ll pick up, or have picked up. bet you anything that if my 14-year-old self could see me now, he’d fold his arms and shake his head. after all, he’d promised himself that he’d avoid me at all costs. ha! so much for that. 

present self: 1 | past self: 0

When I was working in the 9th circle of Hell (Lowe’s Home Improvement) I would frequently have attempts made on my life. Attempts to have it ‘saved’. My manqué rescuer (we’ll call him Hsoj) was what you may call a ‘good’ Christian; he blessed every meal, studied his bible during breaks, never swore, took initiative in helping others, etc. Hsoj was, in my opinion, a cool dude…except whenever he tried to convert me.

When Hsoj discovered that I was a skeptic—a black skeptic at that—it blew his mind. He couldn’t fathom how anyone’s logic couldn’t agree with Christianity. It honestly and truly baffled him. One day he decided that because he loved me (in a strictly platonic, Christian way—maybe) that it was his duty to rescue me from eternal damnation.

Almost every conversation we’d had involved him trying to convert me. The first few dozen times I smiled politely and nodded, but it wore on me after a while. I had to begin putting my foot down. “There’s nothing you can tell me that would convince me,” I’d tell him, then I’d list the reasons why he couldn’t convert me. He didn’t care though. He kept trying—day in, day out.

So, one morning I’m stocking in the same aisle he’s pricing, and when he spots me he smiles… That ‘ah, my doomed soul is here!’ smile. Like it was his job, he approached me and began doing his preacher thing. Eventually he said, “tell me, what do you think happens when we die?”

Instead of telling him ‘we rot in the ground’, I replied, “I believe when I die that my consciousness flow into the aether of space, meld with the consciousness of anything that has ever lived, and add to an impossibly vast collective of wisdom.”

He had a good laugh and said, “You really believe that cockamaimy?”

“Sure,” I replied, “why not?”