Interviews with Children is a cute project started by Harrell Fletcher, who asks people to interview kids they know. All the children are great anyway, but Fletcher’s suggested questions keeps them on their mark.
Holly: What do you want to do when you grow up?
Escher: There’s a lot of other things I think I want to be. There is a lot of things I could be to do with Lego though. There’s the people that tell you what they’re going to build, some draw what they’re going to build, some make the covers for the packets and some make the boxes the Lego is in. If I were a Lego designer I think I’d like to be the one who actually builds it, to see if it works or not.
Another thing I wanted to be when I grow up is a photographer, or an artist, or an architect. I could even take heaps of photos of Lego. I already have taken some photos so I know what you’re meant to do. And it would mean that I could take photos all day long. If I was going to be an artist it would be pretty fun. You can never be wrong when your doing art. It always ends up right. So it would be easy.
It’s part of a pretty neat website/magazine Dumbo Feather.
(thanks, Milly)
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In previous eras, volunteers built the pyramids, encyclopedias and houses for the homeless. Today, people come together to illustrate the random combination of recaptchas. Above is my contribution to this grand and noble undertaking.
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Apparently there are a few slender copies of a book of Charlie Sheen poetry out there, self-published (in the early 1990′s), and distributed amongst close friends and associates. Unfortunately falling short of his current linguistic heights, it is mainly high-school diary material – although there are occasional glimmers of High Sheen – “turtle, android, pain” he writes, in Heretic Proof.
The overarching theme is self-grandeur, incongruously mixed with the difficulties of being famous. I.D. Blues serves as a good enough example:
I.D. Blues
By Charlie Sheen
“Excuse me, aren’t you…?”
“Hey, you look just like…”
“Oh my God, that’s…”
“Sorry to interrupt your dinner, but aren’t you…”
“Look, I never do this, but, my wife thinks you’re…”
“My friend is so convinced that you’re…”
“I’m so embarrassed, but, aren’t you…?”
“I know you must be tired of this, but…”
“WAIT!!”
All eyes held in stare, all mouths locked open in shock, as he pulled the latex Charlie Sheen mask from his head, revealing the rotted skull of President Lincoln.
And (if you needed more) there is A Thoughtless Soul
A Thoughtless Soul
By Charlie Sheen
As he pulled his head,
From the drool stained pillow,
His eyes blood red,
His oxygen shallow.
Feet on carpet,
That pain to fight,
These are the effects,
Of another night.
A night of drink,
A night of hate,
A night as dark,
As last nights date.
A look to the mirror,
No face of youth,
Self inflicted carnage,
A cracked and hollow tooth.
This punishment a vile choice,
So worthless, yet so bold.
Carving lines of disrespect,
This young lad growing old.
Yet masking truth and hiding pain,
Will surely take it’s toll,
Will he unto others, or to himself,
Remain a thoughtless soul?
But an artist should never be judged by his early work (lest we miss out on gems like “I’m dealing with soft targets – it’s just strafing runs in my underwear before my first cup of coffee”). Christopher Beam at Slate recently broke down Charlie Sheen’s use of language into several overarching and reoccurring themes, including Stoner surfer philosopher (it’s “unclear how Sheen’s vocabulary stays rooted in the Point Break era while modern American usage continues to evolve”), Military Buff (from the set of Platoon, perhaps?), and Cult leader (“there may not be a real cult of Charlie Sheen, but he’s leading it, nonetheless”).
“If people could just read behind the hieroglyphic, if they could put their freakin’ cryptology hat on, they’d realize this isn’t totally serious.” says Sheen. Indeed. But analyzing the interrelationship of Beam’s themes can help understand the formation of the modern Sheen lexicography. “I am on a drug. It’s called Charlie Sheen. It’s not available. If you try it once, you will die. Your face will melt off and your children will weep over your exploded body.”
You can see more, including the hideous cover of his poetry book here, and read the full article at Slate, here.
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