The Curiculum Vitae of Harper de le Beauregard

I certainly don't want to co-opt Chez, but I certainly do want to introduce myself as well. My full name is Harper Leland Maximillian de le Beauregard and I live in Cohasset, MA with my parents. My father works as a corporate lawyer in Boston and my mother works as a whore at the docks and as a homemaker (love you mom, thanks for making the sacrifice). I attend BU or as my dad calls it--and I think Ian Snail will like this--BJew (sooooo many). I'm an Anthro major but I have some serious interests in theology, philosophy, literature and science and political science and sociology and botany and daguerretypes. I'm basically a reincarnation of Thomas Jefferson except I don't believe in Buddhist teachings because I'm a hardcore deist. Another fun fact, I'm all about Hegel and I just posted that stuff about Kierkegaard way back when for ironic effects. I'm bisexual but not just like I'm kinda of gay bisexual--I'm totally serious about it. Well, I won't preach anymore so here are some more facts about me:

--My favorite book on the Dutch Golden Age is An Embarrassment of Riches by Simon Schama

--My girlfriend is bisexual too (kindred spirits)

--Marx is flawed Chez, too many glaring errors in his philosophy

--My favorite contemporary journalist is Robert Novak

--My favorite author is Joyce Carol Oates

--I once ate a duck raw (don't ask)

--Finally, Lorence T. Blumpkin sux

Just call me Chez

i realize that i haven't ever really introduced myself. furthermore, my friend ian snail seems to misperceive my character and even chooses to slander me at times. so, i'm going to spell things out with deliberate clarity here, folks. my name is Cheswick Dudley Crabcake, but just call me Chez. i live in Fox Chapel, Pennsylvania, and i'm a political science and philosophy double major at the University of Pittsburgh. if you want a sample of my thoughts, take this for instance: i capitalize proper nouns but absolutely never the first-person pronoun, because i don't favor the imperial cult of the ego. Western consciousness has its high marks, like The Birth of Tragedy, but just like that work, i try to capture the Tao in everything i'm about. i was raised Presbyterian, but now i practice Zen sitting meditation for spiritual depth. Wait, i need to outline this. i can't just give this whatever impressionistic account of myself. i need to structure my thoughts. Here we go. Ten Things You Need to Know about Cheswick Dudley Crabcake:

1) Just call me Chez.

2) i'm a poli sci/philosophy double major at Pitt.

3) i intern at Bank of America; i'm a marketing consultant. basically, when any client or investor contacts the firm, i check up on their credentials and let the managers know about their investment history and stuff like that. this job is a little more corporate than i would like; i'm more of a theory-wonk, and i'd rather be working on my latest manifesto right now, but i need the work-related experience. really, a comrade has to infiltrate the cogs of the machinery to have an effect. i'm heavy into Marx, especially the 1834 manuscripts, but to be honest i consider myself a rigorous Trotskyite. still, i'm not a weirdo. i want to effect change in society, and i'm not opposed to working amidst evil to dispel evil, basically.

4) i'm hardcore straight-edge (sXe).

5) Let's see...Really all i watch now is PBS art history programs and Stan Brakhage films (Pittsburgh Trilogy is sick).

6) i moonlight at Caliban books (Craig Street, Oakland) on the weekends and at the Waterworks Tommy Bahama on summer weeknights. Come hang out with me some night if you want to enjoy some really deep discussion. at either place i'm the guy who plays Minor Threat, really early Dylan (i.e. live at the Gaslight), and Joy Division on the store speakers.

7) During the semester i work for the 2008 Presidential campaign of Congressman Dennis Kucinich.

8) i write a political cartoon serial for the Pitt Chronicle called "Calamity Sam," about the harebrained trials and tribulations of a neocon quasi-Fascist medical supplies salesman who sells Americans devices to be implanted in their chest cavity supposedly to cure heartburn but that actually work like self-detonating atomic weapons of obvious global consequence. i also write obituaries for the City Paper.

9) My girlfriend's name is Maggie. She goes to Mercyhurst and is working at Whole Foods right now.

10) My dad is Hymen Radcliffe, but i don't write poetry.

Well, that's about it for now. If you want to know anything else about me, just hit me up. Peace.

~Chez

wistful wayward wanderings

dude i ran into a pretty chill guy i went to kinsky prep with down at the carousel at schenley plaza today and i was like sup bro and he just said not much enjoying the freedom of summer and i was like right on it's so whitmanesque isn't it and he was all well i guess you would know about that touche touche and i ask him what's new in his life and he was like bro i dropped out of art school and i just laughed and was like yer a JOKE haha.

~chez d.

The Lament of Edipo Re

On visiting the otherness of time
locale is a different sensation in the south
and I, but I, if I, or I
as long as the peasant queen is the vixen whore

who becomes my Jocasta
with the saline addition of knowledge
like a ray of light, your prophecy
O decrepit Tiresias, captured from your native epoch

Imprisoned in this past-future duality
near your fear and trembling
--Speak up, you godly lout!
I collapse in Etruscan rage

Ripe, erotic, rare, cum-guzzling baby,
hang it all but not yourself because I'm hung up on you
Kopasetic Sibylline oracle of mean Apollo,
my Delphine nightmare is a wet dream so past Freud

but loaded with Jungian imagery of the id
The abyss is in me, said the gone Son of Fortune,
Sent him there, I want to go there, I am forever lost there,
Banging it in whence I was born, Life ends where it has begun

Fate is a howling bitch in heat
and I would drown the desert in tears to conquer it
Alienation of the poor from the source and product of their labor
Elijah's cherubim forfeit life for a vague god and damnable country

Time and place conspire against our lives,
god and man against our love
As a little babe, chained to a wilderness of totem fear
must overcome my father in my darkest pre-conscious dreams

Where is the pride of those down-stricken by destiny?
frivolous bourgeois military rape of purity
synapse flash jump cut historical discontinuity to pre-wasted Thebes,
O Sphinx-faced mother, if I could escape death without dying?

A Liberty Avenue of the Mind

fuuuuck, dudes. i'm so hungover on sex. you know the feeling? like you blew your load on a chick three times in the night after getting her on such a fucking soaker and now you're waking up in really really wet sheets, haha. kind of disgusting, but kind of fucking sweet at the same time. damn, my body feels like a corpse and my head feels like donkey balls. shit, that's so baudelaire, like paris spleen or some shit, even though i shouldn't rag on that work because it's like some of the most legitimately crafted prose poems ever. fuck, whatever, poetry is for soft cunts anyway, haha, psyche. except eliot like isn't even poetry if you think about it, none of that gay Romantic spiel about how hard my dick is for nature and guys. i mean, he totally subverts that percy shelley business about annihilating yourself in nature and all of that negative capability crap. whoa, i'm so divergent from my main point right now. i hope harper doesn't give me a D on this paper, haha. psyche, you can lick my nuts, douche. anyway, back to eliot. he's like the modern seer who's bringing together the myths of all ages, or like that tight-ass pastor who gives really dry sermons at your presby church, haha. shit, my girl's waking up and her foot is totally soft-pedaling on my meat. whoa! bros, i've got to answer the call, haha. don't wait up on me.

arghefduuuuthyrgnrbnroqrughrvnjfe;ghrugfhrjgnclerwtkut!!

correction

Whoa correction: I meant Modernist, not Symbolist. Like his really modern stuff. Like Four Quartets, you know? Fucking amazing. That's the real masterwork. The Hollow Men rules too. Wasteland is just kinda like "Come again?" you know? Anyway, actually later now.

Snail

Heart of Dankness 420

Haha. Freakfuck. I love it. You guys are fucking rediculous. Almodovar is fucking amazing, Ches, you can suck a fucking cock if you want to, which you do. Yeah, I'm a totally anti-Semite, whatever. Not really, but I'm really into the Symbolist stuff, not really like the hardcore Latin shit, you know? I really like Murder in the Cathedral, though, have you guys read that? So pompous but so legit. Like Ches, haha, just joshing. Alright, well, I'd love to go on and on about how gay you guys are, but I got some Conrad to read. The Secret Sharer rocks your momma's tight pussy! Haha, psyche on the tight actually, bros. You have some hot moms when I've had like nine beers. Especially Lorence. I don't even know you, but whatever. I'd fuck your mom. Haha, I love doing this. See you when I get back from the Big Apple, losers.

I'm so stoned haha,

Ian "Homegrown" Snail

Profound Musings on Work

Lately, I've gotten a lot of compliments at work. "You're awesome," "You're so nice," "I don't know what we would do without you." Well, you understand. The problem is, unlike most people, I hate these compliments. You see, I'm all about being a combative contrarian a la Christopher Hitchens or H.L. Mencken or Sinbad. So I'm pretty fed up with all these hussies at the law firm trying to get on my good side. I'm not going to sleep with you, so I don't know why you would be nice to me. Hopefully, some of the newer writers on this website will agree with that statement! I mean, God isn't necessarily some old white man with a flowing beard, he could be a rock or a zoologist. Come on! Expand your minds people, but once you do expand those craniums don't forget the important stuff. Take pragmatism for instance. Now I suspect that I might have some supporters for pragmatism on this website (especially the guy who said he enjoys Eliot's non-Wasteland work--you're probably all about Sweeney Among the Nightingales, you know, the anti-Semitic stuff). We all know that ideas like truth, reason, science and virtue fade away pretty rapidly in the postpostmodern freakfuck world. Read some Paul Feyerabend fer crissakes! In the end, it's all about the journey, the liberal bourgeois democracy, and harmonious discord not the benjamins, a robot plutocracy and holy day vespers.

Just another day downtown...

man, mellon park is a sick place but it has like a disprerportionate number of mental cases. everytime im just chilling down there some guy freaks my shit. today--i think i alluded to this briefly as it was happening (like listening to the riverhounds on the radio same time you're at the game haha)--but this fine young gent was totally on. he was flipping out on himself over a case of mistaken sexual orientation. then after like a legitimate ten minutes of yelling his head off at himself he stands up, walks over to me, holds out a dollar bill and literally says to me, "hey, old man, do you have four quarters?" i got a good look at his eyes and he was definatly tripping massive balls on something, like when you just know a kappa delt is brainfucked. later on, i'm strolling down smithfield and some random guy literally gets up in my face and screams, "weirdo!!" like, what? like, i'm way too business caj to even let this kind of stuff mess with me, but sometimes i get thinking if it's me that's fucked up and not the other way around, haha.

hey ian........glad you worked up the balls to start speaking your mind where i can hear it. sorry, bro, i'm on the cod this weekend, really meditating hard on the atlantic sea burst phenomena, can't really get away (who would want to?). but, dude, listen to this. i use to caddy for this reeeally big-time guy in real estate who pretty much now owns the stone harbor strip in nj, and he's got a house going on an empty lease all through august, and he's offering me the place for a week. now that i'm done doing animal cell microscopy research up on the hill, i'm super stoked about hanging out, not even crushing brews, really, i mean just shooting the shit with the crew. you down?

whats up jetta

"As if that blind rage has washed me clean, rid me of hope; for the first time, I that night alive with signs and stars, I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. Finding it so much life myself - so like a brother, really - I felt that I had been happy and that I was happy again. For everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, I had only to wish that there be a large crowd of spectators the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate."
-Albert Camus, Le Stranger


^Kind of how I feel everyday, haha. Hey, I'm Ian Snail. Really happy to get the invite to Hotboxed Jetta; I've been following you guys for a few months and I really appreciate how original your sense of humor is. So dry, but totally spot-on. Hillarious. This is totally my sense of humor so it's sweet to actually be a part of it! I know Cheswick pretty well; we took a summer class at Pitt together. We had a lot of grrreat discussion groups about Kant; the dumb bitches in our class were pretty much illiterate so they could hardly keep up with us, but we had an awesome time. I wanted Chess to come back to my brother's house after the final and grab a few cold ones, but he wasn't into that. Probably more about going to Caliban Books to pick up some crazy modernist poetry or whatever; I know he's really into Pound and Ashbery and stuff., no time for Keystone, haha. I used to be a creative writing major so I'm really into that stuff too, before I decided to get all practical with the LSAT thing. Yeah, lame, I know. I was on my way to being a real Romantic, a real "dandy" of the Baudelairian kind, you know, haha. I used to write these love sonnets and shit. "The Rape of Lucretia," I think, is still the most beautiful thing I have ever read or heard. You really have to hear it read, I think. Like "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock", too; I didn't get that until I heard it read out loud (I love Eliot, especially the non-Wasteland stuff, I think it's more elegant). Anyway, even though I don't write that much myself anymore (except songs on the guitar) I still read non-stop, and I watch films pretty much all the time. You guys should all come over to the house and watch something out of my film collection; we have a wide-screen. Trust me, you really haven't seen Rashomon till you've seen it on my bro's widescreen. High Def, the whole bit. Crabcake and I were reading talking about checking out The Seventh Seal? Beautiful, man, beautiful. The most beautiful black and white film I've ever seen. Well, I've only seen the first half, but it was friggin' rediculous! I NEED to see the rest of it, and since my Delta Kap brothers aren't really into GOOD movies (the best movie my friend Tucker has seen in the past five years is You, Me and Dupree. Seriously, haha)
Anyway, I don't really want to watch it with them because they'd definetly ruin the experience for me, unless they were high, but they'd probably just fall asleep. Anyway, you guys are all welcome; Chess, just call me. It'll be the chillest thing ever, chillest than this:


haha like every Philosophy major at Pitt. They always get kicked out of class for reeking of weed. But Chess knows something about that, am I right? Haha

Finally got my tat

bad news: pirates lost 2day. not like that defies xpectations or nething, but still it enough to bum a bro out. dope news: got my tat. there a certain passage of scripture that really speaks out against this kinda thing, and my ma quotin it all the time i been conceivin the image of said tat in my brain, but i aint some kinda literalist biblical exegete like some of these harder cats in my rent's congregation, so i played that rap very little mind. neway, my bros in the wilks cool wit it, which gives me ample indication that it's on the money, and, to be straight about it, is money, so to speak. still, i gotta appeal to that spiritual element, dont wanna alienate nebody whos dependin on my sympathy, plus specially i dont mean to perpetrate ne kinda skullduggery on the sacrificial lamb of all human history culminatin in that one big grand teleological bash by the sea of galilee, so i scored a kinda pious tat. neway, without further ado, u be the judge. feast on it, eyepiece wise, in the most metaphorical way, if you understand my meaning:



sike fools that aint it hahahahahaha. thats plain fucked up. foreal tho, this is wat u finna see:


i got no clue what that hebrew scrawl is all about, but that cross is like sharp edge final fantasy sleek. on second thought, knowin the kinda headwarped bro who scratched this ink on me, the hebrew prolly say something from the book of daniel, like, in the common parlance mind you, 'beasty be upon you for the currents of history are predestinately against your house.' well that just about leaves but one thing 2be said. eat up at tabernacle, dads!

DEEEEEZ NUTZ

ya know im gettin real sick of the burgh. never thought id say that, and its fuckin hard to say even when im groovin on the true sentiment, but it's word. like i havent been hittin up the sick joints id like to be, on account of me workin in the corporate world all the time. my world aint even really coroporate, its just so fuckin straight that it might as well as well be steve forbes den, yah know, haha. anyway im just not hip to this lifestyle anymore. i been so fuckin highly liberated by the american liberal arts system that im longin to get back to campus. like six weeks away, whatever. i just know im finna rage so hard the first week back, yo. this is wat the scene is gonna be like:

hahahahahaha get ready to see that pic on facebook in like six weeks, bros. miss u lots.

If you're an American genius,

"For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen."

My Body, Your Body

real recent i been gettin into pretty ricky earlier material, cuts off their first opus, BLUESTARS. cats, i got somethin to share wit you thatll prolly blow yr minds it called "Your Body" and it dirtier even may b then "Get u Wet," which makes me wanna hehe hah.

heres the vid (squeaky clean cut):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EE7vTYAL9rA

and here the lyrics (dirty cut):

Yes sir
Yes sir
Yes sir
Yes sir

[Chorus]
I got new shoes on the ride (yes sir)
Rollin' down 95 (yes sir)
And you can see in my eyes (yes sir)
That I'm lookin for a cutiepie (yes sir)
And we ain't gotta make love (yes sir)
And we can just cuddle up (yes sir)
But if you don't wana cuddle up (yes sir)
Then baby we can make love(yes sir)
My body, your body (it's burnin' up)
My body, your body (it's burnin' up)
My body, your body (it's burnin' up)
My body, your body (it's burnin' up)

[Baby Blue]
I don't know why, but the ladies call ol' baby blue the sticker
They take me and rape me and make me they victim
I lick em and freak 'em if they married I see ya
If they look like wifey material, then I keep 'em
Struttin' through the city tryin' to find a lady who
Beautiful, but she gotta have booty too
Baby blue gonna let you do what you wanna do
You can feel on it if you really want to
Get a taste of the salami
knock knock knock knock you down like a tsunami
bust in you like atomi-ee
I'mma ahead of my class gettin' head in the jag
look in the duffle bag see benjamin heads on the cash

[Chorus]

Top down blue star tag
Ol' master bear skin rugs in the jag
Spectac with the bad chick in the back
tryin ta beat it up like an Everlast punching bag
hotter than a bisquick biscuit out the oven
your baby mama go on missions to get this lovin
we kissin and huggin she never pick her phone up
You be lookin for her while we doin the grown up
she complain when she catch back spasms,
but she love when she get the back to back orgasms
yes sir, the game is automatic, give it to 'em one time
They come back like addicts.

[Chorus]

[Slick 'Em]
Well let me step up in this thang
Right lookin smellin good
lookin good Spec and Baby Blue and Pleasure Fool
That's all we got!
let me drop my top pull up in the parking lot
grab a grape soda bag of chips
that's all I got
park outside minglin wit' my homeboys
faked out fake hugs leave me alone boy
plus the candy lookin good enough to eat
you can tell by the way the girls actin cross the street
but on the other hand
Alfalfa Just hit me on my metro
say a party in the park hard baby let's go
the balla tick no questions asked, so I jumped out the white jag
smooth like Shaq, come here girl!

[Chorus]

Co-Op/ Co-Opt

"I have no need of your God-damned sympathy. I only wish to be entertained by some of your grosser reminiscences."

Baked Buns

Once in a blue moon, every few year or so, a prophetic voice will reckonize that his generation is just cryin out O Lord for a new verbal expression to resonate with all heads, speak truth to all truth-heady heads, and generally do what needs to be do in the space of public discourse. somethin that'll rully encompass the zeitgeist of what's goin on around his headpiece. so i say a individual bro will heed this call, sense it in his soul, where he get hit the hardest by the shockwaves of bein true to many people who dont necessurily behold his honesty in the fullest way, but nonetheless answerin the call of, fuck, who knows, might be a demigod for all he can legitimate foreal. but the call is real, no doubt, and he need to do something about it. so he think to himself, what's goin on? or he with his girl, so he speak aloud, what's goin on baby? and she a real tight-minded honie, so she reply, the times are stuck, the air is stale in this epoch, lets throw up those windows and ventilate our historical contextuality. bro knows right of she got it straight, so he add, that's true baby, nobody speaks the same language anymore, it's like the twenty first century tower of babel, cept even Yahweh wont show us our wrong, we gotta devise new ways of communicatin with one another and just bein a collective entity that know how to play off one another's disposition to truth at any given moment. girl know that right too, but she gotta ask, baby what you goin to do about it?

and the bro's thinkin about it is like this. if there were one phrase, one boss expression to encompass everything that the generation was doin, feelin, tryin to say but couldn't say, in simple everything the generation was ABOUT, then maybe we could get somewhere. so he thinks, what's this generation about? it's all up in scorin badink, scorin deez, and gettin crunk blowfaced enough to be like dionysus with a boner that hurt.

so what's the expression that could speak to that? bro a real tight wordsmith, gettin real colloquial, and he pops it in a flash: BAKED BUNS. ya know, just check the definition. s'like, obvi baked because your faceslamming the bubbler all hours of God's brightnin sunshine. and def buns because your tailslapping your honie to unprecedented heights of bodily ramification and sensual splendor. and last there be a little pun in the association of the word bun, bein as it is a designation for a particular type of bread, which of course is made of yeast, BIG BAD YEASTY, gettin you your boys and your vagpiece real real wet. so it's like, bro-prophet knows where it at now, it's in the decadence of his everything-addled age, just groovin on the excesses of bein a starved crazy cat with nothin but perilous flora and fauna to recreate an atlantis of the g-nuts.