The Chemistry of Plastics and Monkeys


Everyone has a Dad. Enjoy them while you have them. My Dad is a Scientist. I love you Dad.Happy Father’s day.

Marvel as my Dad talks about the Chemistry of Plastics and Monkeys.

The Monthly Music Review “FULL BLOWN CRANIUM”


Creative Interests Band Review

full blown cranium blog header

 

This is the unofficial Music Video for “Full Blown Cranium,” featuring the hit single “She is Happy Only When She’s Feeling Miserable,” the first publicly released track from the band’s debut album, “Cacophony of Weirdos.”

(All music and lyrics © 2013 by Full Blown Cranium.)

Bryan Edmondson created this video and he bears all legal responsibilities for this video, as pertaining to online media use law.

Full Blown Cranium
is Tony Parisi and Eric J Baker.

The two man band that plays 6 instruments simultaneously

The two man band that plays 6 instruments simultaneously.

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She is Life, I am Death. Love and Reality.


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She is Life.

She is Light, laughter and promise.

I am Death.

I am Midnight, anguish and barrenness.

At the Core

Inside her bosom is a womb that nurtures a loving soul.

Surrounding, my ribcage is a prison that entombs a bitter void.

Integrity

She is short of sin.

I am not quite criminal.

We are so different

 

Irony.

We love one another tenderly, permanently.

Absurdity

We bicker, childishly, repeatedly.

Conflict.

Battles of accusations, blame. We wound with words that cut.

 

Animosity

We suffer emotional injuries. We rub at them in self-pity. We condemn the transgression of the other. We hate one another.

Remorse

Disbelief strikes us numb; the reality that we are capable of saying such evil words. We mourn in guilt, ashamed. We hate ourselves.

 

Repentance

We lick each others’ wounds tenderly, as would wolves who mate for life.

 

We are so alike.

A boy, bullies, a girl, and jumping off the roof.


This is a Vimeo Staff Pick Video. It is a heart warming, short drama about a mentally retarded boy; a boy with problems. He must deal with bullies, an overbearing teacher, and relating to a small girl who has a crush on him. He has a tendency towards jumping off roofs,  In the end must face a visit to the principal’s office and a leather belt. This would make a great short story. I watched it three times.

The Writings of Bryan Edmondson (Fiction, Short Stories, and Satire) (c) 2012Everyone is born into their unchosen life. It is the only one they will have and they must live it. It is as important to them as it is to any one of us.

1920’s Silent Movie of 651 year old Dog


I filmed this one minute, vintage silent movie of my dog, with my I pod camera in 1920–that was 93 years ago when my dog was a pup. That now makes him 651 in dog years.

Cindy my wife, a risk-taker, filmed hand-feeding a terrifying border collie cooked bacon, while trying not to have her fingers bitten off.

Are Books and People Alike?


Books are not so different than people are. Both come in many different genres, they see things from different points of view, and they speak in unique voices.

Unfortunately, it is easier for me to judge them by their covers, as they wait patiently on a shelf. If I am not careful, I will walk past a great one and never open it–because I am busy, impatient, and thoughtless.

But when I do take the time to look, I find each one has an exclusive set of contemplations: observations, interpretations, and insights about life.

I do not agree with all of them. Some do not share my curiosities. Some I do not understand. Some irritate me for no good reason. Some of them just plain make me mad.

Still, every time I open a new book or talk to a new person, I learn something about life that I did not know before, and that makes my whole view of the world a little bit wider.

Flowers on the Melancholy Wall


She is the web of green vines, which came to me one day. New life blossoming with perfumed jasmine flowers, as they climbed up my melancholy brick wall of loneliness towards the sky.

Her living roots lovingly adhered to me, devotedly—her climbers adorned my crumbling bricks in an enormous impressionistic painting of burgeoning blossoms and soft petals in splotches of vibrant blue.

Her soft fragrant essence kissed the warm breeze, which caressed my time-hardened surface, and the setting sun reached down with fingers of golden mist, which shone warm on the two of us. She is a part of me now, the beautiful part, and I am no longer alone.

I love you Cynthia Ann.