Friday, November 12, 2010

Saw Thurston Moore and Chris Corsano

In the chapel last night.
Thats about all I can say of it.

And motivation to catalogue arises.

PETER BESTE
There are people in Houston who wear grills, listen to horrorcore, get “roasted” on cough-syrup-soda. Who are they? A “misrepresented group of individuals who live on the outskirts – both physically and ideologically,” apparently. Photographer Peter Beste tells us more about his project, Houston Rap, an honest, gritty and compassionate comment on an infamous sub-culture.

Also, his stuff on Norweigian Death Metal (published via vice books in 2008)
http://www.peterbeste.com/home/index.php?/photography/houston-i/

MAISIE BROADHEAD
Each photograph is a modern day re-interpretation of a historical painting where jewellery is at the centre of the image’s meaning. The photographs have accompanying jewellery that act as key props within each of the images




SANDY KIM
http://lovebryan.com/sandy/author/sandy

Thursday, October 28, 2010

the paths curve
with no direct root
but breeding wistful minds.
Around each corner
a playful backside to the building
a scarf hung on the swing
changing shape in the wind
effortless clinging

the leaves' color, time delivers us to orange from yellow from green
Happiness made may usher you to the cold
until winter will extinguish any facade I assume
leaving me with the missing you.

Monday, September 6, 2010

so bohemian like you

I. The idea of salvation by the child.- Each of us at birth has special potentialities which are slowly crushed and destroyed by a standardized society and mechanical methods of teaching, If a new educational system can be introduced, one by which children are encouraged to develop their own personalities, to blossom freely like flowers, then the world will be saved by this new, free generation
II. The idea of self expression.-Each man's, each woman's, purpose in life is to express himself, to realize his full individuality through creative work and beautiful living in beautiful surroundings
III. The idea of paganism.- The body is a temple in which there is nothing unclean, a shrine to be adorned for the ritual of love
IV The idea of living for the moment.- It is stupid to pule up treasures that we can enjoy only in old age, when we have lost the capacity for enjoyment. Better to seize the moment as it comes, to dwell in it intensely, even at the cost of future suffering, Better to live extravagantly, gather june rosebuds, 'burn my candle at both ends... it gives a lovely light'
V The idea of liberty.- Every law, convention, or rule of art that prevents self-expression or the full enjoyment of the moment should be shattered and abolished. Puritanism is the great enemy. The crusade against puritanism is the only crused with which free individuals are justified in allying themselves.
VI. The idea of female equality.- Women should be the economic and moral equals of men, They should have the same working conditions, same opportunity for drinking, smoking, taking or dismissing lovers.
VII. The idea of psychological adjustment.-we are unhappy because we are maladjusted, and maladjusted because we are repressed. If our individual repressions can be removed- by confessing them to a Freudian psychologist- then we can adjust ourselves to any situation, and be happy in it,
VIII. The idea of changing place.- 'They do things better in Europe' England and Germany have the wisdom of old cultures; the latin peoples have admirably preserved their pagan heritage. By expatriating himselv, by living in Paris, Capri, or the South of France, the artist can break the puritan shackles, drink, live freely, and be wholly creative.




They carried us to a foreign country, the first that most of us had seen; they taught us to make love, stammer love, in a foreign language. They fed and lodged us at the expense of a government in which we had no share. They made us more irresponsible than before; livelihood was not a problem; we had a minimum of choices to make; we could let the future take care of itself, feeling certain that it would bear us into new adventures. They taught us courage, extravagance, fatalism, these being the virtues of men at war; they taught us to regard as vices the civilian virtues of thrift, caution, and sobriety; they made us fear boredom more than death. All these lessons might have been learned in any branch of the army, but ambulance service had a lesson of its own: it instilled into us what might be called a spectatorial attitude.

and this was perhaps the greatest of the lessons that the war taught to young writers. It revivified the subjects that had seemed forbidden because they were soiled by many hands and robbed of meaning: danger made it possible to write once more about love, adventure, death,


WAR IN BOHEMIA

Alexander Pope, two centuries before, had taken the side of property and propriety in a similar campaign against the slums of art. he reserved his best-considered insults for the garret dwells of Grub Street, the dramatists whose lives were spent dodging the bailiff, the epic poets 'lulled by a zephyr through the broken pane.' These he accused of slander, dullness, theft, bootlicking, ingratitude, every outrage to man and the Muses; almost the only charge he did not press home against them was that of affectation, They were not play-acting their poverty. The threadbare Miltons of his day were rarely the children of prosperous parents; they could not go home to Nottingham or Bristol and earn a comfortable living by selling hackney coaches; if they 'turned a Persian tale for half a crown,' it was usually because they had no other means of earning half a crown, and so keeping themselves out of debtors' prison. And the substance of Pope's attack against them is simply that they were poor, that they belonged to a class beneath his own, without inherited wealth, that they did not keep a gentleman's establishment, or possess a gentleman's easy manners, or the magnanimity of a gentleman zsure of tomorrow's dinner:
Yet then did Gildon draw his venal quill;
I wish'd the man a dinner, and sate still
Yet then did Dennis race in furious fret;
I never answer'd, I was not in debt
...Pope had inflicted a defeat on Grub street but- the distinction is important- he had left bohemia untouched, for the simple reason that Queen Anne's and King George's London had no bohemia to defeat.
...Grub street develops in the metropolis of any country or culture as soon as men are able to earn a precarious living with pen or pencil; bohemia is a revolt against certain features of industrial cappitalism and can exist only in a capitalist society, Grub St is a way of life unwillingly followed by the intellectual proletariat; bohemia attracts its citizens from all economic classes; there are not a few bohemian millionaires, but they are expected to imitate the customs of penniless artists. Bohemia is Grub Street romanticized, doctrinalized, and rendered unconscious. It is Grub Street on parade.

-exile's return

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

And you can see those seasons we talked so much about

Photo compilation
Sem I: Fresh Meat, Sem II: Brain Puddles

-

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Loud mouths and wanderers

Seattle:
-Capitol Hill Block Party
-The Hilton Purebred Cat Show (which I will always regret being too cheap for... think of the pictures!)
-The Hilton's Basil Lounge? Or some such name that won't ever matter...
We picked the hotel restaurant to cash in our vouchers, anything for a free meal... right?
The music was decidedly something old people dance to. Grooving with their canes and oxygen tanks, dragging the IV across the floor. The fountain in the middle of the room did little to drown out those tunes. The boys didnt notice, but i couldnt look at her for fear of cracking my oh so convincing bourgeois face. Every time the waiter walked by, my mouth would twitch as Id concentrate on my plate. She began to tell a story, probably trying to put out the absurdity that had eaten us alive while we waited on our free caesar salads. "IT WAS SO FUCKING-" and her hands rushed to her mouth, as all the oldies and all the fancies had to have heard her. She might as well have been Julia Roberts with Aaron as Richard Gere.

Olympia: A city for wanderers.

Thursday, July 22, 2010


The scientist keeps the romantic honest,

and the romantic keeps the scientist human.

I don't know where to start. I have this burning urge to do something... a fire in the pit of my chest, pushing forward, forward, forward. Lacking knowledge of the constellations, I blindly head off in any other direction. Not North. More like South East. In the corner.

I miss someone a lot. It's probably the worst feeling that can be felt. Its just funny how I learn the same lesson from different people. Each person forms themselves into you, play doh melting into your boundaries. Forming memories. Missing someone is to be a puzzle that lost a piece to a hungry child. Remembering how that piece felt when it fit so snug, but forced to feel incomplete with it gone.

I rarely give it my all.
You see, I have this terrible habit of disagreeing with time. It's wretchedly ingrained within me; I was raised by kuku clocks. I don't know where I'm supposed to be going (what is forward on this board of life?) so i try to sit real still and have it pass by. But it doesnt. A little warmth before the snow still leads to cold, and the added bitterness of knowing heat in the first place. Never take the sun for granted.

And once it's gone, don't dare forsake the moon light.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

REDRUM

Get Hip




I needed a place to put them.

Sick & Twisted

Via Youtube,
Thanks Cinema21.

2 AM PM


Baboons.

Friday, July 9, 2010

I was on your porch...

The smoke sank into my skin
so i came inside to be with you
and we talked all night,
about everything we could imagine
cause come the morning i'll be gone


Its funny, the way people entangle themselves into your life.
Think of flies. They fly around, harmless, with their split vision and different view of the world, buzzing annoyingly at times, so bad youre tempted to get a swatter. They just bumble around and somehow end up in your web. With six legs they touch so many strings. And if youre a big fat gullible spider, youll wind them up tight, and put everything into binding them to your web. An insatiable desire for this little bug that flew in on a warm breeze, will make you eat em up. Theres no getting around it, time will starve you, loneliness will motivate you, and theyre such good little listeners. But then, after your indulgence, you just have an awkward shaped hole in your net. And if you don't go all Charlotte and spin another, all the other flies might just fly on through.

I met with an old friend for the first time in a long time. I already ate him up. Drained so many lessons out of him, wrote a college essay that got me into Bard. I walked up the street Ive spent so much time on, and saw him sitting there, waiting for me at the same cafe we had our first date. (We played scrabble, he wrote suds. i still dont know how it happened). His ears were all sewn up, I was still barely taller than him (he might be the reason i slouch), and everything... was different. Time pulled a fast one on me. With all his shit together, we could enjoy each others company, having purged the self-perpetuating disaster of "us" What Im getting at, is its a wonder how anyone ever moves on.

But if you dont, it would all end. We cant live in tangles.

There are very few people that I cant quite swallow. They keep coming back up. Theyre probably the ones you can learn most from. Theyre always the one that hurt. You cant ever chew it over and just end up choking and coughing and gasping for stable air. Because lets face it, that just happens.
And when it does you have to wait for everything to be put into place. Dont ask me who does it, but it has to be done.




but now it's time to get out of the desert and into the sun
even if it's alone