I wouldn't recommend these if they were lame, so watch them all. Straight up.
Kurt Cobain: About a Son (R) A rare audio interview with Cobain juxtaposed with related film and photos.
Kurt and Courtney (R) While interesting, just take it for what it's worth. It was canceled before it's complete so the final message is unclear. About the bizarre relationship between Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love.
My Kid Could Paint That (PG-13) About a toddler artist who makes paintings that rival the masters of abstract art.
This Film is Not Yet Rated (NC-17) Warning: Very graphic sexual content and language. About censorship in America and the control of ideas through film by anonymous people.
Hype! (R) Notes on the Punk and Grunge Scene in Seattle and the business of selling out. The "Beautiful Loosers" of music.
The Botany of Desire (G) Who's really in control? Us or them?And possibly more important, who's them?
Between the Folds (G) A look at the obscure masters of Oragami and how it has changed the world in Art, Science, Logic, and Wonder.
Art 21 (Episodes range from G-R) People pushing the borders of art.
This American Life (PG) America, meet America, your cooler cousin.
This Emotional Life (PG) An areal view of how relationships, romantic, family, and friend, work and how they affect our lives.
X-Games: The Movie (PG-13) This one and 'Kurt and Courtney' are the weakest as far as message, but both are still worth watching, because of their remarkable content. This one profiles some of extreme sport's most unexplainable figures. People who do something impossible, until they break themselves, then get up and do it again.
This list is shorter because a lot of the docs I've watched lately have been real duds. Still, these are top notch.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Untitled Poem #1
I wake up in the morning
I open up the blinds
I stair into the sun's eyes
An he stairs into mine
I cannot
Explain
The expression on his face
But even when he's smiling
I feel I'm in disgrace
Sunday, July 18, 2010
On Shoes and Afairs
I was out walking with Ace today and the day was queer. I felt an enormous unrest all around and through me. It was a loud unrest, a forceful one i could not shrug off, or explain away. The sun simmered on the verge of boiling and the clouds charged across the sky, intent on speed and in my speculation, escape, because you cannot know the why in clouds. The leaves where on the verge of riot in the wind and the birds cawed instead of chirping and the grass was conspiratorial amongst it's members.
No room for misunderstanding. The day was disturbed. So, I had been walking for maybe thirty minuets, if you judge a walk by time, and was beginning to feel genuinely distressed, so I pulled my irritable mind out of it's bed and dipped it into my surroundings. With the immediacy of a meal to a starving man, and about as overwhelming, the rush of voices that filled my head astounded me.
Whisper-lings, and thought tendrils pleaded for my attention. It was a moment of weight, of complex logistics and simple wordless emotion that sparked and snapped like oil and water in a hot pan. And it was hot. The day was a hot one. I hadn't noticed. But the pavement was burning my feet. I walked on.
The clouds had the most to say. They and the bushes had the loudest voices. But all the earth, as far as i could hear with this seeming new sense, they where all, and it took all of them for the complete idea, saying the same thing. This is an enduring day. A waiting for darkness so I can close my eyes and not have to see, day. A day for the beautiful to feel ugly, for the desirable to feel worthless, and to be treated worthless, and in so doing become worthless.
It was worse then i had initially thought. A jogger passed me. Three joggers passed me. Two boys on bikes and then another. A man was teaching his child soccer. And they were laughing. My tone might lead you to believe i became angry at these people for ignoring the day, but i wasn't, i was more stunned and baffled.
How could no one feel the immensity of such a day? Despite the state of the world, they do not come often, at least not my finite interpretation of often. The earth is a powerful she, and her children the days are reckless and crave to revel in their short life span, despite having such dull playmates in us.
So why when Pan stops playing his flute and dancing do these people not ask why? But it was not a difficult question to answer after all. They didn't ask because they had no question. They couldn't hear, didn't even know someone was talking and thus weren't even attempting to glean from the echos.
So why couldn't they hear in the least, and i couldn't even muffle the noise? A dull flicker of pain answered my question. My feet where burning almost beyond bearing now. They were burning on the hot asphalt of the pathway that wound through the hills like an old scar. No one else was stupid enough to be barefoot on such a day. And it was through my feet, though dulled by the path, that the day's voice was reaching me. As I walked over it's rises and falls, and stubbed my toes where it's roots had tried to heal the scar I received it's heart in a rhythm not at all unlike morse code, or like a blues rock song.
And it was then that I realized, two people cannot have a successful romantic relationship without physical contact. It would seem that we want to treat each day like a business partner, or perhaps more of a secretary here in America, then a lover. But that's all wrong. This is why we die before we knew we were alive. This is why we are unhappy, and almost wait for each day to be over with, so we can finally get whatever we're waiting for. We are adulterers, one and all.
We have stuffed our ears with our shoes and minds with cheap laughter and pleasure. Our noses we have filled with the smell of sizzle and sparkle and our eyes are weak from the billboards and nearly blind from the flashing white teeth of our idols. Our overworked hands shake and our hearts are repressed. Put simply, the dark enemies of humanity's closets may have been filled with skeletons and secrets, but each of ours, possibly more frighteningly, is filled with 10-15 pairs of shoes.
I have identified a symptom, nothing more, and through that seen a clearer ultrasound of the issue, and the issue is mindset. And worldview. This is was day of perspective, one i felt was too valuable not to share.
No room for misunderstanding. The day was disturbed. So, I had been walking for maybe thirty minuets, if you judge a walk by time, and was beginning to feel genuinely distressed, so I pulled my irritable mind out of it's bed and dipped it into my surroundings. With the immediacy of a meal to a starving man, and about as overwhelming, the rush of voices that filled my head astounded me.
Whisper-lings, and thought tendrils pleaded for my attention. It was a moment of weight, of complex logistics and simple wordless emotion that sparked and snapped like oil and water in a hot pan. And it was hot. The day was a hot one. I hadn't noticed. But the pavement was burning my feet. I walked on.
The clouds had the most to say. They and the bushes had the loudest voices. But all the earth, as far as i could hear with this seeming new sense, they where all, and it took all of them for the complete idea, saying the same thing. This is an enduring day. A waiting for darkness so I can close my eyes and not have to see, day. A day for the beautiful to feel ugly, for the desirable to feel worthless, and to be treated worthless, and in so doing become worthless.
It was worse then i had initially thought. A jogger passed me. Three joggers passed me. Two boys on bikes and then another. A man was teaching his child soccer. And they were laughing. My tone might lead you to believe i became angry at these people for ignoring the day, but i wasn't, i was more stunned and baffled.
How could no one feel the immensity of such a day? Despite the state of the world, they do not come often, at least not my finite interpretation of often. The earth is a powerful she, and her children the days are reckless and crave to revel in their short life span, despite having such dull playmates in us.
So why when Pan stops playing his flute and dancing do these people not ask why? But it was not a difficult question to answer after all. They didn't ask because they had no question. They couldn't hear, didn't even know someone was talking and thus weren't even attempting to glean from the echos.
So why couldn't they hear in the least, and i couldn't even muffle the noise? A dull flicker of pain answered my question. My feet where burning almost beyond bearing now. They were burning on the hot asphalt of the pathway that wound through the hills like an old scar. No one else was stupid enough to be barefoot on such a day. And it was through my feet, though dulled by the path, that the day's voice was reaching me. As I walked over it's rises and falls, and stubbed my toes where it's roots had tried to heal the scar I received it's heart in a rhythm not at all unlike morse code, or like a blues rock song.
And it was then that I realized, two people cannot have a successful romantic relationship without physical contact. It would seem that we want to treat each day like a business partner, or perhaps more of a secretary here in America, then a lover. But that's all wrong. This is why we die before we knew we were alive. This is why we are unhappy, and almost wait for each day to be over with, so we can finally get whatever we're waiting for. We are adulterers, one and all.
We have stuffed our ears with our shoes and minds with cheap laughter and pleasure. Our noses we have filled with the smell of sizzle and sparkle and our eyes are weak from the billboards and nearly blind from the flashing white teeth of our idols. Our overworked hands shake and our hearts are repressed. Put simply, the dark enemies of humanity's closets may have been filled with skeletons and secrets, but each of ours, possibly more frighteningly, is filled with 10-15 pairs of shoes.
I have identified a symptom, nothing more, and through that seen a clearer ultrasound of the issue, and the issue is mindset. And worldview. This is was day of perspective, one i felt was too valuable not to share.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Great Documentaries
The Beautiful Loosers (R) Indie Street Art
Dear Zachary (R) A Letter to a Boy About His Murdered Father
Religulous (R) Christianity, Islam, Mormonism, Jewish Religion
Jesus Camp (PG) Christianity
Hell House (R) Radical Christianity
Who the $#%& is Jackson Pollock (PG-13) A Woman Takes on The Man
Dreams With Sharp Teeth (R) A Biopic on Author Harlan Ellison
Jackson Pollock: Love and Death (PG) Biopic on Artist Jackson Pollock
Food Inc. (PG-13) The Truth Behind The American Kitchen
Super Size Me (R) Oh, McDonalds...
Buy The Ticket, Take The Ride (R) Biopic on Author Hunter S. Tomson
It Might Get Loud (PG) The Electric Guitar as Seen Through the Eyes of Jimmy Page, The Edge, and Jack White
New York Doll (PG-13) A Look at Arthur Kane from the New York Dolls
Dog Town and The Z-Boys (PG-13) A Look At the Birth of Skateboarding
Very Young Girls (R) Prostitution and The Sex Trade in America
Dear Zachary (R) A Letter to a Boy About His Murdered Father
Religulous (R) Christianity, Islam, Mormonism, Jewish Religion
Jesus Camp (PG) Christianity
Hell House (R) Radical Christianity
Who the $#%& is Jackson Pollock (PG-13) A Woman Takes on The Man
Dreams With Sharp Teeth (R) A Biopic on Author Harlan Ellison
Jackson Pollock: Love and Death (PG) Biopic on Artist Jackson Pollock
Food Inc. (PG-13) The Truth Behind The American Kitchen
Super Size Me (R) Oh, McDonalds...
Buy The Ticket, Take The Ride (R) Biopic on Author Hunter S. Tomson
It Might Get Loud (PG) The Electric Guitar as Seen Through the Eyes of Jimmy Page, The Edge, and Jack White
New York Doll (PG-13) A Look at Arthur Kane from the New York Dolls
Dog Town and The Z-Boys (PG-13) A Look At the Birth of Skateboarding
Very Young Girls (R) Prostitution and The Sex Trade in America
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Love Bach
Dear Crystal,
First of all, I love you. I guess i feel that just needs to be said out front, and hopefully, by the end of this letter, some remnant of those words and their meaning will have stayed with you. You're great and i wish i could have stayed.
You know how you're in the park and everyone's all around, and it's summer and it's warm and balls are flying and the smell of steak on the grill, and it feels like it's been going forever and it's so great it'll never stop? And then, it's over and you leave and the car is quiet. And you go home and it's even quieter. And when you crawl into bed alone, it's quieter still. So quiet it feels like someone's howling.
Well, that's how i feel right now. But there was no way i could stay. Not with what i had left behind back home. It's like, my whole life i've been just moving and harvesting life and moving and leaving behind the 'dull parts'. Like i think i'm in a movie or something. Like i'm a stray.
But you, man, your so stable, so honest, you give back and, oh, man, you're so beautiful. But i could see you where starting to have some feelings for me, and, i couldn't do that to you. I've got stuff I have to deal with back home. My brother, he's, well, he's sick. He's fourteen and defendant reaching the end of his health. They're actually surprised he lived this long. But I need to make things right with him.
I hope some day we'll meat again. I'll never forget your beautiful brown eyes. On the back of this letter is a map, follow it, you'll find i left a small treasure buried in the garden.
Love, Bach
PS. I knew the reason you wouldn't talk to me that first was because of my name, and you can blame Tom for that. He tells everyone that when he first saw he thought i looked smart enough to write an opera. And you know, all that noise does grow on you. Sometimes i sit under a tree and chew a bone in time.
First of all, I love you. I guess i feel that just needs to be said out front, and hopefully, by the end of this letter, some remnant of those words and their meaning will have stayed with you. You're great and i wish i could have stayed.
You know how you're in the park and everyone's all around, and it's summer and it's warm and balls are flying and the smell of steak on the grill, and it feels like it's been going forever and it's so great it'll never stop? And then, it's over and you leave and the car is quiet. And you go home and it's even quieter. And when you crawl into bed alone, it's quieter still. So quiet it feels like someone's howling.
Well, that's how i feel right now. But there was no way i could stay. Not with what i had left behind back home. It's like, my whole life i've been just moving and harvesting life and moving and leaving behind the 'dull parts'. Like i think i'm in a movie or something. Like i'm a stray.
But you, man, your so stable, so honest, you give back and, oh, man, you're so beautiful. But i could see you where starting to have some feelings for me, and, i couldn't do that to you. I've got stuff I have to deal with back home. My brother, he's, well, he's sick. He's fourteen and defendant reaching the end of his health. They're actually surprised he lived this long. But I need to make things right with him.
I hope some day we'll meat again. I'll never forget your beautiful brown eyes. On the back of this letter is a map, follow it, you'll find i left a small treasure buried in the garden.
Love, Bach
PS. I knew the reason you wouldn't talk to me that first was because of my name, and you can blame Tom for that. He tells everyone that when he first saw he thought i looked smart enough to write an opera. And you know, all that noise does grow on you. Sometimes i sit under a tree and chew a bone in time.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
DA: Old Movies
Now, if you're anything like me, you see 1956 or 76, or 86, or 96, or, shoot, even 06, and you go "They made movies back then?! Probably silent." Haha, oh, fickle youth.
For some reason, it's often hard to psych up for an old movie. You think, aww man, do i want to use up two hours of my short life that i'll never get back on black and white? Give me a movie my friends like, give me a movie that's now.
But truth is, these old movies cost just as much as the ones now, they were the rage, they won awards, people feinted over those movie stars too.
My point is, there is a reason movies are still around. They've always been good. I honestly haven't gotten into a movie this much in a long time.
You might whine, "But don't all the battles look really cheesy cuz they didn't, like, have CG or whatever?" Actually the lawsuit hadn't really blossomed into the stunning rose it is today, those filmmakers could get away with murder. Or nearly. You watch some of those old battle scenes and you go... Oh. Wow.
Sure, people did have slightly longer attention spans back then so, these might be a little longer. And sure, their not all good. It's getting the same with old books. Dude, they didn't even know about ipods back then (90's) I don't want to read that.
Do you have any idea how sickeningly much that sounds like communism in Vietnam? They set up a whole regime where history starts now, forget your past, families aren't important. North Korea is currently on year 56 (i think) and screw the rest of history.
I'm not saying forgeting old movies is quite as crimminal as forgeting WWII, but it demonstrates a similar attitude. Future, future, future. The atmosphere is becoming worse still, now it's forget the present too.
Americans spend their whole lives saving up for their futures as old people. Nothing wrong with being old, but what about childhood? Adolescence? Youth? Midlife? I half think if offered to skip ahead to a nice juicy retirement people actually would.
Something to think about. Anyway, you don't have to get all psychological to get into some really great vintage movies. Everyone and their dog knows that the older the wine, the better, and i present the same for movies.
Here is a short list of incredible classics.
Ben Hur - 1959
Sure, everyone's heard of it, and possibly seen it at some point, but pull it out again. This isn't a kids movie. Amazing film makeing, and you really can't beet old Charlton Heston's utterly likable weirdness. Currently holds spot #139 on imdb's top 250 films of all time. Should be rated PG-13 for graphic violence.
The Bridge on the River Kwai - 1957
You will really get into this one if you like characters. As far as I'm concerned, precious few have ever captured my interest like Alec Guinness's Colonel Nicholson. It really twists your stomach and has an utterly unexpected and dynamic ending, leaving you with a lot to chew on. Holds spot #70 on imdb's top 250 films of all time. It is a spic and span movie so it hardly deserves more then a PG, but it's very intense and i doubt children would find it interesting. Are you a child?
Seven Samurai - 1954
I know many people will instantly say no when they learn this, but, "Yes, it is in Japanese". Non the less, WOW! this movie blows my mind. It has been remade once (Magnificent Seven, with Steve McQueen) and a new version is currently in the works, but man, it hardly needs it. This movie provides a rare look into feudal Japan, and if you got any kind of kick out of The Last Samurai, then you MUST see this movie. Kikuchiyo is the craziest character i've ever seen. Hold the prestigious spot of #15 on imdb's top 250. Warning: it would defiantly garner a current rating of PG-13 as it has quite a bit of language. (No F's)
A few other good one's (Just to getcha started):
Rebeca - 1940 (#97)
The Great Escape - 1963 (#101)
To Kill A Mockingbird - 1962 (#52)
Psycho - 1960 (#22)
The Godfather - 1972 (#2)
12 Angry Men - 1957 (#7)
Rear Window - 1954 (#20)
It's a Wonderful Life - 1946 (#28)
Alien - 1979 (#43)
Stand By Me - 1986 (#155)
Planet of The Apes - 1968 (#228)
I'll probably list more in a few months, to keep you well fed on stuff that shouldn't be forgotten. Stuff that's still good.
For some reason, it's often hard to psych up for an old movie. You think, aww man, do i want to use up two hours of my short life that i'll never get back on black and white? Give me a movie my friends like, give me a movie that's now.
But truth is, these old movies cost just as much as the ones now, they were the rage, they won awards, people feinted over those movie stars too.
My point is, there is a reason movies are still around. They've always been good. I honestly haven't gotten into a movie this much in a long time.
You might whine, "But don't all the battles look really cheesy cuz they didn't, like, have CG or whatever?" Actually the lawsuit hadn't really blossomed into the stunning rose it is today, those filmmakers could get away with murder. Or nearly. You watch some of those old battle scenes and you go... Oh. Wow.
Sure, people did have slightly longer attention spans back then so, these might be a little longer. And sure, their not all good. It's getting the same with old books. Dude, they didn't even know about ipods back then (90's) I don't want to read that.
Do you have any idea how sickeningly much that sounds like communism in Vietnam? They set up a whole regime where history starts now, forget your past, families aren't important. North Korea is currently on year 56 (i think) and screw the rest of history.
I'm not saying forgeting old movies is quite as crimminal as forgeting WWII, but it demonstrates a similar attitude. Future, future, future. The atmosphere is becoming worse still, now it's forget the present too.
Americans spend their whole lives saving up for their futures as old people. Nothing wrong with being old, but what about childhood? Adolescence? Youth? Midlife? I half think if offered to skip ahead to a nice juicy retirement people actually would.
Something to think about. Anyway, you don't have to get all psychological to get into some really great vintage movies. Everyone and their dog knows that the older the wine, the better, and i present the same for movies.
Here is a short list of incredible classics.
Sure, everyone's heard of it, and possibly seen it at some point, but pull it out again. This isn't a kids movie. Amazing film makeing, and you really can't beet old Charlton Heston's utterly likable weirdness. Currently holds spot #139 on imdb's top 250 films of all time. Should be rated PG-13 for graphic violence.
You will really get into this one if you like characters. As far as I'm concerned, precious few have ever captured my interest like Alec Guinness's Colonel Nicholson. It really twists your stomach and has an utterly unexpected and dynamic ending, leaving you with a lot to chew on. Holds spot #70 on imdb's top 250 films of all time. It is a spic and span movie so it hardly deserves more then a PG, but it's very intense and i doubt children would find it interesting. Are you a child?
I know many people will instantly say no when they learn this, but, "Yes, it is in Japanese". Non the less, WOW! this movie blows my mind. It has been remade once (Magnificent Seven, with Steve McQueen) and a new version is currently in the works, but man, it hardly needs it. This movie provides a rare look into feudal Japan, and if you got any kind of kick out of The Last Samurai, then you MUST see this movie. Kikuchiyo is the craziest character i've ever seen. Hold the prestigious spot of #15 on imdb's top 250. Warning: it would defiantly garner a current rating of PG-13 as it has quite a bit of language. (No F's)
A few other good one's (Just to getcha started):
Rebeca - 1940 (#97)
The Great Escape - 1963 (#101)
To Kill A Mockingbird - 1962 (#52)
Psycho - 1960 (#22)
The Godfather - 1972 (#2)
12 Angry Men - 1957 (#7)
Rear Window - 1954 (#20)
It's a Wonderful Life - 1946 (#28)
Alien - 1979 (#43)
Stand By Me - 1986 (#155)
Planet of The Apes - 1968 (#228)
I'll probably list more in a few months, to keep you well fed on stuff that shouldn't be forgotten. Stuff that's still good.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
This Horrible Paradox
DIRECTOR: Okay, take four hundred and eighteen, scene twenty nine. Please... Three, two...
MOVIE STAR: Yeah, okay. You got me. I took some greased chicken under the bar. Fine. Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry i ever stuck my nose into this rats nest, and i'm sorry i cared enough to bother saving your life. Oh, and I'm sorry about Gavin too. Ooh boy, big whooper.
CO STAR: Come on, man. You know you mean the world to me, and, and i really respect ya too, but, awe man. It's just ya done what ya done. We're adults. You took a bribe and it costing Mikey. He's taking a fall right now. Right NOW. Just tell him what happened.
M: ... You know you can't live in scum and stay clean, Lindle. Oooohhhh.
D: CUUTTTT!!!!
D: What the bean soups that matter with you?! This is the last frickin scene!! The last one. Ya said his name right every other time, man. You know what i did? I had Megan count. Yeah, i had her count. You know how many times you've said that name in the script alone? 89!! Yes. 89.
M: Look man, it's like there's this bad vibe here or somethin. You know? It's just been one thing after another today. First, no green tea....!!!! They forgot to buy more, and since we're stuck in the middle of this forsaken rain forest, filming another B grade zombie movie, i didn't get any!! I don't even know how i'm still alive.
D: This is ridiculous.
M: Tell me about it! You know how much I-
D: Not that. Defiantly. Not. That. Sixteen hours. We have been out here, for sixteen hours. Forget about light. Forget about the crew. All that left about five hours ago. No, no, but we have to stay. You and I, and your co-star, because we only have access to this spot for today.
M: I feel you man. It's like this horrible paradox. There's no winning. No green tea=No name.
C: Hey director, what if we over dubbed?
D: It's a close up of his face, and i think at least a few people are bound to notice him mouth Lindle, instead of Harvey Jay. I mean. Right?
C: Yeah. Sorta.
M: I'm sorry guys. I am personalty going to punch that assistant, whats-his-name. What a dirt bag.
D: Just try saying it to me, right now. That last line. Take a breath, and just say it.
M: You know you can't live in scum and stay clean, Harvey Jay.
D: Exactly. Now, let's try this once more, to the camera. Three, two...
M: Yeah, okay. You got me. I took some greased-
C: AAHHHHGGG!!!!!!!
M: Oh heaven, what!!??
C: It's, it's, aaww...
D: What?
M: Co Star, speak to me!
D: Is he unconscious?
M: You know, actually i think he's dead. I'm not sure, but, like, that's how they looked when I filmed Entrees II: Rise of The Hysterical Cannibals.
D: WHAT??!! STOP!
M: No man, I'm telling you. They looked that way in part III: Remember to Tip The Waiter, too.
D: WHY NOW?
M: What? What do you mean.
...
M: Director- ? Dude, Why wont you talk to me?
D: Who said I'm not talking.
C: Yeah. Who said he's not talking?
Due to health conditions of some of the actors... The End.
Thanks to www.worldisround.com and healingmethods.com for photos.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Reveiw: Nerdcore Rising
Rating: 1.5 / 5
Genre: Documentary
Nerdcore Rising is a strange little (actually it wasn't little, it was rather too long) documentary about MC Frontalot, a thirty something businessman who raps, and the self proclaimed inventor of Nerdcore. Nerdcore is steadily becoming popular, if only among the rather sizable nerd community.
"We nerds are very loyal!" one little guy spitted at the camera. I do believe there should've been a little warning on the cover. WARNING: PROLONGED EXPOSURE TO THESE PEOPLE WILL RESULT IN A SEVERE CASE OF CURLED TOES.
Seriously, it could be brutal, and the camera wasn't merciful. It never turned away. It's hard to watch geeks revel in their own geekiness. Perhaps the one saving factor was MC himself. The nerdiness almost felt self inflicted with him, or like he was putting it on. Because he was actually a pretty creative rapper, a funny lyricist and an interesting person.
But wait! What is nerdcore?! Yes. That is an excellent question and I think MC said it best himself. "It's just like rap, only with the word 'nerd' in front." Mhhm. Nerd was in front. With all the pens, ties, and button down you could wish to see ( and quite a bit more, if your anything like me).
Another difference, to be fair, is what the songs are about. Most rap is all about self promotion, "Ooh, i got a Rolls Royce, and my teeth are paved with gold!" but nerdcore is about:
"I hate your blog.
It’s incredibly
terrible and bad.
I hate your blog. You own a dog, and you feed it.
You post about it. I get to read it.
Plus: five paragraphs on the socks you bought
and your thoughts on whether Nicole Ritchie’s hot or not."
But while all the songs are quite similarly funny, their not all so innocent. Forrays into sexual lust and profane lyrics soil some of the songs beyond repair. Although many are actually quite good, and have a lot to say, they are simply too graphic and crude.
So, a nerd who defied his kind and liked rap, tried to do his own thing, invent a genre, and basically failed. Take away the image and some of the subject matter and your left with a rather seedy and creepy version of 'the real thing', which wasn't much to start with.
My advice? Avoid the whole mess. You walk away feeling a little sickened, mildly entertained, but mostly like, i didn't want to know.
Following are rated 0%=Not an element to 100%=A screaming element
Spirituality 0%
Sexuality 60% (Explicit conversation, and lyrics)
Language 80% (F,D,A,H,S)
Blasphemy 60% (G,J,C)
Positivity 50%
Importance 15%
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Reveiw: Planet B-Boy
Rating: 4 / 5
Genre: Documentary
B-Boy planet is a documentary on break dancing. The term comes from 'Beat Boy' and is part of the three major components of the hip hop culture and style of expression.
One dude said (somethin like) "Man, it's the DJ's, the rappers, and the b-boys. Hip hop is all about telling people what you're about, what's your thing and how you feel." I didn't know this, but real hip hop isn't a gangsta thing. It was born in the poor black families scattered around the world. The kids had this energy, and a need for identity. So hip hop was born and it's all about the beat, and how you interpret it.
The movie followed four b-boy teams as they entered the biggest break dancing competition in the world. It's called battle of the year, and it all goes down in Germany.
The movie centered on three kids, one from the Japanese team, one from the French team, and one from Korea's team. It was beautiful to see something like dancing, and break dancing in particular, transcend languages, cultures and religions. Individualism and heritage and group play a huge part in style.
These are kids and young men who have all this energy and drive, sometimes anger, sometimes joy, and they need to express it. So instead of fighting, or doing drugs, or sex, they dance. But to watch it, it has all the healthy elements of all those things. So much raw intensity and feeling can be put into it, man, it's just really something to see. Dude, the passion and skill. It floored me.
It was a glimpse into a new movement amongst modern youth in the world. It's no wonder that America hasn't won in 10 years. We're just not that good, and i think we're too lazy, and frankly it was a little embarrassing to see the contrast in ethics.
Following are rated 0%=Not an element to 100%=A screaming element
Spirituality 90% (Many religions)
Sexuality 20% (Brief bar dancers)
Language 70% (F,D,A,H,S)
Blasphemy 20% (G)
Positivity 100%
Importance 75%
Friday, March 12, 2010
Then, Now
As my thought's regarding this picture have changed, I thought a sort of part 2 would be appropriate, or perhaps a beta would be a better term. Along with the new, reality strikes, kind of look, I have given it a new name. I have changed the person and, switched it from active to passive.
People are so focused on the creation that they forget about the person. So the new name is about the person, not the imagination, and it says what is. It's passive. It's not in control and it's not trying to be, perhaps not even aware it needs to be.
So I give you, Driven.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
The Order of Whintow Part I
Jim really liked to wake up early. He really liked to have a chance to gather his thoughts before facing The Day. Of course the other main reason he liked it, was the one he was dealing with presently.
Jeffery pulled back and let fly. Jim had always felt that whips where a bit stone age, that the Order of Whintow should probably upgrade to, like electro shock or solitary. But Elder John Jack had a bit of a thing for the vintage. And for theatrics. Hence the stupid monk robes.
Seriously, when he'd seen all the campy cosmetics he'd actually laughed out loud (an action he'd regretted) and thought. "My gosh, I've just signed my soul to nerd hell." In a way he had, only, well, the alternative...
And as Jeffery had quickly established, nerds could be deadly. He groaned and rubbed his shoulder. No blood. Thankfully you didn't get the nasty barbed one for over sleeping.
"See you at breakfast." Jeffery said.
"Yeah..." Jim winced and pulled his robe back on. Why had he over slept? He never over slept. There had to be something... but the previous days memories were gone.
He walked down the pale yellow hallway toward the mass mess, as they liked to call it. Cuz they combined Mass and Breakfast to save time. He vaguely remembered feeling that this was deeply blasphemous when he'd first joined, but, well, you did what your told, and forgot the rest.
He entered the enormous room and scanned it. Already over 2,000 members of the Order had congregated and where laughing and chatting over breakfast. He sat down at a table. Jerry brought him a plate.
"Thanks mate!"
It smelled really great. Eggs and oatmeal. And toast.
"You're late. I really wanted to play a hand of Carmah Cards before Elder John Jack starts mass." Jeremy frowned at him. "you do remember?" Jeremy was, as far as he knew, his best friend.
"Sorry, I had a flogging scheduled for 7:30 after i over slept." He dug in.
"Dang it!"
A huge curtain pulled back to reveal a 1000 square ft tv screen. On it, Elder John Jack appeared and started Mass.
Jeffery pulled back and let fly. Jim had always felt that whips where a bit stone age, that the Order of Whintow should probably upgrade to, like electro shock or solitary. But Elder John Jack had a bit of a thing for the vintage. And for theatrics. Hence the stupid monk robes.
Seriously, when he'd seen all the campy cosmetics he'd actually laughed out loud (an action he'd regretted) and thought. "My gosh, I've just signed my soul to nerd hell." In a way he had, only, well, the alternative...
And as Jeffery had quickly established, nerds could be deadly. He groaned and rubbed his shoulder. No blood. Thankfully you didn't get the nasty barbed one for over sleeping.
"See you at breakfast." Jeffery said.
"Yeah..." Jim winced and pulled his robe back on. Why had he over slept? He never over slept. There had to be something... but the previous days memories were gone.
He walked down the pale yellow hallway toward the mass mess, as they liked to call it. Cuz they combined Mass and Breakfast to save time. He vaguely remembered feeling that this was deeply blasphemous when he'd first joined, but, well, you did what your told, and forgot the rest.
He entered the enormous room and scanned it. Already over 2,000 members of the Order had congregated and where laughing and chatting over breakfast. He sat down at a table. Jerry brought him a plate.
"Thanks mate!"
It smelled really great. Eggs and oatmeal. And toast.
"You're late. I really wanted to play a hand of Carmah Cards before Elder John Jack starts mass." Jeremy frowned at him. "you do remember?" Jeremy was, as far as he knew, his best friend.
"Sorry, I had a flogging scheduled for 7:30 after i over slept." He dug in.
"Dang it!"
A huge curtain pulled back to reveal a 1000 square ft tv screen. On it, Elder John Jack appeared and started Mass.
Spine?
My games can't be played
In a burning building
So why, you inquire
Wont I ask all the prophets
Why their hands wont stop shakeing
You know, I'm afraid
Of this changing landscape
Oh no! The ancient pocket
Watch has stopped
And he is here now...
Where is my spine?
Why can't I fight this dread tonight?
Why can't I face the truth tonight?
This weakness fills my mind
I run and pray but i know that face
He has me but he shows no delight
The man in the mist
The questions on his lips
So here we stand, I
Wish I knew my own mind
Who did I think I was?
Oh father, help me now
I am failing
I am falling
Where did I go wrong?
Where is my heart?
Why can't I see you anymore?
Why can't I remember the door?
This horror fills my soul
All I have is games, so he turns away
Oh God, I have become what I hate.
In a burning building
So why, you inquire
Wont I ask all the prophets
Why their hands wont stop shakeing
You know, I'm afraid
Of this changing landscape
Oh no! The ancient pocket
Watch has stopped
And he is here now...
Where is my spine?
Why can't I fight this dread tonight?
Why can't I face the truth tonight?
This weakness fills my mind
I run and pray but i know that face
He has me but he shows no delight
The man in the mist
The questions on his lips
So here we stand, I
Wish I knew my own mind
Who did I think I was?
Oh father, help me now
I am failing
I am falling
Where did I go wrong?
Where is my heart?
Why can't I see you anymore?
Why can't I remember the door?
This horror fills my soul
All I have is games, so he turns away
Oh God, I have become what I hate.
Read to be Baffled
Yesterday morning, i knew i had to be somewhere. So threw everything i cared about in a bag and left. well, i wish that's what i did. I did leave, so i get props for that. But it took me five hours. You know, you just get attached to stuff, and i had to keep repacking my bag, cuz it was too heavey.
So i finally leave and right outside my apartment building a guy, never seen him in my life, asks me for some change. I'm like what the heck, I'm being spontaneous. (I've never given money to ANYONE before.) So i rummage in my wallet, trying to decide on how much to give the guy.
Not sure, but i'm guessing at least a couple of hours later i wake up with a mega headache. Yeah, the dude waked me and ran off with all my stuff. *Sigh* Honestly i almost gave up. Almost went back inside, uh, actually i tried but, guy stole my keys with everything else, so, yeah. Obviously i couldn't use my car either, so i just started walking.
At first i was really depressed. Everything i liked most was in that bag. But, after i bit, i actually felt kind of good. Like kind of free. So then night comes. I'm not the kind of person who gets any kind of kick out of lying, but... well, let's say i probably only woke up at all cuz a cat started to eat my ear. Nice.
At this point i was really starting to feel kind of worse off, then i, searching for breakfast, looked in a dumpster and found all my stuff. That was weird. Then i found the thief. He was, like, really dead. Or maybe asleep. Anyway I told the first cop i came across. I'm actually not sure he believed me.
Anyway, then i remembered where i was supposed to be. It took me the rest of my life to get there.
So i finally leave and right outside my apartment building a guy, never seen him in my life, asks me for some change. I'm like what the heck, I'm being spontaneous. (I've never given money to ANYONE before.) So i rummage in my wallet, trying to decide on how much to give the guy.
Not sure, but i'm guessing at least a couple of hours later i wake up with a mega headache. Yeah, the dude waked me and ran off with all my stuff. *Sigh* Honestly i almost gave up. Almost went back inside, uh, actually i tried but, guy stole my keys with everything else, so, yeah. Obviously i couldn't use my car either, so i just started walking.
At first i was really depressed. Everything i liked most was in that bag. But, after i bit, i actually felt kind of good. Like kind of free. So then night comes. I'm not the kind of person who gets any kind of kick out of lying, but... well, let's say i probably only woke up at all cuz a cat started to eat my ear. Nice.
At this point i was really starting to feel kind of worse off, then i, searching for breakfast, looked in a dumpster and found all my stuff. That was weird. Then i found the thief. He was, like, really dead. Or maybe asleep. Anyway I told the first cop i came across. I'm actually not sure he believed me.
Anyway, then i remembered where i was supposed to be. It took me the rest of my life to get there.
Monday, March 8, 2010
End of Day 5,113
The dog woke. He looked up to the sky and saw the sun rise. It was too bright to look at, but he was old so he looked anyway. It broke into two glowing circles and drifted to either side. All that was left was a tangible absence, and he knew he must find something to fill it.
He had spent the night under a train car and he crawled out into the chill air. He wondered a little that he wasn't blind, but what was, was, and he soon forgot.
He shook his coat and wished he hadn't, for an instant sense of cold moved over him. He began his quest. The worms in his stomach pleaded for food, so he licked a hamburger wrapper. The gravel and cement and cracks all felt thick under his paws, and when he listened to them they whispered lies of eternal depth. He didn't mind. He had other things to worry about.
He followed a smell of diesel for the next hour, it seemed to be right, but it vanished and he realized he'd been fooled. He could never hope to keep up with a truck, he should have stayed closer to the town. Now, his hole in the sky was setting and he had found nothing. He coughed, and sat down, exhausted.
As the moon rose he began to wonder if he'd been wrong. Maybe he had more time then he'd thought. Maybe. It felt much warmer then the sun had, but his cough got much worse. He laid down.
End of day 5,113.
He had spent the night under a train car and he crawled out into the chill air. He wondered a little that he wasn't blind, but what was, was, and he soon forgot.
He shook his coat and wished he hadn't, for an instant sense of cold moved over him. He began his quest. The worms in his stomach pleaded for food, so he licked a hamburger wrapper. The gravel and cement and cracks all felt thick under his paws, and when he listened to them they whispered lies of eternal depth. He didn't mind. He had other things to worry about.
He followed a smell of diesel for the next hour, it seemed to be right, but it vanished and he realized he'd been fooled. He could never hope to keep up with a truck, he should have stayed closer to the town. Now, his hole in the sky was setting and he had found nothing. He coughed, and sat down, exhausted.
As the moon rose he began to wonder if he'd been wrong. Maybe he had more time then he'd thought. Maybe. It felt much warmer then the sun had, but his cough got much worse. He laid down.
End of day 5,113.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Bask Seat Driver Gagged
This, i created for a contest, one i very irrationally never was able to actually enter, even though, well, that's another story for a moment when you want to be depressed. Anyway, the contest was just to visualize your imagination.
So, i give you, The Back Seat Driver. I really wanted to highlight the way i felt about my imagination at the time. And I'm posting it to discuses how this has changed. I think all beginning artists, of any kind, feel a little like their just being drug along for the ride. Like they are powerless and, in straight honesty, a little freaked out. That's what i wanted to show here. This wild, perhaps slightly manic, force, completely strange and foreign, just bursting out of that poor guy's head. He's just holding onto that table for dear life.
But it can't stay that way. I think for some it does, hence the tortured rock stars and poets and painters. Literally wasted by their own genius. The vehicle. I think that also explains why a lot of what they have to say has the spark of something great, but is also garbled by this sort of crazy babel, often purely emotional. No wonder their so unhappy.
People aren't tools. Talents aren't our masters. They're like the mess i depicted, awe inspiring stallions, full of raw power and out of control. We have to tame them. I think genius is genius and it will be captivating in any form, but the stallion tamed is the one who'll win the race.
Monday, March 1, 2010
A Haunting Beat
It was just a little sound, or at least, that's how it started. Kind of a systematic sound. All ways marching in time with a melodramatic power ballad somewhere. But it really started to drive him nuts. It had a slight ringing to it, which made the experience all the more like a band aid pulled off slowly. But at the same time, he was a busy guy. Had lot's on his plate.
So he just kind of coped with/ignored it for three years, during witch time he hit it big. He was it, man. Everyone was listening to his junk. Darn near seemed to be all that was on the radio, and he'd never had so many cars in his life. Whoda thought? Just one song. But after a year of this, well, affections started to fade. People wanted another album.
That's where the sound became so critical. He just couldn't get it out of his mind. It was like the old guy, you know the type, who stands up at dinner parties to make a speech, just wouldn't stop clinking his glass with his fork. Only worse still, it was a slo-mo kind of sound. Infuriating.
He went into the studio, full of trepidation. He was becoming so worked up, his manager thought he was on drugs. But it was no good. Two weeks passed and he didn't even have the start of a song. Everyone was getting worried. But he couldn't be helped. He knew it all meant something. Had to. Old guys don't clink glasses without something to say, and he felt sure this speech wasn't gonna be the kind everyone falls asleep to.
Years past. He was so over, no one even remembered his name. His label had dumped him, he had no friends. His only relative, a very, very advanced in years aunt, put him in a state paid mental home. He just wasted away, there was no helping him.
It was in his 73rd year, that things changed. He was dieing, partly of poor health and partly of a complete lack of desire to live. Tucked deep in his bed, he yawned, exhausted, and prayed the end would come soon. He couldn't even remember exactly why he was so unhappy. Then, scaring the nurse quite out of her wits, he leaped out of bed and ran into his old room.
He grabbed up his guitar, he hadn't touched it in over fifty years, and it was badly out of tune, and started frantically strumming. The nurse, this was her first day, so you can't really blame her, ran away, wailing for the doctor. She got him and they burst into his room to see a real spectacle.
There sat he sat on his bed, gown half falling off, beaming. He was strumming away at his guitar and curled in his toes was a key, with which he was tapping on a glass vase. He started to sing. This noise, this 'song' to be liberal with the word, while horribly out of tune and just down right weird, somehow really grabbed the doctors interest. He and the nurse watched with an increasing sense of wonder.
The beat... it was perfect. Flawless. The old man then died, quite happy and free. The doctor went home that night, happily tapping that song on his steering wheel, feeling quite lofty and artistic. Everything felt new. But as time passed, he forgot where it came from or when he first heard it. He began to be increasingly distracted. He complained a lot about something on his mind, a haunting beat.
So he just kind of coped with/ignored it for three years, during witch time he hit it big. He was it, man. Everyone was listening to his junk. Darn near seemed to be all that was on the radio, and he'd never had so many cars in his life. Whoda thought? Just one song. But after a year of this, well, affections started to fade. People wanted another album.
That's where the sound became so critical. He just couldn't get it out of his mind. It was like the old guy, you know the type, who stands up at dinner parties to make a speech, just wouldn't stop clinking his glass with his fork. Only worse still, it was a slo-mo kind of sound. Infuriating.
He went into the studio, full of trepidation. He was becoming so worked up, his manager thought he was on drugs. But it was no good. Two weeks passed and he didn't even have the start of a song. Everyone was getting worried. But he couldn't be helped. He knew it all meant something. Had to. Old guys don't clink glasses without something to say, and he felt sure this speech wasn't gonna be the kind everyone falls asleep to.
Years past. He was so over, no one even remembered his name. His label had dumped him, he had no friends. His only relative, a very, very advanced in years aunt, put him in a state paid mental home. He just wasted away, there was no helping him.
It was in his 73rd year, that things changed. He was dieing, partly of poor health and partly of a complete lack of desire to live. Tucked deep in his bed, he yawned, exhausted, and prayed the end would come soon. He couldn't even remember exactly why he was so unhappy. Then, scaring the nurse quite out of her wits, he leaped out of bed and ran into his old room.
He grabbed up his guitar, he hadn't touched it in over fifty years, and it was badly out of tune, and started frantically strumming. The nurse, this was her first day, so you can't really blame her, ran away, wailing for the doctor. She got him and they burst into his room to see a real spectacle.
There sat he sat on his bed, gown half falling off, beaming. He was strumming away at his guitar and curled in his toes was a key, with which he was tapping on a glass vase. He started to sing. This noise, this 'song' to be liberal with the word, while horribly out of tune and just down right weird, somehow really grabbed the doctors interest. He and the nurse watched with an increasing sense of wonder.
The beat... it was perfect. Flawless. The old man then died, quite happy and free. The doctor went home that night, happily tapping that song on his steering wheel, feeling quite lofty and artistic. Everything felt new. But as time passed, he forgot where it came from or when he first heard it. He began to be increasingly distracted. He complained a lot about something on his mind, a haunting beat.
Drown, Maybe
"All right, you lot, shut yer pie holes and shift yer hearin' up here. I got somthin' ter say. You all know me. I 'aven't got ter be Captain fer just sittin' around. If I 'ave, well, yer can stuff me right now. But it ain't so ye can't. I been on the sea a wile now, and let me tell yer, I've seen my share of storms. An' it got me ter thinkin'. I ain't an over critical like man, but i noticed some o' the way yer younger one's 'ave been acting of late, an, well, i realized that i need ter put a stop to it. So, me not bein' very elo-quaint with me words, an' all, I commissioned a painter gal, ter paint me up a picture ter show ye what i mean. There it is."
"It's just that this is a rendering of a moment we 'ave ter face every day. I'm dead as yesterday's shrimp serious. It's like, this here boat, much as i love her, she ain't half strong enough ter carry us through more'n a pair of the storms we been through this week alone. There's somethin' else goin' on. Now, i'm not sayin if yer ignore it, you'll die. Or even if you flat out choose not to look up, it's not like, oh wow, thar she goes! No. It's more like a lot o' fear and shipwreck and slavery and drowning, maybe. Just not good. So look up every day, take nothin' fer granted. All right, I'm done. Go on, get."
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Sorry, I Over Simplified It
I can see a creature. It's feet are cold, very, very cold. Meticulously cold. The rest of it's fine. But it can't go anywhere. I'm not sure how i know all this, just from looking at it. Maybe it's the way the sun is blazing down on it, but it's shivering. Actually shaking, desperately. It's hands jerk, it's face, full of strange lines that would imply it's been twitching like this for some time, but not it's feet. They are the feet of an infant.
"It's a creature, but it has hands, feet, and a face, why not call him a man?" You ask. Well, friend, because it has no eyes.
"Then he's a freak. But not inhuman, have a little charity." Okay, sorry, i over simplified it. What it has instead of eyes is what make's me call it a creature. It's heart seems to have grown over where the eyes should be. Out of the heart, which is miraculously still working, juts about a foot of slab. The edges are rounded. This slab doesn't seem to be too heavy, despite the fact that a full city sits on it, and a smaller town hangs, upside down, from beneath.
You're speechless. But is get's weirder. The constant shaking doesn't seem to affect the city. However, the town seems to be fully aware. Gravity still works like it ought to, and they're hanging on for dear life.
"All right, hold it right there," You say, "that's all fine and well. But, come on. Am i really expected to believe this? Seriously. How come i can't see any of this?"
Because you're the creature, and you don't have any eyes.
"It's a creature, but it has hands, feet, and a face, why not call him a man?" You ask. Well, friend, because it has no eyes.
"Then he's a freak. But not inhuman, have a little charity." Okay, sorry, i over simplified it. What it has instead of eyes is what make's me call it a creature. It's heart seems to have grown over where the eyes should be. Out of the heart, which is miraculously still working, juts about a foot of slab. The edges are rounded. This slab doesn't seem to be too heavy, despite the fact that a full city sits on it, and a smaller town hangs, upside down, from beneath.
You're speechless. But is get's weirder. The constant shaking doesn't seem to affect the city. However, the town seems to be fully aware. Gravity still works like it ought to, and they're hanging on for dear life.
"All right, hold it right there," You say, "that's all fine and well. But, come on. Am i really expected to believe this? Seriously. How come i can't see any of this?"
Because you're the creature, and you don't have any eyes.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Epic Distillation of a Life
A little while ago a bird died. It's body is now rotting somewhere. I don't know what kind it was, how old it was, or whether it was female or male. I'm not being melodramatic. Creatures die all the time and nobody knows, that's the way things go. I'm not an animal freak, I don't go on rallies. However, I do respect life, and when i saw that bird, killed by a tricky glass window, I saw perspective. I took a photo, and am posting it in the hopes that it might do the same for you.
A birds life is a simple one. But ours, well, it's easy to get caught up in our own drama, and forget to live. The bird couldn't have unfinished business. We can. Life = Unexpected. The bird didn't know it was going to die, but because of it's nature, it was ready. It did all it could, so it's death isn't sad. Maybe I'm nuts. Or a sicko. I hope not. I think you can never have too many reminders to suck every last drop out of life.
Friday, February 26, 2010
The Kazak Won
Oh tiny children,
While your arms are so cold
Sit, and you'll swell
And the flies will grow bold
But ah, if you'd sing
The Kazak demands
They eat out your eyes
And chew on your hands
So silent you stay
And angry they become
But his pact won't bend
The Kazak won't succumb
In fear grow larger
And avoid the conflict
But, unforeseen lust
Sedentary addict
The pact, come to end
But you beg to stay on
"I so love it here."
You happily yawn
So, onward you sit
With no pact to stop them
The flies can attack
From a.m. to p.m.
Continue to feast
And oh my, how you wish
You hadn't listened
And licked off his dish
For he always knows
And a game once begun
With the Kazak
Is for him a game won.
A Note: When i wrote this, there's a obvious meaning of person or country, but i think a part of me was also thinking about Ben from LOST.
While your arms are so cold
Sit, and you'll swell
And the flies will grow bold
But ah, if you'd sing
The Kazak demands
They eat out your eyes
And chew on your hands
So silent you stay
And angry they become
But his pact won't bend
The Kazak won't succumb
In fear grow larger
And avoid the conflict
But, unforeseen lust
Sedentary addict
The pact, come to end
But you beg to stay on
"I so love it here."
You happily yawn
So, onward you sit
With no pact to stop them
The flies can attack
From a.m. to p.m.
Continue to feast
And oh my, how you wish
You hadn't listened
And licked off his dish
For he always knows
And a game once begun
With the Kazak
Is for him a game won.
A Note: When i wrote this, there's a obvious meaning of person or country, but i think a part of me was also thinking about Ben from LOST.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
The Times of a Fat Man
This is a scrap Lynic gave me within an insomniac night.
The Times of a Fat Man
This one is one of Lynic's better experiments, reminding me why i let the free loader stay. This i think had to be strongly infused with my subconscious. While i am still slightly unsure of what i meant by it, i think it is worth exploring in future works. Click on it to read.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Today is Different
So let's say that today is different. You wake and find yourself lying on the top of an autumn hill. The grey grass is long and still. The air is thin, but not cold. You stand.
Before you a silent land drifts by. You realize you are watching time pass. A thousand times faster and yet somehow in slow motion. You shudder. You watch as a man with a bow glides across the plains. He beckons to his fellows. They begin work on a building. More building flower up around it and people flock to the new city. The world around it cracks and begins to fall apart. More people run to the city of safety. But the man, now very old, uses his dying breaths to construct a massive wall around and over the city. The people left outside perish. The people inside forget. Insanity sets in. The dead world watches as the city destroys itself from the inside out.
You turn away. It is too much to watch. Your forehead feels very hot. You put up your hand and when you touch it, it is scorched. A voice whispers to you. "Save the city." But you are very tired. As it dashes towards it's own peril, you realize it is in miniature. The people are only about as big as your thumbnail.
As you lean over the city you see that their rage and terror is caused by the wall. They cannot breath. It wouldn't be hard to knock it down. It's about as big as a popcorn bowl to you, but you really are pretty tired, and your begin to think this is a dream. Perhaps if you go back to sleep, you'll wake up in you bed. But the choice seems more serious than that that.
You decide you must save the people, but now your arms hang at your sides, and your feet begin to give way. With a desperate jerk you manage to knock the wall down as you fall. Black.
When you open your eyes, three large heads look down at you. "It's a miracle." one says. "I've never seen the like..." The rest of the room comes into focus and you see it's a hospital room.
Before you a silent land drifts by. You realize you are watching time pass. A thousand times faster and yet somehow in slow motion. You shudder. You watch as a man with a bow glides across the plains. He beckons to his fellows. They begin work on a building. More building flower up around it and people flock to the new city. The world around it cracks and begins to fall apart. More people run to the city of safety. But the man, now very old, uses his dying breaths to construct a massive wall around and over the city. The people left outside perish. The people inside forget. Insanity sets in. The dead world watches as the city destroys itself from the inside out.
You turn away. It is too much to watch. Your forehead feels very hot. You put up your hand and when you touch it, it is scorched. A voice whispers to you. "Save the city." But you are very tired. As it dashes towards it's own peril, you realize it is in miniature. The people are only about as big as your thumbnail.
As you lean over the city you see that their rage and terror is caused by the wall. They cannot breath. It wouldn't be hard to knock it down. It's about as big as a popcorn bowl to you, but you really are pretty tired, and your begin to think this is a dream. Perhaps if you go back to sleep, you'll wake up in you bed. But the choice seems more serious than that that.
You decide you must save the people, but now your arms hang at your sides, and your feet begin to give way. With a desperate jerk you manage to knock the wall down as you fall. Black.
When you open your eyes, three large heads look down at you. "It's a miracle." one says. "I've never seen the like..." The rest of the room comes into focus and you see it's a hospital room.
Baldy and the Older Than You
An icing, pressed down by the thick warmth of my retro heater, swirls on the floor. Like a vague sense of dark prophesy to a common man, it makes me pull my feet up off the floor and cross them in my chair. My hair is pulled back and feels tight, i fear a headache. Thoughts of the bald entertain me. That is the purpose of this blog, after all. A daily shave, a skimming, however mean, of the thoughts that set in before they disintegrate back to wherever they come from.
So, today my razors an old one. It's got a thin black handle of painted wood, where the blade is content to sit for some time without rusting. I'm going to pull out some ideas from my recent past and discus one of my visual thoughts:
Older Than You
The original image that came to me was one of a wizened man. Dull skin clung to him, as if it had shrunken before the rest of him. Thin hair drifted in a summer afternoon breeze. He was sitting at a park table, surrounded by oblivious kids, all playing wildly. A single sign of fall rested meekly on the table, a cracked leaf. He was looking at me intently, as if trying to tell me something. The title came to me, older than you.The image was a strong one. Perhaps the most striking thing was the contrast of motion. The whirling kids, the sly breeze, the sunlight, and his hair all drifted in a complex pattern around his frozen face and intense eyes.
As time passed and the image developed in my Mental Cellar (dubbed Redcap Twist, and run by the muse, Lynic) the leaf blew away, the children where called in by their mothers, and a thick mist settled over the park. The image stilled and the sun was pulled down low, shedding a grapefruit orange into the mist. The man pulled out a cigarette, lit up and revealed a grim tongue. Far longer then it ought to be. The story was over and i knew what i needed to draw. I completed this drawing sometime in late November 09.
This was a man from the future, and evil hung about him. But he wasn't evil himself. He wasn't sent, he hadn't come, i doubt he was even really there. That would explain the children's utter lack of recognition. But what interest to children have in the future? Perhaps the wise would be warned. At any rate, the viewer is the only one to see the man, and that binds them. The man is a ravaged rock star, transported to a virgin world in which he is not allowed. But when have rules stopped a rock star? In a moment of paradox his nature and that of the park sideswiped each other and i doubt the shadow of that encounter will ever leave that park table. Get what you will out of it. To see it larger, click on it.
Thank you for reading,
(My pan name will appear here once i have decided on an appropriate one)
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