The Bounce is Back

Thank you, thank you. Yes, the Internet: I have returned to your ambivalent, binary hug.

When Justin Timberlake said he was bringing sexy back, he surely did not mean to the meta-space of the Internet. Porn did that. So hopefully you wouldn't have to go through that [via Jay Z].

David Foster Wallace was right without saying it: Everything in the world will become/need it's footnote. As we jest infinitely, give me your sources and footnotes; the superscript of your day, the subtext of your sense of loss.

"Is it true?" I thought. So many miles away is where she was supposed to be. And yet, swaying her hair and tapping her foot on the gummy floor of an old theatre to the tumbling out of notes and beats I was hearing, had also heard.
I must have been staring. Or I should have been. Why wouldn't I?
"Is this the way it will always be?" seasons reason's jealous faculty.
The air smells something like found-used Kleenex and beer and her arms raise and she screams silently into the din; in a quasi-unison with all the other loosely strung moments of 'now'; these always-a-miscarriage moments of 'now'.

We were better off as animals, right?

"Ch-ch-ch-changes..." was so appropriate.

There: a "life" (not 'life' via bio processes) to excuse myself from and a fire long-neglected beckoning for the burn. But anticipatory, thumping breast-plate-beats of a long waltz away and the quivering anxiety: a trans-substantiation of the grade: eager to know the variables; to arrive at the solutions: to be found, and not to be sought.

Mornin, yall

I am haunted by that borrowed house in the comfy part of town with oak shade and warbled drive-ways: crumbling blankets for grumbling roots. Bare feet on wooded floors, a night about the town still chopping at my head. Appliances, ceramic plumbing fixtures, drapes, Japanese cutlery: Tiny attempts at circumventing life's bureaucracies. The light of a day off laying blame to all of this that always never was mine. At all times alone together, yet smiling.

DTs and Coffee Help to Start the Day

I've always been fond of that little bond bred between those forced into a place or job; imagine a wind-challenged cigarette shared on a sidewalk. Though it's sad to feel trapped, commiseration is a tiny relief; the frieze above the day's door

Spring is Sneaking Into Our Bones

It's been a "No Myth," Michael Penn day. (by the week...btw this is about to get tangential and ungate-kept as fucK: is the earth's rotation speeding up? The weeks are going by TOO fast! I had no idea it was already late-Feb. Just getting used to 2009 and then all of a sudden the Spring Break.)

"There are some things in life you can not measure by degrees...and looking for some parallel
can be an endless game...I'm between the poles and the equator...what if I were Romeo in black jeans?...."

Today was exhausting and fruitless.

Watched a pirated copy of Gran Torino. I thought it was aight. White wine and cynicism = the name of my animated morning show where me and a psychedelic robot dinosaur on a skateboard listen to disco music on a hollowed-out school bus. Of course with a premise like that, it will only air in Germany which will make the weather report on the precipitous goings-on of North America all the less relevant. In the future irrelevance will = relevance. In fact, we're already there.

Also, Rubies: "Everything is falling down around me; and I can't see that it's got to be up to me. Come tomorrow when everything is new: I feel electric"

What I said remains true, Fierce. And I would agree if you said you suspected you haven't held your writing efforts up to your own high standard of talent. But I especially haven't lately either. Like my tattoo says: "One Day at a Time"...well I don't have any tattoos. But if I did it might say that because it's the best advice for someone who is honestly on their way up or out or on, but of his or her own volition.

(I am going to figure out how to actually have the songs for stream or download on my blog, but for now bare with me when I say): This Blog has The Rosebuds "Get Up Get Out" that I think is fitting.

Dan Graham

Museums make me feel like I am experiencing art in a vacuum. I usually feel overly self-conscious about my experience as an audience member: that the chore of arranging materials in this space was undertaken for a collective, evocative response.

I don’t get it up on demand.

So when I saw Dan Graham: Beyond, my response to the critical question of "so what?" was "oh yeah--I'm a voyeur!" But not with the tone of voice of one who is experiencing a revelation: More so with the timbre of appropriate facetiousness that should coat such an exclamation uttered by anyone alive right now.

Not to be down on Dan Graham though. I just was not feeling his art. And that's a personal (state's rights) issue in Art, right?

Some of his work:



In addition to this semi-creeptastic, audience-involved installation, there was a video of a naked man and a naked woman who passed two cameras between each other, the results projected on opposite walls in a small square room:



I can not find a picture of my favorite of his work. But involves a naked man and naked woman. A camera, focused on the woman is fed into a tv which she studies and describes herself as she sees herself. The man stands on a chair and describes aloud what he sees when he looks at the woman. The scenario is played out in front of an audience.
I like this because it is a means of shifting the gender roles a little bit: the woman describes her self according to what is on the screen, but the man, in describing what he thinks about the woman has his subjective mind on display for everyone to judge: he is on the pedestal. The woman is a part of the whole, a part of the crowd, a part of the majority, the ruling class. The man is singled out and feels the burden of judgment on his naked body and his naked recitation of his thoughts about woman. Again, this is not a total switch of gender roles as such a thing does not exist, but it definitely changes one's existence for the time being....but then again, only if you are the naked man or naked woman. "...And that brings us back to do": we're only voyeurs as audience members.

thank you

Hodge Podge; or hotchpotch

When you pay a man $17.61 to drive you less than a mile from a bar to home and decide to make a pit-stop at Jack In the Box, how can you think of a recession? This man driving the Happy Taxi is running from his gold diggin' Las Vegas wife and all he needs is a little tax shelter; something so she can't garnish his wages. "What's the craziest fare you've had in your three days of being a cab driver?" I asked him. "Probly the one from last night. This dude had me drive him to a crack house and leave the meter running. Fucked up thing is he didn't let me hit that pipe!" On top of the tip he received from the boy who paid for the ride, I gave him a Sacagawea $1 coin. "Thank you and good luck, man."

"My current top threes are trans fats, relocations and drastic weight loss." Frank's proclamations are a prelude to substance abuse. Anachronistic obsessions (...or anarchronistic?) are a hallmark of humanity.

I commented in the car ride that life would be perfect if I had always at my disposal vehicles for both destruction and recuperation. As it stands, I think we mostly have mediocre means for each: roadside stands along the paved path of stasis.

"All of your San Franciscos must one day burn and rise again." - Kerouac

"Who am I to say? Who am I to say what I will or will not relive?" - Hicks

Happy Valentine's Day, yall.

Time isn't after us

Heard a rumor that the earth's rotation on its axis is speeding up, yall.

Great. Yet another bike of mine was stolen this morning. Yes—this morning. As in while I was in the computer room, putting on my shoes a mere 10 feet away from the side porch where the bike was locked up! I ran to the kitchen and through the window I noticed the bike missing. So I bolted out the door and into the street where I saw no signs of life except for a drooling dog across the street. I wish I had been in a novel chockfull of magical realism I know that self-pity is bad for my complexion, so I choose to have pity on the thieves. It’s a shame that life has pushed them into such a corner that they must resort to the pilfering another’s ride to work. I also enjoy fictionalizing the account: The bike thief was actually me from the future, coming back to keep “us” from getting into a posture-altering wreck.

Drag Race

Anyone seen Drag Race?

<a href="http://www.logoonline.com/video" target="_blank">More Logo Video</a>
More Gay & Lesbian Video

In addition to Tool Academy, I am getting into RuPaul's Drag Race. There's a hometown entertainer in the mix: Miss Tammie Brown is so entertaining. I watched her in LA in a club where I got my picture taken with a pig faced 80's queen..let me see if I can find the picture...

Anyway, Tammie Brown sang this awesome song called "Whatever":


On stage, Tammie has a tweeker shake, but is very entertaining. She performs in Riverside sometimes. I'm rooting for her.

Angry Whopper

Had a dream last night that had me waking up scared to death.
It's sort of Matrix + 1984:

Only me and a few others realize we're being monitored. Everyone is being monitored, but the means by which this surveillance is undertaken is very natural feeling: It is the air we breathe. It is the food we eat. It is the rain that soaks our scalps.

A man points this out to me and tells me to remove my glasses. I am aware they cameras are concealed inside the frames so that everything I see and hear is transmitted.

And then an absolutely sublime scene unfolds behind the man. Imagine a series of ferris wheels and each "seat" is a moment of time; a date; an hour; a month and when the seats move they interconnect in a chemical/physical bond with other ferris wheel seats. I watch this and understand the process as the generation of existence; the essence of DNA: time, light, space being born at the micro-molecular level.

Like Neo in the Matrix, my awareness makes me a target of those governing the world. Kinda cheesey, I know.
They use robots who look like human beings, but move with ornate inconsistency. They pose questions that are irrationally benign. In order to save my family from these robots, I have to shoot the human-like robots in the eyes. I scramble for bullets in a cabinet to load a small revolver as one ascends the stairs, asking "what are you doing inside on such a nice day?" But it is night time. I shoot it in the right eye and fire a few more shots, missing. The robot is aware it's been shot, but in an inhuman way, it asks me why I would shoot it. I jam a broom handle into its eye socket and I feel metal and glass and it falls.

The best part is witnessing the creation of time. I couldn't sleep; considering the possibilities of time manifesting in each of our cells is beautiful. It was a deeper experience lying in bed, observing the creekings of the house and the tickings of the slow California rain. But I was certain the robots were after me.

Taken Home

Originally from Virginia--and with much of my family and memories still residing in and around the Appalachian Mountains--there's something about John Denver's "Country Road" that feels like home. The whining violin: the synesthetic companion to passing headlights bending across nicotine-dressed wood paneling. Whiskey and cornbread. Unswept linoleum curls up to meet the refrigerator's when-I-feels-like-it exhaust in an almost-hug. The drowning of puppies too blind to hunt. The smell of venison steaks and horse shit. Drunk and incoherent: an uncle in a lounge chair, babbling at the (n)(m)oon. Wombs stretched thin and low with Love's bounty. A humid morning: daybreak on bare feet in pebbly or sealed driveways where dandelions soon defy oil slicks and leaving. A horse in a field where the electric fence is never on.

Stop Twittering, NPR

If you use Twitter and you're following NPRnews, you're probably getting about 8 tweets a day about how it's going to cover the inauguration. Can I just ask, "What the hell is wrong with you NPR?" How many Ira Flato look-alikes have the Twitter account password and are junk-tweeting? Their tweets just tend to repeat non-info about an event for which people need no encouragement to contribute what they see. Am I wrong?

"yall...I'm really scared Inaug 2K9 will go over with some flair and contain some 'historic poignancy' but ultimately I just won't 'get it'. Wish I could read some on-the-ground coverage//analysis//headlines sent directly from a googlephone/iphone/blackberry..."

Just Say Yes

It’s true…acid just sort of comes to you. And it’s always as a result of the larger machinations of the things that make you ‘you’. You see, the acid market resists fads and cool. It can not even be deemed a "market" as there is no bankable supply and no sure demand. That and too few are interested in what acid does. It is the existentialist’s drug and too many just seek to belong [via Animal Collective or Pizza or kiffeyehs]

I might be wrong [via thommy yorke], but no one plans on doing acid. You just get a call from someone you used to hang out with: they got deep into H and/or became goth…whatever…anyway, they call you on a boring thursday and ask you if you want to get some acid. Always say yes.

Activity

1.Oh a lack of evidence of activity here.


2. Keeping analog notes for the moment. They tend to not translate as well. Then again (and maybe a reader or two will find this to be true) some thoughts require a specific medium through which to be expressed. I have this yellow legal pad (I've received one of these at every job I've had over the past year) and it's blank pages have been asking me the best questions as of late.

3. "It's in your nature to destroy yourselves" - the Terminator

Watching T2 reveals 20-year-old assumptions about cigarette usage, Cool (with a capital 'C') and notions of good and evil. Part of the movie was filmed just down the road in Fontana and then more was filmed in the other direction in Victorville.

Anyway, this was one of my favorite movies between the ages of 8 and 11. Guns and suspense had a lot to do with my positive aesthetic response as a child.

And now the Terminator is my governor. I think this is really funny. Except for the fact that my tax return is being terminated because the Governor and State Reps can't get their shit in one sock.

Too tired to be clever or creative. Just wanted to touch base.