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.