Finish Your Collapse ...and Stay For Breakfast

Wallpaper --Sri Yantra

2012-02-08T12:55:00.001-06:00

Happy ((Belated)) Birthday Week, Dolly!

2012-01-26T16:14:00.001-06:00

Stop and Smell The Roses

2011-12-19T23:39:00.001-06:00

Everything is coming out roses. Or it can if you want it to. Newly filling the air of the world beauty market is a Perfume Candy that will give your taste-buds extra sweet internal attention, while your externals attract and receive the same. Inspired by ongoing oral fixations with floral-flavored confections, addictions to that which can perform double-duty, olfactive affairs with the timeless scent of the geranium flower (a Victorian-era obsession), and modern perfume's most notorious confidant: the rose. And more specifically, the scent of the rose, the Bulgarian company Deo created a candy that will (post-consumption) leave you smelling like a walk in the garden. How does this all work? The candy contains the ingredient Gerniol, a chemical that after ingestion, and most importantly, the lack of digestion, emits itself (and in this case in a blossoming, aromatic sort of way) out of your pores. I admit I am tempted to try it. Who doesn't to eat their candy and smell like it too?!

Untitled

2011-11-30T23:27:00.001-06:00

the days of our mastadon/dillinger escape plan/red fang tour-lives are presently trickling out of their swollen ampoules through slimming glass necks, pouring the past straight into the future.

and while there will be plenty merriment to salt the last two days with, i can't help but be sprinkled with a little sadness.

Schulz

2011-11-29T00:46:00.001-06:00

My mind today -and in recent days flocking behind me-

has been fixated on and simultaneously carried away

by the words of the Polish writer Bruno Schulz.

Schulz was an artist, painter and illustrator whose work combined an evocative, poetic

mix of autobiographical and fantastical elements bursting with life and imagination even in the dampened, lifeless grayness of the shadows and the typically mundane.

“Can you understand,' asked my father, 'the deep meaning of that weakness, that passion for colored tissue, for papier-mache, for distemper, for oakum and sawdust? This is,' he continued with a pained smile, 'the proof of our love for matter as such, for its fluffiness or porosity, for its unique mystical consistency. Demiurge, that great master and artist, made matter invisible, made it disappear under the surface of life. We, on the contrary, love its creaking, its resistance, its clumsiness. We like to see behind each gesture, behind each move, its inertia, its heavy effort, its bearlike awkwardness.”

I have officially fallen prey to the entrancement of his brood,

still lingering in precious printed nests and digital dens.

(if you've grown acquiescent you will continue on behind these words)

Schulz

2011-11-29T00:35:00.001-06:00

My mind today -and in recent days flocking behind me-

has been fixated on and simultaneously carried away

by the words of the Polish writer Bruno Schulz.

Schulz was an artist, painter and illustrator whose work combined an evocative, poetic

mix of autobiographical and fantastical elements bursting with life and imagination even in the dampened,

lifeless grayness of the shadows and the typically mundane.

"As we manipulate everyday words, we forget that they are fragments of ancient and eternal stories, that we are building our houses with broken pieces of sculptures and ruined statues of gods as the barbarians did. "

I have officially fallen prey to the entrancement of his brood,

still lingering in precious printed nests and digital dens.

We like to see behind each gesture, behind each move, its inertia, its heavy effort, its bearlike awkwardness.”

_________

(if you've grown acquiescent you will continue on behind these words)

Untitled

2011-11-24T15:03:00.001-06:00

While today is a good day to be thankful and celebrate the blessings in your life with the sharing of an autumnal feast of warm delights, tradition and love, be sure to pay your respects and remember the falsehoods tied to the actual inception of this 'holiday'. Take a minute to remember those who lost their lives and land pre the 1637 declaration of "Thanksgiving Day"; Who suffered at the hands of the pilgrims. There will be a time where this day becomes solely a day of gratitude and stops being intertwined with the myths of the union of the indigenous people of America and that of religious dissidents of England that moved in on their land, and took a lot of their 'blessings' away.

Lunartic

2011-11-10T23:05:00.001-06:00

Yesterday, as my night moved methodicaly past midnight into the early-morning witching hours before dawn, I noticed the swelling of the moon in the inky Denver sky. As the breath of myself, and my company, filled the cold air, my thoughts flipped through files as I tried to recall the given identity of this particular full moon that I once read about in the pages of a book on Pagan ritual. Full moons are known to various Pagans, Native Americans and various cultures around the globe by their epithet. The November moon's most commonly known in the Northern Hemisphere as The Beaver Moon, The Frost Moon or The Hunter's Moon. Each name bestowed is indicative of what happenings are unfolding during the month as the seasonal progressions continue, and for the conjoining intentions set by the tribes that turned to these moons, these measures of calendric time, for guidance. In addition, and for centuries expanding continents, it has been thought that the time of the full moon is a time to work on your own growth, personal and spirutal lessons and enlightment. In other words it is an excellent time to set intentions. As I type with still-cold, stiffened fingers from the air filling the city of Omaha Nebraska, and think what November means in terms of fall slowly growing colder to meet winter, and the preparation of most to build and collect materials for warmth, I set protective intentions for myself and those I love. Protection from the 'cold' that could try to sweep in and seemingly freeze one's personal/spirtual/creative (and so on) evolution. I set these intentions with a deep inhale and a soft howling exhale at the moon. I suggest you should too.

Occupy My Mind

2011-11-07T17:48:00.001-06:00

I am currently on tour with Mastodon / Dillinger Escape Plan / Red Fang. Occupying cities throughout the U.S. and Canadialand. ||||||||||| At blast off I started filling boxes with galactical dust, incandescent ideas, illustrious inspiration, extractions, ephemera and euphoric-renderings. I hope to adorn myself and others with what becomes of these cosmic collections post-tour. Until then I work with what I have, dreaming night into day of metallic geometrics under winter-white warmth and black, patterned interwoven fabric danier --forty three percent and more. Triangles and squares beneath daybreak spiked with color circling hips and falling like feather-light streams, and glowing embers, to the floor. Headdresses that would please the likes of Cleopatra to Clara Bow. I have been cloaked in mostly black, a precious rose-gold planchette hanging around my neck and dust from the days and cities anterior to the one my fingers are currently tracing maps on. The season is rolling by hiding its characteristic-charm, seemingly every other day, leaving me in a perpetual (day to state to city to state) state of weather submittance ::: tights on // tights off, but always smiling. As we head deeper into the U.S., I can feel that winter is creeping in with the time-zone transitions. It does make tucked-in, radiating home call a little louder (even amidst a stellar time out here). Thankfully I have thickly-spun cozy cotton hoods, layers of black beefy blankets, tea-lit tight spaces breathing warmth, body heat, L O V E and photo inspiration like this to keep me warm.

Monster Post-It Notes

2011-11-05T01:27:00.001-05:00

You don't need a monster-sized canvas to make memorable monster art. Danish artist John Kenn Mortensen animates, creates scripts and makes television shows; has contributed to producing twin babies, and, himself, births the mysterious, creepily awesome, ghoulish line-drawings you see here. Mortensen uses a modern, traditionally tiny office supply, inspiration from the likes of Steven King and H.P. Lovecraft, a drawing instrument, and a mountain range of imagination.

Get your creep on:::>> Don Kenn Gallery

See the full gallery on Posterous

All Hallow's Eve

2011-10-31T13:09:00.001-05:00

All I want for All Hallow's Eve is for all of the toxic blather that atrophies the world's imagination to dissolve and

for it to remerge dressed as a Tim Burton set bedecked in sugar skulls, with the day's affairs narrated by Vincent Price.

Self

2011-10-27T20:13:00.001-05:00

“

I like flaws and feel more comfortable around people who have them.

I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions. “ Augusten Burroughs

Sleepy Hollows

2011-10-27T19:28:00.001-05:00

If you were a kid or teenager in the 80's, Elm Street evokes more garish imagery than that of a picture-perfect, tree-lined street. In honor of spending a good chunk of time today on Elm Street (this particular one in Dallas, TX) I wanted to post something a little creepier. The image of choice is part of the Hollow People series by Minneapolis artist Chag Hagen. While his hands aren't made of knives; I am pretty sure his wardrobe extends beyond striped sweaters, and the carvings deepened from more of a cut than a slash, the aftermath is still haunting.

http://www.chadhagen.com/#68954/Hollow-People

http://www.flickr.com/photos/30625014@N02/

For Your Health...

2011-09-22T22:43:00.003-05:00

"If government can legislate against drugs, may it some day require people to take them?"

Science. I always found Science class (Biology, Psychology, Astronomy...) to be the most fascinating pieces of my college-prep curiculum. Being an ever-changing subject of mastery and elusiveness, the ongoing paramount-reach for pinnacle after pinnacle, through the perpetually-revealed results of the most hardcore examples of experimentation and observation, it has just grabbed and held my attention since first grade.

The caption above describes the ideas illuminated in the first image below. The vivid photo elucidates the fusion of an artistic expression of science and psychadelia. The picture made its debut in an edition of Life and Health that came our in 1972; A place that housed a lot of surreal, chromatic images by the illustrator, Phil Kirkland. Kirkland is most known for a slew of surreal, outstanding illstrations that shone their psychadelic lights in various science magazines and textbooks mostly based on health and psychology. Yes, I too am wondering why my school did not stock any such publications that gladly integrated such beautiful, evocative imagery. In addition to magazines and textbooks Kirkland also did illustrations for a few science-fiction magazines...naturally.

For more seventh-period Psych-Sci with Mr Kirkland you can enter here and 'open' up various textbooks. (((Bell Ringing)))

For Your Health...

2011-09-22T22:43:00.001-05:00

"If government can legislate against drugs, may it some day require people to take them?"

For more seventh-period Psych-Sci with Mr Kirkland you can enter here and 'open' up various textbooks. (((Bell Ringing)))

Frances Bean Will Have Her Revenge On...

2011-08-17T16:10:00.001-05:00

Visually inhaling these inky, tar-washed portraits of Frances Bean Cobain, rolled tightly with photos of her father, Kurt's, memorabilia: Christian relics, prized totems, hilarious gewgaw, are like taking a long, deep drag off of the cigarette that coyly pacifies her sultry, reminiscently-iconic lips. Lips that secure the butt end dampened by saliva containing a DNA cocktail of two of Rock's most notoriously intoxicating//intoxicated connubial characters: Courtney and Kurt. Addicted lips that blow the same brand of kiss and that her mother, Courtney, used to use (pre-botox) to spew lyrics that fueled and decorated her wild and turbulent career. That, too, almost romanticized addiction. Pillows of flesh that capture your stare before releasing you upwards towards beautiful, annular, cobalt marbles that some of us were introduced to when they first were presented to us behind straggly strands of blonde hair that decorated a now iconic man in the early nineties. Childlike eyes that seem to speak volumes - both now and then. While the emulsion on these is practically still wet, the images seem familiar. As if someone found a box of images under a pile of plaid shirts, baby doll dresses and guitars. The revealing of her seemingly newly baptized-by-womanhood face that you almost know gives life to a sonorous sound, over and under pursing, breathing life into arts and crafts created from those tattooed hands that due to straight genetics alone must hold talent. That genetically superior face staring through you behind a billowy vail of biological ghosts. The framing few inches of bleach-white paper burn sensuously against the swirling of sewn-up and chemical ebony, ivory celebrity skin and pretty doll parts.

From the origin of these photos, to what the google gods will bless you with, Frances Bean does not appear to be choking on the ashes of enemies resulting in the after-math of her parent's numerous battles. At least not on the outside. But we all know scars run deep. The scrolls of wisdom etched fathomless on outstretched arms, stained like coal if nothing else speak of someone who has experienced life far beyond her years.

For another hit:::: http://www.hedislimane.com/diary/

See the full gallery on Posterous

Living In A Lonely World

2011-08-12T13:11:00.001-05:00

These 'portraits' of a girl melancholically dreaming of all the things she thinks she is, or thinks she could be, are executed quite stunningly.

You could wrap yourself in the sadness and loneliness cascading from her eyes...especially the last one, with them closed.

See the full gallery on Posterous

新交通ゆりかもめ

2011-08-11T18:49:00.001-05:00

Appuru Pai took these gorgeous long-exposure shots of the Yurikamome in Japan, an automated railway named after the black-headed seagulls that are the official prefectural bird and often-spotted occupants of the Tokyo Bay. They make me feel like one of said birds. Like I am simultaneously moving meteorically and lithely through passages of time.

See the full gallery on Posterous

MUTA

2011-07-21T20:18:00.001-05:00

I am having a digital love affair with Miu Miu's fall collection as presented in their exquisite short film Muta.

Muta is the second film in Miu Miu's "Woman's Tales" series.It was directed by Argentinean visual artist Lucrecia Martel. The film's elucidation comes from the title word 'muta' which means both "mute" and "transformation" --two powerful definitions that perfectly describe the powers that lie within the seams of a garment from the avant-guard, seductive and sophisticated fashion house that is Miu Miu. The film is dressed in symbolism, particularly in relation to the powers of femininity and its ability to transmit and transmute; Accessorized by the love affair between women and Miu Miu. The film is provocative and exhibits the transformative powers of both the inner and outer relationships is stunning.

<p>Miu Miu FW2011 Film "MUTA" by Lucrecia Martel from gabriel on Vimeo.</p>

Divas of Joy Division

2011-07-11T21:19:00.001-05:00

....:She's Lost Control. Bang. Bang :::
The Diva, Sinatra vs The Division, Joy
<p>Nancy Joy from J. Sprig on Vimeo.</p>
I found this brilliant mash-up of Joy Division and Nancy Sinatra about a week back on a friend's social networking page. It's so simply sexy. The song comes from a recent experiment that takes Joy Division instrumentals and accompanies them with vocals from contemporary-pop, female artists. The title of the release is: The Divas of Joy Division. The scientist: Oki. It's my new favourite. ex oh. ex oh.

Diamond Eyes, Bubble Girls

2011-06-23T23:34:00.001-05:00

ABJC_shroombubbles.m4v Watch on Posterous

St. Petersburg, Florida, the Deftones and, of course, my tour family - the Dillinger Escape Plan (esp L.P.W.) - thank you for the memories this Spring. The ingestion and metabolization of the last 9 weeks has been one nutritious, deliciously fun, educational, inspirational, euphoric, satisfying experience. There were waves of cherries added in splendor to the top of almost every night. I wish I could have seconds.

Til we all meet again I can swoon over the soapy memory of one of our best days off where we had a tour tea party, sun-bathed by the ocean, surfed sound waves, watched dolphins and pelicans play, drank frosty, fruit-filled beverages by the pool and delighted in moments shared with members of both touring parties all while filling in the gaps with a couple of swirling shows of bubbles, courtesy of myself and Amber.

The Summer Ish Mix

2011-05-27T15:40:00.001-05:00

palm trees and eighty + degrees have been filling all of the miles here, there and between. this is the perfect soundtrack for when the tour itself is silent.

01 gal costa :: nao identificado 00:00
02 jj :: no one can touch us tonight 03:11
03 peaking lights :: amazing and wonderful 07:36
04 panda bear :: good girl/carrots (excerpt) 12:55
05 king tubby :: i trim the barber 16:33
06 adele x jamie xx :: rolling in the heat (the heatwave refix) 19:33
07 shabazz palaces :: swerve… 23:42
08 digable planets :: highing fly 27:30
09 purity ring :: lofticries 28:46
10 john maus :: believer 32:32
11 roof light :: playgroundsunburst 36:28
12 the beach boys :: big sur 39:52
13 the tough alliance x taken by trees :: taken too young 42:28
14 washed out :: eyes be closed 46:38
15 molly nilsson :: hey moon! 51:12

you can download the mix at Gorilla Vs Bear . net

(lady) Bird

2011-04-11T19:22:00.001-05:00

thinking of a dream i had...

Another Class

2011-04-08T00:01:00.001-05:00

When I first met the Captain, he read me an excerpt from one of his favorite works of fiction, Mark Richard's stunningly-beautiful, imaginative tale,titled Fishboy.

Any seafaring mortal with a vivid imagination and keen adoration for visceral legends, and lore of the darker, macabre variety, would be captivated by this compelling piece of work --As I found myself, immediately.

The sentences are all rhythmic poems swirling words and evocations together with such stylistic brilliance, that you can taste the sea brine on your tongue, feel the tempestuousness of the ocean carrying you through the pages, and see the haunting breaths of the characters expand the bindings and bring the pages to life; rendering the spirit of Fishboy and the accompanying deranged characters, and the surrealistic nature of Richard's creations, palpable.

Both graceful and grotesque, this book is a must read.

excerpt.

ex oh ex oh

the magic place

2011-03-31T17:28:00.001-05:00

The last year has been a stunning one for me. Even in the handful of darker moments (and amidst seemingly calamitous adventures) the universe, and time, provided extra twinkles that melted and poured themselves into all of the crevices, coating them in buttery, yellow-light and rose gold that left behind a residual luminosity that lifted me out of the doldrums and the heart of confusion. All of the moments and miles started out as, or turned themselves into, magic places. Seasonal hymns became mantras and resonated long after exhalations. And optimism, chance, and heart-bursting love, has been (simultaneously) my guide and shelter from the storms. They have also made me brave enough to embrace and extinguish (well, only some) of the ghosts and bones that lay layered in the memories.

Musician Julianna Barwick had a magical year as well. Full of basking in memories of old magical places, and creating new ones for herself and ones for others to congregate in through the senses, she used all that she could conjure to write and release a hauntingly beautiful, precious keepsake of an album (appropriately titled) The Magic Place. One we could all use in times of 'prayer' or exorcism. The Magic Place, to me, sounds as if you took the band Grouper out of the woods and put them in a dilapidated church on an ancient burial ground, filled with cobwebs, stained-glass, alters, and ghostly energy singing from all of the pews. The tracks blow over your skin and cover it in bumps. Your ears perk, your head lifts and all of the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. The ritualistic, rhythms and reverberated, angelic voices finish out the service reaching a crescendo that folds itself back into the softness of the hymnal, cyclical layers of melody that carried you in. The magic of these places, and this album, echos throughout and even when you think you have left it behind.

For a little taste, click below. For the full effect, click here and let it just dissolve on your tongue.

Dirty South

2011-03-27T22:22:00.001-05:00

" Amid the chaos of that day, when all I could hear was the thunder of gunshots, and all I could smell was the violence in the air, I look back and am amazed that my thoughts were so clear and true, that three words went through my mind endlessly, repeating themselves like a broken record: you're so cool, you're so cool, you're so cool. "

GHOSTS BEFORE BREAKFAST

2011-03-07T11:15:00.001-06:00

Vormittagsspuk (Ghosts Before Breakfast) is a 1928 short film by the German-born film-experimenter, activist, avant-gardist, graphic artist, painter and (one of the) Dada-movement heads, Hans Richter. Ghosts is an enchanting, psychedelic mind-bender that uses both stop-motion animation and live action. It is steeped in surrealism. And naturally as the surrealism emerged from the wake of the Dadist movement. The first link below has no sound, however is not the complete version of the film. It is authentically the way the film has been preserved for today, as the original, with sound, was taken and destroyed by the Natzis who deemed it "degenerate art". There is something even more haunting, seductive and intriguing about watching something with such pronounced movements within the frames in silence. As it unfolda you see that the relationship between what your eyes see and what you hear is submerged in mind trickery; as you can here all of the clicks, tinkering, whirling and thumping as the frames advance. The embedded version is the full version with a soundtrack one seemingly aptly applied. I suggest turning the volume down first to watch, and then watching it with the volume up. ex ex oh ex.

Vintage Lenses

2011-02-15T21:04:00.001-06:00

i have an encompassing love and ardent passion for the camera and the photographic processes in all of their honest, manipulable, fortuitous, designed; vibrant, black and white, saturated, vignetted, sepia-toned, digital, silver and printed (on virtually any material) glory. i love the camera itself. it's varied styles, protocols, mechanisms, makes and models, almost equally. the idea of light and shadow, subject-object relationships and the art of printing perpetually intrigue, inspire, challenge and seduce me. while i consider myself to be a novice-to-compulsive photographer, sometimes i go into periods of quiescently when all i can do is use my own lenses and consume images captured by others.... if you have ever laid your eyes on this blog you probably are privy to all of this by sheer inference.

today liam digitally introduced me to the works of irina werning. a bueno aires photographer who has, inspired by the subject's expressions, conveyed emotions and all around aesthetics of the tiny pieces of history, decided to embark on an ongoing project where she took an old photograph of someone(s) and recreated the image down the last detail, trying to evoke the feelings experienced and encapsulated in the original. the results are light and heartwarming. perfect for a cold, dismal night. enjoy.

http://irinawerning.com/back-to-the-fut/back-to-the-future/

See and download the full gallery on posterous

Sandwiches

2011-02-13T10:15:00.002-06:00

There are not many edible things in this world that make my mouth as happy as a sandwich does. Preferably, one toasted and stuffed to the crust with kettle-cooked potato chips and some sort of spicy accoutrement. And while there are myriad additional things that delight me daily (The Captain, music, art, travel, music, photography, mental-masturbation) time with my dog also tops this list. And while I do not plan on ever eating my dog, I did name him Sandwich (T. Pants) in honor of one of my favorite things.

Inspired by the awesomeness of an episode of Solid Dudes Kitchen, today I am making myself an epic sandwich to Prince's Purple Rain album.

This one, however, will be vegan.

If you haven't watched an episode of Solid Dudes, I suggest you do so. They kinda rule the school of internetual culinary-based hilarity.

If you want to make an awesome vegan sandwich start with two thick-slices of a seedy, multi-grain bread, chopped olives, lightly garlic and olvie-oil-sauteed greens (drain some of the oil), salt and peppered-tomatoes, roasted: mushrooms, sun-dried tomatoes, eggplant and chili peppers and a slice of vegan cheese. Top the insides of the bread with a smear (I hate that word almost as much as loaf) of spicy, basil vegan-aoli, stuff with salt and vinegar chips and then brutally toast it.

Eat.

Songs From a Flower

2011-02-13T08:38:00.001-06:00

i have a crush on a beautiful flower and it's not even spring yet.

i think it's serious. xxx want to crush too?

See and download the full gallery on posterous

http://www.etsy.com/people/charmaineolivia

Milk and Moonlight

2011-02-13T08:28:00.001-06:00

the following photographs illustrate Sara Naim's translation of the haunting, romantic and illusionistic sounds of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata vibrating through milk. the results captured are deeply seductive and hypnotizing. i am enraptured. they touch upon more than just my sense of sight. the images and the song move right through me turning my insides into a symphony that mirrors the images shown here.

http://www.sara-naim.com/#739952/beethoven-moonlight-sonata

See and download the full gallery on posterous

Sweet Summer 78

2011-02-13T08:08:00.001-06:00

i need to return my fingertips to the keys. my foot to the pedal. and my soul to the sweet start and play again. even if it is on an electric.

tiny tree time is here

2010-12-01T21:24:00.001-06:00

the corners of the city of boston are starting to fill up with tree shops and the sweet smell of fir.

Add caption

Rub A Dub

2010-10-24T08:14:00.001-05:00

As the night started to wind down outside, over cigarette smoke and lateral chatter with our new friend Zero, came the mention of shows of the past and the band Soul Coughing. Soul Coughing, remember them? I do. My Ruby Vroom cassette tape received heavy rotating affection back in 1993. While trying to see if he remembered who they were, Liam started humming "get onto the bus, that's gonna take ya back to Beezelbub..." Now that song has been in and out of my head since.

It tried to find a video and could only come up with this clip, accompanied by a demo version of the song.

Poop Shoot

2010-10-23T09:11:00.001-05:00

why do a lot of europeans insist on
removing the toilet seats from the toilets?!

is it their way of telling me if i want to continue to fit into my skinny jeans after consuming copious
amounts of their fine breads that i have to start gettin' into the deep squat?!

at least they didn't try to charge me to use this one.

(photo: L'olympic Nantes, France)

Lovely One

2010-10-22T15:34:00.000-05:00

Woke up in Bordeaux, France today to the sound of my name chiming in unison from my dream and the soft-breathed one beside me. His voice nudged me from slumber as a result of the complaining chorus in the bus hallway.
The next few frames were filled with static and the disgruntled vibrations of one of the French promoters. An example of one with a Napoleon complex in France?! No! After a reprimanding, a cool-down, more words and a load-in, a few of us took off for a walk into the center of Bordeaux where we found hot, liquid bliss, good eye-candy and a toasted bagel with a side of soup.

Since then we've all been huddled inside the dressing room, heads down, and computers heating up our laps and minds. This with one splendidly different dinner break to the double-decker red bus that is parked perpendicular to the venue. We sipped Bourdeaux in Bordeaux, had honey, shephard's pie and chocolate-apple crumble. It was definitely one of the better tour meals, and of course the atmosphere itself was the best yet.

As I plug away in the sunken corner of a torn leather couch, I keep feeding my ears with a mix of Caribou's Swim, We Were Promised Jetpacks and a mix of Ty Segall's finest. The latter being my favourite.

This video's collage of images reminds me of everything I am currently 'packing' into my traversing days of reality: trains and love and hats for headed decor, owls for luck, photos and photos and more photos, musical servings by the dozens and just all around loveliness. The song seems to come out of the glowing ember of a heart-on I have right now. Oh, lovely one...

Ty Segall, you rock my world.

The Show Clothes Must Go On!

2010-10-21T07:13:00.019-05:00

one of the more branding things about touring with a bunch of dudes
-who next-level sweat, and slay, the crap out of a crowd every night -
is that you end up in the presence of a bunch of wet,
musky clothes that breathe the evidence of said shows before.

these seemingly harmless articles of clothing

-shown quietly hanging in the photo above-
cry out with the shrillest of shrills from
the dark, quiet corners of the green room before the bodies bring them to stage.

what is it about their emissions that cause this distinct brand of stinky squawk?
is it the piss and vinegar running through these men's veins
mixing with the exorbitant amount of sweat streaming from their pores?
is it the molecules of the children that are sacrificed before the screams,
hanging onto each thread?
is it the sweet berry wine consumed like blood of lambs?
i don't know if i will ever know exactly what makes up the
dampened clouds of funk.
i just know it is one powerful weapon.
it definitely keeps the FUN in funk.
and yes, the d. e. p. got the funk.

thank goodness they haven't figured out how to have a scratch and sniff photo upload.

p. u.

Buda : 47°26′N 19°15′E

2010-10-13T23:58:00.000-05:00

BUDAPEST, HUNGARY

Sipping Szabolcsi Alma pálinka and slowly growing a set of

balls and a few chest hairs.

Geezus the contents of this pretty little bottle is strrrrrong! Today we started the day off with a quick cement wandering to the Gyógyfürdő, which is a bathhouse complete with a radiant sauna room where the temperature is 60-80 degrees celsius, or 176 degrees fahrenheit! Fahrenheit, fair f*cking enough. The gold bangle around my wrist almost branded me in less than 10 minutes. After: the cold plunge, and a pool dip with an interesting cast of local, elderly characters.

We took the more scenic route through a park on the way back to Dürer-kert, stopping for another awesome graffiti/photo opportunity.

The promoter and his staff at this venue have been STELLAR. I got to hang out with him, his partner and this dude Greg from MTV-Hungary and chat about how I want to take the woman who is in charge of catering on tour with us. She filled the tables with so many edible delights I almost busted something.

Everyone seemed to be intoxicated from the vibe here -stark contrast to Vienna yesterday.

The place was nearly sold out, the crowd pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, back-to-front, grinding against each other and the black front of the stage. This created a fierce sea of fist-pumpers and a wake full of bodies ebbing and flowing atop the crest of fans. A storm of energy that crashed hard onto the stage and took some of the guys, and myself, into the crowd for what was some pretty epic stage diving. Yes, I stage dove. It was the first time in years and it felt amazing. Jeff was already in and Liam even came in after me: fcking stellar. Video soon to come...

Bone Skulls and Randomry

2010-10-12T13:05:00.000-05:00

Our first day off was in Prague after a fairly intense, bloody show. Think: Dillinger "tattoos," as the fans call their battle wounds. We took to the train, led by the promoter Tomas, to head north to Kutná Hora, Czech Republic. Within the limits of this small town, is something pretty magnificent: Kostnice Ossuary, or "the bone church".

Years ago I had seen Jan Švankmajer's (one of my favorites) film "The Ossuary" about this eerie structure made completely of human bones. This film was made in 1970 and I did not realize that this place, this monument to human skeletal remains, was an actual visitable church.

When Liam told me about it we determined that a visit to the Kostnice was a must if our day off allowed for time in Prague. So needless to say, I was psyched when we rounded up the troops and boarded the train...

Not quite understanding the class system on the train, we all awkwardly filed up and down the aisles, opening and closing doors, trying to find seats for the 30+km track.

As we approached one of the cars I saw a very American-hipster looking lad that-most likely- was also headed to the bone church.

Fast forward to minutes and a different car later, Zero (as we will find out his name is) came into the car where Liam and I had finally gotten comfortable. It turns out that he was in fact an American, living here and there abroad, and wrote for Vice out of Australia. Knowing a thing or two about metal, he knew DEP and friendliness, chatter and the start of an article for viceland.com ensued. You can read it below. I have also included two of my favorite photos from the trip. It really doesn't get more metal than this:

http://www.viceland.com/blogs/en/2010/10/18/bones-shrugs-and-harmony/

if you'd like the svankmejer experince here is the link to the film:::

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-5464393920769221032#

FALL BEGINS: EASTBOUND AND CRUSH.

2010-09-29T09:28:00.003-05:00

Hide ya kids.
Hide ya wife.

I Just Want to Worry About Sunshine Girls

2010-09-27T10:18:00.001-05:00

This has been my feel-good, good f*cking morning song for months now. Thank you, Japandroids.
Young Hearts Spark Fire.

Japandroids - Young Hearts Spark Fire
Uploaded by baeblemusic. - See the latest featured music videos.

Amazing, With Shoes On.

2010-09-10T00:10:00.003-05:00

This is laughter-inducing...over and over.

MARCEL THE SHELL WITH SHOES ON
Uploaded by manandamazing. - Watch feature films and entire TV shows.

you got a face w a view

2010-08-21T13:18:00.001-05:00

this must be the place
heads talking
david byrne is brilliant.

dreamy leftovers

2010-08-17T09:23:00.002-05:00

i journeyed for miles last night out and in dreams.
the soundtracks, my head and bones have all grown heavier...

BJs

2010-08-16T04:37:00.000-05:00

a banjo is the first thing on my list to santa.

Shutter

2010-08-16T04:23:00.002-05:00

Great band does a cover + makes a video for it that's a little Tom Ford (ya know, that gucci stuff and the movie A Single Man) and a lot of Herb Ritts.

so into you.
shutter to think

...i'm not called jessi good times for nothin'...

Picture Book

2010-08-08T00:06:00.004-05:00

Strangers
The Kinks
Where are you going I don’t mind
I’ve killed my world and I’ve killed my time
So where do I go what do I see
I see many people coming after me
So where are you going to I don’t mind
If I live too long I’m afraid I’ll die
So I will follow you wherever you go
If your offered hand is still open to me
Strangers on this road we are on
We are not two we are one
So you’ve been where I’ve just come
From the land that brings losers on
So we will share this road we walk
And mind our mouths and beware our talk
’till peace we find tell you what I’ll do
All the things I own I will share with you
If I feel tomorrow like I feel today
We’ll take what we want and give the rest away
Strangers on this road we are on
We are not two we are one
Holy man and holy priest
This love of life makes me weak at my knees
And when we get there make your play
’cos soon I feel you’re gonna carry us away
In a promised lie you made us believe
For many men there is so much grief
And my mind is proud but it aches with rage
And if I live too long I’m afraid I’ll die
Strangers on this road we are on
We are not two we are one
Strangers on this road we are on
We are not two we are one

Beard Buddy Bonanza

2010-07-30T16:13:00.005-05:00

Thanks to a kind bearded man, Mister Liam Wilson (of The Dillinger Escape Plan), I had the honor of shooting this fine portrait for the beardtastic blog Metal Sucks with him and Andy Williams of Every Time I Die.

The photo was taken in West Palm Beach, FL during this summer's Van's Warped Tour - which we are all on- with a little thing you call a "merkin." Theirs was man (hand?) made from a vintage hat. It now hangs on a fence somewhere causing bewilderment for squirrels and young children in Florida.

Check out the photo below. It gets a gold star in my book :::::

http://www.metalsucks.net/2010/07/29/beard-on-beard-on-beard-every-time-i-dies-andy-williams-and-the-dillinger-escape-plans-liam-wilson-talk-beards-with-vince-neilstein/

Boom! Pirates. Boom!

2010-07-20T12:44:00.001-05:00

The month of July has been popping and spilling a glittery fire-spectacle in the sky all month long . From St. Louis to Toronto, I feel like they burst, seemingly mysteriously, in celebration of the bevy of good times that have been piling up in the wake of this year's Warped Tour. Animal Collective has also been igniting all sorts of ardor in the car, through the headphones, or just straight filling the spaces in my head as I wait patiently for things to start...

This song was added to the "Operation No Bus Call" soundtrack early Monday morning, as the ship crossed state lines from New Jersey into Pennsylvania. It was perfect timing, as is so much else this summer....

Animal Collective "Fireworks"
Strawberry jams posted straight from the Merriweather Post Pavilion.

ANIMAL COLLECTIVE - FIREWORKS from Jon Leone on Vimeo.

Gonna Make You Sweat! Swwwe---at!

2010-07-19T08:24:00.007-05:00

www.marriedtothesea.com

If I Get To Choose I'll Take Something Real

2010-07-15T16:25:00.002-05:00

On regular rotation since the first time, and now you too.

Off of The Argument. If you don't know, you should know

brain inside the brain there's a brain inside the brain deciding there's a

brain inside the brain there's a brain inside the brain deciding time to make

or break find me somewhere else time to make or break how about it?

free drugs

2010-06-20T00:56:00.002-05:00

DOSE ME::::

I'm On A Boat!

2010-05-25T23:05:00.001-05:00

my favorite color palette as of late. thank you dear fuji 210 instax camera. plus, this is a donkey who was just trying to play pirate and now is adrift at sea. how could i not post this lovely little photo?
photograph:: paola pivi

dot dot beep

2010-05-22T01:11:00.009-05:00

i ve been writing letters to you for miles in my head.

someday i will put them on paper and fly them straight into your heart.

exhaledea

2010-05-20T13:16:00.001-05:00

...and it's not just the words, or the weight, it's the way you let it linger and allow the passion form the thought bubbles before you let them slide off of our lips, to float for mere moments before descending as a million droplets of wonderment.

Swans

2010-05-19T22:56:00.002-05:00

Miles and Miles of Telephone Poles

2010-04-15T11:29:00.035-05:00

Dear Leonard Cohen,

Sometimes all I need is your voice.
Your magnetic poetry slipped out of its jacket; spun around in my world
so it can cloak me in one of the warmest swaths of fabric ever created.
______________________________________________________________________________

_________________________________________________________________________
You are the prince of hearts. The pride of its procession.
The king of loneliness, gratefulness and surrender.

You know the way. Its curves. Its shadows and its light.

You have walked the miles of a thousand others, with hearts burning holes in your pockets.
Slipping their memories through the tethered fabric while you wish to forget. Some days you choose to remember. You light each one with your cigarette, and inhale each nuance deep into your lungs, so that you can keep it within you for a moment longer before exhaling it back into time.

Your stories reek of truths.
I see them scribbled in the dirt of near and foreign lands.

Your words they take me in their hands and break me gently.

I think they even break you.

Either way it does not matter,
I will always fall apart for as long as I can listen to you.

With Love,
J

The lyrics to one of my favorites:::::::

I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,
your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,
yes, many loved before us, I know that we are not new,
in city and in forest they smiled like me and you,
but now it's come to distances and both of us must try,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.

I'm not looking for another as I wander in my time,
walk me to the corner, our steps will always rhyme
you know my love goes with you as your love stays with me,
it's just the way it changes, like the shoreline and the sea,
but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.

I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,
your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,
yes many loved before us, I know that we are not new,
in city and in forest they smiled like me and you,
but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.

Until I Find More Words to Fill the Spaces

2010-04-13T14:05:00.005-05:00

I can't seem to get my mind off of road trips. I am fresh off of one- from the grand state of Texas to the bay state of Massachusetts, with many other colorful places in between- so I am suppose to be standing somewhat still within the city's limits... for a little while. While I dream of future adventures, and the warmth and hum of my car when taking on the open road, I have been revisiting the soundtracks that dressed the minutes buzzing on. This song, by The Impossible Shapes, amongst others off its respective album, is one of my favourites for car adventuring.

If you have a chance, spend some time with them. Their whimsical, delicate arrangements speak to the dreamers and the lovers that traverse state lines and all the in-betweens looking for the somewhat unknown, and/or what they have been wanting for, for so long..... They are about the journey.

I promise to write more soon.
'Til then you can always visit the "Leftovers" section.

Florida Silver Springs
off of TUM :::: by The Impossible Shapes

Gimme

2010-03-08T11:31:00.004-06:00

Some people need whiskey and cigarettes, I need unicorns and rainbows.

...Ok, and on occasion a rye. Neat.
It will be needed when I try and bake these.

City Sand Box

2010-01-20T14:20:00.018-06:00

I happened upon this awesome photo today, while chewing time getting my art, news and music fixes. Sand castles always make me feel 7 again, and this one particularly made me smile as the subject of sand castles had randomly made its way into yesterday's conversations. It also made me eat my doubtful words from yesterday, when in my head it seemed to be almost impossible to do such a thing as build sandcastles while standing deep in the heart of Texas. Far from an ocean, salty air and what I deem the typical soundtrack to when I am building sandcastles: waves crashing, seagulls soaring overhead, the muffled laughter of kids in the distance, the ebb and flow of the sea. This photo only proves further that you don't need an ocean by your side to have proper castle-making sand, or a lake in the case of Austin; and apparently, you also don't need a beach at all. All you do need is a bucket of sand, a good square, (or a few concrete slab you can pry from the ground) good company, a heart like a kid's, and some sweet, uninterrupted play time.

I got.

You?

(Photo: Brad Downey)

Seeds of Night

2010-01-19T03:14:00.025-06:00

I woke today with new eyes. What seemed to be hours of motionless laying against my pillow, was really a night spent solemnly playing tug of war on what seemed to be the geography of repeating thoughts. This sweet war, this week of inspiration, introspection and these outpours, swirled themselves into a velvet ribbon overnight and coaxed me out of bed with the promise of a day wrapped in a much prettier package then what was formerly boxed-up behind me.

And it was.

The sun hugged every inch of my occipital assault and continued to bleed bliss as the heavy hand of the clock struck and I let today ride in on the coattails of yesterday.

Moments after the seamless change, I set out on my now ritualistic walk after midnight. I was still wearing leftovers and proceeding to add layers of something new.

The night was pristine.

Spring in winter time. Silence except for my breath, the clickity-clack of the dog's paws and the muffled sound of the freight train in the distance. Not a soul in sight, but never feeling alone. It was a waltz on the pavement, look-up-and-take-it-all-in kind of night.

It was entrancing. A shadowy muse speckled with light from the sky and the few street lamps buzzing from their concrete or wood pedestals.

Strange and yet so familiar.

It made me feel like home.

It made me marinate in pleasant thoughts as I floated back to my front door. Moving in slow-motion: peeling off the cotton until my back was bare, twisting my hair into a knot worthy of a Goddard starlette and tucking myself in with these words and a Max Richter lullaby:

Memoryhouse

2010-01-15T18:52:00.008-06:00

i am loving this::::
Million Young re-mixing the Memoryhousefor sublime sonic reverie.

This experience is like crawling through a pop-up catalogue of walking beautiful disasters… butterscotch splashing across bleeding memories dripping softly into shores crashing with waves of wistfulness in their melodies; leaving me feeling like i did on drives from northern lands into southern seas.

"To The Lighthouse"

Time After Time

2010-01-14T17:21:00.062-06:00

the dawn of a new year makes me think too much...even a couple of weeks after it was rung in.

oh and before i get into this, i just found (again) the flaming lips cover of madonna's "borderline". so good.

2010. Another decade behind me overflowing with encapsulated memories of time spent. A grand decade that was the kick-start and fuel that has kept my adulthood running down a path that has been flecked by exuberant and wonderful moments. Many good times in the 'right time' since I do not recall ever being given other options: something that juxtaposed the moments that were unfolding in every second and a millisecond to choose which one suited me best. All I had then was the now and the task of trying to intrinsically balance all of the things I wanted, and all of the things that I had, onto my lifeboat that would glide me through my days; my seas of change. A boat linked by tiny threads to those of my friends, lovers, family, opportunities, travel, peripherals and more people, places and things. One ready to moor with the still yet uncovered.

Balancing and pulling all of this weight is tough when you have limited time and space to fit it all into. When you don't have the time you need to figure out how it all works; how to connect them all. When the availability of one opportunity does not synch up with the availability of another. When the start of something can cause a storm if it's not at the "right" time. As the millennium began it seemed like time was never an issue. My load was a lot lighter. As I transition from 2009 to 2010 with a plethora of ways to spend time, and all this time I have already spent, I catch myself and others running into the time demon leaving me (and probably them) tempestuously spilling on and on about how "timing is everything" ; how many things in life just don't seem to come in or out at the right time...jobs, new apartments, adventures, men, women... even if they are wanted so badly that the desire is palpable.

And every time I come face to face with a set of affairs that elicit said response, I think back to something someone once wrote to me:

Timing is everything.
Too bad we are too flawed as humans to ever get it right"

This little heavy-weight of a phrase was written on a business card given to me in September of 2007, on the brink of the second-to-last time I was "leaving" Los Angeles. Those sixteen words were inked on the back of a green, rectangular piece of thick paper stock that would stick deep into my side for what seems like an endless period of time. They serve as a constant poke in the ribs, a haunt of sorts. When they were given to me I had only experienced them through the writing of my novel... or so it seemed. My love/lust/adventure piece about two people brought together and pulled apart by life breathing through a dense fog of bad-timing and perfectly executed synchronistic acts. The well guarded baby of a semi well-guarded girl.

The term 'well-guarded' makes my mind quiver, as I am not as guarded in general as most astrological books would deduce from my day of birth, but I notice at times I put up walls when I really don't want to. It seemed to me in those days, and still today, that we could all use more time tearing down of the "walls", and leaving ourselves more vulnerable and open-minded. It seems everyone has built too many and it's getting harder to let things in. I feel like we have quickly become a generation of mistrusters. Or at least the kind that give it with fingers crossed behind their back.

But then does this leave us out in the open for more splendid things to come our way that do not fit in at the time? Are we setting ourselves up for disappointment, or maybe even (insert doom music) burnout?

There are days (heck, sometimes months) when I find that the more I experience, the more I make changes, the more I see the more confused I am. It is like I have seen the matrix and I know too much. It leaves me to wonder: is ignorance actually bliss?

George Harrison sings in his song "The Inner Light" that "the farther one travels, the less one knows" and that "Without going out of your door, you can know all things on earth. Without looking out of your window, you can know the ways of heaven."

So happiness is within basically. Great. Without getting this down, we would be hungry and thirsty forever. So yes, I got that--but! Time. Time after time, time will rule. Timing is the key to life choreography. The steps you take will matter, but if the timing is off you can get nowhere. So I have the pieces, I feel overall pretty good, but I still feel at a constant crossroads in a forest of hanging clocks and blooming opportunities in the distance.

The night I received that card I had disarmed myself: I was excited, open, and confident in what I had been creating, and where my next adventure was taking me. I was completely free. Ready to leap. 2007 had brought me an abundance of joy via the alignment of many crisscrossed paths. My explaining where I was going and what I had (have) been working on is actually what prompted Jeff to write that, in the midst of an intoxicating blur, twirled in the aftermath of my tattoo completion... and too much beer and adrenaline at Broken Art.

I remember looking at those words and thinking I had heard them before, but I hadn't, well not really anyway. My friends spoke about the challenges that shone in the subtext. But my story, or 'the' story rather, at the time was only whispering hints of my own 29 chapters, through whipped memories that had amalgamated to make my rainbow-swirled, pop life what it had been. At that point, timing in my life was a smooth, well synched, group of threads. Threads of moments cloaked by pleasure in myriad forms, stretching from West coast to East and places above, below and beyond. It all seemed right to me, and I was creating this fictitious love story that I had somehow avoided. Confusion had turned to dust far beyond my memory, and was blown a million miles away.

So here am I now, my life is still charmed, but now those words are starting to project themselves on my world in an unavoidable manner. They are humming from the ground beneath my feet, and wrapping themselves around me as each moment unfolds. All of the implementations since that September, and the sum of their parts, have carried me to today, to this state of confusion. To another beginning with me staring the light of day in the face, and realizing that yet another one here has been swallowed and left to swish back and forth in my memory. Now, I am not saying that the day before wasn't thoroughly enjoyed, because it was quite fantastic indeed, in fact I am happy despite my confusion. What I am saying is that I as I get older I find that more times than not, I awake to find I am surrounded by empty, dry glasses, in what is typically my half-full wonderland- and I am starting feel like I am about to run out of place on the time table; that if I don't take a sip now, that liquid heaven beaming at the top of the rim might evaporate and I may never see it again.

And maybe it will. Even though the world will keep turning. We will (w hope) keep waking up everyday and going about our business; making to do lists in our heads, on our iphones, and laptops. We will email, journal, scribble, analyze, imagine, connect, disconnect. Reboot. We will make pro and con lists. Compare and contrast. Fantasize and come back to reality. We will dream... daily, nightly, monthly, yearly. We will fall in and out of love and lust. But maybe the opportunities that we seize will never be as good as the ones we missed out on. Some of us will know this feeling, some of us will be lucky to push it away before it ever actually hits.

So, with all this said: Can we get it right?

No matter what I continue to take mental notes; I make sure to enjoy the moment even as I grasp hope and keep it close as I ponder on the perpetual life question: will I ever have all of the greatness coming at me at once and be able to have the room to have it all as a part of my life? Can I get it right and have it all?

Will I someday soon sit back, smile burning bright, take it all in and think "the timing couldn't be more perfect?"

.

Dr No's Oxperiment

2009-12-22T13:20:00.005-06:00

Some winter days, when one must be trapped in their house armed with scissors and cardboard; flooded by a barrage of paper, ribbons, and tape; there to build tiny ships that will sail into the arms of loved ones on holidays, you need a tall stack of grooves to help you plow through the task with a sense of delight. This album is it:

"Oh No" aka Michael Jackson may be on the rise to being king of the underground hip hop, trip hop scenes. His third album "Dr No's Oxperiment" is a stellar, all-out instrumental collection of soul, rock, hip hop, world and funk bits and bobs taken from around the globe. Layers and loops; blurred lines forming a melting pot of ; Caterwauls, fuzzy guitars, break beats, jazzy riffs, garage sounds, tinkering, vocal accents: It's all there in one hot and spicy package.

You want to get in to this.

glycerine scribbles

2009-12-15T00:42:00.008-06:00

as the curves of the road became more familiar with the touch of my car, the radio static melted into a cool melody and conjured up your spirit.

with the touch of buttons i reached you.

it had been so long.

radio silent.

you told me i was close to your heart; and i told you you became close to mine again.

later on, the universe carried your scent to me in front of the magnifying glass on top of the stack of great stories.

tonight it seemed to take a liking to you,
making your presence a visceral part in my nugget of the world.

the lingering reminder of absence gone.

but maybe you are always there, like the buildings,
just sometimes i do not see you.

The Thief of Always

2009-12-14T02:52:00.005-06:00

Sometimes I find that the greatest solace can be found within the pages of a book.

Video Viaticum V. 10.21.09

2009-10-21T09:55:00.020-05:00

This week I am on a mission to get back on the writing horse; I am collecting nuggets of media to help conjure up the necessary inspiration I need to spew some novel vernacular: videos, articles, quotes, short stories. I need the visionaries of yesterday and today to help get me off of my feet...and the assistance of the Google gods, of course.

This morning-doing double-duty cleaning up my 'bookmarks', while seeking said inspiration amongst them- I came across the link to one of the advertising world's dark and beautiful slices of commercial wonderful: Levi's "The Drugstore".

While this 1994 commercial has been one of the most honored of any (it even holds a place in the Guinness Book of World Records for commercial to win the most awards), it was actually banned in North America due to its "suggestive" content; suggestive being in reference to the use of the Levi's "watch pocket" as a place to pack a condom.

The commercial itself is pure artistic visual bliss; A throwback to the silent films of the Depression Era, with a sexy, modern edge brought to us by, none other than, the vivacious, visionaire Mister Michel Gondry. Gondry shot two versions of the commercial: one w a boy as the purchaser, and one reversed with the girl in that role.

Both make me want too kick around old buried ideas for short horror films. For now, it is good to just get the juices flowing.
So my video allowance of the day will be shared w you now, as I do need to start producing instead of watching.

Enjoy:::

Drugstore Boy

Drugstore Girl

Song in the commercial is "Novelty Waves" by Biosphere

This is My Brain on This Week

2009-08-31T01:56:00.000-05:00

reports
reports
switch the record
reports

bonus bazookas: the making of

Tour Essentials

2009-08-10T22:30:00.005-05:00

knife. gloss. wallet. gum. some perfumed spray stuff.
the latter to accompany those days were baby wipe showers are 'the way' to get your clean on.

Feel Good Hit of My Summer

2009-07-27T17:43:00.015-05:00

As some of you privy to the goings-on in my perpetual life-adventure know, I am on tour this summer. The kicking and screaming, thunderous cloud of ground stomping,fist-pumping, metal raising, pit-circle jerking, growling beast of a tour otherwise known as "The Mayhem Fest," to be more precise.

One of the perks of being on said like-tour is that almost every 'working' night -post-breakdown and tummy-fill- as I am about to get clean in what are usually dirty, wet, showering spaces, this little band that could...and does...called Slayer (maybe you have heard of them?) hits the stage like a fist of fury to a few thousand un-expecting faces and blasts through my brain like an exploding fighter jet.

Alright, maybe this face, and the others are expecting it, but no matter what, when Slayer strikes, it connects with you harder than you ever thought it could....and it is f*cking A-MAZING.

This isn't my first experience with Slayer on stage. I windmilled a couple of times over the years to them as an introductory course to Pantera. But this is the first time, and maybe the only, that I have gotten to take a shower while listening to them slaughter the fck out of songs from Reign of Blood to Seasons In The Abyss and so on. Even over 20 years after performing at one of their first shows at a place called Woodstock in 1983, Slayer can still douse a pentagram-lit stage with the explosive energy and drive of fearless teenagers filled with enough piss and vinegar to power- and pummel- an entire 18,000+ capacity amphitheater, and with enough skill and finesse of real metal-making machines that preform flawlessly over and over again.

These guys bring it.
Hard.

They are metal mayhem and I am so stoked to be a part of this tour.

So every working night I hear Slayer, and every night I still get goosebumps and a rush that keeps me amped 'til bus call.

Want to take a peek into what is happening during Slayer and this year's Mayhem Fest?
Press it.

Summer of Something, Not George

2009-07-06T15:01:00.008-05:00

Sipping bitter caffeine in the midst of heat-ups and cool-downs in southern California, I sit and ponder the underlining theme to the cascading solstice that has been highlighting the many hours I have been spending awake and traveling.

With supposed astrological shifts, warmer days and the perpetual empty sighs of starving media outlets that are trying to create the next best thing- that will seduce consumers to take a minute away from the beach and the latest new apple gadget-and the trend to go back to "happier" times, I wonder: What is this truly the Summer of?

Them Thangs

2009-06-11T16:20:00.018-05:00

an
internetual
collage collection

take me there

High Tide

2009-05-28T16:33:00.009-05:00

It's Thursday. I have a Mister Sandwich T. Pants (the newest addition to the family) cuddled up to my hip while I do that thing some of us do for work, or when we are suppo'se to be working: bloggin'.

Since I have recently fallen, and acquired a fine bruise that induces a perpetual hearts and rainbow vomit parade, I thought I would share a wee vid about that thing that came along and tripped me; that thing we all be trying to do all of the fcking time : love, lovin'.

Yea.

So don't waste your time hatin'.

Grab someone, get down to your skivvies, and get ready to dance along to this: some rumpleCrystal Stilts'n's
Love Is a Wave.

Split / Signal

2009-05-17T16:11:00.004-05:00

to jump to it clickity click click b. low.

This is going to be the dopeness :
Split / Signal

Music and film: two beautifully things that often collide and set in motion sparks of utter exuberance that can invoke a plethora of emotion. Emotions that when backed by stunning imagery can take the individual experiences and stretch them above and beyond their actual original intentions--if any at all.

This event, this signal splitting, and signals mixing, is going to be a unique way to explore a collective new medium that will hopefully inspire and spawn a dozen incarnations in the Boston area.

Split / Signal will be delighting your senses with silent visuals set to music from Caspian, The Books, Cul De Sac and more!

If you're into visual and sonic slices of wonderful, and If you're in Boston, you should check it- live style.

THE CAMPFIRE HEADBANG

2009-05-10T11:47:00.003-05:00

maybe Boards of Canada should reconsider coming out with a second version.

Espressin' O

2009-04-08T15:38:00.018-05:00

Upon the request of one of my new bosses, I was asked to go to this place and try some coffee and write about the experience.

This is how it came out.

I have inspiration in the form of a caffeinated command, I have a new(ish) iPod addition and I have wheels. Rubber wheels made in Japan by the fine manufacturers of my motor vehincle: Honda. My Honda that has taken me from California to Boston to Toronto back to Boston and all the way South to Texas. Austin.

With my right hand on steering and my left on air-tambourine, these four wheels I got took me in my milk-box rolling down the hills, that are Loop 360, to Hill Country's finest kept secret. The secret my legs, wiggling excitedly from my hip sockets, are about to take me to as they make their way towards the door to 'Tuscany.' Yes, Tuscany. You see, I am about to take my mouth on a little vacation, or so I am told by the mouth's of Annika and Andrew.

I walk through the doors and register the rows of cascading shelves- glowing in every color of the rainbow. The name Tuscany, at this point, is really only a peep into that keyhole that unlocks the grand mystery of this tiny slice of foreign-like heaven, and what it supposedly has in store for me.

I peruse what seems to be layers upon layers of standard convenient-store fare: candy, hot dogs, chips. I see the now-typical mega glass-enclosed boxes beaming with fifty varieties of energy drinks made from bile and bull's testicle juice. There is a woman fondling two cylindric cans, reading what I imagine is a bunch of indecipherable nonsense about metamightkillyoulicious syrup. Pfff, I think, making my way away through the store. That stuff is for amateurs; sadistic folk or fans of Paris Hilton and eating disorders, perhaps. Not me. I want liquid gusto the color of rich mahogany. I want the real deal Holyfield here...if Holyfield were Italian.

I want a superb cup of delicousness, not wild berry-flavored chemicals. I want: coffee. Better yet, espresso. One of life's great little joys. The fuel behind some the great's wells of ink. The "black blood of the coffee gods." What was being sipped when the words "carpe diem" were first exhaled. I want the rich aroma of this fine Italian beverage that usually whisks me from the arm's of slumber, and most certainly gives me that extra push to, in fact, seize the heck out of the day. I want what I came here for. Makes sense, right.

So I am here. So are you. In this box, not at Tuscany; although, that would have made it so much better.

I make my way to the back bistro. I approach the counter intoxicated by the smell of the freshly-baked cinnamon rolls and pumpkin bread....and espresso. Yes. I see gleaming stainless steel. I see a tower of shiny beans begging to be ground to a fine powder that will in turn be packed and steeped into a ceramic belly. The sound of steam mixes with the clanking of cups and the pouring of richness and the process of thick foam being spooned onto a bowl-sized mug of goodness. Mmm, now we are talking.

I can feel myself perking up already. My mouth salivating. I order and watch the ritual unfold. Moments later I take my (what looks like) perfect double Americano, and make my way to the "bistro patio."

I am instantly transported. There is lovely black rod-iron furniture bedecking the calming escape pad. Steam is pluming from the cup, making the already sweet air, sweeter. As my lips leave the cup, I look at the seemingly endless hills rolling out before my now wide-wide-open eyes. The scene is captivating. I take another sip and look to see if I can see the Arno River. The rail-thin Italian cyclists making there way down the mountains. I definitely see layers of terra cotta roofs and green and brown. I take in more of the perfect bitterness and inhale again. What are those smells swirling under my nose? Olive trees? Fresh cork? Grapes of: Chianti? Brunello di Montalcino? Montepulciano? Petrol? They say some of the finest Rieslings mirror the smell and sultry taste of petrol. Umm, yea. My senses are officially heightened. My insides are screaming "questo caffè è delizioso!" I am dialing my bank and checking my recent activity. No Alitalia transactions. My passport I am pretty sure is still tucked in my underwear drawer. There is certainly no excessive purchases at Cafe Buona Sera deep in the heart of Tuscany. Damn. Really? Proof that I am in fact still in Austin, Texas. I wipe my eyes just to make sure - you know, one last time. I am...wowed.

I am at a gas station for petes sake. The petrol smell is not that of rieslings, it is in fact, petrol. Petrol being pumped into a volvo station wagon or some crap outside in the crammed strip of pumps alongside the highway. Crap. I think I need to swallow my vacation and head back home. Maybe in just a few minutes. Maybe with a two-go cup. I must keep my buzz on and the above song blasting as I take my little piece of Italy, and the scenic way, home.

Recycling

2009-03-22T20:57:00.013-05:00

Got an old box of cassettes? Crack that shit open, take out the Color Me Bad and make some art, like this:

From irI5's works titled "Ghost In The Machine."

Mustache March! Manana! Here, in ATX!

2009-03-18T12:22:00.007-05:00

It's March. It's delightful out there. And it's officially the week of SXSW supercalafragalistic-fun! Which means everyone is all about music and free stuff and this fun I speak of...which also happens to be mostly free.

You like?
I like.
We all like!
Yay!

So I mustache you a question, dear reader:
Are you a good person who likes to support good things with other good people who support good things...and who may or not be hairy-faced as fck?

Well if you are then put down that NAIR (ladeez, that sh*t be nasty anyway) and bring your hairy-self (or soft self w inked or glued on mustache) and get down to sixth street tomorrow at 4pm for the Mustache March.

What is zees you ask? Here is a message from some of the sponsors:

"Geeks, musicians, activists, actors and everyday SXSW attendees will join together to take the streets of SXSW on March 19th to rally for what they believe in.

The Mustache March is a convergence of supporters from partnering Organizations:
Invisible Children, Farm Sanctuary, charity: water, HSUS, Friends Of TOMS, Global Inheritance, HOPE, Human Rights Action Center, Falling Whistles and others from each and every cause coming together to champion efforts by raising awareness and involvement among the SXSW community.

Wear your mustache, fake or real, and march for what you believe in! No matter what your cause is, join us, because united we cannot be ignored. Facial hair has never had such an impact."

Get it on peacefully tomorrow, Thursday March 19th; meet at 4:30; S.E. Corner of 6th and Brazo.

For more info'mation, click->
http://www.causecast.org/events/139-mustache-march-sxsw-2009

Go down and just do it, son!

Dream of Life

2009-03-18T11:50:00.025-05:00

When you see staggering beauty for the first time, it infects you. Whether it be a person, a book, a painting, a set of words or a film. You leave the site of the encounter and go to the bar, or the coffee shop, or to the phone, and spew affection-drenched ramblings all over anyone who will take them in.

You take yourself home and spend hours rewinding and playing the images over and over in your head; stuffing yourself with more information from the pages of the internets. And when that beaming moment comes when it is available for another viewing (or for purchase) you usually take every moment you can to caress it; or buy it, and devour it a kazillion times ove in the privacy of your humble abode.

In this particular case, I am talking about the staggering beauty of a film. A documentary, to be specific. A work of such skin-scratching, inspiring, grab-your-heart- beauty it bruised me for good....but left me wanting more. I am talking about Dream of Life. Patti Smith"(Rizzoli, $50).

Realizing a lot of people had still not recovered from their initial deflowering by this film, but needed a new way to penetrate the layers of it (and maybe feeling this same), filmmaker Steven Sebring has put out Dream of Life: a pensive book of stills, illustrations, musings and photos based on his ethereal documentary about the equally ethereal, illustrious, muse, Patti Smith.

He wanted to bring a more accessible, tangible first to the lovers of this moving piece of film magic. A new way to experience the love and admiration beaming through each piece.

Being that you have more control over this experience; and being without the succession of film in motion, you have time to linger on the images longer. Study them. Touch them. Examine the nuances. Figure out the context of ephemera, and imagine what happened before and what came next. You may even inspect moments that were harder to tune into with the noise of a film. Plus, who doesn't like pictures?! And moving ones at that.

I recommend watching the documentary, if you have not already; but, I imagine this much quieter, more introspective way to investigate the sparkly stalagmites of Smith's enigmatic, inner-world will be just as divine.

Lift

2009-03-15T03:16:00.057-05:00

This is a neatly conceptualized new ad for "Puma : Lift," presented by the NYC-based ad agency Droga5.

The concept of the video is compelling: take a large room and fill it with objects; paint the walls and all of the objects white. Next, throw in two people. In this case: a stylish, Puma-clad (of course) couple. Then, create images that are ready to be projected, showcasing various environments.

When all of this fancy (and arduous) groundwork is done, cue the sexy, beat-laden song "Underwear" by The Magnetic Fields* and get ready for some pristine synchronization. Synch: the start of the music- to the choreography of the people-to the movements of the projected images; so, the couple start moving seamlessly through a colorful collection of "virtual sceneries." You got it? Now keep it going for the duration of the song, and POOF! you have an ad.

The set-design, stills, projection and hints of what almost look like animation, are pretty stellar; and the ad has definite potential to inspire others to take this concept and really blow viewer's minds.

I am interested in seeing what some others do with the idea.

Take a look and have a listen:

*Off of 69 Love Songs, Volume I I I
A pretty girl in her underwear
A pretty girl in her underwear
If there's anything better in this world
who cares
La mort, c'est la mort
mais l'amour, c'est l'amour
La mort, c'est seulement la mort
mais l'amour, c'est l'amour
A pretty boy in his underwear
A pretty boy in his underwear
If there's a better reason
to jump for joy
who cares....

Borderline

2009-03-14T13:53:00.013-05:00

This is borderline brilliance : The Flaming Lips w/ Stardeath and White Dwarfs doing a pretty pretty stellar cover of Madonna's Borderline. It definitely ranks in the upper echelon of cover songs.

I love how The Flaming Lips always complete the circle: providing their audience with both audio and visual pleasure.

This song and a bevy of other covers can be found on Warner Brother's keeping-with-the-compilation-trend release Covered, A Revolution in Sound, meant to celebrate Warner Bros. 50th Anniversary.

I haven't heard anything else from this; but I am intrigued by The Black Keys covering Captain Beefheart and Mastodon w Billy Gibbons covering ZZ Top.

Could be good.

Could be.

P.sych Fest.

2009-03-13T07:42:00.043-05:00

It's today. Already. Can you believe it? Say you are here with me, today, in Austin, TX : birthplace and global epicenter of psychedelia; also known to some as the "live music capitol of the world." And say you are into this music thing; and more specifically, being regaled by artists who collectively impale you with impeccable rock craft that leaves your brain's walls expanded and bruised by sound... heavy on: exotic instrumentation, reverb, panning, guitar, guitar, guitar; sitar, tabla, electric pianos, melloton, modal melodies and surreal, whimsical lyrics.

Then I assume that you will indeed want a tricked-out vessel to rocket launch you into that wonderful thing we call: the weekend. Or maybe you just want to honor the cradle of consciousness and float on waves of grooves while you gaze at the stars, and your shoes, and tune-in...turn-on...drop out.

So yea, it's here. It's Friday. Your ship has come in. And you can eat your meat, or not eat your meat, but you will definitely want to get on board with Austin's Psych Fest II. This boat is equipped with a launch pad, fireworks and some powerful sonic weaponry; and will be docked at the RADIO ROOM, 508 East 6th St.

Indulge your dark pleasures.

Rock.

And here friends, here are some additional nuggets of information, including tonight's lineup and informatives from the people of the festival:

(and for more, let this link >link< take you to Sat and Sun.'s set-times and info'mation)

The Black Angels | 11:45pm

Austin’s psychedelic torch bearers and Psych Fest 2 curators The Black Angels headline Friday, closing out the night with their their drone n’ roll. There are rumors of a special guest…

theblackangels.com | myspace.com/theblackangels

The Golden Dawn | 11pm

George Kinney and crew take the Fest full-circle back to 1968, performing their cult status Psych masterpiece Power Plant from start to finish. Pay homage to these Texas legends as they bring history to life.

georgekinney.com | myspace.com/originalgoldendawn

Lower Heaven | 10pm

This four piece from Silverlake, California creates lush shoegaze with a variety of vintage instruments, including an auto harp. These veteran musicians pay homage to thier influences (The Jesus and Mary Chain, The Velvet Underground, Ech and The Bunnymen), and at the same time cut new paths and pave new roads to a place all their own.

lowerheaven.com | myspace.com/wwwmyspacecomlowerheaven

Woven Bones | 9:15pm

The trio bring gritty reverb drenched psych-punk to the stage to kick things off. The buzz behind the few recordings they’ve released and acclaim for their live shows has us betting they’ll be hitting the road soon, spreading their dirty lo-fi grooves nationwide.

wovenbones.com | myspace.com/wovenbones

and for the rest of the weekend. . .

Saturday the 14th
Sky Sunlight Saxon of The Seeds / Dead Meadow / The Wooden Ships / Golden Animals / Indian Jewelry / Daughters of the Sun / Shapes Have Fangs / The Shine Brothers / The Astronaut Suit / The Tunnels / Smoke and Feathers / PJ and the Bear

Sunday the 15th
A Place to Bury Strangers / The Warlocks / The Strange Boys / Asteroid #4 / Forever Changes / The Vandelles / The Upsidedown / Miranda Lee Richards / Christian Bland & The Revelators / Cavedweller / Cartright

The Music At Work Blowz

2009-03-10T12:20:00.023-05:00

By Jessica and Caleb, Bored at Work.

Sorry kids: no music, just words.

Mom came home late last night. I could hear her stumbling around in the kitchen, cursing under her breath as she rummaged through the kitchen cabinets. She must have just returned from Whoville, the place where my father is from. You see, my parents don't really get along very well; so whenever my mom visits him to handle matters pertaining to their divorce, she tends to return piss drunk.

Mom yells at me from the kitchen, "Charlie, where are my fucking cigarettes?" I just ignore her and light up a smoke, take a few drags and put it out. I fall into bed and try to doze. I can still hear mom downstairs. I hear her move into the living room and flip on the television. The light from the TV seeps through the crack under my door, she'll be asleep soon.

My eyelids grow heavier and heavier; I can feel sleep swallowing me. I am just about to go down when: "Charlie!" she screams. "I can smell you smokin' in there. Come and give me those cigarettes!" Her voice, even at its high decibel, sounds whiny and pathetic. I picture her rotting away on the coach, her hair mussed and greasy; staining the pillows. I try to drown her out with a slide show from my day. Scanning the images slowly, to the soundtrack of the faucet dripping from where she filled her water glass, I stop and take a few steps back... to her: Stacy. Willowy and beautiful in the moonlight of my mind.

Stacy is the girl next door. My relief when my home-world feels like it is going to sufocate me.

I cuddle in the carbon copies of her that stick to the walls of my mind. I imagine her rescuing me from the mundane manifestations of this life billowing before me.

I light one of my cigarettes and press my forehead to the wall. Her face continues to dance within the smoke rings I exhale. Struggling to stay trapped in my mind; I fight hard as the whining of my mother's voice seeps in. It screeches through the door and slaps me back to reality as each image shatters to the floor.

Why?

Shangri-La-Dee-Da

2009-03-07T15:31:00.165-06:00

Over-saturation. Slightly blurred imagery. Happy accidents laced with feelings of nostalgia. A whole "don't think, just shoot" theme has poured itself all over my today. It has felt like the outsider's view would be fixed on one big photo from a lomography camera; Like what is to our left. I could just slip into this photograph today and not have to change a thing. "We ♥ It" took my insides and my outsides, and fitted them into some indecipherable (by me, anyway) algorithm that stuck someone-else's bookmark on my page, clothing my eyes with image-to-mood perfection: the aforementioned photo, placed over there.

I feel like I have been la-dee-da'ing since I crawled out of bed. Humming about, reeking of some sort of wonderfulness. The smile simply a natural accompaniment to the evocations. Maybe I should have been carrying a big, yellow balloon.

Smiles, it seems, are free today. They have been flaunting themselves all over town. And now on this page. I guess they always are: All day; All night...if you want them. If you feel like taking some in, or handing some out. Even the mentally-unstable dude stomping angrily down Barton Springs Rd., waving a gigantic Texas flag, cracked one when eye contact was made.

Sometimes you can't help it.

After a night of collecting dreams and hours of good sleep, I awoke with one brewing. After a healthy brushing and a little face scrubbing, I released it to the world...or the man with the hard hat eating his sandwich on the back of his truck; however, I got my first one handed to me today at the Farmer's Market on 4th. (oh how I love that I live somewhere with a splendid FM, abundant w fresh vegetables, homemade tamales, flowers, music and jovial people) It happened somewhere around the first 'greens' stand next to the old dude with the ridiculously good organic goat's milk cheese. I was fondling some chard when a bold bunch popped out from its all-green siblings. I picked up the thick, leafy, emerald bunch that was bursting from magenta and blood-orange stems. It was magnificent. The closer I looked I could see further hints of these colors in the veins and ribs. "Splendid!" I thought, w the words staining my face with their meaning. The woman behind the table was elated as I gushed over them and their earthy, almost-peppery smell. We exchanged recipes. Smiles. $2 bucks and a bag; And let the instant-high continue as we went our separate ways.

You see, there is something inherently addictive about smiles. Something so satisfying when you pass them on and watch them take effect. Or when someone, seemingly out of nowhere, bestows one upon you. Even the act of putting one on fills up your insides with this magical, invisible substance that brings an instant glow to your being. Try it. Not now, but right now.

It's nice, right?

Spending time in colder climates can leave some faces, well, stone-cold. Getting a North Easterner to smirk sometimes is like pulling teeth. And if you can get one to muster it up, it often will be served to you with a side of bewilderment.

It's a shame really. I find the change as you move towards the warmth to be one that is refreshing...recharging. It makes you feel lighter, languid. It opens your eyes so much wider to your environment. Maybe it is just the lack of layers and the lack of weight from all of all the weather complaints. No matter what, I will take the latter over Mr and Mrs Grumpalots.

So yes, as suggested by some homefolk, maybe the hippie in me is coming out through the boombox sitting atop my body; blasting out dialogue about life's little joys and hinting towards peace and love and togetherness. So what. It is definitely trying to wax on about paying it forward in what is/has been a perpetual peak into Summer. My smiles are boasting about how good it feels to finally shed New England November-Jan. This voice, or these words rather, are dripping with glee...and have been as I wiggled excitedly on top of my barely dressed legs, taking myself through the tiny chapters of today that led me to here.

Next stop: Shangri-la.

I blame my excess of happiness on things other than the big bag ol' smiles....like... on an overdose of vitamin D. I blame it on my new freckles and my milky-mocha hue from the warm hug of the sun. I blame it on the beauty of the town lake that lays alongside grassy hills at the bottom of my street. Hills that provide a cushion for me to sink into after a long run, or when I don't feel like reading at home or at my local caffeine dealer.

I might even blame a little of it on a blue-eyed beauty's promise to treat me to her homemade raw chocolate and maca, that will get me "giggly high." Chocolate that I think may kick the sweet ass of the the raw fudge I had from Daily Juice. Think about a cylindric tin, pleasure- packed jar with two large organic pecans decorating dark, salty, sweet raw chocolate. No milk. No bullshit. No Lake Blue #4. PURE chocolate love... w a little coconut and carob. (The key ingredient to luscious, mouth-watering, unforgettable chocolaty treats is salt. Note this. Trust me.)

I blame all this cascading happiness on modern technology super-connecting me to all of my loved ones in what seems like an instant, turning any homesickness into vapor. Ping! Gone. As another message comes at me. It's as if you (my brother in this case) is having lunch with me, but I am accidentally kicking the table's leg instead of his, as I stretch and fold them underneath me; because even when alone, I am still quite fidgety.

I blame it on the echo of Chris Rock as Chaka Luther King in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back.: "Do you think "Fat Albert" had an inker? No, Bill Cosby did the whole thing with a roller and it was EXCELLENT. " For the love of something good, watch this move. Please, it's hilarious.

This abundance of joy is definitely being influenced by M. Ward's "Hold Time" that is laying its earthy-tones and tales of sylvan charms and whipped-up heavy sounds, across the wood slabs that hold me, my patio chair and these words I drip slowly through my fingertips. The tone fits Austin today: slow-moving, almost crawling; cloudy; Olive and gray with sudden, unexpected bursts of light in various shades of yellow, peach and orange. You're not sure if you want to be up or down so you just hang amongst the pleasantries of the middle.

The wind seems to be speaking a lot over the music being carried away by it. It is saying too much. Too fast. Remixing my soundtrack. Today's is string-laden w hints of percussion. The vocals are soft and needy; It is elegant. The A-sharps and C-chords, simple. It's light and heavy. Like Neapolitan ice cream. Yeah, it makes the kids smile. And me, yes. Indeed it infects me with a smile. But the wind keeps trying to remix it. It is pulling it away and I can't quite hold onto its words as it whizzes by me; blowing my hair in my face; Taking my song to the arms of another. Wait- let me get that strand of hair out of my eye.

I continue on: breathing...thinking...typing...smiling. Listening to my music loudly. Louder so the wind can't win. Enjoying this little shangri-la behind the place where the caravan has landed. With this runt of a muppet-dog next to me, Hunee. Well, she is more like attached to me: downward-dogging against my calf. Begging me to scratch her neck.

This life, my life, has been given an added boost this winter. A mushroom to the head making my capacity to hold the old and the new so much more vast. It's given me something to go on about. And by "on," I mean babble about in this here blog. Babbling is a temporary cure for my currently insistent writer's block. In addition, all of this new plugging-in has been bumping up the gigs on my music library. Which, in turn, gives me more to share with you besides stacks of nouns and verbs and adjectives.

So let me share with you, since it is all about just that today. I posted bits below for you to take in where ever you like. Day, or night. If you like them, please, buy the entire album. Give something back to the one who filled your time with sonic-joy. It's kind of like the smiles, accept these you pass on by listening.

M. Ward
Off of Hold Time

Outro :

Shangri-La :

For Beginners :

Elvis-Fresh Meat and Double Nickels on the Dime

2009-03-05T22:14:00.029-06:00

Sometimes I wonder how I end up in these places. I try to draw maps and blueprints of week-births and week-deaths. Picking up all the loose threads and trying desperately to weave all the moments back together into my life quilt that has blanketed me since September 11, 1978. Don't you ever do the same? Don't you ever dream of the intentions of the universe? The way you have felt nestled in its curves? How they have curled around your contours? How they have pulled you back and catapulted you to your now? Maybe it is a side effect of living like a gypsy.

Maybe I am of a few who are constantly sewing.

I have been wandering paths unknown this last month; trying to commit the smells of my new city and neighborhood to memory; so when I am blinded by emotion/tiredness/love/inebriation, I can sniff out my way home. While I am doing this I subconsciously start to assign songs to my homes/haunts on a regular basis. Each hour has its own hymn. Its own beat. They pump blood into the veins of my time spent here; circulating the minutes all around until they have spun an immaculate, but ever-changing, soundtrack, and all I have to do is push play and go with it.

So even with all this Texas, Elvis-fresh meat; sublime weather; lovely new friends and being far away from New England, and the red-stained echos of Paul Revere, I find myself face-to-face with 'The Minuteman.'

Nah, not men in red coats. But yes, the name does evoke images of home regardless of the fact that these guys are from San Pedro, California.

I am talking about pulling the soundtrack for my day from the awesome sound files of The Minutemen. The ones with the arresting tuneage they poured all over the country in 1984. Oh yes. Yes. Yes. I've got a time machine and the sun. I have got my porch and I've got Double Nickels on the Dime, baby. And oh, do I like to share.

Like Austin ( my new city ) Double Nickels... is full of crossbreeding, innovation and progression. It is an enduring piece of music and a staple of the underground rock scene. The album took Minutemen's signature hardcore and punk and stuck it in a screaming, quick-mix blender with a little funk, soul, country and jazz. (a very appropriate soundtrack for my current state: metaphorically and literally)

The end result is a double tray full of hot shots of liquid funky musical awesomeness. Procurred by the men themselves and contributers Henry Rollins, Chuck Dukowski and more.

This album is the funk.

You want the funk? Well, I poured a few cups for you to enjoy. I find it is best ingested in the afternoon; As a side for the toasty Subway sandwich you are about to devour during lunchtime. Like the one I just did.

Yeeeee-hawwwwww

Corona :

It's Expected I'm Gone :

The Roar of the Masses Could Be Farts :

My Heart and the Real World :

Shadowplay

2009-03-05T03:17:00.006-06:00

(all the lines below be linkin' you to the show)

Watch how light moves into dark into light into dark into light into dark into light through the slide of a mouse and the hypnotic sounds of either: Italy's eccentric, electric Twisted Wires; or the creamy, electro-infused pop stylings of Australia's Empire of the Sun , remixed by Gruff Rhys (of Super Furry Animals) latest, fully-charged electro-rock adventure Neon Neon.

Oh My Good Word!

2009-03-05T03:08:00.002-06:00

neon by B Kowanz

Rapture

2009-03-03T00:34:00.012-06:00

What do you get when you take a classic Blondie remix and let it dance playfully over images of fresh clothes from an array of Antwerpenaren designers, and then accessorize all of it with a few hot illustrations and flash direction by Japanese graphic designer Hidehito Shinnou? Rapture, dear friends.

You want to bare witness? Please, let this and My Robot Friend take you there: www.hintmag.com/rapture/rapture.html

Bonus!

This was too hot for me not to post:

Bird is The Word

2009-02-12T23:48:00.018-06:00

Bird bird bird, bird is the word...
It is indeed today if it takes you by the hand and leads you to the tranquil place I have spent the last 8 minutes and 10 seconds. A soft modular that induced warming feelings of peace and solace, while whipping up my melting stresses into a soft-serve cone of joy. This feather-light experience, that I have designed up ahead, should do the same for you. The image tease to the left should already be taking you down a notch. The photo is a still from an animated post called Flying in Circles. It is pure, simple, calming. The movement in the video is calculated, but the smoothness of the motion (as you will see) is hypnotic. The hypnoticty (I think I just made up a word) is the main part of your near-future tranquilization. It resides on a page belonging to one of my favorite sites: todayandtomorrow.net.

But don't jump ahead, the first thing you should do is click on the link hanging out after the colon. Please, download what I have laid out for you: Asleep (Minit Variaton) by Jasmina Maschina.

Did you do it? Good.
Now, after you have finished the downloading process, you should que the song and click on this here link: ahhhh. When you get there bring that music up and press play...

This makes Calgon seem like it's taking you to the Russian Bathhouse for a platka w a thorn bush and a slap in the tooth.

Red States

2009-02-12T12:07:00.007-06:00

Yesterday, while sipping morning coffee and taking in an Under Byen auditory experience, I couldn't help but wonder:

Do people from Tampa call themselves Tampons?

So I reached out to my trusty ol' friend, Wikipedia, and found that there is an ongoing debate between the residents of Florida's finest, as to what the residents demonym would actually be.
The two that are bounced back and forth in the U.S.'s 8th "cleanest city" are Tampan and Tampanian. I happen to find both to be completely boring. I say that they should just go with Tampon and call it a day... Hopefully not a bloody one.

The Land Between Solar Systems

2009-02-09T14:42:00.020-06:00

Múm-

Alarms drowing in the whistles of winter...
Melting images.
Multi-leveled vibrations infiltrating the stillness.

Fingers to my lips.

Light.

Bright.

Morning:

my eyes open slowly like the cracking of a door by a hot summer breeze. They change expression under the weight of lashes, to the sound of ritualistic humming coming from under the wooden grates: concomitantly breaking and supporting my back. Normally I would hush this sound with swift seamless motion, but today my reflexes are still tucked-away in slumber.

I can hear the winding haunt of broken piano chords streaming from behind stained-glass. Cars and busses pushing on, polluting below. Planes humming above the clouds caressing the sky. Stars colliding. They have all come in as back up; trying to carry my body to greet the new day, even though I already had as I was closing my eyes to dream. But did I dream? I wipe the only evidence that I had been sleeping from the inside corners of my eyes. Look out the window bedecked in wonderment: where did the sun come from? I feel like it has only been mere moments since I crawled into bed to shut down, under striped cotton and a beat-up wool blanket that has been in the family since France, 1967; Seconds since I hung up the phone with Joe even as the recollection of the discourse louches, and the memory of my dreams slowly release themselves into the air, making it hard for me to separate the details of the two.

My breaths are slow and heavy under the shadows of pretense. Thick like a southern drawl, they coat the air speckled with dancing dust in the thin streams of sunlight pouring through the glass. There is a halation coming from the burnt dense fog, outlining the edges of glass and cement that scrape the sky. It erases that which usually stares back at me, and casts my bed in a fuzzy, orange glow. The warm light only eases my eyes back to where they were before the call of today. I fold myself back in my mind surreptitiously, hoping that time won't see me. I just want to stay cuddled in this cocoon. The weatherman had said it was going to be a cold and rainy morning, and the thought of fighting the war against winter to get to work is not the most motivating of causes.

The simulation of heat crawling over me, rolls me onto what now feels like the softest feathers. I drift like a boat on the ocean--asleep and awake-rocking back and forth. It carries me away to oceans behind my eyes. Emerald hills spilling into the white crests of the singing waves. I see familiar faces of complete strangers and surf their cadences. Holding onto nothing but some invisible hope that spins me back to reality. The footsteps cracking the floors breed feelings of discomfort. I just want to be here for the hours ahead; writing stories and morning hymns that sing quietly on the insides. Painting blank canvases with charcoal words and red ink from my heart. This morning break breeds so much creativity, I think. Fills my soul with translucent beauty that pours from the inside out, as my conscious and subconscious minds are still woven tightly by these colorful strings of light, trapping thoughts, images and words into a heap waiting to be spread out before me into tiny chapters.

When I have to cut the chord to free myself from these moments, I feel I am only operating as part of what I am. Like mismatched parts are glued. Mechanically taking me through the work day, blurring the stanzas that were twirling around me before I climbed out of rectangular bliss... And just as I had tricked the sounds into thinking they could dissolve into a lullaby, a cold gust of reality freezes them and stabs me with a final shriek. Muscling me to meet my new day, it pries open my eyes; and with that, it opens my arms and opens my heart to mirror the doors that line my path under the rising sun before me.

All is well.

Cinnamatic Delights

2009-01-21T00:06:00.019-06:00

I'm a sucker. No, I am not a fool; just a person who has, shall we say, an oral fixation. Whether it be to freshen my breath, calm my nerves, or just to keep my mouth happy and busy, I love to suck on a tiny nugget of candy goodness. I find the art of candy sucking to be my zen at times, especially when I am writing or catering to my *aural* fixation.

I used to have a pretty heavy addition to raspberry sour Altoids, and then I moved on to Bubblemint Orbits... until I started to think that there were addictive substances put into the gum that would leave me lock-jawed and drooling over a pile of empty gum wrappers. Scrounging change from the floor of my car to buy more.

Over the years I have replaced both with an array of confections that ranged in flavors from: sweet-mint to ice breaking peppermint to Absinthe (deeelic candies I picked up at a wine store in West Hollywood) and, on occasion, a delicious Camel Light. I know, not exactly candy, but tasty on occasion nonetheless. However recently, I went back to the old red: Cinnamon Altoids. I don't know if its the snazzy tin, the remnants of cinnamony-sugar dust that burst when you open it, or just the fiery deliciousness of the candy itself, but needless to say, it was a pleasant reunion.

So tonight while I was watching some videos and using some mellow, progressionist techno to try and pry open my brains so I could write a thing or two, I decided to try something little...red....different... and experience what I will now call the "alt. effect." The Alt. Effect involves the following steps:
shove some cinnamon altoids in the mouf +plus+
a video called "spark," by techno minimlist lawrence, in front of the eyes
. . .and in the ears. . .
(or another of your choice)
and let it =equal=
a little mind-rockets in flight. cinnamatic delight.

LoveTones/LustTones

2009-01-04T21:09:00.041-06:00

(bedtime babbles)

i am toying with the idea of posting segments in my [other] blog expressing the theme of duality through music and words. basically, i will put up a blog and include two different soundtracks; depending on which you choose, the overall tone of the same written piece will metamorphose into something that contrasts the other.

i feel that the changing of songs can drastically reshape how one interprets the dialogue and shapes the conjured imagery in their head. what sparked this was my recent pondering of how, in the ad world, using different music could be helpful in marketing products to various demographics: using the lyrics, composition, sound and tone, rather than a new cast of people. if most of the demographic and psychographic information of a targeted audience is essentially the same- the only difference being their gender- I find this could be exceptionally powerful in the selling of a brand, and the expansion of its image.

(i am currently working on ad mock-ups to present this point)

in the meantime, here is my first draft for the story side of things:

there is a fine line between lust and love: in the midst of a whirlwind of sweetness, with all receptors firing at blistering speeds, it is sometimes hard to tell the difference between the two: both fill you with elation; leave you weak in the knees; stuttering, breathless or panting. lust and love can be manipulative and render you powerless...or put you in control.

i have created a scenario, (based on blissful experiences, of course) and would like you to use the music i have inserted as your soundtrack while reading. the song you choose will pick a side and set the tone.
____

tell it to me sweetly :

just tell it to me:

there is a certain obscure shift that happens when you start to recognize it's there. a unique, momentary stillness when it's all about to reach the sweet point of breaking...when glances can no longer dance around the center... when lips are nervously bitten...when the smile can no longer hide behind those lips.

there is a symphony of fluttering beneath all of your nerves standing at full attention; mixed with a new cadence in your breath...beneath butter-soft skin, begging to be touched so that you too can turn completely into butter.

the attraction becomes almost tangible, so you try to make the choreography oblique to passersby. this is when you think for a second it might not be there; when you try to hover in denial. but you can't, because it is there. you're right up against it and the electricity is causing it to all unfold rapidly.

when this shift happens, control looses quickly to the natural momentum caused by irrepressible chemical reactions. the myriad distractions no longer break.... and this particular form of silent seduction, becomes: the only distraction

you start to fumble your words. you start to crawl all over each others sentences.
you both meet the crescendo of the last sixty seconds with what feels like a blow to the head--

and it hits at once.

and it does not speak-
it doesn't need to.
even with vibrating vocabulary filling in all the immediate spaces
it only needs to act.
to dizzy you.
make you weak.
blanket everything in a swath of heat that transforms itself into
gushing liquid electricity:
heady, lucid, magnetic-
almost too much to bear.
flickering as you still try to fight it until right before the actual...

*connection*

when it all becomes screaming neon in a blurring sea of smoke rings and vocal abstractions.
when it all becomes palpable...
hedonistic...
all-consuming.

when it becomes some fiery rocket burning through time in a fever of excitement.

THIS is the moment that IT renders you powerless;
when it tears things down.
tears things off.

this is the moment that locks your mind in one place, as you have gotten too close to wonder...too close to speak...too close to think-but not too close. in fact, you can't get close enough. you swallow all the doubt...all the worry and just dive headfirst into a pool of pleasure....into fingertips wandering all over skin...when you grab hold of their face, their waste, the bottom of their shirt....and with this, then you truly let go of the strings attached to all that surrounds you... and you...you just slip into this unadulterated moment; succumb to the silence; the immaculate stillness that has caused time to freeze around you....

in this moment, nothing else matters anyway.
you don't care.
the people outside don't care.
the four walls your spinning in don't care.
the moon doesn't care.
because in the end, it is all that everyone is looking for..... and it is all that is meant to be enjoyed.

Inspirationals

2008-12-29T08:36:00.004-06:00

This last year I have been evaluating and contemplating changes...a lot.

This word stack of inspiration was shared with me yesterday and I feel compelled to share it with you, dear friends, who, like me, may battle with similar mind vexations perpetuated by constant run-ins with situational/life questions.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/28/jobs/28pre.html?_r=1&emc=eta1

xo

Cogitate/Accelerate

2008-12-28T16:34:00.028-06:00

NOW
It's all happening: Buttons are being pushed. Mind rockets are blasting off. Plans are becoming happenings. The big picture is swelling and becoming a bit more colorful. Questions are being answered. Doors are opening and re-opening and slowly closing (but never locking). Momentum is starting to pick up again and light is being shed on everything starting to make the fragments form a whole that seems a bit more tangible.

I am understanding the importance of patience, and reaping the rewards of it slowly...even if some of them come with a side of stomach knotting.

My eternally curious and questering soul is getting ready for a more substantial feeding and I can taste the excitement even with a few weeks keeping me from dinner time.

I love this feeling.
I know what I want, where I want to be, and I am going after it...

Humans tend to get so caught up in the mundane aspects of life and the ritualistic details and cradling of comfort that they forget how important it is to do what you want. Have what you want (that is attainable/affordable) and to, most importantly, always be questioning, dreaming, searching, consuming, evolving-lusting for life in all aspects of the word life. I don't want this statement to be misconstrued, as a writer, I am adept at consuming the details. I find great pleasure in noting the details of every situation I am in, and committing them to memory; I just don't let the repetitive nature of the "day-to-day" blind my view of all that is out there. Does this make sense? I digress a bit... I am so grateful to still be thriving off of these things. To still be so hungry. To not be afraid to make changes, even when my hands might get a little shaky in the process. I am lucky to be one of the mostly fearless ones who refuses to settle, but wants to burn, burn, burn on for as long I can despite the heartaches and the letdowns.

Turning thirty this year has put things more in perspective for me. I spent the last few years scratching off more than I planned on my "to do" list, and am ready go full-steam into the continuation of my career in a place that churns out ideas at the same rate I think of them. A place that commits itself to a community of consumers and takes care of their needs through innovative processes. I have thoroughly enjoyed the freedom of freelancing, and will always continue to keep some of my "passion projects" in my life; however, it is time to lock it down... and in Austin, Texas. Oh yes, baby girls and boys, Austin Texas. A fine city in the lone star-a state that both intrigues and scares the crap out of me.

I feel like now, at thirty, or maybe at this particular juncture in time, I am ready for it all.

It's inspiring and a bit strange, you realize things at thirty that you didn't at 25, or even 26 or 27. You see what really matters; Who matters. You learn more about the importance of balance and that how a lot of things are really not worth worrying about. You play less games... or maybe you play them better than you ever have. (Yes, I think that is more like it.) You tear down walls and enjoy the heck out of everything because hey, life just moved really f*cking fast to this point, why deprive yourself? You leave the past in the past- and if you just can't, then you finally develop the balls to hire a therapist. At thirty you also become inherently more aware of your health and tolerance levels. You know your body in a way you haven't up until this point. You know what works, and what doesn't. At thirty your tolerance for bullshit definitely drops, but your need for sleep increases... and unfortunately, your hangover cures must now be doubled.

Overall, I must say, it's pretty great. You're at the start again. I didn't feel as stressed out this year as a lot of my friends did, even if I had some big looming changes. I was excited to close the twenties chapter, and hey, I sure as hell don't feel like some might define as the way to feel, or look, at thirty. This is probably because I will always be a kid at heart. I have a youthful spirit, even though I am an old soul. I will always be hoping and doodling and losing myself in my head and creating a pleasant now for myself whenever I can have control. And I will always stay connected to this, as I am a fun addict. One addiction I hope to never get over....

My thirtieth year and 08 have been part of a natural, divine paradigm shift. And although it has been one fun-filled year, I do feel a bit more pressure than I did at 25, to move forward at a speedier speed. But, with that said, the pressure endues a challenge, that at thirty, I am much more eager to embrace and then organically kick the sh*t out of it so I can come out on top of my dream mountain and start the quest for whatever life and my heart is telling me that I will have to go after then...

So with all of this going on, I find myself these days in a state of ongoing cogitation. I am constructing this mind map to see how each moment has unfolded and how they have all become inextricably linked and have carried me to this point where I am finally ready to fully accelerate on the plans outlined at two significant points last Winter and Spring, respectively, when I wrote the following two blogs.

Oh yes, changes.
I can hear the joyous echoes of their wake singing in my head as I reflect on the last year that has carried me here.

Cheers to You, Gorgeous

2008-12-25T03:32:00.041-06:00

It's holiday cup-o'-cheer time. Heck, it's just cocktail time.
As a seasoned professional bartendress, that tends to the masses at a bar where the manager has exquisite taste in spirits, I am graced with opportunities to play with a lot of fine products bestowed upon the back bar, that is that of The Beehive... or La Rouche, as the French would say.

Now, I am a lady with a taste and passion for the classics; however, one product has delighted my palate, in the last year, in ways that it hasn't been delighted since I had my first sip of Chartreuse out of a proper, crystal cordial glass. Oooh yes I love me some chartreuse. Get me a cigarette and Goddard and call it a night.... I will be floating in happiness....and drunk and digressing....

But now I found something else. Something destined to be a classic. It is a bit more straight-forward, and dare I say, "user friendly" than Chartreuse, but equally lovely. So if you are looking for a product that is beautiful in more ways than one, and that can be poured into champagne, or mixed with gin, vodka or tequila, than this is for you.

Let me make this introduction that I believe is guaranteed to blossom into a delightful relationship.

Say hello to...

Hellll-Ohhhh.

(press ze)

mmm hmmmm

Isn't she a beauty?

Tall.
Leggy.
Slender, but with the right curves in just the right places.

Yes, you want to hold this one.
(she is easy to caress)

Her neck would nestle itself into the palm of your hand
and it would feel as if it belonged there.

Take a step back.
Take a longer look.
Take her in.

She is a fine specimen.

Indeed one of the best on the market.

She is without-a-doubt intoxicating.

Something that lingers on the tip of your tongue.

She is spring after a long, cold winter.

She is a warm embrace.

A hint of lipstick on your cheek...

She is unforgettable.

What is her scent?

White peach?
Lychee?
Guava?
Some sort of white flower, perhaps?

Elderflower blossoms from the French alps.

She is French, oui.

(of course she is)

She is sophisticated.

Stylish.

Delicate.

She is subtle, yet complex.

She is definitely wild.

She is extraordinary on her own, but can bring out the best in others.

She is all natural-- no preservatives.

Smooth and sweet, but not smothering.

She is handpicked and carried to town by a select group
of bohemian men on bicycles.

Oh, yes:
She is special...

Rare....

Sublime.

Subaerial.

Ingestible.

So go and get 'er.

Yes, just do it.

This is one saint that might make you a sinner... and you want to show her some love....

Take her top off slowly....

Inhale her aroma....

Let. Her. Flow...

And then enjoy every last drop of her:
neat- or as an optimizer for your concoctions.

This IS playground love.

But you should act fast, things as good as this don't come around too often.

Enjoy the Rapture

2008-12-24T23:28:00.020-06:00

it's officially christmas. the eve-of came to a close abruptly with my cell phone not long before i plunked myself down on a pile-of-shirts-pillow, to write this. the last handful of hours were filled with traditional drinking, eating, talking, laughing, wrapping, listening, tearing-open and repeating...and a touch of heart mending/mind easing swathed in a malted smile. it seemed to all happen so fast. the entire month has, actually. one minute i was arriving and the next i was helping my little brother cut carrots for santa's reindeer. the only evidence i have of the night is my special purple plaid schoolgirl dress that smells of smoke and sicilian delights; a stuffed tummy begging for me to develop an eating disorder; a bag full of goodies; and a hint of highland park scotch on my breath. the temperature has finally warmed up, and for a few moments, after leaving my father's, i felt relieved. the drive home was a blur whirled in conversation-the wake of an intense wave of words from yesterday. as i neared home, my car climbed up the hill with more hesitation than usual, and then it all crashed-metaphorically speaking. (my car is ok) i shut off the lights and took a deep breath as i turned it off, it seemed my happiness went off with it. i spent the last thirty minutes just sitting in my car: watching rain drops fall to the pavement and slide down the glass frame. for a moment i was on the brink of pouring myself. it wasn't as dramatic as the rain, but was [almost} induced by a similar tone of gray. maybe blue is a better color to describe it. i spent the time trying to undo the knot in my chest. trying to take control of what was going on that i could not seem to get a grip on. bah- confusion. i was pondering "is or isn't it worth it?" i was searching inside, outside, the stars in the sky, trying to find serenity wrapped in a package that would give me instant gratification. i came in to touch my hands to the one other thing that has the capacity to hold almost all of my feelings (despite it not having any) and found the above photo. it answered my question.

taking risks
falling hard in that soft kind of way
being vulnerable to the effects of pure, unadulterated dot dot dot
giving in
giving up
tearing down
immersing

are all worth it.

it's so cliche to say, but life IS short.
safety melts magical moments of life into the margins when you spend too much time, and energy, trying to skip ahead to see what the future pages hold.

enjoy the rapture... even if it does elbow you in the gut after.

'08 in Music! Music! Music!

2008-12-16T13:13:00.012-06:00

Yes, yes y'all 'tis that time. Another year closes, another list to add to the, um, lists.
As with most years gone by, I find myself falling more in love with the old than the new; however there are always some same-year releases that tickle my fancy...and most importantly, my ear drums.

So, without further adieu, here they be as more than ten, but not quite double, and definitely in alphabetical order:

'08

AIR FRANCE : No Way Down
AL GREEN : Lay it Down
*\/ this just added as i did not know it came out in '08
ARTHUR RUSSEL : Love is Overtaking Me
AWESOME COLOR : Electric Aborigines
DANAVA : Unonou
DEPARTMENT OF EAGLES : In Ear Park
DR. DOG : Fate
FLEET FOXES : Fleet Foxes
FLYING LOTUS : Los Angeles
GANG GANG DANCE : Saint Dymphna
GRAILS : Doomsdayer's Holiday
GROUPER : Dragging a Dead Deer Head Up a Hill
HARLEM : Free Drugs
LINDSTRØM : Where You Go I Go Too
MOGWAI : The Hawk is Howling
QUIET VILLAGE : Silent Movie
SIGUR ROS : Með Suð í Eyrum Við Spilum Endalaust
THE BLACK KEYS : Attack and Release

Albums from years gone by that I was introduced to in '08, and that I L O V E
(some more than any of the above)

CASPIAN : The Four Trees
NEU! : Neu!
*ROBERT WYATT : Comicopera*
ROSETTA : Wake/Lift
STYROFOAM : The Point Misser
SAXON SHORE : The Exquisite Death of the Saxon Shore
ISOLEE : Western Store
*THE PSYCHIC PARAMOUNT : Gamelan Into The Mink Supernatural*
*THE SAINTS : I’m Stranded*
TORCHE : Torche

*thank you to Mister Kadin for the *'d pieces of awesomeness

And lastly, albums to LOOK OUT FOR.... oooh yea. watch out!

GOLDEN HOLY : Golden Holy

This is "Victoria's Secret."

2008-12-13T14:51:00.064-06:00

Ah yessss...

No, darlings, this is not a foray into Boston's underground panty-party scene. I am truly so sorry to disappoint you.

Maybe another time.

This blog, right here, this one you are reading is about a special song. A song with the capability of taking your mind and instantaneously putting it somewhere else. This song being "Victoria's Secret."

"Victoria's Secret" is from one of my favorite albums of 2008: Silent Movie by the sample-reliant- but brilliant at: arranging, adding, mixing and teetering, U.K. twosome that goes by Quiet Village.

Yes, this song, and the album, like the album's name suggests, is very cinematic in tone. The album reveals itself to be transcending. It like a musical scrapbook. The song at hand, Victoria's Secret is like a singing postcard from a shoreline in another era.

It is no shocker that a good chunk of the song's structure comes from a classic Chi-Lites ballad, 1972's "The Coldest Days of My Life" .

The original is a little darker in feel. The mourning tone of the "The Coldest...." enriches the experience of Quiet Village's creation 'V.S." by adding a more haunting element, while the rest of the composition evokes scenes that are more playfully clandestine behind the noise and the people and the sea spray. Both are about the languishing of love, but "Victoria's Secret" is more sadness in smiles than tears.

The song is the first on the album- a great place for something that is this enrapturing to be. It is a rescue delight during these cold, winter months.

We should get this playing through your speakers, so you can ride with me on this splendid musical mind-journey.

We are about to be whirled into one's reverie.
Into memories that at the time where operating under sub rosa.
This is our peek.
Our postcard coming to life.

The is the quenching of a thirst for something a bit more voyeuristic into a time we can never truly visit....but a state that we maybe have all been deeply submerged in.

Are you ready?

The reel starts......

You hear the incessant hum of the projector.
You see noise, shake and dust on the screen.
And then it is smoothed out.
You can see her face....
Victoria's, or I like to think it is.
She is in black and white.
Of course.
She is gorgeous, with wavy hair and big, expressive eyes- the kind you want to lock yourself into.

She lifts her long index finger to her mouth and presses the side of it to her full lips and laces her breath with a playful "hush."

She turns away from you, the viewer, coyly, because she is about to let you in on something.
She is about to reveal her....secret.

And the scene opens up...
Play

Cue beautiful, seductive beach side surf sounds.

Cue the first snivel of the strings-syncopating with exhales, dripping with wistfulness.

Cue sunshine and salty mist.

Cue soft laughter.

Soft kisses.

Playfulness abound in the sand.

Cue love in the air.

Wait-
Cue.... the lovers.
Lovers swimming in their undefiled affair.

Cue the seagulls keening;
the tiny taps of their feet;
the burst of white plumage as they shake the moisture from their wings.

Cue the feather-light taps of the drums.

It almost sounds like a light knocking on wood.

Cue passions unfolding beneath carousing in the sun.
Cue stealing kisses....
Stealing affection.
Stealing hearts.

Cue faces burrowing into necks... into chests...into mouths.
Cue innocence twirling in straight-up seduction.

Cue the sleepy base.

Cue the sticky, syrupy slow and smooth rhythm coating lines of an almost inaudible collage of summer sounds.

Cue moments unhurried by the world.

Cue being swept away...

This song is sadness and joy swirling together in a whisper atop the cone of life.

It is how I imagine the first half of Chekhov's love story The Lady with The Dog's lead characters, Dmitri Dmitritch Gurov and Anna Sergeyevna, early seascape adventures playing out.

Cue the haunting vocals...

You see the hearts colliding, intertwining.

The joy emitting from the Colgate smiles because in this time and place they are amongst many who don't know.

They are safe.

The vocals come in to haunt again.

You see it change.
You see it all for how it really is.

You see hearts breaking, crumbling to the floor and mixing in the cracked shells and seaglass.
You feel the emotion ebbing away as the two become shadowed by reality....
The vocals and strings together coat each remaining bar with a sense of longing for this moment to never end.

And then it slows down-almost completely.
You are left with just the sound of the seagulls and the echo of what was.
The end.

Lucky for us, we can play it all day.

The Psychic Paramount

2008-12-09T16:53:00.032-06:00

You.
You like the music.
You like the noise.
You like it raw.
You like it experimental.
You like it with well done distortion.
You like it with layers of instrumental bewilderment.
You like it to sound like some sort of apocalyptic blissful sonic destruction.
You like it to move you, to provoke you, to make you want to explode- but not become exasperated.

You like your music to take you down-and then rocket launch you into space like a canon filled with memories in shards of glass and emotional shrapnel.

You like your music to take you on a mental journey like that which can be induced by psychedelics.

You want a neo-psychadelic freakout, perhaps.

You definitely want it to rock your face off....
maybe like Acid Mother Temple and Lightning Bolt.

(Oh yes. Please.)

You will like Ben Armstrong, Drew St. Ivany and Jeff Conaway.
Heck, you might even fall in love with them, or their Brooklyn-based trio The Psychic Paramount, rather.

Yeah I think you will at least develop a healthy crush.

You should...listen.

Yes.

You should open your mind to them; unravel and be submissive when unwrapping the plastic armor... pulling out the circular mirror...sliding it in and underneath laser beams that will unleash the pyschadelic rock beast that is THE PSYCHIC PARAMOUNT upon you.

Actually, you don't even have to unwrap anything right now.
It's right here, baby.

Go ahead.
Touch the > button.
(if you are in an office setting, you may want to lower the volume-ALTHOUGH it is meant to be played at high decibels)

This is sonic masochism.

Guitar, bass and drum violence- but in the most loving of ways.

It is you on fire.
It is music on fire.
It warms you up, cradles and pummels you over and over and over again without being angry, or hardcore.
It is just by charging you. Pushing the boundaries. Being loud. Being electric.
Being able to expand and blow your mind with its riffed-up avant-AWESOMENESS.

You will like.
You like awesomeness, don't ya?

I do.

I REALLY do.

I can't stop listening.

It is one motivating mother funker.

So go on now, press the button again.
I just did.