this has to be a joke

oh yeah and it is...

stay tuned for more, i promise when the semester is over there will be more, and of much higher calibur, and not this bullshit i have created so far.

btw, im not laughing

I am a Dinosaur... or Why I am finally accepting the reality of a digital world?

Anyone who knows me (what a stupid opening line), knows one thing for certain; I love music (and as you will soon realize, I love semicolons, sorry Kurt). I own over 700 hundred albums (that is a combination of vinyl, and cds), but it wasn't until today that I was ready to admit this fact.  I need to set this situation up before i begin.  One, I went to a high school where culture existed in cars and radio rap.  I was seen as a hippy, a fucking hippy.  Yeah I had shaggy long hair and wore bell bottoms and I listened to the dead (which i still do, the early dead, before they started getting pretentious and just wanted to "jam", were a fucking amazing band, and I dare you to defy that fact).  I am also a vegan, and obviously left leaning, but in no real sense of the terms am I a hippy.  To be completely honest, I hate, and always have (even while I ACCEPTED the term) hated hippies.  My favorite episode of South Park, without a doubt is the episode where Cartman tries to eradicate the hippy population from south park, and against all odds after the stoned and boring hippies start a jamfest in south park, he is able to get them to leave by blaring "Raining Blood" by Slayer, of the greatest speed metal album ever "Reign in Blood".

Anyway, my point is this, I didn't exactly fit into my school that I was attending, and i found the best outlet that I could find, and that was music.   I started collecting cds, endlessly, and it has resulted in the collection that I have today.  I have always been an advocate of the independently run record store, and primarily the ones that sell vinyl (because I am a pretentious asshole, but lets be honest, things that were made for vinyl sound better, is pure, did I say that I was a pretentious asshole yet).  Anyway,  i started a massive collection, and to be honest i prefer to own the albums then have digital copies because i like the liner notes and being able to put in a cd, or throw on a record, there is something more real about that action.  But if you were to ask me what I am listening to, and if you were to look at my itunes, you would notice that i have nearly 1300 albums listed, and the majority of stuff that I listen to comes from the selection of things that I personally do not own.  So what does that mean?

For one it means that I am poor, but to be honest, it means this, the digital world has taken over.  I once thought it was stealing but then i realized, no, I support these bands in real ways, via merch and shows (thank you friend for pointing this out to me).  Record companies are ruining the art of music (and yes I know I am not saying anything new), but my point is this.  I love having a hard copy of all my music, but record companies are FUCKING over everyone, the artist and the audience.  They view us as consumers.  I am not a FUCKING CONSUMER.  I am an appreciator of an art form which I deem to be beautiful.  I wish I could buy every album that I love but at 16, lets be honest with tax 20, a pop, even at target, I cannot afford that.  And the amount of money that is going to the artists is so miniscule that it is insulting.  

So here is what I have to say, buy albums, don't buy albums, steal them who gives a filing fuck.  BUT GO TO FUCKING SHOWS, BUY MERCH, SUPPORT THE ARTIST, AND FUCK THE RECORD COMPANIES.  DO NOT GET LOST IN THE IDEA OF THE CD WORLD BECAUSE THAT HAS BEEN COMPLETELY RAPED BY THE CONSUMER SOCIETY.

I LOVE MUSIC

I love music, and I hate the fact that I was so blinded by the consumer based record company system that has ruled for so long.  I have missed out on two years of good music because i have been two poor to buy anything.  Fuck that shit.  Download that shit, burn it from a friend, but pass it onto a friend, and then go to a show and support them.  Don't be a dinosaur like me.  Just think about this:

Dinosaur decay, and over time become fossil fuel.

Fossil Fuel works for awhile and it powers beautiful vehicles like my dream car the 1963 Chevorlet Impala.

Fossil Fuels are controlled by money hungry dictatorship.

Money hungry "demockracies" go to war with money hungry dictatorships over these fossil fuels.

Yet, any intelligent person, understands that fossil fuels are in the past, and there are new things that new to be used to sustain our fuel hungry mentality.

E85 is bullshit, and hybrids are band-aids.

We need a new mode of energy.

Dinosaurs are the way of the past.

So don't be like me

I would love to have a 1963 Impala, yet I know it is a dinosaur sucking on the blood of even older dinosaurs.  The world of mass media is the same.  Cds are the dinosaur.  Yeah the idea of of cd is beautiful, but at what cost?  The loss of music, the loss of the most beautiful artform we know.  Don't be a dinosaur.

Be as honest as possible, I hate bull shit, and I won't be offended

(top)

This is a painting that I have created for my buddy Sean.  After a conversation discussing how to incorporate some specific found objects into a painting, i attempted to do so and with beginners luck I suceeded.

My College Education

(Acrylic and Found Objects, on Dry wall)

(Bottom)

This is take two of something that I previously tried to achieve (by accident the first time).  This is imagine is much different than the original but was inspired by the original that was produced in watercolors.

Now I am not sure if I am completely finished with this one, i think I may add some more texture, but for all intents and purposes, it is complete.

"When dawn of faith,

has come and past.

And little boys,

can cry at last.

A mercy shot,

unto the head.

For Hell shall reign,

when God is Dead."

(Acrylic on Dry Wall)

Let it be known that these pictures were all taken with the camera that is built-into my macbook; the quality is not that great and they are at a somewhat funny angle(i do not have a digital camera, therefore I am unable to take good pictures of my pieces, if someone could let me borrow one in the future, that would be great.)

So just let me know what you think and I will gladly appreciate it.  If you think that they are shit, then tell me, i will not be offended, i will be grateful.  I want to known if anything that I am creating is worth a grain of salt and if you like than that is great too, if you want something that is even better, but I will not count on that one bit, but for now, just let me know if I suck, ok.

P.S.  To my loyal reader, I have not forgotten about you, my newest blog will becoming soon, hopefully tonight, hopefully.....tonight.

Pigment and Beer Always Change Our Plans

I need to start this off by saying, that I am my own biggest critic.  Whenever I notice something wrong with anything that I have created I try to make an immeadiate change to it, but for the sanctity of this quasi art-form I have here I will keep it the same, but I must not the inaccurecy that occurred in a previous post.  I made mention of Neruda (and honestly no one probably noticed the error but as the quasi perfectionist that I am, I must make right what was wrong), but as of tonight I realized that the actual poet I was thinking of was Octavio Paz.  Now this is a minor change, not saying Paz and Neruda are interchangable but to say that the meaning of the original post is not much different to the general audience now that I make this point.  The main reason why I am making this change is due to a painting that I created tonight.  After finishing the painting, I realized it reminded me of the "Neruda" (which was actually an Octavio Paz poem) that I mentioned in a previous post.  Well here it is, the poem that is, in its entirety, I hope you enjoy.

Head by the soul, footsteps

in the mind more than shadows,

shadows of thought more than footsteps

through the path of echoes

that memory invents and erases:

without walking they walk

over this present, bridge

slung from one letter to the next.

Like drizzle on embers,

footsteps within me step

toward places that turn to ait.

Names: they vanish

in a pause between two words.

The sun walks through the rubble

of what I'm saying; the sun

razes the places as they sawn,

hesitantly, on this page;

the sun opens my forehead,

  balcony

perched within me.

  I drift away from myself,

following this meandering phrase,

this path of rocks and goats.

Words glitter in the shadows,

and the black tide of syllables

covers the page, sinking

its ink roots

in the subsoil of language.

From my forehead I set out

toward a noon the size of time.

A banyan's centuries of assault

on the vertical patience of a wall

last less than this brief

bifurication of thought:

the seen and the foreseen.

Neither here not there;

through that frontier of doubt,

crossed only by glimmers and mirages,

where language recants, I travel toward myself.

The hour is a crystal ball.

I enter an abandoned patio:

apparition of an ash tree.

Green exclamations,

wind in the branches.

On the other side, the void.

Inconclusive patio threatened

by writing and its uncertainties.

I walk among the images 

of an eye that has lost its memory.

I am one of its images.

The ash tree, sinuous liquid flame,

is a murmur rising

till it becomes a speaking tower.

garden turned to scrub:

its fever invents creatures

the mythologies later copy.

Adobe, lime and time:

the dark walls that are and are not.

Infinitesimal wondrs in their cracks:

the phantom mushroom, vegetable Mithridates,

the newt and its fiery breath.

I am inside the eye : the well where,

from the beginning, a boy is falling,

the well where I recount the time

spent falling from the beginning,

the well of the account of my account,

where the water rise

and my shadow falls.