He Said N0 N0 No

Excerpt from the cover of Bidoun Magazine #25

2012-01-16T22:04:00.000-08:00

"In July 2010, i dreamed that i was flying
over downtown Cairo in a one-person
helicopter made of glass. Like a Segway,
in the air. And the entire city was flooded
to the level of the billboards but the lights
were all still on. It was post-apocalyptic.
There was a sinkhole in the center of Tahrir
Square that the water was rushing into.
And i was afraid of flying too close to it.
So i flew up to Muqattam, where the water
was rushing over the cliff, creating this
kind of waterfall, into this tiny cave. And inside
there was a ten-foot-tall military man, like
twice the size of regular person, sitting in
a chair, and i spent all night just chewing
on his ankles, punching him - he was like
a clown doll, made of rubber, but he was
taunting me, i could hear his voice inside"...

El4D - Daydreams

2011-10-10T15:50:00.000-07:00

Check out El4D bandcamp for more songs, free album downloads, etc.

10/18/11 El4D - Daydreams Album UPDATE!!

The album is now available on iTunes, Amazon, and should be available to purchase/download on a few other sites as well.

(This is a little bit about the album i've just finished, Daydreams. For those of you who haven't heard it, i recommend listening to it in a quiet place, from start to finish. Collect your thoughts afterwards. Enjoi!)

It’s 2011, almost October, and i’ve just turned 24. I’ve finally accomplished something that i’ve been meaning to do for many years, something that i have wanted to get done before i died, and something that i’ve learned a lot from and have had a lot of fun doing: the completion of my first album - the fantastic, psychedelic, and often times downtempo, Daydreams.

Daydreams is a collage of unorthodox songs that began as a set of conceptual ideas, guidelines, and thoughts that slowly blossomed into and ultimately became the album that you hear today. Almost each song has its own unique history, from Remembering the Walk, which began as an experiment in ambience, to R0DNEY K1NG, which turned out to be a giant glacier sliding slowly to an almost complete stop, in Las Vegas, of course.
[Strings] was borne out of the albums’ last track, the aptly titled [Remember Me] Now. I challenged myself as a musician to almost completely refrain from using the musical instruments that i was familiar with, and instead, to try to compose a song, not from the ground up, but from samples that i had amassed, grouped together selectively, and then cut and had my way with. It was like building an entirely new image that had never been seen before, out of things that had. I used some of the puzzle pieces from this box and some from that box – rather obviously, some of them had trouble fitting.

[Strings] emerged out of the acute strain of chaos that ultimately and abruptly caps off the album. It expands upon the dimension of [Remember Me] Now, and becomes an invitation to one of Calvino’s lesser known electronic cities. This one, existing next to one of todays digital clouds, somewhere between discs and processors.
Many songs have doubles, parallels, different avenues, versions and ‘perverted versions’. I didn’t know what to do with them at first, i just kept trying to explore these different ‘environments in sound’, these ‘places in audio’, these words that better describe worlds. I drove myself mad, playing around, exploring, hoping to ‘find’ the proverbial one. Sometimes it happened. Other times it happened twice*.

Often times I felt like i influenced my music too much for my own good. I wanted a new challenge, some new ‘rules’. I had all of these old toys, and no one to play with. So i attempted to do something which i’ve never been very good at, namely working with other people:

Philosophengang in German means ‘the philosophers walk’. I think that may have been what Nietzsche called it, i’m not so sure. On yesterdays walk, Toby Bryan was our philosopher. I attempted to be the ground he tread.

Monsieur! with Veronica Karrer has always been one of my favourite stories in song: I played Veronica some innocence on the guitar and within a few minutes she produced the eloquent piano lead that will never change. The song, in it’s infancy, reminded me of a place i had never before been. Monsieur!

And I’ll say this: I’m not one for religion, but my friend is a prophet. On a road trip to Arizona a few years back, Elijah introduced Veronica and myself to Alan Watts. We had enough time to make it through six or seven CD’s of his and whenever i heard a line that i particularly liked, i wrote down the track number, disc number, timestamp, and a few words to help me remember. These notes inevitably became Alan, Revived.

This leads me to my good friend, teacher, and roommate, David Thomas. David is featured on Cubby T, Introspective Tea, and Remember Me [Now]. Even before David ever hit an electronic drum pad that had been connected to my laptop, and even before either of us ever knew he would, David had been one of my greatest assets in terms of musical help. It was as if he sold his soul to the devil and got something that he could never repeat, but could convey using his whole body. Without the devil knowing, he threw a few moves my album's way.

I want to thank Chloe Myaskovsky for her amazing artwork - her painting doesn’t look like my identical twin brother, Yuval, but rather it looks like me, Elad. This is according to my mother, our mother, which is saying a lot.

I want to thank Miles Gussin (and David Thomas again), for teaching me that silly word that is as hard to spell as it is to learn, ‘rhythm’. Miles would bring his setup over to my apartment and we’d each stare into our screens working on music day and night, stopping just long enough to help each other out, listen to each others work, and stay high. It’s certainly worth mentioning that in the beginning Miles and i did not have laptops. He would bring his giant computer tower over and i had room on my desk with a separate flatscreen, mouse, keyboard, and cables for him to work on. That’s dedication. There’s more i can say, but Miles knows what’s up.

I want to thank Monica Finc for so many things that i really don’t even know where to begin. She saw me in some of my best and worst times musically. She heard my songs almost as many times as I heard them, and yet she always encouraged me to continue, reminding me when i forgot. She continues to remind me today, and probably still will tomorrow, and that’s just her reminding me. I hope i give her as much as she gives me.

I want to thank wholly everyone for wholly everything. My family in particular is owed an undeniable kudos. You will each be thanked individually, with time and as we meet. Thank you all.

-e.a. 10/10/11

Lover.

2011-09-06T20:41:00.000-07:00

Bukowski, on Los Angeles:

"I'm here to begin with and then you build around that. Or I build around it. I've lived most of my life here and I've simply gotten used to the place. I can't even get lost, sober. And just the other day I found out where the L.A. zoo was. And the women here seem to love old men. I've never seen women like that. At the same time, I'm suicidal and there's the smog to help me out."

Humans, humans, humans..

2011-09-06T20:26:00.000-07:00

"From the archeological record, it's inferred that Neanderthals evolved in Europe or western Asia and spread out from there, stopping when they reached water or some other significant obstacle. (During the ice ages, sea levels were a lot lower than they are now, so there was no English Channel to cross.) This is one of the most basic ways modern humans differ from Neanderthals and, in Pääbo's view, also one of the most intriguing. By about forty-five thousand years ago, modern humans had already reached Australia, a journey that, even mid-ice age, meant crossing open water. Archaic humans like Homo erectus "spread like many other mammals in the Old World," Pääbo told me. "They never came to Madagascar, never to Australia. Neither did Neanderthals. It's only fully modern humans who start this thing of venturing out on the ocean where you don't see land. Part of that is technology, of course; you have to have ships to do it. But there is also, I like to think or say, some madness there. You know? How many people must have sailed out and vanished on the Pacific before you found Easter Island? I mean, it’s ridiculous. And why do you do that? Is it for the glory? For immortality? For curiosity? And now we go to Mars. We never stop."

-Svante Pääbo (Swedish evolutionary biologist)

Article

Po'em

2011-08-28T22:38:00.000-07:00

Berkeley, how fun
How similar you are
too.

[Bukowski, and crew]

So similar,
that street brew.
That jazz trumpet drifting
across the electric pond reflecting,

You,
eclipsing.
You

[And..]

Berkeley, World;
How i have loved..

Familiar to,
familiar as
my brain,
under
stood
you.

"Kaiser is where God lives. I am not so sure it is at churches."

2011-08-26T17:15:00.000-07:00

Mario S.'s Yelp Reviews
http://www.yelp.com/user_details?userid=TgfvhtGxMKjlzLTuq6Hb4g

Oliveto Cafe

I met a first date, Craigslist-derivative, from among the many responses, mostly naked pictures of women derived from one or maybe two men, I guess, who acquire e-mail addresses. I can't quite figure that scam. But, she had long flowing black-brown hair with blue eyes; she wore a gray and white plaid trench with an inexactly similar Gap scarf, part American Indian and Nordic. When she moved, it was like she was scattering pixie dust. Her coral-colored finger nail polish and the smoke that was her hair dazzled. The first thing I noticed was the open drink menu, turned to an early page. It said: "Negroni," which was exactly what I wanted. She ordered a Moscato. Hers was lighter, a bit like Lillet Rouge and mine was viscously thicker and stronger. We immediately enjoyed each other's company and the drinks made us loose and giddy. It is hard to be serious when someone seems to like you. You open up, say just about anything, and you may even read a poem to her. It was the poem I read at the Calistoga Inn and then another one, and she didn't seem to get it. I guess you have to read poems to know what they mean, but I am not like that. You don't have to know the meaning of every word, but you hear them. There's enough of the sense of where something is going to know that there's a wonderful world opening up. So, I stopped. Maybe the woman who was correcting papers at the other table heard me and could appreciate what made me want to be a writer. When I was in intermediate school, I sat in the Kaimuki Public Library listening to T.S. Eliot read "The Wasteland" on a record player. We ordered the beet salad with almonds and watercress or arugula with a subtle dressing. It cannot be beat, pardon the pun. She ordered and got the cannelloni, I the hen. I am allergic to wheat, so I didn't want any of hers. My hen was moist, glazed over with herbs and oil. It was hot and perfectly cooked. I loved the stuffing. There were two more drinks for her, and I had a glass of red I let the waiter pick. I had planned to say: "What you would like, but by then I was less articulate. The man, who made my drink, wore a black shirt. He had a moustache and beard. His glasses were black-rimmed. He was strong and reminded me of a close friend, who had the same smile. It's as if he had traveled the world and he had seen everything and the Negroni was a reflection of his wisdom. And the waiter, I bet Spanish, thinner, I think long hair, and beard. I remember his modesty, and respectfulness. How he made me feel was like I was royalty. I want to tell both of them now, how good I felt, how safe to be myself with this woman, who was making me feel good. Everything the waiter did was kind. The bartender was professional when he brought the drinks. There was no flaw, no complaint, only the sense of being in a fine room with generous friends. In all, the meal and drinks were about $70+. I left $20. It was not just a light meal; it was being in a room with people who made you feel better than you might feel about yourself.

Silver Linings

2011-08-24T14:42:00.000-07:00

Daydream in Blue

2011-08-19T11:29:00.000-07:00

I looked at the setting sun from my post at the coffee shop. I didn’t just look, i stared. Big, beautiful smiling circle that it is, as it were. Almost wholly unreal, on a day like this, how the sun just sits there as if it sat its whole life.

I watched it explode in brilliance and in light, and thought of how now, as people, we forget that we live off of it, we try to take care of it, but at the end and beginning of each day we can’t do much but admire it. Pretty with no doubt, is our glowing orb of life-bearing light.

Then I saw a plane fly by, the kind of plane that ferried human passengers all around through the sky. From one port of air unto another, the plan was to move all the passengers, with little delay, until the end of time. What must those passengers be thinking, thoughts coursing through each of their minds, as they become ferried as they were; to be. From the same port to a similar position, later in time.

Further down the line come more checkpoints and options and dotted lines. This one to go here, as that one goes there, and following the laws of thermodynamics that leads to problems that change but never go and disappear. They just keep on changing, only to reappear as different things in different scenes.

A nightmare, must be this dream! I keep watching the plane trailing away, up higher in elevation with all of those same people that flew out of sunny L.A.

It’s the passengers time; the lucky ones’ sitting on the west side, gently looking at the opposite of this suns’ rise. The moon comes over opposite, gently bugging the tide. The passengers that sit to the east crane their necks, each trying to catch the last glimpse of that big ball fleeting in the sky, before it slips underwater, determined; efficiently having set.

They’re all hopefuls, we’re all hopefuls as of yet. From my position on the ground i thank the gods that i’m not challenging physics, rationality, and Bernouli through heavier-than-air jets. Jets made of space age materials that we as a people have harnessed, pretentious.

And so i digress. I try to do what they told me, in class and in all those years that have now become history lessons. There’s no stop to looking at the light as i trudge forth, as Icarus begins his fall, blind. With boots strapped on so hard that my veins turn black as they beg to be untied. I go running as i begin to notice markings on this planes aft side. Vertical stabilizers marking DHL or Fed-Ex or some other shipping collective leaves only one clear meaning: All those passengers i quantified, all those souls flying over this great divide, all of this strolled in my imagination as i sat perplexed outside...

DMT laced Jibber Jabber from an alternate universe!

2011-08-18T15:17:00.000-07:00

"I feel like the lazy river i've been trying to get to for weeks." -JB

"This is like smoking acid." -JB

[staring at a fire] "Dude, I see a fucking Phoenix staring at me in 3D!" -JA

"I see the fabric of the fire." -JA

"This is a shamanic thing." -JB

"I haven't seen avatar but this shit is way better."

"They should make a 3D movie of just fire in HD." -JB

"I want to get all magic-schoolbus on this [fire]." -JB

Image by samantha magowan

(( Anyone else have any memorable chemical quotes? ))

From the Artoons Series

2011-07-27T02:55:00.000-07:00

by Peter Duggan

Courtesy of the Guardian
(( http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/series/peter-duggan-artoons ))

Bukowski Starter Kit

2011-07-12T01:55:00.000-07:00

(by Charles Bukowski)

ah

flamingo pain,
burnt fingers trying to
light the last of this
joint
in a place described
by terrified ladies
with money in their purses
as a “rat hole.”

“you can spit on the floor here,”
I tell them.

but no, from
a safe
distance, it appears
they’d rather discuss my poetry.

one thousand dollars

all of my knowledge about horse racing
told me that this was a sure bet.
I bet one thousand to win.
the horse had post one
at 6 furlongs.

the bell rang and they came
out of the gate.

my horse turned left
ran through the fence
fell down and
died
right there
at 7/5.

when I tell people this story
they don't say
anything.

sometimes there's nothing to say
about
death.

Lovely po(e)m

2011-07-06T02:22:00.000-07:00

‘The skin on the back of your ear feels so weird’, he said
‘No, the skin on the back of your ear feels so weird’, she said
Her green eyes locked with his,
He stirred his coffee, she stirred her tea.

Blast from the ill-literate past

2011-07-04T02:27:00.000-07:00

For a long time i wondered what drugs would do
Then i took them
And knew for ever that i knew.

And i know
That it's been four years
and I seem to have been thinking
About maybe, when
I should stop drinking.

But it's been about
Four years
Since i've been thinking, and thinking,
Thinking that i thought i knew.
Because i forgot what i saw
The things that i thought
And the experiences washing over me
Like a tide in an astrological inquisition.

It all happened so slooowly

2011-04-03T13:44:00.000-07:00

"The fact is, i don't want my book to be taken lightly.
Telling these memories is so painful for me.
It's already been six years since my friend went away taking his sheep with him.
If i try to describe him here, it's so i won't forget him.
It's sad to forget a friend

Not everyone has had a friend.
And i might become like the grown-ups who are no longer interested in anything but the numbers.
Which is still another reason why i've bought a box of paints and some pencils."

-antoine de saint-exupéry

David Baerwald via Sean Penn

2011-04-03T02:20:00.000-07:00

"I wake up and you're not there
But your clothes are in the closet
And your scent's in the air
If it ain't an answer
I don't care
Why was I born?
Well I was born to love you..."

-d.b

[Thanks to coincidental perspective laced epiphanies]

2011-03-15T01:57:00.000-07:00

My eyes cant believe what they’re seeing;
Dreams of you receding,
Like waves
In a shallow bowl of water
There comes a tug.

With me in it,
And looking out through the glass,
And from within its bounds;

I swim as i walk,
I pace back.
And forth,
and back.

[No one talks]

And as the levels drop
The last few level thoughts,
Writhe
As the few last bubbles
Float up, from the bottom
They burst, up top.

And In certain angles,
As i lay on the ground
In this bowl that is life,
The that that is me
Shoots a quick glance back.

My eyes cant believe what they’re seeing;
Dreams of you receding
Like waves
In a shallow bowl of water
Getting drained.

A Dialogue, or An Assorted Platter of Thoughts

2011-03-01T01:22:00.000-08:00

'Life is like dancing. If we have a big floor, many people will dance. Some will get mad when the rhythm changes. But life is changing all the time"
-Miguel Angel Ruiz

"But who prays for Satan? Who in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner than needed it most?"
-Mark Twain

"If we open a quarrel between past and present, we shall find that we have lost the future."
-Winston Churchill

"In three words i can sum up everything i've learned about life: It goes on."
-Robert Frost

"They look behind at every step and believe it is a dream."
-William Blake

'Richard Feynman and His Diagrams' by Orlando Leibovitz

"There is a smile of love. And there is a smile of deceit. And there is a smile of smiles. When these two smiles meet."
-William Blake

Shadowtricks.

2011-02-21T13:49:00.000-08:00

One must hate himself if he hates his shadow,
Everything it stands for, but who's the one standing?
Cut down the middle, split – I've meddled
Like civil war, a country bent – but standing.

So when it falls, will I rise?
If it's the moon, am I the tide?
If I blame my luck on his stride,
Will the sun shine green on that other side?

Oh, that boy - his wheel/squeaks incessantly,
Don't you hear?
But is that what causes the old floor to creak?
If aged oak is as true as day,
Then let Dylan say as he do,
I am meek as wood, 'tis true.

Not dead, yet.

2011-02-12T12:24:00.000-08:00

[Personal Selections of Nietzches Epigrams, out of 'Beyond Good And Evil']

72. Not the intensity but the duration of high feelings makes high men.

76. Under peaceful conditions a warlike man sets upon himself.

79. A soul that knows it is loved but does not itself love betrays its sediment: what is at the bottom comes up.

81. It is terrible to die of thirst in the ocean. Do you have to salt your truth so heavily that it does not even-quench thirst any more?

88. One begins to mistrust very clever people when they become embarrassed.

97. What? A great man? I always see only the actor of his own ideal.

98. If we train our conscience, it kisses us while it hurts us.

104. Not their love of men but the impotence of their love of men keeps the Christians of today from-burning us.*

106. In music the passions enjoy themselves.

113. "You want to prepossess him in your favor? Then pretend to be embarrassed by his presence-"**

117. The will to overcome an affect is ultimately only the will of another, or of several other, affects.

118. There is an innocence in admiration; it is found in those to whom it has never yet occurred that they, too, might be admired some day.

123. Even concubinage has been corrupted-by marriage.

125. When we have to change our mind about a person, we hold the inconveniences he causes us very much against him.

126. A people*** is a detour of nature to get to six or seven great men.-Yes, and then to get around them.

[ 129. The devil has the broadest perspectives for God; therefore he keeps so far away from God-the devil being the most ancient friend of wisdom. ]

131. The sexes deceive themselves about each other-because at the bottom they honor and love only themselves (or their own ideal, to put it more pleasantly). Thus man likes woman peaceful-but woman is essentially unpeaceful, like a cat, however well she may have trained herself to seem peaceable.

132. One is best punished for one's virtues.

134 All credibility, all good conscience, all evidence of truth come only from the senses.

166. Even when the mouth lies, the way it looks still tells the truth.

175. In the end one loves one's desire and not what is desired.

180. There is an innocence in lying which is the sign of good faith in a cause.

[ 184. The high spirits of kindness may look like malice. ]

[ 185. "I don't like him."-Why?- "I am not equal to him." - Has any human being ever answered that way? ]

*If Christians were really passionately concerned for the salvation of their fellow men in the hereafter, they would still burn those whose heresies lead legions into eternal damnation.

** My own asterisk goes to #88?

***Ein Volk: the polemical and sarcastic thrust of this epigram depends on the heavy reliance of German nationalism-both in Nietzche's time and in the twentieth century-on the mystique of the Volk

A Story [with Mike]

2010-09-14T01:32:00.000-07:00

I.

I remember the day as if it were just a few days ago, how many I don't know. The sun came up as the clouds parted, birds began making poetic noises in vain attempts to understand one another, and the familiar, unfortunate smell of tobacco wafted downwind towards me, as it always seems to do. There I sat idly, scratching my head at the cafe, wondering; waiting.

“I don't get it.” I said, aloud. A flash of a Mick Jagger effigy with a mechanical mouth, singing about needing something he wanted hummed through my head. I shook my head, and the lights dimmed.

It was at that very point when my lingering frustration that involved groups of people, grouping together, came up: “Who are we, anyway?” I thought to myself. Nothing but a bunch of insolent- “People.” Answered Mike, to a question that was obviously rhetorical. And as rhetorical-question-answers often go, I found it to be both conclusively true and stupid. And furthermore, uncalled for.

Mike beamed with sincerity as my face went flush with the depressing hue of stale teen angst. Maintaining eye contact, I began formulating a plan to kill him and eat his body – not just for the protein and assorted nutrients, but also to join the hordes of people who have joined a Club not far from the lowly depths of the Mile High Club. The Club in question was a gathering that shone bright the proverbial light at the other end of the tunnel: the Perfect Crimes Club. Yet as quickly as it had began, my light-hearted fantasy of a perfect world faded into a dramatic picture of battle.

What if, instead of focusing on lowly single digit crime sprees, I attempted to incite a revolution? It didn't matter, what it was about, really. That I knew from countless examples of the false tenets of major religions and the layered paradigms of social thought and strategy. Assumptions that remain proved conclusively 'true' based on faith and numbers, and perhaps some elbow grease to hold the entire mess together. But another daydream took place!

Another daydream took place, this one awash with a God-sent-me-here attitude followed by a series of moving-people-out-of-the-way motions. I finally knew what I had dropped out of college for – to figuratively incite the revolution of a gigantic group of hopelessly hopeless people, to give them something to first fight about, and then smile about. I would commence with my perhaps megalomania-induced, grand scale social psychology experiment. I would cast an entire group of people, unified in their collective despair, against another, significantly smaller and more rich group of people - and I wouldn't even have to think of a team name. My proponents? The Untouchables, of India.

Bereft with hope, these Untouchables were the perfect medium to impregnate with my voracious idea. Not to mention that I felt quite the altruist sitting at the coffee shop with Mike that day, periodically letting out laughs that would make both Rupert Murdoch and Bernie Madoff blush with envy, staring out as a cow grazing would, across the masses of materialistic splendor that I would happily skip over to achieve my end-goals. The most dangerous game was a story of human nature perverted to a point by an individual who owned an island. Mine, I reasoned, was a story violent and vile in its truthful virtue; the everlasting story of human nature.

My dream had reached a Mariah Carey-like climax, but now it was time to gain weight. Mike shook me as I stared as a cow grazing would (oriented in a north-south position), “Let's hit the pot-shop,” he said, in a tone unbelieving that his request could be feasibly granted, “You know, get some herb.”

'Get some herb', I repeated to myself. The way he shad aid it made me shudder. If any other state looked at the California Example of Marijuana Legalization they would find out just how quickly things went awry: blatant examples of legalized 'drug-dealing apartments shops', countless amounts of illegally run 'Marijuana Collectives' operating well within 1000 feet of public schools, and pro-pot advertisements virtually everywhere.

As far as the eye could see, a picturesque suburban landscape lay littered with small plastic medicinal tubes with stickers that boasted what city had last been successfully grown in, what area code remained lenient in green matters, and what strain proved to be hip. What other state in their right mind would attempt releasing their ban on the green leaf with results like this?

Visibly annoyed, Mike grabbed me by the shoulder and shook me once more, so we got the pot.

II.
'The Sickness'

Back at the apartment I dragged opposite the lit, ever-receding end of the joint. I could feel the sickness take a step back, pick up its fists as if ready to fight only to motion with one hand that a second or two would be necessary. Finally, it began taking steps back and fell asleep pantomime on what appeared to be a chair laying near the door. The sickness was gone, and this plant was perfection.

One could practically see groups of societal undergrowth arranged darkly, in a circle, laughing lazily, passing lit yellow-wrapped sticks around. Soon the world would find itself covered in a colorful mix of these small plastic medicinal tubes and assorted 'sticks and stems', the melting pot of yesterday quickly being overridden to a simmer, to become tomorrows medicinal stew.

III.

Mike fell asleep at the apartment so I took a bike ride around the block. A unique transparent fog hung in the air, thick and like a blanket, sagging. The pedals clanked in rhythm as the freewheel kept time and etched notes that rang for days. The clouds that lay above bore scenes of fluffy armor, unfolding.

Each formation of cloud recreated an aging youthful fantasy of cute, pillow-armored, fighting animals profiled, before battle. I began thinking of how similar the cruel realities of war would be for both humans and animals, so relentless and unforgiving in its ugly consequence – even for one wearing coats of cloud-mail.

And then it happened - a gargantuan flurry of red motion and machine had narrowly avoided colliding with me and had veered too far left into oncoming traffic. Pedaling again, I realized there was more honking accompanied with most of the sounds and smells associated with burning rubber.

I checked the crotch of my pants to make sure that I hadn't wet them. I hadn't, but it was close. No one checks for no reason. I just couldn't believe: In ancient Rome, the streets were alive with chariots, horses, slaves, animals - and here, in this bustling megalopolis of millions of modern people, complete with a complex light-controlled traffic-controlling infrastructure – here, we couldn't handle this? A lone biker in the midst?

Frustrated, I forged a path to the corner store. The corner store is also known as the 'convenience store', for rather obvious reasons. Inside, they will sell you every vice you could want, except for marijuana.

IV.

I walked into the convenience store feeling like I had just cheated death. That's another subtle joy and reason why I ride a bike on a daily basis, because it really makes you stop and think. It makes you lick your finger and put it to the wind even when you know exactly where and how hard the wind is blowing from; because it's obvious. Because your hat flew away in the wind, behind you, and when you chased it, it fell in the gutter and got soiled and you began to cry.

So I went inside and got an ice cream bar. Though it wasn't that easy. I had to weigh out and strike a gentle balance between the sacred forces of logic, and reason. Intuition told me that I had wanted ice cream, and I knew that to be true - but two of my favorite brands had merged together to fight for the cause of my ultimate cold-food desire. I stood there, a mentally beat man. Lost in anguish I pondered, “Klondike, or Snickers, Klondike or Snickers?” but couldn't know, I couldn't know.

I began to think of the almost quantum amount of things I would do for a Klondike bar at that time, it was an infinite and temporal regression of my frontal lobes and I felt like it was necessary to achieve it in a snack. I stood there though, quiet, silent and had realized quite suddenly, that I would do almost anything feasible of man, for a Klondike bar. Even, in general.

It was then that, though that a thought wafted over me and I began to think of Heaven and Hell, and right and wrong. The eternal struggle; Good versus Evil. The color black and the color, white. Opposites and things opposite to them. All of these are thoughts that I thought at that moment, which is, and was, and always will be the same moment that I saw the Snickers Ice Cream Bar.

I laid eye on the glorious Snickers bar almost immediately following my previous thought. That glorious king size looking bar just begged me for my forgiveness, and I was just ready and willing to accept. Such a subtle charm, I thought to myself, Such a subtle charm! I was living the life of a man, in denial. That Snickers was the devil, and I knew it. I was like the U.S. Supreme Court Justice who said that he'd know pornography when he saw it. It was awful, though. Simply awful. So I got the Klondike bar and rode my bike home slowly, with one hand.

To be continued.

: ) / :(

2010-09-09T13:17:00.000-07:00

Drug Talk
E. Allweil

You don't know how much it bothers me that I do drugs. Not 'bother' in the sense that it was wrong, and it's a bad thing, and that I shouldn't have done it. Rather, a bother like certain heartbreak; an ever present constant reminder of the fact. A fact like you've done it: you did it and now it can't be taken back. It's been done and it's over, but it keeps coming up.

I think it's somehow due to the intertwining of the senses. You smell the taste that got you to feel high. And it comes up again, when it is smelled on the street or worse, in a friend of a friends, or a given family's function. It flirts with your mind and permeates the soul, the smell of opium on a crisp day, the lush verdant green of a sticky smoke, a lovers lips tinged with a tar like tobacco.

Yet sometimes life reaches up and touches the top of the objective happiness chart and one begins to go over feelings that brought them great joys and pleasures. With a smile one continues to go about the pleasantries of daily existence; the smells, the feeling, the various joy. The people, the places, the events, and the experiences, all shared underneath the umbrella nest.

Until a thought creeps in, familiar and forgiving at first, but quietly becoming hostile in its pretense. A 'what if' moment, of unrefined decision, an executive decision waiting to be made, one with implications both great and small, and one that will define a certain avenue of your life forever.

Nothing bad, though. Perhaps a rocky road of truth that would have lay uncovered, hidden, hiding; growing recessively and silently in the overgrowth, just waiting to be awakened. Beckoning to be heard in a forest of thought. An El Dorado of potential for pretentious thinkers.

So you did it, and now its been done. No turning back, you're on the road to El Dorado! And yet a new thought springs up. Like fingers quick to point blame.

You remember a time past, one long ago that seemed only to exist in a bubble. Thousands of plants surrounded you, and so you reasoned that at some point they must have grown. You saw them hard at work, building as they were being built. Allocating resources left and right, their self-perpetuated growth happening, the structure closing in. A garden was forming it seemed. The very light was being converted into sugars and building together from the bottom, the sides, and the ground, up and in.

Everything was in a state of tug. Pulling and tugging on one plant over, and then the next. Each gravity being pulled and pulling, each plant now becoming part of a phalanx, each strain being pushed for their own weight and their own victory, each species for themselves until the few realized that the odds go up, for all of them, if they work together.

With every passing moment, comes more understanding. The image on the minds screen closes in on truth and begins to respond. It's as if in seeing truth it becomes a blatant roar. Or rather, it became a blatant roar. Once then, one looks around and slowly realizes that the garden is walled in, and in this realization comes the thought that in this moment of understanding, lay all of the time in the world.

This digression into a plane holds true an eternal example of a prime moment of intuition and understanding. The Ohm that everyone spoke so highly of, that that is recognizing every individual noise and sound, knowing that every drop of water flowing through the river took the high road down. Maybe this was it.

A wise man once said, 'A drop drops confused in the midst of mist and opts for Ohm, the path of least resistance'. Explaining further that this is the weary way of a conservative world trying to stick to what it's been doing for so long that it deems it best. And so it trickles down with the assurance that all will soon pass, and that it will find itself back on top of the mountain of reason, for reasons unknown, but sacredly kept. Because that is the way.

Again, I find myself on a plateau built of rational thought. Screaming from the top down, takes time until it is understood below. 'So many reasons,' the bottom ponders, 'for why he might be saying this'. A rock moves laterally underfoot and I struggle to regain balance as it crashes down below. Introspection. So I go down a different road, for here I've gone too far.

I don't know much about what I just learned, but I took this:

In the beginning I said that 'no one would know how much it bothered me that I do drugs', and I then digressed into an inquiry on 'bother(s)'. I said that this bother was recurring like an itch; begging to be scratched. I likened it to many things. Like, it doesn't matter how hard you scrub when you brush your teeth, it wont get them any whiter. It doesn't matter how much you try to get at it and where you attempt to reach it, or anything of the sort. It's ever present and will remain a constant for as long as it will linger, and until you forget. Which seems like purgatory until you collect reason.

The text also illustrates a substantial loss in memory, during and 'in' the formation of creating new memories. Many varying points were brought up in the text from the beginning to the end, and each time a different field of associated thoughts were swept in. Some sentences were about shortcomings and others were about goals. All involved the world and the reality of our construct as we know it. Mentally it formed an elegant Venn diagram mosaic, many times larger and smaller.

In the formation of new memories, and as they come along new ideas appear many and varied at a time. Some calculations and notes become lost in the process, and so they must be noted and redrawn again. Like reading a sentence over to better understand it. You reach a crossroads of sorts. If you don't understand it you begin achieving a different, perhaps less objective vision than the one you are trying to parallel. So a wise person would reread the sentence until they fully understood for the sake of knowing what it was that was implied.

So there's still hope, is what I was getting at. Different things must be significantly characterized in hierarchies of value, values, and importance. And different things must be processed one at a time, quickly, for different reasons and seemingly all at once, but all in a single file. Each given a moments time.

So what is this paper talking about, if anything at all? Perhaps that the answer to all of it lies in the pursuit. That you can technically step in the same river twice, and on a long enough time line, that anything is possible. That these fun disproportionate truths are what make life worth living. So much larger and so much smaller than the rest of us, and in provocative ways too. It keeps things fresh and interesting, change 'is what we need', right? And after needing change you step into the river again, but this time it's dried up, like some post-apocalyptic ending to a short story, or essay involving few things but 'philosophy'. Consider this paper a footnote for the new dawn.

Grass-hoppers.

2010-08-24T13:14:00.000-07:00

At first the truths Phaedrus began to pursue were lateral truths; no longer the frontal truths of science, those toward which the discipline pointed, but the kind of truth you see laterally, out of the corner of your eye. In a laboratory situation, when your whole procedure goes haywire, when everything goes wrong or is indeterminate or is so screwed up by unexpected results you can't make head or tail out of anything, you start looking laterally. That's a word he later used to describe a growth of knowledge that doesn't move forward like an arrow in flight, but expands sideways, like an arrow enlarging in flight, or like the archer, discovering that although he has hit the bull's-eye and won the prize, his head is on a pillow and the sun is coming in the window. Lateral knowledge is knowledge that's from a wholly unexpected direction, from a direction that's not even understood as a direction until the knowledge forces itself upon one. Lateral truths point to the falseness of axioms and postulates underlying one's existing system of getting at truth.
To all appearances he was just drifting. In actuality he was just drifting. Drifting is what one does when looking at lateral truth. He couldn't follow any known method of procedure to uncover its cause because it was these methods and procedures that were all screwed up in the first place. So he drifted. That was all he could do.

-Robert M. Pirsig
'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance'

Real Life Old Timer

2010-07-08T20:16:00.000-07:00

COLTON HARRIS-MOORE - aka 'the barefoot bandit' is at it again. That, or he's just never stopped.

Last sighting: The Bahamas, after crashing a single-engined Cessna he flew over 1,000 miles to get there.

He was 18 and stealing airplanes and crash landing them away from authorites. He's 19 now, about 6'5 and still at it.

Keep running, kid!

Colton Harris-Moore

Bahama Chase Article

And he's non-violent to boot!

Colton Harris-Moore Fan Club!

More posts to follow, i promise.

-e.

High Times, May 1978

2010-06-03T12:29:00.000-07:00

WHY I LOVE TO LIVE FAST
Andy Warhol
May 1978

FIRST OF ALL, IT'S best to be born fast, because it hurts, and it's best to die fast, because it hurts, but I think if you were born and died within that minute, that would be the best life, because the priest says that way you're guaranteed to go to heaven. He says you're born to die. “Born to die” – you could write a song about it.
I know I love to live fast because all my favorite things are the fastest – the new Polaroid Super 8 movie camera, the Roy Rogers Family-Style and Sony tape recorders, the Concorde, drive-in movies (because you can go in your pajamas). And my favorite person is Tom Seaver, because he pitches the fast ball and he gave me the fast bat I'm holding in this picture taken by the fastest photographer in America.
Ever since I was a kid I've wanted to live as fast as I could, so I always try to find ways to do things faster: I like to sleep fast, that's when you just snooze, and I like to love fast, that's when you have a one-night affair (but remember, a fast person can never have any kind of relationship with a slow person). And I really like Swanson's TV dinners when you have friends over, because there are no greasy dishes to think about afterwards. When I get up in the morning, it doesn't take me any time to get ready for work because I wear the same thing every day. So uniforms are great, and the fastest uniform today is the jumpsuit: you just jump in it, jump out the door, and jump to work.
Some people complain that you should have slow sex-- like in India I head that it takes fourteen hours-- but then they have all these problems with, what do they call it, premature ejaculation? See, I always thought that was the best kind. You should never even get it in before you come. I mean, you might be able to get to the point where you just shoot it inside your pants, thinking about it, and that would be the best.
Frankly, in my opinion, there's nothing it's good to do slow, so the only thing is, how to live fast if you live slow? I don't know anyone who takes amphetamines anymore, but you could hang around with girls who take diet pills, because they'll get you nervous and jittery and that makes you go fast. But what really makes you go fast is if you knit: you never can stop once you get started, and it teaches you that it's best to keep doing something all the time because that way you live faster and faster. I paint faster now, because I use a sponge, and I make movies faster, but I think new movies will be even faster, like only half an hour. I mean, for me time goes by so fast I find myself asking everybody on Friday if it's still Monday.
Funnily enough, America isn't the fastest country. They live faster in Japan, but the Japanese are such completely different people you can't make any comparisons. And, anyway, fast Americans are the most glamorous people: they do more, see more, learn more, and get more money because they get fast money. I love to live fast, because then you don't have to think about anything. For example, writing this took me four minutes – which is the time it takes to eat a Big Mac – so I did it in my lunch minutes, and I was glad because, instead of just eating and talking to the kids in the office about my problems, I was eating and writing an article for High Times, so I got more done and made more money and felt better faster. And that's what we're here for, isn't it?

Quanta by ETGAR KERET

2010-05-13T19:03:00.001-07:00

I've mentioned the name 'Etgar Keret' quite a bit as of late. Seldom do people follow up on my Biblical beggings, swearing to this and to that about his work, begging with furtive hand gestures that this gentle mans' work is nothing short of exemplary. But basic laws of human nature apply and too many of you have settled into the comfort of the couch.

So, without further ado, a short by Etgar Keret, simply titled 'Quanta'...

Quanta.

On Yom Kippur Eve, the quanta went to ask Einstein for his forgiveness. “I'm not home,” Einstein yelled at them from behind his locked door. On their way back, people swore loudly at them through the windows, and someone even threw a can. The quanta pretended not to care, but deep in their hearts they were really hurt. Nobody understands the quanta, everybody hates them.
“You parasites,” people would shout at them as they walked down the road.
“Go serve in the army.”
“We wanted to, actually,” the quanta would try to explain, “but the army wouldn't take us because we're so tiny.” Not that anyone listened. Nobody listens to the quanta when they try to defend themselves, but when they say something that can be interpreted negatively, well, then everyone's all ears. The quanta can make the most innocent statement, like “Look, there's a cat!” and right away they're saying on the news how the quanta were stirring up trouble and they rush off to interview Schrödinger. All in all, the media hated the quanta worse than anybody, because once the quanta had spoken at an IBM press conference about how the very act of viewing had an effect on an event, and all the journalists thought the quanta were lobbying to keep them from covering the Intifada. The quanta could insist as much as they wanted that this wasn't at all what they meant and that they had no political agenda whatsoever, but nobody would believe them anyway. Everyone knew they were friends of the government's Chief Scientist.
Loads of people think the quanta are indifferent, that they have no feelings, but it simply isn't true. On Friday, after the program about the bombing of Hiroshima, they were interviewed in the studio in Jerusalem. They could barely talk. They just sat there facing the open mike and sniffling, and all the viewers at home, who didn't know the quanta very well, thought they were avoiding the question and didn't realize the quanta were crying What's sad is that even if the quanta were to write dozens of letters to the editors of all the scientific journals in the world and prove beyond a doubt that people had taken advantage of their naiveté, and that they'd never ever imagined it would end that way, it wouldn't do them any good, because nobody understands the quanta. The physicists least of all.

A Worthy Rep

2010-05-02T11:27:00.000-07:00

This goes out to my favourite pastime as of late; [figuratively put] losing my mind one picture at a time, in an arrangement, ornate, as if godly met, or maybe the code for all life made, is random?

In plain English:
GreyHandGang is a blog that is an assortment of pictures uploaded one by one. Whoever chose them has quite the keen eye. This blog has been a staple of 'my' time lately. Give it a whirl.

http://greyhandgang.com/

-e.

(( El4D ))

2010-04-19T13:03:00.000-07:00

New tunes for interested parties.

(I suspect a leak of schizophrenic sorts)

Whoops, i slipped it on purpose.

Freudian dick.

http://drop.io/el4d_music

Edgar Allan Poe, mmm.

2010-04-17T19:56:00.000-07:00

For a long time i wondered what drugs would do
Then i took them
And knew for ever that i knew.

Though i forgot what i saw
and things that i thought
The experience washed over me
Like tide in an astrological inquisition.

As creeping misery worried a slippery felt down my side.
Creeping worries matched those, parallel in stride..

So i decided to document it:

I took pictures of my skin,
Then darkened it with ash-dust.
I wanted the colour
So I turned the lights up

[For contrast]

But each time as the pixel grew
As the light illuminated the charcoal
And it changed hue
So subtly, it went
from a black to a red

And as the walls
Like the Mirrors
grew with intensity
The brighter they grew

I laughed
with misery
for the darkness knew.

'What?' i asked
[Do drugs do]

As the sunlight fades in a darkened room,
Different quests embark
On questions they already knew

[A facet of drugs and what they do]

(Looped to Pulp Fictions 'Zed's Dead' dialogue 3/21/10)

Personals.

2010-04-17T18:41:00.001-07:00

Colour coordinates and technical difficulties make time lapse reason

2010-03-11T14:37:00.000-08:00

Worth a mention..

2010-03-09T13:07:00.000-08:00

"Paradoxically, perhaps, the photographer without a name creates extraordinary art by restoring the identities of the nameless."

Anonymous 28mm shooting, ex-graffiti artist, now street 'photograffeur', JR broadens the horizons..

More on JR here..

The Sweet Root

2010-03-03T14:47:00.000-08:00

My friend Miles Gussin and myself had embarked on a musical journey, months past. Aptly titled 'The Sweet Root' our song-mix has finally come to fruition.

An interview, 13 minute mix-demo, and a bonus track [Strings] are all available for download (pro-bono) at Radio Hotbodies, presented by our good friend Josh Boyd.

The mix-list goes as follows:

1. Fur Edith/The Schizophrenic Sound
2. Test 1 <--- Miles
3. Alan, Revived
4. Sample Two
5. Beginning <--- Miles

Enjoi

[picture up top is 'Ecstasy' by 0M3R]

Bank on Banksy

2010-03-02T13:43:00.000-08:00

“I won’t be doing any more big gallery shows for a while, it’s all a bit dodgy. I’ve come into contact with a lot more villains since I moved from vandalism into selling paintings. The art world is full of shady people peddling bright colours. Anti-graffiti groups like to say tagging intimidates people, but not as much as modern art. That stuff is deliberately designed to make normal people feel stupid. I could try and get more legitimate mural work, but scaling a drainpipe is still probably a lot easier than getting an original idea past a committee.”

-Banksy

The entire intelligent, eye-opening interview can be had here..

In Regards [to time healing all wounds],

2010-02-25T19:31:00.000-08:00

i don't think it does. I think it gives an opportunity for new scars to form, if anything. And if anything, time stretches our pores and pours salt into them as it grinds away the gears of each minute as they turn to day. And yet, the most peculiar aspect to time must be noting the familiar beauty of endless days passed, once enough time has elapsed to note them.

However, the last thing i want getting between us is, philosophy.

((incoherent mumbles, brooding))

Well, by god.

Then i'll do my best to disappear.

Only to reappear again in times of great strain and/or moral equilibrium.

And if you get nothing else from me, then put this into your pocket:

Life is no fairy-tale, my love. And the morals that were written in all the great books, that humans reflect on with a kind of innate, optimistic and nostalgic familiarity, were only metaphors set into script by humans, too.

And so to conclude, i suppose,

Darling; take your time.

I want all to be well, and only more for all to be well.

But i'm fully aware that this shit comes in circles and we'll be here, together or separate, separately here in situations like this again.

I'm not dead

2010-02-16T15:10:00.001-08:00

I've just been dreaming.
And I'm not sick,
For I was just singing.

Things could be worse now
And yet isn't.

All i can think about is
World history and vogue.
They keep on spinning.

Saw Wei said:

2010-02-01T14:57:00.000-08:00

Arensberg said:
Only once you have
experienced great pain
And madness
And like an adolescent
Thought the blurred
photo of a model
Great art
Can you call it
heartbreak.
Millions of people
who know how to love
Please clap your gilded
hands
And laugh out loud.

Then Saw Wei was put in jail for two years.

The first letter of each of the lines in the [translated] Burmese poem esoterically criticize the head of Burma's military junta leader, General Than Shwe, by reading something akin to 'General Than Shwe is crazy with power'.

[Please clap your gilded hands]..

Alice.

2010-01-28T17:47:00.001-08:00

Lao Tzu said:

Fill your bowl to the brim
And it will spill.
Keep sharpening your knife
And it will blunt.
Chase after money and security
And your heart will never unclench.
Care about people's approval
And you will be their prisoner.

Do your work, then step back.
The only path to serenity.

"A man whose only tool is a hammer analyzes every problem in terms of nails"

2010-01-26T15:06:00.000-08:00

O crescimento pelo crescimento é a ideologia da célula cancerígena.

2010-01-18T14:36:00.000-08:00

“During 1860, the citizens of Point Pleasant, Ohio, were distressed by the daily sight of a slightly rundown-looking store clerk in his late thirties. The man had been in the military, resigned under suspicious circumstances, failed at farming, failed at real estate, and ended up working in his father's leather-goods store. He was a poor excuse for a salesman, a worse-than-incompetent bill collector, and didn't even seem to know the establishment's stock. What's more, there were rumours that he had a problem with the bottle. Then, in 1861, the Civil War broke out, and the town failure enlisted in a regiment of volunteers. Less than two years later, he was promoted to major general. Eventually, he became president. His name was Ulysses S. Grant.”

--Excerpt from Howard Blooms' 'The Lucifer Principle'

[in Moscow]

Introducing Alexandre Farto aka 'Vhils'

Vhils uses a giant assortment of mediums and techniques to achieve his brilliant art; from etching into dilapidated stucco walls to homemade bleach concoctions and from said homemade bleach concoctions to good old fashioned Pollock inspired paint chucks, Vhils leaves each piece adorned with his unique weather-stripped signature. These pieces only get better with time.

http://alexandrefarto.com/

“Nothing Lasts Forever”

'Untitled'

'Burned Memories'

Introducing fellow musician, artist, and friend; Colin McCaffrey.

O Fortuna (2007) - Graphite

Self Portrait (2007) - Pen, charcoal, and marker.

Dans Smile 2007 - Pen, colored pencil, and marker – from a photo where Dan Anderson (a member of the Paul T. Anderson clan), had painstakingly kicked his own teeth out at a show.

Self Portrait (2008) - Tissue paper and sharpies on cardboard

Untitled (2008)

Autophagy 2007 - Colored pencils and pen and chalk. Freehand duplicate of circulating postcard.

"Growth for the sake of growth is the idealogy of the cancer cell"
(O crescimento pelo crescimento é a ideologia da célula cancerígena.)
-Edward Abbey

Klone in Tel-Aviv (Photo courtesy of Unurth.com)

By the way, Unurth is definitely worth a check-out, their email list is unprecedented – new street art from around the world every day!

2010-01-10T12:31:00.000-08:00

Worked til close Wednesday and then showered, left for Santa Cruz with Shonna at ~ 11:00pm, made good time. Hung out with the brilliant artist Colin McCaffrey and then trekked over to San Jose to catch the ending of the Anno Domini Gallery's ( www.galleryad.com ) 9th annual Fresh Produce exhibition.

It was unreal, to say the least. Immediately upon arrival I was confronted by a familiar friend of epic proportions gracing the wall of the Anno Domini Gallery, and standing triumphantly [having stood so] since 2008.

Shonna and I met with Cherri Lakey and Brian Eder who run the Anno Domini gallery and they were very cool, passionate, and genuine people. They showed us around the exhibition, let us take a few pictures, and shared some familiar sentiments regarding art of this nature, in a world like this, at a time like now.

It was a beautiful welcome to a wonderful city, and as we left I wondered how soon we'd be back. The north continues to tug like a magnet at the strings that guide my heart. <3

Saddo of Berlin, Germany

Klone of Tel-Aviv, Israel
(close-up of tile collage)

Gabby Nathan of Tel Aviv, Israel

Danielle Duer of Nashville, TN

[w/ Rodrigo Obranco of Sao Paulo, Brazil
'Untitled #3'
in background]

Binho Martins of Americana/Sao Paulo

Benjamin de Brousse of Paris, France
'Miss Pink Ribbon'

Virgilio Neto of Brasilia, Brazil

Jermiah Maddock of New York City, NY

Crystal Morey of Oakland, CA

More coming soon!
Thanks for stopping by.
Art warms the soul.

-e.

Visual Altruists of the New Decade

2010-01-05T14:17:00.000-08:00

((Sandy Skoglund - Shimmering Madness))

Fresh Produce '09 at the Anno Domini gallery in San Jose.
An international Street Art gallery representing some of the finest, most revolutionary artists of the past decade from around the world.
A collaboration of visual altruists, on through the 9th of January.

http://www.galleryad.com/art/archives/art/backroom/fresh_produce_09/

((Jeremiah Maddick - Fistful Mouthful))

((Exercise these tongue-tied worries)) Know Hope & Co.

((Chris Warner & Co. - "Iraqi Christmas", U.S. Occupation of Iraq, 2009))

((Andreas Gursky - 99 Cents))

((Robert Polidori - Versailles))

((Comte Rizzoli))

((Richard Misrach - Submerged House Foundation, Salton Sea))

((E. Allweil - Father))

Introducing AITCH (Saint Sinners)

((Aitch - Cute, Calm V.))

((Aitch - Cute, Calm III.))

((Aitch - Cute, Calm II.))

In an abandoned 19th century ruin in South Tel Aviv, four local artists with international roots invited the public to see what they’ve been up to on weekends.

Know Hope, Klone, Zero Cents and Foma spend Saturdays decorating the streets and buildings of Israel’s seaside conurbation together. One such Sabbath they stumbled into an old house in the American Colony.

“Before the building was nothing, now there’s an art show in its ruin. Soon the art show will be gone and replaced with something else. Everything we have now will be a memory. I guess that’s what we’re trying to get at,” ponders Zero Cents.

http://www.juxtapoz.com/Top100/6-kindred-times-and-future-goodbyes-know-hope-klone-zero-cents-and-foma-in-tel-aviv-israel

((Know Hope, Klone, Foma <3, Zero Cents - Kindred Times))

((Lia Fenix - Childhood Flavor))

((Lia Fenix - Trapezists))

((Lia Fenix - Rubiks))

((Nan Goldin - Snow Cry))

((Natasha Kissel - Bubblerock, 2006))

((Saddo - With V.))

((Saddo - With III.))

((Kiersten Essenpreis - Born on a Pirate Ship))

((Devin McGrath - Somehow I Forgot))

((Devin McGrath - Run))

It's still winter; this is our [slightly biased] world

2009-12-23T16:00:00.001-08:00

[TRANSPARENT SEA CUCUMBER]

[SISSO THE SWIFT gets a wing repair, Tel-Aviv]

[ROMANIAN REVOLUTION]

[KYRGYSTAN POLICE OFFICERS]

[FIRE, Philippines]

[EXERCISE, India]

[London, UK]

[R.I.P. Craigie Aitchison]

[PROOF, Japan]

[AIRPLANE LANDS DURING SNOWFALL, Germany]

[RIGHTS WIN, Mexico]

[NICK TURPIN, Street Photography]

Street Photography is the controversial [art]act of catching candid shots of people, anywhere.

[NICK TURPIN]

[BANGLADESH]

[CARDBOARD GILAD SHALIT ARMY PROTESTS, Israel]

[SHANTYTOWN, Angola]

[CAIRO 1973, Harry Callahan]

[DIARY, Palestine 1999-2005, Antoine d' Agata]

[AFGHANS RIDE PAST U.S. MARINES, Afghanistan]

[SPRING]

[FISHING BREAK, China]

[BELGRADE, Serbia]

Winter. & more Street Art

2009-12-17T18:32:00.001-08:00

2009-11-02T17:11:00.000-08:00

Man ordering food called a zombie, punched twice
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/us_odd_zombie_assault;_ylt=AlfeGYihJa79tAN61o0600vtiBIF;_ylu=X3oDMTJpY3Bta3I4BGFzc2V0A2FwLzIwMDkxMDI1L3VzX29kZF96b21iaWVfYXNzYXVsdARwb3MDNARzZWMDeW5fbW9zdF9wb3B1bGFyBHNsawNtYW5vcmRlcmluZ2Y-

Passenger bolts from Cyprus plane using ramp
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20091101/ap_on_fe_st/eu_odd_cyprus_plane_passenger_escape;_ylt=AiTc.6PELknwa.SoLjGwb0ztiBIF;_ylu=X3oDMTM5MG5jZHUwBGFzc2V0A2FwLzIwMDkxMTAxL2V1X29kZF9jeXBydXNfcGxhbmVfcGFzc2VuZ2VyX2VzY2FwZQRwb3MDNARzZWMDeW5fYXJ0aWNsZV9zdW1tYXJ5X2xpc3QEc2xrA3Bhc3NlbmdlcmJvbA--

One more from the home team

2009-11-02T17:04:00.000-08:00

Man accidentally ejects himself from plane
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/nov/02/south-africa-passenger-ejector-seat

I apologize for the lacks of posts as of late. I've moved myself and my possessions to a new and safe place. Now that i've found myself situated, i'm prepared to continue to chip away at this blog of mine.

Enjoi.

11:11

2009-10-14T12:47:00.001-07:00

I just saw a star shoot through the sky
And whenever the clock strikes 11:11
I think of you

Not on purpose
And not because you remind me of the time
That was yesterday
& this is the tomorrow that we talked about
So fondly, so married, so marred.

To each 'is own:
You with yours,
& mine with mine.

'Flammarion' Woodcut. Anonymous.

French Canadian Bean Soup.

2009-10-08T14:10:00.000-07:00

Arthur Flegenheimer aka 'Dutch Schultz' was a wicked mobster back in the day. Dutch was repeatedly shot while using the mens room in a hotel in New Jersey, he was still alive when police arrived and was in a state of shock and disillusion. He was lucid, absolutely lucid. And these are his last words as recorded by police stenographer F.J. Lang

These words were recorded between 4:00 pm and 6:40 pm, between the time Dutch was shot and the time that he fell into unconsciousness. Two hours later, Arthur Flegenheimer aka Dutch Schultz, was dead.

Schultz at this time was irrational, suffering with a fever of 106 degrees and a bullet in his stomach. Sergeant Luke Conlon and other detectives from Newark police headquarters were at his bedside. One of the officers had a newspaper.

(Schultz noticed newspaper and spoke) - Has it been in any other papers? George, don't make no full moves. What have you done with him? Oh, mama, mama, mama. Oh stop it, stop it; eh, oh, oh. Sure, sure, mama.
Now listen, Phil, fun is fun. Ah please, papa. What happened to the sixteen? Oh, oh, he done it, please. John, please, oh, did you buy the hotel? You promised a million sure. Get out. I wished I knew.
Please make it quick, fast and furious. Please. Fast and furious. Please help me get out; I am getting my wind back, thank God. Please, please, oh please. You will have to please tell him, you got no case.
You get ahead with the dot dash system didn't I speak that time last night. Whose number is that in your pocket book, Phi1 13780. Who was it? Oh- please, please. Reserve decision. Police, police, Henry and Frankie. Oh, oh, dog biscuits and when he is happy he doesn't get happy please, please to do this. Then Henry, Henry, Frankie you didn't even meet me. The glove will fit what I say oh, Kayiyi, oh Kayiyi. Sure who cares when you are through? How do you know this? How do you know this? Well, then oh, Cocoa know thinks he is a grandpa again. He is jumping around. No Hobo and Poboe I think he means the same thing.

Q. (from Sergeant Conlon) - Who shot you?

A.- The boss himself.

Q.- He did?

A.- Yes, I don't know.

Q.- What did he shoot you for?

A.- I showed him boss; did you hear him meet me? An appointment. Appeal stuck. All right, mother.

Q.- Was it the boss shot you?

A.- Who shot me? No one.

Q.- We will help you.

A.- Will you help me up? O.K. I won't be such a big creep. Oh, mama. I can't go through with it, please. Oh, and then he clips me; come on. Cut that out, we don't owe a nickel; hold it; instead, hold it against him; I am a pretty good pretzler -Winifred- Department of Justice. I even got it from the department. Sir, please stop it. Say listen the last night!

(Statement by Sergeant Conlon) - Don't holler.

A.- I don't want to holler.

Q.- What did they shoot you for?

A.- I don't know, sir. Honestly I don't. I don't even know who was with me, honestly. I was in the toilet and when I reached the -the boy came at me.

Q.- The big fellow gave it to you?

A.- Yes, he gave it to me.

Q.- Do you know who this big fellow was?

A.- No. If he wanted to break the ring no, please I get a month. They did it. Come on. (A name, not clear) cut me off and says you are not to be the beneficiary of this will. Is that right? I will be checked and double-checked and please pull for me. Will you pull? How many good ones and how many bad ones? Please I had nothing with him he was a cowboy in one of the seven days a week fight. No business; no hangout; no friends; nothing; just what you pick up and what you need. I don't know who shot me. Don't put anyone near this check~ you might have -please do it for me. Let me get up. heh? In the olden days they waited and they waited. Please give me a shot. It is from the factory. Sure, that is a bad. Well, oh good ahead that happens for trying. I don't want harmony. I want harmony. Oh, mamma, mamma! Who give it to him? Who give it to him? Let me in the district -fire-factory that he was nowhere near. It smoldered No, no. There are only ten of us and there ten million fighting somewhere of you, so get your onions up and we will throw up the truce flag. Oh, please let me up. Please shift me. Police are here. Communistic...strike...baloney...honestly this is a habit I get; sometimes I give it and sometimes I don't. Oh, I am all in. That settles it. Are you sure? Please let me get in and eat. Let him harass himself to you and then bother you. Please don't ask me to go there. I don't want to. I still don't want him in the path. It is no use to stage a riot. The sidewalk was in trouble and the bears were in trouble and I broke it up. Please put me in that room. Please keep him in control. My gilt edged stuff and those dirty rats have tuned in. Please mother, don't tear, don't rip; that is something that shouldn't be spoken about. Please get me up, my friends. Please, look out. The shooting is a bit wild, and that kind of shooting saved a man's life. No payrolls. No wells. No coupons. That would be entirely out. Pardon me, I forgot I am plaintiff and not defendant. Look out. Look out for him. Please. He owed me money; he owes everyone money. Why can't he just pullout and give me control? Please, mother, you pick me up now. Please, you know me. No. Don't you scare me. My friends and I think I do a better job. Police are looking for you allover. Be instrumental in letting us know. They are English-men and they are a type I don't know who is best, they or us. Oh, sir, get the doll a roofing. You can play jacks and girls do that with a soft ball and do tricks with it. I take all events into consideration. No. No. And it is no. It is confused and its says no. A boy has never wept nor dashed a thousand kim. Did you hear me?

Q. (By Detective) - Who shot you?

A.- I don't know.

Q.- How many shots were fired?

A.- I don't know.

Q.- How many?

A.- Two thousand. Come one, get some money in that treasury. We need it. Come on, please get it. I can't tell you to. That is not what you have in the book. Oh, please warden. What am I going to do for money? Please put me up on my feet at once. You are a hard boiled man. Did you hear me? I would hear it, the Circuit Court would hear it, and the Supreme Court might hear it. If that ain't the pay-off. Please crack down on the Chinaman's friends and Hitler's commander. I am sore and I am going up and I am going to give you honey if I can. Mother is the best bet and don't let Satan draw you too fast.

Q. (By Detective) - What did the big fellow shoot you for?

A.- Him? John? Over a million, five million dollars.

Q.- You want to get well, don't you?

A.- Yes.

Q.- Then lie quiet.

A.- Yes, I will lie quiet.

Q.- John shot and we will take care of John.

A.- That is what caused the trouble. Look out. Please let me up. If you do this, you can go on and jump right here in the lake. I know who they are. They are French people. All right. Look out, look out. Oh, my memory is gone. A work relief police. Who gets it? I don't know and I don't want to know, but look out. It can be traced. He changed for the worse. Please look out; my fortunes have changed and come back and went back since that. It was desperate. I am wobbly. You ain't got nothing on him but you got it on his helper.

Q. (By detective ) - Control yourself.

A.- But I am dying.

(Statemnt by detective) - No, you are not.

A.- Come on, mama. All right, dear, you have to get it.

At this point, Schultz's wife, Frances, was brought to his bedside. She spoke.

(Statement by Mrs. Schultz) - This is Frances.

Schultz began to talk again, saying:

Then pull me out. I am half crazy. They won't let me get up. They dyed my shoes. Open those shoes. Give me something. I am so sick. Give me some water, the only thing that I want. Open this up and break it so I can touch you. Danny, please get me in the car.

At this point Mrs. Schultz left the room.

(Sergeant Conlon questioned Schultz again) - Who shot you?

A.- I don't know. I didn't even get a look. I don't know who can have done it. Anybody. Kindly take my shoes off. (He was told that they were off.) No. There is a handcuff on them. The Baron says these things. I know what I am doing here with my collection of papers. It isn't worth a nickel to two guys like you or me but to a collector it is worth a fortune. It is priceless. I am going to turn it over to... Turn you back to me, please Henry. I am so sick now. The police are getting many complaints. Look out. I want that G-note. Look out for Jimmy Valentine for he is an old pal of mine. Come on, come on, Jim. Ok, ok, I am all through. Can't do another thing. Look out mamma, look out for her. You can't beat him. Police, mamma, Helen, mother, please take me out. I will settle the indictment. Come on, open the soap duckets. The chimney sweeps. Talk to the sword. Shut up, you got a big mouth! Please help me up, Henry. Max, come over here. French-Canadian bean soup. I want to pay. Let them leave me alone.

Schultz sank into unconsciousness then. It was 6:40 P.M.

Participant Observation in Moorpark & Surrounding Areas

2009-10-08T13:39:00.000-07:00

Follow Your Heart Restaurant and Market - Canoga Park, CA
Wednesday, 0ct 7, 2009
Luscious Brunette - "Do you have any teas that are sweeterized ?"

Starbucks Coffee - Moorpark, CA
Thursday, 0ct 8, 2009

Elad - [tries opening mens bathroom door, door locked]
Kid on Drugs - "...[expletives deleted]. Be out in two minutes!"
Elad - [washes hands in ladies room]

(As fate has it, Kid on Drugs and Elad exit the restrooms simultaneously)

Kid on Drugs - [barely manages to muster out] "I.. would ha-ha-have.. been. outta' there in a minute, man."

Elad - "It's cool, man. Just washing my hands.."
Kid on Drugs - "Smo-smo-smoke weed every-day. I smo-smoked weed ever-y-day - got a cig?"
Elad - "I smoke weed too, but i have no tobbacco"
Kid on Drugs - [pounds Elads' fist Obama-style, runs outside]
Elad (to Starbucks employees) - "That kid was tripping!"
Starbucks Employees - "Stripping?"

((Customer walks in muttering something about a kid admitting to a lifetime of smoking))

Elad - (points outside) "That kid is tripping, like, 'on drugs'." (points outside)

Then we all stared in awe at the youth of today, elegantly framed by oversized windows and a brazen support column.

Kid on Drugs successfully bums a cigarette, begins jumping up and down
A truck pulls up alongside Kid on Drugs who is now jumping up and down in the air and dancing, ashing his new cigarette all over his newfound self.
Kid on Drugs throws head back laughing and dancing in the middle of the parking lot and then is coaxed into a truck.. by a friend(?)

Thank you Moorpark! That was worthy!

Also,

Classmates and i came across this rather odd, interestingly aloof website. See if you can find out who's behind it! (note: this came up 4th from the top in a google search of 'Martin_Luther_King')

http://www.martinlutherking.org/

UPDATE!

Kid on Drugs came back with two of his friends! They've now asked me for a cigarette and/or money 5 times!! Kid on Drugs himself keeps singing 'Jungle of Love' just like in Jay and Silent Bob! I'm about to die laughing. Kid on Drugs keeps pacing around back and forth talking about his and his friends 'crooked penises'. "It's ok. We like them though".

"I jam my penis into the rectum of animals. I jam my penis into the rectum of animals. That's kind of disgusting. I jam my penis into the rectum of animals." - Kid on Drugs (and LOUD!)

You cant make this stuff up. Way to homegrow, Moorpark.

Photo Set #2

2009-09-27T18:36:00.000-07:00

"My days have been busy.."

"But here are a few more."

"Hope you enjoyed :0"..

Image Set #1

2009-09-24T01:29:00.000-07:00

In the vein of Adriana (( http://4426deg.blogspot.com/ )) i've decided to do photography rounds of the most interesting out of context pictures i can find on the web. Attached are some from around the world, but with an emphasis on Israeli street art/graffiti.

Enjoi.

Hello all,

2009-09-22T12:57:00.000-07:00

Friends, family, and those with common thoughts and great minds who have strayed astray, who have thought alike. Or as i said before; friends. Family

These are my thoughts, my ethical boundaries, my reasons for living. This is the change that i wish to see in the world, and this is one end of a thread that i have cast off, a mere link in the web that is life, a line that you have caught, or that has caught you. From a far corner of a distant galaxy, by a representative of a species guilty by default and guilty by association, i attempt to begin anew, design, then redesign, and finally, ultimately, to resign.

Let this be our collective apology.