Monday, March 30, 2009

manuvishu video

Shirley Ceasar and the Gospel, Rock Produced

so after a really cool weekend with the vegan, and a number of my friends, associates and kids of all sorts(bela dubby)- i sat down in my easy chair to watch the Cavs. they won, and the day was going pretty much according to plan. cat-naps, mixed in with basketball and reading. i get a text message from my old buddy Mike Pultz (pictured here with guitar) and he asks do you want to see Shirley Ceasar at the Allen Theatre? now alittle backstory - first off, as a child i was a baptist minister. yes. ok stop laughing. from age 13 - 16 i was an actual minister. i gave sermons, spoke at communions, revivals. i baptised a few babies, and did the whole thing.

 i was good at it, my parents made some money off it. i was a performing monkey- ladies fell out with the holy ghost, people got saved off shit i said. it was a trip, and the years after were just as strange for by the time i was in college, i was muslim, and here i stand at 34 yrs old believing in a higher force, but besides that nothing organized. i've come to realize that most of it is the hype that more hype produced. but hey im a big fan of singing, and nobody can rock a house like a gospel singer. no one. so i said yes, and since pultz and i have a similar sense of humor and taste in matters of aesthetic it seemed like a fun idea.

just so you can understand, here's a pic of Pastor Ceasar.

we get there about 45 mins in, and it jumping. black people(37 white folks too, i counted them.)
 of all walks of life done up in they Sunday greatest, looking fine and praising the lord. the house is rocking, and we look like we belong, kind of anyway. we hipster chic, ready to jam. the room sways, and booms like an old barn. there is spirit in the air- a sense of joy, and trembling. the opening acts are cool, they can sang, the bands are sharp, but nothing compares to the command the Shirley displays. it was like watching a sanctified James Brown. she had us in the palm of her tiny hand. amazing, and even though her voice is not what it was when she sang in The Caravans, she has the "it". that thing we marvel in when we witness greatness. of course i ran into people i knew. during a cig break, i saw my brother Lawrence's wife Bridget, and i'm like of course! my brother would marry a white lady with more soul than any of the ladies i saw! she looked like she could be on stage with Shirley- they kinda carry themselves the same way. 

a sidenote of sorts, Leon Bibb(Channel 5 News) was the MC, and the first time i won a Poets and Writers award for a book- he read my poem during the ceremony! Bibb read it with way too much vibrato in his throat, but whatever. when i tried to shake his hand after the award presentation, he walked away saying,  "alright YOUNG MAN! ALRIGHT NOW". just like that- the quiet alright, followed by the booming diss. hilarious. 

i really missed Pultz. i guess all the struggle making BLKtygr work out took its toll so we rarely see each other after almost 4 yrs of everyday. but we fell in like we never missed a beat. fell in and had that duo magic. too many memories for a man as young as me. the ghosts haunt me. i call their names sometimes in the fright of sleep- wait for them to hail me back. they do sometimes, but the regrets come more often than hellos. i wish for silence in my head, a tear is falling now, so i guess this post has done its job.



aLIVE, Jeff Dixxx, DelO FI

michael ocampo

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Bumpy Johnson video - BLK.fiction LP

Tape DELAY, DELAY, DEALY *(lol. delo fi for the title for this post)

2009 has started with a bang. so news and notes will be forthcoming. i was spending all day yesterday filing out grant papers, and stressing over paperwork. trying to juggle the little cash flow, with the potential of a few years hardwork. ever since i was a young boy i wanted to be an artist. now after all these years, it still feels new, and fun. the challenge to improve always at the forfront of my mind. it seems cliche, but its so true- you have to think about how you grow, or its just the same shit. i dont ever want to be to th
e point where i cannot learn anything because we all know what happens when that mindset drapes over the creative windows.
above is the cover for the BLK.fiction record. i've been going back and forth about the cover, but this is it. no words, just image, and liner notes on back sleeve. thoughts? i think its funny, and sweet and creepy. and it fits the feel of the record, but we have been so wrong before. 

the main release for CLEVELAND TAPES is LaToya Kent's SWEET OIL. a thirty minute soul/electro/beatific angel record. she sounds absolutely wonderful. i'm proud of the weighty lyrics and music. its the best beats i've ever made. 

i think its important that we put forth images of us as thinking, soulful folk. and that she puts across a real woman vibe, cuz that's what she is. none of that poor baby patriarchal sex kitten shit, but a woman with layers, and thoughts and triumphs and mistakes, and confidence, and self doubt. the everything that makes us love women. i feel like for the first time i have women around me as family, friends, and lover(l.dook) that are trying to be full- having real lives. AMAZING.  maybe they were always there, but i was too sick, and silly to see them. yeah, that feels more true.

my heart is heavy with the knowledge of my manhood, and all its fails to be. i want to be better. no DELAY, just TAPE HISS.

i will leak toy's cover soon. and a couple of her videos. 

Thursday, March 19, 2009

labor song loop

the above loop is-
part of a series of 3 moving paintings i'm working on for the ArtMakers Fest in June. the actress in the video is my mother. she is such a ham! lol. so the idea is the paintings will be view on 24 inch flatscreens with original music soundtracks that you have the option to listen to, but they cannot be viewed/listened to at the same time. i think that impacts the viewing some with a few arbitrary rules. i participated at this fest in 2001, and i had to fly there right before 9/11. my film, "and he came before sweet Jesus" totally panned so i'm surprised they asked me back. word to the wise - you cannot make a good film by yourself, and have amateur actors too. you have to pick, one or the other cuz if you have to do all the technical jobs, you can direct the actors very well. hence the no amateur rule. 

minute minutia + why can't i pick fucker!

i've been busy the last few days. busy is not something that i actually despise per se, but this kind of busy is based on the needs of more than I. a difficult concept for the individual. when i was a boy, there was an intense lonely, not like i was left in some trailer park for dead, but just a certain aloneness that i remember was very potent. it remains my strongest memory of my childhood. hours and hours of playing alone.

hours of literally not being interacted with. free to not engage in reality, my imaginary life was rich with characters, and animated toys, stuffed animals, action figures etc. 
it wasn't until my mother got hitched again did i realize what i had actually been given. that time alone had fostered an ability to focus intensely for long periods of time on my own agenda. there was no one to share toys, or space with- by the time my siblings were born- i was a very private person. i felt that if you could not gleam what i was up to, then you were probably stupid, and did not deserve my time. i still feel that. but i'm trying to do better.

what the fuck am i trying to say? focus, damn you. the flood of what i wish to say versus the skill to say it. 

so i'm trying this new you tube feature on my sidebar. if you refresh the page a few times, it will show featured videos from my you tube channel. i cant figure out why you tube insists on looping between its own picked content and my channel- something is fucked in the coding of the application, but alas.

L dookie let me use her exercise bike, so i could petal why watching basketball. i rode it last night, excellent - i couldn't even tell i was actually exercising. watch basketball while riding stationary- it just may work. 

Monday, March 16, 2009


you know the subject, a writer must provide herself/himself the room to not know, to discover upon careful consideration the "thing" haunting them. it is then, when combined with the individual heart, or mind song that the living poem is created. everything else is abstraction, and however well considered will not speak to the soul of the reader/listener - and therefore will burn away from page and memory after(upon) the initial sharing.

you will read it aloud. and it will vanish. the audience may remember how well(or not) it was performed. the audience may even remember lines, or memorable phrases. but it will not last in time. it will cease to exist until performed again.

criticism is not a circumscription of a set of prohibitions. it provides a fixed point/s of departure. it may startle a dull reader into alertness.

lets deal with the notion of the "dull" reader-
while Ezra Pound wrote the above in 1911 - the qoute is more relevant now than ever. the advancement of technology has placed close reading at a premium. 
(just so that you are aware, the strategy call "close reading" was used by a racist and sexist academy to keep people of color, and women out.) 
we are not discussing in this essay the historic New Critics, but the absolute nature of a strict "dialogue" with a text. reading cover to cover. leaving your subjective interpretation at home with Granny's Bible, and gleaning all that you need to critique/understand a piece of writing to the actual words written. no metaphor, no allusion brought in by you- the reader.

(we could go on, but i trust you to make bridges where i cannot dear reader! dialogue!)

since schools are vastly underfunded, understaffed etc. - the miles of intellectual fabric- the stuff that made American Modernism such a force of nature was the strength/existence of the public intellectual. the schools of (wo)men who worked with their hands  being closet bibliophiles. entertainment was reading. the world wanted to be modern, and so ideas were Manna. it was that love of reading that made its way down the rabbitthole of the generati so to speak. the list, although Canonical for the most part is a world treasure, and spans the last century. when you toss in a world perspective of this list it begins to overwhelm you(today's seeker) in regards to what/who you should read.

*(bonus question - worth 50 meta-points)
who do you read first? Beckett, Borges, Joyce, or Pound? wait? Cervantes?

many hold the false notion that one must read everything "important". this is a dangerous conceit, and although there is some merit in the sentiment it is sentiment, and sets up a faux barrier for most readers, and allows for old academic definitions to play.

what happens then is -
generations of new writers(keyword NEW) come, but the new reader dwindles leaving fewer folks to sustain the new writer, who becomes jaded by the lack of readership, which breeds a lack of publishing opportunities. which keeps "old" voices in power. 
it always comes back to power, but that is another essay, a fight for another sun.

in the limited public imagination and destroys any potential for a new list represented by the diversity of this, a new century. of course this is the simplified argument/timeline, of course there are other concerns, but the fact of the matter is- 
the less readers, the less good writers
the less good writers, the less good writing
the less good writing, the less good and interested readers
the less readers, the less publications that publish new writing.

the less publications, a lessor public voice.
a lessor public voice, a democracy, a republic shifts
the shift brings world contempt.
greed, faux Presidents  .  .  . 

what must a new writer do?

*(bonus question answer)
depends on if you wish to have a history lesson as well.
if you reading strictly for pleasure- the choice is yours.
if you are reading in a linear fashion, i.e. historically driven - Pound, for Dear silly Ezra discover, and supported at least 15 writers on "THE CANONICAL LIST".
and you can't even support one. 
shame, shame.



BLACK POETIC - Return of the Queen
Friday, March 20th 
CMA Classroom Auditorium
11150 East Blvd.

Since 1994, BLACK POETIC has been at the cutting edge of performance poetry and avant theater- CMA continues a long tradition of "FREE 4 ALL" community readings that are fre to the public, and present the notion that community and art need no
t be for the well off. BLACK POETIC Founding Member Ebani Edwards will be the featured performer for the evening and will present a section of her  incredible one woman show - THE BODY.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

the danger of love: or something else is it?

forget what you want your life to be.
she said.

he answered, 
why, if you don't dream it will never happen.

but dreams are not doing. its just theory. its always theory with you.
she said.

and mumbled,
that's what we are here for. to strive, to want more.

more than you already have? why is it that men want more than they already have? can you explain what your mother did to you to make you covet?
she looked at her shoes. her face flushing.

its not that i want more than i have. its .  .  . don't you ever feel like you missing out on something special?
he asked, and tried to grab her hand.

babe, you are always looking, thinking you are missing out on something. and you are missing out. you just don't see it.
she pulled away, she did not want him to see her face.

what am i missing out on? you tell me, since you have all the answers!
his anger made his face turn ugly.

she turns toward him, shaking her head,
you are missing out on me. on us. 

The Further Adventures of Gentleman Richards- sequel to HUEbris

Christoph L. Richards 

so a few years ago i wrote a small novella called HUEbris. it began as an idea to do a fictional character about Lawrence Daniel Caswell- and ended up being nothing that resembled him
(even though we told people it did to sell books! hee.)

it was kind a popular, and bunch of folk read it and actually told me they had. that never happens, so it was cool. and i loved the idea of a book that makes fun of the author by having the character critique the goings on. plus we had guest appearances by dead and famous figures- who would talk shit too.

here is chapter one of the sequel - 
feedback is cool- this is a first draft, and since im still working on it, 
to quote ERYKAH BADU - I'm sensitive about my shit.


p.s. - if you have read HUEbris- this is a drawing of the Ball event toward the beginning.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

suffer the vanguard youth

after Vernacular practice, i sat back and listened to a few records, hoping to catch a sample or four- thinking about all the wonderful musicians that have made records, thinking of a jazz cats nightlife- of the mystical voyage of Archie Shepp's record- SONGS FOR MY PEOPLE.  all of that made me want to listen to Madlib. 

a true genius when it comes to the beats, Madlib lives for the dig, the search- but more than that it seems from afar that fear, or rejection never factors in. he knows that an artist is judged by the body of work, not the one off. this is a philosophy that is not celebrated in the instant world we live in. 

a little boy is playing with a balloon, it lasts all afternoon, and the boy never contemplates that it might burst. he is enraptured by the balloon, the float, and come down, the fragility of air. it is magic, and he wields its journey. the balloon bursts. the boy cries. his mother picks up the deflated body of the balloon, puts one end on her index finger, pull back on the tatter end.

she shoots, the boy laughs, and tries to do it. he cannot at first, but as his tears dry in the late afternoon glow, he gets it. tragedy is averted, definitions are re-worked. 

Madlib reworks definitions. he is of a generation that was birthed under the boom bap. what makes him special though is his understanding of history and folklore. history is a mighty palate. those who ignore it suffer the vanguard youth. make war out of flowers, deny progress for fear. they are relicts of a far gone animalism. they are my enemy.

and the needle hits the record.

Monday, March 9, 2009

take a bow lesbians, a standing O is coming.

its over, six years of groundbreaking soap opera - does the bow out.


there is a lot that will be said, written, and argued about L Word.
most of it will be praise, some of it will be criticism. a few will be questions. while i'm not really interested in the aftermath i feel its my duty to put my toe in the water, and swirl a bit.

six years, and i've been watching from the beginning. it began as a way to bond with a girlfriend. the same happened with Sex in the City. a woman i was sleeping with asked me to watch it, i did and fell in. and you know what in-spite of myself i did not fight the love affair. either time. good TV is good TV. and im a fan of good TV. when it began, of course the main thrust of the buzz was its historic nature- the first television program about lesbians, made by lesbians. the actresses are not lesbians, they dont need to be. if you are making a series about black inner city youth the actors must be black, but they do not have to be from the inner city. 

the line the show toed is what made it so intriguing, simply because there was no way to tell. unless you are told. you can speculate about a human being's sexuality all you want, but you don't know unless they tell you, or you have sex with them. period. the show dealt with all things lesbian, and gay and transgendered. its strength was in the portrayal, in the grace in which it dealt with hetro issues. the questions the show raised about fidelity, and lust. family and love. law and justice. INJUSTICE. 

the women were hot. are lesbians hot? some are, some are not. but this show had powerful, beautiful women with means as its palate. some folks felt it was unrealistic. lesbians are not like this in the real world. the show's creator is a lesbian. she had to get the material from somewhere. i wrote last week that i watched the show because of Jennifer Beals. truth is it was her for the first one, and after that, it was the writing. oh the writing! its rare for modern art to know what it is. be what it is, and be fine with that. the show was a soap opera, but it knew this, and tried to make the soap a sonnet. and for six seasons it largely succeeded.

the series finale was tonight. i watched, wondering how they were going to wrap up something so sublime? 
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                damn JENNY!                         
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             how would they end such an intricate tale? then i realized the point was not how the drama would end. it would end servicing the season. it would end with possibilities.  for those of you who never watched the show, this post will me nothing, but for those of you that have seen it 

jesus, there is one character who always made me cringe, but at the same time want her. i despised her and i pulled for her. she was a mess, but given a chance i would like to be her. 
(strange but hey.)
Mia Kirshner put on a remarkable series long performance that should go down as one of the best single performances in tv history. when we meet her, she is a confused young writer, trying to forget a history of neglect and molestation while in a hetro relationship with a decent man.
after six seasons we find her, most assuredly gay, rich, successful - with a diabolic, and self righteous streak of pure evil. she is the devil and we love her for it. no one wants to be the enemy. we loathe and are excited by the prospect of ID. we lust after the bravado it takes to hurt people, but we are confused by the juxtaposition of it all. 

this post reminds me of being in the 5th grade, and being suspended from school for punching the gym teacher(seriously, and i knocked his old ass down too) and being made to watch my mother's soap operas with her. her favs at the time. the ABC midday dramas - ALL MY CHILDREN, and ONE LIFE TO LIVE. the joy on her face as she played the plots through her mind finding cracks in the mystery, the closeness i felt to be in the know.

yeah. i guess i'm in the know. and i thank you for that.

Sunday, March 8, 2009

lets riff . . .

so in my last post i made fun of Sting, so i figured
i should continue the strand, and talk about my favorite Sci Fi movie- that has Sting- DUNE.

okay, stop laughing. for those in the know, DUNE is one of the most sublime meditations on power ever written(of course i read the book dummies!) and the movie is a classic. i remember the first time i saw the book- i was about 9 yrs old and i was finger a stack of library books my stepfather had. he was in the army so anytime he went to the field for training he would have my mom pick up a stack of books from a list he kept in his wallet. he was always jotting down little line and lists in a small steno notebook he kept in his stinky brown wallet. i was enthralled by the cover, and the title had me going. i thought i could read it, by that time i was not afraid of adult books - just sound it out baby- it was like a mantra to me. sometimes when i close my eyes after all these years i think i hear her saying it. 

my parents were readers, most people who believe in stinky icky are- ok- this is no longer the case, but at one point in our culture it was true. i never understood the simple-mindedness of the politicians and lawmakers showed with the criminalization of the plant. Sting, though not a trained actor, was marvelous in the movie. 
his character, FEYD has to go down as one of the most physical bad guys to ever grace the golden screen. 

"i'll fight him. i'll kill him"

he also had the same sexy/creepy vibe to his character as Rutger Hauer show us to marvelous effect in BLADE RUNNER.

i really want a pair of underpants like the ones above. i think it would give me a totally different appreciation for functional briefs- although i hate tighty whiteys! boxer briefs, now that a different story. while i was djing tonight, i realized that BLADE RUNNER held some truth to it. just think of the concept of the artificial elements in a cyborg- and you will then realize why Replicants exist in real life. 

Friday, March 6, 2009

teddy vs. serge - a conversation

i refuse to believe that anyone reading this will not know who Teddy Pendergrass is. its possible you will not know Serge Gainsbourg- although any hipster worth her/his weight in beer will claim to know. the funny thing is i knew nothing of Serge until Lawrence played me some of Historie de Melody Nelson (google it).  but i loved teddy. a folk hero to me, powerful, sexy and a damn right killer of gamble and huff written songs.
so here is an imaginary conversation with these two polar opposites.

i love your whisper. are all french men so stylish?

we are lovers and cowards. it is what gives us style. and wine. and french bootie!

when i was in Paris in '77, we stayed at the Beat Hotel- what a historic place. 
(singing voice deep and husky)
can you woo - woo -woo! ahhhh, woo-woo-wooooooooooo.

beautiful. i always wanted to sing like that. Jane would totally love to have your member in her lush mouth. magic.

i love white women! can she take it?

what do you mean? she is my wife! of course she can coddle your african-ness. 

didn't you write the song Roxanne for that english bloke Stingy?

oh, you mean De Police? the blonde nazi fella? NO, i would never write something as trite as that song.

AND I would never keep a woman from her work! what a groove though. what does he say?

YES. something like that. he has tantric abilities you know.


he can fuck without coming, but he spiritually comes.

sounds like a mime job to me.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

r. kelly's first young girl and vampires (hmmm)

after a night of heavy drinking with aLIVE(aaron)- i made a
 beat, fed the turtles, and proceeded to watch a really bad vampire 
movie- queen of the damned starring Aaliyah. funny thing about this very talented woman is i totally remember being about 19, and visiting my mothers house, where i spent the afternoon watching music videos with my sister Ashley. it was during this haze of black pop gum/nilly musaks that i first witnessed the only 14, or 15 yr old Aaliyah perform in her video for the R Kelly produced song "back and forth". monopoly money to anyone who remembers this song! it had a nice backbeat groove, and the rapist known for being TRAPPED IN A CLOSET looked down right creepy. 

my sis told me that they were married too. i never have been able to find out if this was urban myth, or a fucking chi-town fact.(kelly is from Chicago. im so witty!) so watching this movie brought a flood of
funny memories back, 
and actually had me feeling a little weepy after. not because the movie was just that moving. it was not, but that time was exciting. it was my first year of college, and the freedom that i had coveted growing up was paying dividends. i was reading my poems, touring, and working on stories. meeting amazing people from across the globe. it was during this time that nearly everything was full of promise, and curiosity was my friend, my confidant. 

while my ladyfriend loves horror movies of all ilk, i am not a huge fan. i scare too easy, and dont particularly like gore. she seems to not be bothered. but occasional i find myself watching a horror movie while i'm alone as a way to connect to her. i wonder if any of you do this with lovers. i wont go down that road, but feel free to comment if you feel it. Aaliyah was a beautiful young woman, who was in the middle of grand opening of sorts. it seemed that the star was the limit for this amazing talent, and as it tends to happen with young "stars",  her handlers taste was being measured by her own interests. 

queen of the damned does not compare to any good horror movies of course. and as vampire movies go i would imagine that i falls way short if a list was to be made. GANJA and HESS would have to be in the top ten. if it wasn't - it would surely be some type of filmic racism! emperors be damned. why the connection in popular culture with bad rock music, goth and vampires. i'm sure that the people who actually adhere to the goth "way of life" have better taste in music than some hollywoodummi exec. (?) 

it seemsthe only way a democracy ruled by CAPITALISM able to stay afloat is to push a very bland palate when it comes to art. a quick dig, not even research level would unearth way more fulfilling ish. GENRE does not mean DUMB. say it with me, write it on your jobs bathroom walls. we will not fall into the night, 

and cheese puff artists kill the soul.
sue me.

p.s.- now i'm gonna go to L dookie's blog and she gonna be waxing poetic about the male lead, Stuart f*****ing Townsend. 
white people.

Monday, March 2, 2009

james and maya

one of the most fascinating things about art and culture, is how a love affair with one artist can lead to unexpected love affairs with artist not even connected to the first lead. the first writer that excited me as a young man was james baldwin. the first book of his i read was ANOTHER COUNTRY- a story about a jazz musician who is cracking from the pressure of 60's NYC, the racism that is so invisible it seethes through the undergarments of the city's progressive facade.
it was a stirring book, with layers upon layers of characters, plots and indelible language. after ANOTHER COUNTRY, i went on to read all his books. each one is rich and telling in its own way.

during this time,
my good friend lawrence introduced me to the world of film, and a magical, and under-utilized organization called CLEVELAND CINEMATHEQUE. it was there that i saw everything from early genre movies, foreign films, onto DOGMA 95 generated visual sculpture. it was there that i found out about Maya Deren. she was a documentary filmmaker with an incredible vision. i love her stuff. feel free to check both of these artists out. 

okay. 1987

i was twelve, and spending sometime with my step father's best friend Butler. (that was the guys fucking name so shut it.) he was the hero guy all young men have- cooler than dad, but still not too scary. what i realize now is the guy was a complete coke-head, and was high all the time to think on after all these years. i remember one particular conversation over the film FLASHDANCE, starring the 80's icon- Jennifer Beals. he told me that a woman like her would never exist in real life, because a mixed race women could just pass for white, and would never have to struggle for dough. now as a kid i had a little sass, and told him that he probably had not seen the movie, based on his take on the plot, and its realness. 

for one thing, 
she was financially strapped by any means. she was a union card carrying welder first off, and secondly she worked as a dancer at a nightclub that closely resembled the art version of a strip house. (she never actually take any clothes off on stage though) so she was making a check from that.

point two,
white people are poor sometimes. actually, most times! so the whole struggle thing, realistic. 

third, and most important point- its a movie.

why this particular moment with dear old dummi butler stands out, i'm not quite sure. perhaps it was the first time i realized that none of the men i knew as a kid were very bright, nor were they even remotely clever. i dont really know what his problem with jennifer was, he alway had white girlfriends, and seemed fairly progressive when it concerned race. women like beal's character exist in real life though, i was married to one. a woman who was layered, bi racial, and a dancer. she was not a welder though, i think she may of been afraid of fire actually. 

for the past 6 years ive been following the showtime original show L WORD- its the final season now, and i fucking love the premise, and story arch. i think i may be slightly in love with
Ms. Beals! damn L dookie wont watch with me though. she a snob, and believe the lesbians on the show to be totally fake. wait, she never actually said that, but its my blog, and i can say what i want. she has a huge fucking crush on Danny Masterson for 70's show, and has a pic of him on her blog. damn her and her need for white men with afros.


megan fox.

now. damn, why did they do it? why would they destroy the seriousness of a beautiful nerd-classic like TRANSFORMERS with this hotties presence?
once i saw her, i wanted her to be on screen the rest of the way. damn the cheesywiz cgi, damn the fucking lack of character depth. what was even more annoying about this movie, which i stumbled onto on cable was the fact that important characters were missing! where were all the autobots? i found this pic of her, how in the hell am i suppose to believe she has the time to read the books behind her, much less the inclination. 

im going to admit something that most of us readers never admit- if i looked like her i wouldn't read. i would be busy being fabulous!
i only read cuz im homely. seriously! lets admit that given a choice, most readers would choose dashing good looks over curiosity, and vocabulary any day!

Sunday, March 1, 2009

considerations for a new arrival

im going to actually try and make this a regular thing, this blog. and since my computer is back, (thanks ocampo) i can actually try and put a dent in it.

so i spent the day revisiting mile love affair with miles davis, i watched a pretty documentary about him on OVATION TV. what a great channel, and then i listen to sketches of spain, in a silent way, tutu, bitches brew- made a remix of a herbie hancock song  .  .  .etc.
there is something quite amazing about him when you sit and think about it. just about everyone of my favorite jazz players spent time in his band. he was amazing at finding young talent, let them be young, but driving the whole thing. there is a moment on bitches brew where you know that this push, the search the music represents is the mirror of the youthfulness of his sidemen.
there may not be a modern day equivalent to this uncanny knack of his.

his jack johnson record is one of my prized possessions- i went to look for it around 2am, and couldn't locate it anywhere. i wonder what happen to it. i have a problem with home security, and my friends/associates sometimes "borrow" items along the media variety.
the fuckers!

i never understood why people who like to have media, dont seem to buy any. if you liked tuna, you buy tuna.  if you like shoes, you try and buy lots of shoes- but if you like magazines, you steal your friends?

i will probably end up killing somebody.