Foot-Pounds

steven tyler gets fired!!!!

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 12:06:00 -0900

i can’t believe this. first, he falls off the wagon, now he’s fired from the band. i saw him at coachella in 2008 (above) and he was pelican fly.

dude, they made some of their best music sober… but i know how sweet the nectar is, Stevie… i guess the permanent vacation is back.

really, is there any flag that can fuck with Albania?

Sun, 01 Nov 2009 14:17:00 -0900

really, is there any flag that can fuck with Albania?

ah… so very much ink and pixiles have been spilled (and...

Wed, 28 Oct 2009 21:08:00 -0800

ah… so very much ink and pixiles have been spilled (and illuminated) in the name of a little detroitian boy named sufjan… and it’s pretty much all true. i don’t even know what the 2008 Brendan Gill Prize is, but you bet your ass he won it for BQE; his lyric-less ode to that great ribbon of Moses’ vison for the big apple.

i guess it was supposed to come in in 2007?? whatever. it’s awesome. such great everything music. morning, cooking, road tripping… please do yourself a favorite and enjoy all thirty minutes of it sometime in a single sitting.

here’s his sixth indie-classical movement: “Isorhythmic Night Dance With Interchanges”

Alexander Robotnick anybody on a dancefloor in the last five...

Thu, 24 Sep 2009 21:11:00 -0800

Alexander Robotnick

anybody on a dancefloor in the last five years has heard the justice/ed banger anthems & all the hollertronix neo-booty… but did you ever think, “where the hell did they come up with this stuff?” well, it turns out the those b-more boys and Busy-P(edro) were both listening to a ton of Italo disco.

now, i love italiano disco ish, but i’ve never heard anything that really gave Kano a run for his money… until i cam across Alexander Robotnick. holy crap, this is as infectious as H1N1 in a steam room. just mind blowin’: pure an simple. i guess he got into world music and ambient stuff later, but take a listen to his international breakout “Problèmes D’amour” above…

hit the “HQ” and get ready, ‘cause shit’s about to get heavy.

a dream

Sun, 20 Sep 2009 06:45:57 -0800

last night i dreamt that i stole a “WIN THIS!!” display speedboat from inside a casino and started flying around the floor, horrendous carpet flying kicked up everywhere, attempting to decapitate Bob Barker with the propeller whilst in mid-air.

a viscous as a visigoth, my aim was not as true to form and i accidentally severed the head of a Jolene Anello’s childhood friend, Marcos. in shame and cowardice, i ran; although my shoddy disposal of the evidence was leading the fuzz closer and closer to my capture. i would fret for hours while working at my job cleaning movie theaters, whilst the manager yelled at me incessantly to, “clean out the damn popcorn machine,” compounding my trepidation.

it was then that i woke up.

is Jay-Z really wearing an Ordo Templi Orientis...

Sat, 19 Sep 2009 09:53:36 -0800

is Jay-Z really wearing an Ordo Templi Orientis shirt?

holy shit this article is amazing. who knew? i feel like i came to the bohemian grove party just as the cops were busting it up…

DOOM.... i see....

Wed, 16 Sep 2009 08:10:18 -0800

since all i really write about anymore is radiohead and DOOM, well, you know. from the new yorker (!?!?)“The Mask of Doom: A Nonconformist Rapper’s Second Act,” septmeber 21, 2009

When Dumile began performing as MF DOOM, he extended hip-hop’s obsession with façades. While other MCs fashioned themselves after outlaws, thugs, or drug dealers, Dumile, whose handle is inspired by the Fantastic Four villain Dr. DOOM, called himself “the Supervillain.” When he raps, he often refers to DOOM in the third person. Other MCs are obsessed with machismo; Dumile is obsessed with “Star Trek” and “Logan’s Run.”

When I rediscovered Dumile, in his new guise, I was on the cusp of fatherhood and life-partnership, and considering divorce from the music of my youth. My outlook was that of any Golden Age proponent - I was worn down by the petty beefs between rappers, by the murders of Tupac and Biggie, and by the music’s assumption of all the trappings of the celebrity culture in which it now existed.

DOOM’s music was revancne, and me DOOM persona felt as though it had emerged from the graveyard of rappers murdered by glam-hop. Onstage, DOOM looked the part. He cultivated a dishevelled aspect - ill-fitting white tees or throwback Patrick Ewing jerseys. His paunch gently rebelled against the borders of his shirt. He was visibly balding. His manner suggested a retired B-boy tossing off the trappings of domesticity for one last boisterous romp.

The mask “came out of necessity,” Dumile explained. It was a warm afternoon in Atlanta, where he lives now, and we were sitting in black vinyl chairs in an alley in midtown. Dumile wore a green polo shirt, matching green shorts, a pair of black Air Jordans without socks, and a New York Mets cap. His glasses were missing a lens and sat crooked on his face. He removed the Mets cap and placed it on his knee.

Dumile, who is now thirty-eight, was raised on Long Island, home of several prominent rap groups of the Golden Era - De La Soul, Public Enemy, EPMD, and Leaders of the New School. He started performing during the infancy of hip-hop, when no one had yet realized the potential for big money in a guy talking into a microphone.

“Rhyming wasn’t that popular back then, but it was fun,” Dumile told me. “And people would say, ‘Oh, you rhyme? Oh, snap, say a rhyme for me! Say another one! Say the one about the girl!’ Everybody had a cousin who came out for the summer and could rhyme. And you’d be like, ‘Oh, he rhymes? Oh, he rhymes? I gotta meet him.’”

“Ever since third grade, I had a notebook and was putting together words just for fun,” Dumile went on. “I liked different etymologies, different slang that came out in different eras. Different languages. Different dialects. I liked being able to speak to somebody and throw it back and forth, and they can’t predict what you’re going to say next. But once you say it they’re always like, ‘Oh, shit!’”

For MF DOOM, Dumile wanted to create a character with a complete backstory, which he would reference through a series of albums. “The story was corning together, and it worked and became popular. And now people wanted to see shows, and I’m like, how do I do that?”

“I wanted to get onstage and orate, without people thinking about the normal things people think about. Like girls being like, ‘Oh, he’s sexy,’ or ‘I don’t want him, he’s ugly,’ and then other dudes sizing you up. A visual always brings a first impression. But if there’s going to be a first impression I might as well use it to control the story. So why not do something like throw a mask on?”

Or throw the mask on someone else Dumile routinely sends out one of his comrades in the DOOM costume and has him lip-sync the entire show. He sees this as a logical extension of the DOOM idea. Fans who have paid for tickets tend to disagree.

If Dumile had his way, he would take it further. He jokes that he’d like to dart backstage after a performance, take off the mask, and then wade into the crowd - beer in hand - and applaud his own work in conversations with strangers, if the subject of DOOM comes up, Dumile will simply play along, like Peter Parker or Bruce Wayne.

“I’m the writer, I’m the director,” Dumile said. “If I was to go out there without the mask on, they’d be like, ‘Who the fuck is this?’ I might send a white dude next … I’ll send a Chinese nigger. I’ll send ten Chinese niggers. I might send the Blue Man Group.”

Dumile has released seven albums since Operation: Doomsday. Most of them have been under the name MF DOOM, but he has also used semi-related personas like Viktor Vaughn (inspired by Dr. Doom’s real name in Marvel comics) and King Geedorah (the three-headed monster in Godzilla movies). The most highly regarded of his recent albums is Madvillainy (2004), a collaborative effort between Dumile and the Los Angeles-based underground producer Madlib. (The duo dubbed themselves “Madvillain.”) The album’s production was minimalist, like much of DOOM’s solo work. A great hip-hop producer can hear music that spans many genres and assemble it, in bits, into a coherent aesthetic- and Madlib has an ear for samples ready-made to be looped. But the album’s singular sound came mostly from DOOM’s raspy baritone rendering a sort of nerdcore poetry: “Off pride, tykes, talk wide through scar-meat / Off sides, like how Worf ride with Star-Fleet.”

One Friday in April, I flew out to meet Dumile in Los Angeles, where he was working on his next project, a second collaboration with Madlib. He planned to work the first night, and offered to let me watch the session. But he was running late, and we settled on simply having dinner and starting up on Saturday.

When I called Dumile the next morning, he offered to send his driver and cohort, Five (named for Johnny Five, the robot from “Short Circuit”), to pick me up at the hotel at one o’clock. By two, I hadn’t heard anything, so I picked up a book and headed downstairs.

The party had started early. There was a DJ playing MP3s from his laptop a few yards from the pool. Women in bikinis wandered out from the deck into the lobby. Anxious young men in shorts filed in from the entrance. It was exactly what I would have wanted all my Saturdays to be like when I was sixteen. Except that almost everyone was white.

I spotted Five at a table drinking a Bloody Mary. Short and bespectacled, with a long ponytail, he waved happily as I approached. “DOOM didn’t give me your number,” he explained. He did not look as though he’d been trying hard to rectify the problem.

We got into his black Chevy Avalanche and drove down Sunset, presumably to see Dumile at work. But there was much to be done before that. We stopped at Amoeba Records to pick up DOOM’s new album, Born Like This, since Dumile had not yet heard the finished product. We had to pick up beer, too, a necessity for the transition from Dumile to DOOM. We had to wait for forty-five minutes in front of the house north of downtown where Dumile was staying.

When he emerged, he was carrying some audio equipment and was accompanied by a woman clutching a large bottle of Grey Goose vodka. Dumile packed the equipment in the trunk. The woman handed him the bottle, and he hopped in the back. He picked up the new record and groused about the cover art. “Five, ride around,” he said. “I want to hear how it sounds.”

A great MC is, on one level, a drummer performing a solo. But, more than that, he is a poet, assembling words according to the rules of a particular meter. Dumile offers a darkly humorous take on the life of the DOOM character. There is no single narrative, as much as there are variations on a theme, the most constant being his mask. From the song “Beef Rap” off of his album MM…Food: “He wears a mask just to cover the raw flesh / A rather ugly brother with flows that’s gorgeous.”

Hip-hop feeds on the aggression of post-pubescent males. And Dumile draws on the aggression of a particular type of male who came of age in a particular era. When he claims to “eat rappers like part of a complete breakfast,” when he challenges other MCs to battle for Atari cartridges, when he yells “Zoinks!” mid-rhyme, he’s signalling those who grew up with, Saturday-morning cartoons and “The Dukes of Hazzard.” For his listeners, his references - “Good Times,” popping wheelies, karate classes - evoke lost innocence, even when the topic is grim. On “Hey!,” DOOM delivers a couplet about some old neighborhood friends, now incarcerated, over a sample from the theme song to “Scooby-Doo”:

To all my brothers who is doing unsettling bids / You could have got away if it was not for them meddling kids.

“When I do it, I feel like I’m thirteen again,” Dumile told me. “I remember, when we were that age, everybody was nice, and everybody was getting nicer. That same well of energy we were drawing from then, I go to there …. To me it feels like that time was richer, every second was really five minutes. Being older now, grown, I’m like, what do we really do that’s fun? I’m kind of corny when you think about it. What could I rhyme about? Let me see, um, I gotta pay the rent today.”

The rest of our day bore this out. We spent the hours in the manner of teenagers with nowhere to be, and I saw that Dumile’s music sends me back to adolescence because he lives-at least while he’s creating-as though he were back there, too.

We wound through the hills of Los Angeles with Born Like This blasting at full volume. Hip-hop is music for warriors - or, at least, for those who imagine themselves as such. I’d listened to Born Like This on my iPod during the flight out and come away unmoved. But hearing a song like “Cellz” - with its lengthy jacking of a poem by Charles Bukowski, pounding drums, and high slicing whistles-at high volume changed my mind.

Dumile had said he’d be working by noon; it was now four o’clock. We came off a sharp curve, and he pointed out a large house on a cliff, which the producer Danger Mouse had recently bought. We stopped at a broad opening, high up. You could see the neighborhoods of Mount Washington and Cypress Park, a commuter train line, the skyscrapers of downtown Los Angeles. With the music still pumping, he walked around for a bit, nodding and making small talk with Five.

Then they hopped back in the car, and Five drove to the studio, a cottage behind a friend’s house. Dumile opened the trunk and pulled out a heavy bag filled with rhyme books, which he’d FedExed out the night before, and passed it to me. “If I’m gonna let you see my rhyme books, you could at least carry the bag,” he said.

Dumile took some audio equipment inside. Then he reiterated instructions that he’d given me the night before: there was to be no talking while he was work- ing, not from me, from Five, or from him. He fiddled with a two-hundred-and- fifty-gig hard drive until Madlib’s instrumentals pounded out from the speakers, filling the room.

He paused to explain his approach. “When I’m doing a DOOM record, I’m arranging it, I’m finding the voices …. All I have to do is listen to it and think, Oh shit, that will be funny. I write down whatever would be funny, and get as many ‘whatever would’ funnies in a row and find a way to make them all fit. There’s a certain science to it. In a relatively small period of time, you want it to be, That’s funny, that’s funny, that’s funny, that’s funny. I liken it to comedy standup.”

I opened the bag and began paging through the rhyme books. It was a great honor - an MC sharing his rhyme books is like a magician sharing notes for his tricks. I half expected a column of light to bloom from the pages. But Dumile’s books were like his songs - scatterbrained. and disorganized, a series of potentially humorous couplets. The best ones were written over in black ink two or three times. Few were arranged into verses. Despite his edict of silence, he spent most of the evening trading jokes with Five, yelling nonsensical phrases (“Flurk! Flurk! Flurk!”) into my tape recorder, making bets centered on Five’s bad Spanish, and drinking beer. By 11 P.M., it was apparent that very little would get done. We walked out around midnight. “Give it a day,” he said, “and see how things sound in the morning.”

RFID-chip Rube Goldberg contraption. (via ohmygoodness)

Wed, 16 Sep 2009 08:05:18 -0800

RFID-chip Rube Goldberg contraption.

(via ohmygoodness )

so, my buddy dan chamberlin turned me on the Fuck Button’s...

Mon, 24 Aug 2009 20:54:00 -0800

so, my buddy dan chamberlin turned me on the Fuck Button’s new jams… and my my my, are they tastey.

to Ben, and that other guy, who i guess directed this video, big ups mates; please, make as much good music as you can before you get tinnitus.

loudy, jason

New Radiohead!!! These Are My Twisted Words... click here for the mp3

Sun, 16 Aug 2009 18:17:21 -0800

New Radiohead!!! These Are My Twisted Words... click here for the mp3:

YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES

New EP tomorrow? www.wallofice.com

Biggest headline grabber of the week? Definitely Radiohead. Leave it up to Thom Yorke & Co. to get us all scratchin’ our noggins yet once again in attempts to unravel a mystery that involves a leaked Radiohead track and a supposed new EP, which may be dubbed Wall of Ice. The band have yet to give any sort of official announcement on what they are cooking up, if anything, but thanks to some clever online detective work, that new EP looks to be out this Monday (August 17). Get excited, folks — or ready for a big letdown.

jens has been diseased

Tue, 14 Jul 2009 19:47:01 -0800

jens has been diseased:

From his blog:

I picked home one last souvenir from South America, it’s called the H1N1 virus. Wrongfully known as the Swineflue.

I was crossing the Atlantic when things started getting really bad, the fever was hallucinogenic and shaking me like a leaf and I grabbed the sleeve of the Air France steward. “I’m not feeling well, I should see a doctor” I said and the reply came as a brilliant mix of death anxiety and french rudeness: “Uh, yes… Terminal D… go there maybe… when we land”. After that the stewards and stewardesses took long detours. A ring of empty seats formed around me. Peoples eyes were kind but determined, they read “Poor you, I really wish you all the best but if you come near me or my kid I will have to stab you with this plastic fork”. I got up and went to the bathroom where I fainted.

Now I’m in quarantine for ten days. I can see the summer through my window and it’s just perfect. Summer is always best through a window.

MJ is going down sans brain

Tue, 07 Jul 2009 11:48:26 -0800

MJ is going down sans brain:

yuck

thanks to: melissawashere

Wed, 01 Jul 2009 13:22:09 -0800

thanks to: melissawashere

ah, ATP… all tomorrow’s parties might have started...

Wed, 01 Jul 2009 09:50:00 -0800

ah, ATP… all tomorrow’s parties might have started off in Nico’s teutonic little noodle, but nowadays it mainly means an anglo-based music festival. and what a festival. each show is “curated” by an artist, band, or the fans themselves.

i’ve had the exquisite joy of attending the last LA fest, curated by Modest Mouse, and the nightmare before christmas curated by Portishead. both of which contributed to who i have become as a person in ineffable, recondite ways.

so, imagine my surprise! a fan-made (Warp Films) film about ATP, with ATP, for ATP. below, here, is the “teaser” trailer… and it is so damned fine.

wynne is a romantic, i am not

Wed, 01 Jul 2009 09:36:42 -0800

Jason::

hi

how was the neko case show?

Wynne:

it was great!

very romantic

Jason:

wow

sounds great

Wynne:

:)

Jason:

i kinda don't like her stuff

Wynne:

i lover her

Jason:

too romantic

blah

Wynne:

awww

Jason:

syrupy

Wynne:

you can't handle it!

she has great lyrics

and her voice/hair

Jason:

i think reality is much worse

i'd rather see slayer

=)

Wynne:

reality?

god, i'm tired...

i just felt it

Jason:

yep

means "the state of things as they actually exist".

Wynne:

haha

you mean, not romanticism?

Jason:

yes

Wynne:

ahh

reality is romantic

Jason:

bullshit

you ever been to the killing fields in cambodia?

Wynne:

are we having another one of these?

i'm talking about the pieces that are romantic...

Jason:

how about auschwitz?

Wynne:

glances in cafes

UGH!

Jason:

rapists

Wynne:

go on

Jason:

that is reality

Wynne:

yeah, but so is other stuff

Jason:

not your pie-in-the-sky bullshit

Wynne:

fine.

life is trouble, yeah

Jason:

romanticism, as a philosophy, died along with 40MM people in WWII

Wynne:

but--there is an opposite to it

Jason:

good riddance

Wynne:

there was romanticism in WWII

ever ready MAUS?

*read

very very romantic

Jason:

Dukkha:
"This is the noble truth of suffering: birth is suffering, aging is suffering, illness is suffering, death is suffering; sorrow, lamentation, pain, grief and despair are suffering; union with what is displeasing is suffering; separation from what is pleasing is suffering; not to get what one wants is suffering; in brief, the five aggregates subject to clinging are suffering."

yeah, i read maus

not the same

that is humanity

and love

romanticism is something else, something more sinister and less rational

Wynne:

maus is so amazing...

after you read that, you can't blame anyone for anything

Jason:

i see it as the exultation on these things a single idea

it's untenable

Wynne:

life is sufferinggggg

Jason:

right

Wynne:

yes they are!!!!!

they are about choices...

Jason:

Samudaya: This is the noble truth of the origin of suffering: it is this craving which leads to renewed existence, accompanied by delight and lust, seeking delight here and there, that is, craving for sensual pleasures, craving for existence, craving for extermination.

Wynne:

i can't have this conversation over IM

Jason:

Nirodha: This is the noble truth of the cessation of suffering: it is the remainderless fading away and cessation of that same craving, the giving up and relinquishing of it, freedom from it, nonreliance on it.

Wynne:

i am the ultimate sufferer

Jason:

then you are the ultimate human!

Wynne:

haha---i rely on suffering

Jason:

This is the noble truth of the way leading to the cessation of suffering: it is the Noble Eightfold Path; that is, right view, right intention, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, right concentration.

Wynne:

that is yoga texts right there

right speech, right action...

Jason:

yep

NOT romanticism

this guy was not a swami

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lord_Byron

Wynne:

okay--i get it

i get it

Jason:

he was an ASSHOLE

+0

ok, sorry

i'm ranting

Wynne:

i think you're saying---romanticism as is, flowering reality

like spinning reality--being unconscious to truth

3:53 - pmJason:

prizing intuition and emotion over rationalism is folly

Wynne:

yes

Jason:

so?

Wynne:

haha say that to an actor

Jason:

neco case sucks!

they suck too

Wynne:

hahaha

so we go back!

to the beginning

Jason:

HAHAHAH!

Wynne:

i love actors

Jason:

hate them

all to a man

Wynne:

are you trying to make me hate you so i fuck you?

Jason:

yes

how did you know??!

Wynne:

bc i'm a woman

women loved to be abused

*love

Jason:

it's sad but true

Wynne:

love me/hate me/love me

Jason:

fuck me

Wynne:

then leave me
♪ ♫ the toy of it alllll ♪ ♫

the king is dead, long live the king

Fri, 26 Jun 2009 15:01:32 -0800

when i was just a boy, my mom gave me a single, silver-sequined glove. i don’t remember wearing it out. (i’m sure my mother does) i adored it ever so much. thusly, like most red-blooded american kids, i began a life-long love of Michael Jackson.

now, i realize that last sentence my be a tad-bit ironic, but i remember an old made-for-tv-movie about the jackson where michael would sneak out of bed to feed a rat carrots underneath their kitchen table late at night. i mean, come on, if that’s true, no wonder he’s lost in his childhood. who wouldn’t want to relive that forever?

prescription drugs, anxiety medication, a long-standing fairly secret alcohol problem, and the almost constant threat of bankruptcy. then add on top the no win situation of the concert series: pull out and lose what was left of his reputation or head to the O2 with frail health and stagefright, and lose what was left of his reputation. how can this not be seen as a suicide?

another thing that hit me yesterday is how this country grieves through humor. when something so uncomfortable and impossible happens, the mind cannot always process the grief right away. as with magic johnson, terri schiavo, and countless others, humor has always been the illuminating force that shows us, collectively the way out of the darkness. so, without further ado, here is every michael jackson joke i know:

there will be a autopsy today to determine which was the cause of death:
a) sunshine b) moonlight c) good times d) boogie

why did michael jackson rush down to k-mart?
he heard little boy’s pants were half-off

50 kids have volunteered to identify the body as they have first-hand experience of seeing michael jackson stiff.

what university did michael jackson graduate from?
brigham young

mcdonald’s are bringing out the michael jackson tribute burger:
50 year old meat between two 7 year old buns.

how is michael jackson like cavier?
they both come on little crackers.

when farrah fawcett arrived in heaven, god was such a big fan he decided to grant her one wish.she asked that all the children in the world could be safe, so god killed michael jackson.

how do you know it’s betime at neverland ranch?
the big hand is on the little hand

and, the coup de grâce,

what’s the difference between michael jackson and neil armstrong?
neil armstrong was the first man to walk on the moon… and michael jackson fucks little boys.

*thanks to popbitch, valerie and ben for their contributions to this one!

"“Like most people, I live my life in a rush, consuming media on the run,” said Keats, who has..."

Thu, 18 Jun 2009 11:27:58 -0800

“

“Like most people, I live my life in a rush, consuming media on the run,” said Keats, who has copyrighted his mind, tried to pass a Law of Identity and attempted to genetically engineer God.

“That may be fine for reading the average blog,” he said, “but something essential is lost when ingesting words is all about speed. My thousand-year story is an antidote. Given the printing process I’ve used, you can’t take in more than one word per century. That’s even slower than reading Proust.”

The printing process in question is a simple but, as usual with Keats, pretty clever idea. The cover is printed in a double layer of standard black ink, with an incrementally screened overlay masking the nine words. Exposed over time to ultraviolet light, the words will be appear at different rates, supposedly one per century.

“The precise quantity of ink covering each word is different, so that the words will appear one at a time,” Keats said. “Provided that your copy of Opium is kept out in the open, and regularly exposed to sunlight over 1,000 years to be read progressively by the next dozen or so generations. Or very, very slowly if you happen to be Ray Kurzweil.”

The odds are very good that Keats’ brainy game will outlive print itself, at least as far as magazines are concerned. But will the pages of Opium last long enough for his story to be told?

“The high-quality acid-free paper on which Opium is printed will certainly last that long,” Keats answered. “Whether humankind will, of course, remains an open question.”

”

- http://www.wired.com/underwire/2009/06/story-that-takes-1000-years-to-read-is-antidote-to-media-whirlwind/

jonahray: WANT. Portable NES player.

Thu, 18 Jun 2009 11:24:44 -0800

jonahray:

WANT. Portable NES player.

pretty much the best ish on the interwebs

Mon, 15 Jun 2009 10:00:00 -0800

pretty much the best ish on the interwebs

Banksy is the most famous, and certainly the most talented, graf...

Sun, 14 Jun 2009 14:32:00 -0800

Banksy is the most famous, and certainly the most talented, graf artist in the world. his ‘barely legal’ show here in LA was pretty much the greatest 3-day art show of all time: it saw brad and whatsherface gobble up seven-figure canvases, and featured, much to the dismay of the animal rights folks, a 10,000 lbs. spray-painted elephant. it matched the fucsia wall paper and truly was the elephant in the room.

his latest show, in his home town of bristol, looks jaw-droppinly delious as well, (especially the poop-cone). my favorite FAVORITE piece is taking the piss out of damien hirst (see above). hirst, even more than his predecesor koons, truly empitomes the notion that anything a curator or dealer pays a shit-ton of money for is “art”, fuck having praxis or social and spirital meaning.

Henry Geldzahler once said: “the history of modern art is also the history of the progressive loss of art’s audience. art has increasingly become the concern of the artist and the bafflement of the public.” and how.

now i finally have something to rap about if i ever get face to faceless with Mr. B. god, can this man do no wrong?