It is Christmas Eve and if you are in
a western capitalist nation, you are either hunkered down near home having
maxed out all your possible spending already, or you are navigating the mad
rushes of last minute shoppers clogging the asphalt arteries which are
Amerikkka’s heart. Somehow this is connected to Christianity. And I lost my tasbih
somewhere the other day. I am going to see how deep into the woods it might be.
Monday, December 24
SPORTSBALL 69: Winter 2018
I’m resurrecting trash culture anthropology through the filter
of the world’s football, with plans to do so according to solstice/equinox
schedule, but I’m doing so through my patreon, because I’m attempting to move
to analog zines again, or doing longer winded projects on my patreon. I’m making
this first of 3 installments of this Winter 2018 Sportsball 69 free to all,
because information wants to be free, but the second and third installments the
coming two weeks will be patrons only, because electric bills want to be paid.
It is your choice to support or not. I realize we live in a time where we’ve
been trained to look at social media and click a like button instead of
actually clicking a link, and I’m as guilty of that as anyone, but if you spend
$20 a month on coffee, or alcohol, consider spending $1 a month on me. I’m
better for you.
Sunday, December 23
CH34P D1G1T4L C4M3R4...
cheap digital camera
zoom function creates splotches,
but fuck it - this is my art
Saturday, December 22
M3 4ND TH3 MVLL31N, H1D1NG...
me and the mullein, hiding
along forgotten railroad
tracks, embracing the quiet
Friday, December 21
SONG OF THE DAY: Across the Lines
It’s fucked up how all this old ass music that was
resistance to Reagan era bullshit is so appropriate now. Globalism/Clinton/Bush
regimes combined with fall of Soviet Union got us (Amerikkkans) all feeling
like eternal growth was actually some sustainable bullshit, and we could just
refinance away our worries forever. Now look at us… all the cards about to fall
the fuck down, every bubble floating higher than ever sitting there with the
solstice full moon shining through its thin ass veneer, about to burst. And of
course all this music that’s like 30 fucking years old is suddenly more
appropriate than it even was back when it was made. What the fuck is wrong with
people? Why do we love to ignore the truth in consumption of useless shit? Oh
yeah, that’s a neurological reaction to try and escape painful or difficult
things. Capitalism and all its fucked upness is entirely based on neurological
triggers, though it’s always been framed as psychological and rationalized as
if you have a choice. The mass engineering of consciousness performed by both
mainstream political parties in 2016, and continuously since then, utilizing
digital algorithms and manipulation to cause people to make “choices” is the
ultimate realization of that neurological yakubian trickery. That’s why the
shit’s gonna fall apart. They been pushing too hard. But remember – milk crates,
tarps, and machetes; milk crates, tarps, and machetes; milk crates, tarps, and
machetes. And maybe some goats too.
TH4T BL4Z3 0R4NG3/L1M3 GR33N L1F3STYL3...
that blaze orange/lime green lifestyle -
the sixty-nine yin-yang of
rural existence crisis
Thursday, December 20
WH3R3 TH3 FVCK 4M 1 3V3N...
where the fuck am I even?
the wandering fool dances
close to the edge, forever
SONG OF THE DAY: Death Row
Freddie Gibbs is an underrated often overlooked MC,
probably because he’s from the Midwest, and not even notable Midwest like
Chicago itself but rundown shithole suburb of Chicago in Gary, Indiana. Also
his rap name is Freddie Gibbs, which is regular as fuck sounding, like he’d be
a Memphis wrestler from 1989. But even shitty Freddie Gibbs tracks are better
than most MCs. And also, the album cover to Freddie is without a doubt the best
rap album cover of 2018, and probably the past number of years. It’s weird how
end of year listicles are always performative and try to cover all the bases,
and I doubt anybody will touch on Freddie Gibbs because they’ll have to include
IMPORTANT or SEMINAL pop cultural moments. And yet, if you go back to these
listicle ten years from now, most of that stuff is pure trash. What survives
the test of time? Album covers like this one, that’s what the fuck survives.
Wednesday, December 19
SONG OF THE DAY: mY pR3R0G4T1V3 (45s on 33)
Survival is not always pretty,
not always photoshop beautiful, not always a meme-worthy mantra that can be
printed cheaply to be sold at an outlet store for great aunties to put up on
their living room entryway wall. Survival often is navigating the human mine
fields, explosions that took lovers and kin, friends and enemies, blew up the
world around you multiple times over. Overdoses, over-reaching, over-doing,
over the edge and/or top. And yet somehow, some survive through all that, go
far past where others got left behind, even though the survivor might’ve gone
harder and more stupidly through the mine fields. That’s the fucked up thing
about the metaphysical mine fields of Amerikkkan culture – you got no idea what
will keep you from getting exploded. You can carefully plot your course and be
gone in an instant anyways. You can plough ahead like a drunken fullback, and
make it to 69 years or nicer. There’s no explaining it.
Survivor’s guilt gets you, when
you’re thinking while standing safely for a moment in the mine fields, maybe
even off the worst part of the mine fields, able to be safe more often than
not, wondering “why me?” and how come you didn’t get exploded while your people
did. The RIP tattoos and picture altars on small thrift store wooden shelves to
those who are gone but not forgotten. Why them and not us? How did I get to be
here, greyed around the edges, puffed out from more life than others, slowing
down, my transmission leaking fluid from the eyeballs unexplainably now and
then, but still going? And why did the others not?
There’s no fucking explaining it.
You survive. That’s all. Keep going, don’t think about it too hard or you’ll
miss avoiding the next explosion.
Tuesday, December 18
4S MVSHR00MS 4PP34R, 1 H34R...
as mushrooms appear, I hear
a genius voice explaining,
"straight out the slums of Shaolin"
SVNR1S3 0V3R F4LS3 PR0GR3SS...
sunrise over false progress,
another day walking to
unfulfilling cubicle
Monday, December 17
1NT3RS3CT10NS W1TH N0WH3R3...
intersections with nowhere
feel perfect for nobodies
looking to escape notice
SONG OF THE DAY: Chillin' On the Westside
Was communifying with my eldest offspring the other
day, and she textified to me “when will ppl chill and just let me live” and
this struck me as pure gospel universal magnetic truth, with which I will
likely stick and poke upon my leg around my ankle next week when I am off all
week because work shuts down during the holidays whether we celebrate them or
not, but who the fuck is gonna turn down being paid to stay home, not this
dirtgod, so I’m gonna use my time wisely, sitting in my basement apartment,
tattooing poorly “when will ppl chill and just let me live” around my leg, and
it will likely look weird and oblong because it will be from my eye sight line
of vision, much like my stretched out yin yang on my chest I did over two
decades ago – a perfect circle to my eyeballs, but pulled tall in strange way
to somebody not inside my mind’s eye.
This world remains full of so much manufactured
and unnecessary drama, at global scale, at local scale, inside my own fucking
home and car at times, and all I can think is WHEN WILL PPL CHILL AND JUST LET
ME LIVE because this is always true. So I hope in this time of manufactured
drama and socially engineered consumerism frenzy, you remember to chill, even
if you are struggling beneath the weight of these burdens, and juggling
multiple jobs which do not cover the even more multiplicitous debt, that you
get those moments of chill, window down or door open or just walking, and the
power of lounge washes over you, inside first then outward, and you feel some
goddamn peace. This world is an asshole, and sometimes when overrun with asshole
behaviors we want to counter that with our own worst nature, but I remind you
that WHEN WILL PPL CHILL AND JUST LET US LIVE is a two-way street, and not even
a binary two-way street but a giant circular roundabout with a thousand lanes
and we can sit there and honk the fuck out of each other, smash fenders,
angrily demand that our direction is entitled unto us, or we could chill the
fuck out, make our way, and keep it loungin’.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)