Koi No Yokan

en.shrined

2011-11-23T17:32:00.010-05:00

___PR.INCEST
EN.SHRINED MIX

click here. to listen
60:00 minutes

TRACKLISTING
gramatik. good evening mr. hitchcock
chrisfader+testa. way of life
shurik'n. samourai
niamaj. love joint (tony oheix rework)
[artist unknown]. intro
gold panda. you
eight frozen modules. left me
welder. purple and orange (audiovoid remix)
desiseq. retfirdkcab
dillon francis. I.D.G.A.F.O.S.
siriusmo. signal
jakwob. here with me
[artist unknown]. track unknown
nit grit. grit shifter
freestylers. cracks feat. belle humble (flux pavilion remix)
bil bless. wanting you
kasai allstars+woom. enter the chief

enjoy who shrine is here
follow shrine's progress here
donate here.

loveseed

2011-09-21T04:00:00.015-04:00

_PR.INCEST
LOVESEED MIX

click here. to listen
60:00 minutes

TRACKLISTING
bil bless. sin of omission
polish ambassador. binary rainbow
alpine. icypoles (star slinger dreamix)
girl talk. happen feat. chris glover
elliot mars. excite
ill.gates+nick c. that look
vybz kartel. clarks again
tanya stephens. please me
pupajim. trouble again
miss bolivia. alta yama feat. ali gua gua
BCO. sonidera popa (shazalakazoo remix)
BCO. la inconformable (schlachthofbronx remix)
diplo+dillon francis. que que feat. maluca
vaski. spaceman (dillon francis remix)
nuphlo. 40 thieves
bedrockk. plush sky dreamin'
nastynasty. apologies
katalyst. day into night feat. stephanie mckay

suicide sine wave feat. snowy

2011-07-21T17:18:00.004-04:00

octopus revenge

2011-07-17T18:05:00.014-04:00

_____________________PR.INCEST
OCTOPUS REVENGE (DOSED2) [RE]MIX

click here. to listen
60:00 minutes

TRACKLISTING
sibot. expect everyone
gramatik. while i was playin' fair
a-trak. me &my snakers feat. lupe fiasco
lobounce. keep forgettin'
the polish ambassador. binary rainbow
nastynasty. apologies
young mc. bust a move (polish ambassador remix)
mochipet. rambunktion (polish ambassador remix)
leftside &esco. tuck in ya belly
desmond dekker. shantytown (santigold+diplo rework)
kromestar. badman
the librarian. arctic swallow
sugarpill. b.k.
sugarpill. flow goggles
sugarpill. some say the
yan zombie. i don't wanna be numb anymore
phace. vintage
phace. basic memory
aphex twin. lichen (wisp remix)
lady gaga. paparazzi (dntel remake)
kolt13. thirteen's ladder
cyne. money parade

a hand sustains you

2011-06-09T23:39:00.007-04:00

a hand sustains you it is hers lips lightly touch your forehead they are her lips you hear breathing near you it is she to have her wholly from her devotion to her pity never to be left alone to have that sweet shyness as to lean on that unbending reed to touch providence with your hands and be able to grasp it in your arms god made palpable the heart that dark celestial flower bursts into a mysterious bloom you would not give up that shade for all the light in the world the angel soul is forever there if she goes away it is only to return she fades away in a dream and reappears in reality you feel an approaching warmth she is there you are radiant you see nothing but you feel yourself adored it is a paradise, of darkness

VICTOR HUGO. les misérables
(sadako tchaikovskaya remix)

if i was your dj

2011-04-24T20:46:00.012-04:00

_________PR.INCEST
IF I WAS YOUR DJ MIX

click here. to listen
60:00 minutes

TRACKLISTING
end. theatres of memory
kettel. twinkle twinkle
heyoka. sonidas de la cabeza
ample mammal. future versus calculator
lorn. what's the use
si begg. no 7 (original 2005 battle weapon)
amplive. nudez feat. too $hort&mc zumbi of zion-i
aphex twin. lichen (wisp remix)
james holden. lump
tone deaf junkies. kwaai techtic
artem zlobin. soul
artem zlobin. listen UP
armand van helden. i want your soul (fake blood remix)
kwanzamo roots rockers. jah love

tsuji giri

2011-04-13T23:51:00.002-04:00

what tomorrow might bring

2011-03-07T20:37:00.002-05:00

the books of bokonon

2011-01-30T04:04:00.017-05:00

+
[Via] Nico Nico Douga

big fish in little tokyo

2011-01-10T03:33:00.016-05:00

casual ladyboy

2010-12-24T04:44:00.024-05:00

It's our last night in Bangkok (the first of a consummate two) and Gates III and I decide it's time to leave the deranged and at times depressing example of 'White People in Thailand' [that is Khao San Road] behind. We want to see other parts, areas and districts (of this incredible city and beautiful country) and so hop a cab and clumsily attempt to explain in our nonexistent Thai to the disconcerted driver that we want to get to the gay district and chill there among what might be more of our 'own people', our type, our kind. The driver is perplexed by the address scrawled in my moleskin, he's embarrassed and bewildered too by our loud miming attempts to define 'gay' and 'homosexual' and 'Friendly Town.' We simply finally pile into the taxi, lapse into a trusting silence and at once and 'of a sudden' are on our lively hope-filled final way.

A forty-five minute highly visual quietly compelling and careening commute later, we find ourselves in another impressively urban area, distinctly less touristic and contoured by high buildings, several restaurants and wide busy lanes. It's a much more business-type area of Bangkok that is comparable somewhat to what Yonge&Bloor is locally. Gates III and I are both relieved and satisfied to have left Khao San Road fairly 'in the dust' but where we've ended up doesn't overly smack of 'gay' so we pause in our brief and as yet fruitless meander. Finally we stop to 'take stock' and we remain still unsure. We wander around inconclusively some more into and around the thick humid Bangkok night. We are saddled again with our huge travellers' pack and shoulder bags, we grow tired and get consistently nowhere. Gradually we accept that we definitely aren't in an intelligibly homosexual neighbourhood at all.

After accosting a handful of mostly unhelpful strangers and foreigners, we light upon a strollingly elegant, discernibly homosexual, older man who seems most likely to be capable of giving us the succinct explanations and straightforward answers to the questions we have and the directions we seek. We are correct. He does and capably. This man is unruffled in an offhand way, he's not surprised to see us or to be accosted by us, he's just strolling along and just 'there'. It's like he has been 'put' there exactly for us to ask him categorical questions so that he can give us unequivocal replies. We ask him and he answers and everything looks to be 'on track' again, everything feels Alright.

The man is indeed homosexual and he's rigorously in love with Thailand. So much so that he's lived there for twenty years. He shares his personal details with us with natural familiarity and easy poise, he looks somewhat like Tom Wilkinson and his mannerisms and gait have a debonair Ben Stevenson flair and air. Our cultivated homosexual guide accompanies us all the way to the sufficiently clean, modestly priced, acceptably attractive, homosexually-approved hotel that he himself recommends. He gives us clues and directions too as to where to go for 'good gay fun' and how to also get there. At the hotel, we bid him grateful adieu and his farewell is warm and kind and refined.

After checking in and once comfortably air-conditioned at last inside, Gates III casts boisterously aside his towering and titanic travellers' pack. I'm delirious and prostrate, wearing as I do, almost always the very wrong footwear for a great deal of walking and for any manner of world traveling, my feet, as a result, are almost always destroyed. I collapse therefore with a plunge and luxuriously face-down upon the big and beautiful, bountiful bed. Gates III zums and zithers. I start to pass completely out, I am exhausted to my core from the long cab ride, the heavy-loads carrying, the Bangkok heat, the trudging about. Gates III by contrast is all shot up with energy and excitement, his levels of get-up-and-go are luridly high. My exhaustion plummets me comfortably straight into a death embrace—it's by this point anyway almost midnight...

I manage to convince Gates III that a nap is inarguably and for the both of us 'just the thing' but Gates III seems to sense some kind of trap. He defensively denies me and almost angrily replies, 'No. NO. Cause then. You'll just lie there. You'll go to sleep. FOR GOOD.' I'm taken slightly aback by his vehemence and coo out a reassuring 'No I won't' but he refuses combatively to be either tricked or convinced. Tensely he then flops upon the bed with a bounce, he is stiff and unyielding, a nap is the furthest thing from all of his desire and interest or need. 'Just twenty minutes' I with sumptuous sleepiness attempt ailing again to reassure. Tempestuous and dubious, Gates III rigidly concedes.

Suddenly he is 'up at at 'em' once more, he's firing ferociously, to go. Gates III bustles about busily, stands straightly tall and disruptively commands, 'OK. GET UP.' It's imperative apparently that we both hit up the homosexual town and bars at once. 'Just twenty minutes' I mutteringly murmur and Gates III shouts something about us having actually napped already for nearing an hour. I'm too overrun with an all-consuming exhaustion to even twitch out an argument or convincing line of defining defence but the thought of getting vertical and unwrapped seems not just unattractive but vicious and impossible, by all turns and to every boundary. I feel leaden and oppressed by the concept, to the point of a lethargically almost total despair.

'WE HAVE TO GO OUT,' Gates III shouts with such dogged dramatic decision that [if I wasn't so powerfully fatigued] under normal conditions, I would have found the complete performance to be startlingly inspiring, it's so interestingly very extreme. 'We spent all this time and energy trying to find the Gays and now we've finally done it! You'll regret forever that we never went out and had the time of our lives in the gayest city in the world! We have to get out there and party with the Ladyboys, you'll never forgive me or yourself if I let you let me not make us go! Trust me, you'll thank me later, we have to go, we HAVE to!' I'm so exhausted that 'despite it all', I feel I still can remain unmoved by Gates III's passion-drenched entreaty. 'What time is it' I ask very meaninglessly. (Vying for time I opt instead to ask about it). 'Who cares what fucking time it is!' Gates III shouts. 'Go ask at the front desk' I suggest, trying really just to get him out of the room and leave me to wallow beautifully in my nice and napping peace.

'OK.' Gates III declares. 'I'm going downstairs and I'll find out the goddamned time. But if when I get back and you are still just 'lying there', I am going to fuck you. In the ass. I am not joking, I will fuck you. In the ass. A punitive ass-fucking, that's what you will get so GET UP. I do not joke!' That got me up faster than sheet lightning. Gates III now is surprised and pleased. Imbued by the easy suddenness of his success and accomplishment, he is radiant and smiling wildly. 'We'll have so much FUN. Watch, I promise, you're gonna thank me, it's gonna be SO awesome!' I ignore him and sluggishly and sadly start pulling on some clothes. I'm still fairly peeved and rather defiant about the whole fucking in the ass threat thing (I'm also slightly almost kind of impressed but of course only slightly. And secretly).

'It'll be so fun.' Gates III says again, his face the very picture of eagerness, his voice both soothing and conciliatory. I'm too drooping and drained to drum up any of my signature comebacks or rejoinders, I'm even too tired to roll my goddamned motherfucking eyes and so. As a kind of 'revenge', I decide to go out almost or basically As Is, that is, not get anywhere close to getting 'all dolled up' at all and to just wear actual gray sweatpants, a grubby pale pink t-shirt, some nearby unsuitable shoes, a cheap straw hat even and my huge heavy black-framed prescription glasses. The glasses look like they belong to my dad―if I had a dad and if this dad was some kind of Newscast Man from some time in say, the 50's. I look passably somewhat almost 'cute' but unnaturally excessively very casual too and not at all done up or eye-catching or anywhere close to homosexually-sufficient levels of Diva fancy.

'Whatever' I grumblingly mumble as I stumble gracelessly, grouchily about. I gather my things and glumly get ready to do some more of that thick humid Bangkok trudging. Gates III is all bright eyes and tail bushes, I am all 'Fuck you' but drowsily, sluggishly, languidly. Finally we get 'out there' and do the after midnight trailing and trudging thing. The getting there takes about seven forevers until we at last and somewhere arrive. At some kind of partially covered strip mall alleyway rectangle or square, it's a 'clubs cluster' space and place, type or thing. Seems [this] is where we go to enter what turns out to be a 'Bangkok Gay Clubs Mall Many Meetings Place'. I have no ID on me and after a moment or two, the homosexual guards or doormen or coat-check people hospitably just motion us through and past and on and so we go in.

As we maneuver forward, we come across our homosexually elegant guide from earlier in the evening; we are just about to enter, he is just leaving. He is languorously delighted to witness our success in the finding and the coming and we in turn are pleased to so strangely and yet so seamlessly be in passing reunited with him. Neither Gates III nor I are the types to go with things like 'serendipity' but this re-connection somehow does feel like a sweet and serene good-times symbol, sign or 'something'.

We the three of us smile, we exchange greetings, he handsomely exits, we stride forwardly in. The square space within is literally 'teeming' with gay men of all ages, kinds, stripes, styles and strains. I'm beginning to perk up but continue too to disregard the 'SEE?' that radiates from Gate's III's shining visage and face-splitting grin. He's like a giddy blind boy being taken to his first 3D film and I'm distracted by the lone homosexual Black man who, white teeth beautiful and blinding, smile bright and blazing, struts with sexual purposefulness through and stylishly in.

The first room or club we elect to enter is a homosexual Karaoke Bar and there's a young and effortlessly handsome Thai man entertaining a calm cluster of Gays with his laidback karaoke renditions of those diva ballads with which most homosexuals are undyingly familiar and fantastically fond. Gates III and I have a drink or two and smile pleasantly at the pleasant homosexuals all around in this comfortably complaisant karaoke setting. After one or two homosexually preferred diva ballads more, we decide to check out the next club space place and enjoy immediately the charismatic hosting of some intimate stage show by two exquisitely captivating Thai homosexual Drag Queens. Gates III and I appreciate the show for no more than a few minutes, we smile at and adore the hostesses and afterward we thank them warmly both before leaving.

Wishing then to partake more totally of this 'homosexual club buffet', we take leave of this establishment also and push our ways further and deepest in. We arrive finally at some club that from the immediate outside looks huge and loud, packed and very crowded, excitingly crazy and darkly bright. Once we get in, we are 'blown away' instantly by probably the best sound system in Thailand. Also we realize we've finally found the most homosexual venue in the country, possibly even the world. The club is the biggest, most crowded, gayest place we've ever been inside of, we are overwhelmed, giddy and amazed. Also we are fascinated, violently happy and alarmed. The music is booming and bassdriven and Gates III is excited finally to find himself somewhere in southeast Asia that actually has truly proper sound, even if the music being blasted is the gayest kind of diva circuit house imaginable. 'This might be the gayest place on earth,' Gates III says. 'Totally,' I agree and we marvel in place of a happy and gay embrace.

For every one hundred dancing and writhing homosexual Thais, there's about ten middle-aged white and studiously cruising foreigners. There's only a smattering of the usually palpably present fag-hag quotient here and representing, we gaze around us, eyes glassy and full and wide. Then we are swallowed and smothered into the swoosh and swirl of gay bodies dancing and dalliancing, careening and carousing. I unleash myself into a homosexual happiness of hip-swaying and hype and acquire a sweet sexy string of new best gay friends all in succession across the evening. The club is endless and huge and literally pulsing and pullulating with gay men, we are 'blown away' by the strength and seethe and scale of it all, again and again and again. The humorously horrible homosexual club chorals assault us with brutal beats and continuous clarity, we endure and love it all as shards of Lady Gaga, Rihanna, Beyoncé and Madonna stab our ears and bodies and hearts with their expected and unmistakable diva strains. The DJ throughout is competently capable and capably competent, he knows the club and the sound and the audience and the whole place is going 'off' very hotly, hugely and homosexually. We marvel and we shout, we dance and we love.

Later we find ourselves upstairs and pick up our final GayBoy Hanger-on for the evening. 'Watch this', he says and vogues for me. I make a show of being both interested and impressed before I dance in my own 'space and place' again. 'You with him?' he asks me, all gay and smiling. I smile in response and reply and just dance again. 'He with you?' GayBoy Hanger-On asks Gates III. Gates III says, 'Yeah. He with me.' GayBoy Hanger-On leans hectically in and closely exclaims, 'Yeah? He with you! He! Ladyboy?' and Gates III smiles proudly, happily and nods without precision or point. 'You! Ladyboy.' GayBoy Hanger-On exclaimingly asks or announces again. I only smile some more, maybe I even shrug a shoulder or two. GayBoy Hanger-On grins in general commendation and some uncertainty. Then again he vogues for me. I offer once more that look of interest and of being impressed: Gay boys as a rule love to show off their signature moves and these moves are never by any sober person's standards anything very remarkable or memorable but. As a rule, the gay boy will want to repeatedly show you his 'moves' and as a rule, you as the audience-Recipient must offer that immediately instant face of the Intrigued, the Interested and the Impressed, if only just 'for the moment.'

'You! Ladyboy!' GayBoy Hanger-On exclaimingly asks or announces at intervals. I smile and dance and Gates III frolicks and grins. Later, another gay man joins our jouncingly jaunty group. GayBoy Hanger-On dances and makes a marked and meaningful movement with his head in my direction. He says in a clipped voice full of confident familiarity, 'Ladyboy. Ladyboy.' The new gay man to our group dancingly pauses for only a moment and muses politely, 'Who. You?' to GayBoy Hanger-On. GayBoy Hanger-On makes the same adept head jerking gesture in my direction. He even goes so far as to jab me once or twice. 'No. Him. Him.' He says. His expression reveals a knowing and authoritative confidentiality, as though by right of his having 'discovered' me, his proud announcement all is very capital, revelational and supreme. I gaze into the surrounding club's dark pulse and steamed up details, I keep my own expression a mask of meaningless yet warmly neutral inscrutability. Gates III continues to dance and carouse and grin.

After lots more of this gay dancing, homosexual voguing and feigning being impressed and interested in various gay dance signature moves, Gates III confides to GayBoy Hanger-On, 'Me. Love him. So much. He very special. He casual Ladyboy...' GayBoy Hanger-On stops to consider the solemnity of these words and Gates III continues, 'You know. Usually. Ladyboys. Very total nice-nice? Very so much fancy-fancy? Not him. He casual Ladyboy.' Then Gates III adds momentously, 'New style.' Gates III pauses to let this clarification sink in. GayBoy Hanger-On dances and vogues and then says. 'Oh.' He follows this brief and brusque consideration with an 'Ohhhh—!' as though suddenly 'everything' makes real and genuine sense again. Gates III and GayBoy Hanger-On then dance once more and roguishly. They are happy and fused in their shared and clarified confidence. I continue too to smile and to shrug, I metaphorically sigh and figuratively roll my eyes, I 'get my Gay on' and I dance.

'I know Josh! From Hawaii!' GayBoy Hanger-on suddenly says. I look at him blankly. 'JUST go with it. Act like you KNOW' is what I can read in Gates III's nearby eyes. 'Oh Josh!' I say familiarly. GayBoy Hanger-On smiles hugely, more happily than ever before and vogues then again just for me.

Later we escape to a smoking balcony or room that I manage to discover. We're joined by one or two gay Thai men and their accompanying mostly silent middle-aged white foreigner cruising companions. Out also comes our GayBoy Hanger-on. He's still offering up his signature moves and vogues for us while we look with absent-minded interest still 'on'. Then in a lucid moment, I assess our GayBoy Hanger-On and musingly mention, 'Actually. He looks. Kind of exactly like... a gay edIT.' Gates III sobers up for a single instant to also scrutinize our GayBoy Hanger-On. Gates III then confirms the comment and slowly says, 'Actually... he does.' The great accuracy of my observation amuses us both for as long as it takes to finish our cigarettes.

After we suffer through some more endless gay club circuit house anthems, I finally begin at last to lose my fire and flare and am pretty much very ready to leave. Gay edIT looks about fit to vogue and preen and show me off as 'his' Ladyboy Discovery until sunrise and so I move to make my terminal escape. I sit zen-like and statuesque for about a thousand years somewhere downstairs while I wait for Gates III to properly, firmly and finally shake the gay edIT off...

At last Gates III succeeds with some very detailed but unimportant lengthy explanation and apology. I in my haze can only think of the million years trudge home back to the hotel, I can't imagine where I'll find the strength to make it.

On exit, we're suddenly presented with about ten bundles of giantly oversized stocks of green onions as thick and as tall as Gates III himself is. We cannot believe that these green onion bundles are 'for real' or how they can exist 'in real life'. We're so 'taken' with these questions and the wonder of the life and reality of them that we forget to wonder why or what green onions should have to 'do' at all, with homosexuality, with gay men, with gay clubs, with Bangkok or with Thailand... Rather than seek for answers, we take of course some pictures.

[You'll see these (and tens of thousands of other pictures too)
Later. And soon]

On the thick hot humid Bangkok night trudge home then, we take still several more very drunken snaps of each other doing very drunken things. At last I uncannily run ahead in my estranging platform wicker wonder shoes. I'm in a haze of lingering fatigue and flinging confusion, I find the hotel by mere magical instinct and collapse instantly into the deepest waiting-for-the-boy stretched out stillness and sleep. When Gates III himself at long last also returns, he takes pictures of me serenely passed out calmly drunk in the lobby. Moments later we are at last back in our great gay hotel room, safely, sumptuously, anew.

'There. Wasn't that GREAT?' Gates III, still drunk, beams. I'm already half-naked and mostly unconscious. 'WHO'S my casual Ladyboy!' Gates III croons in a voice of deep fulfillment and the drunkest affection. He gets then also messily ready for bed and plops himself horizontally heaving and down. Fortunately the all-consuming urge to sleep is a mutual thing. All possible erections—no matter how hopeful or indefatigable—are nonissues and safely out of everyone's way (most significantly, out of mine). I can without effort or interruption therefore [keep a clear and final eye on that ever elusive beauty sleep ball] I can at last without interruption or effort, sweetly and sumptuously sleep.

In the pitch and pleasing darkness, my left arm is flung with careless familiarity across Gates III's smoothly warm chest, my right hand with loving tenderness cups his blindly silent, touchingly vulnerable, eternally hardworking balls. 'Goodnight' I jabber muffled and fadedly deep into the side of his susceptible neck, deep into the puffed and pithy pillows. He sighs his somnolent pleasure and peacefulness and puts a lank free arm around me. Lightly and lovingly, he touches the back of my own susceptible neck with the tips of one or two slow and unconscious fingers and it's goodnight Bangkok, it's Thailand [thank you and] goodbye.

Thank you Thailand (for being so wonderful)
and thank you Bangkok, for being so gay.

dosed

2010-11-02T20:55:00.013-04:00

________PR.INCEST
THE WEEKLY DOSE MIX

click here. to listen
60:00 minutes

TRACKLISTING
VA (world). father/son with erhu
revise. korean aura feat. adaline&smokasan
slideshow. bottletop dub feat. tina grace
evergreen&landlord. jah rain feat. danman
siriusly twisted. the mind&the soul feat. shamik
utabi. wave ladder
utabi. lightpotllution
vorpal. track 13
datach'i. what it is
stenchman. licking the envelope
j.me.j. gut romper
soom t&disrupt. dirty money (an-ten-nae remix)
major lazer. lazer theme feat. future trouble
yan zombie. just to please you (yeah right)
bil bless. gnashing and weeping
heyoka. crimit
vibesquad. empower the wallflower

fotografia

2010-10-17T23:57:00.004-04:00

Alexander Neumann
Andy Julia
Antonella Arismendi
Christer Strömholm
Claudia Crobatia
David Waldman
Dorothea Lange
Eric Traore
Erik Johansson
Eugenio Recuenco
Kurt Stallaert
Manabu Yamanaka
Nadya Lev
Natalie Shau
Rasmus Mogensen
Rikki Kasso
Ryan Mcginley
Shintaro Sato
Walter Schels
Yutsai

aRtístico

2010-10-16T22:52:00.001-04:00

Alex Kanevsky
Andrew Jones
Angelica Kauffmann
Ann Gale
Aubrey Beardsley
Audrey Kawasaki
Aya Kato
Aya Takano
Bruce Holwerda
Chiho Aoshima
Chinatsu Ban
Dave White
Egon Schiele
Gottfried Helnwein
Gustav Klimt
Hans Bellmer
Henry Darger
Hieronymus Bosch
Jenny Saville
Jim Denevan
Karim Hamid
Kim Cogan
Kimiko
Kris Kuksi
Lana Guerra
Matt Aaron Templeton
Misprinted Type
Mizuno Junko
Oga
Osang Gwon
Robert Davies
Salvador Dalí
Shen Qi
Sophie Jodoin
Stella Im Hultberg
Suehiro Maruo
Sukaoff
Tamara de Lempicka
Terence Koh
Vertico's Puppets
Victoria Reynolds
Yayoi Kusama
Yuji Moriguchi
Yumiko Kayukawa
Zeng Hao Dun Huang

música

2010-10-15T22:49:00.002-04:00

16bit
6blocc
adele
american memory
angelo badalamenti
anoice
antiserum
antony/johnsons
aphex twin
b. fleischmann
bar9
bassnectar
beastie boys
beats antique
björk
bob marley
bon iver
books
burial
cardopusher
caroliner
christopher willits
clash
cocorosie
deadbeat
dj vadim
duo 505
emalkay
eprom
eskmo
fissure price
fucknrad
gaslamp killer
geinō yamashirogumi
hauschka
heyoka
ilkae
ill.Gates
instra:mental
jane's addiction
jawbone
jazzsteppa
kaada
kashiwa daisuke
kazuki tomokawa
kettel
klimek
komodo
kooks
leonard cohen
lykke li
magnetic stripper
max ulis
merzbow
MIA
milanese
mochipet
modeselektor
mount kimbie
n-type
noisia
nosaj thing
of porcelain
off the sky
ontayso
opiuo
OSC
pantyraid
phoenecia
pinch
pixies
pretty lights
radiohead
ramadanman
ratatat
reso
roommate
rubber-0 cement
rustie
santigold
shigeru umebayashi
shipwrek
sidenote
sine weaver
skinny puppy
skream
spoonbill
stenchman
strokes
subhuman
sukh knight
swod
sylvain chauveau
taal mala
terminal 11
toasty boy
tom waits
tsukimono
tsutomu ōhashi
vaski
venetian snares
vibesquad
vorpal
WEG
wisp
yasushi yoshida
zeno

mirada

2010-10-14T22:47:00.003-04:00

15
28 Days Later
3 Iron
4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days
Akira
Amores perros
Amélie
Army of Darkness
Audition
Away With Words
Babette's Feast
Bad Education
Banquet
Battle Royale
Be With Me
Beat That My Heart Skipped
Big Boss
Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant
Blue Spring
Blue Velvet
Brazil
Caché
Calamari Wrestler
Cat Soup
Children of Men
Chungking Express
City of God
City of Lost Children
City of Lost Souls
Class
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon
Curse of the Golden Flower
Dancer in the Dark
Delicatessen
Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie
District 9
District!
Dogville
Dr. Strangelove
Electric Dragon 80.000 V
Elephant Man
Enlightenment Guaranteed
Enter the Dragon
Eraserhead
Even Dwarves Started Small
Evil Dead
Fantastic Mr. Fox
Fist of Fury
Funky Forest: The First Contact
Funny Games
Grizzly Man
Happiness
Happiness of the Katakuris
Hero
History of Violence
Host
Howl's Moving Castle
I Stand Alone
Ichi the Killer
In the Mood for Love
Infernal Affairs
Irreversible
JCVD
Joint Security Area
Josée the Tiger and the Fish
Kingdom
Kung Fu Hustle
Last Life in the Universe
Last Night
Let the Right One In
Linda Linda Linda
Lost Highway
Love Exposure
Machinist
Man Bites Dog
Memento
Memories of a Murder
Milk
Millennium Mambo
Mind Game
Mission
Mister Lonely
Mulholland Drive
My Scary Girl
Nobody Knows
Oasis
Old Boy
Once
Pan's Labrynth
Persona
Pi
Pianist
Piano
Piano Teacher
Primer
Quiet Family
Raise the Red Lantern
Reflecting Skin
Repulsion
Ring
Rosemary's Baby
Run Lola Run
Russian Ark
Saddest Music in the World
Save the Green Planet!
Science of Sleep
Series 7: The Contenders
Serious Man
Seven Samurai
Shaolin Soccer
Shower
Spider
Spirited Away
Story of the Weeping Camel
Strawberry Shortcakes
Suicide Circle
Survive Style 5+
Sympathy for Lady Vengeance
Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance
Syndromes and a Century
Synecdoche, New York
Tekkon Kinkreet
Tenant
Tetsuo: Iron Man
There Will Be Blood
Throne of Blood
Time
Tokyo Story
Tower of Death
Tropical Malady
Twin Falls Idaho
Up
Versus
Vie en Rose
Visitor Q
Volver
Waltz With Bashir
Way of the Dragon
White Ribbon
Wild Zero
Wings of Desire
World Sinks Except Japan
Wrestler
Y tu mamá también
Zebraman

wörter

2010-10-13T22:43:00.002-04:00

100 Years of Solitude
After the Quake
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
American Psycho
Animal Farm
Anna Karenina
Art of War
Blindness
Book of the Samurai
Brave New World
Breakfast of Champions
Bridge to Terabithia
Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao
Brothers Karamazov
Buddenbrooks
Castle
Cat's Cradle
Catch-22
Catcher in the Rye
Charlotte's Web
Charterhouse of Parma
Chronicles of Narnia
Clockwork Orange
Confederacy of Dunces
Crime and Punishment
Crying of Lot 49
Dance Dance Dance
Death in Venice
Death is a Lonely Business
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
Dubliners
Dune
Fahrenheit 451
Fall
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Fermata
Golden Bowl
Good Soldier
Gravity and Grace
Gravity's Rainbow
Great Gatsby
Gulliver's Travels
Handful of Dust
Handmaid's Tale
In Search of Lost Time
Infinite Jest
Kafka on the Shore
Lolita
Lord of the Flies
Madame Bovary
Mansfield Park
Martian Time-Slip
Metamorphosis
Mezzanine
Mrs. Dalloway
Naked Lunch
Nausea
Neuromancer
Nineteen Eighty-Four
Norwegian Wood
Not Wanted on the Voyage
Notes from Underground
Of Mice and Men
Pale Fire
Picture of Dorian Gray
Plague
Point Counter Point
Prophet
Rebel
Red and the Black
Road
Scanner Darkly
Sea of Fertility
Snow Crash
Society of the Spectacle
Stranger
Swiftly Tilting Planet
To Kill a Mockingbird
Trial
Ubik
Ulysses
Waiting
War and Peace
Wasp Factory
White noise
Who Has Seen the Wind
Wild Sheep Chase
Wind in the Door
Wind-Up Bird Chronicle
World According to Garp
Wrinkle in Time

birthday. redux

2010-10-12T13:43:00.003-04:00

crowning tigers

2010-10-02T02:18:00.023-04:00

________PR.INCEST
CROWNING TIGERS MIX

click here. to listen
48:00 minutes

TRACKLISTING
chr15tpunch3r. vinyl experiment
cyne. money parade
unknown artist. lose it
cardopusher. green disorder
ample mammal. pushing time
fredo feat. asm. ent wot yo
bil bless. sin of omission
hudson mohawke. fuse
cyne. arrow of god
anythony b. sunshine
yan zombie. the loneliness
yan zombie. last words
onra. stop (walk on by)
anthony b. true rastaman

ill.Methodology

2010-09-17T01:29:00.021-04:00

fall in love crown a tiger
come to our show i promise the
Music will be.

good

five 5 IIIII

2010-09-10T21:50:00.005-04:00

[5
YEARS]
<3

Digital Artwerk by Pr.incest

the transcendent city

2010-08-28T22:48:00.004-04:00

Short Film by Richard Hardy
[Via] Change The Thought

from love, with russia

2010-08-27T10:46:00.006-04:00

+
RUSSIA OVER A CENTURY AGO (1909-1912)
Photography by Sergei Mikhailovich Prokudin-Gorskii
[Via] Boston

the method and the purpose

2010-08-19T00:21:00.004-04:00

so good just,

gotta share and share. cause if the bashment sounds like [this] you know the love's gonna go to your head and spread. and when the love is there and it sounds /this real/ take it easy and sweet flow it loud and low make it mine and yours {on} continuous and. i'll be there (taking some) of your tender tragic beautiful yours and bringing all of my elusive and unfindable Mine. to you

[girl] bashment
realLove [boy]

japanese proletariat

2010-07-13T18:59:00.008-04:00

+
1930s Japanese Proletariat Posters
[Via] Pink Tentacle

future transportation

2010-06-27T19:36:00.006-04:00

+
Shōnen Club Magazine, 1936
[Via] Pink Tentacle

when humans ruled the earth

2010-06-26T16:07:00.004-04:00

Short Film by Stephen Ong
[Via] Change The Thought

take care

2010-06-25T00:12:00.018-04:00

When I’m not

out in public drinking far too much and quickly, talking far too fast and loudly, lunging much too unstoppably for any nearby testicles set, making out like I’m genuinely and relentlessly obsessed with black cock [of the illicit and enormous Race Traitor kind] or jawing off much too free and frankly about upsettingly unacceptable things like abortion, The Final Solution, pedophilia and/or war...

I can be found reclining languid and devastated with my eyes lightly closed wearing nothing but a stylishly oversized set of sleek Sennheiser headphones listening intently to my arresting and latest indie rock ballad discovery allowing my heart to singularly, quietly. Kind of break

&
thinking about too many silently clashing and crashing shards of shades of shapes of everything, flowing downward into the erasing enclosure of pure feeling, flowing upwards into the bright blank absolution of pure time, into all the crushing beauty of tomorrow, all the distorted perplexed rememberings of a collective eternal yesterday, the unfinished stories, the unwritten triumphs and conflicts, the greatest sacrifice, the greatest injustice, the greatest shame or perfection, the greatest love story ever. That always almost never was.

&
(it’s the falling that’s the shining [most elusive most memorable most worthwhile] experience of into love] it’s the search and seeking, the chase and promise and hope and wanting. The caring deeply, instinctually, continually and still. And not caring at all about caring too much and knowing (or wanting) someone [bright and brave solitary and serene right and real gentle and genuine tremendous and true]. To be there, mean it always, taking care from the beginning moment, taking care endlessly, of no one else ever [not even themselves first or fundamentally] but for

Only.
Always.
Ever.
You
+

squirrels

2010-06-15T15:05:00.000-04:00

understand me now

2010-06-14T17:44:00.005-04:00

Every artist I admire and enjoy has to me an immediately obvious ‘best achievement’ that I can single out immediately as the pinnacle of their expression, their best work. Whether it’s a book, a painting, a film, a performance or a song, I know.

Like with edIT it’s Ashtray, World’s End Girlfriend Singing Under the Rainbow, Wong Kar-Wai In the Mood for Love, F. Scott Fitzgerald The Great Gatsby, Junot Díaz The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Mount Kimbie Maybes, Gabriel Garcia Marquez One Hundred Years of Solitude, Daniel Day-Lewis There Will Be Blood, Akira Kurosawa Seven Samurai, William S. Burroughs Naked Lunch, Gong Li Raise the Red Lantern and Hieronymus Bosch The Garden of Delights...

Which is why it’s exciting when there’s an artist I like that has a body of work that contains several points of excellence from which I cannot discern a greatest moment. Like with Gustav Klimt, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Il Botticello, Bob Marley, Jan Van Eyck, Christopher Doyle, Paul Klee, Egon Schiele, Vladimir Nabokov, Beats Antique, Haruki Murakami and Pretty Lights. I keep coming across subsequent Pretty Lights tracks that I like just as much or possibly more than whatever just previously my favourite track had been. Right now I’m struck by the great attraction and understated grace that Understand Me Now contains.

Such
a pretty experience of sounds,
what a Beautiful song.

dick laurant is dead

2010-06-09T12:49:00.074-04:00

A crucial ingredient of Lynch’s universe is a phrase, a signifying chain, which resonates as a Real that insists and always returns - a kind of basic formula that suspends and cuts across time: in Dune, it is “the sleeper must awake”; in Twin Peaks, “the owls are not what they seem”; in Blue Velvet, “Daddy wants to fuck”; and, of course, in Lost Highway, the phrase which is the first and the last spoken words in the film, “Dick Laurant is dead,” announcing the death of the obscene paternal figure (Mr. Eddy).

The entire narrative of the film takes place in the suspension of time between these two moments. At the beginning, Fred hears these words on the intercom in his house; at the end, just before running away, he himself speaks them into the intercom. We have a circular situation: first a message which is heard but not understood by the hero, then the hero himself pronounces this message. In short, the whole film is based on the impossibility of the hero encountering himself, like in the time-warp scenes of science fiction novels where the hero, traveling back in time, encounters himself in an earlier time.

On the other hand, do we not have here a situation like that in psychoanalysis, in which, at the beginning, the patient is troubled by some obscure, indecipherable, but insistent message (the symptom) which, as it were, bombards him from outside, and then, at the conclusion of the treatment, the patient is able to assume this message as his own, to pronounce it in the first person singular. The temporal loop that structures Lost Highway is thus the very loop of the psychoanalytic treatment in which, after a long detour, we return to our starting point from another perspective.

[THE ART OF THE
RIDICULOUS SUBLIME]
SLAVOJ ŽIŽEK

better with you

2010-05-13T19:31:00.012-04:00

the
only
thing
ever
missing
always

is.
You

DJ Madd. Better With You.
AKIRA KITESHI RE.MIX

black purse

2010-05-12T17:01:00.014-04:00

I got recently the first ‘real’ haircut of my entire life. Had a Girlfriends Date and hit up a salon with the girl who booked the duo cuts and abruptly called. Am still adjusting to not looking like I’ve been lost in the woods for seven days and. While this new look errs slightly too much on the ‘soft and feminine side,’ it’s amazingly pleasant not having to spend sixteen hours every other day combing out my hair after bathing...

Even if I eventually hate the results extremely, I wear wigs, extensions and hair art conceptions of personal design so much of my social calendar time that I’m not too vexed this way or that. Quite it’s fun to feel so light and different and clean. Almost reached for the phone before the cut was through to effect a break up. Cause don’t women usually Get Their Hair Did after a break up and emerge free and determined and all brand new?

Boy got giddy and excited when I returned and then left again. Many suggestive text messages followed. Life continues to shake, shatter and shine, my place now is startlingly clean and quiet and lonely... After over a week of having three males careen and caravan through the place, this solitude of tranquility approaches profound... All that bustle and commotion and waiting for the washroom, things teetered and verged on exasperation and excess. Now that the place is utterly and again my own once more, I kind of miss the crowd and the noise. Funny how that’s often the way things go.

Time however now and tho, to in my own rather slapdash and highly anxious way: set Bruce Lee’s life and philosophy into living motion. Dance with an elliptical among strangers to a soundtrack of carefully chosen songs. Songs like AmpLive’s remix of Black Purse by Why, the Sub Swara refix of their track Traffic Jam, Que Sera by Wax Tailor and Yes Yes by Zion I. A gentle cure for sudden loneliness is a good weekend to look forward to. Like this one. This weekend I know. Is gonna be beautiful

from here

2010-05-07T17:25:00.005-04:00

Bil Bless.
Reigning testimony that Texans are capable of a consonant greatness.
The marvelous memorable musical kind.

SIN OF OMISSION
FUN IS HAPPY
SHOW ME MERCY
BUL LACKQE

Top four current favourites,
tracks of beautiful Note.

no tomorrow

2010-05-05T19:51:00.013-04:00

+
Masha Novoselova for Vogue Spain
Photography by James Macari

doskoro

2010-04-29T12:08:00.000-04:00

+
Photography by John Ortner
Digital Imagery by Pr.incest

burn ignite ride

2010-04-17T23:25:00.000-04:00

Short Film/Music Video by Garth Davis
[Via] Change The Thought

doll parts

2010-04-16T22:51:00.010-04:00

+
Dolls by Viktor&Rolf
Photography by Peter Stigter
[Via] Dezeen

144

2010-04-15T03:17:00.037-04:00

self in
songs

Alex Smoke Anima
AmpLive [Radiohead][Too $hort&MC Zumbi] Nudez
Anthony B Just Can’t Live That Way
Anthony B Sunshine
Antony &The Johnsons The Lake
Aphex Twin Vordhosbn
Aphex Twin Windowlicker
Bar 9 Amalgamation
Beastie Boys No Sleep Till Brooklyn
Beastie Boys So What’cha Want
Beats Antique Mission
Beats Antique 100 Eyes
Bil Bless Bul Lackqe
Bil Bless Fun is Happy
Bil Bless Show Me Mercy
Bil Bless Sin of Omission
Bob Dylan Hurricane
Bob Marley Bad Card
Bob Marley Buffalo Soldier
Bob Marley No Woman No Cry
Bob Marley Redemption Song
Bob Marley Ride Natty Ride
Bong-Ra [Venetian Snares] Szamár madár
Bon Iver Beach Baby
Bon Iver Blood Bank
Bon Iver Flume
Bon Iver Skinny Love
Bon Iver The Wolves (Act I And II)
Bonny Prince Billy I See a Darkness
The Books Twelve Fold Chain
Brown&Gammon Pasta Bake
Burial Endorphin
Cardopusher Green Disorder
Chr15tpunch3r Vinyl Experiment 708b
The Clash Guns of Brixton
The Clash In Hammersmith Palais
The Clash Rudie Can’t Fail
The Clash Train in Vain
CocoRosie Terrible Angels
Coil Batwing (A Limnal Hymn)
Com.A Estelle&Herve Show
Cranes Lilies
Cranes Shining Road
Cyne Arrow of God
Cyne Money Parade
Datach’i What It Is
Deadbeat Port-au-Prince
Death by Dub [Adele] Hometown Glory
Digitonal Come&Play
Dryft Dibt2e
Duo 505 Wenig
edIT Ashtray
edIT Laundry
End Theatres of Memory
Evergreen&Landlord [Danman] Jah Rain
Exile [Flying Lotus] Infinitum
The Flashbulb Black Lawn Finale
Fugazi Waiting Room
Geinoh Yamashirogumi [Shoji Yamashiro] Kaneda
Hauschka Heimat
Herrmann & Kleine Shuttle
Heyoka Sonidas De La Cabeza
Hudson Mohawke Fuse
Ill.Gates I Miss You
Israel Kamakawiwo’ole [Arlen&Harburg] Over The Rainbow
James Holden Lump
Jeff Buckley [Leonard Cohen] Hallelujah
The Jesus and Mary Chain Head On
Johnny Cash [Sting] I Hung my Head
Joker Do It
Joker [The Heavy] How You Like Me Now
Joker&Jakes [L-Vis 1990 Dubble Step Edit] 3Klane
Kaada Burden
Kate Nash Foundations
Kettel Dolend
Kettel Twinkle Twinkle
Kid Koala Emperor’s Main Course in Cantonese
Labi Siffre Down
Lamb Zero
Leonard Cohen Chelsea Hotel
Leonard Cohen Take This Longing
Line47 Isil Krunq
Utabi Lighpotllution
Lykke Li Dance Dance Dance
Massive Attack Karmacoma
Massive Attack Protection
Mat the Alien Boarding Call
Mf13 Keisha On Speed
MIA Paper Planes
Milanese Flex
Modeselektor [TTC] Dancing Box
Mono The Kidnapper Bell
Mount Kimbie Maybes
Múm Smell Memory
Ochre Children Playing With Lego
Osymyso Apothegm
Le Peuple De L'herbe Judge Not
Phon.o Kyoto Station 6PM
Pinch Qawwali
The Pixies Caribou
The Pixies Dig For Fire
The Pixies Here Comes Your Man
The Pixies Where is my Mind
PJ Harvey Dress
PJ Harvey Hardly Wait
PJ Harvey Rid of Me
PJ Harvey Sheela Na gig
Portishead Glory Box
Portishead Sour Times
Pretty Lights Understand Me Now
Radiohead Fake Plastic Trees
Rage Against the Machine Bombtrack
Rage Against the Machine Bullet in the Head
Rage Against the Machine Know Your Enemy
Raxyor A Lifetime of Memories at the Bottom of the Sea
Raxyor Seaweed
Sam Cooke A Change is Gonna Come
Santigold I’m a Lady
Skinny Puppy Warlock
Shurik’n Samouraï
Speech Debelle Spinnin’
Spoonbill Sneaker
Stenchman Licking the Envelope
Stereotyp [Al’Haca] Synthesis
The Sugarcubes Birthday
The Sugarcubes Delicious Demon
The Sugarcubes Deus
The Sugarcubes Fucking in Rhythm&Sorrow
Tom Waits Hold On
Tom Waits The Long Way Home
Tom Waits Time
Tom Waits You Can Never Hold Back Spring
Tricky Overcome
De Tropix Brap
Tsewer Beta Atic Impulza
Venetian Snares Hajnal
Venetian Snares Szerencsétlen
Vibesquad [Mochipet] Godzilla New Year
Wisp [Aphex Twin] Cliffs
Wisp [Aphex Twin] Lichen
World’s End Girlfriend All Imperfect Love Song
World’s End Girlfriend Singing Under the Rainbow
Xiu Xiu I Love the Valley OH
Youngsta&Seven Masai Mara

If every one of these songs strikes sincerely some deep and lasting chord with you [then] you will strike a very deep and lasting chord with me. Permanent, painful, profound.

(And/but.

If you are some unexpected transcendent kind of Bruce Lee, Franz Kafka, Viggo Mortensen, Voltaire, World’s End Girlfriend or Yukio Mishima... then you can bypass this ‘Song Test’ entirely, fall immediately and irrevocably. Into the figurative embrace of my metaphorical. Arms)

sexual colour

2010-04-14T11:54:00.005-04:00

+
Photography by Gabriel Wickbold
[Via] Sweet Station

down

2010-04-13T21:33:00.007-04:00

__________All day today I
listened basically to the same two tracks on persistent repeat
feeling

an everything of goodness sweetness and sadness an openness of motion a naturalness of beauty an anxiety of appeal the vivid brightness of the day in all of its everywhere kind of poignancy the thoughts the pangs the patterns the distance of a kind of crushing concern the near-death approaching of all these anywhere all the time moments I probably nearly died a thousand separate instances but I wouldn't [I think] (have minded) I would have died lightly and abruptly without knowing anything beyond a closely open listening to how my feelings felt without knowing what to fear or that I should have felt a fear I would have simply been a finality of possible motion feeling sweet and sudden and sad and happily.

Happy to be so free and final free to feel such an openness of bright everything sky the anything feel of a flow of movements the all-surrounding sound of a song that was secretly and separately and totally mine. On two occasions my companions became upset when they discovered I was secretly listening still and yet again to Labi Siffre’s Down through my Ipod and headphones and gazing at them inattentively just watching their mouths move instead of actually listening to their sound of words and discerning an attempt or approach toward connection or meaning.

Thank you once and twice again, you are a kind of Prince, an actual Knight [if such titles can be granted through {and by} the gift of a long searched-for sadly] beautiful. Song

my strength lies

2010-04-12T12:45:00.000-04:00

+
Collage Art by Wangechi Mutu
[Via] Saatchi Gallery

xx. xy

2010-04-06T21:57:00.003-04:00

XX

Anna Pavlova
Bae Du-na
Elizabeth Blackwell
Emma Goldman
Emmeline Pankhurst
Flannery O'Connor
George Eliot
Gertrude Stein
Isabelle Eberhardt
Jane Austen
Kim Yu-Na
Mao Asada
Margaret Atwood
Pearl S. Buck
Rinko Kikuchi
Ruth Flowers
S.E. Hinton
Tamara de Lempicka

Akira Kurosawa
Alan Watts
Albert Camus
Albert Schweitzer
Anatole France
André Breton
Arthur Schopenhauer
Aubrey Beardsley
Baruch Spinoza
Bertrand Russell
Bruce Lee
Chiune Sugihara
David Hume
Denis Diderot
Desmond Tutu
Douglas Adams
E.E. Cummings
Franz Kafka
Friedrich Nietzsche
Fyodor Dostoevsky
George Santayana
Gilles Deleuze
Gore Vidal
Ho Chi Minh
Honoré de Balzac
Italo Calvino
Jacques Derrida
Jean-Jacques Rousseau
John Stuart Mill
Jorge Luis Borges
Kurt Vonnegut
Lao Tzu
Leigh Bowery
Mahatma Gandhi
Martin Buber
Martin Heidegger
Martin Luther King Jr.
Michel Foucault
Nikola Tesla
Noam Chomsky
Philip K. Dick
Raoul Wallenberg
Robert Anton Wilson
Song Kang-ho
Tank Man
Thomas Berger
Thomas Mann
Toshirō Mifune
Umberto Eco
Vladimir Nabokov
Voltaire
Walt Whitman
Will Durant
William H. Glass
William S. Burroughs
Yukio Mishima

this must be the place

2010-04-05T23:21:00.039-04:00

+
Lydia Hearst for Vixen Magazine
{Photography by Elias Wessel} {Styling by Storm Pedersen}
[Via] Styleite

happily ever after

2010-04-04T19:24:00.021-04:00

i+++
never+++
met+++
a+++
[bil+++
bless+++
track]+++
i+++
didn’t+++
like+++

Bil Bless.
Sin of Omission.

a striking subject

2010-04-03T17:51:00.010-04:00

+
Alek Wek by Andrew Yee
[Via] Fashion Gone Rogue

suenos

2010-04-02T23:20:00.000-04:00

+
Art Photography by
Eugenio Recuenco

continuity on single note

2010-04-01T20:25:00.019-04:00

+
Rihanna for Italian Vogue
Photography by Steven Klein

casa g

2010-03-31T14:37:00.004-04:00

+
Design by Gudmundur Jonsson
[Via] Sweet Station

fishbowl

2010-03-30T14:25:00.015-04:00

+
Photography by Alberto Seveso
[Via] Sweet Station

headcase

2010-03-29T22:17:00.021-04:00

+
Photography by John Ortner
Digital Imagery by Pr.incest

woman as monument

2010-03-28T22:06:00.000-04:00

+
Paintings by Jenny Saville
[Via] Employees Oneonta

moss and moisture

2010-03-27T22:15:00.012-04:00

+
Sculptures by Geoffrey Gorman
[Via] Sweet Station

wolf collage

2010-03-26T21:52:00.003-04:00

+
Collage Art by Peggy Wolf
[Via] Trendland

the world after 800,000,000 years

2010-03-25T18:01:00.001-04:00

+
Paintings by Aya Takano
[Via] EPONiMAG

pon de floor

2010-03-24T18:00:00.014-04:00

MAJOR LAZER PON DE FLOOR
DIRECTED BY ERIC WAREHEIM

Clearly the most fantastic music video ever and one of those infrequent times where the concept and execution of the images make an already good song great. Wildly perfect work and beautifully rude too. Suits the song so exactly I can't imagine the track without the video. A+

moe bebence

2010-03-23T15:59:00.007-04:00

+
Foetal Photography by
Manabu Yamanaka

restraint

2010-03-22T22:58:00.004-04:00

+
Digital Paintings by
Vertico Puppets

mikrokosmos

2010-03-21T14:29:00.001-04:00

+
Light Installation by Bigert & Bergström
[Via] Today and Tomorrow

she came along

2010-03-20T23:34:00.030-04:00

FOUR
NEW
MUSIK
YES

listen + listen + listen + listen

cat's cradle

2010-03-19T03:32:00.003-04:00

+
Artwork by Zhu Yi Yong
[Via] 798 Avant Fallery

where i truly belong

2010-03-18T00:59:00.001-04:00

+
Sculptures by Sayaka Kajita Ganz
[Via] Sweet Station

beneath the hood

2010-03-17T23:32:00.000-04:00

+
Drawings by
Sophie Jodoin

chemistry and life

2010-03-16T01:57:00.002-04:00

+
PHD Thesis by Hila Ben-navat
[Via] Design Break

loewe

2010-03-14T18:48:00.009-04:00

+
Art Photography by
Eugenio Recuenco

a serious man

2010-03-12T23:58:00.009-05:00

Despite the unexplained strangeness of its beginning and the placidly casual inconclusiveness of its ending, A Serious Man is probably my favourite Cohen Brothers film and it might be their best. The picture is as blackly humorous as it is profound and it's as measured and restrained as it is relentless. The ensemble cast is perfect; the performances all are extremely marvelous and I was as entertained and engaged as I was distressed and disturbed. A Serious Man is admirably well-written, excellently well-performed and skillfully well-executed. It's also thought-provokingly existential, artistically shot and richly told. This film's a wonderfully worthwhile experience and a very recommended one. Especially if you're serious. And if you're Jewish.

Directed by The Cohen Brothers
[Via] BTJunkie

a kind of friction

2010-03-11T01:37:00.005-05:00

+
Sculptures by Gregor Gaida
[Via] Acidolatte and Wurzeltod

the brides of kimiko

2010-03-10T11:10:00.007-05:00

+
Bridal Self-Portraits by Kimiko Yoshida
[Via] Pink Tentacle

sketch of a book

2010-03-09T11:58:00.052-05:00

+
Sketchbook by Banksy
[Via] Arrested Motion

das weisse band

2010-03-08T00:45:00.004-05:00

Starkly solemn and unsparingly sinister, Das Weisse Band is a gorgeously shot and masterful work by an exceptional director who is potentially my favourite (Akira Kurosawa, Alejandro González Iñárritu, Aleksandr Sokurov, Apichatpong Weerasethakul, Áron Gauder, Brad Anderson, Chang-Dong Lee, Coen Brothers, Daisuke Gotô, David Cronenberg, David Fincher, David Lynch, Fernando Meirelles, Fritz Lang, Fruit Chan, Gen Sekiguchi, Hayao Miyazaki, Hiroshi Inagaki, Hiroshi Teshigahara, Hirozaku Kore-Eda, Il-Gon Song, Ingmar Bergman, Ji-Woon Kim, Joon-Ho Bong, Joon-Hwan Jang, Juzo Itami, Kaneto Shindo, Katsuhiro Otomo, Kazuaki Kiriya, Kenji Mizoguchi, Kenji Yokoi, Ki-Duk Kim, Kinji Fukasaku, Kiyoshi Kurosawa, Koji Wakamatsu, Kouki Tange, Mamoru Oshii, Masaki Kobayashi, Masaaki Yuasa, Michael Arias, Minoru Kawasaki, Nagisa Oshima, Nobuhiro Suwa, Pedro Almodóvar, Pen-Ek Ratanaruang, Peter Greenaway, Peter Weir, Rainer Werner Fassbinder, Roman Polanski, Seijun Suzuki, Shinji Somai, Shinya Tsukamoto, Shohei Imamura, Shuji Terayama, Sogo Ishii, Stanley Kubrick, Takashi Miike, Takashi Shimizu, Terry Gilliam, Todd Solondz, Toshiaki Toyoda, Tsui Hark, Werner Herzog, Wong Kar-Wai, Yang Zhang and Yasuzo Masumura notwithstanding). But back to Haneke. Das Weisse Band is a powerfully beautiful, quietly terrifying film. Haneke at his finest. Very recommended.

Directed by Michael Haneke
[Via] BTJunkie

all that glitters

2010-03-07T19:21:00.033-05:00

IN HONOUR OF THIS SCARLET-CARPETED EVENING
(A TRAILER FOR) EVERY ACADEMY AWARD WINNING FILM EVER.

Oscar Party very soon, better run out and get some cheap red wine... If District 9 wins Best Picture then I won't have to spend the rest of the evening trashing Avatar or Hurt Locker... Very few of the films up for awards mean very much to me so I'll mostly be watching for the fun of the party. [The only films mentioned that I liked or admired are Up, Fantastic Mr. Fox, The White Ribbon and District 9. The rest I either know nothing about, haven't seen and/or tried to watch but didn't/couldn't (manage to) care to finish... Still, here are my Major Category Predictions with what I think should win declared in brackets]:

Best Picture: Avatar (District 9/Up)

Best Actor: Jeff Bridges (Jeff Bridges)

Best Actress: Sandra Bullock (Gabourey Sidibe)

Best Director: Kathryn Bigelow (Lee Daniels/Quentin Tarantino)

Best Supporting Actor: Christopher Plummer (Christop Waltz)

Best Animated Feature Film: Up (Up/Fantastic Mr. Fox)

Best Foreign Language Film: The White Ribbon (The White Ribbon)

Best Art Direction: Avatar (The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus)

Best Costume Design: Nine (The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus)

Best Film Editing: Inglourious Basterds (District 9)

Best Visual Effects: Avatar (District 9)

Best Supporting Actress: Mo'nique ( )

Best Adapted Screenplay: Precious (Precious)

Best Documentary Feature: China's Unnatural Disaster ( )

Best Cinematography: Avatar (The White Ribbon)

Best Sound Editing: The Hurt Locker ( )

Best Original Screenplay: Inglourious Basterds (Inglourious
Basterds)

+
[Photograph by
Nick Brandt]

imagenes. 4

2010-03-06T00:33:00.011-05:00

+
Art Photography by
Eugenio Recuenco

sweeter than sweet

2010-03-05T23:01:00.018-05:00

[the] Wednesday Wedding was beautifully very wonderful,

It was very touching and extremely special to get to be a part of the JJ Bot Experience. We almost missed
the 3:33PM ceremony but by some genuine actual miracle we made it first for that sweet scene, the delicious
dinner too, the rowdy reception, amazingly all.

We also took 4 cards worth of fotos and footage which I will set to work upon perhaps this weekend.
Enjoy for the moment these animals being all of amazing, awesome, adorable and sweeter than sweet sweet
sweet.

against the wall

2010-03-04T22:20:00.012-05:00

+
Photorealistic Paintings by {Artist Unknown}
[Via] This Blog Rules and Daily Art Press

windows

2010-03-02T21:24:00.010-05:00

black teenager

people again are looking at (her) like (she’s) strange, that of course might just be (her). avoid all those senseless staring eyes, people will stare, people always stare. there’s two people in a seat near the front and (she) finds (herself) staring at them now too. they each have a black hair comb and with great careful thorough slowness, they comb each other’s hair. they gaze mindlessly and deeply into the glassy unseeing eyes of the other and their gaze is one gaze, one unseeing glassy mindless gaze. there’s a kind of slowed-down love there, sluggish and supine, a ponderous and passive passion. they have exactly the same hair, all greasy straight, thin and chestnut brown, they appear to be brain damaged or damaged in some other gradually visible and eventually disturbing way. there’s something both grotesque and loving in the whole scene, almost like it’s uncomfortably too intimate to be so public, it’s kind of gross even and yet also loving, so arrestingly careful, carefully slow...

the sun shines bare and bright and brutal through all the surrounding glass, the engines beneath grind and give and gear, everything moves heavily haltingly forward. a voice then, low and somehow mechanical, disembodied and removed, it sounds like someone talking through a hole in a neck, it’s not obvious where the voice is coming from. people begin to take notice, heads turn backward and forward, left and right to locate the strangeness of the source. the voice seems to come from an older man sitting slumped and still, gazing out of a window, he’s impassive, inscrutable and inert. it doesn’t look like he is talking at all and though he is, there’s no one specifically for him to speak to, talk to, address. he looks disheveled and uncared for, he’s aimless and apparently alone, possibly he’s arabic, indian or italian. he seems lifeless but he’s not. the voice meanwhile mechanically and methodically runs through what emerges to be a series of film opinions and reviews, like a commentator on a talk show or a radio program. the voice mentions films, describes and reviews them in a controlled and continual way. people look at the man and at each other, they pull faces to express that they think he’s weird or abnormal, like something is wrong with him, like he’s kind of funny or scary or crazy. some simple slender girls gaze back and forth between the disembodied voice, the man and each other, they suppress unthinking nervous giggles and everyone takes random turns glancing and gaping at the man. they show with their faces that they think he’s unnatural, strange, queer and weird.

then a black teenager hustles loudly through the crowd and all attention wordlessly shifts to him. he’s indecorous and unabashed and he raps. he raps with beat and rhythm and feeling, he rhymes about guns and women and music, he pushes through the crowd ignoring everyone while they move out of his way. some people pretend not to hear or notice him while a mother covers both the eyes and the ears of her stroller-strapped child. certain persons shake their heads after the black teenager passes loudly through and roughly by, they shake their heads to express private displeasure and public disapproval, the black teenager doesn’t let up. little children [whose eyes and ears have not been covered] gape at him, their round eyes full equally of a kind of innate continual wonder, a kind of vacant staring fear. the black teenager ignores it all, he doesn’t seem to take notice of anyone or anything, he doesn’t seem really to care or to not care, he simply moves through loudly and raps. he is interestingly very pertinacious and rudely kind of interesting. a man in a dark stiff suit stares sidelong at the black teenager and then also at (her) and quickly averts his gaze when (she) glances with sudden penetration back at him. when parenthetically (she) turns away, he cannot afterward resist his sidelong staring at first the black teenager moving loudly through the crowd and then back at (her) again. an indian couple across from (her) also gazes still after the black teenager and with open censure. she smiles very vaguely at them and their condemnation only deepens. (she) continues regardless to sort of smile and almost (she) want to laugh. everyone around her looks stiff and stern, an impatience all of judgment and silence.

a voice calls out at last a stop, (she) makes maneuvering motions toward getting off. the rapping black teenager is somewhere further ahead but he’s still near. and he’s still moving, still rapping, still pertinacious, still loud.

A Bitter Nest

It’s been years now and I’m still with this same slow heavy man. We’ve both grown a lot older and while I’m certainly not as young as I was I still look quite good, especially 'considering my age.' He looks quite old though—very old actually but then he’s always been old, I found him old. He gets on my nerves so much of the time but I can’t very well openly act like I hate him, he’s my husband after all and he’s apparently what I’ve got. All the kids are gone, everyone of them adults now and they’re no longer around. The house was awful with all of them stomping about everywhere, being so loud and demanding things, acting like they were so privileged and smart, like they were so important, like they were all that mattered. It was hard enough taking care of my own kids alone and then suddenly I had six more kids running around demanding things, acting like I owed them everything, like as their new mother I had to do and be whatever they felt they wanted or needed, what they felt they 'deserved.' The boys were okay but I never liked the girls (and I know they didn’t like me. At least not the first two and certainly not the second one of those two). That second girl was especially awful, such an obnoxious little know-it-all, I couldn’t stand her. She seemed sometimes almost scared of me even while she hated me, she always was very manipulative and deceptive, she was a sneaky little thing. I could tell right from the start, I could see even at her age she knew how to make people do things for her, how to get away with things, how to get her way. She thought she was all that, like she was so special and so smart, like she was some kind of dear little princess. She’ll learn soon enough that the world is not her oyster, that she’s not so special after all, that everything isn’t for her, everything isn’t hers [if she hasn’t already... She must be an adult woman now, I haven't seen her or even thought of her in years... I don't know what became of her and I can't honestly say I care. She's probably just as sneaky and manipulative now as she was then. I never liked her] I don’t care if she didn’t like me. Her sister too, they were both awful girls. I do wonder sometimes what happened to them but I can’t trouble about them. They aren’t worth my thoughts and I refuse to play the guilty role again and again. The older one was less troublesome (she at least didn’t act like such a princess) but I just couldn’t really take to them, I couldn’t take any of those kids on. I had my own kids to worry about.

It sounds bad to say but I could only really care about my own kids. They were my kids, all those others weren’t my responsibility. It was terrible when my first husband died, it was really awful dealing with that; I’ve never fully dealt with it. No one knows how awful that kind of loss really is unless they’ve been through it, everyone just glosses over the grief. (He was such a wonderful, wonderful man. The love of my life—he’s still the love of my life. He always will be, even now). I gave him three beautiful children, our life together was beautiful until the accident... I know it’s been so many long years now but I’ll never stop missing him. I’ll never stop thinking about how our lives might have been. He’ll never see how wonderfully his kids have turned out, how great they are, how good I managed to do despite everything. They’re all grown up now and doing so well, he’ll never know or see that and he’ll never meet his grandkids either. I know I shouldn’t dwell on these things but no one understands this kind of loss, this kind of 'what if.' Certainly he doesn’t. He’s so slow and dull and I know he never stopped loving his ex-wife... Even after how awful and disgusting she was. I know he still loves her despite all the damage she gave, despite how sick and selfish she was, that’s how stupid and thick he is. I don’t even like to think about her though, she was a witch of a woman. Really I don’t know how I got thrown into this mess of a family or how it ended up becoming mine. I know they all blame me, I know a lot of them never liked me, they were too caught up in their little privileged minds and their little privileged lives. What a whole bunch of self-important kids thinking they had it so tough, that they deserved so much. They never once learned to think about anyone else but themselves. I know some of them felt like I was the 'Evil Step-Mother,' I could see it in every one of them, I could see it in their eyes and in the way they behaved. I did my best—they could certainly have had worse and besides: they weren’t even my responsibility. They were his. And hers. Why should I have to have been the one to clean up their ridiculous mess.

I miss my husband so much. My real and first and only. This man I’m with now, all these years between us and still I know he never truly loved me. [To say nothing about actually understanding me or giving me what I needed or being the kind of man or husband I wanted and deserved]. He just needed a new mother for his children, another woman in the house, a slave housekeeper to take care of all his mess, his house and his kids. People have thought (and they probably still think) I just married him for his stupid money. Well he just married me to take care of him. Him and all his damned kids. I don’t know. Things have turned out as good as they could have I guess and I’m not going to feel bad or guilty. I’m not the guilty party here, I’m the one who lost what I had and really loved. I only did what I had to do. I just hate that I had no real fair or true second choice.

Ikari

The sun streams scarlet and stark through her windows, blinding and burning her murderously awake. She opens her eyes and feels immediately the same intensity of violence, of pure and consuming hate. Fuck this shit, she says, feels, remembers, thinks. Fuck her, Fuck him and Fuck you.

Akaal Moorat

Prende and Ezili arrive at last at a small unexpected clearing in the woods by a clear and running stream and look with formless uncertainty and undefined reverence around. They drop their parcels, equipment satchels and packs, unstrap each other and dust themselves a little. Ezili spreads a worn thick and faded blanket down. Both girls have small cuts and scratches on their fingers, forearms, thighs and shins, Prende’s left knee is slightly skinned. They sit close and quietly next to each other and let the placid pretty peace of the place fall upon and into them, upon and through their nearly still and susceptible forms. The separated secret space encircles them, isolates and surrounds, a silent serenity of stillness, a fixed and flowing frame of black earth, dark wood and leaves flooded with an eternal diminishing of light. Prende gazes down at her hands and absently holds her palms up, fingers partially cut against the light, into the secret small surrounding sounds, the steady soundless flowing of the water streaming by. Ezili gazes at Prende for a separated single moment, she feels herself slowly and fully become something she does not recognize and cannot describe, subsiding into an indistinct awareness, an intangible impression of consciousness, secrecy, separation and self. She erases into this strange self sense, equivocal and inconclusive, a distance of consequence and distress, a silence of unseen wind and diminishing light.

Neither girl thinks to worry about where the others are or how far and separated they might now be. Ezili feels a strange and quiet excitement, Prende appears quiet, excited and strange. The sun has nearly set and the air is already cool, the only sounds are the rustlings of unseen insects, the sweet sequestered songs of hidden birds, wan wind in lighted leaves. Light breaks through slender branches and dark bushes in tiny shapes, pieces, spaces, the great tall trees stand and surround, closing around the two contained, diuturnal, dense and dark. Let’s try to set the tent up, Prende says and Ezili tries unskillfully to assist. Neither of the girls have ever set up a tent before and after some minutes of struggle and effort, they decide simply to give it up. We can just sleep on this I guess, Ezili says. She begins to lay out a large tarp upon the ground and Prende by helping her agrees. The dirt is soft and black and cool and the girls both are self-conscious and uncertain as they sit down. Ezili and Prende have only met some hours ago and neither of them know how with each other to act. Let’s try to make a fire and cook some food, Ezili suggests. Prende again by slight action without words agrees.

Prende searches nearby for some sticks and twigs while Ezili searches for matches and opens the satchel of food meant for them both and enough for a single night. They boil water and cook something light and long and wrapped in cloth. Each girl eats. The light fades imperceptibly into an unbroken blackness of night and the fire flickers, brightens, wanes and never dies. I’m cold, Prende says and her voice is unfamiliar. Me too, Ezili says and they instinctively huddle closer together. They lie eventually down leaving their clothes and sweaters and shoes on, cold shivering skin and pale thin arm against pale thin arm, small thin backs thinly clothed against soft black earth, eyes upward into a continual black, cold air and night, distant and intricate stars, impenetrable sky. As the light faintly finally dies, the girls drift in and out of divergent voices and discrete consciousnesses, they look upward into the wide black darkness high and beautiful and eternal above them, complete and unbounded and surrounding. Ezili smiles without intent or meaning as Prende abstractedly takes her hand. The girls look at each other briefly and straight up again into the high and beautiful and eternal black. In the darkness the voice of a man calls their names and the girl lie closer and more secret still, an ambiguous pact unspoken and understood between them not to tell where they are, not to give up this sharing of secrecy, space and silence. Eventually the voice disappears, dies away, Ezili squeezes slightly the small strange hand in hers and can feel Prende’s obliterated smile. Inside Prende is the love of love and inside Ezili is the fear of fear, Ezili’s hands begin to darken and Prende begins to disappear.

[Blood brims brightly between their thighs dismantling tears in their unrecognized eyes the blackness advances darkens deepens the air falls and flows cutting and cold Prende hears only the rhythmical conviction of her extinguishing heart’s warm beating she embraces Ezili’s darkening hands with her constricting heart’s disguise Neither girl can feel anything now they become together a single unseen coldness a separate unfelt beauty a secret unconditional conclusion Ezili darkens and Prende disappears and all above them a thousand stars glitter continually obscure and bright consuming and cold eternally inextinguishable A thousand eternal inextinguishable stars plunge purely primordially perplexingly]

. Down

put down the gun

2010-03-01T21:28:00.002-05:00

_______Vespers. Put Down the Gun. Seriously nice track, immediate headphones Yes (A+).
_______Makes me want to get raw on some floor with someone hot, Black and low-income.

+
Photography by John Ortner
Digital Imagery by Pr.incest

imagenes. 3

2010-02-28T02:02:00.030-05:00

+
Art Photography by
Eugenio Recuenco

i rather think i do

2010-02-27T00:04:00.036-05:00

My admiration and appreciation for this woman runs deep.
Here's more + more tremendous examples &Reasons why.
+
Via Advanced Style and
Mamy Rock.

ernte

2010-02-26T22:51:00.006-05:00

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COUTURE. FOR THE END OF THE WORLD
Fashion Design by Ernte Fashion Systems

love without sound

2010-02-25T00:52:00.008-05:00

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Photorealistic Drawings by Paul Lung
[Via] Hyd-Masti and My Modern Met

blades

2010-02-24T00:40:00.014-05:00

Right so I called it exactly: Kim Yuna, Mao Asada, Joannie Rochette.

Mao was sensational. Then Kim totally effortlessly beautifully destroyed. [Joannie was marvelous too (and her mom did just die) but received Bronze medal placement because of home turf advantage (Mirai Nagasu I think more truly deserves the third)].

I love Kim. To the point at times of breathless delirium and [almost] as much as HF does. Still I kinda want Mao to win BECAUSE of the two: Mao is less beautifully perfect/perfectly beautiful and is consequently: the underdog.

Thursday then. Excited. And nervous.

Watching now: Profondo rosso? Also and totally unrelated to anything else I've said here but. Rain in that Ninja Assassin film. Extremely silly but rather great fun as far as a film. Gorgeous beautiful South Korean man as far as martial magnificence and perfection and men. Not the best actor surely but what a screen capture.

Now though. Visiting Friends want to get their Profondo on.
And I'm too shiver sniffle viral blah to do much [more] of anything else.

{SHVVVRR}

(like) white on white

2010-02-23T12:14:00.001-05:00

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Sculptures by Hiroyuki Hamada
[Via] Felix Ip。蟻速畫行

sin tu amor (la vida no vale la pena)

2010-02-22T19:18:00.013-05:00

In one of my dream delusion secret sudden worlds, Isabel Mastache will be in charge of
dressing every man that’s presumably worth it. Least until I come across some other artist,
designer or collection that can surpass this achieved level of casually crazy provocatively
pointless stupidly sexy unfeasible fun.
+

desaparecidos

2010-02-21T23:14:00.000-05:00

+
Paintings by Sophie Jodoin
[Via] Booooooom

reaching for the sublime

2010-02-20T00:17:00.000-05:00

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Paintings by Aleksandra Rdest
[Via] Acidolatte

imagenes. 2

2010-02-19T01:01:00.005-05:00

+
Art Photography by
Eugenio Recuenco

doubling the cube

2010-02-18T21:03:00.027-05:00

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Parabola House by Atelier Tekuto
[Via] Dezeen Design Magazine

manga ming ormolu

2010-02-17T21:45:00.012-05:00

Manga Ormolu enters the dialogue on contemporary culture, technology, and
globalization through a fabricated relationship between ceramic tradition (using
the form of Chinese Ming dynasty vessels) and techno-Pop Art.

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Cultural Perspective Smashes by Brendan Tang
[Via] High Fructose. Under The Counter Culture

of children from violent

2010-02-16T23:44:00.020-05:00

+
Sculptures by Gehard Demetz
[Via] Felix IP and Fubiz

pretend we've never met

2010-02-15T20:44:00.044-05:00

+
Collage Art by Alexis Mackenzie
[Via] Fecal Face

about the meat

2010-02-14T22:48:00.035-05:00

MEAT DRAWINGS/PAINTINGS BY VICTORIA REYNOLDS
OIL ON CANVAS &.OR PENCIL ON PAPER 2008-2009

elegy

2010-02-13T17:01:00.009-05:00

Few photographers have ever considered the photography of wild animals (as distinctly opposed to the genre of Wildlife Photography) as an art form. The emphasis has generally been on capturing the drama of wild animals IN ACTION, on capturing that dramatic single moment as opposed to simply animals in the state of being.

I’ve always thought this something of a wasted opportunity. The wild animals of Africa lend themselves to photographs that extend aesthetically beyond the norm of 35mm-color telephoto wildlife photography. And so it is, that in my own way, I would like to yank the subject matter of wildlife into the arena of fine art photography. To take photographs that transcend what has been a largely documentative genre.

Aside from using certain impractical photographic techniques, there’s one thing I do whilst shooting that I believe makes a big difference: I get extremely close to these very wild animals, often within a few feet of them. I don’t use telephoto lenses. This is because I want to see as much of the sky and landscape as possible – to see the animals within the context of their environment. That way, the photos become as much about the atmosphere of the place as the animals. And being that close to the animals, I get a real sense of intimate connection to them, to the specific animal in front of me. Sometimes a deliberate feeling that they’re almost presenting themselves for a studio portrait.

Why the animals of Africa in particular? And more particularly still, East Africa?

There is perhaps something more profoundly iconic, mythical, mythological even, about the animals of East Africa, as opposed to say, the Arctic or South America. There is also something deeply, emotionally stirring and affecting about the plains of Africa – the vast green rolling plains punctuated by the graphically perfect Acacia trees.

My images are unashamedly idyllic and romantic, a kind of enchanted Africa.
They’re my elegy to a world that is steadily, tragically vanishing.

Nick Brandt April 2004
[Via] Young Gallery

majo fruithof

2010-02-12T14:37:00.019-05:00

MAJO FRUITHOF COLLECTION
PATRIZIO DI RENZO PHOTOGRAPHY
[Via] TrendLand

underscore

2010-02-11T13:55:00.017-05:00

NEW YORK FASHION WEEK
KATIE GALLAGHER FALL/WINTER 2010
[Via] COAFA

das remmidemmi

2010-02-10T14:26:00.021-05:00

It’s amazing how people can sound like retards when
they’re talking to their girlfriend, especially if they really
love her a lot. Because when you’re just fucking someone you
make a point of keeping your cool, but when you’re really in
love—it can sound pretty repulsive.

Etgar Keret

A N G L E A N D A R T I F I C E

M E A S U R E A N D M O V E M E N T

E S K R A C H E N L A S S E N

february 11 thursday
ILL.GATES/ROLLIN CASH/DBOOM
trembita {85 christie} free 10:00pm

february 11 thursday
EMALKAY/ZEDS DEAD/SPYNE/FLUKE
the social {1100 queen w} $10 9:00pm

february 12 friday
SHITMAT/0=0/JONBOB/SIDENOTE
dlm {1610 bloor w} $15 9:30pm

february 14 sunday
UNTOLD/AKM/EGYPTRIXX/XI/SIDENOTE
wrongbar {1279 queen w} $12 9:45pm

february 18 thursday
DAEDELUS/NOSAJ THING/JOGGER
wrongbar {1279 queen w} $16 10:00pm

february 27 saturday
DROPPIN’ DUBS/STICK BUBBLY
suba {292 college} $10 10:00pm

march 12 friday
YYZ RECORDS CANADIAN MUSIC WEEK
wrongbar {1279 queen w} $10.50 10:00pm

march 25 thursday
HUDSON MOHAWKE
wrongbar {1279 queen w} $12.50 10:00pm

lavanya

2010-02-09T02:17:00.012-05:00

PHOTOGRAPHY. UNKNOWN
DIGITAL DESIGN. PR.INCEST
MUSIC. DOLEND BY KETTLE
LOCATION. MY JAPANESE DREAM
REASON. MY JAPANESE HEART

stern/bosque

2010-02-08T23:23:00.019-05:00

+
Art Photography by
Eugenio Recuenco

arakan

2010-02-07T16:05:00.015-05:00

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Photography by
Manabu Yamanaka

clockwerks

2010-02-06T21:05:00.000-05:00

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Steampunk Clocks by Eric Freitas
[Via] BoingBoing

kanani

2010-02-05T15:03:00.018-05:00

Last night we attempted to watch Avatar and after about eleven disastrous dismal minutes, we simply wholly failed to deal. I heard myself say something like [as far as films go]: I always thought Americans were stupid retarded, now I know they are. And then I retracted the statement (the words) because I know that’s not a succinctly fair or totally accurate thing to say. Plus there’s a great many Americans I very much like and there’s a handful of American films I do genuinely admire, enjoy and appreciate.

Still and/but just the same:

Avatar is terrible. We neither of us anticipated much but we were unprepared for the film to be worse than our expectations (which all were openly low). Least it wasn’t as unrelentingly melodramatic, rapaciously extravagant and ruthlessly stupefying as Lars von Trier’s Antichrist was... Though if I had to choose, I’d probably choose Antichrist. [And Lars von Trier is certainly not his name anymore, I now call him LVT. Cause Antichrist is not so much a film as it is a kind of magnificently inconceivable catastrophe].

_CHAOS
REIGNS.

Today’s Favourite Song: Spinnin’ by Speech Debelle
Some Men I Love: Bertrand Russell, Viggo Mortensen, Voltaire, Bruce Lee
Tonight’s Event: Synkro at Nocturne

Fahung baadaluvang