Thursday, July 03, 2008


k, time for something that makes some sort of sense besides random writing practice stream of consciousness bullshit.

today i was thinking about the preppy vibe, lifestyle. Maybe it was the beach in Florida and the neo-preppy southern vibe. Whatever triggered it, it's fly. Even though it's a current hipster jive turkey look, I'm digging the insanity and the simplicity and tradition.

to find out more:

Lets switch gears and make a 360:

really digging Cum's artwork. Love the sleazy, lofi dirty vibe and sexual imagery.

I first feel in love with the OOFT camp's sound when I heard The Revenge remix of Savin The Day by The Allissi Brothers. Ghostbusters sound track for all who don't know. I listened to that song constantly. It was my workout music, and I played it out whenever possible.

Go check out their blog for ill dj mixes and reedits that are pure gold fire. The sound is a mash of moodymanesque loopy funky disco joints and deep deep deep late night afterhours bleepy, dubby house.

They be killin it.

On the poetry tip, I'm feeling Joshua Beckman. Somehow, he's seemingly balling as a poet. According to my internets research he has cribs in NYC and Seattle.

check this gem:

Do not spend $1.00 on two scallion pancakes.
Do not hail a ten dollar cab to blow off steam
and smoke his back seat up
and watch the meter jump by quarters.
Do not spend $7.50 on AXE HANDLES by Gary Snyder
Do not spend $35.00 on the collected anyone.

I'll end with this

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
by E. E. Cummings

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond

any experience,your eyes have their silence:

in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,

or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose me

though i have closed myself as fingers,

you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens

(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and

my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,

as when the heart of this flower imagines

the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals

the power of your intense fragility:whose texture

compels me with the color of its countries,

rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes

and opens;only something in me understands

the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)

nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands


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