Saturday, March 08, 2014
Wednesday, March 05, 2014
How to construct an allegory for the dissipation of a spell. A way to describe the shift in my mental position relative to my new living situation. There is probably a French word for the spell a particular landscape or geography has over oneself. To what degree we allow a place to hold us. How we behold. It probably has etymological roots to the way a ballerina falls for the piano player.
Tuesday, March 04, 2014
Monday, March 03, 2014
Opera musical and Sartre hell is other pixels. Loosely based on the story of Prometheus The protagonist gets stuck in a glitch…the play ends with the bat flying across the screen gaining and loosing the key to our hero who is stuck in a wall in the blue maze cause he didn't get the mobile bridge in the exact spot needed to transition stage left.
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Here is the cat from outer space conversation(cats and UFOs) on the Hiddenexperience blog.
Monday, February 24, 2014
Heres a loverly snippet of the grand Droog himself.
In 1985, Burgess published Flame into Being: The Life and Work of D. H. Lawrence, and while discussing Lady Chatterley's Lover in his biography, Burgess compared that novel's notoriety with A Clockwork Orange: "We all suffer from the popular desire to make the known notorious. The book I am best known for, or only known for, is a novel I am prepared to repudiate: written a quarter of a century ago, a jeu d'esprit knocked off for money in three weeks, it became known as the raw material for a film which seemed to glorify sex and violence. The film made it easy for readers of the book to misunderstand what it was about, and the misunderstanding will pursue me until I die. I should not have written the book because of this danger of misinterpretation, and the same may be said of Lawrence and Lady Chatterley's Lover." Burgess also dismissed A Clockwork Orange as "too didactic to be artistic".Wikipedia "Clock Work Orange" I like this quote as it untangles Burgess' knot a bit. I also like it because it clarifies inhuman nature. Burgess appears to be motivated by a sense of morality. He is saddened that his dribble would prove to dissolve our bits of genetically improved corn flavored envelope glue where violence or consumption of the libertines and the pursuit of infinite slake are concerned. Then there is the question I ask. What if this was the original intent, transcendent of morality, to intentionally set the human mind on fire,for the sake of seeing it burn. Like a gas mining operation gone awry, an ignited crevice, vented earth indefinitely spewing vitriol,author as pyromaniac. There are some parallels to Chan and anonymous culture, at least in Cubric's cinematic version of A Clockwork Orange, specialized youth oriented "meme" language, and that the meaning of life is gratuitous.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Hearn's incarnation of the myth of Hōrai focuses more on the atmosphere of the place, which is said to be made up not of air but of "quintillions of quintillions" of souls. Breathing in these souls is said to grant one all of the perceptions and knowledge of these ancient souls. The Japanese version also holds that the people of Hōrai are small fairies, and they have no knowledge of great evil, and so their hearts never grow old.(wiki Mount_Penglai)
- Russell Maycumber
- St. Augustine, Florida, United States
- Spawned in the sub tropic Eden of North East Florida, I grew up hearing my grandfather spin coquina crusted yarns about voracious horizons and sandy roads through cool green tunnels of magnolias, full of floating bruised blossoms the colors of debutante gowns and Bourbon sweet teas.These were the stories of the old man and his friends making their way in this scrubby ward of crackers and carnies, fishing with dynamite, carving agency from the landscape with a rusty dredge and brine pickled wit. The more I recall the more I realized how much I inherited this compulsion to scratch my own name in the church pew of tomorrowland. Colossus imagined or real inspires none the less. I look to a past for some answer to my own compulsions. I come back to the only real constant, the story. I have tried direct narrative but stalled in the parking lot of Motel Dilettante. Groping with half understood elements of the trade I found the respite of abrupt skits and painful theatre. I persisted and sketches started mulching around the legs of my flat pack kitchen table I use as a studio. I started to blog these moments spent spilling ink this way.