Archive for July, 2009

July 28, 2009

Egg’s Legs

new character study following THE LEMON AND THE EGG
an idea simmering in me for several years.

it originated with SENK’S cop lemon in ndg – this photo was taken april 2007

angry lemon rising

an image i took way too far april 2008

lemonyyy

in fact those photos were taken almost exactly one year apart.  i took that lemon with me to the worn fashion journal slow dance prom as my ~date.  ha!ha!  damn the husband with his long distance journey.

and everything the angry lemon has done for me
like befriend an egg

a brief study in legs.  i wanted to take the simplest form and convey emotion with a single element – legs of the egg.  i think s/he’s stealing the show.

egg leg study 1

egg leg study 2

i like my eggs chill.

and more eggs for good measure

egg

eggs

July 22, 2009

The Lemon and The Egg

INTERNET please note RETEMA

and the mystic wonder that are SHIPS and shiphouses.
that is all.
__________________________________________

looks like august is almost here again, already

LEAVE NO PRISONERS
in this hippie crypt

at this time of day – Lemon having her mornafternoon coffee on the porch
facing the street
3 school buses drop off Mayonnaise children

Egg walks, shell naked, into the day
Exposed like all styrofoam souls
Like lives controlled by cotton

Little Egg
giving Lemon blisters
a stranger soulmate guided by false feelings of reincarnation
Little Egg Head
licked by sandpaper qat tongues

‘only it was francis picabia’s poetry that got me throught a spring of illness,’ said Lemon.
‘and 10 000 nosebleeds.’ Egg’s memory was minutely dissecting the moments of frantic speechless phone calls.
‘in bed.  on the bus.  all around you.’

it was WHITE and YELLOW and DARK GREEN
the mysteriousest subject is always green
and oozing coolness
‘i would eat slime,’ said Lemon. ‘if it was Lime Slime.’
‘you can’t find that shit on the radio anymore.’ sneered Egg.  ‘BULLSHIT, that’s what.’
‘pipe down one or two or eight.’
‘you fill me with contempt.’
‘nonsense! you are filled with WHITE and YELLOW.’
‘nonsense is the fourth dimension of literature.’
Lemon gets up – throws her mug at the street below.  the pieces shattering at the feet of the Mayonnaise.

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July 19, 2009

Fight Directive 10-289

proposition 8?  so last year

throwback to 1957 and you’ve got yourself a deal.

so i’ve been having mac-voice ALEX read me ayn rand’s ATLAS SHRUGGED for the past several months – on and off – depending on my production schedule.

i was introduced to ms rand in high school – with the ever lovely KG having read THE FOUNTAINHEAD when we were 16 or so.  i tried it then – to see what it was all about – but it angered me so much that it took me 6 years to pick it back up again.  this time inspired by the simpsons.

needless needles to say i devoured the whole 600 or so pages in less than a week.  howard roark?  meet your newest devotee.

i moved on from that straight to atlas shrugged – a little less enamored but interested nonetheless [anything with engineers, metallurgy, and trains is an instant hit at the industries].  but with a little ingenuity i stirred up a little project this morning in between all the other 7000 thousand.

fight

fight directive 10-289.

[our hero, fists raised to the kitchen winds – holds the never changing FRAME OF REFERENCE]

own your artistic properties.  they are yours.  distribute at your will but don’t forget who the real owner is.  sign no gift certificates, no matter the blackmail [nice one, hank rearden – john galt was going to get you anyway – i don’t think it was worth having the wetnurse die in your hands, or a club over the head blah blah blah]

I SWEAR BY MY LIFE AND MY LOVE OF IT THAT I WILL NEVER LIVE FOR THE SAKE OF ANOTHER MAN, NOR ASK ANOTHER MAN TO LIVE FOR MINE.

*********

July 19, 2009

Cato – Foreigner – Imaginary // Smut of Clover

‘why can’t i just find a girl that hates me?’ Cato scrubs the dish rack. ‘then i would just have the victory of having won her over’

sitting in the kitchen googling mint iced cubes – curving the armature of sound

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‘i swear i’m not from here’

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popping 2 percocet and jabbing her thumbs in her eyes, Petra felt the mucus sliding down her throat.  reaching for an empty glass, ‘water.’
but the gesture spoke for itself.

across the study, Sterne glanced up from his book.  ‘are you ok?  you look very pale.  can i get you a thing?’

‘you know,” Petra smiled and laughed – her words falling like cracked ice cubes, ‘it is in these times of pain that i have to remind myself that i wish you could still touch me.’

she had long accepted the deliriousness of disillusion that came with great distances.  Petra had married him knowing full well the consequences of their ideals.  they both had duties to perform that did not include each other.  She knew it was temporary – a minor set back.

From the days of nightfires to sleepless nights of solitude, they had found it harder to bear.  they were starving – unwilling to waste the time in order to get back on a plane, back to their fields of saltwater, back to the fistfuls of bloodied hair.

The next time Sterne would walk through the door, Petra wouldn’t say anything – only rip his chest open – rob him of his bones and keep his blood in a jar in the fridge.

But she had to wait – there was no amount of time she count on her fingers.  just the constant itching scalp of feigned patience.

Rubbing the blisters on his fingers, 4000 km away, Sterne sat in a chair.  He stared at a screen, not paying attention to the phone that began to ring.
What he did, the people he spoke to and knew and held relationships with, Petra never asked.

‘its yours.  that place is yours.  i’ll never know it, i’ll never have to.  soon enough, we’ll be taking fort tijuana and living off pirate radio.’  she once lied.  ‘it is just so terrible here.’ she moaned.

‘let them have prawns.’

laughter.

Sterne never told her he could read thoughts.  ‘like a vampire!’ she’d say.

whenever they cared enough to be together they never slept, anyway.

‘there’s just no reason to.’

‘why am i always so itchy?!’ tugging at her bangs, Petra felt herself speaking to an empty room.

had she made the whole thing up?

the last thing she could remember was dawn on the hillside.  they had found a field of clover, hovering silently in the pale green light.  running down – the long stems were broken, the violet buds crushed through glass incisors, the violent sweetness in their veins were sucked dry.

and with every blossom in their hands, the lovers braided the stems together like tentacles – each bud placed as suction cups of sex.

every sip filled her with the acidic agony that would last throughout Sterne’s required absence.  trembling in every limb, at least as many as she had had when she was 17, Petra lived on as her own production assistant, milking every emotion from him in order to create.  fully exploiting his frail energy – he lived on, unquestioning of her ability to sway on through the night.  love never lasting more than a lifetime, fueled by self induced torture.

‘you can stop this at any time. ‘ she told herself, on one particularly long evening of stitching. ‘you can go.  this can end tonight.’

formerly the destroyer, Petra caught him in a storm.

the acid was rising in her nose.  the red circles ate her feet were blood – she noticed in was coming from her head.

‘mhmm,’ she shook her head. ‘i don’t think the pills are working.’

July 16, 2009

Pseudo Macho Cry Baby

Hello Again, Freddy Ruppert ::

This man will haunt you. Finding the power to distance myself from the art in order to write this is increasingly difficult – even more painful than being sucked into the creative mind behind the now defunct This Song Is A Mess But So Am I [TSIAM].  There is a strange fevered energy not unlike the reason of movement of the pelagic shark – wherein physical stasis induces asphyxiation – so does the song.  From the end of the project in 2007, the seemingly inexhaustible Freddy Ruppert has found himself drained completely.  He can now be found expressing love from all its extreme points with Former Ghosts.  Redemption evolution has mellowed out enough this with the forthcoming release on Upset the Rhythm this fall – an album that hopefully won’t induce as many nightmares..

Ruppert has crafted his own unique sound drawing autobiographically.  In the beginning, TSIAM was the physical accumulation of emotion and the catharsis of his mother’s cancer and death.  The sounds of Church Point, LA [2004], Marble Mouth [2006] and Satan Be Here Sessions [unreleased] are  and vocals that grate the scalp and induces existential exsanguination.  The circumstances surrounding this music were unfortunately necessary – TSIAM could not have existed without the unfolding of real life events.  The anguished laments of Church Point, LA are riddled with references coinciding with Freddy’s formal connection with Religious Studies
‘ God and Cancer’, ‘Parting Sea’, and ‘Psalm 88’ are particularly critical of ; Though a self-declared atheist, affirms this is common with anyone who has experienced a spiritual crisis.  The need for physical unleashing of pain came organically with the performative side to music.

In taking the stage, Ruppert had successfully crafted his own world in which to lose control, to ‘be taken to where the song is’.  These singular moments of raw energy were the obsessive pulls.  Performing music changes the experience in as many ways as music exists.  If it means pissing off the sound guy – so be it.  Deafening sound is incomparable to the loss of hearing [remember kids! bring your earplugs] of Metatron is transferring his opus of loss.  The convulsions, the screaming equipment, the pedals, and the sweat – YouTube does no justice to the multisensory exhibit that is Freddy Ruppert in his own world.

After the release of Marble Mouth, the documentation of life after the fact and touring extensively – the process had ceased to be therapeutic or useful in the healing process.  Satan Be Here [unreleased – maybe because it is a harrowing  self-introspection of the negative, a need to push to the edge in order to have come back renewed.  The desire to continue to create had run out completely, and so TSIAM was put to rest in 2007 – as explosive as it began – it ended.

After a 2 year hiatus, Freddy has all but given up convulsive mechanics for a haunting dream pop sound glorifying life instead of questioning it.  How does one approach the maker of the music?  The transition from covering Ministry’s ‘Burning Inside’ to posting the pre-Former Ghosts ‘Unfolding’ as a gift was indeed a drastic one.
Ruppert claims were many false starts in to making music again, any attempt felt contrived, out of place and was ultimate abandoned to rot on a hard drive.   That is until a singular event of love completed the task of fruitful connection.  Songs were posted online and people seemed to relate and respond, and it evolved into Former Ghosts.  Ruppert, teaming up with Jamie Stewart of Xiu Xiu and Nika Roza of Zola Jesus have begun a very mysterious inquiry into love.

The creative circumstances behind the ‘why’ have changed courses just as life usually does and the external event as inspiration for the music has remained the same.  While Ruppert has had no formal education in music production or industry, and has no concrete plans in making a living off his music – the craft will always be there.  ‘I make things because i have to make them whether there is an audience for it or not’.  Without that sort of physically engaging outlet of concentrated emotional, albeit traumatic, events, madness would reign – that is the only sense of satisfaction granted to the creator.

Attempting to classify Freddy Ruppert at this stage in his career would be futile – the man has proven to his listeners his ability to wrench both carnal and soothing noises from any source he can get his hands on.  Despite the individuality of each song, and the strength it took to invoke it to stand, in autobiographical music, the tracks are grouped together harmoniously in albums.  In looking back over these stages, Ruppert knows the movements and the path, even if their functions differ.

When not making music, freddy is known to be sleeping and working out.  He has no bizarre compulsions, collections, or alter egoes.  This is one totally normal guy.

find him here

http://freddyruppert.blogspot.com/
http://www.myspace.com/formerghostssleep
http://www.myspace.com/thissongisamessisdead

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July 12, 2009

words

werds.

objects we feel in the mouths.  the unwell thought out positioning of words in our bodies.

the words remain

most recently

[anyshapenamereally]
asplode
assonance
bee
bergamot
bog
canaan
catharsis
cephalopod
chimera
circulonimbus
cnidarian
concertina
control
convection
corrupt
cozy
crass
destrudo
dissonance
dodecagon
elixir
ephemeral
exorkizein
gristmill
hadopelagic
haemoglobin
heather
histology
hives
hollow
hyperbolic
iconoclast
iconostasis
inertia
insipid
internal
kalashnikov
kernal
knives
laughter
lipids
marble
mephistopheles
metatarsals
metatron
mire
mot
narc
nonagon
oceanic
phalanges
pixie
polysyllabic
prawn
pyrrhic
quatragammatron
salamander
saturn
satyrinid
shiv
slaughter
smuts
sometimes
spies
spiritus spatium
squadragammatron
surveillance
swallowing
swastika
swollen
synonymously
tactictal
tetragammatron
tetragrammaton
tickle
xanadu [but not the movie]
yellow

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July 7, 2009

Daily Routine

Daily Routine makes nests
for all the devils i’ve named
my selves sowing these weeds evil
deeper roots maidened sacredly
in patterned seeds

Who made you?
Master of one
Champion of Trailblazers
Volunteer Pioneer
[bring water for the trip]

Destroyer, Destroyer
THE ONLY ONE OF US
LUCKY ENOUGH
to have an empty
attic.
May he forever lay
in smuts of sweet clover.

<<^^>>^^<<^^>>^^<<^^>>^^<<^^>>^^<<^^>>
:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::
<<^^>>^^<<^^>>^^<<^^>>^^<<^^>>^^<<^^>>

and i know
whenever i write ‘selves’
you read ‘sleeves’

the tiniest strawberries

DEEP LAKE DIVING DRIVING MY THUMBS NUMB

_____________________________________

Pater noster, qui es in caelis:
sanctificetur Nomen Tuum;
adveniat Regnum Tuum;
fiat voluntas Tua,
sicut in caelo, et in terra.
Panem nostrum cotidianum da nobis hodie;
et dimitte nobis debita nostra,
Sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris;
et ne nos inducas in tentationem;
sed libera nos a Malo.
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July 1, 2009

Composed Quickys

BEHOLD
the power of a woman, waiting.

quicky front

quicky

quicky back

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I wrote, drew, and assembled this 6PPP bad boy as the glues were drying for the books below.

I rather adore this because it came out by accident – there was to plan for ‘quicky’. most of the text is based on IMAGINARY, but the rest utilizes the material itself to ~abstractify the story. the images may or may not relate to what is being said.
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3 books

3 books

assembled, bound, glued and trimmed – now in the shop! not bad for my first attempt at book binding.

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