Tuesday, May 30, 2017

Crawlers

She was standing on top of the mountain the flowers were in her hair and the old song from the Mos Eisley brothers on her lips "...when you wish it  , when you dream it ..."

  She was dressed in a long dress good for walking , long and metally looking, dark silver, just sort of looking out at the horizon.

 It was a little past 8 AM ,  she had gone out walking with her guitar on her back and a loaded pistol tucked into her belt. She had a black bookbag on with a bunch of hash in it and a bowl she was planning to sit on the mountain and smoke it out of.

 After she got high and strength would come to her  she wanted to go look around, see if maybe she could get lucky (Jim had told her he had gotten lucky a week ago in the same spot) and find a bunch of  crawlers to blast. She wanted to bring one home to Mister Crow to eat before he died and took off from the world. 

Mister Crow he was from the old days and he had grown up back in those days   eating crawlers of all sorts all the time. Back then everyone knew the crawlers had been everywhere, the world hadnt gone wrong yet,  and you could live in the darkest sunless depths and by God you could feed a family of fourteen three times a day full meals just nothing but crawlers without a single problem at all. Didnt matter who the hell you were back then, it was good times, the Designer had just dropped millions and millions of crawlers from the sky for all the world to feast upon. 

Yes it was good living then, no one was skinny or starving or ever out of fuel... everyone was high all the time and never hungry. Weed, opium, hydro, true red tomatoes, white wine, fat baked bread, crawler after crawler... it was on everybodys plate rich or poor, weak or strong...

Those were the sort of good fuckin days that old Mister Crow had come from and sometimes if his mind was there and he could draw back on the memories of his own existence he sat on the porch with an unloaded  remington shotgun just sitting on his lap telling stories of how good and crunchy and slimey the crawlers of his childhood in Alamogordo used to taste. "You eat dem wit beans and Chinaman sauce you cook them on da skillet wit a bit of tabasco you pour a bit of whiskey or maybe gin on them and mmmm oh girl you wouldnt believe the taste, and I tell ye i tell ye, if the Designer is real then he be eatin this yesum yesum..."

She would sit cross legged like a Boddah worshipper from electrified Tokyo listening to the stories when they came just taking in every detail adoring it. Sometimes Jim would be with her listening too, or little Black Mary, Swannie, Will Lee,  the one armed Chilean, and everyone always loved to listen because the way Crow would describe the crawlers to you, you would feel like you were eating them your own self. He would sit wit no shirt on his old tattooed wrinkled body all tanned and leathered and he would grumble and spit coughing up the stories of the good Alamogordo days... ."when the desert was fackin red and the Sun was still shiny and loving...." 

And so now she just wanted to get lucky like Jim said he had gotten lucky and find some to blast. Back at the house under the sink she had three big bottles of Chinaman sauce and tabasco sauce all stored, never even opened, for the meal, if she could get them. " You know how much Chinaman sauce I will pour all over them god damn do you know Jim, if I get them?" Jim had laughed and kissed her and said he hoped she got them like he had. He had gone out with a Smith and Wesson 45 caliber, a black metal gun,  and blown down almost 10 of them. He had fed them to his little daughters though  and had only eaten the tail of one himself . His daughters were smiling living in dreams lying around on torn up couches under even the heavy cold rains for days afterwards just glazing. "Poppa Jim poppa Jim thank you kindly poppa jim thank you ,we love you kindly, poppa jim poppa jim..." She had listened to them singing songs to Jim. She knew Jim lived for it he didnt care if he ate....   

She didnt have no daughtersr though of course  she didnt have nobody she was alone. So she would just share them with old man  Crow. She imagined that when she cooked them she would close all the windows just leave them open a pinch and she would have Mister Crow sit down behind her on a lawn chair as she cooked and he would get the big mighty whiffs of the crawlers as they burned on the stove and caught flame and fried up nice and bright Martian red. She would pour for him and for herself two big full glasses of nice Tennessee whiskey , real old stuff (of Tennessee whiskey no one was ever out and would not be for a millenium) and that was how they would eat. She would play her guiitar singing Mos Eisley songs, Blind Lemon Jefferson songs, Big Mama Thornton, and Willie McTell songs ... all of which were naturally Mister Jack Crows favorites and all of which she knew by heart - had since she was a baby child. 

After they would be good and drunk and with stomachs so full on fresh crawlers they'd light a bubbler , she'd make it ice fucking cold, and they'd take in big sucks just cruising in their minds looking out the window at the scenery outside , the songs drifting in their heads , whistling... humming. And then maybe 6 or 7 months later when Crow died (becuse she knew it was coming everyone in Alamogordo knew it was coming) she wouldn't feel so bad and she would occasionally see him in dreams and he'd be young again and she'd be happy when she seen him and he'd say "Thank ye Belle , thank you for feedin me dem crawlers before the Designer took me out, thank ye Belle, Bless you Belle, love you Belle..." 


if William was very high could William write? If William was zooted could William write? if was drunk? if was strange? if was sleepy?? 

if William was old and weird and grey could William WRITE? 

when did the Ugly American come and leave / when was it exactly?? the ugly spirit in Lawrence? Kansas? why exactly did William choose Kansas? why? makes no sense - you ever think about it ? ever really try?

and why Weblys? red nights? why not blue or green or black or grey nights? Is a significance behind red nights ----- has to be- but what exactly? SS cigarettes. Gin. rum.... scotch. strange brooks brothers/savile row suits. documentaries made in the village....lost for millions of years after 80s---- how come????

strange human sentences from accidents the words of eyes and silence he was the inventor in murmured guilty visions alone great movement hypnotic past and ----- 

Trip plug? pull the trip plug pull the fucking trip plug? "don't read the Sagan book it makes the trip end your suspicions are indeed correct...." 

my ass feels like baboons ass on fire and in flames ---- trip plug?

foolish young love makes losing glass first you often closed ineffable is frozen fluid what circular lord version ends museum lateral purpose human memories   HUMAN MEMORIEs

this is a death clipper memorial to tangier and William and steamboats to fucking Rome and gore Vidal in fucking bathhouses and multi millionaires and basements under Main Street Amrrica this is a fucking death clipper ticking time bomb fuck the NRA sort of thing - this is a 

Fuck the Vice President sort of
thing????

trip plug? 
and again: 
could William write when
William
was high? 
She started to toy with radio. in every she was in the shower and trying to relax. it wouldn't be able to not hear it, even if she always had a radio . she twisted the volume like her presence. it smelled bad. there was was making her think of death, not just the rip out extra thick and extra hard, and then like a death house. you could feel it all the spirit of children and fresh life was now few days she had had an absolutely horrific didn't like the old lady and she didn't after already being kicked out twice. she knew was a level so loud that the old lady big old stone house. the song was something sore throat and was not feeling all that had basically forced herself into the house moment you walked in the door. <br />
<br />
she set moving in. <br />


<br />
the old snake who of course depths of the inner most violent cities.  time. you could smell it. literally the old snakes but her own. a lively house that when she had been with the forces, she had shower she had ever been, besides the 4 years good to her in the past, was what she was just two weeks before had been full of the as loud as she could , to a 50, which she mostly blaming, as a result of the old snake vicious and mean. a song from the inner most no other way to put it. it smelled bad and it well. the house itself, which had been so the shower water to very hot and twisted the was very early in the morning. for the past was all the way on the opposite side of the knob so that the blaster would make the water

Cut up

Him one of the cherries , holding it blonde and curly. she looked no older naked in them, sitting in just his 

her husband was pulling on one of his lap. he was smiling very widely in the necklaces with his hairy little underwear with a beautiful woman on them. so was the woman. she was clarkson mixed with a bit of reese was. she looked sort of like kelly necklaces of heavy gold and silver. cherries. she was , it seemed, feeding witherspoon. her hair was long and unbelievably gorgeous , whoever she in her hand.  hotel suite with champagne glasses and hand.

they were in a very luxurious she was cleaning the bureau when she found the pictures. he was basically than 20. on her neck there were many

Monday, May 29, 2017

The Der Spiegel Catastrophe

I think my old friend really and truly cannot believe the fact that I've become a "democrat" and I just, for the life of me, cannot figure out why. Or rather, I should say, I think my old friend can't figure out how I came to be so specifically against the entire Trump/Republican ticket and...just as I said, I really cannot figure out why he's so perplexed. I mean, I guess if he was some random dude in a bar, his rage and confusion would make sense -- but this kids reaction is making literally zero no sense to me, because he's known me for a hundred years now, since we were actually kids, and I've never changed my opinion on basically anything , I've always been extremely cynical in terms of mainstream US politics; and yet....judging by his reaction oftentimes these days, you'd think that I've experienced some seismic unfathomable change that he can't accept. And the only change that's occurred inside me, that I can really & truly think up for why he's so god damn angry with me every time we talk now, is because these days , unlike the past, I do, in fact, have actual facts and articles that I read, which back up my opinion.

In the old days, he always had the articles, and the stories, and the facts (he went to college, I did not) and I would basically just have ideas, and feelings (plus song lyrics from Bob Marley) and he never got really upset with me then, I am realizing now, because I was never exactly "for" any one clear cut thing in particular, nor was I really against anything specific , but now.....well, now that I have these articles I will occasionally link him to, it seems he goes , quite literally, batshit insane. He just straight up flips out, flips his wig. He can't handle it anymore. It's as plain as day at this point, especially after Trumps victory and "triumph", to see that this old buddy I've known since literally 1st grade is losing his patience with me , fast. And I of course with him as well. It seems we just don't like each other much anymore when we talk, and I swear it's all just because I finally took a real side, and used actual articles , besides just Bob Marley lyrics from songs with titles like "Crazy Baldhead" , to back up my opinion.

We will be talking straight politics, I'll throw a dagger at some random Republican thing, and the next thing I know I'm being attacked personally for some personal choice I made 10 years ago. He gets that angry. He veers wildly from the actual political topic and just starts tearing on me .../.

Anyways, Take this afternoon, for example. I was on my iPhone reading the science fiction author William Gibsons Twitter  (which I often do) when I just so happened to come across a link he had put up to an article in some German newspaper Der Spiegel. It was a rather serious anti Trump piece that "somewhat" shocked me, and was certainly serious, but which ultimately made me laugh, and wasn't that ...how could I put it..."risque" for me . I mean, the extremely  anti Trump Article, written by a German journalist/intellectual,  was shocking because it was in a pro newspaper, and often you don't see such a tone taken in a national newspaper, but beyond that I wasn't much surprised with the Germans extremely negative opinion of Trump. I, after all, have been keeping a correspondence with many euros for many years via my trusty internet here , and I know and am very accustomed to the sort of jokes and comments they crack in regards to the current US political debacle . It does not offend me. It especially , as I say, does not offend me when they rip on Trump. I agree with them. I find it "comical". I understand their grievances completely. It makes perfect sense to me. I join in on the fun. It's almost cathartic to rip on him in unison with others.

So long story short, I sent it to my buddy thinking it would be a good way to prove to him just what I've been trying to tell him all along now , about how basically  none of the western Europeans dig this dude. Often he seems to sort of doubt the validity of this claim, so I wanted to send him this shocking piece while I had the chance. I  figured - maybe a little - that it would shock him a bit , maybe offend him, OK, it's true, I went into it thinking "this may slightly backfire" but I also thought...hey maybe this article will make him see that something weird is going on here. Maybe this will show him I'm not a lunatic , and I'm getting my opinions from somewhere. That I'm not just like, in some sort of vacuum, coming up with this idea that Trump is an ass all on my own here . I've got folks. From California to New York City to Miami to Berlin and Munich and Rome ...I've got folks!

 I thus link him to it and wait for a reply.

Well about 2 hours pass and suddenly i get one reply , and then another, and then another and another all in very very quick succession, and much to my surprise of course, the dude is wigging out and I really mean it ....he's absolutely wigging. Like just writing and spewing insult after angry  insult for the writer of the piece, for Der Spiegel the paper itself, the whole 9 yards, and he's saying how "I used to trust this fucking paper but now never again! They're obviously WORTHLESS!" and how he "can't believe an article like this wpild even get published professionally, et cetera et cetera..." and his insults and his rage go on and on and on. The article, mind you, I guess I should add, was titled "it's time to get rid of Donald trump". And like I said my buddy just goes balls to the wall here flipping out , and I'm sitting there looking at the stupid iPhone, with my mouth wide open in utter disbelief.

 I literally, like, even now, I just can't believe that this dude is this angry and this venomous after reading it. I mean not only did he not enjoy it or get a lAugh out of it as I did  (!) but he actually , you know, he reacted to it like it was talking about his lover or something . That was really the only rotten thing I could think with his insane reaction: you'd think this dude Klaus Brinkbaumer (the writers name) you'd think he was writing about my friends actual lover here, his father or something, that's how mad this kid was. But of course old German Klaus here wasn't writing about my dudes father. He was writing about an asshole president whom nobody in their right mind seems to dig....cept of course, unfortunately for me, my old buddy here. He was writing negatively  about someone that, as I was explaining to this same pal 2 weeks ago here (we were walking along a beach, screaming at one another) no one seems to like anyways....except for very very specific and select people. Like , when I say no one likes Donald Trump, I'm referring to the LGBT community, the vast majority of the arts community, basically both the west and east coasts completely, all the major American metropolises , a great deal of the western Euros ...the Afro American community  ...smart and widely read legendary writers like Gibson...feminists...the  anti drug war community , mexicans , the list goes on and on. Yet for some reason all of these various cultures now tied together in their disgust for Trump and his insane constituency seems to matter literaly not a single notch for my old friend. Not a single notch. When you tell him that all of these people are united now in their despisal for this man it goes in one ear and out the other. Seems to just not matter. How could all the opinions of all those various people ----people who, you should see, outnumber the Trump supporters enormously --- not matter a notch to my pal?

In one argument we were having about it, for instance, my friend told me I was a "conformist" for not liking Trump. He said to me that I was just going along with a trend. "You've said for years now how deeply this society troubles you. And now you're going along with it against him...."

 He knew this word would get me a bit, I think, because years ago, one of the first things he and I ever bonded over was our love of punk rock music, and "not conforming" has always been a big part of the punk rock ethos. So he told me I was being a conformist by going against him, and what I told him was basically exactly what I just wrote to you, dear reader: I said "if only one of those communities I've listed was against him, and I conformed solely to that one communities idea, then you might be right, I might just be a conformist, just like many punks used to conform solely to the punk music; ..but to me, the fact that all of those, more or less, widely disconnected cultures,  have now suddenly connected together in resisting DT, to me that's a sign that I'm not conforming, because if all of those various cultures are against this together, that's got to mean something-- don't you think?"

"No." He told me. "Because who are they anyways?"

Who are they anyways? Who are they anyways? What the hell is this dude talking about? Who are they anyways!? Well I'll tell you, I guess, what I also told him: "they're the fucking exact people in this society who have kept me afloat for all of these years, despite how sick this society is deep down. They're the David Bowies, the Bob Marleys, and the JK Rowlings of the world. They're the artists, the actors, the Intellectuals and travelers that you claim you've been examining yourself for years. They're the people who have made life actually tolerable for me for a hundred years now. They're the minorities...the queers, many of them the outcasts that those punk songs you claim to love sang about. That's who they fucking are!"

He of course just kind of sat there that day on the beach, looking at me, guzzling some Miller Lite: "well," he said , "I've always personally made it a rule to not let art and politics mix. It seems you've been unable to do that, buddy."

Or maybe, I thought to myself, you're just a cheap fucking hypocrite......

---- lost in Translation
Floating out here al alone
Endless notes on an iPhone
And a little bit of a headache and a sick stomach

I'm sorry it ended abruptly, reader. All my articles do. I don't get paid. I don't write for Der Spiegel.

If I did...I would not have this fucking asshole in my life!

----










Saturday, May 27, 2017

computer poem - cut up

DEAR JUNE BUG, APRIL 17th, 1235, JUNE BUG WE WENT TOO FAR DEAR CHILD THE INSECTS ARE EVERYWHERE AND THE MOSQUITOS SMELL FRESH IN MOLLYS HAIR, JUNE BUG I AM SORRY TO WRITE TO YOU AND TELL YOU THAT THE FROG MEN AND THE LIZARD MEN AINT GONNA GIVE UP THE JUNGLE FOR YOU JUNE BUG THEY DONT WANNA June bug can you still forgive me?? Can you still love me?? JUNE BUG REMEMBER SUMMER 1205??? The little pool with the wizard lion? Remember his tongue June bug??? I used to suck the gasoline and see Moses and Nefertiti and Pharoahs, Baby child -----"Old GREEN wire tap ---"SPIT IT OUT GIMME IT SPIT IT OUT!" ---Hack Code Spit out black VeNOM hobnail b00tZ kId TheY HaCKEd the CouNtRy in 1912 1912 RememBer Alamo???? Remember Sasquatch??? OPEN IT UP LET IT RIP! LET IT RIP THE UNIVERSE!!! THE RUSSIANS GONNA HACK IT AND FLIP THE WHOLE FUCKIN CODE PGM ATTACK IT WILL ALL GO DARK AS NIGHT AND THE AMERICANS CANT READ THEY CANT READ NO MORE THET FORGOT HOW TO READ!!!! "June bug u feel ok u feel alive??? Ur flesh hot?? U got fever?? I got
Fever? Where are the red cities? Deep tombs??? Mystic gardens? June bug kiss me please I need a kiss I feel like A Roman and it makes me cry??? Where the Fuck is Caesar when u need him???" ALL THE OLD TIMERS IS HANGING IN TEXAS --- REALLY HANGIN---- "We is we is we is deep deep dark cave deep deep sleep cave deep deep turn turn blue sky red night ???? euro city US city Taiwan city Beijing kid you ever dream of Beijing?? You ever fall asleep and see Tokyo?? Hey dreamer let me pop the EyeZ open and dream of Something far off hey hey???""

Saturday, May 20, 2017

Photographs

Every time I am watching old rock videos from, say, prior to 1997 and backwards (like I was just doing a moment ago, of course, with a Sonic Youth video) the one thing that always comes to my mind is ... how strange must it have been truly been to tour the country with a rock band, prior to the rise of the Internet and the age of social media?

I guess to the people of the time period itself, it must not have been that strange, because they had no idea that, 10 years later, in 2007, there would be something called Facebook and Instagram et cetera but, still, something tells me that it must have really been quite different, and certainly rather lonely.  I mean, you really have to think about it: Prior to social media, how would just a basic fan even really know where a band was heading to next, on their tour, in the first place? Sure, I suppose you might have had the option to buy one of those famous tee shirts where all the tour locations were listed, or maybe there was something you could buy at the show itself that displayed the tour dates , but beyond that, assuming you had neither of those things, what exactly was there? What resource did one even have to follow a band in depth prior to the Internet? It's honestly unfathomable to me.

 Like if you were just living in Kansas somewhere and you were aware that a band, especially a smaller band like Sonic Youth was on tour, how the hell did you know where, exactly? How could you actually go about locating them?

 Looking backwards, I just do not understand where on Earth this information would have been being passed around, and this is exactly why I say that even just being the band itself on tour must have felt, in some sense, pretty damn lonely, because you really had no one to share any of the individual tour spots with , besides of course whoever was waiting for you there. These days when a band is on tour, especially a minor band whose just leaving on their first, one imagines that they probably take a hundred and one exciting photographs of each new city or town they peel into. The photographs they then of course probably post instantly to social media. Hell, most of them are probably even shooting videos as they hit each spot. But a 90s band? An 80s one? 70s? What the hell reason did these pre-social media people really have to photograph anything when , beyond a magazine , who probably wouldn't use the pics anyways,  they had no hope of sharing it anywhere? To tell you the truth, actually, I sometimes look at the many photographs that the pre-social media celebrities took in eras like the 90s and beforehand, and I just can't help but wonder: Who exactly were they taking all these photos for? Where exactly were these photos being distributed, aside from a magazine -- of which there couldn't have possibly been all that many?

Johnny Depp for one, who has always been a favorite of mine and who was an up and coming star in the early and mid  90s, seems to have an enormous amount of these photos, many of which do not seem to be attached to any magazine whatsoever, and, like I say, I have never been able to figure out why or for what reason some of these photos were being taken at that time.

 Like, there is no way they were being taken solely for fun  or for his own personal use, because you can see hes trying to put on an image with them, and then too you also know he wasn't taking them for social media, because it did not exist, so what the hell were they for, exactly? For the future Internet? Did they somehow know even then what it was eventually going to be all about? I doubt it. And then too there's also the fact that he could not have possibly known, at that point in the middle 90's, just what a titanic star he was going to wind up being in the post 2001 period, anyways .

 For all he knew, he'd be washing up on the shore an absolute nobody....and yet there he is, over and over again, in these incredibly interesting and good looking photographs that could perhaps even be said to be sort of responsible for his career. Many of these photographs of a young JD are now shared obsessively thousands upon thousands, if not millions of times,  on engines like Tumblr, by young people who have no idea just how strange it once was to take photographs, of every little thing. Young people who don't understand that, prior to social media, the only thing that happened to a photograph you took (even a photo of a celebrity that a magazine would not print, as Im saying) was that it often got stuffed into a drawer somewhere, to never see the light of day save for maybe 3 times a year. Now of course you can take a photo of your dog lying around somewhere, upload it to Tumblr, and it might get reblogged...who knows... 12,000 times in 2 weeks. It's crazy.....

Myself, for example, I came of age as a teenager in the middle 2000's, and from that period, since Smartphones with digital cameras did not yet exist, I basically have zero photographs of myself. Literally. Zero. They were almost all lost, and one part of the reason basically all of them managed to get lost (which sounds, I know, insane to a teenager of now) is because so few of them were taken in the first place. It was a pretty rare thing to get your picture taken even in the mid 2000s, at least if you were a lower class person. I have no idea what was going on with the middle class or the upper class...but down in the trenches, nobody was taking photos all that often. Nobody had a fucking camera! The second you saw someone with a digital camera, you used to think "they got money to blow on stupid shit .... "

 In fact, I remember vividly that, during my teenage years and even the first, say, two years of my 20's, there would occasionally be someone who came around with an actual digital camera in order to take pictures of us, usually of course on some somewhat special occasion, and we used to always think it was strange as hell whenever anyone would do that. We would have some fun with it, I remember, and the next day we would often get some laughs looking at the pictures that were taken, and it would actually be a sort of event with everyone crowded around the PC looking, but for the most part it actually only happened rarely.  I also vividly remember buddies of mine who would have to sometimes go out of their way to get their photo taken for Facebook or MySpace, et cetera, asking to borrow someones camera and get the photo emailed to them. Or of course you would have some poor sap who had some awful grainy phone and you could hardly make him out in any of the photos he had uploaded. Indeed, you used to be able to discern someones social class with photos......

These days with the smartphones of course this all sounds ridiculous. High quality ictures are now essentially being taken around the clock throughout each social class, and not only that, but they also have somewhere to actually be uploaded and seen, so there is a good reason to take them if you want to take them.

For instance, it might sound odd, but I have been talking about crossdressing and cosmetics a bit on this blog lately, and the truth is that, without the smartphone, I never would have realized just how fun it is to do either of those things, because without the phone and the ability to take very quick selfies and then alter them, I would have probably never been able to properly see myself, the way I do with the smartphone. You can really plot a picture and the way you'll look in it rather easily with a smartphone, first because it allows you to see yourself as you shoot the photo and secondly because the timer is easy to work.

At any rate, I  of course would have been able to take a selfie in the year 2006 with a digital camera if I wanted I suppose, but for some reason it seems I never did it. I also, as I am saying, never edited a single photo of myself until I had my first smartphone which I think I got around the year 2013 or so. And it was probably, say, one or two years after getting my first smartphone that I discovered the joys of cosmetics and then, shortly thereafter, cross dressing, after accidentally stumbling across a cosmetics app called Perfect365 on the iPhone. I am honestly not sure if I perhaps searched the app out or not, assuming that something like it might exist,  but all I know is that the second I found it I became enamored, fascinated, and absolutely amazed with the results it gave me. Yes, I know it isn't how the makeup would really look... but its still pretty close, I think, and holy hell is it fun. It makes me sad of course, sometimes, because I wish something like it had been around when I was younger, like 17 or 19 or so, but sady there was nothing...nothing at all. The only way back in those days that I would have been able to see my own face with makeup on it is if I asked a girl or maybe I did it myself somehow, and obviously i was never going to bother doing that. So basically I was stuck with nothing until Perfect365 came out ..

Wow, I really am a bad writer...

I got vey off topic here. Please forgive me. Im wroking with a TERRIBLE keyb0ard----

..






Thursday, May 18, 2017

A great artist gone --- plus my thoughts on perhaps WHY

It doesn't seem like it was that long ago when I was sitting here at my desk in, I believe, the early December of 2015, writing about Scott Weilands death by drug overdose. Now it is mid May 2017 and, 30 minutes ago, I just discovered the sad, sad news on Google that Chris Cornell, who was the lead singer of Soundgarden and Audioslave, committed suicide by hanging himself, apparently, sometime last night.

As someone who has myself repeatedly sang the Audioslave song "Like a Stone" on both my own guitar and with karaoke tracks (and also filmed myself performing it....) I must say: I am seriously feeling a particular type of way right now. Especially because, you might be surprised to know, the only reason I discovered Cornell and the song "Like a Stone" in the first place was because Scott Weilands death in Dec. 15 had made me get a little curious in that particular era of rock music that, for the most part, I have usually just ignored. "Like a Stone" became a sort of permanent fixture for me not long afterwards, and I have probably listened to it a few times a month since. In fact, I was even plotting to write something about it one day, because I just find that one song and its lyrics so particularly moving...mostly because of the pagan element that Cornell presents when he sings the second verse, which is of course my favorite:


On my deathbed I will pray
To the gods and the angels

Like a pagan to anyone

Who will take me to heaven
To a place I recall
I was there so long ago
The sky was bruised
The wine was bled
And there you led me on

Then and now I find this verse so moving like I say, because it sounds more like something that should have been written in the ancient, pre-Christian world , rather than the one in which we find ourselves now (where the Gods have been largely eradicated, save for one) and, in most rock music, you usually don't see this sort of thing being done, although it works very well when it is. 

At any rate, the one thing I would like to write in regards to this sad unfortunate death, perhaps speaking from the point of view of a performer myself, is that, on some level, I can understand where Cornell is coming from with committing suicide, and I can especially understand it when one thinks of what the man did for a living... which, yes, sounds very awesome at first, because he was a rich rock star who was still touring even the night of his death, but then you must remember exactly what type of rock star Cornell was, and the truth is that he came from that middle 90's style of rock and roll which has always been particularly marked by depressing lyrics, morose songs, and just an overall sad and tragic vibe.

 I am not an expert in the mind of man, and I am certainly not a psychologist or anything, but personally I can't help but sit here now and remember something my now deceased grandfather said to me years ago, when he was talking about country western singers, many of whom he was, for an Italian from Brooklyn, rather deeply passionate about: "Perhaps the reason life often ends so badly for these guys," he said to me, "is because they're constantly sitting there singing these sad songs over and over and over again, even long after the sadness of whatever they wrote about is probably over...."

This was basically the first thing I thought when I heard that this singer actually went so far as to hang himself (I think that is a particularly violent way to go) and I even, a moment after I thought it, saw someone else thinking it in the comments on the TMZ website I read the news on ...and they said something along the lines of "...yeah...surprise surprise, who would have thought that the dude who sang 'Black Hole Sun' for the past 20 years would kill himself? Surprise surprise..."

Reading this and thinking this really made me take a step back and think for a moment: I understand the idea seems ridiculous to most people, but is it perhaps the case that the manner in which we ask our performers , especially our musicians, to constantly give us the same performance over and over again, even literally 50 years after they've written the song,  perhaps spoiling the entire artistic process as we know it? Like, is it maybe the case that this is a little too much to expect from performers and that we are sort of, you know, ruining them? Again, speaking as someone who was/is a musician and who loves to perform songs, but who also loves to sit back and write like this, I have to tell you that , though it is often fun to perform the same song repeatedly, night after night, you also sometimes reach a point where you just want to be done with that particular song for awhile....and in my own case, since I am not famous like Cornell, 

I have always had that glorious option, the moment I want to put a song on the back burner, to put it there, for a few months or so, or maybe even forever, but in the case of Cornell ... and many, many others ... it would seem to me that these performers are actually tied to these songs to the point where they're, eventually, suffocated by them completely. In fact, I don't even think I'll use the word tied here. I think a better word for it would be chained. These guys are literally chained to these songs and I do not think it's any coincidence that it's the lead singers who are always the ones who seem to get the most stressed out about it of them all, and wind up doing things like committing suicide, since it's the lead singer who is the one who has to feel more than just the music each time the song is performed. He also has to feel the words and the theme of the song. I have said for many years now that most people who have never sang or performed music just do not realize how much different it is than merely listening to it, or watching it. Listening to music is very passive: oftentimes, even when you think you are listening intently, you are often a little sidetracked and the emotions of the song go in one ear and out the other.

Actually performing the song yourself, however, especially as the singer, is a different story entirely. You are right there in the beating heart of the song and its "feelings". You are drinking all the wine down completely. And, though a song is not a drug, and it can't literally kill you, I still do think that it can sort of break you emotionally, especially if you are being exposed to it repeatedly when you do not want to be and you're sick of it. At that point, even the best songs, anyone should know, can easily start to sound not only horrific, but even torturous. I was writing it a few weeks ago when I was trying to discuss the way we try to force feed kids old books that we think are 'so grand': Start playing a Beethoven sonata at 2 in the morning while everyone is trying to sleep, and it doesn't sound like a beautiful sonata anymore. It sounds, instead, like nails on a chalkboard. It drives you loony. It may even make you want to ...you know...end your life. Perception, place, and mood changes everything. A rainy thunderous day to a family  who had plans to go to Six Flags could be the final twig that snaps and causes a divorce. Meanwhile, on the other side of town, I'm watching the rain and listening to the thunder from my bedroom window inspired as hell by it, completely uplifted..... 

Perception changes everything. Singing a song only when you want to sing it , or hear it, changes everything. Being forced into a mood by someone else can ruin your life...... 

Paul McCartney, for instance, once said somewhere,  I remember reading, that he felt like music often healed him, even physically speaking. I have often believed the same thing myself, and sometimes I will wake up feeling very bad physically, tired and fatigue, maybe with a pounding headache, and I'll drift off into happy songs and an hour goes by and then I feel alright, as though I never had a problem at all. But of course ...what songs am I listening to during that hour that make me feel alright?

 I am listening to happy songs, positive songs, and uplifting songs. Songs of sunshine and beaches and good, happy times. Not downtrodden, rainy ,sad songs like "Like a Stone" and "Black Hole Sun' that deal with death and grimness and depression. Those songs are saved in a particular cabinet to be brought out at particular times..... 

In poor Cornells case, however, this cabinet of sad rainy death songs was shattered open and invaded by society itself, when he just so happened to get famous for singing a particularly well-composed song that came to him during a bad, black mood rather than a positive, cheerful mood. He then got trapped for the next "100 years" basically forever going backwards to that one song, that one bad mood, and that one state of mind. And not only did he keep going backwards to it himself, but in fact he was endlessly encouraged to go backwards to it by all of us who kept insisting to him that the time he sang "Black Hole Sun" was actually the greatest thing he had ever done in his life, period. In addition, not only were we beyond elated and interested to keep hearing Chris sing that one song every time we saw him, but we also kept telling him that he should keep writing songs exactly like that one, if he wanted us to remain interested in him as a person and an artist....

  Imagine, for a moment, doing this sort of thing with literally anything else besides a well-written song. Like, say you yourself happened to get very, very upset one night, and, in a rage, you wrote a one page suicide note, which was of course very angry and depressing, and then the next day --after you were somehow saved from going through with the suicide -- someone told you "I'll pay you 100 bucks to write it again, in the exact way you wrote it the first time,  every day, just before you go to sleep...." Assuming that the suicide note was very in depth and detailed and referencing specific memories and moments of your life that had driven you off the rocker,  one imagines that most people would probably not want to keep writing it over and over again, even if they were getting paid $100 bucks a night for it. And yet, this is basically exactly what we ask our songwriters to do, over and over again: We ask them to return to one specific mood that they were in, 30 or 40 or 50 years ago, just because we happened to hear the recording in our car and we love it. But we, of course, aren't nearly as attached to the rotten thing as they are, because we did not write it, we don't have to sing it, and we also get to just click out of it and shut it off the moment we want. We get to move on and change moods. We get to say , maybe, after 10 years, that we hate the song "Black Hole Sun" and we don't even know how we ever liked it in the first place. We get to choose new songs, new artists, new instruments, and new words to express ourselves. But this poor dude, and all other musicians, do not get this choice. 

They get literally chained to this thing in the absolute worst of ways, and honestly, judging by how many of them seem to take themselves out in this gruesome fashion, especially the ones who are from this era of music when rock just so happened to get sad for a little while, I definitely think there might just be a little "something something" to what I am saying here. I think that, for as good as these artists have it, we also might just be driving them a little crazy with all the absurd demands we put on them. A lot of people, for instance, and I said this same thing when Scott Weiland died, and I've also said it for years about Morrison and Cobain, but a lot of people, you're going to see if you follow this news now about Cornell's suicide, will say that he did it "...because artists are weird and get like that". They'll try to blame it on him as an artist. They'll try to say that rock is obviously demented perhaps or that music as a whole and his "weirdo lifestyle" led him to an untimely and grim pass. They'll say it was him, him, him, and never them, them, them. They'll act as though this is some sort of result of being an artist, like this is what eventually has to happen to artists or something. As though its just inevitable. 

As you can imagine, as a performer myself and also as someone who greatly admires these artists and who thinks that they have often saved my own life with their art, I don't agree with this idea for shit. What I think instead is just what I've already explained to my reader: These artists - especially these famous music artists -  are victims of our society almost just as much as they are winners of it. From down below in the trenches here, fame seems like the greatest dream of all time, as though its a dream where nothing can go wrong, but the actual reality of living the fame is something quite different, especially for a star like Cornell who was somewhat minor and who therefore had no real power to re-invent himself as an artist in the eyes of the wider public.

A truly major artist sometimes at least gets the opportunity to re-invent themselves once, or twice, and this is especially the case with the film actors I've noticed, who often take wildly different roles from film to film. Robert DeNiro has played a gangster, a lunatic CIA father-in-law, a comedian, a mentally challenged psychiatric patient, a cross dressing pirate, a Spanish conquistador, and an anarchist taxi driver in New York City to boot. He gets to jump to different emotions, different worlds, different frames of mind....and no one whips him for it, too too badly. He gets to escape the character if the character is depressing. He does the masochistic wife beating brawler in Raging Bull once and then he gets to walk away, scot free....

A minor music artist however does not get this freedom. He or she gets absolutely locked in the metal chain box of the one little song / role that got them famous -- the only thing anyone knows from them--- and they never get out of it, and of course they can't resist the temptation to keep going back into the box because...well, who would be able to resist that sort of temptation? Very few people would, in my opinion, when you realize just how many people are screaming for Cornell to come to town with Soundgarden, or his new band who plays all the Soundgarden songs, and perform for them.

Now for the next big thing I want to say, which might surprise some people and which I have, in fact, purposely saved for this part of the piece, is this: Believe it or not, but Jim Morrison himself , who could basically be considered the quintessential and original architect of what became the "true" American style rock and roll (dark brooding weird sexy guy thing) ... he essentially predicted all of this tragic stuff thats now happening to so many of these singers the moment he got started with itand basically gave birth to the Los Angeles, West Coast style rock and roll that is now the mainstream favorite.

 How come? Well, I do not know exactly where the citation is to be found, but I will never forget, in my very early years reading Morrison interviews and listening to his taped interviews as well, hearing him say, once, that he had actually enjoyed performing more with the Doors before they had been famous,  as a direct result of the fact that "...back then, every night, we used to slightly change the songs and  I would change the lyrics and do a sort of improvisation thing,and it was always very exciting..." I remmeber reading it at the time and being absolutely floored by it, because it sounded more like Morrison was talking more about freestyling on the street corner as a rapper, rather than as a rocker. I remember I was deeply impressed, and moved, by what he said. As a singer, I agreed completely with him. I could see exactly what he meant. But then of course, what happened ?

Well, Jim and the Doors got famous, the records flew off across the country and globally, and the next thing they knew, they were showing up to performances and just what I've been rambling on about happened: It became a matter of "....well shit Jim, I guess you gotta perform the song 'The End' exactly like it was on the record now, every single time..." All of a sudden he was, locked like a prisoner into this one song, and the craziest part about it all , I think, is the way that Jim Morrison seems to have actually taken note of how strange and limiting this actually was/is, whereas the new artists and the new people do not seem to notice it, at all. And why they don't notice it should be obvious; By this point in time in history, the idea that every song should be performed just like it is on the record, and also that you should keep trying to re-write the same songs that got you famous, has sunk in so deeply to the culture that now it's become something that is not to even be questioned. We are like a cat chasing its own tail now because of the records....

In the past though, like when the Doors were coming up, the idea of the packaged and wide selling record was actually, for the most part, still somewhat new , and so these early performers, who built the genre, saw it (even if just from the corner of their eye) for the prison it actually was. You have to remember that these early performers all had one foot semi dipped into a culture that had never had the ability to record anything. For someone in 1961, just 30 years in the past for them was an age in which essentially no recordings truly existed. That's dramatic. And back in the 30's and 20's and earlier, in the pre-recorded age , what happened to most songs? They changed, often constantly. One needs only look at how many versions of old "folk" songs like "I've Been Workin on The Railroad" exist to see what I mean by that. Old songs in the 'pre recorded' age were extremely elastic. Now they're literally metal. "I've Been Working on the Railrod" for instance, no longer ever seems to have different lyrics. Now its always....the same.

Therefore you see that, yes, the early 60s musicians were excited by the recordings, because recordings are fascinating, but at the same time, it's clear to me by Morrisons statement ,plus some of the other bands from that time period, that they didn't exactly dig it either. Bob Dylan, the Grateful Dead, Jimi Hendrix, The Doors  and even the Stones themselves were all known - the Dead especially of course -- for performing the songs live, at times, far differently than they had done them on record, often to the point where fans would show up and be perplexed because it was like a whole new artist was on stage, an artist they did not know at all....

Dylan and the Dead to this day both purposely don't perform the songs anything like they did on the record, and in fact (now I am remembering, excuse me!!!) but Bob Dylan, in his book Chronicles, actually, I believe, credits the Grateful Dead, whom he toured with a bit in the late 80s, as being the ones "who revitalized him" when he thought he was finished. How did they do it? It's simple: They taught him that it's not just OK to perform your songs differently each time you sing them live, but also that it's actually, like, relieving and incredible! Because it's like a fucking rebirth, and a resurrection. The song starts showing different faces and different emotions. It starts to become a whole new song, but with a familiar thread running through it. It's actually fascinating and I have never understood why people don't like it.......

 I for one as a guitar player  used to take Dylans songs and perform them in a myriad of different ways from day to day, changing the instruments, where the solo would go, altering my voice, changing the tempo, the time signature, whether it was major or minor, et cetera. I often even used to perform them as rap songs . Or of ccourse if I was bored I often take rap songs and try to switch them into rock songs. I find it fascinating. But most people find it "blasphemous"....

I dunno though. I got off topic, I guess, someone would say . There is obviously a lot more I could say about this, but I suppose I do not want to write about it anymore. It makes me very sad, and I wish I did not get this news today. I'm sure that, just like Scott Weilands passing, I'll be feeling this one for awhile. Very sad. Rest in peace to yet another great artist whom this society ate up and spit out, in the gladiatorial arena called "TV" "Radio" and "YouTube",  with absolutely no mercy..... 

Hail Caesar -- We who are about to die -- Salute you --












Wednesday, May 17, 2017

The Occasional Kerouac Str0ll

I was having a bit of a bad night earlier tonight and I was in such a bad mood that, it seems, I eventually decided the only cure would be to wander off into the big massive garage of my house here , where I keep a bunch of paperbacks and hardcover books I constantly tell myself I'll never read again, and -- of all the books available to grab in this massive garage --- I grabbed an old Jack Kerouac one, the Dharma Bums, from 19...57, I believe.

I'm not sure what made me do this of course because usually I avoid Kerouac like the god damn plague and this has especially been the case for, like, the last 12 years or something now. My reasons for avoiding Kerouac are simple and also demented: I relate so much with the guy (working class background and all, plus the momma attachment) that I almost Actually hate him more than I love him. I suppose I open up his books and I see some version of my self that I occasionally wish I was, or had been, but who I now know I'll never be. On the road particularly had that effected on me when I read it back in sophomore year of HS and I've sometimes thought that reading that book actually almost ruined my life---just because it left me yearning for friends, friends who, I'll tell you, I had never yearned for before journeying into that book. In fact, it's the yearning for friends thing that I think is what always gets me with Kerouac, and if you've ever read his books I think you'll understand what I mean, since it seems like literally every last one of them is always about him....and his absolutely  incredible friends...having the time of their lives.

 On the Road is the quintessential example of this and the Dharma bums released one year later is no different, at least from what I've read so far: it's all about some dude named Japhy that Jack seems obsessed with, and then too all about the "interesting" episodes they have together. It's the style of the episodes I think (which seem to be the same in all his books) that really get me every time, most of all. The reason why is because they are always just so typical. Like, the sort of stuff that people do in Jack Kerouac books, the reason I think so many people find it so touching and simultaneously heartbreaking, is because it's literally shit that almost everybody has done at some point in time.

Honestly, it's always the same sort of run down: the characters drink a little, they tell stupid jokes, they wake up and experience the "mystical dawn", they drink coffee after being up all night, they drive around some useless small town, they sit in diners and comment on locals, they listen to whatever the hip music of the day is, occasionally they have sex, they discuss dreams and goals, et cetera. Nothing too out of the ordinary ever seems to happen, which at first you'd think is a recipe for disaster, but with Kerouac it somehow seems to work --- or at least, once upon a time , did work--- just because even something this simple, all those years ago, was literally something that, for some reason, no one had ever thought to write previously.....

Understanding Jack Kerouac is a lot like understanding everything else: you have got to see what was going on before him in the world of literature in order to try and see just why what he went and did wound up becoming as "phenomenal" as it did, and in my opinion the entire trick is that, before Kerouac, people generally (here in the western world) seem to have thought of books and writing as something you would only start doing if something 100% particular or important happened to you. Like, there was an idea that you had to actually have a point in order to write, or to at least have a very unique life, or else there was just no reason. Kerouac burnt this all to shreds: His writing to me ultimately has no moral, no theme, no plot, and never has . It's instead just a bunch of fairly well put together diary entries of him explaining to you how he went about getting fairly basic kicks and thrills. To Kerouac a day spent wandering around in the mall, driving around on the highway, and then stopping at the gas station and getting into a one hour conversation with the Indian clerk after buying lottery tickets & bogies would be considered a day well worth writing about. I don't think this is a bad thing of course, and in fact it's sometimes extraordinary.

And it's for this reason, actually, that I've often sat here and thought that, the sad truth is, if there's one place where Kerouacs inspiration ultimately wound up most of all, it's actually in places (or should I say websites?) like Facebook and livejournal and Wordpress and so forth. In a way I guess it's kind of ironic but for a long time now I've really felt it was true: if you want to see jacks influence, you're better off not buying any actual novels in my opinion, and instead just reading Facebook statuses, because that's really the only place where I think his spirit truly lives  now. It sounds ridiculous but I think it's honestly the truth.

Mostly because  novels in our own time have ultimately wound up sort of spinning back into that place where they were before Kerouac tried to mess around with them, except almost from an even more complicated angle: We are now back rather firmly with the idea that, if you're gonna write a novel, you better write about something BIG, and not just what you goof off doing in reality. Most accomplished writers from the past 30 years or so do not, it seems to me, write about literally anything even remotely in touch with their own reality oftentimes. All of our stories are very far off somewhere now, even that stories that do seem to be set in a sort of plain Kerouac type environment. Take this one movie I saw a few years ago for instance with Kate Winslet, which was set in New England and called, I believe, Labor Day.

The film was in a Kerouac environment (to my mind) because it was  a very suburban , working class town that looked like the 50s, none of the characters had any super powers, I think the film might even open up in a grocery store  ......and you almost think it's just going to be something normal, or realistic, but then of course, just like a modern post 70s story always does, a totally out of the ordinary detail enters in by way of the co star, who is a convict on the run and whom Kate Winslet has to hide  et cetera et cetera.

Had the film been missing the convict element, and instead just been about Kate's character, say, hanging around in the house, lounging, reading, dancing to Ella Fitzgerald records, drinking some wine, smoking on her back porch, running with a dog, picking daisies, engaging in conversations with the neighbors and maybe staying up late every now & again  .... everyone from our own time would have wondered "why the hell was this film made? This is an awful film!" But that's the whole catch with the old Kerouac novels you get it? That sort of thing is literally all they are. There are, generally speaking, no real antagonists in any of Jack's books, there is no place where the characters ultimately must wind up, there is no 'treasure' waiting specifically on page 320 rather than 150 or 40 and, from my point of view, there is generally not even any characters who need to be technically "saved".

 In my opinion it's a win and a loss that this style of storytelling that Kerouac excelled at  is now, in our own time, considered something no good by the general band of fuckers, I'm never quite sure what to make of it, I just know it's definitely true....

& I also of course know it's definitely true that Kerouacs influence is mostly on Facebook, as ridiculous as it sounds. Because on Facebook you log on and everyone is mostly just doing one of two things: Bragging about how awesome their completely stereotypical townie friends are, or bitching and moaning about how much they cant stand their life doing whatever it is that they do. Facebook status stories never have any real...point to them. They never go beyond 3-4 paragraphs. In some sense it is actually like all the Facebookers are just really excruciatingly bad Kerouac imitators. Their vocabulary sucks, they are of course, generally,  lacking all of the mysticism, they don't have any ideas about the country as a whole , and they certainly can't write about music like Jack could (I do think he was exceptionally good at that 'bee bop' thing he used to do) but ... it still does not change the fact that they are all pulling from the same well because of the typicality.....

I don't know. I'm tired and am myself an horrific writer (because I always leave off the moment I get tired!) but I just thought I would write that about him because he really always does just make me feel so so young and I actually hate it because I'm not that young anymore and so it is not fun to experience him anymore, and is really more just heart breaking. He is youthful and it is annoying. My mind is no longer as romantic as that I now see, like it once was, and the one thing I actually find so miraculous about it is that somehow I managed to survive the youthful idealization period and make it out alive still an artist. And If you understand where I'm coming from with that I think you'll catch my drift. Like, a lot of people read young artists like Kerouac and I think they feel inspired through their youth to be an artist and write but then the second they age they no longer know what to scribble anymore. For me it seems to have been the opposite: I actually did not write all that much during my early 20s, but now that I'm in my later 20s , though the writing is frightfully disorganized, I still tend to write a lot and ....I don't know....I'm just surprised I guess......

Reading Kerouac of course beyond just making me nostalgic and sad also just makes me fucking hungry.----

I think when I go back to my massive and actually non existent garage (you're an imbecile if you actually believed that!) I'm not going to go back and get a Kerouac this time. I think I'm actually going to, like I always do when I start with one of jacks books, kick this sad heart breaking youthful thing as far as I can into the back of the garage....and then pick out something not nearly as fun or happy or INNOCENT but something that will instesd just be....what....??? I don't know.....

Just something that won't make me remember all my old now more or less despised amigos of yesteryear I guess. Something that will help me to instead imagine other scenes ...scenes far from small US towns and highway exits...people far from them, houses far from them....everything

Ah damn you Jack Kerouac you cheap trick bastard with your holy bullshit....

End



Tuesday, May 16, 2017

The Melting Pot: Its Actually a Disaster

The irony of America, in my opinion, is that the country, as a direct result of being a 'melting pot', is actually , in truth, all the worse for conformity, for this exact reason. In my opinion, anyone who has lived in the country for long enough, and actually seen both its cities, its small towns, and its rural areas (as well as its education culture) should see this fact plain as day.

Anyone who does not see it is, as far as I am concerned, a bit in denial about the truth of not just the United States, but actually about great masses of poor, struggling people as a whole.

The somewhat relieving truth about the United States and its conformist culture  is that it actually isn't really, in some sense, America's fault. It is instead a very odd combination of all the many different cultures coming together and trying to exist, peacefully, as one. I think the best way that I can describe it is to say that, yes, it's true, in the USA, behind closed doors, there is, at times, a lot of difference to occasionally be found. But in the actual majority culture itself, out on the streets, in the arts, and so on, there seems to be (and has always been, in fact) a distinct and very pronounced love for conformity, that one actually won't be able to find in cultures that are not melting pots. It is well known overseas that Americans -- on the ground level -- are particularly ferocious about pledges of "allegiance", flag waving, patriotism, the whole nine yards. They do not like difference nearly as much as other western countries do. They often love uniforms. They love....conformity. The Americans love all of it far more, it seems, than people in many other industrialized and developed "free" countries around the world today.

Yes, it is true: the USA is not a China, nor is it, so far as I know, on the same level as a North Korea. It is not that uniform, and hopefully never will be. However, there is still the fact that, in comparison to all the rest of the Western world, the USA sticks out like a sore thumb. In truth, in comparison to most, if not all, western countries, the USA actually does look sort of like North Korea to many people, especially now that Trump has been elected.

Why? 

The reason for this to me should be obvious to most readers: In other western democracies, often where everyone is the same ethnicity and the same religion, it is, in fact, ironically easier to be different--- and perhaps even more valuable and desired - than it is in a country like the USA, where everyone is different from the get go. This key difference has made absolutely all the change in the culture of the USA, and in my opinion, after analyzing it for years now, and unfortunately living with it daily, most of that change has actually not been for the better.

 In fact, I would even argue that the very phrase the Americans value and have on the back of their dollar bills --- "E. Pluribus Unum (from many, one) -- is, at heart, a sort of conformist phrase. The whole US game has always been about severe conformity deep down. The melting pot phrase in itself is even somewhat threatening from acertain angle: Your culture is supposed to melt in order to make it in. Hmm, I am not so sure I like that. I don't like the idea of my culture melting. I'd rather keep it whole, myself. But what about the others? How do they feel? Well, after years of living with them, my basic premise on it is....they really don't like it when they spot something that isn't or does not want to melt into their little pot. They flip out about it. They get very angry about it. They take serious, serious notice of it. ....

Essentially in the States, you see, as I said before, it is almost as though, since everyone has already been born different, as a result of being from some unique culture, trying to then be even more different , to me, seems to actually get one pegged as though they are "going too far".

All of this isn't necessarily happening in the front of the American brain, of course: it is mostly something, I believe, that happens deep in the back room of the American psyche.  People who play the difference game in America, in other words, are sort of playing in a world where they are constantly 'walking on eggshells'. Each little difference in this culture is extremely noticeable. People do not miss a thing -- and this is whether they are celebrating your difference or harassing it to no end. If the difference gets noticed and celebrated, it grows; if it gets noticed and harassed, it also might grow.

One way I often like to put it is by saying that, instead of being a family based on blood, America is instead like a rather awkward step family, or perhaps -- even worse-- an adopted family. It should be obvious to most readers that it is probably a little easier to get away with being a bit different, or even being an outright jerk, in a blood family, rather than it is in a step family or an adopted family. It isn't to say that love does not exist in those types of families, but it is to say that there is (at least in modern times) definitely something different about them. If you're eating dinner with step parents, you're probably a little less likely to insult the step mothers cooking, etc , than you would be with your own blood mother. For the most part, this is exactly how the culture is in the USA. There are blatantly bad and horrific parts about the United  States culture, parts of it that are absolutely terrible and need desperate changing, but many Americans will not ever say anything , becuase....well... it feels kind of awkward for them. Because they are either out and out immigrants or, if they are not, then they probably come from a family that still remembers immigration rather well. And this memory, I again must stress severely, is very integral to the American psyche. It causes people to feel as though, if they dare speak out against the negative part of it,  then they won't  ever one day be able to be a part of  the positive part of it.

The original Americans who actually sailed the seas and braved the storms to come here, as well as abandoned other countries an threw patriotism to the wind, were absolutely pretty strong people who seem to of, at least in some regard, definitely thought for themselves. If they saw a country that was no good, it seems to me that they said "this country is no good".

 The people who followed in their wake however were the ones who had to put up with the majority of the harassment for being "different". These people are the ones who wound up the ultra big conformists. They are also the ones who wound up, from time to distant time, the biggest and absolute weirdest freaks of all.....

This , of course, is the next ironic (and, I suppose, somewhat confsing) thing about the States: Due to the fact that difference has become so extreme here, from the point of view of someone typical, what has wound up happening is that the people in America who do become, or decide to be, different, oftentimes wind up becoming extremely different. Again, the reason why this happens should be pretty self-explanatory but for some reason often is not: Since literally everyone in the States is coming from some version of an immigrant culture that is trying to assimilate in some way, the people who then try to leap from the assimilation plan  even slightly tend to get sort of marked, and once they are marked, they then just decide to go 'all out' with whatever they believe their specific difference to be.

If you have ever sat and wondered why the United States seems to create so many strange Hollywood celebrities and music celebrities, whilst at once maintaining this extremely cookie cutter suburban culture on the ground level and the political level, then , in my opinion, this is basically why. America's gift is also, more or less, the exact thing that is its curse, as well. In this country, you are literally either extremely different, or totally the same.

The same bizarre lightning storm that has created a very magnificent and extremely unique artist like Marilyn Manson or Johnny Depp is, in truth, almost the exact same lightning storm that has also created the extremists on the opposite end of the spectrum as well. The truth about looking at many other cultures that are not melting pots like America, and are instead just made up of people who all come from the same cultural background and oftentimes all practice the same religion et cetera, is that many of these cultures do not seem to authentically create characters of extreme difference in the same manner that America does.

For example, in a country like Italy, where there is no real deep diversity like there is in America, even in the biggest of the Italian cities, there are famous artists who are "different", but , strangely enough, the ones who seem to be the most different of all are .... often just copying the American stars who created the difference in the first place. There is no Marilyn Manson in the Italian music scene. These sorts of figures simply do not exist in that scene. There's also the case that there is basically no Italian writer that I know of who could even begin to compare to the absolute utter strangeness that was someone like one of my all time favorites - straight outta the boring, plain  dry as dry could ever be Mid- West - William Burroughs.

These figures of extreme difference are, currently, basically completely unique to the United States  at least so far as the western world is concerned. No other artistic phenomenon exists quite like either of them. Whether or not you personally think they are good or bad or worthless or extraordinary, there is still the undeniable fact that these two men were/ are extremely unique artists. And both of them, I am beyond convinced, could not have possibly been born anywhere else on Earth, besides the good old USA.

Had they been born in a homogeneous culture, I am convinced that nothing would have happened to them....mostly because their initial differences (whatever those differences were) would have been far more accepted, and seen as far more innocent, when they were initially revealed. Instead, they were in the States, a country of immigrants, melting pots, and assimilation, and so their initial little differences were seen as threatening, and instead of backing away from being different, these artists instead, as I am saying, embraced it completely. 

What I personally think is so fascinating about all of this, of course, is that, from the outside of the States, all of this basically looks very obvious, the second you glance even slightly from the perspective of an homogeneous culture (like Sweden, Spain, Greece, etc ) but - from within the USA - it is , as I said previously, almost impossible for most people, even the ones who are themselves different, to see clearly. They perhaps do not realize just how profound it really is to be living in a country like France where not everyone you know is, somewhere in the back of their heads, wondering whether or not they are, deep down,  "real Frenchmen". In the US of course, this is almost always the case: Everyone in the country is not often solely chasing wealth, they're also chasing this idea of a real "American" identity. And the craziest part about this identity, in my experience, is that the endless obsessing over it seems to extend even to the people who are already "safely" consumed by it, i.e. the people who are interpreted to be 'real Americans' by the immigrants and so forth. In my opinion, the "real American" identity is so fragile - as a result that it is not at all based on blood, even if your family has been here for 300 years -- that the people who do have it wind up becoming even 'crazier' about it than the people who are out there still trying to fight to win it. They are vicious about it because they know it can be lost, and the reason it can be lost is because it is not based on blood.....

Therefore we see, again,that  from the perspective of an homo-genus country like the ones previously listed, all of this sounds absolutely absurd. In France or Italy or Spain, it does not matter how bad, strange, different, no good, lazy, or poor a person is, at least in terms of identity, because the truth about being apart of those cultures, is that you can never suddenly get stripped out of them . A French kid born with a name like Jean Claude Bovary who speaks French and who grew up with a family that has lived in France since "time immemorial" cannot suddenly start listening exclusively to English music or wearing strange clothes and, as a result, get himself called out for being "not a real Frenchmen", in the same way that an American can, and will, for doing the same things.

The French identity is so deep , you see, and so old by this point ,that it's basically something you cannot really gain .....and that you also cannot really lose. Monica Bellucci, for instance, is a famous modern actress from Italy who speaks fluent French and for many years was married to a Frenchman. I think she perhaps even live exclusively in France to this day. In the USA, doing all of those  things like Monica has done, would mean, automatically to most people, that she was trying to eventually be identified as an American...and after a few years, she would probably be seen as one, as well, if she played her cards right. If she got her citizenship for instance and spoke fluent English, she would be an American in most peoples eyes.

In France, of course, all of it actually seems to mean...well, nothing. Monica Bellucci can speak French all she wants and maybe she will even live there in the country until she's 100 years old and none of it will make much of a difference, to eithr the French or the Italians. This is because to both of them...she will always be nothing more and nothing less than an Italian, who just so happens to live in France. From an American angle of course, this being locked out of "becoming" French perhaps sounds terrible and terrifying. It is, after all, the bread and butter that America has, for so long, been built on. There is, however, a sort of positive to every situation, and in my opinion the positive for someone like Belluci is this: For the most part, as far as I can tell, since everyone knows that her ever becoming "truly French" is impossible, she is also not chastised by Italians for speaking French, she is not degraded, she is not seen as someone who has "abandoned" being Italian, she is not seen as a "French wannabe", she is not seen as any of this. All she is seen as, more or less, is someone who has added something to herself, that being the French language and culture. None of it, in other words, has been interpreted as being even the slightest bit threatening. This is the most important part, you see : No one is interpreting it as threatening. They almost don't even really think about it , tell you the truth....

In the States, again, it cannot be stressed enough: What Monica Bellucci has done would absolutely, I am sure of it, be judged - and is regularly being judged for anyone who does it - in the most horrific of ways. A lot of people for instance wonder why next to no Americans speak foreign languages , or even seem slightly interested in speaking one. Well, this is the exact reason why: the American identity is so fragile that, if one were to do what Bellucci has done in this situation here, especially someone who was very famous,  it's very possible that one would perhaps lose their American "identity" card - in the eyes of many Americans -- forever. The American identity is currently still so fragile that it literally almost cannot abide by someone who tries to grow outward in this manner. There is an incredibly small and constrained box the "real American" must stuff him or herself into, and if they try to pop out of it, they get attacked, judged, etc......

This is because everything  is interpreted as a threat, in the same manner that Marilyn Mansons first little 'differences' were also, I can guarantee you, interpreted as a threat,whenever he first started to display them. In some sense, we could perhaps say that the USA is sort of like an extremely insecure lover: You go to hang out with even just one other person, and they are terrified that you are cheating on them, or interested in cheating on them, abandoning them forever, so on and so forth.

The old world cultures are instead more like lovers who know you couldn't escape even if you tried: "Go on ahead and do whatever you want, go wherever you want, be whoever you want...you think I care? You'll always be trapped with me, at the end of the day, and you know it. When you look in the mirror, you'll always see me. You know I'm you. You know you are me. There is no escape. "

 In truth, if there was one thing I learned whilst talking to many Europeans from all the Euro countries, I think that frightening little tidbit was probably one of the biggest things of all: They seem to feel rather bogged down by just how deep their identity as a Frenchman or an Italian goes. They feel, perhaps, a little overwhelmed by it. Some of them perhaps wish they could throw it off of them forever, but they know they never can. They know it's impossible, that being French is perhaps written into their very bones....

 They thus tend to go to great lengths, I believe, especially in the modern day, to distance themselves as much as they possibly can from said identity, and to have as much fun as they do the distancing  . Many Italians, for instance, cannot wait to explain to you how they "never listen to any Italian music at all!" Or of course take some friends I know in Denmark, who live their entire "real" outside lives in Danish, but then log online and live their Internet gaming lives, completely in English......

For an American, this sort of comment, at first,  especially the one about the Italian,  almost seems like the Italian is perhaps deeply "ashamed" of being Italian , and that, deep down, they wish, constnatly, that they were English or American; but the truth, to me at least (once I finally glimpsed it) is that the individual essentially already has all the Italian identity baskets filled up, and so they feel free to listen to whatever music they want, in whatever language they want. Again, they do not feel constrained. They don't feel like they have to prove, to either themselves or any others, that they are Italian....

An Italian, after all, lives their whole life speaking in the Ital. language, eating Ital. food, living in Ital. style houses, watching Ital. soccer teams, driving Ital. cars, wearing Ital. gold,  forever wandering around and seeing old Ital. monuments, and even, for that matter, having a face and a nose and a look that people might describe as being....Italian. Having that one little box of music checked English therefore does not seem so threatening to them. It seems relieving. Unusually relieving, in fact. They don't put on English music and start to fret that they are,somehow going to no longer be Italian and morph into something else. The Danish guy who plays the video games in English around the clock feels the same way: He doesn't think of himself as someone whose trying to be English. This is all a totally separate psychological box for these people.

The common American, of course, does have  all these absurd worries  in my opinion , since the common American has very few things that they can confidently and positively claim are "absolutely American" in this same sense . There is no "face" that could be described as looking ' particularly American. There is no true diet. There are no truly deep historical monuments. There is not even, in fact,  an American language. We thus see , what else, but the fact that the few things which are undoubtedly thought to be of the country are endlessly obsessed over, defended rather aggressively,  and cherished.

American cars and trucks like Dodges and Fords, for instance, or the specific style of football played in the NFL... the specific music that is native to the 'country western' region, the blue jeans and tshirt outfit, the suburban lifestyle with the driveway, the garage, and the backyard swimming pool ---- all of this stuff is seen by many to be sitting in the domain of "real" Americana, and all of it is rather ferociously desired by everyone who wants to be seen as a 'real American'.

 The big problem of course with this is that...well, none of it is really all that solidified, or deep, or, ironically, "real". It is all sort of .... cheap and a little too easy, I suppose, to really mean anything. It's like plastic: it's weak. It's simply too concerned with an outward expression of identity rather than something inward which, you might notice, is one major part of the reason that it often seems so toxic to so many people who exist outside of its borders and do not want to participate in it, or perhaps who cannot participate in it. This is also why the people who are currently standing upon this exact cultural foundation are getting so very angry in this modern time period: They can see now that their phony and plastic idea of what constitutes real American culture is fading off into the distance and, apparently, they're absolutely bewildered by how, or why. They seem , to me, to be of the mind that their culture was just as deep and just as profound as the culture of the Brit or Frenchman or the Italian et cetera,  even though, as you can see now, it never was , and never will be, either .... at least until a couple of hundred years have passed.

What are we supposed to do until then, of course, the reader might be asking, with these strange people who rally obsessively around this idea of "real American" ideals and culture that does not, in fact, even exist? My opinion is pretty simple: We should start seeing them for how diseased and sickly they really actually are and have been for quite some time now. We should avoid them like the plague. We should understand that, in a country as massive as this and especially as new as this , nobody gets to suddenly choose, at an hour this early in the game  what the culture is, or isn't.  More importantly, we should also let them know that, since there is, in fact, no real American culture to hold onto , there is also no real culture to lose, or accidentally abandon, either, just by doing simple things like learning other languages , listening to other music,etc.....




--draft







William Burroughs and Azealia Banks and then T00 Technology

The Strange Ethereal Link between William Burroughs and Azealia Banks (in my l0st b0y head)

How is it possible that Burroughs and Banks meet up as one for me?

Burroughs an old white man born in 1914 and died in , I believe, 1996 or 1997  --- Burroughs who never even pr0bably used a proper computer,..

---- how is it possible that I -- see a link between Burroughs and Banks? or even Hunter Thompson and Banks?

Azealia Banks herself would, I can't say for sure, but she would perhaps find the information bewildering. Many of her fans undoubtedly would. After all, they would say, aren't all those dudes I mentioned, like, you know, old crusty and now rather long dead white dudes? And weren't they all rich t00??

How is it possible that they could connect to Banks? 

Even when we know, or assume, full well, that someone like Burroughs himself would have never listened to Banks if he were still around today, at uh... 104 years old or something --- how is it possible? How come I connect these cultural figures who seem so far apart from one another?  How is it possible, in fact, that it was Burroughs himself who basically (as a gh0st of course) took me by the hand and told me that, if I wanted to, it was 0kay... 0kay to listen to Azealia in peace -- without shame--without regret---without embarassment?

Here is why: Because, if you follow Williams car33r, the fact that is going to stand out most to you - or at least the fact that should stand out most -- is that, while William looked , on the surface, to be very traditional, and old fashioned (3 piece Savile Row suits all day l0ng) the truth about him was that, with each successive and new generation, William pretty much .... well, opened his door and let it all in. This is, in fact, the most integral and important fact about William Burroughs as an artist, in comparison to so many other artists we have had here in the US ,even still today: Instead of rejecting each new generation of culture like so many artists do, William seems, to me, to have embraced each decade of innovation during his life not necessarily whole -- but definitely a great deal.

Burroughs was born in 1914. That means that, in 1950, he was already 36 years old. This fact about his being 36 in 1950 perhaps would not be at all interesting -- except for when you realize that Burroughs was intimately tied to the youth culture of not just the 1950's  (where he was already rather old) but also every successive generation afterwards, as well, pretty much straight up until his death, at 80 something years old, in the late 1990's. Burroughs was a founder of the Beatnik generation, shook hands with the hippies, rode the rails of London and New York City with the first (and maybe even last) punks, and then even hung out with Kurt C0bain in the 1990s, not long before Cobain took ended it all.

David Bowie was friends with William. Patti Smith. Led Zeppelin. The Rolling Stones. Keith Richards discusses him at some length in Life. There is, in fact, even a picture of him somewhere in New Y0rk City, getting a joint passed to him, with a young not yet famous Madonna Louise Ciccone sitting next to him. Madonna Ciccone, of course, who would, just a few years later, then go on to become the new big thing for the youth culture of the 1980s.. She is now someone currently fighting to remain relevant, at a mere 50 something years of age, with modern youths herself.

Again, from a modern perspective, none of this might seem like its that big of a deal, because all of these figures are so crusty and 0ld to many a modern perspective--- (especially the Azealia Banks fan perspective)----  but one needs to take a step back and realize, again, that we are talking about an old white dude who was born in 19 fucking 14 here.

From many modern viewpoints, William not only had no business being involved with the youth culture of the sixties, but he also had no business even being involved, at 36 years old, with the youth culture of the 1950s! And yet we see that he was intimately involved with all of them, in the most curious and influential of ways. Intimately involved with them and inspired by them in a way that it seems basically no other artist in his time period was. Like, no, it is true, William is not perfect and he still has flaws---but there's still the fact that he was tied to these youth cultures long past the day when most others would have said "you are no longer allowed to be tied".......

So , now, how exactly does this tie in with why I dig Azealia? I, as a white dude who is almost 29 years old right now in 2017 and thus actually Azealias senior by a few years? Well I think it should be obvious by now don't you????

I am just taking a page from the book of Burroughs here, and attempting to tie myself to what is now the new youth culture that most of my peers tell me I ought to be "completely done with", even  when I am not yet fucking 30! In fact, since beginning to 'study' William and his life in 2014 or so, I have started to see, more and more, just how pathetic most of my childhood friends truly have become, in terms of what they will or will not allow themselves to 'intake', in terms of pop culture or culture in general. This has perhaps especially become the case since the new Commander in Chief won the election.

 Honestly, for the most part, it's as though every single one of them hit the age 24 or so and , ever since, they have  now utterly shut down when it comes to introducing anything even remotely new to their lives. They will not hear new rappers, new rockers, they will not read new books, they will not bother with new games,  none of it. They will literally take in nothing new, aside from films or TV shows I suppose -- but those almost do not even count, because in truth, the majority of films and TV shows they watch are - what else -- set in the past! Therefore they are mostly just taking a big deep nostalgia trip when they watch those. Someone who sits down to watch the recent "new" Johnny Depp film like Black Mass for instance - they are just taking in the 1970s when they watch it. The film is new; but the ideas inside of it are not. This is very important, I think, because you get the illusion that you are intaking something new, even though you really are not. At all.

And though I don't want to take all credit away from my  self - ha ha ha -- I  just am not sure I would have been able to really see how absurd all of this is if I had not of analyzed the spectre that is the Burroughs legend. For some reason examining it popped my eyes open to all of this..

Again I cannot stress enough: With my old high school friends, it's almost as though, for them, pop culture is a sort of "country" they live in, and they choose - or feel -- that there are now borders which have been built that they cannot cross. An artist  like Azealia Banks, since she only got her start after 2010 or so, is thus considered absolutely OFF LIMITS. Like, maybe you can watch one of her videos or something (if even that) -- but as far as calling her your favorite? Or taking serious inspiration from her? Searching her out and trying to see what shes up to and her new releases et cetera? This is all, quite literally, not allowed. We are supposed to veer away from it. It's all "too new". It's for the new kids, and they are to be harassed and persecuted and insulted, apparently, for digging her as much as they do....

What I think I find so fascinating about this blatant and, quite frankly, rude, rejection of new culture, is that , though these people all gleefully reject all this new "culture",  the last thing it seems that they want to reject is new technology. In fact, many of my old friends seem so unusually obsessed with taking in new technology and what goes along with it that they will actually pay enormous sums of money  and break the bank, in order to get their hands on it, the very moment it is released. They absolutely cannot stand to be seen driving an old car, using an old phone, or watching an old television -- but when it comes to listening to old music in that car, or watching old movies on that television -- or movies set in old times -- well, what the hell is the problem? No shame at all. If anything, they seem to be convinced that that is precisely what they are supposed to be doing.....

Personally I find this very unusual if only because, for myself, I have often relied on old technology long past its "expiration date" , just because I literally cannot afford anything else. For example, I would gladly go out tomorrow and find an old 1980's IBM computer & sit and write on it all day long, without so much as a single problem, just because it is cheap and it can let me write. It actually might even be better, especially if it had no access to the Net, because I would have no distractions....

I would also gladly drive a $600 Ford from 1988 if I had to...because, again, it is cheap! When it comes to my video games, even, it's also pretty much the same: I tend to like to play a lot of old ones , when I do play, just because those old ones now run so,so smoothly on my new - but not ultra expensive - computer. Games that were a pain to run in 2004 on brand new ultra "epic" $2000 computers, are now as easy as pie to run on last years bargain priced laptops from Best Buy. I thus am more inclined to play them.It saves me boat loads of money.

When it comes to art however, and artists, I really just don't get it. I can't understand the opposition. I can't understand the bias, the prejudice, the absolute downright refusal to take the new stuff in. I don't understand it because .. well, what the hell... new art does not cost anything more than old art to listen to or take in, does it? No, of course it doesn't! In fact, art is probably one of the only things in the world that you can basically count on to always be around the same price, depending what sort of art you are talking about. Ticket prices are , more or less, always around the same price, no matter if the artist is new or old. So, whats the problem? Why do all these people insist that there is a border between them and all the new culture? Is it really just because, like so many people say, they "feel' more connected to the old stuff they have memories with -- or is it perhaps just because, you know, they are small minded assholes? Personally, as my reader might be able to guess if they're still with me,  I think it's the latter. I think that most people really are just blatant assholes when it comes to this.


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