Queens of the Stone Age ...Like Clockwork

This time of year finds me more and more befuddled, I heard that it's called Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD - what a bitch...). I don't buy into SAD - sounds too much like a wimpy assed activist group, but I do recognize it being a serious issue to some and I mean no disrespect.

So lately I been chugging cups of coffee to combat the listlessness waiting for Stewie from Family Guy to pop out of nowhere - "Ha - now is the winter of your discontent!" (W.S. from Richard III) And I feel this surge of purpose that's beyond definition or conventional design, it's inspired by those that I know.

The world around me offers a myriad of complex individuals for me to know, most of which I haven't seen in years yet remain in contact sporadically via email and the oddly timed phone call. I often view the core of these to epitomize craft(s). That 'core' to me should be abundant with a wealth of shared ideas and creations that are self sustainable and offer vessels of opportunity for those around us.

It's as if someone forgot to install the last rung of the ladder

and that last rung is the essential part that escapes most us - mediating the terms that engages us in the contention for the incomplete; we get a sense of fulfillment coupled with mediocre successes (when measured against the skilled potential of the core - no dis...)

A Summer banquet filled with strangers, where apparently they knew me, by the #'s quoted anger from the drama in their movie - I explained that I'm no actor for directing better suits me, while I poured myself libations in a rear view tethered loosely.

So I mope - but I'm cool so moping looks intense and outwardly it appears that I'm on to something, when it's actually nothing - a happenstance of season, the sum of which seems better off ignoring, so I think my better option is the first wind which comes blowing. A

through our helixes and ladders there are always ever afters

THE HOOD vs ANATOMY MAGAZINE

Crisp!

Though I stream into psycho babble over the artistic states that we live in , I must profess that the mainstream is and has been under attack for a while now; the fight was under my nose the whole time.

You know there's a reason for the muddied mass to exist and thrive - the contrast allows the truth to been more apparent. The mass's diluted output is a cacophony of static that's carries its sound on the backs of drones into ears of the herd - an infected tickle that stimulates mediocrity into choreographed nod.

My problem is that the wack parades about as the originators of style and substance, be it musically, graphically or fashion wise. They prosper through lithographed endeavors while I see first hand Art on the grind - whittling away at the mass of inspiration that comprises the world(s) we inhabit, yet honoring that and those which have influenced our creative decisions.

When you live entrenched in battle, waking up to the smell napalm {$£¥} you forget that you're outnumbered, the "fight" itself becomes your companion - you are not alone. In the heat (or lack thereof) your vision becomes a tunnel and you only have eyes for the "enemy" - Fight mediocrity, admonish the plagiarizers of style - embrace the lunacy as you drift effortlessly against the grain...

Keeping the mainstream under attack: FRESHLY SERIOUS™ , Classic Example, Brettandthecity.com, http://www.outcastbilkerfilm.com, http://www.frolab.com, Smokin Shells by DJ Rasta Root, http://www.bohemioproductions.com/ , http://www.fusegreen.com 

I just used Shazam to discover Blinking Pigs by Little Dragon. http://shz.am/t50137273

DSC03525

DSC03525, a photo by boxkicker on Flickr.

The Return of Fresh

The masses define who we are; either we share the same glare or push through to dare an nonconformist pursuit in a life of "Garanimal" functionless style and copy cat artistic taste.

There was a time not long ago when ƒresh was dope and biting was something to lose your teeth over - now we're all in the same boygirlraprockharleydavidsonben&jerry gang (?) tattoo shirts schoolboy glasses reebok pumps (still fucking ugly) skinny jeans skateboard - woah! could somebody please call it like it is - biting! perpetrating! it's like living in Compton and wearing a rainbow jumpsuit just to play it safe... hell no! for some the fusion is natural, but when the fusion becomes a cookie cut of style then the "natural ones" evolve far away (naturally) - the "new style" is the old style, not even the fresh aspect but the "back in the day was wack aspect" (wasn't Kwame {polka dots} the last mother fucker to rock "school boy" glasses?)

hey I love all of us - but for those of us who aren't the 12,677,886 member of the cool kids, or in Kid Cudi's global entourage: Fucking A right man (and lady) stay crisp!

Generate, synonymous with create, evolve, originate, engender, institute. Generation is the action of the aforementioned - also Generation means a group of individuals belonging to the same set of ideas, principles and problems (30 year span) . It seems that it's going to be up to the next generation (our children) to actually be a generation of creators and not straight out biters; we all fill our minds by ingesting the world around us and at times we're unable to avoid mimicking or showing an apparent influence - but the pop crowds and Terra-stars are like a rapidly boiling cauldron (not a melting pot) the masses have cripple the infrastructure of music and fashion and as theirs collapse beneath the weight of tom foolery the crisp clean canvas that awaits like the second coming will be blessed by those with a purest heart and drive to breach uncharted depths of perception. They of course will use the same fabrics, colors and sound textures that have always been used - but hopefully the monotonous musings and benchmarks of their journeys will be saved for the biography after the return of Fresh.

Just ahead is the bridge where the wind beats against our faces, and the tracks meet and the wax melts into reflecting pools of sounds, we play the ear drum with a gut wrench til the butterflies flee entangled in a tango meant to style us back and forth on the rewind

Eerie eerie ear canal against the weathered tracks, listen closely - do you fear that? Stick your fingers in your eyes, now cry again - not what you heard now, is it? Just an ear dart shot from the hip... "digital crates still require fingertips..."

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