re:


proud loud wall of sound pride
I am very proud of the bass work i did on this record and the touring we did for it. I remember purposefully writing some of the parts where if/when i were to leave the band, when writing the songs i came up with things that the next person…. there would just be no way you would be able to play exactly the part of mine. hehehehehehe. there’s the leo in me.

This is a blog where bad language is used. I just use ‘fucking’ and ‘bullshit’, a lot.

So this is a re-do of the post that has been here. I have not been blogging, though always writing, with those pens, on that paper stuff, always. Not blogging because I don’t know why. School has started. Being an ex anti-institutionalist, it has been a transition. But I’ll say it. I love school. I was really scared of failing, thats why I was against going to school. I have been getting published on a regular basis in the underground art and poetry scene, and even at universities, for ten years, and if I would have been through art school by now, I would not still be a no-body. This inspires me, to be honest, and gives me the conclusion that maybe I should share some stories that have been the times that I believe were signs telling me what to do with my life, or no, letting me know that I wasn’t crazy and to hang in there. And I think if some of this shit happened to you, art would be your religion as well. And also, let us not forget that experience, living life, is the ultimate teacher. And holy shit. And I have been a vigorously studying motherfucker of art, literature, music, sound, culture, psychology, and poetry. I am here for good. And I have something new coming to the table, like being through with having an “I’m sorry for writing/composing this” vibe. I don’t do anything artistically that another artist did not do to blow my mind and make me want to do the same. Fuck this boring explaining.

see.

I have recently read an article in Poets and Writers Magazine that was in support of literature having more of a connecting quality. In a way that is human. Because no one is. Being real. In magazine articles, the paper, shit like that. I hear that. A place to get a breath of fresh air is in the Zine world. No bullshit there. And I have lost my ability to bullshit. Get what you see. I know and practice manners. I am not an asshole. An asshole is the one bullshitting.

Being native to a town that was blind sided by everything hep, causes within me the most jaded and burnt-out and also, territorial thoughts and responses as an artist. A kind of “I was hear first fuck face/hell yeah, my home is the place to be to do what I love” kind of dynamic.

The first half of that dynamic much less than the second. Only when I am being a prick. I become a prick sometimes. And very stubborn. Absolutely.

the river, listen, I am always by it in the morning, had a stillness the eye could not even detect tripping balls every thirty seconds, the morning had a breeze until around 11 and the rush of lunch frustrating the flow of natural nature’s plan green yellow red lights holy shit they are only now red, politely laughing sidewalk cracks stroke the same color with nude models placing distinguished energy that was mist like if you heard it, and these days, ears are cheap dates, and a lot of nights settle the sun in a half cigarette cradle found following a kind dollar placed in homeless palms, marvelous confusion neglects any correct notion regarding any search for your spine during that moment, language sifts flower still good for baking bread used for bomb sandwiches, a bomb is spicy, and quite a treat dipped in rose red paint of that truly broken heart, and also, and also what? also nothing I guess but if I guess I am full of shit, obviously, memory has walls for the thought train to just fucking pummel into disaster, to prevent a breakdown I suppose, chimes hang chiming under a bridge, and through the power of who the fuck knows you can um, whatever. you have the tornado in the bunker, with the bomb calling estates in the south with the minsters cell phone, fire his ass, how disrespectful to make even a slightly clear blood cell round and red, the heart already has fallen for the white cell, which ques my being given the demand to flip her around and well, hear the loudest most convincing “yes” ever screamed, the time when after she says I love you, my heart becomes wet and leaks though the eyes, so call an ambulance, episodes romance sings the sirens a wave in flat lining night. The hotels of love are never low on any finance because I’m always there alone hoping sitting on the edge of the bed that knocks situate my door on the outside. The unfaithful never long for their loss. And what a boring ass bunch they are. I happen to be the most interesting human to capture any cowboy’s attention. So how bout those buckin bronco’s and beebop collaborating cash handlers? I beg your pardon.

Listening list(its mine, you cant have it, but I strongly suggest any bands you havent heard of):

DNA
Yelawolf
Flanger(really like)
Mogwai
Deftones
Faust
Otherness Comp (Sonic Arts Network)
Elliott Smith
Grinspoon
Many Birthdays
Hotwire
Kasabian
PJ Harvey
Tired and Tickled Trio
Steven Jesse Bernstein album “Prison”(Sub Pop 91′)
Psycho White
Pinback
Oneohtrix Point Never
My Bloody Valentine
Mum
Meat Beat Manifesto
DJ Shadow
DJ Spooky
Burnt Friedman & Liebezeit
Isis
Fantomas
Teargas & Plateglass

reading list:

Cassette Mythos
Art and Film by Schnabel
Valery anthology
Artuad Anthology
The Art of Noise
Art, Knowledge, Self
Everyone Loves Our Town
Noise Music: A History
Legacy of Mark Rothko
Dada: Revolt of Art
Manifestos Of Surrealism
Mad Love
Buadelaire’s Prose
Flowers Of Evil
Verlaines 101 Poems
Hopkins: Collected verse
The Art Of Joseph Conrad By Charles Simic
Collected Verse of Giocomo Leopardi
Perfecting Sound Forever
Patterns Of Culture
Silence by John Cage

why


So I have some great news. I got offered a $16,000 scholarship to the pacific northwest college of arts to enroll into their new sound art program. I didnt even ask for it, and I was sure that I had gotten the boot anyways, and was really bumbed about my convictions because I have been working doing everything to be accepted into that school for the last 5 months or so. Just got the letter last night. I start a month from yesterday. I am too tired right now to explain how extremely badass this is for me, and its like my dreams coming true. And I did feel some embarrassment about starting at the age of 28, but now I’m just thinking its the perfect time. I just spent ten years in the underground art scene of portland, and I did some sick shit. Over 300 poems published all over the world, a book written and published and was being sold at powells and stuff. I was in band that got signed and put out a record that I am very proud of still today. I guess if you were to put Hum and At The Drive In together that is what we kind of were like. We were called the only band to make shoegazer music heavy in a magazine. And as an artist, those are the things I love hearing. We toured the country. I traveled by myself to read at a 3 day poetry festival with some very big poets. And those big poets liked me. I think everyone who digs poetics HAS to own their own copy of the latest edition of the American Outlaw Bible of Poetry. Thick as fuck, man. Everyone from 2pac to emily dickenson plus a section for the group of poets I read with called the Carma Bumbs. Terrible name for a…poetry band, I guess is what they were, or I guess performance art band of poets. One of them, S.A. Griffin, is an actor out of LA and I totally recognized him from national lampoons vegas vacation. Some reading this has to have seen it, do you, certain reader(s), remember when russ gets questioned about his fake ID by the security guard? Mr Papageorgio? The security guard? well anyways thats S. A. God, the weed there sucked so bad. In Kansas City, thank god I brought a quarter ounce of some extremely primo piney smelling buds with me. This was like 4 years ago, definitely in my prime of starving artist living in inner southeast portland. we would throw the monday fun day after parties every week at this huge house we were squatting at for the summer, but then one night I got beat down like a motherfucker by about 5 guys, broke my cheek bone when a steal boot just PINK!!! right below my eye, but I was like the joker man, haha. I had blood gushing from my face and I got up and said “I’m just gettin started assholes, muahahaha!!” and it freaked em out. and then the cops showed up, and my friend kevin through me in some bushes, came back and got me after they were gone, took me back to our place and cleaned me up, and the next day, my friend marcus, was a doctor that had his own really fancy family practice out by parkrose and he treated me and gave me some pain killers for free. yeah this is was all during my ride into drug addicted hell. Or, I was there, yep. Stopped having the parties though. But some hardcore gangster dudes that had just come off the street for 6 years told me to leave one day for a few hours and that he was going to take care of the guys that hurt me, and all I know when I got back he said “you wont have to worry about them no more, dog, i’m sorry I wasnt around when this happened”. even though I cant really talk further about it, thats a cool friend to have, when you are living that wild lifestyle….. I slept on a pool table. hell yeah. hell NO. the onlly good thing i remember about that time is great bbq’s. It has gotten bad, very bad in my life, but I was still writing and submitting poems and writing songs and getting published. I think I might have one copy of something I have been in, but I dont even have a copy of my fucking book. Which was in a way about all that stuff, that time. The journals and poems while in a treatment facility treating both a complete breakdown, and a nasty heroin addiction. sober 2 1/2 years. we’re good. and this is prolly the only time I will say this, but I damn well deserved that scholarship. I worked my ass off to get it alone, and then through the years, getting my education from the ultimate teacher, life experience. But oh my god, I am so thankful I got accepted. Life changing. And I’m gonna eat everything up. I have a five year plan, and then I will have my masters. And be a mad scientist professor of something involving writing or aesthetics or of course art theory, but I’m an abstract expressionist, So I would tell everyone to be not following these rules and shit.

 

Cassettes…. man, you know, when I found out, a few years back, that tapes were becoming hip again, I thought it was dumbest fucking thing I had ever experienced. And but now, I’m a total cassette releasing artist. But my reasoning is nothing like these other east side kids that I was living with and hanging out with. They were just artistic imperialists from so cal, not even old enough to remember the mixtape days, and they are making music on their macbooks and putting it out on tape. “Its got this distinct fuzz kinda sound man”. What the fuck dude? yeah you try to avoid that. And your making it trendy, bastards. read this weeks mercury or WWeek. eating it up. I have been studying about the cassette underground and found that there is in fact a lovely market at least in the northwest of the new vinyl shops popping up everywhere, they are all about supporting local artists, but you bring them a bunch of cd’s and they will keel over laughing pointing at the door. Come in with some Cassettes, yeah they will sell them for ya. They are the runt of the analogue pack. I am not an elitist, being one now days only screws you. I’m like, take the good from all thats out there to offer. dont limit yourself. But hey, I loved, so much, making mixtapes, and recording band practice on my step dads old tascam 4 track, and I dont know, I loved it. Besides, the less something starts to be produced, its value goes up up up just a tad over time. Gnar Tapes, heh god. They offered me a spoken word release deal, haha. and I was down, I wont lie. but then a few weeks later i hit the rocky bottom that it is. and left town for a long time. 

that festival i went to, to read at, was mostly because I was going to hopefully hook up with this one female poet that lived there, totally artsy hot, you feel me? smart. very clever. damn good poet. and I was sure it was gonna happen. and then I show up and find she is engaged. two days on the greyhound. and it was my birthday rolling into KC at 8am 4 hours late i came puttin in. it was like, ‘are you serious?’ and then he apparently went insane after I had left and she was telling me about if only I lived in KC. thats what I get though. murphy’s law in life. I was going to write my own art manifesto on this post based off questions in this book, but I am so tired, so I just wanted to come on and write to write. the pen I have right now is very uncomfortable, too hard and rough, I need soft and silky for a pen. and I’m falling asleep at the keyboard. dont take me off your following list please! i know I havent been writing much but it seriously has been because I have been making a killer portfolio of work and had to write some essays to get in. still cant believe it. I didnt even ask for it! guess that just happens when you rock it. But this is my life now. 110% commitment. no room for anything else really. because I am also going to be doing lectures and busting skills on first thursdays in the galleries. its so cool, you get to fully be involved and have yourself a gallery show a few months after starting. Usually when school comes, its like, “ok, no rock starring it up for another 4 or 5 years.” But its like, you are accepted into a community of artists and get all these opportunities. 30 grand a term. so fancy schmancy. Its all good. No price on knowledge and this is…. very big deal. And who knows, maybe I just might end up amazing. Goodbye, I will be posting more kinds of art like collage pieces and tracks of recordings and writing too. I just needed to throw some language down, had been a while. night