Too early for a daydream
Too late for a nightmare
Wannabe skyscrapers, grey with the autumn
Cold
Reflect in puddles of glass
Then destroyed by pigeons that
Tiptoe between spent cigarettes
Resentment is a geyser
Trepidation a chasm every 2nd step ahead
Electronics fill the vacuum of space,
My mind drifts with too much time to fill
Each factor of my morning and life
And day and tomorrow and
Tomorrow is broken down further to its component
Parts
Too early for a daydream
Too late for a nightmare
These are just fears.
27 Sept 2010
23 Sept 2010
Great movie soundtracks, part - whatever
When I started the blog I posted up quite a few movie soundtracks which I intended to add to every now and then. Suffice to say I haven't added to the list because I'm forgetfull/lazy, and well - lets face it, there aren't that many good soundtracks out there.
Thought I'd add one from the film featuring this fictional band:
My least favourite Cameron Crowe movie, but great artists/records on the soundtrack.
Thought I'd add one from the film featuring this fictional band:
My least favourite Cameron Crowe movie, but great artists/records on the soundtrack.
Quote of the Day
It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than open one's mouth and remove all doubt. Samuel Johnson
Mapplethorpe
Robert Mapplethorpe (as you all well know) was an amazing artist who tended to focus on Homoerotic photography and sexual images, that - for all the controvery they caused - were undeniably great photographs. So it would follow that there is a new exhibition of his work in Eastbourne. Wait, what..?
Teacher, mother, secret lover.
That's a Homer Simpson quote about TV, if you needed telling.
Horizon 'The end of God?' was amazing - if for nothing else, the sight of Dawkins in a crash helmet and blinfold:
and the 1st part of Lost Land of the Tiger was just as good - though wish they weren't on at the same time. Yay for I-Player:
Horizon 'The end of God?' was amazing - if for nothing else, the sight of Dawkins in a crash helmet and blinfold:
and the 1st part of Lost Land of the Tiger was just as good - though wish they weren't on at the same time. Yay for I-Player:
21 Sept 2010
Nomenclature
World Famous Design Junkies have made this poster 'The Grand Taxonomy of Rap Names':
Click to big it up.
tax•on•o•my – noun
1. the science or technique of classification.
2. Biology. the science dealing with the description, identification, naming, and classification of organisms
(I had to look that shit up...)
Click to big it up.
tax•on•o•my – noun
1. the science or technique of classification.
2. Biology. the science dealing with the description, identification, naming, and classification of organisms
(I had to look that shit up...)
Quote of the Day
Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin to slit throats.
H. L. Mencken
Intervention
My wife Lu’s blog for photographic artist Tim Simmons. He’s showing his installation series as a contender for the Artprize 2010 in Grand Rapids – you can CLICK HERE to vote.
Here’s the venue:
Here’s the venue:
Congrats Mr V
After going for a surf with friend and wedding guest Laird Hamilton, Eddie marries Jill Mcormick in Oahu, Hawaii.
Spin magazine article here.
17 Sept 2010
16 Sept 2010
Quote of the Day
I hang my head against the white
refrigerator and want to scream like
the last weeping of life forever but
I am bigger than the mountains.
Bukowski.
Blood into Wine
THIS is being released on DVD soon. Looks amazing - especially if you're a Tool fan.
Erwin Wurm
While looking through a photography book at home recently, I was reminded of the work of this guy. He's an Austrian artist who produces a variety of work including photographs and what have been termed 'one minute sculptures'. The latter inspired this old Chilli Peppers vid:
15 Sept 2010
Human rights.
I heard a screech like monkeys warning of a snake close by, and stood on tip toe to peak over the heads in front of me - there were at least 50 people between me and the chimps, all of us sandwiched on the narrow platform between 2 sets of train tracks. A young man – younger than me at least – was inches from the face of a small middle aged gay man who was in turn, backed against a wall; ‘GIMME THE PHONE. GIMME THE FUCKIN PHONE...’
The smaller one just stood there, looking away and muttering something I couldn’t make out over the chattering masses. The chimps screamed again ‘WHAY YOU TAYKE ‘IS PICTURE FOR!?’ I moved in closer as some of the crowd moved reluctantly to board their train. Still looking into the middle distance the man replied matter-of-factly ‘I took his photo because I find him attractive.’ At this point you would be forgiven for thinking his response was something along the lines of ‘I took his photo because I want to cut him into small pieces and fry his lower intestine in butter for my dinner.’ Such was the abject horror in which it was received.
Instantly and as usual, I disassociated myself from any empathetic feeling toward this fracas and – analysing the subjects involved, began to notice the differences in appearance between them; The gay man was small, older, and though slim looked sort of like a little potato. The younger man was obviously a labourer of some kind, scaffolder, roofer, chippy, and after a long day hauling crap had removed his shirt to reveal a tanned, rather stocky and worked-out torso – covered in sweat.
‘UURRR, WHAAAA!?’ The incredulous screeching continued from what I now saw to be 3 young blond girls on their way home from whichever branch of Burger King they worked in (there was no indication of fast food chain employment but from their actions and lack of language skills I could only assume that ‘meat warmer’ was their one collective talent).
This went on.
And on.
Then after several minutes of screaming and nobody intervening on anyone else’s behalf, the young man stopped simply demanding that the pictures of his glistening torso be deleted – and stated that in fact, the whole situation was ‘...against my human rights.’ This made me snap back into the moment and think, does he have a point? Is he afforded the fundamental right to demand his image not be held by a stranger for his own selfish sexual gratification?
It took me a sum total of half a minute to arrive at the certainty that everyone involved – and even those who weren’t, were morons and not worth another nanosecond of contemplation. The picture taker should have been more subtle had he wanted some new and stolen masturbatory material, the roofer should be more aware of the origins of his style choices (along side being sculpted he also had what could be considered a super-gay haircut) before unveiling his body to the world. And the crowd, almost baying at the minor spectacle like dogs about to fight over scraps of bone... they would go home and relay the funny story to their wives and husbands.
Human rights. That made me smile. Maybe it’s my human right that I should be able to buy myself lunch every day without freaking out about not having made another batch of brown pasta instead of spending what would amount to £20 a week on what we peasants regularly refer to as ‘fancy food’. And that I should be capable of standing in public without being subjected to the inherent retardation of most of the sub-human beings next to – in front of and behind me during my daily commute. But we can’t always have what we want now,
can we.
The smaller one just stood there, looking away and muttering something I couldn’t make out over the chattering masses. The chimps screamed again ‘WHAY YOU TAYKE ‘IS PICTURE FOR!?’ I moved in closer as some of the crowd moved reluctantly to board their train. Still looking into the middle distance the man replied matter-of-factly ‘I took his photo because I find him attractive.’ At this point you would be forgiven for thinking his response was something along the lines of ‘I took his photo because I want to cut him into small pieces and fry his lower intestine in butter for my dinner.’ Such was the abject horror in which it was received.
Instantly and as usual, I disassociated myself from any empathetic feeling toward this fracas and – analysing the subjects involved, began to notice the differences in appearance between them; The gay man was small, older, and though slim looked sort of like a little potato. The younger man was obviously a labourer of some kind, scaffolder, roofer, chippy, and after a long day hauling crap had removed his shirt to reveal a tanned, rather stocky and worked-out torso – covered in sweat.
‘UURRR, WHAAAA!?’ The incredulous screeching continued from what I now saw to be 3 young blond girls on their way home from whichever branch of Burger King they worked in (there was no indication of fast food chain employment but from their actions and lack of language skills I could only assume that ‘meat warmer’ was their one collective talent).
This went on.
And on.
Then after several minutes of screaming and nobody intervening on anyone else’s behalf, the young man stopped simply demanding that the pictures of his glistening torso be deleted – and stated that in fact, the whole situation was ‘...against my human rights.’ This made me snap back into the moment and think, does he have a point? Is he afforded the fundamental right to demand his image not be held by a stranger for his own selfish sexual gratification?
It took me a sum total of half a minute to arrive at the certainty that everyone involved – and even those who weren’t, were morons and not worth another nanosecond of contemplation. The picture taker should have been more subtle had he wanted some new and stolen masturbatory material, the roofer should be more aware of the origins of his style choices (along side being sculpted he also had what could be considered a super-gay haircut) before unveiling his body to the world. And the crowd, almost baying at the minor spectacle like dogs about to fight over scraps of bone... they would go home and relay the funny story to their wives and husbands.
Human rights. That made me smile. Maybe it’s my human right that I should be able to buy myself lunch every day without freaking out about not having made another batch of brown pasta instead of spending what would amount to £20 a week on what we peasants regularly refer to as ‘fancy food’. And that I should be capable of standing in public without being subjected to the inherent retardation of most of the sub-human beings next to – in front of and behind me during my daily commute. But we can’t always have what we want now,
can we.
Rilke redux
Rilke.
I grew up in this town,
My poetry was born between the train track and the roadside,
It took its voice from the rain,
And like the concrete, it steeped itself in the city.
I grew up in this town,
My poetry was born between the train track and the roadside,
It took its voice from the rain,
And like the concrete, it steeped itself in the city.
14 Sept 2010
10 Sept 2010
Watch the skies
From the Guardian, a selection of entries from the astronomy photographer of the year competition, 2010, held at the Royal Observatory in Greenwich:
9 Sept 2010
Quote of the Day
'...You better beat it - I hear they're going to tear you down and put up an office building where you're standing. You can leave in a taxi. If you can't get a taxi, you can leave in a huff. If that's too soon, you can leave in a minute and a huff.'
Rufus T Firefly.
Rufus T Firefly.
Ink Sweat & Tears
Ink Sweat & Tears have posted up some Haiku's of mine. These were written a while back and relate to the part of South East London that I live in.
D
D
7 Sept 2010
26 Aug 2010
Quote of the Day
‘Gangster Computer God worldwide SECRET CONTAINMENT POLICY, made possible SOLY by worldwide Computer God Frankenstein Controls, especially LIFELONG CONSTANT THRESHOLD BRAIN WASH RADIO ( quiet and motionless, I can slightly hear it; repeatedly this has saved my life on the streets ). FOUR BILLION worldwide population ALL living have a Computer God CONTAINMENT POLICY BRAIN BANK BRAIN, A REAL BRAIN, in the Brain Bank Cities on the far side of the Moon, we never see. Primarily, based on your lifelong Frankenstein radio controls, especially, your eyesight T.V. (sight, and sound) recorded by your brain. YOUR Moon BRAIN of the Computer God, activates your Frankenstein Threshold Brain Wash Radio LIFELONG, inculcating conformist propaganda, even frightening you and mixing you-up and the USUAL, "DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT." for your set backs, mistakes even when you receive deadly injuries. THIS IS THE WORLDWIDE COMPUTER GOD SECRET CONTAINMENT POLICY.’
Francis E. Dec
Francis E. Dec
Heroes for Hire
Word on the street (internet) is that Marvel are planning some kind of Iron Fist release:
Not sure at this point if the big man would be involved too - but either way - sweeeet:
Not sure at this point if the big man would be involved too - but either way - sweeeet:
25 Aug 2010
Best. Actress. Ever.
BBC4 is to broadcast an opera based on the turbulent life of the former Playboy model, Anna Nicole Smith. Anna Nicole – The Opera will dramatise the life of Smith, who married oil tycoon J Howard Marshall, more than 60 years her senior, in 1994 and then after his death the following year was drawn into a lengthy legal battle over the settlement of his estate. Smith died of a prescription drugs overdose in 2007, aged 39...
Ok – I mean how bad can it be when this is the source material:
Ok – I mean how bad can it be when this is the source material:
24 Aug 2010
re-welcome!
Looking over my old posts today, I thought I'd copy/paste up a reminder of what I'm trying to do here...
After all the Facebook / MySpace shenanigans over the past year, I thought - why not get back to the good old days of posting stuff on a blog that no one will ever see, unless I tell them about it over Facebook or MySpace.
I have used the name channelzero for over 8 years now, as an umbrella identity for numerous projects of mine including: photography, publishing of prose/poetry/short fiction and other things (forever) on the back burner.
I am trying to juggle lots of things at once to keep it all fresh and keep moving forward. Even if what comes out of it ends up being repetitive or rambling or a bit involved and introspective – I don’t care. There are too many 'art projects' that re-use old ideas and rely on trends, and by not having a real format I'm trying to avoid that at all costs.
This blog will run side by side with my MySpace page – which will include the longer pieces of my writing. So, I will pretty much post whatever pops in my head day to day onto here – kind of like free association - and this will hopefully give my other work more focus.
Longer bits of work - stories and articles for example, can be found here: http://www.myspace.com/channelzerose4
After all the Facebook / MySpace shenanigans over the past year, I thought - why not get back to the good old days of posting stuff on a blog that no one will ever see, unless I tell them about it over Facebook or MySpace.
I have used the name channelzero for over 8 years now, as an umbrella identity for numerous projects of mine including: photography, publishing of prose/poetry/short fiction and other things (forever) on the back burner.
I am trying to juggle lots of things at once to keep it all fresh and keep moving forward. Even if what comes out of it ends up being repetitive or rambling or a bit involved and introspective – I don’t care. There are too many 'art projects' that re-use old ideas and rely on trends, and by not having a real format I'm trying to avoid that at all costs.
This blog will run side by side with my MySpace page – which will include the longer pieces of my writing. So, I will pretty much post whatever pops in my head day to day onto here – kind of like free association - and this will hopefully give my other work more focus.
Longer bits of work - stories and articles for example, can be found here: http://www.myspace.com/channelzerose4
18 Aug 2010
1 piece written 3 ways.
So as an experiment, I took 1 subject and tried to write it in 3 forms: a series of 3 Kigo Haiku's, a kind of formatted poem and sort of free prose over a few paragraphs.
Kigo.
Summer’s last day
Exactly as summer’s first
A sinking feeling.
--
September’s shadow
A black cloud that follows me
The sun still hiding.
--
New love and new life
Create warmth within my chest
Breath becomes steady.
Bully.
It’s not as cut-and-dried as it sounds
You have a bad experience as a kid
And mental scars remain
That take a long time to heal and need help in
Doing so.
A common problem, I know
But it’s not as simple as ‘cause and effect’ or
You have a problem - you solve it
Our minds don’t work that way
You only have so much control over instinct.
The animal
The protector
The human in you
Can keep a strong hold on your gut
On your heart and lungs.
It can overpower whenever you need to retreat
Strike out or just close down
Those days or weeks when contact with others
Feels like a heart attack -
All of that can be the echo of one quiet wound.
And it took some time to realise that my own cycle
Was only beyond my control
Because I hadn’t sat down
Taken a breath
And tried to remember everything.
To take every single image
Every single Monday morning when I was
Sick to my stomach
And analyse it to death
To suck all the air out of those memories.
I finally got it down to the number 13
And the beginning of autumn.
My 13th year was pretty much a teenage nightmare from beginning
To end
And the lead-up to the start of a new school year, well.
It lasted almost 20 years
And that number alone would make most people think of it as
‘a serious problem’
But there are things now – things, people
That walk with me, all over that time of my life.
And now, brown leaves lay underfoot
The air becomes cool in your throat
People don scarves and hats
Cheeks red, cigarette smoke taken by the new season’s breeze
And I begin to feel my chest rise and fall again.
The adrenaline is less
Anger remains, but is mostly tempered now
I use it for better things
To create
To write.
Every mirror.
I’ve no idea why, but I can remember looking at my face in the bathroom mirror of every job I’ve worked at. Generally I can’t recall a single other moment of employment – good days, bad days, bosses names – nothing. But I have a back catalogue of faces staring back at me from over the sinks, fluro lights above and that swimming pool smell in your nostrils. Except the Government job, that was more often than not, your everyday ‘old man’s turd’ smell.
And each time I see that face, tired and bored and lazy and frustrated – I can see the history that lead me there. To have pissed in so many different bathrooms, working for people who forgot my name after I left, the same way I can’t remember theirs now. They were busy and focussed and couldn’t care less and nor could I. Even though most of the time - at interviews and first days, I really did want to care. But damn – there goes what little confidence I did have, out the window.
Those bosses, they liked being there. They loved their jobs and I never got that. I tried – I did. I even stopped lying to myself for a while and bought all their bullshit to see if I could reprogram my default setting. But nothing ever stuck.
I’d always look back after it was too late to do anything about it, and think; where did they get all this self-belief from? How do they maintain that without constantly questioning every move they make? I still do that I suppose, less so as I get older, but inside I’m still a little kid thinking he’s snuck himself into a position above his ability and is always on the verge of being found out.
So here I am again today; hands washed, dark circles contradicting the fact I had a full 9 hours last night, same lights above me. A different room and more pleasant smell but really – who gives a fuck. I still don’t know if I belong here – actually belong here. These places all remain the same, in that after all these years, and even considering how much more secure I feel, I still can’t run home fast enough at the end of the day.
Kigo.
Summer’s last day
Exactly as summer’s first
A sinking feeling.
--
September’s shadow
A black cloud that follows me
The sun still hiding.
--
New love and new life
Create warmth within my chest
Breath becomes steady.
Bully.
It’s not as cut-and-dried as it sounds
You have a bad experience as a kid
And mental scars remain
That take a long time to heal and need help in
Doing so.
A common problem, I know
But it’s not as simple as ‘cause and effect’ or
You have a problem - you solve it
Our minds don’t work that way
You only have so much control over instinct.
The animal
The protector
The human in you
Can keep a strong hold on your gut
On your heart and lungs.
It can overpower whenever you need to retreat
Strike out or just close down
Those days or weeks when contact with others
Feels like a heart attack -
All of that can be the echo of one quiet wound.
And it took some time to realise that my own cycle
Was only beyond my control
Because I hadn’t sat down
Taken a breath
And tried to remember everything.
To take every single image
Every single Monday morning when I was
Sick to my stomach
And analyse it to death
To suck all the air out of those memories.
I finally got it down to the number 13
And the beginning of autumn.
My 13th year was pretty much a teenage nightmare from beginning
To end
And the lead-up to the start of a new school year, well.
It lasted almost 20 years
And that number alone would make most people think of it as
‘a serious problem’
But there are things now – things, people
That walk with me, all over that time of my life.
And now, brown leaves lay underfoot
The air becomes cool in your throat
People don scarves and hats
Cheeks red, cigarette smoke taken by the new season’s breeze
And I begin to feel my chest rise and fall again.
The adrenaline is less
Anger remains, but is mostly tempered now
I use it for better things
To create
To write.
Every mirror.
I’ve no idea why, but I can remember looking at my face in the bathroom mirror of every job I’ve worked at. Generally I can’t recall a single other moment of employment – good days, bad days, bosses names – nothing. But I have a back catalogue of faces staring back at me from over the sinks, fluro lights above and that swimming pool smell in your nostrils. Except the Government job, that was more often than not, your everyday ‘old man’s turd’ smell.
And each time I see that face, tired and bored and lazy and frustrated – I can see the history that lead me there. To have pissed in so many different bathrooms, working for people who forgot my name after I left, the same way I can’t remember theirs now. They were busy and focussed and couldn’t care less and nor could I. Even though most of the time - at interviews and first days, I really did want to care. But damn – there goes what little confidence I did have, out the window.
Those bosses, they liked being there. They loved their jobs and I never got that. I tried – I did. I even stopped lying to myself for a while and bought all their bullshit to see if I could reprogram my default setting. But nothing ever stuck.
I’d always look back after it was too late to do anything about it, and think; where did they get all this self-belief from? How do they maintain that without constantly questioning every move they make? I still do that I suppose, less so as I get older, but inside I’m still a little kid thinking he’s snuck himself into a position above his ability and is always on the verge of being found out.
So here I am again today; hands washed, dark circles contradicting the fact I had a full 9 hours last night, same lights above me. A different room and more pleasant smell but really – who gives a fuck. I still don’t know if I belong here – actually belong here. These places all remain the same, in that after all these years, and even considering how much more secure I feel, I still can’t run home fast enough at the end of the day.
This is straight up poached from the Crossfire website, but is too good not to post. Kind of like a video version of the Chrome Ball Incident photo/mag articles – Skate Library is a great collection of skate videos from times past (and present).
Camu
To mark the release of his posthumous King of Hearts album, Def Jux are offering a free Camu Tao mixtape download over at the site.
17 Aug 2010
16 Aug 2010
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