Tuesday, January 7, 2014

Friday, April 19, 2013

The problem is You're not done

Poetry on the road to iowa.from chicago tundra warmth

Yippee. Hooray. We get to watch a movie.
A tiny voice speaks from.behind my head. Loud enough to not be the childish voice inside my head. Introspection of the new year....... combined with a snow day, convicted daddy to watch less tv. and to read the pictures in books. Seems strange, but words in my opinion are beautiful and skimming over words and type to understand .... "the point of what the author meant", is boring to me. Although I wager I could write better if I read more.... mental/technological note to myself... And ... the church of think allows us to find things in ourselves. (Which is ironic since it contains quite a bit of things in it currently. My habits for collecting materials to process was one of the reasons why i have kept and attempted to maintain the building. It gives embodiment to the things inside our collective heads.. however.... I digress.. but attempt to explain myself while I practice word play on the corporate site.... so now hopefully "back to making a word from our sponsor"), That allow us to not be stressed out by a small child's voice on a necessary, hazardous journey between city and farmland to shovel out the impassable, fenceless, windblown, trailer-strewn sea of moving potential. That is #hawkeyemovers . Long sentence. And as I edit this, having spent two days on a tractor in Iowa.... it doesn't describe enough of what I do. My thoughts go around. My father falling through the floor of his addition as I ponder taking a sledgehammer to my basement floor. (My actions did not match my thought process.) My new year's resolutions are worthless #whichisokaysinceimhappybeingwhoiamwiththeexceptionofturning40 , I anticipate This and don't worry about the deaths of last year and the old age of the future. I attempted in weeks prior to get out of the cold and into the old. Moving furniture again that is, . I do risk management with a client over a bottle of Scotch and a cup <;/,> post flask of vodka. I worry about freezing pipes while my familia to the south fears the safety of the personal plumbing and avoids , the native las vegasian fear of writing your name in the snow.

I had it and then I lost it.

A professional idea of patience. And Narcissusicully opening my eyes to the beauty of a foreign logo not physically captured by technology and becoming a question of memento in your native tongue or mine

Hard to dictate poetry of distraction and trailers while driving and listening to espanol in the background to expand the kids' minds.


:★  emoticon

Patience trumps quick underage money longevity is the hopeful answer to building a business that has no billboard. As we pass by the fox river and watched a bird of prey in flight I think about thee fox and his convoluted compliments which are frank in nature and thank me for my unwillingness to not allow life to teach people the lessons that I work.

Or if I will ever learn myself. The historic route to starved rock ...


My inner child no longer asks if I can watch a movie.the espanol in the background of a desire to teach young minds to be broad enough to win at billboard
Recollection of collectibles
Antipromotion of eclecticible. Absolving the absorption of functional barnwood. Resisting the transistors of a modern lumierity. Not quite forgotten Wanda of the southwest and their lighted bags of warmth that are left purposely to prevent a prankster's presence of a doorbill ring and a bonfire of animal process

The attempt to write cohesive philosophy in a world that allows for large scale contributions of donuts and escalatate corn-fed abandonment during hibernation exit. 75 north.
51cent rejuvenation in the form of an eye-opener of a dark preground., left around, is reminded of a govt mandated questioning of starving rocks. And a general dislike for bumping docks. A required monthly test to broadcast is enforced on forefingers the way the author enforced a cleansing of maternal imstinct as large bears refuel and count their clock.

Monday, January 7, 2013

#telemonster references a technological monster as we appreciate art

This music is different for me coming from a heavy metal background. i have to admit, some of the other bands in this same genre do nothing for me.
i dont care for grizzly bear, i find the name to be deceptive to the fact that their music has almost no bite. i find quarter day at good will to be something that makes my ears perk up, and give my wife a budget. or weigh her down with a pocket full of change.

i am not current. and I'm not hip as much as i do own obnoxious ties and jacket combinations, drink pbr, and have the same unfortunate attribute as most hipsters do, i point my fingers at other hipsters and make fun of them while i hang out with other hipsters who laugh and complain that we listen to npr who would call our black president a hipster.

which leads me to our next point. the lack of a death star. the reason why, in my opinion, the hair bands that i grew up with have no need to exist.
smashing guitars seems to have no place in today's music. a 3 chord riff has become repetitive. the big guy at the gym is accidentally wearing a shirt promoting tom waits. because in this day in age, being bigger in japan, seems to be more successful that using satan as a marketing tool. either pro or con. the devil was a marketing tool for the average 80's band that i grew up with.

now it seems that the only devil in music is in the details.

and this is a reason that i like telemonster. or is that correctly written #telemonster. i wont pretend to know what is in the forefront of underground music. what i do know is that good musicians have come in and out of my underground church of think, music and art venue.

and telemonster is the only band who has written a song based on crashing on the hard wood floor that is well written to the point that i didn't recognize this fact. their songs are well written and stick in your head. https://soundcloud.com/telemonster/02-squinting-harder-doesnt

Is the official new song from our bands fearless front man. and i have to say, what i feel belongs in a conversation smoking cigarettes outside of a convenience store. I like their earlier videos better. they represent a minimalism that coincides well with the visuals. I am certain that cara reed has seen one of my favorite scenes in american beauty. a plastic bag blowing in the wind.

not like the 30 rock sitcom where the bag gets stuck in a tree and mocks a repressed childless icon.

a bag, which like the trashcanless ghetto i live in, has freedom. freedom to explore boundaries. to find the fence and collect like pigeons huddled for warmth.
i believe things to be looking up for this band telemonster. i recommend them. they have a time rock edge which i have not seen in any other folk music.
and a lyrical interest which will not lead you astray.


Wednesday, December 26, 2012

My childish need to paint on the walls

I can't take credit for these things alone. I give artistic liscence to people who haven't had as much encouragement. 

I art direct a kaos which I encourage.

This is simply a taste. And I have that taste is my mouth that I want to tell other people how good it can be.

Sunday, December 23, 2012

punk rock origins and going green.

its official. im pretty much as grown up as an adult who colors in my coloring book, in front of a bonfire can be. i'm not a whiny self absorbed art school kid walking through cabrini green at night because it was a short cut from wicker park. and with a mohawk and a dont give a fuck attitude. didnt matter what happened. and nothing did either. i didnt have money to steal. and i dressed the same way. although it was a fashion statement.

i did grow up as a truckdriver. i should say raised. im still not really a grown up yet. i live in the bsmt (garden apt). i don't know why they call it a garden apartment. its impossible to grow anything down here. including people. but as i watch "chicken run" with the boys. who wants to grow up anyway?

but i own property now. and on the west side of chicago. rumor was that the inhabitants of cabrini green moved out to the west side. but who starts these rumors anyway? and how could i confirm it anyway. i'm a hermit who works on my art. i used to be lonely as a truck driver, but it changed my personality. so now i hide out and work on my design, art, rehab, building maintenance, noticing the neighbors leaking gas meter the day after i enjoyed a nighttime bonfire in the back yard.

is this the ghetto? i have heard of more shootings in a neighborhood further north than i have heard about out here. i think the most death out here comes from overdosing. it is sad to me the amount of people who don't care about their lives anymore than to waste it on drugs. but who am i to talk. i smoked a bit of weed for the first time in awhile last night. i dont usually, i get drug tested for work. and i dont like spending all my time a slave to something. but then again these roll your own cigarettes from the corner store are costing me more in lung tissue than they are saving me money. maybe i should buy some cartons when i go see family for christmas. i could sell non menthol sqares on the corner for 50 cents like the corner boys do.

that would diversify things. but i dont have the time to stand around. i should say that i don't choose to. i would rather make art than hang out with the guys. probably why i can laugh at my overly co-ordinated outfit and know that they aren't giving me my truck driver's card back on anything more than a probationary period. im not wearing the right outfit. and im referring to it as an outfit.

but i dont need the kicks of winter-driving an eighteen wheeler through the mountains in the winter time. i've put on snow chains in the colorado vail area before. now i get my kicks by walking through "the ghetto" wearing a suit and shiny shoes to go apply for a design job at my design pimp's last minute christmas party.

i don't get fucked with. it makes me feel like the neighborhood is changing. i don't get asked if i am looking, i just miss my bus and stop into dr j's for a beer and enjoy the blues. but feel uncomfortable about the change that is following me. every place i've lived in chicago winds up going to the yuppies after i leave.
i'm not trying to bring the yuppies. im glad they aren't here. i moved out here to get away from all that. i just own property now, so its hard not to feel happy when i see the homes selling to actual families and moving away from the investors. because it is the investors house that had the gas leak. and the contractor who works there could really care less. he just needs to make alot more money in a week than i have ever needed to make.

but i guess i have simple tastes these days. i want to just invest in my kids future. and make money off my art. and maybe share what i found with other punks. who want to prove something by walking through the hood with a mohawk. i feel like they are wasting a perfect marketing oportunity by not advertising people to go green on the green line. because the parks out here are beautiful in their potential.

but look people in the eyes when you little art school kids come out here. this isn't the north side. we look each other in the eye to size up how they would do in a fight. like men. not looking at the ground because even a vocal confrontation would be uncomfortable.

Friday, December 21, 2012

junk collecting

I admit it, as a mover I have a tendency to accept gifts of stuff.

Everytime that someone can't fit something into their home and they want to send it with me, I wind up taking it with me.
Living in a huge old church for a period of time did not curb this habit.  And I'm not the only one, Eleanor does the same thing.  It runs in both our families. My family moves people and has storage space, her family loves oddities.

When we moved out of the church we filled a semi. We came back to live in the garden apartment. (I don't know why they call it a garden apartment. It is almost impossible to grow up while you live in a basement. It's dark and you can't stretch out your limbs.  So we came back to the place having been vacated but left a mess of stuff.  What am I supposed to do with all this? I can't afford dumpsters on an artist budget. I also know that sucessful business men don't spend their time sorting through junk. But do sucessful business men write a blog? Or just pay someone else to do it?

rambling. gotta get to real work and ignore my internet ranking.  I don't care about popularity these days as much as I care about quality product.