prose
As I sit here with responsibilities mounting, time slipping, and enthusiasm temporarily dipping, the last thing I should be technically doing is writing in this white space ahead of me. But, I've committed. A few lines is all we ever need.
Love,
Process
This last few days I've been on one of my periodic pop culture rendezvous, where I survey a specific landscape that I feel my touch slipping away from.
This round happened to be hip-hop, it's new culture and the first wave of OG's reflecting on where the form has gone. Just a footnote before I get labeled; my youth was spent listening to rap and hip-hop and my roots are that of B-Boy. My crew, OSB used to battle at malls, schools, clubs and anywhere else little dudes could roam the streets and engage in rhythmic warfare. Violence hardly ever broke out, but occasionally a dance battle would turn into an actual battle.
This was during the second wave of breakdancing. I experienced the first wave as well, but I was too little to understand the culture. From spreading out cardboards to keeping PLEDGE in my backpack for lubricating linoleum, this was one of my true teenage passion. I'll provide visual evidence at the end. But alas, i grew out of favor with hip-hop, mostly as a result of new hobby's and experiences. Still however, I am a fan to this day.
One particular note of interest in my recent cultural prowling was promo videos featuring the new kids on the block in hip hop. This being the social media age, the youngsters are all savvy of the technology of promotion. You don't need to fork over big bucks of your advance to do elaborate music videos or smart campaigns, because in essence, you are doing it all the time. Always on twitter, always on instagram, and tumblr, the homies have some form of capture device on them at all times.
It's not hard to come by a 5d, or a Red Scarlett, or a slew of semi-professional camera's these days (and hell, what is professional anyways anymore). Everybody, including your momma has them. And shit, on a 1080 screen, an iphone is good to go. So, everybody is shooting something all the time. Now you just package that extra footage into "promo's" that end up going on youtube as a way to diversify.
The flow of content is a stream. And to not participate is death to an up and comer. In fact, it's death to everybody except a very select few who've managed to keep those giant, top down, middle of America careers of yesteryear.
One thing that struck me odd about these promos is that the subject of the piece often, if not incessantly, would be looking down at their phones. This was a very common thread. It's jarring watching videos of somebody who spends an inordinate amount of time looking down at their phones. They're not even fully present through the prism of something that is trying to capture them in the present. And this becomes self reflexive. You ask, "do I do that, because, it looks really dumb". In fact, you might. I know I'm guilty at times.
Further, the subjects would often use their phones to capture another fleeting moment through a picture (instagram) or video. Always looking at a screen, or through a screen. Contextualizing everything through pixel.s
Now, granted I was looking mostly at Hip Hop promos because that's where pop culture is now. I don't think there are 17 year old rock and roll kids getting 6 million dollar 360 deals. And they too probably spend time staring into the abyss of electronics. It's an age thing. It's a culture thing. But, my guess is that there is more to this story.
Which brings me to my theory that our phones, through technology serve some strange psychological need to stare at moving things through light, while desperately trying to hoard moments, and store them away; basically trying to capture a life that's always slipping away, ungraspable.
There is no doubt that our second life in digitalism will be our preferable choice in a very near future. It's an extremely effective opioid, creating the distance from the dirt and grime of reality. You can break up a relationship without direct conflict. You can insult someone without consequence; you can be a sexist, a misogynistic creep, all without even a cold stare from the other end. However, it comes with many consequences. Chief among them, loneliness and detachment. That might not sound so bad, but when added up, the results are terrifying.
And with all that talk; here is some breakdancing in a living room, featuring your's truly and some ol school homies.
Peace.
the sun
evaporated fish tank
few breaths
algae bloom
the end
an image from THREE WORLDS....
Today is one of my best friends birthdays. His is never forgotten. Although I forget many other birthdays, a habit I am not proud of given the breadth of technology available to remind you, his is my second thought of the day. The first is reserved to 911, the American Tragedy.
It's been 13 years, a fact equally astonishing to realize the unequivocal changes throughout the world since. Their was no youtube, iphones, gopros, twitter or facebook. We didn't personally document everything like a desperate hoarder, grasping to no avail at a slipping life.
The memories now of that horrific date are living and breathing ones. They feel tangible, and although they might not be accurate given our subjective and changing memory, they can be as raw as the real thing. In this case, that's a truth. It burns. The heart.
Sometimes we plan the week, in precise, efficient detail, and then, a cold comes knocking on the door changing everything. Life is not linear.
And if you force it as such, the joy and spontaneity of the game, the game of life vanishes. Life is just one giant improvisational game, ephemeral and hardly meant for seriousness. The mood of the moment or time might feel grave, but mortality is our constant reminder; this is fleeting, don't be a jerk about it.
Last night, towards the end of an intimate wedding, three men huddled together at the back of a fancy hotel courtyard, cocktails in hand, discussing THE SINGULARITY. An almost spontaneous conversation with very little pre-talk. Straight faced, and committed.
Two days prior, in a small downtown bar, the patron and bartender sparked up several conversations. It was obvious that these talks happened quite regularly. As one conversation bounced to the next, THE SINGULARITY reared its once ambiguous head into the dialogue seconds before serialized Japanese Yakuza movies from the 70's.
A week before this, in a large cafe with a direct path to the Hollywood sign, a man and a women, after a lemonade and espresso chatted about the robotic overlords; one part jest, one part contemplative certainty.
THE SINGULARITY: no longer relegated to sci-fi dork-hood, or computer scientist savants and futurist with lots of time on their hands. It is now part of the dialogue. Maybe not with the same rapidity as The Kardashians, but in enough minds to infer that it's manifestation is inevitable. Lets just make sure we can become friendly enough to make room, because our time as the top of the chain is limited. As Douglas Rushkoff states, "I'm on team human".
Sometimes creative projects take a very long time to finish. Especially in these modern times, when you can control the flow with new tools and without the same financial pressures of previous times. Storage is cheap. Film stock and processing is not.
But, process changes with technology. The context of creation is the factor. Creativity is not an internal force exerted unto the outer realm. It is a reaction to the outer realm. This is our rebellion against the ambiguous rules set force, by unforeseen energy, into human order.
We try to mimic nature, or in our esteem, to conquer its beauties in words and visuals, to make sense of the chaos. But this chaos is our flame. This chaos is our master.
the day was filled with heaps of molasses
brain function, enslaved by an under the influence and angry source
a day where "you just can't fucking do anything"
except think of the scattered-ness of everything
and all worldly things
like an old, cool nikon lens you found in your grandma's attic
that just doesn't focus
and even though it's kind of hip with that softness, deep down you know
it's only producing shit
but where do you take it
are there such things as camera stores anymore
Look within
the noise
the constant stream
penetrate by watching
silently
intensely
as the cacophony melts away
it will resist with monsters like you've never seen
and then
and then, after the beasts lay dead
you can breath that last breath
you don't need anymore
"way to go", was the last thing I heard from her.
it was over, like the proverbial blink of the eye. no closure, nothing. the pain, it was excruciating for a bit, but you know what, it was bound to happen anyway. and I've always wanted to travel.
i was a Sagittarius and she was some other shit. i forget which it was, maybe the crab or the bull, or whatever, but i know now, that we weren't compatible.
how come i didn't know that at first, like right of the bat. what a shame, a real life shame?
she was real pretty though. that part hurts the most, because, well, her personality wasn't as pretty.
the thing is, time evaporates. and this is compounded, unjustly, with the cumulative gathering of it's fleeting essence. so, it's probably best to keep your days completely full, or, just the opposite, floating on a hammock. the middle, you know, that 9-5, clock in clock out, the thing that the entire industrial age was built on. that's the fastest ticket onto the bullet train to older. here in the middle, grey haired the next.
whenever in doubt
times it by 2
whenever you're sure
times it by 3
because time is not yours to keep
after all, it doesn't really exist
anymore then
that diploma you're holding onto
the image of that pure black horse lingered for days
and Tanya couldn't do a damn thing about it
except, ponder that animals perfection
and the gaping whole between IT and her life
three days, out of a routine
and it seems like it will never work again
that blank screen
agonizing
blinking
white
a story-less story
a myth
a trope
loveless as a Bloody Valentine