“I’m not one for showing off. But I guess my guitar-playing sticks out.”
Rest in peace, Bert Jansch. I have loved your music ever since I discovered your 1965 self-titled debut record in Twisted Village’s legendary Cambridge basement store. I have since collected several others, and I will cherish them forever. You were better than Nick Drake.
and Donovan loved you maybe most of all.
there are two of them!
For those skeptical as to the veracity of my claim as to his superior musical sens-abilities, here’s Fahey’s version for comparison. By no means a bad recording, just not as good as Bert Jansch’s masterpiece.
To be fair, I believe he did record a better version of the song at some point, though I’m too lazy to go digging through my records to verify this, but I have done extensive surveys with that version, and the vote is unanimous…after playing the two songs back to back, Bert’s version kills it.
Anyways, enough with that shit, right? Here’s another amazing song by Bert.
He was also a founding member of the band Pentangle.
Blues Run the Game
Bert Jansch play’s “Angie”
And that’s how you play a guitar.
The Thankless Task of Living Your Life For You is the blog of artist Brian Faucette, who’s works address systems of meaning and value taken for granted by the bastions of contemporary culture. Faucette works in a variety of media, but here we are given a chance to glimpse his daily explorations of writing and digital graphic works, which he approaches, as in his paintings and sculptures, from an ostensibly formalist position, which is then constantly called into self-reflexive question and doubt as he undercuts the sacred mythology of modernism with the profanity of the earnest.
Glenn Danzig “Welcome to My Book Collection”
then Chuck Biscuits talks about his amazing collection of classic vintage cereal boxes
Available, sometimes, on VHS on ebay and at swap meets near you.
When Heath Ledger died back in January I probably mourned with little more than a shrug. I hadn’t jumped on the bandwagon to see him play a star-crossed gay cowboy. While a bunch of people went out to see I’m Not There, I wasn’t there. And I think there were at least ten things I found distasteful with Ten Things I Hate About You. However, after seeing his version of The Joker in The Dark Knight I now see there’s plenty to be sad about.
While credit is certainly owed to Christopher Nolan for writing the extraordinary dialogue that Mr. Ledger clearly relished in, his was more than acting. It was the disappearance of an actor into words on paper only to reemerge as an icon that graced us with an obliterating blow to all other possible and existing performances of The Joker. This Joker personified those moments at rock bottom some of us have when we say, “Fuck it. One day our star will engulf any residue of humanity anyway.” These moments are potential gateways to absolute freedom. The kind of freedom that is knowing that we are going to die some day and that nothing matters except in what it means to us here and now. Knowing that our manmade institutions and concepts are stifling to what we truly can be. These moments can be chilling and thankfully most of us seem to crawl our way out. Nonetheless I found his performance serene.
Heath Ledger’s The Joker is Taste and Power, in the way that I wish I could have it. He has the taste for anarchy and the power of an “agent of chaos.” In January I shrugged. But after seeing The Dark Knight I truly miss a man I never knew.
So we all know contemporary art is boring. At least we all know that thats how most people feel about it. In addition to boring, other adjectives commonly used to describe the segment of cultural output are pretentious, masturbatory, self-serving, narcissistic, and, today’s key word: offensive. Art’s been pissing people off for centuries, and that is a big reason why I like it. People in general annoy the crap out of me, and even though art’s a limp-dick kind of gun, society just hates being conceptually tea-bagged by weirdo art-fags, while, for me, few other events can evoke the same feelings of bliss & joy from the depths of my depravity.
So recently we’ve been hearing a lot about that guy who starves dogs to death while socialites stand around watching, drinking wine and eating cheese. This seemed to piss people off pretty good, as it seemed i could not log on to myspace or Aim for several days without some horrified dog-lover forwarding me the story…and then came the petitions: “Stop this dog murderer before he strikes again!”
Spare me. Ain’t no myspace petition (more…)
Whether it’s his smile, or a coy side glance, you too can have inner peace with your choice of beautiful desktop images of His Holiness!
His Holiness likes to share a joke,
“You the man! You! No, You! Aw, you’re great.”
… or just unwind. There’s a little bit of Dalai Lama in all of us.
Visit http://www.dalailama.com/ for more information.
Warning. If you are currently stoned, at all……your brain is about to be over. I am about to watch “After Humans” will give a full report later.
Well, another shuttle is launching and no one cares. Only the Japanese media. This is because the Japanese are the last people on earth who care about technology. Not just rockets and experimental space modules but they make robots. Robots that dance. Robots are awesome. Especially ones that dance.
This is a press conference full of Japanese reporters and ZERO Americans. Also no Canadians even though they have just as big of an impact on this mission as the Japanese. The Japan Aerospace Exploration Agency, JAXA, also had another very significant contribution to space this month. SPACE FOOD. I’m not talking about dry neapolitan cubes. I’m talking about sushi and noodles!
The space station becomes ever more international with it’s Canadians and Japanese and Russians and of course, our dear Americans. As of now, space is just full of a bunch of peace loving hippies. And they are all speaking english and eating Japanese space food. It’s exactly as I would expect a new colony in space to be.
Remember that Simpson’s episode where Homer goes to space, and they had an ant colony to sort tiny screws? Well they actually have that! Maybe not to sort screws but they have ants and grain and mice and fish. Gold fish. In water.
I saw the inside of the life size model of the experimental module and the fish were in a container that seemed to have gravity. But how would a fish tank work without gravity? If you took that gravity away, the fish would have to float in their container, in water globs. I wish I had a picture of that. But i don’t.
power=technology=space missions=space food=taste
What are taste and power and what the fuck do they have to do with each other? What happens when they collide? For the purposes of resolving these riddles, I will be defining taste as “the sociological concept of expressing preferences deemed appropriate or inappropriate by (or for) society” and power as “the ability by a group or individual to make choices or influence outcomes bigger than it/him/herself.” To have both is to control what other people like, usually without them knowing. To have both is to be both the gatekeeper and the keymaster.
1: Tasteful Power – Count Leo Nikolayevich Tolstoy
Tolstoy was a count who didn’t give a fuck. He was born in 1808 into one of the wealthiest noble families in Russian history, with plenty of power and no taste. This bothered him. His mother, father, grandmother, and aunt died when he was 2, 9, 10, and 13. This didn’t bother him.
When he was 19 he inherited his 4,000 acres and 350 serfs. This sucked, so he moved to Moscow, got drunk, and blew all his money gambling. He slowly sold land and slaves for years to pay his debt, and eventually had to cut down his forests, tear down his house, and even sell his watch. Legend has it that he didn’t give a fuck about money. He went to school at St. Petersburg to study law and Oriental languages. College sucked, so he quit. He volunteered in an artillery unit. War sucked (possibly even moreso than college), so he quit. He tried to free his serfs in 1851, a whole decade before the cavemen in control of Russia got the idea. His serfs didn’t take his offer because they thought it was a trap. (Note: slaves are stupid. Tolstoy started a school for his slaves’ kids a few years later to try to fix this.)
So Tolstoy travels all across Europe to see what it’s like, and realizes it’s a bunch of bourgeois pseudo-intellectual dooshbags. He starts to write the world’s most amazing stories about rich assholes dying. Then he freaks out because he can’t stop gambling and having sex, so he magically devises a new form of Christian anarchism, gets a bunch of disciples, and they start traveling around calling themselves Tolstoyans.
He threw away his financial power and slave-owning power and got a bunch of religious power and literary power out of thin air. The man had good taste, and knew what kinds of power mattered. He owned land, riches, bodies, and labor, and didn’t care. He wanted souls, and he wanted to control the world of literature, so he snatched it all up. Even King Pimp Dostoyevsky called him the world’s greatest living writer, and Nabokov called him the greatest writer in all of Russian history. And his religious works famously influenced Gandhi and MLK’s doctrines of nonviolence.
Also, he wrote into his will that anything he wrote before 1881 would be copyrighted by his wife and family, and anything afterwards would have no copyright whatsoever, and one time he shot a bear point-blank range in the fucking face. THEN he learned to ride a bike at age 67, was excommunicated at age 73, and died at 82 with thousands of peasants at his funeral in the middle of the woods. He invented ballin’.
2: Powerful Taste – Food that Tastes You Back
People need to eat to live, so controlling food means eternal riches. Australia is aware of this, while America is not. (Note: America is stupid. Maybe Tolstoy should have started a school over here to fix that.) From 1992 to 2003, Australia exported 20% of the world’s beef and veal, and America and Brazil were tied for 2nd place at 18% (or 1.1 million metric tons) each. Over this period, U.S. beef exports grew 85%. Then in 2003, something magical happened.
One Canadian-born cow in Washington state had mad cow disease, or as we call it on the streets: bovine spongiform encephalopathy. Most of the world immediately banned U.S. beef. Most of the world doesn’t want mad cow disease. 90% of U.S. beef was bought by Japan (the world’s largest beef-importer), South Korea, Canada, and Mexico, which all banned U.S. beef. Wuss countries like Canada and Mexico changed their minds soon and allowed poison meat into their homes. Japan, however, took this opportunity to finally get revenge for the uranium-fission and plutonium-implosion bombs of yesteryear and banned all beef that didn’t follow their new import laws. No beef would be allowed into Japan unless data was readily available regarding where the cow was born, where it died, every single place it lived, everything it ate, and every cow it lived with at every single location. America thought this would cost too much; Australia did not. American beef exports dropped from 18% of the world market to 3%. American beef exports dropped to 17% of their 2003 level. With one swift move, Japan handed over the world’s beef market to Australia (and to a lesser extent, Brazil). If you want health-guaranteed madness-free beef, go to one of those countries. If a country’s beef is good enough for Japan, it’s good enough for anybody.
To further demonstrate how hard America fucked itself in the meat wallet, American cow tongue (the tastiest part if you’re a burrito fan like myself) went for $4.25 per pound before the incident, and as of July 2004 was down to 70 cents per pound, for a loss of $12.43 per cow head, as calculated by the U.S. Meat Export Federation. In Japan, cow tongue can fetch over $20 per pound. They cut it into thin strips and grill it in teriyaki sauce Korean BBQ style and it’s heavenly. If you find yourself in Japan, eat it. They call it gyutan. It’s Japanese for “cow tongue.”
3: Tasty Power – YMO and Beer
The best way to tie all these concepts together in a way you MTV/ADD-generation heathens can follow, is through an audio-visual example. I read that somewhere. Yellow Magic Orchestra, one of the tastiest groups to ever bless electronic music from 1978 onward, recently reformed (again) to rock out a commercial for Kirin Ichiban, one of the world’s tastiest beers, and my personal ex-favorite. (I quit drinking beer last year, in Japan. I’m so rad.) Watch as with the perfect match of fashion-taste and music-power, YMO control the dance floor, and all our hearts.
Even though a lot of things have been said about me, and some of the worst things really have been proven, I think you all should remember something. If you could just see past that, see a sort of funny place where we fit just right, like a clowny-clown town, where things’d go just how they’re gonna go, and a slippery street, on a tilt, and everything in the town’s gonna slide where it wants to, and some of the people that live there have a little meeting and they say: “well there it is, proof, this town’s goin in a way I like or that I dont like.” well-l-l-l I’d be that other guy that stands up, says “yeah, they’re right, ‘cept if it’s gonna go that way, lets fight fire with fire, lets slide so often down the streets of this town, that we weigh it back down, crush that tilt that’s been wedged in there, let’s grease up, go faster!” EVERYBODY WOULD AGREE!….. THEN after some time goes by, the folks that brought up the point in the first place would start to say “Hey this phun is getting boring, the tilt we were on isn’t there any more, and w’ere all still covered in gunk slippin’ and slidin’ all over the place, just stop all this clowning around! there’s no call for it anymore! Let’s just bury all this clowning we’ve done, dig a ditch outside of town!” Then I wouldn’t really be able to say anything about it ’cause the tide would’ve turned back around , and some more time would pass with everything just going fine for everybody…but the more serious and fine everybody got, the more the memory of the slick sliding days would come back, and then it’d be a story I’d just tell to my kids, and then there kids, and then one day they’d wanna find all that clowny gunk and phun they’d burried, and that’s the day when you’d come back to my kind, that’s the day when I’d be able to defend myself to all of you.