Friday, May 28, 2010

A Trial in Compromise: Verdict






So, it's true — Nathanael Roney currently has a show attached to the walls of the Washington County Arts Council's downtown gallery, to coincide with the 15th annual Western Maryland Blues Festival. In January of this year, two offers of intended image were declined — the third was accepted and drastically re-drawn by sources unknown. Roney was not informed of the acceptability of this practice. He found this ironic, being it his most professional project to date, and has since replaced his frustration with a unique brand of artistic snobbery.

The Show has been unofficially titled Jokes, and that Modern Shit. With Jokes, and that Modern Shit Roney intends to umbrella the most late collection of work. Said work was born in the extent of the last and amassed for exodus — a personal homecoming. Hagerstown, Maryland is hardly home for said work, nor that of its author. Roney intends to confuse the relationship we've so naturally been disposed below. Jokes, and that Modern Shit will sit among much work and space alike, offering not once an exclusive self — the urgent will judge its inclusion, whose space is wide and whose sight is short. Jokes, and that Modern Shit is work in transit and prepared to wander. each Joke and Modern Shit was apt for title but without charge. Jokes, and that Modern Shit was an exercise in practicality whose results remain inconclusive. The show was hung by A Bigger Roney than Roney.

Some Jokes are words, and available here:

White Man, Black Man cross road
Eye was told which one was which.

The only thing worse than a squeaky brake is the fat foot on its heel.

If eye could be so bold as to suggest the omnipresent Idiot Case is below my jurisdiction, eye will.

Get beat up. What more direct path to experience, wisdom and general mind? What better than that of all that is not violent than to get beat up?

A colleague of mine asked me this the other day — so, do you still like your wife? This was cold, casual and without context — quite simply, there was a water cooler to our side. Do you still like her? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? eye said. Chatting, he said.

Another man eye know has a difficult time acknowledging my presence when eye publicly acknowledge his. Nervously yuck, he ticks his way through our Nothing, our normalcy. You come to my house, eye say. You pull my records, you drink my tequila, eye say. You have trouble looking me in the eye? My presence discomforts you? This my unfriend is why eye don't like you in my house, eye say. This my friend — now friend — this is what eye say.

Eye hang thy plant in animate show
Thy holiness knows thou plant must grow.
But what beneath this breath doth roam?
Thy plant in death, thou fruit in tow.

Shit's personal — eye can't imagine it any other way.

Eye've yet to meet a cocktail coaster that can keep up with me.

Eye think those who go to church must have to pay to go to church and those who preach at church must accept its pay. This would insure the self-reliance of prophecy — or prophecy — the adaptation of self.

Eye might live by one continuous soundtrack that is neither here nor there — vacant by what eye might or might not be allowed to see or say. This might be.

Eye met a calm and collected man named samuel — a golfer in a bar. He approached me and left quietly. Eye like the name Samuel — Henry, Harold, Dot . . . Betty, Bill — these are good ones, too.

Eye got word you found no reserve in keeping your hand to yourself and eye do not appreciate this — but for your sake, your public sake — eye'll just write it down.

Eye invest my precious on the breath of creation. Eye cannot submit this process to a tiny, able beast who's sole plight seems to be that of destruction and wild fury. Eye used to think eye deserved more than any petty good who'd invite a wild animal into its home.

The Comic Pen Pal collects for the Library Not.

Eye want to ride a horse, but eye scared.
Eye want to ride a mule, but eye won't.
Ass, well.

By the time eye die eye hope my feet hurt.
Eye hope eye die in a place eye hope to save.

But remember my friend, remember never to ride ahead, even if only to check the horizon for those behind. They'll despise both sides of your word until they see — and this they will forget to do.

Its ok — eye don't belong here. And as far as eye'm concerned, eye appreciate the excuse.

The two kids across from me look scraggly — their dad even more so. If eye were twice my size he'd look like my kid. Except his hair is blonde and his wife without joy — he can't be my kid.

When eye am approached by my waiter to take my order eye feel eye should stand. How comfortable we would be sharing this exchange on foot, standing like Men (again) — clear, calm, and collected (again) — that some thing we avoid in sake of service.

Eye am not in the agenda of mood — so, neither are we.

Three Simple Ways to Change Culture for Potential Good:

1. Issue clothing — swipe a large portion of consumerism from identity, limiting expression to the thoughts and concepts of the body's physical, ideological self — empowering the same self no man can buy. To issue clothing is to employ the same opportunity as one's first breath.

2. Fuck all ya heard — this list is obnoxious enough already. Eye like issued clothing because it feels heavy, does not break, and holds a capacity for both intimidation and that lazy pulse of irony.

3. Eye find it funny that one that may be deemed Easily Distracted is deemed so with mostly negative consequence. Eye am Easily Distracted. Eye consider me to be Observant, or Focused — the complete Anti Thesis of what you may deem me to be. Eye find many Hardly Distracted folk to be Closed, Without Words, and Deaf.

Point being, eye think eye on failed model — one tired mode. To be tired and without trust, as one might be, is to be of fear — and to kid oneself would be a Joke. At best, my mold shed for you.

On the third day of June, Roney and another Roney will visit Hagerstown, Maryland to confirm these sentiments.

Those Squiggly Lines Look Familiar


See you at the Blues Festival. Two doors down.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

50 Cent is Now about 32 Cent

He went from 214 to 160 lbs to play a cancer patient in a movie role. Note to self: If I need to loose 1/3 of my body weight only drink liquids (Vitamin Water, I can only assume) and walk on a treadmill three hours a day for 9 weeks... I smell Oscar! (Gawker)

Smoke 'Em If You Got 'Em


EMBED-Ardi Rizal - The real SMOKING BABY !! - Watch more free videos

Not that I'm endorsing babies who smoke, I'm just saying... does look somewhat adorable. "He looks pretty healthy to me. I don't see the problem," said his dad. Track and Field Day is going to be a bitch for that baby.

The Armpit Collection XXXI: Go West

Update:

I was just browsing back over the old Armpit posts, had to spruce up a few images, touch up some tagging, tend the garden. It'll be a couple of years this coming August and I've only dished out 61 records so far (and a couple of abstracts). In my mind, I could easily tuck this many records under my arms if need be. More. There will be more. Since beginning this series, I've delved heavily into guys like Art Blakey's catalog, Tom Waits periods, Miles Davis bands, other wild cards that will all make an appearance. Not too mention the extensive back tracking I need to do, like where's Tom Petty? Where the fuck is Tom Petty? GH's or Wildflowers? If you have any "Where the fuck is _______ suggestions for the Armpit Collection, please comment. Let us open a dialog.



I can't believe I've left this record out. This was the first Sonny Rollins record I purchased. Picked it up in Montreal. When you see a record with a cover image like that... After having heard and explored Sonny's work, this is my favorite record of his. Previous posts (XVII & XXII) may speak to some of his other work, and I still think The Bridge is his best record, but this remains my favorite. Trio format, Sonny saddled with the cool rhythm section Ray Brown and Shelly Manne (who I realized last night went on to record a few records with Tom Waits nearly 20 years after this release). Sonny does very well pianoless, which if you can imagine drums, bass, and saxophone, you get the idea that "no one" is playing chords. Sonny's romantic tinges and disciplined playfulness lend itself very well to this format, especially given thematic material like Way Out West. This is like jazz horse-ridin' music, which any ol' Swaggard can swagger to.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Bad, Dirty Misery

I heard that the oil spill is equivalent to an Exxon Valdez disaster every four days... There has been oil gushing into the Gulf since 4/20/10. I hope BP is lawyering up, there will be hell to pay.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Love + Theft = Faker?


One Princeton professor of History's interpretation on the "authenticity" of Dylan's work.


Hahaha! This is a skit/short/vid done by my friends at the Post Show - Bob, Jason, and That Guy - almost four years ago (and I helped!). Now they've recently shot a pilot for SpikeTV. Wishing them the best of luck!

Blogerature II

Over the past few months I've read two Don DeLillo books and I'm midway through a third. Undeworld is a tangle of lives that all seemingly relate to a famous event that occurred in mid century NYC. The passages are gritty, uber-real, and include many references to shifting cultural sentiments in American life. I recommend starting with this one.

I haven't read it yet, but I love the idea that his first novel is called Americana and was released in 1971 - a time when many of the ideas and aesthetics we may associate with Americana were being popularized. He also has a new book out, released in February, Point Omega.

DeLillo is an important writer who is able to put into words and mental images the existence that we experience today. I don't mean this in any romantic sort of way, but in a more confusing, detached sort of way. Many of his themes are mocked and muddled. They tend to deal with what-it's-like-to-be-in-the-postmodern-world. This makes some passages difficult to read or understand, which is ok by me, maybe not by others. Other recent writers I've enjoyed all share similar characteristics in that they don't limit themselves to conventional reality, but rather explore the yearning that many people experience to break out of "the routine existence." DeLillo is a champion of this effect. Sometimes it's difficult to express the absurd in reality, but reading it can be haunting.

For me, DeLillo's a New York guy and it's refreshing to take in a piece of art that hits home. And he tackled 9/11. I'll probably get into that one next.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

They Did It Again

I'm not sure how many of you remember this post, but brace yourself because the Puerto Ricans have done it again:

Yesterday and today, callers who stopped to pay their final respects to the late Mr. Colón got a bit of a surprise. Instead of the traditional presentation of the body in a casket, Mr. Colón's corpse, dressed in casual duds and sunglasses, was instead posed in a very lifelike position atop his Repsol-liveried Honda CBR600 F4. According to Puerto Rico's Primera Horanewspaper, the motorcycle was given to the victim by his uncle, and upon Mr. Colón's untimely demise, family members delivered the bike to the funeral home specifically for this unusual wake.

With any luck this will become a regular feature on this website.