Some of you have expressed interest in reading my thesis when it is complete. Well, now it is complete.
click here to read my thesis.
It is relatively short at 41 pages long.
The topic is an interpretation of a Francis Bacon painting.
theory from: early Christian Byzantium, St. John of Damascus, Martin Luther, Joseph Leo Koerner, GWF Hegel, Walter Benjamin, Roland Barthes, Jacques Derrida, my own experience
fictional literature from: Oscar Wilde, Jorge Luis Borges
film stills from: The Battleship Potemkin (1929), Triumph of the Will (1935)
art from: Francis Bacon, Diego Velazquez, Albrecht Durer
>>>>
Showing posts with label non-poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label non-poems. Show all posts
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Flying Lotus - Cosmogramma (WARP195)
Usually this space is reserved for my silly things; however, the only thing > words is, for me, pop music.
Several record releases in my life have truly excited me. I love almost everything - really. Since I was 15 or so I've obsessed over obtaining every new album deemed worthwhile. And all of the worthwhile albums released before me, my existence. Whatever I enjoyed most typically ran analogous to my emotional state of being, whoever I was dating/trying to fuck, my location, more and more contextual data etc.
One begins to sense patterns after so much listening. Divorcing music from yourself, applying some tonal New-Critical lens and analyzing the sounds for themselves.
"There is nothing new under the sun." -Ecclesiastes 1:9
Accepting this as a personal aesthetic maxim, for music, for art, the only segway to originality is (counter-intuitively) bricolage. And not just mash-up-ed, mixed medium bullshit. Really weaving together existing product to create something completely unresembling its prototype. We are lucky to have computers and technology to lubricate this process. Nothing depresses me more than an unapologetically referential folk song released in 2010. Nothing.
Which is why Cosmogramma excites me. Because I don't know what it is, but I know what it could be. What parts of it could be. I want bitches grinding me to "Do the Astral Plane." I want MF Doom spitting rhymes over "Computer Face." I want "And the World Laughs with You" playing at coffeeshops and "Recoiled" to be Autechre's new single. But the thing isn't all disjointed; the cohesion suggests that, yeah, genre is becoming less indicative of physical content.
I wish instead of backlashing against the increasing reliance on internet/biochips/bleeps/beeps/emoticons people would just admit that efficiency in communication is as much of an artistic merit as anything else. A good expression of this is electronic music. The evolution of it is just astounding - the only audible medium really keeping up with the times.
I mean, Thom Yorke is on board. Come on. Radiohead has always succeeded in tapping the currents of the universal subconscious.
Keep workin it baby.
Album drops May 4th. Like cocaine though headphones.
Several record releases in my life have truly excited me. I love almost everything - really. Since I was 15 or so I've obsessed over obtaining every new album deemed worthwhile. And all of the worthwhile albums released before me, my existence. Whatever I enjoyed most typically ran analogous to my emotional state of being, whoever I was dating/trying to fuck, my location, more and more contextual data etc.
One begins to sense patterns after so much listening. Divorcing music from yourself, applying some tonal New-Critical lens and analyzing the sounds for themselves.
"There is nothing new under the sun." -Ecclesiastes 1:9
Accepting this as a personal aesthetic maxim, for music, for art, the only segway to originality is (counter-intuitively) bricolage. And not just mash-up-ed, mixed medium bullshit. Really weaving together existing product to create something completely unresembling its prototype. We are lucky to have computers and technology to lubricate this process. Nothing depresses me more than an unapologetically referential folk song released in 2010. Nothing.
Which is why Cosmogramma excites me. Because I don't know what it is, but I know what it could be. What parts of it could be. I want bitches grinding me to "Do the Astral Plane." I want MF Doom spitting rhymes over "Computer Face." I want "And the World Laughs with You" playing at coffeeshops and "Recoiled" to be Autechre's new single. But the thing isn't all disjointed; the cohesion suggests that, yeah, genre is becoming less indicative of physical content.
I wish instead of backlashing against the increasing reliance on internet/biochips/bleeps/beeps/emoticons people would just admit that efficiency in communication is as much of an artistic merit as anything else. A good expression of this is electronic music. The evolution of it is just astounding - the only audible medium really keeping up with the times.
I mean, Thom Yorke is on board. Come on. Radiohead has always succeeded in tapping the currents of the universal subconscious.
Keep workin it baby.
Album drops May 4th. Like cocaine though headphones.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
F.John 15:19
Strangers push open doors to familiar rooms; my house. The same nose on a new person: less chilling than duplicate pitches screaming some spaghetti sauce nonsense; you'll eat something eventually - bitch - I said to myself.
After the blood-bonds leave to see a movie I'll scavenge their spaghetti sauce; funds depleted as usual, eat a can of beans maybe. Fortunately one can always budget for cigarettes on lonely occasions such as this.
We never argued about food because you always just ate whatever; whatever a meat a starch a canned vegetable a glass of milk. To my horror I uncovered a graffitied philosophy textbook; you had plastered my world with baseball doodles.
We aren't close anymore like when I was a believer; rifted by exaggerated traits of sluthood, careless drug storage, time. You won't read my writing - or anything - you won't read my writing and therefore we won't. We won't ever.
After the blood-bonds leave to see a movie I'll scavenge their spaghetti sauce; funds depleted as usual, eat a can of beans maybe. Fortunately one can always budget for cigarettes on lonely occasions such as this.
We never argued about food because you always just ate whatever; whatever a meat a starch a canned vegetable a glass of milk. To my horror I uncovered a graffitied philosophy textbook; you had plastered my world with baseball doodles.
We aren't close anymore like when I was a believer; rifted by exaggerated traits of sluthood, careless drug storage, time. You won't read my writing - or anything - you won't read my writing and therefore we won't. We won't ever.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
non-poem 5
To all who read this:
If you would like a poem written about you, please comment in the space below. Include any details or embellishments you feel necessary.
If you would like a poem written about you, please comment in the space below. Include any details or embellishments you feel necessary.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
non-poem 4
Why bother writing anything new today? This thing is basically just a dumping ground for my superego, compiling the carnal urges of my id and miscalculations of my ego into a convenient rss feed.
I am exceptionally loyal to God. No one seems to understand this.
I am exceptionally loyal to God. No one seems to understand this.
Friday, May 29, 2009
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