HAPPY NEW YEAR

A LITTLE GOES A LONG WAY

Here are a couple more fascinating artists! The Institut Für Feinmotorik have a handful of music releases. They make their songs using multiple record players that amplify the sounds from no records at all, and instead the sounds of sandpaper, white noise, thumping rubber bands and other such experimental source material are picked up through the needle and tonearm of the "empty" turntables.

The other admirable umlauted artist is Zoë Keating. Zoë's current releases feature her exceptional cello playing fed into a computer that allows a phrase of music to repeat itself which then allows a new layer to seamlessly be added on top- and so on. Eventually a full string section is breathing beneath up to sixteen layers of musical phrases.

Institut Für Feinmotorik

Zoë Keating

CHRISTMAS TIME TRAVELING

Merry Christmas, Everyone! And Happy Birthday , Mithra you old fart (the God of the Sun- not the Son of God- whose birthdate was lent to Christianity in order to nail down a day for the merry-making we know today to be Christmas)

Christmas certainly does garishly mark the passing of a year for me and most Americans. Even New Year's Eve/Day doesn't have a marketing campaign that completely envelopes the senses the way Christmas does. We always seem surprised that Christmas is here again, and that it's over so quickly, and then we're quick to look forward to Spring and Summer. I remember teasing a friend, who was exhausted from the holidays at the start of the year, by saying, "Before you know it, it will be Christmas again!" I feel that just by repeating that phrase in my head now, I have managed to somehow skip those 360 days and here I am back on Christmas Eve. I time traveled! Even the same tree found its way into my living room, and if it wasn't for a few new ornaments on that tree I could almost assume I traveled back in time. Yes, Christmas is here again. Familiar holiday sights, sounds, and smells have been assaulting me for over a month now and I can only hope to make it safely back to my time machine to do it all again next year... or last year... or maybe on another planet...

L to R: The Laziest Man on Mars, Betty Foster, Santa Claus, Billy Foster.

N'T

My friend Scott French has been making amazing music for years and he only gets better and better. Scott sent me a link to his latest solo project called N'T (N apostrophe T). The album is available here for a price of your own design. Enjoy his eclectic pop sensibilities and keep an ear to the street for him in the future!

FOOTWORKIN'

I just recently found out about this subculture that exists primarily in Chicago. Footwork is a style of dance and music that exists in a hyper realm. 160 beats per minute calls for some fast and impressive legwork. See for yourself!

GET FAMILIAR

...with Burial. This is one of those slipshod fan-made videos, but the song is one of the best songs (on one of the best albums) in my entire itunes. If it doesn't sit well with you right off the bat, then give it those extra listens and it will finally grow on you.

WESTWORLD

Tomorrow will begin another journey to Western Pennsylvania to visit my family, this time for the Thanksgiving Holiday. Snacks will be eaten and movies will be watched on the train ride and similar revelry will continue at my destination accompanied by my parents and my sister.

I really wanted to create this post in order to make some connection between the movie WestWorld and my family's town of Somerset, PA, but the analogies are escaping me for the moment. What would be the murderous steely-eyed rogue robotic cowboy in my reality? Everything else might fall into place though. The Pennsylvania countryside is obviously playing the role of the vacation destination as in the film, and the nostalgia of the Holiday will surely absorb me into the past as did the amusement park in WestWorld to its visitors. At some point, however, my companion will be slain by a soulless Yul Brynnar who doesn't take kindly to strangers, and I will dart about in a world that turns out to be even less familiar when its mask is removed and I am faced with the very real underpinnings of a realm that has been exponentially refusing my control.

Perhaps I'm being chased from theme park to theme park already, only to end up in WestWorld where I'll melt the face right off my predator. I'm being hunted away from CityWorld by a permanent struggle with job loss and recent incompetent clients. The good news is that no matter how exhausting the chase, I should be able to come out on top. Then it's on to Futureworld!

MULTIPLE PERSONALITIES PT.3

My "Multiple Personalites" posts (pt.1 & pt.2) are always about my musical interests. I've found that I'm a fan of many styles of music, and each style has found me at some specific time in my life; therefore, music represents my many moods, tastes, and my range of selectivity. In this particular entry I'll do a brief review of my own original music project: Iceax.

I began making computer music around 2000. My girlfriend at the time had this little editing program called SoundEdit16 on her imac. SoundEdit was a basic soundwave editing program and I quickly became obsessed with staring at the black and white waveform and cutting and pasting things all over the place for hours on end. I started out importing individual tracks from CDs and extracting samples from them to make gritty minimal beats and 16-bit melodies. I later upgraded to using the program Reason for sequencing more original sounds to form sections of "songs." I would take those parts back over to SoundEdit to layer the individual tracks to complete my tune. Long story short: I never really knew what I was doing, but the results of the experiments yielded a unique sound I would call my own.

The name Iceax was conceived to describe the project as being cold/soulless (electronic) music that is chopped up, frankensteined, and given new life. Iceax (along with several other options) was a name originally intended for another music project which included my good friend Jiri Seger. We rejected the name to become the short-lived, inspired and absurd duo TwoBillionaires. Iceax songs were made frequently between 2001 and 2008 and album after album consisted of some 60+ songs. I also very nerdily crafted protoype CD jewel case cover art and liner notes for at least 4 Iceax albums- not including the "Best of.." album! I created Iceax strictly for the entertainment of a few choice friends and myself and in that way it succeeded. Iceax has not entirely been laid to rest, but I just don't find the time for it anymore and in the last years of Iceax, it evolved into some of my other solo digital music projects. From a totally biased point of view, Iceax songs have maintained their integrity and I enjoy listening to even the oldest and rawest ones still to this day! I hope you might enjoy it too.

SOUNDS OF TOMORROW TODAY!

These are a couple of extraordinary tracks by some ridiculously original and creative musicians/composers that I am currently enjoying on the daily. Fantastic to draw along with these songs!

Makunouchi Bento- The River Who Drinks All I've Had. From the album Swimé

Deanimator for horn and electronics by Marcus Fjellström, performed by Sören Hermansson

AT THE CENTER: SELF

Hello, Everyone! I haven't blogged in a while, so I hope you're pleasantly surprised to find this post. I have been overwhelmed as usual these days. Keep in mind, I'm never overwhelmed with the typical suffocations of the average person; I still don't have a job and I don't have a ton of appointments to reach or anything. No, my days remain filled with very serene moments that have fortunately allowed me time to draw and ponder away endlessly (oh, and watch boxed set after boxed set of Mystery Science Theater 3000 DVDs.) I am not taking my "time off" for granted and I've managed to stay in good health, eat well, and maintain a relatively positive comportment. During my pseudo-spiritual quest I have absorbed much about my friends personalities in comparison and contrast to my own personality and I've come to a temporary conclusion that we're all selfish and self-centered in our own ways. To not come off as insulting or debasing I will have to clarify my observation with an example of conversation from last night between my friends and me.

My friend Joe had stated that he feels like he upholds the true definition of being a nihilist. He doesn't care about the politics of life or really much at all. Aside from his bleak vision, he's very intelligent and can make very poignant observations about how things work. It seems as though in order to function as a nihilist you must point out who the fools are and avoid being played as a fool at the same time... by those same fools who greatly outnumber you. Yes, Joe is rooting for the great cosmic catastrophes to catch up with mankind and add a little perspective to our goofy daily dawdling obligations (say that 10 times fast.) I can't blame him for bearing a sinister yet blithe smirk while realizing how much he couldn't care less.

My other friend John proudly pounded his fist on the table to enter the schism, sat up straight and proclaimed that he knows what is right and what is wrong. He's very sure of what his responsibilities are in life and he holds onto it all quite dearly. John is kind of an emotional scrap-booker, an historian, and innately old-fashioned. I pointed my finger first at him to bestow the accolade/accusation of being self centered. I saw his personality as stubborn; kicking and screaming into the future and unswayed by temptation or opposing theories. Joe helped convince John of being self centered, and I then reminded Joe of his own claim to be the only real nihilist he knew of. To assume you are the only one of something, that sounds pretty self centered indeed!

The three of us do get along very well though, and sometimes our dynamic works entirely on the fact that we're so different from each other. I'm, at my best, a Devil's advocate who refuses to be labeled as Agnostic. I'm often hypocritical and I don't usually have the patience to study any of the subjects I find interesting. Excitability rounded off by a little stoicism keeps me foolishly wishing on shooting stars.

Joe, John, and I can all agree that we are somewhat certain that our individual life experiences radiate and concentrate with ourselves at the center, and that we are each a part of the other's unique experience. Why then shouldn't we be selfish and self centered? Even if our forms of compassion change, or our ideals are influenced into new realms of understanding, we always rely on our personal truths to provide us with some sort of reality. Maybe this behavior is the default interface between the human mind and what we call sanity. Maybe there is a powerful collective consciousness yet to be tapped into. Maybe we're all just jerks who share a laugh every now and then. Who knows? Some of us don't care at all. Some of us are certain there is a reason to care. Some of us will just keep dreaming.

YOU HAVE TO BE PRETTY DUMB TO LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE OF LIFE

A couple of nights ago I was approximately where I am as I'm typing this; in the guest bedroom of my parents house surfing my life away online when something about the guest bed's amish quilt snagged a corner of my brain. It is certainly a quilt. Not a marvelous quilt, and it certainly does not clash with the rest of the room's decor. As a matter of fact the entire room is tied together nicely with a quaint little theme supported by a harmless color palette. I wouldn't say the room bores me or offends me, but I'm not impressed. Don't get me wrong, I succumb to the wholesomeness of my family visits. It's all so cozy and there shouldn't be a promise of fanfare in this type of situation, but speaking of fanfare I may have to toot my own horn to make any sort of a point from here on.

I'm smart. Sure I make bad decisions and have atrocious opinions about things that mix me in with the other asses in society, but I'm smart (according to my average after 4 separate IQ tests taken over 5 years), and I feel I have perceptive skills that help actualize my art abilities as well. My friends are more proof of my intelligence, because my friends are all of above average intelligence! We think. We create. We observe and communicate with each other this world around us. My friend John and I have often wished to have our 'curse of smarts' lifted so we could be more care-free in life. Our ringtones on our cell phones would become both our greatest concern and our greatest source of entertainment. A simpler life where shiny things can hold your attention as long as the shiny thing wants. I hope I'm making myself clear.

A tactic for maintaining sanity in life may be seeing the world with rose colored glasses, but my pair may be a shade less rosey than some. I grieve for the ignorance of man and desperately filter as much of the barrage of "entertainment" flung at me daily from the bowels of those producing and editing their bizarre stripes of pleasure.

So I can't help but wonder how far down the rabbit hole our smart curse can take us. Perhaps, not far. Perhaps the more you understand, the less dazzling everything becomes. The fantasy peels away and Alice would be no longer curious about her new psychedelic surroundings, instead she would have written the laws of the land. That would make for a dull 3D movie, don't you think? Maybe this is why I'm contemplating the tan and brown fabrics of my mother's amish quilt; I'm categorizing everything and filing it away to be understood more than simply appreciated. The everyday world is being filtered this way by me. I wonder if scientists who study mind boggling data about our universe do the same thing. How else do their heads not explode if a phenomenon didn't reveal itself to be a bit jejune after all. Think about it, or don't if you want to care about who just won this season's America's Got Talent (it wasn't the 10 year old who could sing good.)

FRESH AIR

Somerset, Pennsylvania is not where I grew up; However, it's where my parents live. I've been visiting them here for a week now and I'll be here one more week before diving back into the thick of Philadelphia. In Somerset, the stars are out at night, the air is fresh, and there's a breeze at this time of the year that paints your entire body with that fresh air, and it's just as wonderful as it sounds.

I come here to relax and at the same time, in small increments, I provide some relief for my family from their daily burdens of work, work related phone calls, household tasks, darting here and there for groceries or other errands, and frequent stress due to miscommunication between my parents and my sister (whom lives here with my parents.) It's interesting that I find it relaxing out here when my family and their neighbors and the denizens of Somerset, PA still manage to not find enough hours in a day to fulfill all their obligations. I suppose it allows me to realize the false sense of importance most people in this country place on their own actions. You have an appointment here, you have to go there, and you have to look good doing it, or at least gain some pride along the way while sacrificing a little integrity. I'm getting ahead of myself and I apologize for the shade of bitterness I'm beginning to cast * Deep breath * Exhale * ah. That's the stuff.

My mother, of course, misses me and always hints that I could move into town, to be closer to her, sometime in the future. I never could. I'm a fish out of water when I'm here, and over the past 11 years I've evolved to live in the swamp of the city. I would suffocate out here amongst pick-up trucks, trashy festivals, fat Christian children and other such wildlife comprising the landscape. The oxygen is nearly pure, though, and I'll be sure to come up for air every now and then.

Somerset County Dairy Princess.

SKREAM

Dubstep has slowly been infecting the United States via the UK. In my opinion, no one does it better than Skream! His latest album Outside the Box is amazing. Headphones a must.

MULTIPLE PERSONALITIES PT.2

When I was 13 The Breeders released Last Splash and I was intrigued by the single Cannonball. I specifically remember sitting around the cafeteria table in Junior High discussing what new music my friends and I wanted. I mentioned The Breeders and this kid Josh Iams said something to the effect of, "What? They're a girl band! They Suck!" I can remember furling my brow and pulling my head back in a gesture that was mixed with equal parts disbelief and a very new feeling called being emasculated. I quietly protested, finished my lunch, never spoke another word of the all girl band to Josh again, and ended up getting the album for Christmas shortly after; The album is still a classic in my music collection. Let's face it though, The Breeders rocked! I realized I could have some things girlier than The Breeders peppered throughout my collection of "boy" music and be quite comfortable with that. More sissy music, please! As a matter of fact, I got a nice combo of Das EFX Straight Up Sewaside and The Cranberries Everyone Else is Doing it So Why Can't We on the same day that same year. Thus, the balance had begun. Over the years I developed an alternate listening lifestyle that I believe aided me in being in touch with a more cultured personal open-mindedness. In one moment I was getting my testosterone bubbling to heavy Rock or some hard core Hip Hop and the next minute I was being serenaded by the angelic voices of Hope Sandoval (possibly my first celebrity crush) from the band Mazzy Star or Harriet Wheeler of The Sundays. The Sea and Cake were also like nothing I had ever heard. Fronted by Sam Prekop's hardly singing airy vocals, they combined american pop with bossa nova with subtle electronic experimentation to create nice little day dreams. This softer side of music certainly changed my overall perspective of the world.

In the small town I grew up in and attended school, there weren't many people to share these experiences with. There were plenty of people, but just too many Josh Iamses. I was often alone with my atypical appreciation for a love song. That was okay by me because, in a sense, I didn't want it to be shared with anyone else until it really matured in my own head. I needed to really study it on my own time and grow and draw and listen and grow and draw.

There is music that I listen to today that is probably considered "gay" by the more insecure adults that I know. If you're a 30 year old man and you walk into a bar and begin talking about modern classical music, you will instantly be considered a wuss. Now if you walk into that same bar and start talking about an Iron Maiden album, you are instantly accepted; at worst your opinion of which is their better album will be argued. I'm generalizing out of spite, but you get the idea. Sure, Iron Maiden slowed things down a bit and wrote their version of a love song at some point, but there are many more avenues of music to take one further down a path to connect with emotions that may have been repressed for no good reason. Be a man; Listen to girly music for a change.

RAILS TO THE WEST

I am not one to travel a lot. I think the cost of transportation and housing has always been my excuse, and I've always been baffled by folks who say it's so cheap. They usually try to convince me by explaining how you can find deals and get a round trip ticket to France for $400 or something, but I usually don't have $400 extra dollars lying about. It could be that I'm not allowing myself enough time and peace of mind. I'm so generally lazy that I haven't earned enough credits to deserve a vacation- that's how I see it at least. As I've explored public transportation more recently, and ventured to Santa Barbara via airplane last summer, I am slowly acquiring a taste for travel. I love taking long train rides above all else! This week I will be taking Amtrak trains to and from Western Pennsylvania to visit my Mother, Father, and Sister. This journey is a 5 hour trip that would typically be almost 8 hours of torture on a bus. The train is peaceful in that old fashioned way. The cabin is relatively quiet, but I can still hear the click clack of the tracks. Electrical outlets along the walls are one of the more modern commodities of the train and allow a power source for my computer so I can watch a movie (or two!) or listen to music. Not to mention the view of passing Pennsylvanian landscapes goes nicely with any music in my headphones. Some classical styled Max Richter harmonizing visually with swaying fields of grain, or some jagged industrial beats by Pan Sonic kick the remaining boards from a barely standing barn wall before I vanish into a rocky ageless tunnel. Finally, I will reach my family, who remain tucked amongst this expansive country scenery, for a much needed escape from the city. And, damn it, I deserve it!

TCB

Another liberty that I'm feeling the urge to embrace in my time of unemployment, is having a lack of co-workers or customers I could offend by speaking my mind or expressing my feelings. I'll toss some examples your way and see if you can relate. I'll have you know that any attempt at giving me advice will have little influence on the actions I may potentially take for a couple of reasons. For one thing, I am pretty good at being diplomatic on my own terms and, secondly, rarely does one have the opportunity to capitalize on such moments unless the previously mentioned obligations (jobs, customers, etc.) are not in place. I need to take advantage of this window while it's open!
While employed at my last job, a customer would come in with her tiny psychotic dog. The pint-sized beast would snarl and snap and have a conniption fit if you even made eye contact with it; all while it tried to squirm its way out of its protective owner's arms. Not only was this ridiculous to observe, but it truly wasn't good for my nerves either. The icing on the cake was the fact that the owner of the dog never seemed to be embarrassed by, nor did they ever apologize for, the dog's behavior. I vowed to one day tell them what I truly thought of them; The owner rude and selfish, and the dog a spoiled little demon. The big day, of course, would have to be a day when I was choosing to leave the job for good so as to not stir up any trouble that would backlash onto me. Unfortunately, my final day at the job found the hellhound and its witch of an owner nowhere in sight, so my fantasy was never fulfilled. There's still hope, you see. I've decided to re-highlight their names on my shit list and if we happen to cross paths, appropriate curses will be placed upon their heads. These days, I feel like I can execute these maneuvers a little more playfully instead of with the high blood pressure anxiety that was typical in the past.
Another example of imminent moments of release comes in a much less palatable form: Violence! Recently a friend and ex-coworker of mine has been the victim of violence by their insecure boyfriend. These situations have surfaced in the past between the two of them, but it has recently escalated to pushing and hitting followed by racial slurs directed to another friend of mine. All of these bad decisions made by one individual. One individual who may need to be "pushed" back. My posse of friends are ready to confront this guy to put an end to the torment he puts his girlfriend through. He's 6'5" and built like a beach umbrella made of balsa wood (pretty inefficient), but he still insists on publicly abusing his girlfriend who is only 5'2". The jury is in and this guy will not have a choice but to change his ways.
I'm going to make sure every thing's done with precision and said rationally and with clarity. Don't worry, friends, I'll be in your corner some day and we'll fight together! Onward!

THROUGH THE ROOF

Ever since I started this blog I have been jobless. In fact, I'm pretty sure I started it as a journal to ease my nerves and organize my thoughts in my current 'state of crisis'. Throughout the past couple of months I've taken on a few art jobs, and still have not received payment for a single one. Sure, it's becoming a bit frustrating, but I've noticed something strange happening. My confidence level is through the roof! I've rarely felt this alive and prepared to take on any obstacle, as well as feeling prepared to go down swinging if that would ever happen to be the dire circumstance. All in all my ennui has not necessarily lifted; instead I found a way to mutate it and admit it's previously overlooked applications. I'm embracing both the power of happiness and the power of sadness to see a lot more of life from many angles. Whaddaya know? It works! Emotions are powerful things and I think we often shy away from many of them because we fear them or we feel we don't deserve to have them. Obviously sadness can really drag you under if you aren't careful, but being careful may simply involve implying a bright side to bad situations to maintain balance. I consider myself to be very in tune with my intuitions, and maybe that's why I'm fortunate enough to accomplish something as abstract as 'mutating my ennui,' but I think we're all capable of doing so if we concentrate on every resource we have available to keep ourselves centered and healthy. This is much more zen-like talk than I am ever comfortable with, but it's revealing itself to be a significant enough observation to type up in Code of Posture so that must count for something, right?

So, instead of self destructing, try laughing and smiling at things that want to break your character, this can actually help you prepare for the worst. And when things are going your way, make sure you aren't taking certain aspects of life for granted that may not be playing an obvious role in your happiness. The most important thing to remember is quite the old fashioned rule; Walk tall and keep your chin up!

NIRVANA

I love Nirvana. I am also aware that artistic expression is a very personal thing both in production and reception. I've met my share of folks who think Nirvana is an atrocious band. Some people can't stand Kurt's voice, and some were offended by the band butchering certain cover songs from the Nirvana Unplugged session. I've even heard one anti-fan argue that Kurt's guitar riffs weren't 'difficult to play.' Surely the worst reason to dislike any musical act is by comparing its complexities to something else. What else? Who cares. All differences aside, Kurt Cobain and his band mates possessed an undeniable talent for creating music that was both abrasive and melodious. Yes, I'm well aware of Nirvana's predecessors, some of whom were their biggest influences (i.e. The Melvins and Mudhoney), but let's face it, we're talking about Nirvana here. DGC Records released Nevermind in 1991 and the band quickly became a disease that affected the entire world in a very very short length of time. The album became more than a symbol for change in the world of music, and became a symbol for change in general. Kurt's nearly indiscernible lyrics begged to be heard and accepted at all costs, and everyone listened whether they understood or not. The message seemed to be something along the lines of 'think outside the box'. This coded signal was accepted in larger and larger doses as we finally said 'fuck you' to all the hair bands of the late '80s and early '90s. Nirvana relentlessly pummeled the record industry to a pulp with the release of In Utero, the band's challenging and final Long Player. Then without warning our leader destroyed himself. He may have been bored up there at the top- a place he never expected to be so abruptly- unchallenged for the crown of music's savior. Thanks to off kilter media exploitation, grunge was fast becoming the next marketable hair band-like trend. Coincidentally, after Kurt's suicide, grunge music could no longer keep it's head above water. When it all comes down to it, there was far too much integrity in Nirvana, the fans, and even grunge music to ever allow it to be controlled by the media and bloodsucking businesses. The band rarely compromised their sound except for a couple radio friendly edits. Whether you love them or hate them, you know Nirvana and you should realize how lucky we are to have birthed them in our generation.

BRAIN MODE: SCRAMBLE

Waking up and listening to my thoughts again. According to my brain: I have an important phone call to make, my neighbor is psychotic, I should really be looking for more work (either full-time part-time or freelance), I'm hungry and need to exercise, did I just time travel to a boring 1955?, gotta pay some bills at some point, I want to order a new record, my lower back is less sore today, I have to complete the mock-up for my current illustration job, gotta upgrade that old imac, I slept so well last night (8.5 hours with little interruption), when can I go to the beach(?), my parents miss me, I need to get out more, I miss my parents, gotta clean up my room, delivery trucks are too loud, eggs and toast and orange juice, my haircut isn't bad, I might be in love with being lazy, instead of 'me against the world' it might be more like 'me and the world against everyone else', the sun and I have a date at 2 o'clock pm, I feel ready for anything, I think too much.

MY LIBRARY

I don't read much at all. It's not that I don't have the time but I might not have the patience. In school, growing up, I would let every other classmate answer review questions about the chapter we were to have read the night before. I'd found a way to turn avoiding homework and class participation into an art form. I literally read maybe 20 lines from A Separate Peace and possibly a total of a chapters worth of The Great Gatsby and somehow managed to get Bs on both tests. Don't get me wrong, I am very literate and enjoy writing and appreciate good writers and understand how difficult it is to produce good writings, but I always had an internal monologue reminding me to not get involved with the reading part. Becoming familiar with an author's style always seemed intimidating to me and the 'good' ones usually have a lot of work out there. I couldn't allow myself to sort out the inner-workings of this strangers mind. A relationship perhaps too intimate would form between me and the author and this would surely be a burden to my sanity. Being assigned reading in school also made it seem like work. There was a thin line between a textbook and a novel and the two often teamed up to potentially ruin a sunny afternoon of fun.

Around 1990 I found Calvin and Hobbes. Bill Watterson's comic strip found a way to slip through all of those barriers I put up in my brain, my stubborn attempts to resist the influence of an author. Everything about it fit into my life like clockwork. The artwork itself became more and more refined as the years went by. It "matured" along with me into my teens. The kid and his tiger would literally poise themselves atop higher and higher precipices while expressing perfect observations of life before plunging down the treacherous hills in their little red wagon. We have all faced those moments of much needed clarity in peace and in chaos. Calvin seemed to dislike schoolwork and we frequently found him daydreaming in and out of class. How could I not relate? Hobbes, on the other hand, was Calvin's voice of reason and kept all of us grounded a bit in reality. It was all there in Calvin and Hobbes. I was there in Calvin and Hobbes! These days I often mention that I learned everything I need to know from that strip. Calvin and Hobbes was my textbooks and it's my collection of novels. Bill Watterson retired the strip on December 31st 1995 and sent me off into the world bestowed with this unique knowledge and perception of the entire universe to use at my disposal. Face it... Gatsby wasn't nearly as great.

MULTIPLE PERSONALITIES PT.1

As mentioned in the first C.O.P. blog post, I consider myself to be a shapeshifter of sorts. My interest in activities, art, people, and personal style changes from year to year if not minute by minute. Sometimes my interests are recycled and sometimes I uncover something entirely new.

For part one of this ADD-ridden flux, I will start with exposing you to the Scratch DJ. I would have to say my interest in Hip Hop drifted solely to the DJ in 1995 when a lot of amazing things were happening with DJ crews in the San Francisco Bay area (Invisibl Skratch Piklz, Bullet Proof Scratch Hamsters), on the East coast in New York (X-ecutioners), and in the U.K. (Scratch Perverts) that were grabbing my attention throughout the '90s. Q-Bert, Mix Master Mike, Short Kut, Apollo, Yoga Frog, D-Styles, Disk, Flare, and A-Trak make up the Skratch Piklz and they reigned in the '90s. Their skills influenced- and intimidated- other DJs to such a degree that Q-Bert and Mix Master Mike were asked to no longer participate in the DMC championships in order to give other DJs a fair chance at winning, granting them legendary God-like status. Meanwhile another DJ crew, The Bullet Proof Scratch Hamsters, harbored one of my personal favorite DJs/producers Eddie Def. Eddie Def and his crew developed the first ever battle record Hamster Breaks vol. 1. Each track on Hamster Breaks vol. 1 was crafted to include continuous sampled words and phrases or looped beats intended for scratching and beat juggling. Eddie's style was a little sloppy and care free and he went on to produce a huge amount of solo drum machine driven projects. In the early '00s it seemed like 3 Eddie Def albums came out per year for a few years straight. Some of his output was lo-fi, minimal or even unfinished sounding, but I admired his aim and overall he influenced much of the early beat driven music I ended up making on my computer. There is something about scratching records that goes far beyond that abrasive back and forth 'wikky-wikky' sound everyone is familiar with. There are infinite sounds and techniques, and as seen in some of the videos below, an innovative DJ must have a mind that understands sonic architecture and complex combinations of patterns. I'll let these clips of scratch DJing at its finest speak for themselves. Oh yeah, and that DJ Swamp routine is one of the best routines ever!

LEERIX

She says, "Go! Be careful what you catch-

You'll have to eat it next, and you can't take the taste of game."

and I say, "No! I'll drag it through your door-

I'll leave it on the floor, just to pretend I can't be tamed."

~Andrew Graham - from the song Take it Easy on Kathy at Least She Can Dance

LATENT ASSASSIN

Almost every morning I wake up and my mind does a quick review of what just happened. Most of the dreams are already forgotten, and the ones that linger read like fortune cookies written in broken English. I roll over. Now I think about the night before. Sometimes I'm relieved to know I stayed in, saved some cash, and that surplus of energies should allow my morning to run a little more smoothly. Sometimes I can immediately feel the old almost worthless alcohol buzz oozing off me, and I wonder why I wasted so much energy just to have a conversation with a friend. Regardless; I've now been reset. I have a day ahead of me and an impending evening wrought with simple models of moral circumstance. Still in bed, I'm almost paralyzed with the task of sorting out my persistant past, present, and future. It's such a sloppy process that I almost feel completely new. I might as well be three years old learning the days of the week for the first time. Today(Wednesday) I recognize just how vulnerable I am when resetting. Throughout an average day I demand my personal space, I spend my hard earned money, I make friends and strangers laugh with my polished wit, and I make sure I stand up straight and keep a close eye on my surroundings. Then all of that conscious effort vanishes and I sleep. My strength is gone. How much easier can I make it for my enemies to blot me out, I wonder, but even they let me sleep. Thank you, enemies. My Neighbors remembered to unplug their iron, so I didn't choke on the smoke of our block burning down. Thank you neighbors. My body kept me breathing and kept my cancers at a safe distance from my vital organs. Thanks automatic motor functions. A new day and I can already feel my strength returning. Everyone else seems charged as well. A delivery truck is idling, waiting for its driver and his empty dolly. Members of the local gym jog to the gym to jog in the gym. My roommates make their escapes to work. These are our attempts to assassinate the naked delicate person in our bed each night. The us who is lucky to be alive.

THE BIG BANG TASTES LIKE LIVER

I'm so tired of hearing about The Big Bang. I enjoy watching shows about science and technology, but every time the subject is The Big Bang, I feel like I'm forcing myself to taste liver for the 5th time. Have you ever tasted liver? I'm pretty sure I remember it tasting like cardboard marinated in mud. My mother would randomly order it if it was on the menu at a cheap restaurant. I would always take a bite of the liver, reassuring myself that it wasn't going to taste as bad as I remembered, but it always tasted awful. This is exactly how the Big Bang theory finds it's way into my head and rests in my gut, leaving my brain reeling with questions, regret, and a nasty aftertaste.

According to popular scientific theory; at the beginning of time, everything (and they mean EVERYTHING! even TIME!) was compressed into an infinitesimally small singularity. This singularity was not floating in space. Space was floating in it. Nothing was in existence at that point. The singularity barely even existed it was so tiny. Then, in an instant: The Big Bang. Within a trillionth of a millisecond the Universe was born and had doubled in size 100,000 times. Radiation, matter, gravity, and, yes, even time were all finally new. Within 10 billion years Earth began to form. 4.5 billion years after that and I'm typing about it. Sigh.

What makes us believe this? Well, in the early '20s American Astronomer Edwin Hubble looked out into space with his observatory's huge Hooker telescope and realized all the little blurs previously assumed to be clouds of gas, were in fact other galaxies. Galaxies neighboring our own Milky Way galaxy (the closest neighbor being 25,000 light years away). Moreover, this discovery led to other observational experiments that proved all of these celestial communities were moving rapidly away form one another. Being bitten by this theory left scientists and the public in a rabies-like frenzy. A thing once presumed wild was now wilder; falling apart even! We wanted an explanation before we hurtled out into abandonment. Quite simply the idea was put in reverse by Georges Lemaître and we could only conclude that everything was real close to one another in the 'beginning'. Logic and reason and science had provided for an interestingly unfathomable -- silencer.

Planck Satellite image of mapped microwave background radiation. AKA- The afterglow of the Big Bang.

So how big is the Universe anyway? Well we have certainly never known the answer to this question. In fact, before Hubble noticed those other millions of galaxies, our Milky Way galaxy was thought to be the near extent of the universe. An idea that seems quite foolish now to a person even of average intelligence. The Universe is relatively huge and potentially infinite. So how can mortal man assume it is expanding from one point? How are we sure that everything (in it's hugeness) is not still carving its way to some other point in some infinitely far corner of the universe to collect and collapse? This simple question is met with furious resistance most of the times I have ever brought it to light. I "...haven't taken enough classes..." or I, "...don't understand how physics works..." enough to dare propose such a theory. What's more interesting is that most people who have challenged me are atheists, or they at least put most of their faith in science over religion. What they don't realize is that they are supporting a theory of God. God was that moment right before the Big Bang. A voice too loud to hear had proclaimed "Let there be Light!" and there was light. Of course these people never read about God discussing the dissolving of radiation and the cooling of matter after all was put into action, so that doesn't dissuade them from being content with The Big Bang. If anything I'm typically Apathetic. I don't care enough to insist I'm right or you're wrong. I'm not too stubborn to admit when I'm wrong, but to not know exactly how huge the Universe is seems like a blaring signal to not take anything to be absolute. The rules of physics are distorted in nonsensical ways at a black hole's event horizon, so why is it not possible that physics can be altered in other areas of the unknown Universe? It is possible. Most people are just satisfied with the idea of nothing at the beginning. The Big Bang theory is simply buying us some time to make up for not knowing. Consider how science and understanding of our physical world has unfolded over the centuries. It is a very proud and clumsy process.

There was nothing at a calculable distance back in time from now? That theory is based on science, science is not based on that theory. Why? Because it might be wrong, mom. You don't have to order the liver.

OUR GROUNDED FUTURE

Why did I want flying cars so badly? I'm pretty sure everyone was certain we would have them by now, but why? Is flying a car really a symbol of advancing society? I guess some people reading this could care less about a flying car, but I was always looking forward to it. The concept seemed like fun in Back to the Future II. I have noticed that this laptop is cooler than I could have dreamed any flying car to be, and my model is a dinosaur already; an Apple G4 Powerbook circa 2004! It pretty much does what I need it to do and has suffered the need for only a few repairs including a new (and upgraded) hard drive, an upgrade of memory, and an occasional hammering out of dents. They don't make 'em like this anymore. Though as old as this laptop is, I don't think the reality of the technology it possesses has sunk in yet. When I stop and think about how easily I can find information by passing my hands over this machine, it's almost frightening. During my blind anticipation of the flying car, and in the waning of that interest, I don't think I saw this one coming.

The information age is upon us! Sure, I was warned about it in those early bizarre 'information superhighway' commercials 16 years ago. I never took it seriously I guess. Even when dial up became available in our home, it seemed like a passing trend. I remember being so excited to jump online when my dad was done working from home. I anxiously waited for web pages of my favorite bands to load at a snail's pace... waiting nervously as if the internet was going to 'go away' before I had a chance to get the exclusive information I needed.

Here it all is! Everything I could have wanted and more. Sometimes too much information is available. How do my cells even keep up? I don't remember installing any new software in my body, so how have I been able to adapt? It's very possible that I'm not adapting too well at all. Something so commonplace as switching on a light when entering a room has evolved into including the sights and sounds that millions of people have conjured and, like creating light with the light switch, the majority of us barely understand it beyond assuming it's some sort of magic. No questions asked or else I might ruin the trick. I suppose I might actually still be more comfortable with the flying car bit. I still kind of like the clunker of a concept that has some old fashioned character and will get me where I need to go at speeds far below that of light. Or maybe I just need to get out more.

MULESKINNER BLUES

Blue Yodel #8, written and recorded by Jimmie Rodgers in 1930, is the original version of what would be known as Muleskinner Blues. Muleskinner Blues saw many reinterpretations from then until now, but the version I've become most familiar with is The Fendermen's version from 1960. About 8 years ago I bought a '50s/'60s hits compilation record for a dollar from a thrift store. The record featured some obvious selections of 'Hop' styled chart-toppers of the era, but The Fendermen's Muleskinner Blues seemed to stick out like a sore thumb. Clearly the subject of the lyrics was derived from something I was not culturally familiar with, and possibly The Fendermen felt the same way, but they sang with such confidence to a point where they seem to lose control and the song's spirit takes over (note: near-insane laughter/yodeling adopted from Joe Gibson's 1959 version.)

An interesting quality of the particular version I own is the tracks tempo and grooves on the record are perfectly in sync, where if the needle skips forward or backward a loop is created. Sometimes the loop will find a rapid fire bass jangle and high pitched guitar flicker, or the loop may find a perpetually perfect, "he heee he he he heee- he heee he he he heee-". It's intriguing to the point were I've actually stood over the record for nearly a half hour manually guiding the needle from groove to groove, creating a 45 minute long version of Muleskinner Blues. I create a different version everytime I try it, and I'm always left smiling in my self-induced hypnosis. I like to think that I've contributed to the long line of reinterpretations of Muleskinner Blues, but it's possible the song has been creating new versions of us over the past 80 years!

By the way- If you don't like your job, then put the buck-buck-bucket down...

MISFITS of APATHY, TAPHOPHILIA, and FASHION

A man who knows no boundaries because he never goes anywhere. Another man who smiles when his own shadow resembles a headstone more than it resembles himself. A young woman who is worried how she looks even though she always looks good. These are roommates.

ERIC GILL IS YOUR LOVER

Devout Catholic and sexual deviant, East Sussex born Eric Gill (1882 - 1940) was also dubbed a Royal Designer for Industry.

Gill found himself in each of those categories through no half-hearted circumstances. At 18 years of age, he moved to London to study architecture. A shift in interests, with good result, led him to Stone Masonry and Calligraphy classes in the evening. Gill developed his type design to an unforgettable esteem. The Gill Sans typeface is a near perfect Humanist style that is most likely in all default font lists on nearly every computer in the world. Gill never strayed from his Catholic roots no matter how unorthodox his religious practices. He strived to connect his appreciation for both art and religion through various essays discussing their relationships. In 1989, elements of Gill's personal diaries were published in a biography and shocked the world with confessions of many sexual exploits and sexual abuses. Some of the perverse corners of his private life appear in many of his engravings. The controversy of his art always rivaled the exquisite nature of it, but neither content or talent ever won out over the other. Gill had always been accepted as strange in the art and design world, and his output was immense. He could sculpt, work with letter form, write, and print his own engravings. He succeeded at being both a man artistically rounded, and deeply flawed. We should all be so lucky.

MAN OF CLAY

When I was young, a pencil and a piece of paper were all I needed to be in control of everything. I was in control of my classroom education doodling in margins of notes, on my homemade brown paper bag textbook covers, and on the back of virtually every test and ditto sheet given to me in Elementary School. I was in control of the choir and the baby crying at church, drawing on the Sunday program. I controlled when day turned into night, when I fell asleep clutching a pencil in mid-stroke on a sketch pad. I created real things. I knew they weren't alive, but they were close to it. Characters came into existence and into being and as far as I was concerned, they were one step away from being a three dimensional toy in my hand. They were the icons of a video game that should have been made. They were maps of my dreams and nightmares, but most of all, they were cool.

Soon I started having more patience with anatomy and form in my drawings and the lines began to take a familiar shape. "...those look like your hands...," my mother would say. they were. these things I drew now had my hands. Hair, facial structure and body type followed suit. even clothing. The curious part of it all is that sometimes it was a different me; An older me. A different hairline here and a different clothing style there, they were still me but less familiar.

I've noticed these traits bubble to the surface in reality just as randomly as they did on the page. My hair receded the way 'old' Justin's hair looked. The knuckles on my hands and the corners of my eyes aged accordingly. Is it possible that all along, my drawings were blueprints? Did I become what my preteen-self decided I would become? Not only do I believe it's true, but I've matured enough to realize that there isn't just one step between the drawing and the final product. There are many steps, and I'm going to continue to be in control.

Lichtenstein

HOMEMADE PLANETS

The ball has begun rolling in the right direction. At the very least, the planets may be on my side. Although, when things go wrong, people always tell me it's because Mercury is in retrograde. Go F*** yourself, Mercury. And why are Astrology people such weirdos.

Short on cash, I planned to raid my bank account for the maximum amount I could spare before the rent check clears. The stupid holiday prevented me from doing that. Lucky for me, the stupid holiday might provide the opportunity to scavenge a local Barbeque for much needed sustenance. I will do so with the utmost gratitude in my heart for having kind friends, and for not being able to share so much as a bag of chips for others to enjoy. I hope I don't get called out as the 4th of July Freeloader!

BIRTH OF A ONE MAN NATION

I woke up an hour ago and managed to get 5 hours of sleep after foolishly drinking a Monster Energy drink last night at 10 o'clock on a near empty stomach. Don't ever do that. It leaves you feeling really weird and awake. My cold is lifted substantially and I have accumulated a record of my woes in the form of crumpled tissue. Hopefully I've blown most of my surfaced id out through my nose and I can begin to pull myself together starting today. I'm excited. I'm still very angry. I'm still very sad. Overall, If I tell myself to be excited I feel a subtle wave of elation course through my body. I really have nothing to lose from this point on. oh... except for my apartment if I can't afford rent next month! Yikes! Okay... getting the ball rolling NOW!

GOOD MORNING

POWERS THAT BE

This post is meant to be a lighthearted departure from everything I've been struggling with lately. Still feeling sick. Made the mistake of drinking a Monster Energy drink after only eating two real meals today. Feel kind of drunk off the stuff. Very awake and weird weird weird. Eyes pulsating. Listening to Thomas Koner to hopefully settle my nerves and lift my spirit. I've decided those two guys down there must be gods. How could they not be?

MEET PEOPLE YOU CAN NEVER KNOW

Hieronymus Bosch (loosely pronounced: har•uh'•nimmus - boss) is by far one of my favorite painters of all time. There is very little known about his life. Barely a trace of his birthdate exists (he is presumed to have been born sometime around 1450.) There are records that prove he died on August 9th 1516, and by leaving a legacy of fewer than 25 paintings, Bosch becomes that much more precious to his admirers. His paintings are part religious-part grotesque mutant masterpieces. The collection almost seems to triple once you lay eyes on each painting. Either in the form of a triptych or in the hyper-detailed complex worlds of characters and corridors, his paintings take a lifetime to absorb.

Bosch's mysterious pieces have subliminally influenced some of my work. Researching him for this blog reminded me of his Seven Deadly Sins "chart" which holds a similar form to one of my recent drawings, but mine surely pales in comparison to the master's.

one of my recent drawings

'Seven Deadly Sins' by Bosch

GO TO PLACES YOU FORGOT EVEN EXISTED

Click the play button on the video below to listen while reading this post!

Leyland Kirby's music welcomed itself into my iTunes Library and settled itself amongst the other songs like an old friend. I can't seem to remember what led me to his music, so I'm assuming it found me instead. This isn't surprising, because the nature of the music wouldn't have it any other way. His The Caretaker project, particularly the album Persistent Repetition of Phrases (hopefully that link works and you can download it for yourself!), is so haunting and familiar and frightening and peaceful. To describe it much further would be to describe an out of body experience or past life regression. For PRP, Kirby manipulated old ballroom records from the 20s and 30s, but somehow these dusty half-present creeping tones remind us of something not a generation away; instead, something stitched into our hearts and somewhere behind our own minds. Delight, loss, whimsy, and burden are revealed. coexisting... waltzing together, even.

Kirby's other projects are just as oddly captivating. Purely sad are his original compositions under the name Leyland Kirby, and his V/VM project is a strange abrasive bastard form of sampled electronic pop.

LOOK OUT

Have your gears started moving yet? I'm pretty sure all of mine aren't. One big fat gear may be the only one moving in my head ever - so - slow - ly. Shouldn't be long before it makes one complete rotation and all the other tickings will begin; As did the tickings in the brain of Ralph Emerson, leader of the mid-19th century Transcendentalist movement. Around 1836 the poet and philosopher's vision was characterized into the drawing below. it reads (phrase is completed from original text):

"Standing on the bare ground,--my head bathed by the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space,--all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eye-ball. I am nothing. I see all. The currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or parcel of God"- from Nature by Ralph Waldo Emerson

tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick

IDEA MACHINE

TED is an ever growing roundtable of thinkers. Celebrities, scientists, philosophers, and comedians talk about anything from 'The Theory of Everything' to 'Legos for Adults' to 'A New Way to Fight Corruption'.

Truly an information overload. TED manages to almost make me feel one-dimensional.

MELTDOWN

Recently I walked out on my Job. It felt terrible and it still does. I've also managed to get sick in the same day, which probably has something to do with the stress of it all. A meltdown is fast approaching for me, and I've never been less financially and mentally secure. I'm angry. I'm sad. The world is no longer familiar to me. I'm a little scared, but I also have a chance to be a hero! I can save myself, and stand up for what I think is right.

I've also possibly confused exposing you to a blog as a sneak attack to exposing you to my problems. I'll try to keep these 'whine-a-bouts' to a minimum; However, If you have been asleep for so long and see a nightmare fast approaching, how do you wake up to contend with the nightmare? A little lesson in Lucidity(fig.1)? Possibly the right pair of shades(fig.2)?

(fig.1)

(fig.2)

OSMOSIS

You can be sure to see a lot of music references on Code of Posture, and I hope they always help to illustrate what I'm feeling, and what you could be feeling in order to try to understand what Phillip Glass feels. You may remember this first video from your childhood or your child's childhood. This was made for us, and it kind of represents that complex doorway that we trip through into intelligent and creative thinking. Much like the 'Dawning' moments seen throughout Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey. a monolithic student/teacher moment.

TYPE and A GIRL NAMED HOPE

hello! This is my first blog and I'm surely going to need some time to understand the pace of the blogging world. Since I am constantly changing and rearranging my interests and priorities and obsessions, I should give you a sample of my current state.

Type Records! Everything this label puts out is expansive and emotionally refined!

here's some Richard Skelton. He can get a little tedious, perhaps, but worth a listen.

Back in the day Hope Sandoval and her band Mazzy Star had this same effect on me. They still do.

I'll try to fill in the spaces between this framework in future posts! Please do listen and have a good cry on me!