No Way

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 Most people don't realize that a twenty foot long Great White Shark is also both eight feet wide and six feet tall. That's incredible. I just finished reading "Devil's Teeth", a fantastic book about the Great White Shark population that congregates off the coast of San Francisco at a crag of rocks called the Farallon Islands, otherwise known as the Devil's Teeth by sailors back in the day. The book reads easy and I plowed through it this morning, propped up on the couch, listening to the Spacemen 3 and the Supremes.  It's a easy going Memorial Day here at the newly christened Manor up here in Bowling Green and the possibilities are endless. Do need to string some lights outside and put up the basketball goal. There's always something needing to be decorated round here too, hung up, arranged, straighted, squared away just like so. That's just what the likes of these days are good for. Turning and learning. 

Hey Genius

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Hey genius! Whatcha writing in that Moleskine ya got there?

Your memoir? Some poetry? Is it about your father? Is it about an old lover?

Did that person break your heart? Or was your heart already broken before they

met you? Or did you box that person’s heart about like a kitten playing with

spool of yarn? Do you feel so guilty about breaking that person’s heart that

you’re compelled to write everything down and cast them heart-breaking demons

of yours out? So when you write, what you’re really doing is yelling at them

demons: “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!” Ooooor, are you writing a screenplay, genius? A

sorta story in which a loveable Steve Buscemi-esque buffoon gets the girl that

works at the fashion design firm in Midtown who is way out of his league, who

also, in actuality, should really fall in love with the Jude Law-esque

character because that character has more money, is way more attractive, and

despite the overtly douchey way in which he is written, is actually a nice guy.

But since you see yourself as Steve Buscemi, except poorer, the Steve Buscemi

character ends up winning the girl based upon the merits of his stamp

collection. That’s pretty unrealistic, genius, but hey, it’s your screenplay,

right? Who am I to criticize your creative output? Or maybe you could be

writing a really swell novel, genius? Will it be a long one like those Russian

novels that I’ve never really read? Or will it be obtuse like Pynchon or overly

stylized like those overrated Beat writers? Will you use terms like “inky

night” or write about amphetamines in cool (not really) post World War II,

Nuclear Age slang that will influence decades of liberal leaning white people

and somehow convince them that their love of such literature is a confirmation

of non-whiteness, that they’re really not the wonder bread lamos that their

parents were? But I digress, I really don’t mean to talk shit genius, I just

want to know about your novel! I just wanna know about what you’re writing! You

have to tell me! The suspense is killing me genius! When I see you hunched over

your journal agonizing over each line you’re putting down like a surgeon

deliberating on which incision would remove that damn cancer, I’m just pushed

to the edge of normal curiosity, compelled to look over the cliff’s edge,

fantasizing about what kind of life a genius like you could live. Maybe I’m so

interested in you because my own life is a complete snore. A real fucking bore.

It’s okay though, I’m cool with having no interests or anything of specific

import happening in my little fish bowl of an existence, sometimes that’s just

life; the absence of life. That’s why god created ipods, marriage, and having

children; to give us something to do to pass the time between being 15 and

being dead. 

(MADDECENT)

All is Full of Love

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The stars were out in full tonight and I crowded under them as much as I could, staring at them like they could make sense of thing for me. Everything's just as restless as it always is, with conniptions racing past just as fast as always, yet I was strangely at peace with it all. The environment outside during today's sunlight hours was beyond gorgeous, and I tried my hardest to keep in its presence as long as possible. From rifling through the still wet remains of an soaked basement with the best of friends, to waltzing in pure joy around and about the shade of the setting sun, there's nothing like being outside to remind you that all is is full of love. Around and about every angle of every corner of every thought, vision, landscape, scenario, encounter, experience that you might come across on a daily basis. Blows my mind a little bit when I think about it. I threw idea around one of the smartest people I know tonight out on the porch under the stars. Isn't love the upmost common denominators between all world religions? Where does indoctrination and the blind following of rules falls by the wayside and gives way to true spirituality? Don't the words Religion and Relationship share the same root word in Latin? Benjamin Franklin claimed to be an diest in his later life and was quoted saying that he could look upon the  hierarchical organization of the natural world and see God. I gazed upon the stars tonight with the same deep seeking intention, a widely stretched but distinctively focused perspective that's humbled beyond belief when seeking to understand the vastness of my own ignorance. The more about the ways of the world I try to figure out, the more I realize I don't know anything at all. Not that its a bad thing, just true. Since bad things are just true by simple matter o' fact rationality, therefore there's good to be learned in the bad, which then concludes that there's nothing bad at all in the world. Whoa. The change from Joy to Misery to Joy happens at a frantic pace that's quite drastic to get used to. Everyone fears the unknown to a point and to live Life between opposite ends of Black and White, Up and Down is to learn to be at peace with the degree of ignorance regarding what the direction future events might take. But I suppose that's why they call it the fast life, right? 

Notes From Underground

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My angel little brother David got arrested this week. Code 3 violation too, which means tactical support was necessary. Six squad cars arrived on the scene in Edwin Warner Park and out spilled a whole battery of armoured up law enforcement officers who promptly bum rushed the our darling blonde suspect in question and hauled him off downtown to jail, no kidding that's jail jail since juvinile was flooded, for the whole rest of the day and well into the night, all for what? Poking around the park with a Civil War musket in tow, no gunpowder or miniballs or anything that might enable the gun to be anything more than a glorified doorstop, antique at best. In truth, he was filming a movie trailer for class and they did have fireworks but goodness gracious, mercy sakes alive. I don't know what's more woefully ridiculous in this here schenario, the wanton expending of tax dollars or the hypersensitivity our society lives in. People getting all up in arms, literally, over something way less incriminating than a whole lotta other things that immediately came to mind that are seemingly okay, because they're everywhere (gluttony, envy, pride, rudeness). They didn't even hear him out at the scene (of the crime) or even allow him his phone call when in jail. God almighty, how can you live with yourself everyday if you get off by getting on other people? I'm just saying, justice would be the last thing on anyone's mind if the dinosarus were still around, at least justice to the extent that was levied upon my dear brother David a few days ago. No doubt, catastrophies are no good awful events that get thrown at us, but they do grant the gift of perspective. It takes a truly humble spirit to say, "Well, I lost everything but my family and I are still alive and that's what matters." Light upon the true priorities shines through and everything unnecesary falls by the wayside, including a six car battalion sent to rustle up and apprehend  But why does it take Life's mighty hammer of unpredictable events to remind us of what's truly important? Do we have to be forced to feel, in a way? Only aware of death at funerals or only American after 9/11? I'm overdoing a little bit, but there's a lot going on with that right there. Whatever. If you see this man in the photos above, run for your life. I fucking loooooooooooove Iron Maiden. 

Iron Maiden-Run To The Hills

Nashville's Still Nashville

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Where the men are men and the women are proud of it.

(NASHVILLE'S DEAD)

White Trash Class

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Vietnam is a band that sounds exactly how they look. Dirt and cracked up Levis. Aloof, restless, nearly barefoot and looking to make something marvelous happen but happy with whatever the moment presents itself with. Nothing political, no game theory or hidden agenda in their sound at all. They flat out don't give a hoot. I saw them at the End in Nashville one hazy Valentine's Day quite a few years ago. They didn't grace the stage till nearly twelve and folks were getting drunk and restless, but Vietnam immediately put everyone there at ease with a smile and a sorry right before the first number. I've only ever seen babies lighten moods and faces like that Peace bringin' to that extent is absolutely admirable and an xtraordinary thing. That speaks leaps and volumes about a person, even more a band. That philosophy shines clear through their music as well. Their sound conjures up all sorts of utopian summer circumstances. No need to bother with unnecessarities when you're sprawled out in the back of a red 1965 Lincoln, one hand holding your hat and the other your beer, just like your other three bros as yall take off to Austin for a night in the city. They've definitely got some Texas in their freewheelin' happy rambling sound. They're out of Brooklyn now I believe which is surprising because they can choogle pretty well for city boys. Plus, their luscious rock locks are fucking rad as well. Summer and long hair hold each other's hand pretty sternly and I salute the boys that can pull it off with ease. I didn't cut my hair for almost twenty months and I tell you, it tangled up in the biggest snafu the likes of which curly hair's never seen. A crazy big snarl of sun bleached knots that sprang out every which way. It was truly an accomplishment but I'm pretty sure I'm allergic to long hair now thanks to it. At least the long hair that creeps on me. Not to say I don't admire it though. I hustled up a few of my favorite to parade at you so you seen where my love is coming from. The last two are this here band I'm loving at the moment. Cop these tracks from Vietnam, kick back and drift for a while, if just to take the edge of the exams looming large this next week. That's my dispositioning at least, simply because its a beautiful day. You feel me? Priorities priorities. 

Vietnam-Step On Inside

Vietnam-Priest, Poet & the Pig

Vietnam-Welcome to My Room

Hurry Up

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“It is not clear that more choice gives you more freedom. It could decrease our freedom if we spend so much time trying to make choices.” Research shows that an excess of choices often leads us to be less, not more, satisfied once we actually decide. There’s often that nagging feeling we could have done better.

(The Paralyzing Problem of Too Many Choices, New York Times | Continue)

Ensworth vs. the Great Nashville Monsoon

That Dog

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Frank settled down in the Valley and he hung his wild years on a nail that he drove through his wife’s forehead. He sold used office furniture out there on San Fernando Road and assumed a 30,000 dollar loan at fifteen and a quarter percent put a down payment on a little two bedroom place. His wife was a spent piece of used jet trash. Made good Bloody Mary’s. Kept her mouth shut most of the time. Had a little Chihuahua named Carlos that had some kind of skin disease and was totally blind. They had a thoroughly modern kitchen. Self-cleaning oven, the whole bit. Frank drove a little sedan. They were so happy. One night Frank was on his way home from work. He stopped at the liquor store. Picked up a couple of Mickey’s Big Mouths. Drank ‘em in the car, and with a Shell station he got a gallon of gas in a can. Drove home, doused everything in the house. Torched it. Parked across the street laughing. Watching it burn. All Halloween orange and chimney red.
Then Frank put on a top forty station. Got on the Hollywood Freeway and headed North. Never could stand that dog.

-Tom Waits, "Frank's Wild Years"

I Love You On My Mind

Hope

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We are in the golden age up to our necks.

-Voltaire

Summer's just about here and above all other senses, I can feel it. But the vibe still rebounds off every other sense as well. You can see it every morning in the thinning number of scholars zombie shuffling to class. Waking up for class isn't even worth it anymore for some folks. You can smell it around high noon as all the grills fire up around the hill, for whatever occasion if not just for the beautiful day. Where's has the urgency gone? What have we done to be so laid back about? What laurels are we resting on? We haven't done anything yet, but we think we have. Or even worse, we know we haven't, yet we are all perfectly fine to reap all the benefits of hard work without actually putting forth an effort. Lifted nary a finger. Adolescence is a term that didn't even exist a hundred years ago. Once you were old enough to work or have children, you did because your livelihood depended upon it. Only with the rise and creation of the middle class did this feeling of prolonged childhood suddenly come into play. And its not a bad thing by an means. Most nations of the world would kill to have the stability and comfortability that the United States has been blessed with. It's absolutely a good thing, if used for comparative advantage. But is the opportunity being seized or completely squandered away? How long do pressing concerns such as morale, justice, the environment, architecture, ecology, social well being and art have to take a backseat role while Americans chase safety, wealth and power, three fantastic concerns to have if the much larger perspective isn't lost in the process. We're mighty blessed but we've lost our points of reference. There isn't anything to build on or improve upon when the classes aren't threatening each other's necks with knives at night. Where are the economic and industrial innovations or the second comings of a cultural rejuvenation? The Western Civ class I'm bearing through just wrapped up the age of explorers and the Renaissance which is fascinating to read about, just not in class. The Renaissance was one of the most influential time periods in all of history and it was three century long mess, absolute upheaval in every spectrum of daily life, social and political pandemonium as well as artistic and intellectual transformation. The populus was making moves, toppling the towers of power and ideas, clashing, questioning, challenging, provoking, living life at an upbeat rhythm. To get academic, the catalyst for it all stemmed from the enormous influx of money that poured into Europe from the expanding trade with Asia. Economic prosperity and cultural advancement seemingly go hand in hand, which point towards a host of parallels that can be drawn from 14th century Europe to 21st century United States, except for one obvious truth. We haven't done a single fucking thing. Of course we've done plenty, especially considering the crazy pace technology is exponentially growing at. But in comparison and given the grand possibilities, its lacking. The potential that exists hasn't even been touched, much less met and matched. I think it all points towards one single variable, a truth so evident it has slipped past our collective consciousness and become almost universally accepted as normal in our society. We simply don't feel good about ourselves. How can we stand ourselves when our norms for time, joy, work, the entirety of our environment are dictated solely by the measure of others around us rather than a higher calling, something that demands us to be greater than ourselves, better and beyond the buying, selling, judging, fucking production line of ease and boredom this world runs on. All major cultural, academic, and intellectual innovations of history has seemingly happened in time periods where mankind has felt good about being human and acted upon dreams in hot pursuit. And to be human means a whole lotta more than sitting tight and watching the soap operas of modern life fiscally secure concerns that bleed time and glorify the lie that says all this right here is the only thing in Life you'll ever need. 

Why does this have to be true? I like to think that it all comes down to perspective and identity. The Western world has a very fragile sense of identity. One needs no more than one broad look around to see  that to be so. For guys, its all truck lifts, good grades, money money money, twenty beers, muscles, smashing gals and grilling out, at least that's true for here in Kentucky. For girls, you've got image and a whole lotta other stuff. How we see ourselves is naturally going to be reflected in the many doings we chose to involve ourselves in, but nowadays our point of reference to self is long gone and who we are is solely defined by everything we have and do, not in who we are. Our culture have reached a point where too much is not even enough. We've lost sight of the truly important things of this world. Voltaire said it best above. We're in the Golden Age up to necks. Today's society is comfortable living in a stalemate, a cloud of obliviousness that has emerged from years and years of consumerism and individualism. The United States has found itself so far on top, economically and politically, we've lost perspective and the bleeding colours can be seen nearly everywhere, from the lofty heights of the upper echelon where money's the be all end all to everyday happenings, where capitalism skews perspectives to see the truly important things in life like people and relationships not for their beauty but as resources to be used for gain and progress, all the way to the middlings of Welfare Nation, where doing absolutely nothing to contribute back to society is perfectly acceptable and even encouraged, just as long as we've got your vote. 40% of 18 year olds in Tennessee do not graduate from high school. What in the world are they going to do to contribute back to society? I read that somewhere the other day and it tore me up a little bit because it hits home closer than most facts due. My only first cousin lives in North Georgia, hasn't graduated high school but is hoping to, since she's now got a child to feed. How is that allowed? What would it take for a law to be passed that stated, "If you don't graduate high school, you can't have a driver's license." Incentives truly are everything and if you offer people a square enough deal, you can get anything you want in return. It's just hard to see the light.

The purpose of all this yarning isn't to promote some crazy anarchy or skullduggery. Fight fire with fire and everything will burn, yeahhhh. All I know is that its beautiful outside. The sun isn't the reason behind all this but something about the past few weeks has really been a blessing. It's swell and it can only get better from here. This ain't nothing really. I've been taking time off to sit back in the sun, connect some broad dots and simply slow down in hopes to truly be aware of Life as its happening. Now, here. The hardest part is just having the eyes to see the joy offered in endless abundance that's hidden in the passing seconds of every single moment every day. The ways of the world blind us from seeing the truly important, beautiful affairs that point us towards living beyond ourselves. When the world respects private property more than it cherishes human life, something must be done. And true change comes from an active lifestyle. So jump on the soul train, dig this sound because for just once, its just us kids living, playing the day away, kicking over statues to the rhythm of the beat. There's no danger in exploration and searching. To live and be alive means to question and to love means we ought to be able to say yes before no. Nothing but hope and revolution and its very real, happening right now.

I wish

Good Morning

Kush

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Summer's shadow is looming large and things are getting easier. Not easier as  in make easy, but rather with ease. Good moods abound under the sun. Everyone's easier to get along with. It doesn't make a whole lotta sense but I've slowly figured out it is easier to sit still and study without four walls around especially in the sun. Plus, folks look prettier in the sun. Everyone's taking their time from here to wherever they're off to. But however good the weather is, one thing I absolutely can't stand though is this public speaking class. Goodness gracious. To stay put and listen to this 38 year old teacher who still lives with her parents and uses the class as a fucking social outlet makes me want to bang my head. When she's not asking kids about sexting (I don't even knooooow what kids are up to these days, gah I'm so old), she's broadcasting on loud about things like Physiological Barriers to Successful Communication (a wall), Cultural Barriers (I can't understand you, you're speaking a different language), or Productive Uses of the Workplace Grapevine (what the fuck). The entire class, curriculum is absolutely unteachable. I'm not above doing things I don't like, most things in life aren't going to be particularly in favor, But this class doesn't even have enough character to be disagreeable, its flat out worthless. Tears me up. The opposite of love is not hate, its apathy. It's almost over though. The gal in front of me as a shirt on that says "Smart Happens" over a picture of Einstein. She freaked out last class when we had speeches due because she spoke about the infestation of Asian Carp fifteen seconds over the alloted time, and that meant two points off her grade. She about short circuited, to the horror of every other honor student in class and to my chagrin. 

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Wiz Khalifa raps with the same ease as summer brings. He has a fucking great ear for airy beats that tumble and roll and his flow dances over it. Kush and Orange Juice. Get the mixxxxtape here

Rage

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Kid Cudi just changed his album name to the name bannered above. The release date is shooting for August. Rage happens to be one of my favorite verbs. What are some other great verbs? Capitalize is stern verb, less colourful than makes me think of captivate but powerful, like Sam the Eagle. Diversify has a strong roll when said out loud. Maintain should be said real slowly, especially if you draaaawl yer vowels out real farrrr. Synthesize is flashy. But all that's just some nonsense. Everything sounds particular today. Happy holidays. (Dat New)

MOOOOOOOOONDAY

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Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.

-Henry Louis Mencken

Humanity may split into two sub-species in 100,000 years’ time as predicted by H.G. Wells, an expert has said. Evolutionary theorist Oliver Curry of the London School of Economics expects a genetic upper class and a dim-witted underclass to emerge. (BBC News | Continue)

Who would have thought? Drinking habits are socially transmissible. (Slate | Continue)

Tom Bissell was an acclaimed, prize-winning young writer. Then he started playing the video game Grand Theft Auto. For three years he has been cocaine addicted, sleep deprived and barely able to write a word. Any regrets? Absolutely none. (The Guardian | Continue)

Long Gone

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      Sunday's a day for all pursuits of academia. Everything's slow enough as it is, or should be if you're making the most of the free time that weekends bless everyone with. Free time for wine and fucking awesome videos, as well as new music. Tame Impala is a band from Australia and they conjure up some of the fuzziest, most psychedelic sounds I've heard in a long time. Like if MGMT said "Fuck art, fuck pretending and being Different On Purpose and fuck all yall tumblring high school gals (but you're so creative!), "actually war painted their faces and dipped way outta Brooklyn into the true wilds of the Australian outback with nothing but peyote, Black Sabbath, and true bare necessities, with the youthful intent of becoming true cosmic psychonauts divinely surrendered to the spell of Blue Cheer, Jimi Hendrix, and the red morning light. Instead, they simply became enlightened and completely aware of the truly hidden realms of the heart & soul that excessive substance intake only hints at but never reveals. They celebrate their sensory graduation by plugging in and tuning out, for our pleasure. True joy can be found anywhere you look if you have the right eyes, but let Tame Impala's liberal doses of fuzz kindly remind you that you shouldn't have psychedelics without psychedelia. The Canyons edit is sinisterly groovy. Summer is the fucking best.

Tame Impala- Half Full Glass of Wine

Tame Impala-Runway, Houses, City, Clouds 

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Tame Impala-H.f.g.w (Canyons Drunken Rage edit)

Joakim Noah

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No doubt about it, Michael Jordan is a very good basketball player. Is he the first best player in basketball history? That's where the war begins. But this here today ain't about that, because that argument is noise that could go for days, given a perfect combination of fuel, the setting (pool, a poolhouse, the roof), necessary distractions (racquetballs), metaphors, anagrams, maps, charts, graphs, conversational deviancies, and people willing to take an argument to the grave. ( I see you Tam Slles). The question that might yield a more concrete, no holes solid, truer than you, definite Yes answer is the question, "Is Michael Jordan the first best endorser in basketball history?"Yes absolutely, but there's more. Michael Jordan hardly created sportswear or was even the first to endorse it. That would be Converse and their man Chuck Taylor. But what Michael Jordan was the first to do, as well as the best ever at doing it, was represent not just a brand, but an entire sport. MJ didn't simply fit the blueprint of basketball, he inhabited it. That takes an incredible combination of vision, dynamic marketing, and ungodly talent. As good as he his at what he does, that's something not even Tiger Woods can managed to replicate with golf, especially now. 

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This all leads to the second point. In the same way that explains how marketing is related to who a person is, shouldn't On The Court actions be a function of personality? Perhaps not directly related, but bonded, symbiotically in a sense. It certainly helps in explaining how Michael Jordan became basketball. Kobe Bryant will never get there because his game is too industrial or mechanical in feeling, while Jordan's playing invoked a host of emotions that stretched the mind beyond the dopamine rush of dunks and last second shots. Lebron's more on the right track behind Jordan than Kobe is, but she'll never get close enough. He's outgoing and goofy in ways Jordan never was, but his mystique is rooted in physicality. Lebron's stupid stupid stupid athleticism gives the mind a logical answer in questioning his excellence. Jordan was mad sprightly in his running and jumping, but the mystique of his game certainly wasn't compartmentalized by just that. His greatness in playing the game of basketball stretched beyond great, yet simple answers because matters of the soul defy simple understanding. It was emotive, which directly translated into his marketing success.

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Jordan ain't the only one with personality sporting a shoe game in Chicago. The man that has most basketball Joe's in the NBA in regards to madcap foolery is about to launch a shoe line through the french label that carried his father's tennis clothes, Le Coq Sportif. Ladies and gentlemen, Joakim Noah. I was lucky to share a moment with him last summer at Lollapalooza at Perry's Dance Tent. I was rolling , tossing, and tumbling through the nightlights and careened into him, dancing just as hard with four gals hanging off his nuts. Girls aside, great minds think alike and we had a moment. This is song that was playing, not kidding at all. Ask.

Joakim-Watermelon Bubbalicious (Original Mix)

Huh?

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What's that tree?

Que Onda

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You know what's pretty fucking awesome? LA hardcore mainstays The Bronx recorded a mariachi album under the name Mariachi El Bronx and its just about as fucking awesome as Zoro. Indeed, punk hearts and tequilla swill to the same beat. 

Mariachi El Bronx- I Would Die For U (Prince cover)

Absolutely

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    A human being is part of a whole, called by us the Universe, a part limited in time and space. 

He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings, as something separated from the rest a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circles of compassion to embrace all living creatures & the whole of nature in its beauty.

-Albert Einstein

Morning Amthen

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I can't stop listening to this song, especially in the morning. 

Makes you think about if summer's truly full of love, it can hardly be lazy.

Julian Casablancas-11th Dimension

Jangles

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We tend to think in absolutes. Everything is super fantastic or absolutely awful.  All or nothing. What's funny is that we overestimate the impact of negative events on our life. The Drums play old fashion summer rock that jangles. Ain't a bad listen, but it does take folks from across the pond to make them truly look the part. The nifty part, that is. This guy Hedi Slimane knows what's up, although black and white wouldn't be my personal choice for The Drums but hey it is striking.

The Drums-Let's Go Surfing