new OBSTREPITUM time-based piece. enjoy (i hope).

please note: I am still getting on the up+up with video compression

I just can’t write anymore about Paris—much less Beirut, which really shows how our global media has become Influenced by the West; imagining how that may play out in a future state vs state scenario is too much for a Sunday …

… hang on to each other
and every fucking thing
you love …


12:08 12 11 2015
Tags: , ,

could be any random Thursday; there’s a storm coming in for Friday the Thirteenth. new California Umbrellas pass up and down the street alongside imported consumer reproach. it’s difficult to remember how to Hope, some days.

Each day presents opportunity and each day we forsake it. the way Americans will Tweet about Rights from their iPhones—broaden the scope of any given hour and our hypocrisies and meaningless journeys shed light only on the true despair and vengeful, brutal nature of the world.

the Internet has given humanity the unfortunate predicament of needing to form understanding relationships without the ability to synthesize any sense of understanding beyond intellectual. (which is sociologically fascinating in and of itself and begs the question if intellect is actually an evolution of life, but also not the point I am trying to make)

We’re a species that has been visually manipulated for as long as we’ve been visually creative. Yet we’re hardly as visually literate as we are linguistically, and so our capacity to compensate for a lack of visual interaction is lower. This is to say a 20-something who has grown up with violent images in video games may not be a psychopath, but they may find it more difficult to empathize with photos of bombed out buildings in Syria. War, in many ways, has become an ongoing state of our collective psyche.

yet what does all that matter here, now, Thursday at Tiny’s? Portland’s being capitalized on and the rich are just guffawing and the West Coast Has Been Traumatized. How could I possibly understand life elsewhere? Why does it even matter anymore, when the machine so obviously marches on, indifferent to the survival of any of us?

Take advantage of these times, you said. You let me down. It hasn’t been the first time. As I’m falling in the pit of fire my mind’s made up; I’m never coming back here. How long would it take me to walk across the United States all alone? The West coast has been traumatized and I think I’m the only one still alive.

Is it just a coincidence to see you by yourself with no direction? Now it’s time to move on. Don’t you know that things aren’t getting better?

Don’t try and stop me because I’m falling fast into this pit of fire which surrounds us all in a blanket of fear that I’ve been wrapped in for years. You can’t stop me.

When the world caves in what are you going to do for me?


09:34 11 11 2015

Just Announced

the Media has a way of talking about the glorification of ‘violence,’ specifically in rap—but really it’s just storytelling. (not even getting to how lyrics are bad but Call of Duty is fine.) It just happens to be telling a story neo-liberals are ashamed of but won’t own up to.

I can appreciate fully the atrocities of the world, but I wonder how much of my side of the world sees Freddie Gibbs but doesn’t see the tragedies in their own backyards

—every now and then I think to myself, man if an Uprising ever lead to Racial Violence, it wouldn’t matter my history of personal politics or awareness, I could be shot walking down the street just for being white —then it’s—

Wesley Black, 21: It rains a lot in Portland, so I often wear a sweatshirt. I used to live across the street from my job, which was at the Dollar Tree, and I would work the night shift, so I’m walking home, in the dark, probably when it’s raining. I remember specifically they said in the Trayvon (Martin) case, that he was looking suspiciously in other people’s cars. The time it takes me to walk home, I probably look in, like, 20-some cars. Some are empty, some are not, but still I look in the car. I remember this one night, I looked into a car, and I thought, I’m it – I am Trayvon. Somebody from neighborhood watch just saw me look in this car and thinks I’m going to rob them, then I’m going to turn the block and get shot by a bunch of cops.

—check that, right fucking now there’s a legitimate fear by people in my own city will face a similar end for being black. Still. in 2015—

& there’s nothing we can really do, march and vote and hope that the cops don’t keep shooting their way into history repeating

it will not be a tender fire upon your post-card mountains. no Golden Children will write hymns about the slow defeat of your reckless destiny

Bullets in the bellies of babies sleeping in the strangest places indifferent to the blinding grace of the vapor trails and burning waste of your God-filled skies

oh to Love in a burning house with burning children eating dust and finger-painting flags. smoke pours out of their eyes. They’re all hanged up; they’re praying and saluting

hey, Okay! kick me slowly beneath the dripping leaves of our train-track trees, though sickly and diseased, some weeds thrive anyway

This fence around your garden won’t keep the sky from falling


12:40 31 10 2015

Don’t blow me out before I finish burning. I’ve settled in to a life of learning.

Wouldn’t it be fine if at check-out time I was doing what I’m doing right now?

though Boy just came out last year this is in heavy contention to be in my Top Five Ever List.

New EP; the first song was hinted a couple days ago. Vestige was composed mostly on the fly over a couple weeks of snippets and sound mechanics.

Portfolio-wide update coming as the night continues; for now, some music.

Nicki Minaj can be a fun listen (and at times, jaw-dropping), but pop-star girl rap isn’t my go-to. However in a world where Kanye West arrogantly (and incorrectly) declares his Warholian nature, I would say Ms Minaj is the true heir to the throne of Andy.

A meticulously prepared public image that exploits the mainstream fascination with identity while being coordinated with the most bold aesthetics of pop visuals? Standing up for women, in particular those who don’t fit into Taylor Swift’s gentrified dream? She’s a deliberate artist—at 32, she’s not a millennial searching for identity, but rather an adult who has found it and is pushing it to change the shape of the art world.

Which is why it’s so disheartening that the Times spent the introduction to her cover story profile for the Culture magazine talking about ridiculous Twitter fights, and a majority of the story having a pretty regular recap of the woman. How can music journalists, even working for The New York Times, be so boring that they can write thousands of words on Nicki Minaj and not have anything interesting to say?

Sealed To Me

17:10 08 10 2015