I watched the movie Rockers again over the weekend. This is absolutely and unequivocally tied for my favorite movie of all time. Rockers is my Woodstock, baby.
Shot in Jamaica in 1976 and 1977, the golden age of reggae music, this film is packed with legendary roots musicians as “actors,” great music, and a wicked revenge story that culminates in a sort of shantytown Christmas mornin’, iya!
Way back in the olden days (January of 1995) I signed a fancy looking contract with Mother Road Publications for a book of poems and short stories. It was a long and drawn out birth (as these things usually are in the small press) but finally, in April of 1997, alternative man appeared.
It was my first book and I was pretty excited about it. When the first 5 or 10 copies came in the mail I opened one of them and smelled it. “Yeah, that smells like a real book,” I thought. Hey, you do weird things when it’s yours.
Well, this is pretty cool; youvebeenleftbehind.com. In a nutshell, this guy, Mark Heard, is running a service that will contact your loved ones for you, via email, after the “rapture.”
The rapture, in case you didn’t know, is when JESUS comes and takes all the boys and girls who have behaved and eaten their vegetables up to heaven to prance around forever in white robes and watch the rest of us suffer an eternity under the thumb of the beast SATAN.
When I was six years old I wanted to be in the Beatles. But I didn’t have a guitar, and it seemed awfully difficult to actually be in the Beatles, and, maybe most importantly, I was only six years old.
I wanted to be in the Beatles for quite some time, actually. You know, until they broke up and then no one could be in the Beatles, not even really excellent musicians. To fill the void that was left by the dead Beatles, between the ages of 10 and 15 I wanted to be in a newer and decidedly more weird and dangerous crop of bands. Bands like Alice Cooper, Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, Aerosmith and KISS.
It’s a beautiful time to be a photographer. Just like it’s a beautiful time to be in a real band with real non-computerized music, or to be an artist who paints something other than encephalitic pre-teen girls in frilly dresses with dead deer eyes that only appeal to perverted Japanese wankers and U.S. hipsters who would worship dog shit if you told them it was cool to do so.
I say it’s a great time because I feel the inevitable pendulum swing away from the dead and dying and back to the living. It may not happen tomorrow or next year, but there are a whole hell of a lot of disenfranchised youths out there who are aching for some truth. One of the ways they are finding their truth is with old music equipment, old artistic technologies, and crappy, less than precise photographic equipment.
Have you ever heard of Dean Cameron?
I know, neither had I. Then someone pointed me to a site he runs; spamscamscam.com. When I hit the site I was kind of shocked, since the design and layout is lifted – exactly – from a version of datapimp site that was up for about five years.
The internet never forgets! I can tell you that much for sure.
Well, you know, parts of the internet.
In the early days of the WWW, all the print articles panted and drooled over the possibilities that such a permanent, freely available archive would offer. No longer would we be bound to those nasty old books and periodicals. Every grain of human knowledge would be a few clicks away (if not via WWW, then grab all the world’s files with gopher!).
I stuck the knife deep into the heart of datapimp.com on Sunday, and killed off my little 8 year old project. 8 years and three months to be exact, but who’s counting. That’s a long time to run an unsuccessful web business. I think we may have set some kind of record.
By unsuccessful I don’t mean it lost money – we usually made money. Just enough to pay for the infrastructure, such as it was. No one who ever worked on it took away a penny.
I saw a really interesting documentary called, Danielson: A Family Movie, and it got me thinking about a lot of things.
Mainly about why so many “Christian” performers feel compelled to sing about the blood of Jesus in every song. As if a song that fails to mention Jesus a dozen times is some kind of one-way ticket to HELL.
Long time no see, bitches! I have been caught up in a never ending nightmare of moving. First the company I work for relocated, Part of my job was to plan the move, top to bottom, so if you can imagine what it’s like when you move to a new house or apartment, it was kind of like that, if there were 25 people in your family, and you were building the place you were moving into.
As the dust was settling on the work move, Carol and I left our beloved seaside shack in San Pedro and moved to Alhambra. When you say Alhambra to most people in Los Angeles, they look at you sort of blankly and say, “oh, is that near San Diego?” The same thing they say when you tell them that you live in San Pedro. Even though San Pedro is part of the city of Los Angeles.
Hey, where you been?
Me, I’ve been working on an office move for the company I work for. It’s been kind of a massive project and it’s not finished yet, even though we actually moved all our shit over almost two weeks ago. Still a lot of loose ends to tie up, and it’s been taking every second of every day to deal with it.
Carol made a detailed post about a Miranda July reading we saw last night, but I thought I would add my two cents, because that’s just what I do.
If you’ve ever seen a reading you know that they can easily put you to sleep or make your mind wander to how you need to sweep out under the bed or check the oil on the car. It usually not the reader’s fault. Listening to someone read is just inherently dull.
Every day I am charmed and enchanted by the thousands of names I see spray painted on every blank space along the Los Angeles freeways, but recently one in particular has caught my eye. Heading north on the 110 freeway you can see it on the 405 overpass: KUNTNESTFLAKE. I’m not sure what a Kuntnestflake is – I assume it’s three names written as one.
I wrote this last summer for the Charles Bukowski Gesellschaft Jahrbuch, which is the German Bukowski Society yearbook. It is presented here in lieu of actual entertainment. Thank you.
Actually I have something to complain about, but it’s just a television show, so you aren’t missing anything. I will type it up when I come out of this coma. Okay, sorry to interrupt. On with the show.
Cat Stevens, aka Yusuf Islam, is on NRP tonight singing old and new songs and I am a little shocked by the whole thing. I had no idea he was recording new music.
Last I heard he had denounced his own work as trivial and not in keeping with what Mohammed wanted him to do. He asked the record company that sold his music to stop, which they didn’t, of course, being very non-Mohammedian capitalists.