Tuesday, November 1, 2011

All is Not Lost

all is not lost

Time yields another dead genius, innovator, revolutionary thinker. Another white wizard fallen into shadow. I mourn our loss.

His gift was one of excitement in the world and the conscious construction of our collective future fantasy, which has its roots in Hope. When we push and pull our world into separate corners and create boundaries to help us identify our separateness, we need inspiration to keep us motivated. Clear signs of evolution are welcomed enthusiastically, our excitement over possibilities uniting us in brief epiphany. Each time a boundary is broken, we remember that there is a world outside of the limits that we've made for ourselves. We are still prospectors and settlers, having moved our explorations multi-dimensionally. Having spent the past thousand years dissecting, mapping, and personalizing our terrestrial environment, we now reach farther into space, inner and outer, digging deep inside of and out around the spacial bodies that build the fabric of the universe.

Each expedition is driven by the passion of individuals. Our leaders offer themselves to us and we choose whether or not to follow them. We commend them while their work suits us and then vilify them when we've had enough. The only true face save is death. Perhaps it's the weight of all those heavy stares anticipating receipt of greatness that eventually crushes those that volunteer to bear it. Perhaps it's a consequence of the responsibility of being made a mogul. We choose our exceptional citizens as contemporary human sacrifices, an offering to collective conscious human evolution. Theirs is a life's work spent moving elephants up mountains.

And then I hear Khaddaffy is dead. Some drone or navy seal strike or secret ninja assassin squad got him. His ruin is smote, and the world rejoices with fireworks and balloons. They get drunk and scream, working themselves up with the adrenaline rush of patriotism, in barbaric bloodthirsty chest-thumping. Our instinct toward tribalism diverts our attention from the very deep and real threat of our entire system crumbling beneath us. Perhaps we just need to be having more dinner parties. We all need to remember the ancient ritual of group feasting and dissolve this hysteria.

Each day that passes only affirms my drive to inspire, for inspiration is what will keep us lovingly moving toward our purpose. With the classes Occupying their financial institutions, our government assassin squad choosing new targets each time one is put down, and our increasing paranoia and fear of each-other, we need color, light and love. We need to wine and dine, dance and be merry. We need to make really funny jokes and build our life’s work.

We must keep it light. Stay light and stay flexible under this increasingly momentous gravity. You are a light ninja with a heart and a brain, and there’s nothing you can’t do.

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Doll clothes for the Apocalypse





Sometimes in the constant race for rent, I must scour craigslist for any paid gig that I feel I can do. These little gigs pay anywhere from 40$-250$, depending on the job. I tend to hit up the creative section, cuz if I can just be crafty and work at home and do my thing, then pass the thing on and get some moneys--that's ideal. I lucked out with this one, as a guy named "Breakfast" liked my fashion design set on flickr and hired me to make a couple outfits for his doll for burning man. This is something I never would have done/thought to do if I were a 9-5er. So for that, I am grateful.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

High School

Two videos that I did in college. The first is a 3-channel video art piece referencing 80s teen films and 80s video art. Please excuse the terrible video quality, if you can.

High School, U.S.A.



A short mockumentary-style trailer

Iron Duderanch

Do the Math

I owe $45,000.00 to Salliemae servicing and ACS Educational Services for a degree in the Fine Arts (a degree that has 0% guarantee of financial return). I owe $190.00 to GE Money on a credit card that has already doubled in interest and I recently had those glasses knocked off my face and swiped at a 2 Live Crew show. I am owed some favors, tho I am too insecure to call on them. I owe it to myself not to let this shit give me an ulcer. No more than morning coffee on an empty stomach, anyway. My cupboards are empty but for popcorn and nori, because I can't legitimize spending money that I can't afford on food that is too expensive. Especially when I can't see.
The federal government owes trillions. (http://www.usdebtclock.org/). To who or what is unsure. China? The lizard people? the Federal Reserve? Same difference anyway, I suppose. The more I watch politics and listen to the news, everything seems to resemble more and more the set-up of a film based on a post-apocalyptic graphic novel series that is loosely based on Aldus Huxley's Brave New World, with a contemporary twist.


Do the math

Friday, July 8, 2011

Kickstarter for a short film

My friend Paul is a hilarious genius who makes short films and music videos. He recently put up a kickstarter to help make a more ambitious short in the near future. I, for one, would like to see what he comes up with. So i'm posting about it. Here is the most recent short he put together while in France for the Cannes Film Festival

Bela: L'Homme Chat from Paul Trillo on Vimeo.


you love it? yes, i thought so. He has a bunch of other stuff up as well at http://www.thenoproblem.com
here's the link to his vimeo, to see what he do: http://vimeo.com/user3608947

okay, now that you've got an idea of his work, here's a link to his kickstarter. any little bit helps, and it closes in August (so help now!!) http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/ptrillo/happy-birthday-mr-bracewell

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Compulsive, chaotic collaging

I can't stop! Help! My brain is being taken over by tiny little pieces of colored paper and the tiny bits that must be cut out of them.

Compulsive collage

letter to the universe

signature

While I am alive, I can sign my name. No one else will ever sign my name. No one will ever have my name. It is perfect. I am perfect. Even my imperfections are perfect. I have love pumping through me for as long as I live. And my story will live after I die, even if just for a time. I will document my story from here to there, through words and images, art and compositions, fashion and fun. This life is a dream that walks a thin line from one time to another. Through rapids and bottlenecks, through dimples, dread, and desire. Down scary chutes and firm ascents, and up rickety ladders. It gets slow then fast then slow again. This is how we survive, and this is why. Our hearts are in it and they swell. Fear not, for it is the fear that leads us to what we are afraid of. Fear is a choice that leads back to itself. It iterates like fractals. It's time to leave fear and make the choice toward love, for Everything is Everything. The universe is gorgeous and perfect and wild. Tiny dots and bigger dots and massive dots. Dots that swirl around other dots, making giant blobs. The dream of the universe is what I know, for it's what I am. I wish to grow my own dreams into gardens of wishes and magic. The kind of magic that we can touch and hold and do. Real magic. Ancient magic (which is love and love, alone). I love what I do, I love my friends, I love my family. I only ask for the courage to stay calm, and breathe, and trust that I am a part of everything, and everything is a part of me.

Seattle


Seattle Space Needle, originally uploaded by DiGitALGoLD.

I wrote this little goodbye poem to Seattle during my visit in February

Sipping solemn, Seattle
Your frayed edges
Sopping up puddles
While you shuffle for burgers
and beers

I saw you marching,
Waving your flags
So fast I couldn't grab
your message
I know you meant it
(whatever it was)

You haven't changed (your hair)
Though the lines on your face,
The creases and highways
From scowls and smiles
Are deep from pacing back and forth
Like Friday night on Broadway

Fame will never have you
But you don't mind
You've got the love you want

It's stretching out, waiting
At the bottom of your glass

Goodbye, old love
(grow old with grace)

Thursday, June 9, 2011

blog

I realize that i'm somewhat retarded when it comes to blogging. Maybe because I think there's rules I have to follow, but I don't know what those rules are. Maybe it's because I have all my interests compartmentalized. So I have this venue for this, and that venue for that. I haven't quite figured out how to tie the room together. What is the center circle for my spider graph? What is my umbrella? The house that all my ideas sit in? There has got to be some through-line here, and since i'm near-sighted, by the time i back up far enough to see the whole picture, it's too blurry for me to make anything out.

If only I had a mentor. Or some parental guidance. Then I could make sense of this world.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

the new future

I had weird spaceship dreams the past couple nights. The other night it was aboard the Starship Enterprise and Jean Luc Picard was leading a meeting about how the crew's street clothes were too 'nineties'. It was all because Deanna Troy was wearing some belly-baring top with a denim bolero and high-waisted jeans (with her big hair). It was hideous, I have to admit. He said we needed to really go 'futuristic' with our daily fashions, even when off the clock. I agreed.

every decade has their own version of how they want the future to look. What is the contemporary 'futuristic'? It seems like today, people are more concerned with re-discovering fashions from the past. They are less occupied with the futures of the sixties and eighties (spaceships androids, and flying cars) and are now romanticizing the gold rush, prospecters, and "cowboys'n'indians". We're looking back to times before plastic, computer chips, and overpopulation. Before bedbug protection ads on mass transit. Back when people still got lost in the woods and never found their way out. When someone could be raised by wolves. When you could find a plot of land, dig in the earth, and build a house. Anywhere. Because it didn't belong to anyone. It was wide open earth without claims. And all people owned were their stock and the shirts on their backs. And maybe a peppermint stick or two.

But today there's just too much stuff. Too many people. It seemed impossible 50 years ago that it would even be possible to have any effect on this planet. The solution to pollution was dilution. But even the smartest minds of any generation are working with the accepted truths of the the generations prior. It stays that way until someone makes a mistake and accidentally proves one of those truths false. And then the new truth takes its place, for the time being. Our minds are too short to see the whole picture. We have no real concept of time. Our lives are stop-motion and all our years of living only form a few moments of memories. It's just too easy to forget. We're being flooded in tiny houses with hundreds others, and the door is blocked with all the stuff we've been meaning to get rid of.

I think it's very telling that the boys are wearing their waistcoats and bowler hats, while the women are dressing straight out of grandma's closet. That people are growing gardens on their city rooftops and going back to more archaic, simple arts and crafts. Rich people are moving to the forests and buying land to build their homestead and simple life, and the creative are moving to cities and making their own clothes, brewing their own beer, growing their own food, and building houses with garbage. People are sick of being told what to do, and so their finding their own ways. The more our society establishes rules that speak only to the masses, creates litigation and eliminates extenuating circumstance, the people feel as though this society isn't for them. We don't fit into any of the demographics. We're not being sold to. So we have to create our own bowers and do things the way we'd like them to be done. There are so many of us. We are everywhere.