Illiterary

I went to a bar last night in Hollywood that is named Hemingway's. There are books on shelves that are stitched together so they cannot be removed or read. There are beautiful old type writers scattered around its assorted rooms with no paper available and most likely the typewriters aren't in functional condition anyhow. They also play really banal, vacuous pop music. If Ernest Hemingway were alive to see this place he would urinate all over the bar and the pretty apothecaryesque white tile floors. Or he would burn it to the foundation. Or both... not necessarily in that order.

However, I did have a gentlemen to my left lean over to me at one point in the evening and ask me if I thought any of the people there knew how to read.

I think Hemingway would have liked him.

Cheers.

Woman Cuts Off Husbands Penis, Again... DMV Employee Nice to Me for the First Time

Apparently on Monday night in Garden Grove, CA a woman drugged her husband's dinner, tied him to a bed, and proceeded to lop off his johnson with a 10-inch kitchen knife. Oh yeah... and then she threw it in the garbage disposal.

She also waited for him to wake-up before she started in on it. Cooooooollllld-bloooooooded.

It seems like she was pretty calm and collected through the whole ordeal though as she promptly called 911 after the incident, reported her crimes, and proceeded to tell the dispatcher that her husband "deserved it".

I applaud her honesty however it seems like she may have used some of this straight-forward, no BS attitude to resolve her rocky relationship with her husband instead of maiming his private region. Or maybe the guy was just a prick. A prick that needed to be offed.

http://www.nbclosangeles.com/news/local/Woman-Accused-of-Cutting-Off-Husbands-Penis-125423033.html

In entirely unrelated news... I was literally amazed today when I spoke with a real, live, actually decent human being currently employed at the DMV. Shocking, I know.

The supervisor Rosie not only commiserated with me over the retardedness of my current licencing issues, she complemented my glittery pink fingernails, called me sweetie several times, had amazing eye-contact, and made several disparaging comments about cops and state budgetary issues resulting in sanctioned extortion tactics.

Rosie, you win at life. Thanks for flipping the scrip'. Keep it real.

Dream Journal: Entry Two

A creature gestated inside me. I sensed its malign presence, growing inside. I was pregnant - or impregnated perhaps more accurately - with a demonic entity. But maternal feelings can be strong apparently, regardless of circumstance, and I found myself more fascinated then repelled by the swelling intruder.

I was in my backyard, which was not my backyard, but rather elements of backyards I've set foot in before, hurled together into this backyard amalgamation. And also not really my backyard, but just inside the door to a garage, that led out to the backyard. It was night time. It was also, as I felt a strengthening connection to the thing that lived inside me, birth time.

I did not have a swollen belly nor any physical sign that belied the readiness of the demon inside me to emerge from it's makeshift womb. It was just something I knew.

Much to my surprise and relief, the creature emerged rather painlessly from somewhere in my body I'm not sure of exactly and I found it wriggling inside my cupped hands. Bloody and grub-like, it slightly resembled a freshly born infant marsupial. Fleshy and underdeveloped. Upon closer inspection, it looked more like two severed human fingers which had been fused together at the wound. Literally.

I carefully placed my demon child into a plastic cup and walked through the backyard. I entered the house.

Inside I spoke with my friend, a lighter-skinned black friend I have never actually met, about the perils of raising a demonic baby. Apparently the whole world, or at least a very large portion of it, including many much-lauded scientific communities, had heard of my situation and were anxious to see the newborn creature exterminated. I had absolutely no interest in seeing this happen, as I said before, I found the situation to be rather fascinating and had a growing attachment to my progeny. As short time progressed, the creature grew at a startling rate, contorting and expanding like a tumor. It was no longer just fingers but rapidly developing other body parts as well. I didn't have to feed it or change any diapers and so I didn't really see the problem.

Later on that night, I had to forget about my demon baby for a moment, as I now had another much larger problem to deal with. I forgot I left the hose on in the backyard!

I sprint out into the backyard but it is too late. The backyard is flooded. Totally flooded. It is now a forested lake instead of a backyard. The basement is also completely flooded but that doesn't seem to bother me.

Apparently word has gotten out about the aquatic wilderness that is now my backyard as a massive crocodile has taken up residence there. Either that or crocodiles have some instinctual water finding ability. A biological water witch or internal dowsing rod. Either way, its here and it is here to stay.

The gigantic monster crocodile explodes from the water, lunging after me from a dark watery ambush position, but I just go back into my house. I casually try to lure it out and navigate my backyard without it eating me. Nothing is really working. In the meantime it eats a few of my neighbors and several of my friends. It was starting to be a little frustrating but I didn't really let it bother me too much.

Key Art: Entry Three

A friend of mine just sent me this in an email and I immediately went here to post it because I think its just phenomenal. Phe-f*cking-nominal.

l était une fois le diable (Devil's Story)

Key Art: Entry Two

Wild Beasts (Belve Feroci) 1984

Motherf*cking Wild Beasts. Zoo animals get hopped up on PCP because of the requisite contamination of the city's water supply. Party animal mayhem ensues. Humans die.

Does anyone else wish this would happen for realzies? I kind of hate zoos. Where does a fellow get a metric ton of PCP these days?

I also really love it when the art selections from every country are across the boards badass.

French

Italian

Lobby Card (wild!)

Swedish

Key Art: Entry One

So... apparently the cadre of Hollywood financier types got together recently and figured out that movies suck. Great job guys. I'm glad you had to have a summit to come to this conclusion. I would have just popped Superbabies: Baby Geniuses 2 into the the DVD player and called it a day.

And so these folks came to the conclusion that people aren't going to see movies because the quality of these films is so abysmal. True.

But know what else sucks a big fat one which could also contribute to the lack of asses in theater seats, Hollywood? Your publicity materials.

Your key art is laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaame.

So every once and a while, in the hopes of bringing this fact to Hollywood's attention, I'll be posting some key art which I personally think does NOT snorkel dorks.

So happy effing Friday and enjoy the first submissions. I'm gonna go barf up some residual alcohol.

House of Dark Shadows (1970)

You just gotta love that tag line.

Body Parts (1991)

Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives (2010)

Dream Journal: Entry One

I am inside a crumbling Victorian mansion. Two stories. I have been here before.

I am with my friend. This friend I have never seen him before in my waking life. He is stocky with glasses and slightly curly hair. He could be Jonah Hill but he isn't.

We are upstairs and I am filled with dread. An aristocratic vampire of great power resides in this crumbling mansion and he springs on us from the gloom. He seizes my Jonah Hill-type friend and bites into his neck. There is nothing I can do to aid him so I bolt to escape through one of the windows, fearing for my own life.

I fall out of the second story and land in a heap on the overgrown lawn. Afternoon and the sun still hangs in the sky. I look up to the window where I have fallen from and make eye-contact with the ghoul inside. I don't hear his words but his message is communicated to me. When the sun goes down, he is coming after me.

I am in my car, the make and model unknown. I am in an industrial area of what could be Long Beach and it is still the same afternoon. I find a bundle of small stakes for fencing purposes and feeling lucky to have stumbled upon them, pick them up and toss them into the back seat of the car.

Arriving at my mother's home, I enter through the front door and finding her, I frantically recount the tale of my encounter with the vampire. I end with a request for her to gather up all the crucifixes she has in her house and bring them to me. She does not believe the story but sensing my distress, humors me by supplying the crucifixes. At this time, my brother enters through the door and greets us. While my mother fills him in on my outlandish story, I run outside to fetch the stakes from the car.

When I re-enter my mother’s home, just inside the front door, I find the vampire and my friend in wait.

The vampire has transformed my friend into one of his kind.

Crossing my stakes, forming an “t”, I force them both into a corner near the door. Taking what chance I have, I leap forward and drive one of the stakes into my friend’s chest, piercing his heart and killing him. Blood gushes from the wound and he collapses.

I retreat to find my mother and brother, who now facing the vampire in the flesh, believe my tale whole-heartedly.

I take a cross from my mother’s hand, a small wooden keepsake of her father, a minister, the face of Jesus Christ sculpted at the center of the cross. Using the relic, I attempt to force the ghoul into a corner where I will attempt to slay him. His face sinks in color, becoming a cold, corpulant, green and his eyes turn into dark crimson. My zeal and strength are not enough to subdue him though and the vampire is able to overcome the force of the cross in my hand.

Power returns to him and he prepares to attack us

________________________________________________________________________________________________

Later that same night...

I am in a residential neighborhood, streets lined with leafy trees. It's kind of like Marty McFly's neighborhood in Back to the Future.

I have found a strange object.

Equatable in shape and size to a hockey puck, holding it in my hand, I can sense it's power. Limitless. There are six glowing shapes, uniform, surrounding a circle at its center. I postulate it's origins, leaning towards outer space but entertaining thoughts of government weapons programs.

A siren's song from the device perks my interest. It's calling to me. Putting thoughts in my head.

Can I communicate with this thing? Something inside tells me I can manipulate it, teach it to do whatever I have dreamed of. The first thing I imagine is a laser beam.

The device shifts and the circle at its center grows brighter and bluer, more prominent. I hold the puck out, pointing the circle to the sky, and imagine firing a laser beam. And then a blue laser beam fires from the center of the puck, tearing through the sky. Holding one of my fingers over the center circle, I inadvertently slice off the tip of my ring finger in the process. There is little pain as the wound is instantly cauterized.

I make mental note to keep my hands away from the center when firing lasers from the device.

I know also, that this laser has caught the attention of others out there, who are searching for the device.

I retreat to my friends house, who lives in the nearby. They aren't home but I let myself in and move to their kitchen.

In the kitchen, I utilize the power of the device, manipulating its energies to make myself fly. I hold onto the thoughts of flight and within moments, I am drifting awkwardly off the ground. As if gravity is easy up around me, I spin and wriggle, bumbling through the air, floating towards the ceiling. I am gaining control, but still far from perfecting it, I bump against the ceiling, continuing to float about the kitchen awkwardly. After a time, I am able to control it enough that I ease myself to the ground.

Looking out a window in the kitchen, I see the sky is filled with helicopters, buzzing rooftops in search of me and the device. I just know this.

My friend has arrived home now and with their help, I go into their garage to design and fashion a make-shift suit of armor for my protection. I'm not sure how or where we gather the items, but we craft a suit of incredibly heavy metal. I cannot even move, the suit is so heavy. The device aids us in manipulating its construction. I feel like a human tractor.

The only non-metal aspect of the suit is my head piece, guarded in a white football helmet.

The device and I are becoming further entwined in thought. It knows my intention and gives me the strength to move in the suit. Flight has become much easier now and I glide out, settling on my friend's roof.

A few of the helicopters have spotted me however and I must take evasive flight. With great speed, I rocket through the sky and land on a random house in the same neighborhood. Entering an upstairs sun-room, I find the house to be swarming with SWAT and I must do battle with them in the sun-room. I feel like Robocop, swinging my massive metal-clad limbs, and knocking out cops left and right.

Municipal Art Projects: Bike racks, terrible.

City sponsored art projects are not chill.

While on occasion they may result in an allocation of municipal funds to a much-deserving artist in need of funding and exposure or cull the efforts of some elusive master, bolstering them to enhance the aesthetics of a particular location by fashioning a wondrous and inspiring piece, altering and developing the iconography of the city landscape - they more often than not look like cheap crap.

Something I'd be angry to see in my neighbors yard. Marring the faces of cities across the globe, scarring them with insipid creations of all shapes and sizes. Stupid, stupid stuff.

Perhaps it has something to do with the amount of retardation involved in the allocation of government funds or perhaps it has something to do with a particular project requiring approval from a "board" or "committee". I think about a room full of city employees deciding "democratically" which piece of art will do the most for their city and I get chills. Terrifying.

The results are equally scary.

The monstrosity of choice lately seems to be the bike rack. Propaganda tool of municipalities jumping on the "eco-friendly" wagon, trying to represent their cities as "bike-friendly" by turning bicycle racks into community eye-sores.

I do not want to see people doing shit like this.

I do not want to get close to these things, whatever the hell they are, let alone hitch my bike up to their spindly legs. I feel like my eyes might get gouged out just looking at them.

I don't want to lock my bicycle onto a small dude riding a bicycle. It's awkward for a variety of reasons.

I don't want to lock it to some stupid-looking dog that's fake peeing on my stuff either.

And it's not like the aren't artists out there who could craft a bike-hitching post which is both thoughtfully utilitarian and aesthetically captivating.

So if it isn't some monolithic creation of timeless beauty...

An intriguing work by David Byrne which is both alluring and unsettling...

Or a motherfucking purple and blue Triceratops...

Fuck off with your bike racks already.

They're ugly and they're hard to lock your bike up to, especially if you've been drinking.

Listen up cities! Quit being such cheap-skates with your art funding and if you are going to plaster the city in colorful bike racks then cough up some dough for something unique and well thought-out that doesn't make my eyes want to vomit.

Peace.

Black dudes dressed like The Statue of Liberty

For the inaugural post here, I'd like to address an interesting phenomenon which has come to the forefront of my thoughts, particularly as of recent when I've been driving through the streets of Long Beach and the greater Los Angeles area this time of year. Not spring time, not daylight savings time (the retardness of which we will perhaps get to at some point down the line), but our favorite time of the year, tax time!

And the tax-time phenomenon of which I write, is the prevalence of the promotional employees for tax firms and accountants.

The men and women flipping signs, donning costumes, and busting a move with the promise of relief, just down the block, from the daunting task of giving up possibly hard earned dollars to a government you may or may not approve of.

But there is a specific sub-section in this profession which draws my curiosity, on which I would like to focus, and it would be those employees who dress up as assorted Statues of Liberty. And the fact that an incredibly high percentage of these vestiges of Lady Liberty are, as Peter Griffin would say, black guys.

Black dudes dressed as Statues of Liberty promoting tax breaks. Break-dancing, if you will.

Some fellow posted a photo series on flickr entitled... Tax Dance POSTCARDS in motion. Hopefully he's cool with me providing a link here cause it works really well as a paradigm for what I'm discussing. http://www.flickr.com/photos/patjarrett/4401463266/in/photostream/

If it's not chill with him, and the same goes for any material on here that I don't possess the rights to, I'll definitely think about taking it down. Just message me or whatever.

Here is a sweet video just brimming with some choice statue-esque dance moves. I like this guy's attitude and I really like that muppet looking costume in the beginning! BOSS!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hvE0yKElpsA

The guy filming the video however... just listen to his "awesome" opinion of displaying the confederate flag and his not-patronizing-whatsoever attitude towards his video subject. Righteous, dude. Righteous.

Someone else made a blog post on these folks already... http://blog.christhedunn.com/2011/01/20/its-tax-season-again/

...but apparently failed to notice or comment on the black dude as lady liberty trend.

It's a trend that I've noticed develop over the past five years or so but it very well could have been developing a lot longer without my notice. In general, I feel the whole employee on the busy street corner dancing and flipping sign occurrence is something that has grown exceedingly more common in the past decade, would you not agree?

My initial intent of creating this post was to ask readers (if anyone actually reads this and gets this far, you probably deserve a medal or at least a drink of something) if they have also noticed something similar around tax time in their home towns.

I kind of figured that this was a regionally specific occurrence, not to just Los Angeles per say, but to urban centers as a whole. In urban centers (i.e. New York, Chicago, Detroit, Los Angeles, etc.) where you have higher black populations compared to say Hershey, Pennsylvania (no chocolate pun intended) I assume you will see a certain niche of low wage, minimal experience jobs staffed predominately by said black population. It should go without saying this model excludes landscaping jobs and jobs in most kitchens.

Now understand this is not me being racist, this is our government and our society being racist.

It's a vicious circle of financial status determining education determining financial status paired with all sorts of other nasty variables like increased police presence/arrest-conviction rates/chance of imprisonment for populations in lower income neighborhoods, increased drug presence in said neighborhoods (quite possibly with government complicity if not outright direction), quality of public education, and also just plain discrimination/indoctrinated hatred. And that is just scratching the surface of this Benny Bendover of a situation.

If you think this is untrue, you probably need to remove your head from your ass. You probably don't believe in dinosaurs either.

But... beyond the economics and social programming, there seems to be a distinct pattern which has arisen, where most of these Statue of Liberty gigs are assumed by black men. Doing a general image search using the terms "statue of liberty tax", omitting "black" as a search term entirely, will yield a result pool which speaks to my point.

Of course, with any topic of this nature, it will never be entirely black and white. See the photo below for reference.

And so finally we get to my closing thoughts, which I assume will cause the greatest division on this particular matter. Thinking about how many black dude Ladies of Liberty are out there, dancing and listening to whatever is on the other end of their headphones (I hope for my own sake that it is, at least occasionally, AmeriKKKa's Most Wanted by Ice Cube), donning some sweet shades, just makes me laugh a little bit. Not in a condescending way but in a like this is really really bizarre kind of way.

This is only compounded by the fact I have never in my life seen a black man or woman dressed as a statue of liberty for Halloween, "sexy" or otherwise.

A symbol of freedom and liberty (whether you believe its an empty symbol or not) fashioned into a costume worn by a group of people who have, to a large extent, had many of their rights and freedoms compromised by that government/society, with the direct purpose of promoting help with said government's tax collection agency.

The weird levels of irony make me laugh. That shit is hilarious.

There are also a fair amount of black Uncle Sams who operate in the same line of work but for the sake of any kind of brevity, you can come to your own conclusions there.

So this is what I think about black dudes dressed as the Statue of Liberty and if you don't care for my opinion... well f*ck you. Lighten up already. This guy knows what's up.