Sunday, 31 January 2010
Saturday, 30 January 2010
Friday, 29 January 2010
RE: MENS HEALTH
Oh man i though fairly hard on this one and i think i have found a winner, in this crazy little ginger. The above video is of him washing his hair however, please all interested make way to his channel - Creepy Hair Guy Channel
some very healthy stuff
Thursday, 28 January 2010
Monday, 25 January 2010
RE: MEN'S HEALTH
'"What about spacial relationships?"
True, the perspective looked rather odd, and the walls of the room no longer seemed to meet in right angles.
But these were not the really important facts. The really important facts were that spacial relationships ceased to matter, and that my mind was perceiving the world in terms of other than spacial categories.
At ordinary times the mind concerns itself with such problems as: " Where? - How far? - Situated in relation to what?"
In the mescalin experience the implied questions to which the eye responds are of another order.'
Aldous Huxley - The doors of perception.
True, the perspective looked rather odd, and the walls of the room no longer seemed to meet in right angles.
But these were not the really important facts. The really important facts were that spacial relationships ceased to matter, and that my mind was perceiving the world in terms of other than spacial categories.
At ordinary times the mind concerns itself with such problems as: " Where? - How far? - Situated in relation to what?"
In the mescalin experience the implied questions to which the eye responds are of another order.'
Aldous Huxley - The doors of perception.
MEN'S HEALTH
The headache had driven him in off the street and into the Kings road branch of Smith & Green Apothecaries. Harry stumbled into the shop, blinking back the white dots which danced in front of his eyes and pulled himself upright. Rows of anaesthetically white aisles stretched before him, heaving under the accumulated mass of the remedies they carried. Harry grabbed a passing shop attendant and asked the direction of the aspirin.
“Sorry Sir,” smiled the attendant. “We don’t carry aspirin, we only sell homeopathic products our painkillers are over there,” the assistant replied waving towards a distant corner of the store. Harry began to walk towards the indicated aisles, browsing the products as he went. The shop seemed too big perhaps as he gazed down the long lanes of faux-marble linoleum. Four thousand years of civilization and this is what it had come to. This final transgression. The subtle induction of what little had remained natural into any easily consumable pill. No longer would there be a need for those camping weekends, the national trust or Ray Mears. Now nature was available on the high street and at a very modest price; Primrose oil, Rosehip, Aloe Vera, Milk Thistle, Cod Liver Oil, Zinc, Quercetin, Devils Claw, Ginseng, Tea Tree Oil. It was all here, all dehydrated and hermetically sealed, all it had needed was a couple of celebrity endorsements and the booming, Blair economy and the desperate middle classes had flocked to it, to this new possible cure for migraines and the institutionalised guilt rooted in generations of industrialisation, consumerism and three thousand years of unnatural evolution. Maybe the Echynachia would cleanse them if not then maybe the St Johns Wort, who cares when you can have it all, crushed down then boxed up for thirty quid a pop.
Harry was surprised to see the painkillers advertised towards the back of the shop. He’d have thought ‘painkiller’ a slightly brash term for this enterprise and had supposed on a more liberal label. ‘Negative Sensation Suppressant’ perhaps, but there they were lined up in their white, vacuum packed capsules. He picked up the one with the most clinical sounding title and hurried towards the register. He looked down at the pack it read ‘Guarana tablets 100mg’. Harry doubted their effectiveness, but it was the best thing available. The place had worsened his headache and he was becoming desperate to escape, the whole thing was just so terribly… metric. What was most unsettling about the store was the lack of smell. All those plants and herbs in one room and all you could smell was the plastic, mixed with a faint musk, Chanel number five maybe. The clerk ran Harry’s little box under the register then looked up, smiling, at harry.
“Were having a deal on Ginseng today, half price…” He had a waxy sheen and a hint, just a hint, of a Californian accent.
Sunday, 24 January 2010
RE: RHYTHM
I know I have posted one Donaghy poem on here already, but I couldn't not put this up for the theme. Just look at the rhythm and metre that construct the poem's on-going image of 'machinery'.
Machines
Dearest, note how these two are alike:
This harpsichord pavane by Purcell
And the racer's twelve speed bike.
The machinery of grace is always so simple.
This chrome trapezoid, one wheel connected
To another of concentric gears,
Which Ptolemy dreamt of and Schwinn perfected,
Is gone. The cyclist, not the cycle steers.
And in playing, Purcell's chords are played away.
So this talk, or touch if I were there,
Should work its effortless gadgetry of love,
Like Dante's heaven, and melt into the air.
If it doesn't, of course, I've fallen. So much is chance,
so much agility, desire, and feverish care,
As bicyclists and harpsichordists prove
Who only by moving can balance,
Only by balancing move.
Michael Donaghy
Machines
Dearest, note how these two are alike:
This harpsichord pavane by Purcell
And the racer's twelve speed bike.
The machinery of grace is always so simple.
This chrome trapezoid, one wheel connected
To another of concentric gears,
Which Ptolemy dreamt of and Schwinn perfected,
Is gone. The cyclist, not the cycle steers.
And in playing, Purcell's chords are played away.
So this talk, or touch if I were there,
Should work its effortless gadgetry of love,
Like Dante's heaven, and melt into the air.
If it doesn't, of course, I've fallen. So much is chance,
so much agility, desire, and feverish care,
As bicyclists and harpsichordists prove
Who only by moving can balance,
Only by balancing move.
Michael Donaghy
Saturday, 23 January 2010
Friday, 22 January 2010
Tuesday, 19 January 2010
RE: RHYTHM
- i believe this is a poem by yeats or possibly keats
Rhythm is a dance
it's a source companion
you can feel it ev'rywhere
oh
But lift your handsome voices
free your mind and join us.
You can feel it in the air.
Oh
it's a passion.
Oh
you can feel it in the air.
Oh
it's a passion
oh ...
Rhythm is a dance
it's a source companion
you can feel it ev'rywhere
oh
But lift your handsome voices
free your mind and join us.
You can feel it in the air.
Oh
it's a passion.
Oh
you can feel it in the air.
Oh
it's a passion
oh ...
Rhythm
you can feel it
you can feel it
rhythm
Rhythm is a dancer
rhythm you can feel it
you can feel it.
Rhythm
rhythm is a dancer.
Solo
Let the rhythm go ride
you got it?
You sneak inside
you search your mind to
move to ease pulsation
raise vibration
sensation.
War!
is not inflation
mind and body
you must be free to.
Please
take iton with nothing to lose
ev'rything to win!
Money controls you
holds you
rolls you
you're not too old to new
taste it
free yer soul
let rhythm embrace ya
gotta be what you wanna
if the gook don't get ya
the rifle's gonna.
I'm serious as cancer
when I say
rhythm is a dancer!
Rhythm is a dancer
it's a source companion
you can feel it ev'rywhere
oh.
But lift your handsome voices
free your mind and join us.
You can feel it in the air.
Oh
it's a passion.
Oh
you can feel it in the air
Rhythm is a dance
it's a source companion
you can feel it ev'rywhere
oh
But lift your handsome voices
free your mind and join us.
You can feel it in the air.
Oh
it's a passion.
Oh
you can feel it in the air.
Oh
it's a passion
oh ...
Rhythm is a dance
it's a source companion
you can feel it ev'rywhere
oh
But lift your handsome voices
free your mind and join us.
You can feel it in the air.
Oh
it's a passion.
Oh
you can feel it in the air.
Oh
it's a passion
oh ...
Rhythm
you can feel it
you can feel it
rhythm
Rhythm is a dancer
rhythm you can feel it
you can feel it.
Rhythm
rhythm is a dancer.
Solo
Let the rhythm go ride
you got it?
You sneak inside
you search your mind to
move to ease pulsation
raise vibration
sensation.
War!
is not inflation
mind and body
you must be free to.
Please
take iton with nothing to lose
ev'rything to win!
Money controls you
holds you
rolls you
you're not too old to new
taste it
free yer soul
let rhythm embrace ya
gotta be what you wanna
if the gook don't get ya
the rifle's gonna.
I'm serious as cancer
when I say
rhythm is a dancer!
Rhythm is a dancer
it's a source companion
you can feel it ev'rywhere
oh.
But lift your handsome voices
free your mind and join us.
You can feel it in the air.
Oh
it's a passion.
Oh
you can feel it in the air
RE: RHYTHM
The ratatatat
And the heard fattened crack
Of shots bounce back off white, concrete walls
Small boys flap without flair
Like a ceased Fred Astaire
'Tip Tap' against dulled varnished floors
A bitch with a crick
And a holstered thick stick
Wears leotards and tights past her age
And roars with gruff message
The rhythmical lesson
Like to men on a Sandhurst parade
The young desperados
Still dance with bravado
In the face of the unlearnt regret
Smile dumbly whilst thudding
But dream about gunning
When their rents come, too late, to collect.
Steel shoes worn like horses
Without reasonable cause
Except for to tap, skank and drum
Leave little boys knackered
Ears ring from the racket
But at least, for a week, they are done.
Monday, 18 January 2010
Sunday, 17 January 2010
RHYTHM
This Moving Image Piece represents the continual feedback produced by a streaming video camera filming its own projection. Part of a continuation of experiments drawing attentions to Rhythms in technology and stretching their boundarys into the unknown.
ORB Rhythm and Feedback from hughbarrell on Vimeo.
RE: HORIZON
"Now I can go off and be me - My horizon's wide open now. It's scary and it's daunting, but it's an absolute thrill. I feel brand new!"
Rachel Stevens.
Saturday, 16 January 2010
RE: HORIZON
The word 'Horizon' is derived from the Greek Verb 'HO HORIDZON' which translates as; 'TO LIMIT'.
It can also be found in the dictionary as a word used to describe; "the line that divides all visible directions into two categories: those that intersect the Earth's surface, and those that do not."
This got me thinking about division, and ultimately, equality upon the earth's surface. Which, in many parts of the world, rarely exists.
I am sure that many, if not all of you may have heard about the earthquake in Haiti, a country already known to be 'unlucky' . Even so here are some of the main facts::
Magnitude of the earthquake: 7.0
Estimate death toll by prime minister: 100,000
Number in need of emergency aid: 3 million
All of this added to the fact that out of Haiti's 9 million, more than half are unemployed and 70% live of 1.20 GBP a day.
Haiti Horizons:
It can also be found in the dictionary as a word used to describe; "the line that divides all visible directions into two categories: those that intersect the Earth's surface, and those that do not."
This got me thinking about division, and ultimately, equality upon the earth's surface. Which, in many parts of the world, rarely exists.
I am sure that many, if not all of you may have heard about the earthquake in Haiti, a country already known to be 'unlucky' . Even so here are some of the main facts::
Magnitude of the earthquake: 7.0
Estimate death toll by prime minister: 100,000
Number in need of emergency aid: 3 million
All of this added to the fact that out of Haiti's 9 million, more than half are unemployed and 70% live of 1.20 GBP a day.
Haiti Horizons:
Friday, 15 January 2010
RE: HORIZON
Hiroshi Sugimoto - SeascapesPhotography is like a found object. A photographer never makes an actual subject, they just steal the image from the world.
www.sugimotohiroshi.com
RE: HORIZON
This is actually a record I am putting out, but i think it distills the feeling of being on a precipice just beyond the horizon line.
Thursday, 14 January 2010
Wednesday, 13 January 2010
Tuesday, 12 January 2010
RE: HORIZON
'Most of the big shore places were closed now and there were hardly any lights except the shadowy, moving glow of ferry-boat across the Sound. And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailor's eyes - a fresh, green breast of the new world. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for Gatsby's house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams: for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of his continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity of wonder.
And as I sat brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of Gatsby's wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy's dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, were the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.
Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded then, but that's no matter - tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms further... And one fine morning -
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.'
from The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald
And as I sat brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of Gatsby's wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy's dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, were the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.
Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded then, but that's no matter - tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms further... And one fine morning -
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.'
from The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald
Monday, 11 January 2010
Sunday, 10 January 2010
RE: VANDALISM
A friend of mine wrote this poem after being mugged in New Cross. The poem explores the period of time after the incident, with the sense of prolonged invasion of space.
'long after the incident had finished and I was safe in my house I felt so much more scared than when it was actually going on. Thus I wrote this poem about the claustrophobic feeling of that fear'
This Poem Is Not About Caving
There's no point in opening my eyes.
The water, ankle level down here,
laps into my boots making my feet swell.
The walls inch toward my skin,
stone encasing me entirely.
Breath bounces back
off the walls in front.
The slim space far outweighs
any effect of touching;
pressing with absence.
My eyes might
even be open,
I just can't tell.
Andrew Parkes
'long after the incident had finished and I was safe in my house I felt so much more scared than when it was actually going on. Thus I wrote this poem about the claustrophobic feeling of that fear'
This Poem Is Not About Caving
There's no point in opening my eyes.
The water, ankle level down here,
laps into my boots making my feet swell.
The walls inch toward my skin,
stone encasing me entirely.
Breath bounces back
off the walls in front.
The slim space far outweighs
any effect of touching;
pressing with absence.
My eyes might
even be open,
I just can't tell.
Andrew Parkes
Friday, 8 January 2010
Thursday, 7 January 2010
Monday, 4 January 2010
RE: VANDALISM
It’s quite a new thing. People didn’t use to do it so much. Didn’t decorate the streets that snuggled the places they lived or fill the tract between their skin and muscles with ink. Maybe they didn’t want to. They might have thought they looked nice already. Maybe they waited until that clean and smooth sheen of concrete descended. Waited for the right type of grey before they changed it to something else. Personally I like concrete, especially polished concrete. It’s quite posh that as well. Some people just like to smash things up, Windows or towers or phone boxes. Building a tower could be vandalism as well, if you did it in someone else’s garden. But if they liked it I’m not sure it would be anymore… Maybe it has to be ugly and crass and neon and sharp to be vandalism. I think you may just have to upset people. Then you’re a vandal. Like the band or the trainer. Sometimes I reckon spraying your name on a wall’s just like my cat pissing on my sofa. A pain in the arse, it also ruins those years we spent evolving into not being things like cats anymore… and the sofa. A friend of mine used to smash wing mirrors off cars every time he walked down a street drunk. I couldn’t focus on the immediate pleasure of kicking things because I was preoccupied with insurance premiums and the people that dozed behind drawn curtains, whether they were nice or wankers. Although I may have just thought about these things because I was scared that if I kicked a car I might get punched in my face or in trouble.
RE: VANDALISM
Okay so I live in a city pretty well awash in vandalism from the subway cars of the early 80's to the prolific "street artists" who made it art...keith, jean-michel etc... this is Mars Bar; a staunch affront to the e. village's 10 year hustle for gentrification. vandalism is the environment, the inside looking no different from the bombed out streets the patrons pour in from. A Big Fuck You To Everyone!
Sunday, 3 January 2010
VANDALISM
All Pictures: (c) Dilly Pataudi
"The face can be composed as to never appear foolish, but rather menacingly unbalanced."
- Leonard Cohen
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)