links open windows




The Monster is Zero.

by TRUE


I'm beginning the second part of my life: the output stage.

Besides listening to music I dont take in a lot of art at the present moment. I'm more focussed on my own voice--that which is at once intimate and projected, created and cast-out...

...returning as an echo from across the universe (void).


But I was sick and didn't have the energy to write, so instead I bought a magazine and a couple of DVDs. Just the act of buying something other than food or iTunes was strange. I felt slightly ridiculous and completed the excursion by purchasing grape seed hand cream and blue eye shadow at Sephora in Times Square.

The magazine was Mass Appeal. I hadn't bought an issue in awhile and was immediately saddened to see that the first two pages were Nissan ads followed by a 2 pager for Virgin Mobile--complete with a cutout abraham lincoln mask in an obvious bite of Shephard Fairey's awesome pullout OBEY stencils that I used to revel over back when gourmet magazines such as Mass Appeal still carried clout with heads like me.

whatevs.

On an eye candy level it's all very yummy, dont get me wrong. Between the covers are thick pages lushly covered with over-designed fashion spreads of supposed next level DIY ethos...which some of it no doubt still is, but the ferreal buoys of smart sparkle are for the most part overwhelmed and subsumed by the larger, consumer wave of $200 assymmetrical haircuts, trendy tattoos, post-nirvana, "anti-corporate" chic in which major labels disquise themselves as obscure boutique label offshoots...the food, toys, clothing, music and art end-products of which are scarfed up by supposedly educated, backpack toting, "anti-mall" hip-hop kids who can't dance super great but know how to use computers and love anime, excuse me, manga.

Scenes sell out, I tell myself with a sigh and then a yawn...that's what they do...

I think it's when all the so-called punk rockers started fashion labels that the real trouble started.



fuck clothes.

make networks instead.






c-span

by TRUE

im floating out on a sea of hot sick...curled up and feeling like shit with c-span on. in a way it's like the first blog ever--and in a way it's better than a blog cuz it's tv--a stripped down, old skool tv with the single, steady cam and no commentary or editing except at the end when callers call in...as the fever fades me in and out (blissfully thankful it's not e.coli or something worse) i listen as the elected officials of the house debate whether they should pass a bill that makes it illegal for someone to transport an underage girl across state lines to a neighboring or nearby state where abortion is legal without parental consent. regardless of the side that they argue, i find everyone to be earnest, emotional, and oddly respectful... and im thinking about how most people really mean well in their sad sack way which is why they just want to shut off the tragedy of rape and incest but for millions of little girls it's a day-to-day, real-to-real and it makes me want to cry and in fact i did, a little; i know im not giving the moment the right kinda grace, writing thru the body ache but it was there, just a minute ago--I was somewhere in between years, in between the innernet and reality, curled up in my madras covers as the nyc afternoon hummed on outside and i was thankful again, as i have been before that at least it happened in merry ole england where the clinic just up the road from the mouth of the M40 gave out the morning after pill with hardly any fuss at all.


my innernet sux the obstacleness out of the obstacle

by TRUE


mornings are when im most vulnerable.


(double negative)

by posting that statement, however, in the morning, on a sunday no less--i manage to remove it as an obstacle--

It's still there, before me, except the act of broadcasting it has made it smaller and less significant.

It's as though the fence i've been planning all this time to bulldoze has deflated right in front of me, falling limply to my feet--a balloon flattened across an empty place...

Fuck waking up.






by TRUE

i like autumn the same way i like vampires...the same way i like cold killer spinach.

it was the season that gave me the most solace back when i suffered from chronic nightmares.

i was never particularly gothy. for instance, i've never read anne rice and i have no desire to sit down with one of those doorstops.

life is too short to read second rate fiction.


new york city

by TRUE








sellin candy, makin money...


by TRUE

i agree. but i don't imagine a world without authors, just a world without copyrights.




Ca Va

by TRUE

i hate being disappointed. It's nearly as foreign to me as being bored--I say nearly because i've felt disappointment but i've never been bored.

There's always something to think about, something to cold figger on--words to rhyme, moments to remember, fantasies to get hot over.

Disappointment is equally ridiculous: why should anything in the world fail to meet our expectations? Each and every thing is merely being itself.

The world is what it is.

And these words about the world are merely placeholders in time.

And the ideas they refer to dont really exist.


one eye half open

by TRUE



Writing a book is a pretty deep process, but I've gotta tell ya that no kinda writing gives me the kick that blogging does.

The book is on hold.

Meanwhile, my blog(s) never sleep.




by TRUE




by TRUE

There is the knowledge that what I’m doing takes time but this means that even if I’m working very hard nearly every day, it’s still going to take a long time to get where I want to go. If I slack and spend less time working than it’s going to take even longer. Not to mention all the “unforeseen unknowables”: a major artistic undertaking is like a war—you want to make sure you’ve won before you start, but part of the way to do this is to take into account that which you can’t take into account.

How better to vibe out the “unforeseen unknowables” than to stare into space, stoned, for hours on end?

You wanna keep yr edge: u feel yrself getting older and u think of the people younger than u who have made it, and by making it I mean one thing and one thing only: getting to do yr art full time. Dropping the motherfucking need for a paycheck. I don’t care about being rich…I care about being one of those lucky bastards (few and far between) who don’t have to wait tables or dick around as an office monkey or strip or freelance bullshit jobs writing for medical journals and technical manuals, teaching languages, selling drugs.

Then u tell yrself, yeah but I went to school longer than they did and that’s cuz I’m not playing three chords on a guitar and writing lyrics off the cuff…I’m trying to invent a whole new kinda art in the form of an invisible MC who lives on the innernet and is available only thru viral mediums.

Then u tell yrself, maybe tomorrow...

And tomorrow comes and then tomorrow after than and u tell yrself,

maybe never.


by TRUE

Hotel lobbies like painful hobbies that linger on...

by TRUE

nyc is my home and I luv it soooo much but today I just wanna stay in bed and hide out online on my favorite blogs and pretend that those bright blue skies outside my window are just a bad dream.


by TRUE



celebrities eating




my online résumé





Little 15
You help her forget
The world outside
You're not part of it yet
And if you could drive
You could drive her away
To a happier place
To a happier day
That exists in your mind
And in your smile
She could escape there
Just for a while
Little 15

Little 15
Why take the smooth with the rough
When things run smooth
It's already more than enough
She knows your mind
Is not yet in league
With the rest of the world
And it's little intrigues
Do you understand
Do you know what she means
As time goes by
And when you've seen what she's seen
You will
Little 15

Little 15
Why does she have to defend
Her feelings inside
Why pretend
She's not had a life
A life of near misses
Now all that she wants
Is 3 little wishes
She wants to see with your eyes
She wants to smile with your smile
She wants a nice surprise
Every once in a while
Little 15




"Little 15", by Depeche Mode


faker 15: group calling themselves "The Creators" admit to creating a fictitious, home-schooled 15 yr old named Bree who existed on the innernet thru a series of youtube videos.

lonelygirl15's creators admit it is a hoax and declare the creation of a new form of art.


creators linked to hollywood by web sleuths



Tag!

by TRUE



Mmmk. Since it’s Raymi who tagged me I’ll do it: eight things about me that are the truth.

By “truth” I mean that which forms the placeholder between the lies…

And by “lies” I mean the explanations I offer for my behavior.

1. When I was little my imaginary friend was Bambi. Then it was Sterling Fassbinder. Now it’s either Donnie Darko or Heidi Klum, depending on the occasion.

2. I was a born again Christian for a little over a year, starting when I was twelve. I got into it in part cuz I had a crush on the ringleader, a curly haired Irish Canadian piano prodigy who walked around wearing a long, pre-Columbine trench coat and gigantic black combat boots that had “Do you have a problem?” written in neon purple ink on the left and “Why not try talking to God?” on the right. He had a magnetic personality and soon a bunch of the school’s most eccentric people were going to his non-denominational church’s Wednesday nite youth group. A few years later I lost my heterosexual virginity to him, but back then it seemed that sex was the furthest thing from his mind. He was horny for souls… His father drove a large, wood paneled station wagon and diligently picked each of us up and dropped each of us off. At the youth group we sang songs, read bible verses, ate junk food, and ran around playing games…it was a place where we could be kids and adults at the same time…I loved talking about the things we read and trying to figure out what they meant. My mind was starving—real words and real ideas kept me up at night, filled with happiness. I grasped the theology of evangelism—to me it was not a religion of restriction, but a religion of joy—of standing under one roof, singing and dancing and feeling that sense of overwhelming thankfulness for one’s smallness, the understanding that we are all prairie dogs, we are all pigeons feasting on garbage, we are all blades of grass about to be clipped.


3. In eighth grade two of my so-called best friends were their usual mean bitch selves to myself and another friend, and rather than take it like I always did and consider myself happy that I had somewhere to sit at lunch, I instead started a rumor that they were lesbian lovers. I had no idea the notion would spread like mustard. I confided to others about the secret relationship that I had become privy too and before I knew it there was a chorus several heads deep making fun of them in class and in the hallway. I used the word “disgusted”, over and over. I said things about them so brutal that they could only be the product of self-loathing. I secretly feared that deep down everyone saw through my posturing and KNEW…they knew I was the one who was really gay, I was the one who was really staring at my friends as they got changed in front of me, I was the one who was wishing I could touch them in the pool, under the water…

Eventually the rumors swirled so violently that they sucked my two ex-best friends into the eye of a whirlpool, from which one, an already tough swimming champion, emerged relatively unscathed but the other, a delicate and insecure blonde girl named Sara, was broken and ashamed and scurred and ended up going to a different high school that was an hour away in the mountains.

4. When I first moved to Brooklyn I made sticker art and put it around Greenpoint, Williamsburg and the LES. That's where BRANDTRUEBOY comes from. It was a word I put together that I thought looked good on stickers. I set about turning it into a series of “ferreal faker logos”. One of the designs I came up with back then was the drawing of the two girls that you can see on the bottom left side of the site. Actually, it’s not a real drawing—a friend of mine used Photoshop to remove everything except the outlines on a still from a girl on girl porn flick. I like the idea of a representation from which all reality has been sucked out. My friend collected and modified hundreds, maybe thousands, of porno stills such as this one in the months leading up to his breakdown.

5. Glowing white rock has always had a profound, nearly sublime effect on me: massive concrete blocks protruding from the highway, the columns of the Capitol building on a class trip to D.C., the steps of the Met Museum, the city of Jerusalem, Christs Church in Oxford, at dusk...

6. Andy Warhol was my father. He knocked up Joe Strummer in front of a blown-up copy of Diamond Dust Shoes.

7. I’m selling out for free.

8. My favorite foods are bagels, day old Lasagna, hash brownies, cold, raw spinach, plain M&Ms, sour peach gummy bears and Advil liquid gel-caps.

The six people I tag are:

ray
radio
the pants
the doll
unrat
nk

remember, no tagbacks!!




i never heard that one before...

by TRUE

"a bearded clam."

dang.


by TRUE



The tidal wave dreams continue. Sometimes I don’t even fully remember them but I wake up knowing I’ve had them. There in the middle of the nite with the city a glowing bar beneath the shade. It’s not so much a fear of the dream I just awoke from as a the sense of certainty that follows me out of it; it is the certainty of death—the only certain certainty that there is. The dark tower of annihilation, moving ever closer, unstoppable, impossible to take one’s eyes off once one sees it on the horizon.




...a tendency to mimic the landscape of the sky












Google
Search WWW Search trueboy.blogspot.com

Weblog Commenting by HaloScan.com Powered by Blogger Pro™