Corey's Day Off

Checkin' In with Corey

A note from the staff at the Middlespace Institute of Enlightenment Studies (MIES):

Corey here, yo! Thanks to everyone for your supportive mails (and, uh, hate mail isn’t cool).

Today when I got in I found my computer on and stuff on my monitor. I guess Ty came in overnight (and my keyboard was surprisingly oily, but I fixed that with paper towels and a lot of Purell – I replaced the mouse – how come he doesn’t use his own shit?)

I’m done, but here’s what I found on my monitor:

“I had a dream. A wildly fucking mad dream, Corey! Here’s what I remember: I was at the Chinese seamstress’ house and the band was in the kitchen. We were getting rehearsal jerseys made. We were all there, me, Stu, Brucker, and the marvelous Furious Floyd. Maybe you were there too.

I remember thinking how COOL Furious was and I remember asking him about his name. He looked like Marcus and Dix fell into a huge blender, but with a beard and a terribly COOL hat. He wore an overcoat and sunglasses. Short dude. We were passin’ the J around at the time even though we probably thought the seamstress and her husband (the tailor) wouldn’t like that.

The name, aww, I’ll let Furious tell it (text from the dream): “Dude, I take a big ass hit from this motherfuckin’ joint…take a step back, blow this shit out and…DAMN! I’m FURIOUS FLOYD!!” We all slapped backs and hands at that point. Made much more sense in the dream.

So the Chinese seamstress and husband come back into the kitchen and there’s all this sweet, sweet, smoke and I decide to head into the garage/sewing shop and look at all the commercial grade sewing and stitching machines. Mostly to avoid the guilt over smoking in their kitchen. I looked back and Floyd was making the seamstress and the tailor laugh hysterically. I felt much better. The machines were cool.”

That’s it! I saved it all to a file (he hadn't saved it at all). Whatever.

I’m Corey! Out to the Nth from the fre-zeke zone!!



[Legend of Furious Floyd tag]

Corey from MIES

A note from the staff at the Middlespace Institute of Enlightenment Studies (MIES):


Yeah, uh, it’s me. Corey (the intern).

We had a sighting. Something about “Blueberry Boat” being “the best record ever.” We’ve heard that before, but not to this degree in a while. What’s funny is he hasn’t even mentioned Eleanor. She’s Fiery Furnaces’ lead singer and co-collaborator. He’s was all going off about “time to make the masterpiece” and “who would work on this with me?” and such. We all just kept our head down and stared at our monitors. Else, we’d be playing the cowbell on some obscure track.

I came prepared. I dug this out of my rhyme book (lyrics really), just in case I had to do this again (and yesterday’s sucked so bad):

Here goes:

Wheelin’ and dealin’
Got G’s on the ceilin’

Savage in love
Like heaven above

Stealin’ office supplies
While Ty closes his eyes

I’m an intern with broadband
And you don’t got to understand

[this is the part where the beatbox break comes in]

Nevermind…. OK. Maybe I shouldn’t do this anymore.

- I’m Corey! Out!

(shout outs to my #1 crew and the lacrosse team!)

Note From MIES

A note from the staff at the Middlespace Institute of Enlightenment Studies (MIES):


Hi, I’m Corey, the new intern here and this is my first post. I’ve been told to keep the site up while the rest of the gang figures out what happened to Ty. He, uh, isn’t here right now. He left a Post-it on his monitor that said:

“I am always bitchy. No Fun — for anybody. 40. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax — This won’t hurt. More stories next week…”

Well, we all know who wrote this, most of it anyway. But, maybe it wasn’t a note for us. Maybe it was a research problem. He’s always off on tangents -- doing everyone else’s job (including mine most of the time). I know he's going out to PowderMonkey-West on Wednesday, but WTF, huh?

Uh, I don’t really know poetry or nothing (I just get college credit for making tea here). I guess I could post a picture (see my ID picture -- like i said, WTF, huh?), but that doesn't fulfill my 250 word mandate.

And, um, I don’t really know what to say. Me and my roommates got kind of wrecked last night on Rum and smokes. I was telling them about work and stuff. How weird it is here but how much I think I like it but how I’m not learning anything useful or important.

Okey-dokey, here’s my contribution:

The boss listens to music
Constantly blaring
Time to make more tea
Nobody caring
I went to college for this?
I guess it beats selling fries
I wonder how the world looks
Through Ty’s crazy eyes?

I made it in to work on time…and this is about 250 words! That’s about it I guess. I hope i don't get fired for this.


- I'm Corey, out!

(shout out to Jay, Timmy F., Mikey and Rochelle (kisses!))

Footnote

Genius article in Salon that half the viewers will miss:

Life: The Disorder

Is it me or has the entire world I know turned into some perverted, underbudgeted version of "American Beauty"?

Ouch!

Middlespace will be closed for a while. Check back week of December 5.

We are picking up some of these pieces that got scattered about. Hey, how'd that get there? See?

Anyway, remember that as bad as Jack Johnson's whinny-ass beggy songs are, there are still some brilliant chord progressions thrown about. So not all sucks in the world if you tune out the noise.

Ouch! As the man once said, "my heart is hurting...gotta detoxify."

Go to Achewood for fun.

The Human Condition: Questions

When did our purpose get so convoluted?

Do I have to participate in the superficiality?

When did I grow up?

I'm happy being me, why can't everyone be happy being me?

?

Costs : Benefits

There are no magic formulae
To settle the quivers and shakes
Is that a light at the end of a tunnel?
Or a pit full of snakes?

Happy is as happy does
Brain dead is dead instead
The rolly-coaster is moving
Blood's all gone to the head

Passion possession
The spark of a touch
The hope for the loving
The hazards are much

Haven’t I ever written this down?

[found in an old notebook, probably written in 1998 based on notebook]

Back when I lived in the California south
I took an experiential journey
To meet a man named Ralph

Ralph was a mystic
A god
A genius and three-parts sham

I was a follower a believer
And in some ways
I still am

We shared some wine
Some smoke & notes
And a love of power & domination

A mutual admiration society
We were they say
For more than two revolutions

Until the mind expanded
Uncontrolled egocentric
To become equal if not superior

Desperate was the escape
Hostile was the outcome
Burned were all bridges

Respect and loyalty are
Exclusively mutual
I now know

And I am the worse
And the better
As a result

from Gabe (via Rich):

"I had the wierdest dream last night, the details are sketchy, but I do remember that the focal point was you describing a musical that you and Ty had written and filmed, and the central character was a gay Robin Hood. Regardless, we were dying laughing. It was hilarious."

Resistance is Futile

The state has outlawed "undesirable" thinking.

By Ben Tolman

Ben Tolman dot com

The Details

Subterfuge

there is a construct called: right
and there is also something called wrong
the scale's anchors of societal expectations

in between right and wrong
is where our journeys to enlightenment lie
a guiding genius -- a muse -- serves as chaperone

it is in these times (of inner turmoil)
and uncareful trampling of eggshells
that we find our senses again wide awake

and it is when the senses rise
do we remember that we are alive
when leading and following become one

Four Poems

#51

Flirtings with disasters ultimate
Following instincts dulled from misuse of time
Finding out how much discipline is mitigated

Stability unstable
Loyalty unable
Living enabled
Voting tabled

Heading off to adventures unknown
Destinations of little hope
Art for art for soul forsaken

Paths crossing dangerously close
Orbits into the middlespaces of lives
Train and plane wrecks focus our collective attention

Decisions good or bad or without consequence
Choices nonetheless
Knots stomach muscles of sequoias, indeed

Satisfaction remiss
A whimsical kiss
Kingdoms for bliss
Fall in the abyss

Forever is a long fucking time


Muse Rabbits

Impressions of impressions
Of allusions of wonderment
Factorial fantasies

Old cranky men
Floating above clouds
Of wasteland memories

The slower we go the more we see
Invisible to everyone save self

When the throttle is open
And the rudder broke
Closing our eyes is no longer an option


Safe

Driving ourselves crazy
Finding our places in the big, big world
Overly complicating situations
That are already overly complicated
Due to no (all) effort(s) on our part
Inwardly focused infatuations
Stroking egos fragile
Afraid of shadows – afraid of light

The only question is why
Must it take a tragedy to find sanity?
Cannot we protect the innocents?

Time alone will tell all the stories

Inspiration comes in many forms


-3-

The sharing of each other’s
Worlds – for better or worse –
Investigations and explorations designed
To aid in “the learning” and edification

But how can this heist actually
Be pulled off? As amoral as it is?

Believe me – this hurts my brain too
High stakes gambling consequences
Are, if not pure pain, the
Seeds of angst and paranoia

On Being Naive

"There's something about being naive.... Really interesting things come because you don't know what the rules are, what you can and cannot do. I have to be careful I don't fall into a place were you take fewer risks."

Steve Buscemi

Two Important Things - Combo Platter

Hey kids, it's time to mark your calendars. It's crossroads time again.

1) 11.19.05 - I go to the store to get some San Pelligrino for my aching head and the goddamn lady from the goddamn Salvation Army is already wearing that goddamn santa hat and RINGING THAT GODDAMN BELL. To top that, some sucker gives her money and she says -- here it comes -- "god bless you." I hear my own voice saying, "There is no god!"

2) I am at my artistic best when I'm totally fucked up over something (and I don't mean that goddamn bell above). Most of you know this. For the record: I am totally fucked up over something right now.

And, it must be a doozy since given my baggage, it would take a lot.

Shalom.

This Movie Treatment Copyrighted by Rich

Unedited and without customary notes (file under: the shit my friends send for me):

The Black Time Travel Machine

We see a black guy who’s like totally street but also non-threatening (think white audiences) talking to his girlfriend who’s like way better looking than what he would date in real life (what is it about black dudes dating fat black chicks? I see that on the subway all the time) and she’s like not liking him right now, he’s fucked up for the last time and she’s mad so she leaves and he’s all sad so he goes home to his empty apartment and [some kind of humorous pet-like a monkey but something a black dude would have] and oh yeah, some homeless dude gives him like drugs or a contraption or something and when he gets home he decides to use it or forgets to turn it off or something and he falls asleep and smoke comes out of it and he time travels to Oldy Times where there were only white people with funny accents. And his pet goes too but does funny things like go “Uh oh” and hide his face when shits about to happen.

He wakes up and it’s Europe and people have on puffy clothes and he’s like non-believing it so he thinks it’s a dream and gets in trouble because he doesn’t believe it’s real. So he gets taken to a dungeon but not before seeing the princess who, even though everyone is white, she’s like ambiguously racial like Lisa Bonet or Mariah Carey (make it believable!!!). And the prince doesn’t like that they see each other because he’s going to marry the princess and it’s all arranged and the big wedding is next week. (The prince is TOTALLY white. Like stick up the butt and all.)

So the black guy breaks out of the dungeon with the help of some medieval nerds who lack self esteem (get a nearly famous comedian to play one of them or maybe two) and his pet who brings him the keys from some guard who is sleeping. They go back to a barn or something and the black guy has some funny musical montages learning to use medieval stuff like bows and arrows and axes and joust poles and stuff and he dresses in renaissance puffy clothes but keeps it street (like everything’s Bob Marley colors and he has a big gold chain and poses with his arms crossed).

So then he breaks into the castle and the princess and he fall in love in her bedroom but then he has to run out early in the morning and the way he gets out of the castle is funny (falls in a hedgerow or something) and he barely makes it out but then he knows he has to stop the wedding.

So he goes back to the barn and draws on all his 2005 street knowledge and he teaches his renaissance friends some street stuff and they get self-esteem and they go to the wedding and one graffitis on the wall and everyone at the wedding is like WHAAA??? because no one has ever done that in history before and another one distracts the guards by dribbling a basketball (made out of medieval materials) and the black guy comes in on a low rider mule all pimped out (check with animal people about cutting mules legs off – cruel?). Then he gets in a duel with the prince and the prince tries to cheat but the black guy wins because all the guards are smoking medieval weed that the black guy collected back at the barn. And his pet gets in a fight with the princes’s parrot and wins too and we all hate the parrot because he’s been a prick the whole movie.

Then he and the princess kiss but he falls and hits his head and then he’s back in the present day and his real 2005 girlfriend is yelling at him and he leaves and he’s sad and sad music is playing and he goes to Kentucky Fried Chicken on the corner and the chick at the drive thru is TOTALLY THE PRINCESS!!!!!! So he orders like gruel or something totally Oldy Timey. And she doesn’t know she’s the princess but she’s all cool and we’re like, okay, maybe it happened or maybe it didn’t, we don’t know but we do know that black guy is going to be totally tapping that ass for like years to come so what does it matter?

And then the medieval nerds show up too but like as janitors or something or well-meaning bums, like it’s the Wizard of Oz. Maybe we saw a little of them at the beginning of the movie too.

Long Ago

Mark Reed journal entry from '97:

Five Days At Anne & Ty's

Blind Spot Fuck Up

So, although I fancy myself an excellent driver (and in the company of a few excellent drivers), I have noticed that I'm making a potentially fatal error on a recurring basis.

When changing lanes at speed, I'm missing the vehicle immediately to the right or left. I check the mirrors and give the cursory glance right or left to check the lane the blind spot car, but upon executing, I've noticed -- several times of late -- I've cut cars off. I'm bemused that I'm missing these cars in the sequence.

I replay the situations in my head and, at first, I thought the other cars were just going so fast that they were catching up. But, no. I'm fucking up. Tired or rested. Heavy or moderate traffic. I'm never on the phone. Just fucking up.

I have to fix this or someone's gonna get hurt.

Nightmare

I had this really intense nightmare that the non-Bush presidential candidate did this really stupid opening schtick at his convention where he actually saluted the crowd and the dozen or so people watching on the TeeVee and said something really stupid like "I'm ____ _____ and I'm reporting for duty."

Whew! It was all just a terrible, horrible, really bad, awful dream.



"I'm John Kerry and I'm reporting for duty."

My Travel Companion

Human Performance

"Everything seemed more formal, and at the same time more personal, then. There were no escalators in the stores in the early 30s (at least none in the tri-cities), so there were only elevators (and, of course, stairs). But the elevators themselves were not self-service. There was always a person - almost always a woman, I think - who was the "elevator operator. The people in the elevator would call out the number of the floor they wanted - "five, please", "seven please", etc. And in the operator would call out the number of each floor as it was reached, and also run through a list of the departments included on that floor: "Seven! Women's ready - to - wear, hats, girl's dresses - watch your step!" The "watch your step" would be because the operator wouldn't always be able to line the floor of the elevator up exactly with the floor of the building. Sometimes the operator would jiggle the elevator up and down until she got a pretty good alignment. That's an example of what I mean by things being more personal. In a way, things were taken more seriously then because more reliance was place on actual human performance instead of on machines."

-Dave's Dad

Trick or Whatever

Jesus, Mark.

You nailed it. Exactly how I feel. Hate it!

As I call it: Halloween--The Newest Christmas.

Fucking fall festival and drunk parents...lights? WTF?

When did I die and go to [pirate] hell?

Mark's Halloween Rant

Four Poems

I.

You have to stop caring about
Personal consequences
In order to push forward
Agendas of personal consequence

In zest and zeal
Mistakes are made
Bridges burned and
Allies thrown into chaos

But begging and dealing
Are as unbecoming as
Lying and stealing
Dignity equals freedom

Vision aligns with the future
Of companies and countries
Ideally we utilize or strengths
Unless those strengths are overly frightening

Know your enemies
As you know your self
And ever remember that
Respect given is respect earned

II.

We are dragged into
Banal battles of others
Kicking and thrashing

III.

There are those waiting
For the story

There are some content
With the content to date

But I'll give you
What I'll give you
When I'm ready
When it's time

IV.

Declaration of the Great Psychological War

We understand the differences
between attitudes and behaviors

Perfectly understandable I suppose when differences irreconcilable
degenerate into pettiness and bickering

But when the level of disgust reaches threshold lows...
...it is occasion for wars unstoppable

At least until the enemy is vanquished

Once enemies are declared it becomes easy to treat the animals
as much worse – victims become statistical anomalies

Could?

Could suddenly discovering who you really are be some sort of magical key to somehow unlocking the doors to, say, incredible talents or knowledge or some such?

Probably not, but it's worth some investigation.

---------

Holy shit. Happy 40th birthday mofo. You're a regular fucking Tiger Woods.

Jewblanasian. Filajewbro.

There's not a country club in the world that would have you.

Does this mean you'll get circumcized now? I know a good rabbi.

Say hi to your Afrojewpinomickwop daughter.

Sincerely,

Whitey

Pick Your Own Cotton!

Because Rosa and I say, "nope!"

Toast

Freshness at Forty

After 40 years, I'm kind of blown away that I am actually 40. On one hand people diss 40 (poor 40, boo-hoo-hoo) like it's some sort of goddamned plague or something. On the other hand, 40 has recently been proclaimed "the new 25." I still feel like I did when I was 17, by the way. Twenty-five is generally pretty crummy though. To even proclaim 40 the new 25 is pathetic. It only means we've, as a culture, dragged our insecurities and immaturity into the prime of our lives. That's just weak.

I am wiser I realize. More people want and trust my opinion on things and I am more often correct with them. And, I am perfectly comfortable with my candor and instincts surrounding said opinions (George W. Bush don't like black people). I am more cautious with some things, but that has much to do with having a child and a wife whom I adore like no one will ever understand. Surprisingly, I am more introspective. This is surprising given my introspective nature. But when necessary I can explore the depths of my psyche and personality and find happy, sincere and peaceful places in a context of a hugely fucked up world. I am more alive yet closer to a naturally occurring death. Death I do not fear.

The snob in me, the intellectually superior Ty, more often keeps his mouth shut and listens more; learning is a motherfucker if you allow it. Often I have nothing to say. Alas, I remain the same snob of old. When I was 18, I thought I knew everything and I was right. Now, at 40, I know a hell of a lot, but realize that what I want to know...the immense volume of the world's accumulated knowledge...is unattainable. That is unfortunate. But, it makes a lot of sense. Que sera.

I wonder if my IQ is still 150, but I'll never re-test.

I am the farthest from any god than I have ever been. I consider all religions to be the cults of human weakness. Politics are hilariously tragic (and cults of human greed). I realize that if given the choice, I probably wouldn't have children at this point. Needless to say, my child is the most important product of my measly life. She "gets it" already because I allow her to get it. We humans will destroy ourselves.

I love the arts. I am sometimes an artist. I surround myself with art and artists. Photography is history. Music is heaven.
Literature is genius. If anyone remembers me after I die, I hope it is for the clues I left behind in terms of snippets of writing, music, sounds, pictures, and seriously dumbfounding goofs I've pulled off (all employment should be considered performance art).

After 40 years, I am still amazed by just about everything. Most things are extraordinarily interesting, If allowed to be interesting. More and more, however, is just annoying. The noise is noisy. People are all that matter. Conversations are so important. Human connection is glorious. Observations are essential. Friendship is amazing. Happiness is possible, believe it or not. Love is fucking great. And, it's perfectly OK to be as miserable as you fucking want to be.

Oh, and most shit is pretty fucking hilarious if you think about it.

------

"After 35 years, I'm still amazed by everything. Nothing's entirely dull. Surprises still delight. People still matter and the art/science of conversation, observation, friendship and happiness is not dead."

-Ty Hardaway, 2000

Dale (for reference/safe keeping)

That's Too Bad

From another friend:

"But, for the past 4 weeks, I've been going light on the weed. No wacky tabacky, no pulling tubes, no mangia the ganja, no fire in the hole (just writing it makes my bong water), and so on. It's not a total ban, but a reduction in herb. I did this because about 4 weeks ago I hit a deep and dark low. Plus, my entire family is stoned.

So, 4 weeks in, I have to say I feel LIKE ASS. I'm generally more boring, more bored, less hungry, and less enjoyable. Not that green green gold was such a huge part of my drug life, but I think the family history and propensity toward hippy jam music means that my body might process it slightly differently than other people.

I don't know. I don't have any answers. But I can say, it's been a rotten month inside my brain."

Yikes!

Which Came First?

Law Suit from Apple
-OR-
Bird flu from China

...just learned that my custom iPod just shipped from Shanghai. I hope they wash that stuff.

(Lyrics courtesy of Lenny Hoffman Enterprises)

3 to 40

I'm So Happy For You

From a good friend:

"So, for the past 4 weeks, I've been going light on the masturbation. No shakey-shakey, no two-handed, lubed-up butter churning, no big butts twisty McSpanky (just writing it makes my mouth water), and so on. It's not a total ban, but a reduction in skeet shooting I did this because about 4 weeks ago I hit a deep and dark low. Plus, my entire family is horny.

So, 4 weeks in, I have to say I feel GREAT. I'm generally more optimistic, more sanguin, less moody, and less snappy. Not that masturbation was such a huge part of my sex life, but I think the family history and propensity toward autoerotcism means that my body might process it slightly differently than other people.

I don't know. I don't have any answers. But I can say, it's been a good month inside my pants."

Yikes!

Beginning of the End?

Arrogant

ar·ro·gant (arrow-gant)
adj.
Having or displaying a sense of overbearing self-worth or self-importance.
Marked by or arising from a feeling or assumption of one's superiority toward others: an arrogant contempt for the weak



Fuck you.

How'd I Get So Stupid?

7 to 40

05 Race War

There's still a couple of months left for the prophecy to come true. Remember New Orleans?

Here's more <--

Binges

Day one is always fine, a little nervous, a little excited
Day two is always the best, relaxed, pumping the remnants, good burn
Day three begins the dying
Day four is death

On MTNot

"I'm very flattered you like [my music] since I used a lot of tricks I learned from you, and you might not know it, but I made it with your mind in mind (which may explain why no one else seams to "get" it). One of those tricks is understanding the difference between mistakes and "mistakes." "Mistakes" are what the little man in your head are making. What I like about it is it gives me the (not altogether pleasant) Big Head feeling."

-BDW

Ever Read Licensing Agreements?

Included in Apple's iTunes 6.0:

THE APPLE SOFTWARE IS NOT INTENDED FOR USE IN THE OPERATION OF NUCLEAR FACILITIES, AIRCRAFT NAVIGATION OR COMMUNICATION SYSTEMS, AIR TRAFFIC CONTROL SYSTEMS, LIFE SUPPORT MACHINES OR OTHER EQUIPMENT IN WHICH THE FAILURE OF THE APPLE SOFTWARE COULD LEAD TO DEATH, PERSONAL INJURY, OR SEVERE PHYSICAL OR ENVIRONMENTAL DAMAGE.

Dang! I was gonna hack iTunes to run my nuclear power plant. WTF?!

I Literally Tingled...

...when I read this today:

"One source involved in the investigation said Miller's [newly revealed] notes could help Fitzgerald show a long-running and orchestrated campaign to discredit Wilson, which could help form the basis for a conspiracy charge."

The C word. Conspiracy. Rove-Libby-Bush-Cheney. Conspiracy.

I'll pass out if the I word emerges: Impeach.

Oh, now I know the glee of the right during the Clinton blowjob scandal.

It's pretty delightful.

Two Days Ago...

...i decided that i was going bald; and, unrelated, vomited.

What I Love

Autumn in the East

Autumn in the east
annual transition of spirits
one day life is miserable
sticky and hateful and unbearable

The magic of the moment
first a smell
a delicious hint of memories lost
for at least one year

Then one morning
maybe to take out the garbage
like walking into life itself
or at least the definition of fresh

And you remember
goddamn it is fucking great
to live - to be alive
it's like orgasm's fury

A nickel for your cliche

This Place Sucks

How Joey Spent His Summer Vacation
(hu-hu-hu-hu-huh)

Wrap Baddul

Tips

If someone beats you in a "rap battle" and it gets to you, and you practice more until you think you're really ready, you should challenge them again, and if you win, you will earn a lot of respect back. It's a great feeling. And chicks will dig your system and flair.

The World Is Watching

Con

The protest Monday followed a massive demonstration Saturday that drew a crowd of 100,000 or more, the largest such gathering in the capital since the war began in March 2003.

Pro

On Sunday, a rally supporting the war drew about 500 people. Speakers included veterans of World War II and the war in Iraq, as well as family members of soldiers killed in Iraq.

Heck of a Job

30 Till 40

Hey, That's the Shit!

Police in Germany are hunting pranksters who have been sticking miniature flag portraits of US President George W. Bush into piles of dog shit in public parks. Josef Oettl, parks administrator for Bayreuth, said: "This has been going on for about a year now, and there must be 2,000 to 3,000 piles of excrement that have been claimed during that time."

The series of incidents was originally thought to be some sort of protest against the US-led invasion of Iraq. And then when it continued it was thought to be a protest against President George W. Bush's campaign for re-election. But it is still going on and the police say they are completely baffled as to who is to blame. "We have sent out extra patrols to try to catch whoever is doing this in the act," said police spokesman Reiner Kuechler. "But frankly, we don't know what we would do if we caught them red handed." Legal experts say there is no law against using feces as a flag stand and the federal constitution is vague on the issue.

WHAT YOU CAN DO
Obtain your own supply of lawn signs. A Seattle printer (the source of the "Bush = Lies" stickers) is ready to run off a batch, 1.5 x 6 inches with two images, adhesive backed. To use you simply peel, fold around a stick or straw or branch or whatever, and place the flag. Note: A diagonal slash across the image creates an internationally understood message for non-excrement use (such as flower pots).

The cost? Cheap. Cost per sticker based on print run:

1,000 printed = $0.33/sticker ($20 buys you about 60)
2,000 printed = $0.18/sticker ($20 buys you about 110)
5,000 printed = $even less/sticker

If you're interested, let me know the quantity and I'll order based on the total. Contact friends and add to your order! Great as presents, too (minus the dog shit).

Feedbacks & Backlashes

Feedback & Backlash:

"I think this is the most playful album you've done, and very entertaining...7, very Phillip Glass"

-DW, Massachusetts

[ed. note: But, is it better than Cats? Yeah, busted, the trumpet and tuba chords are very Phil Glass, good catch.]


"I wish you'd stop putting Republicans on your albums (GWB, Arnold). It's such a fucking buzzkill. I know that's your intent, but it's harsh, like Rainy Day, Rain All Day."

-RW, California

[ed. note: All part of the GOP machine, my supple friends.]


//to be continued//

BTW, I had a jonesin' for Doobie Bros. "Black Water." So, I actually bought it on the internets for a buck and listened to it. Good song, great production. That's all. Take me by the hand.

So Over Wilco

Not a diss; just weary of the whining.

Great musicians and all, great songs and such, but whine-y nonetheless.

Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm past the angst.

Left Overs

Almost Time for Reinvention

Looking back

Looking forward

All is bad/good

Almost time for reinvention

Again

Life: Part V

Soon...

Return to Sender

You arrive from wherever - school, work, the grocery store - and you see it; the FedEx envelope. You have a vague idea what's inside: more of that jumbled, incomprehensible, and wholly unlistenable crap that Ty keeps sending.

Politely, over the years, you've provided generally supportive feedback on his so-called "record albums," not that you can stand listening to them, but he's a pretty good guy and you wouldn't want to crush such a fragile ego. But, another? Holy god!

You figure that as long as he keeps himself busy making these things, he stays fairly quiet, somewhat distant and out of your hair. What does some occasional feedback hurt: "Uh, yeah, hey...that's some...fucked-up shit there, uh, Ty...you, eh, really made a...record there."

It's not like you've ever said the words I-like-it-send-more or anything. But, some people cannot take hints very well. And, somehow, "that's fucked-up" seems to encourage more; like somehow you've subscribed to Ty's crappy record spam list or some shit. What gives, huh?

But this year was the absolute worst! Two records?! Jesus! Inexplicable and unacceptable (hopefully he doesn't "tour" or anything). Doesn't he fucking have a job? Doesn't he spend time with Anne or Bren? And, I know Anne ain't listening to that garbage.

You consider moving, but where could you hide?

So after a week or so of guiltily walking past the opened FedEx envelope on a table or desk or magazine rack or something, the time arrives when you really feel the pangs of obligation. Not that Ty's waiting to hear back from you on how much you love the new record (like he listens - he's moved on the next "project")...but, oh god, it's time to actually listen to it (just once) so you can honestly say, "Hey big guy, yeah, I listened to that damn noise. Say, I'm moving to Botswana soon and I don't even know the address yet...but, hey, I'll call or something..."

And, they're usually so fucking long too; as in One Long Ride.

As you sure as hell wouldn't want to be caught dead listening to or overheard listening to crazy people music you dig out the good headphones ('cuz at least you know there'll be some buried stuff to pass the time - maybe even your voice or your dog's bark or something). And, since the only way to tolerate this made-up bullshit (what music school did he go to again? University of What the Fuck?!) you have to be fucked-up on something; whatever you've got will do.

After a drink or two and a bowl (or some random pills and snort of pocket lint) you finally steel yourself to 'do this shit!' If you're lucky, he'll have sent you a blank disc.

So, headphones? Check!

High? Check!

Comfy? Check!

Lettir rip, suckers. Oh god, why do I do this?

The M.O.D

"The Modicum of Decorum" is now available

Name, address, phone, email for copy

The Musical Innards of Jazz (2:24)
Spaceman Named God (3:00)
Sisko Kid (1:23)
With My Love (3:47)
California Report (1:16)
Fidelity to the Regime (5:02)
KodoSapien (3:15)
We Learn Slow (8:08)
Bad Motherfucker (5:10)
All is Bright (3:58)
Musical Innards (Reprise) (5:28)

tKoL is ty, rich, dave wave, and a whole bunch of other humans and stuff



Also available from The PowderMonkey:

take the branches off the trees

Ark Ark Ark

LA Black

One Fine Ride

This is the New America

24 Headphood Classics

99%

"The yellow light is the path to freedom."

-1996

That Time Again

That time is here when you know. At least you "feel."

There's nothing left to do to this record. It's done. But, you're never sure. I could add some sort of people-cussing-in-Korean kind of thing here, or some sort of modified-modified effect there. But, would that be too much? Is is right?

You just gotta know when it's done. You can hear when it's right.

Whew. I don't feel as drained as last time, but maybe this last push (from 98 to 100%) will be the killer. I don't think it will.

Now what? Cover art? Whatever, no one ever cares as much as you do (just enough to get into their iTunes and iPod; easy enough). Text? Why explain everything and that's never been my style... Packaging? Who the fuck cares? Wrap it in Saran wrap, whatever.

But, what if it sucks? That's the chance we take. This is what we do and this is how we do it. Don't like it? It's a big world, go listen to something else.

Dammit! I did it again (again)

Why can't I stop listening to this fucking record?

Rap battle is on!

How I Fucked Everything Up (again)!

So, I made some mix adjustments to Track 10. I felt that track was finally finished. That makes 10 of 11 tracks finished of this new record [Called The Modicum of Decorum (The M.O.D) for now].

I burned the tracks to CD (minus the disaster that is Track 7) and took it home to listen later). Later, I grab a portable CD player and The M.O.D and another disc for levels reference. The plan is to listen to this other mass-market CD for a while then listen to The M.O.D to see how levels compare. To know if base levels are too low or weird or whatever. It's something you gotta do.

Here's how I fucked everything up:

The disc I randomly grabbed was Kanye West's new record, "Late Registration." I did notice which disc it was, but figured that since I hadn't listened to much of it yet, it would be a GOOD reference disc. I only bought it (downloaded) because of his stoner rant about our president: "George Bush doesn't care about black people."

Anyhow, I was wrong.

I listened to Registration long enough to know that it is one hell of a record. Sonic-wise marvelous and wide and bold and all that shit, right? I still haven't processed it enough, but it might just be a monster. In fact, I got caught up and forgot what the exercise was. Once I remembered, I swapped discs.

Fuck. I was demolished! I thought I had to go back to the drawing board (or the mixing board, seriously). The M.O.D felt so flat and weak and little....I felt it was a complete waste of time.

Oh, but Late Registration is huge. Much wider than nearly anything anyone's ever heard before. I didn't realize this at the time. I grabbed the most wrong reference disc possible. Then again, maybe it was the perfect reference point...something to build upon.

I'm much stupid.

Compassion

Voodoo Chile or When the Levee Breaks? Whachu wanna here me play next?

Super Power

"America's world dominance is over...get out your chopsticks."

- GMS