Post-Mischief Night Verse Appreciation

Stumble in somnambulance so
Pre-dawn corpses come to life
Armies of the dead survive
Armies of the hungry ones

Only ones, lonely ones
Ripped up like shredded wheat
Only ones, lonely ones
Be a sort of human picnic

This ain't no love-in
This ain't no happening
This ain't no feeling in my arm

You think you're a zombie
You think it's a scene
From some monster magazine
Well, open your eyes too late

This ain't no fantasy, boy
This ain't no love-in
This ain't no happening
This ain't no feeling in my arm

Cars.

You know, I could post something about Halloween. But that would be lame and topical. Instead, I'd much rather post some things that I haven't expressed yet. I love cars. They inspire me in ways that I'm not sure how to express. I started working on cars back when I was about 12, fiddling around with my dad's 1976 BMW 2002. A helluva simple car, I started taking the engine apart to clean it and figure out how it all worked. I think my conception of every car's internals stems from the little four cylinder under the hood. I can't count how many times I put things back together in the wrong way and then retraced my steps to fix the problem.

In high school, I started fixing up my great-grandfather's 1940 Buick (pictured above, with the 2002) which he purchased new off the showroom floor. After three summers, I got it running again after sitting for almost 20 years. Those two cars taught me more about problem-solving, determination, mechanics, and everything else than I could have ever imagined. Because of that experience, my mind is never so at peace as when I'm fixing something mechanical, visualizing how all the pieces fit together to spin, float, tap, drive, or what have you.

Here are some cars.

FREEZY

It is downright shameful that this dude is going to jail. Fuck.

And nobody ever tell me he spread himself too thin. Get out my face and join the movement.

Lil Wayne- Run This Town Freestyle

Maybe Everything That Dies Someday Comes Back

OCTOBER 27th: A GHOST IS BORN

PS

that was no simulation

Crawling in Ballgowns

Malkovitch wins again

you're losing a TABLE, you're gaining a masterpiece

Live Wired

Last year around March, I entered a design competition as part of an independent tutorial in architecture. The competition, co-sponsored by the Bronx Museum and the Design Trust for Public Space, was centered around the Grand Concourse in the Bronx, NY, and asked for anything relating to it, in any medium. I came up with a sort of socio-urbanist plan enacted using audio-visual technology. It's call LiveWired, and you can check it out on my website.

As of this summer, my proposal was selected as one of seven finalists in what turned out to be an international competition with over 200 entries. Needless to say, I'm thrilled and delighted to be included in such a select group of designs. What it means is that I'll be included in a two month long exhibition at the Bronx Museum, along with the six other finalists. I'm planning on installing some sort of example of my plan, which will hopefully start a dialogue between people in the museum and those in local businesses.

The exhibition opens on November 1st and runs until January 3rd, so if you're in the city please come and check it out!

-Angus

Night Night

The Once And Future King

theory 1

young and nj

further down the rabbit hole

I need to give a little credit to Big Boi, because lately I've been feeling like he just doesn't get the respect he deserves. I peeped a list over at cocaineblunts talking about how Big Boi is one of the "coldest" MCs in the game, coldest meaning generally ignored, not given enough cred, etc... Sadly, it makes sense for him to be there. It's all been weighing on my shoulders for some reason, so I'm gonna try and clear the air around this monkey on my back. Word bond.

Outkast worked because its two MCs formed a complicated, honest, and unique relationship around the music they were making. Rephrase: The complexities of those early Outkast albums are owed to neither Big Boi nor Andre 3000, but to the fact that the two were able to collaborate. ATLiens, Aquemini, and Stankonia succeeded because the combination of two artists produced a hydra far more dangerous than any individual-headed beast. Every time Andre went off on an alien tangent (Synthesizer), Big Boi was there to bring it back down to Earth (Slump). Every time Big Boi got lost rapping about drugs and rims, Andre was there nudging him to flip it. The concoction thus formed, augmented with the murderous flows of both MCs, was a radically unique and honest way of getting at Truth.

Okay, so Outkast was a joint effort, then why did Andre end up with all the shine? Basically, 3000 appeals more to a "liberal" or "white" or "underground" bloc, an audience largely responsible for rap success (meaning grammies and critical acclaim and whatnot). Andre was hailed as rap's Prince, characterized by quirky attire and an ambiguous yet flamboyant sexuality. He became that intellectual, rapping weirdo AKA the future AKA the best name to mention to your boy you just ran into at the vintage clothing store. And he put out great music. Many thanks to Andre for that beautiful music. Basically, Andre 3000 got popular because he represented a movement in rap towards something "different," something far more "intellectual" than that dirty South stuff (hope you can read the sarcasm in that). But in Andre's popularization, Outkast's history was starkly rewritten, and in the public's eye Big Boi had been playing second fiddle all along. That is, he never represented anything "new" for rap.

And that whole story is fucked, because Big Boi is a killer MC. Have you ever tried to rap along to a vintage Big Boi verse? It's nigh impossible, yet he makes it sound so smooth and easy. Better yet, listen to Speakerboxxx. His solo album (though still under the name Outkast) is track for track as moving as Andre's The Love Below. I might go so far as to say that it has the best opening suite of songs off any album I know: Ghetto Musick/ Unhappy/ Bowtie/The Way You Move/ Rooster. I mean that's just sickening. Each one of those songs is a stand-alone jam.

But this isn't about solo projects. Really, this is my attempt to refigure the Outkast paradigm so that I don't have to suffer anyone else ignoring Big Boi, or staking their claim to Andre 3000 merely because it's hip to do so. I'll say it like this: If you don't get Big Boi, you don't get Outkast, and if you don't get Outkast, you're missing arguably the greatest OAT. Rephrase: If you don't get Outkast, fuck you get off my website.

Tetrapeutic

Tetris is a classic. Developed in the 80s by a smart Russian man, the simple geometric premise of the game allows for almost infinite combinations of patterns and skill levels. But beyond the dry exterior lies a spiritual life of the game -a hidden dragon, so to speak. The simplicity of its construction could be described as elemental, and it's ever changing tiles belie its water-like tendencies. I am reminded of a quote by Bruce Lee: "Water can flow, or it can crash. Be like water, my friend". Tetris is just so elusive and unforgiving, silently molding it's shape around your state of being, and quickly ripping away any hard surfaces in its path.

To successfully play the game (and we're talking real deal marathon here), you must be malleable as well, keeping your mind pliable along with your fingers. This is state of focused devotion to your one goal: clearing away what is unnecessary. It is an endless game, just like other virtuous pursuits, and as the tiles get faster one must remain calm and centered. The chance that is involved in terms of upcoming tiles removes any focus on the future beyond your next move. The game makes you inhabit the now. From an architectural perspective, it constructs the perfect space for the exact moment you're in, reflecting your own input and the game's almost equally.

Perhaps you can tell my fascination with it. I've been playing Tetris almost every day for the past six years, and through countless hours spent numbing my thumbs a pattern has emerged: The more clear-headed I am, the better I do. Because I play it so much, I often find myself doing it without thinking about the game at all, instead musing on dreams, personal interactions, ways of thinking about them. It's therapy, in a way. And not only does it allow me to reflect, my level of clarity is directly connected with my progress in the game. If I have a calm and level-headed approach to my life, I'll look up to realize that I've beaten my high score. And when you link up with the game, the pieces seem to come at just the right moments, making the game an affirmation of thinking. Conversely, when things are anxious and undecided, my disconnect with the game seems complete, and I have no luck with block, and often make mistakes.

The resulting thesis I have about Tetris sounds more Chinese than Russian, but I think that it may very well be the greatest electronic ritual for finding one's way. The rituals that Confucius talks about in the Analects have a similar quality as this psychological massaging. As it says,
"At age fifteen I set my heart upon learning…and at age seventy I could follow my heart’s desire without overstepping the bounds of propriety”(Analects, 2:4). The way to reach such a place is through ritual and learning, training your instinct to work with your mind. Tetris is just such a ritual.

If you battle against it you may be victorious, but surrender to it completely and it gives you freedom. For me, it's always a learning experience.

Home

It's where I want to be, but I guess I'm already there