Monday, March 28, 2011

5 Reasons Why Technology Can Never Be Neutral

1. Technology Devours Nature

Thanks to the automobile culture, for example, in the 20th century, an area equal to all the arable land in Ohio, Indiana, and Pennsylvania was paved in the US This means highways, off-ramps, parking lots, etc.--each replacing countless eco-systems.

While the developed world quenches its insatiable thirst for the newest and latest gizmo, much of the subsequent e-waste is exported to countries like India, China, Pakistan, Nigeria, and Ghana. "The pollution and related health problems in countries where e-waste is dumped will increase massively as the amount of electronics used worldwide is growing exponentially and the number of countries used as dump sites will grow,
-

Saturday, March 26, 2011

beach house

I am fixed, light
like a lamp
dulled in the shade
aged by the sun
I am hooked
barbed lip piercing tied to monofilament
or was it gut string?
or a song?
am I a broken blade?
tricked into cutting stone?
maybe metal smelted in the glow
words passing
between moving bicycles
lost in the stream
a grain of sand on your feet


its different here
because the air has changed
my lungs are filled
yet I'm so thirsty
dying to breathe
smelling like a paper mill
a dumpster
and I'm still an
infant, young sapling man
limbs branching out to the sky's
farthest reaches
you're still
a broken shell
on this polluted beach
at the end of my street
the salt air is a tide
rising into
my chest when I'm home
kneeling down
to touch the ocean
as she pulls away

missing person

a stranger I met
in her protruding
a trap
some body projected on
this leaning black screen
back in the corneas brown
green depth
I tried to mentally separate the two
conflicting characters within
but couldn't
pry you from your
beauty, shield
protections and silent defense
attraction just
distracting me from demented bliss
and dishonest intentions

Thursday, March 24, 2011

we needs to cover this with violin guitar and drums

for RE & DP

bass, guitar and groovebox drums mixing sweetely. plus shitty vocals!

The signs of the defeat of Libyan revolution - Statement by a Libyan anarchist

I call on all the peoples to support us, the Egyptians, Tunisians, French, even Chinese, all the peoples of the world, we welcome their support and sympathy.

In a few hours, the UN Security Council will decide to start air strikes against Libya. France has said that it is ready to start the bombardment from tonight.

We condemn this international resolution, if it is realized. And we totally reject any foreign intervention in Libya, whatever shape it may take, especially a French one. France, that sold Qaddafi weapons worth billions, weapons that he is using today to blow up Libyans, the same France that didn't stop such deals until 3 weeks back.

We condemn this intervention that will transform Libya into a real hell, even more than now. That intervention will also steal the revolution from the Libyans, a revolution that has cost them thousands of dead women and men so far.

To be liberated from Qaddafi just to become slaves to those who armed him and empowered him during all those years of authoritarian violence and repression.

What can be said while waiting for the bombs?

Because bombs will not differentiate between those who are pro-Qaddafi and who are against him.

Colonialist bombs, as you know, have only one objective: to defend the interests of arms traders. They sold Qaddafi arms worth billions and then we ask them to destroy them now... Then we will buy new arms through the new government - it is an old, well-known story. But there are people who cannot learn except through committing old mistakes, made long before.

please

Saturday, March 19, 2011


I was in the wrong forest

with the perfect clouds to

fill my lungs

and part in walking

tasting the moss and guava wood

long needles reaching off the stretched arms

of dark figures

grey skinned woodsmen

speak only in whispers

and quiet creaking squeals

but surrounding me I cannot

ignore their



spear wielding spirits threatening

righteous death


fearless living on

through the forest

in the heavens above your


Friday, March 18, 2011

I wish I could live in the bleak bending forest of minimalist piano

i think it is the fact that it sounds like a child exploring a scale they've just discovered, a young, ignorant soul trying to rach and grasp the beauty that the world can create. wishing they were able to see and feel and taste and touch the world and all that's in it, yet mournful that all they have is a room and a piano. the moment before clarity, when beauty and sorrow, fear and sanctity all wrap into themselves

Thursday, March 17, 2011

mind tricks

carton of cigarette juice

childproof pineapple

pill bottle

won’t open

my head

needing something stronger

than the drugstore can provide

so I go to where the junkies

hide their magic

inside bricks

outside the gas station

reach in like

I’m fisting concrete and receiving

the gorgeous crystal secretions

dripping mushrooms

grow in the forest

even when its shaved down

purple swirls of ice-cream

eyeballs tilting

towards the elephant

I consumed

there’s no space in my


so the nose goes up

rocket ship

chocolate chip ladies tending to the garden

of gnome statues

raping snail shells and drinking their slime

the grass grows where the shit hit


mosquitos trying to get inside


find my force-field



at 6:30

everything is golden

even the mousey white man’s glasses

reflecting through the window screen

flashes theses projections

shifting shadows

blind or beaming their yellow shards

soldering my mind to them

with each turn

our eyes perceive intrinsically altered views

reflections on the salted body

then its dark and grey in the shade of kuli’ou’ou

and the sky

is oil above her indifferent arms

this is my time

and I would sleep all day till 6, never waking

I’d take

the route 23

like a photo, gunnin’ the shuttering seats carefully

in the evening

when everything is beautiful

even isolation

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

blood, alone

stabbed by dirty fork
when I reached for a spoon
to eat icecream

Saturday, March 12, 2011

heretic, wall of silence

dirty laundry

girls lining the trees

soaked cotton

wet hanging necks


the horse falling under

this lone world

pools the moonlit ocean and salts my lens

arc lit nights

reveal our fossils mortality

a moment’s echoed canyon

sounds remember when

la luna’s rings reverberates

a new way burns through the old

till smoke clouds the sun

we cannot harness

the mother of life

or return her to the cold


this gift

my red insides

full of

rare dog fed on


lost in the propellers wake

drunken yelling, pushes come to thrusts

through busted windows, shadowy dreams and iron oxide lusting

I am

losing more from you

then my

trust in feeling


these senses erode

the sand flows over low lands

tall boulders and eyes rolling when

water falls down

her face

rivers become valleys

streams and small creeks

now a mix, flow

soapy trickle

your sick tricks and

fucking cement


lies never cover

can never compare to

the dirty nature of these

naked truths

what I see with open eyes

and arms extended

you’ll never know

these deep

blue mountain rivers

and the still

tree shaded shores


by my closed mouth

for the shapeless I cannot feel

I thought I felt your shape but I was wrong
Really all I felt was falsely strong
I held on tight and closed my eyes
It was dumb I had no sense of your size

It was dumb to hold so tight
But last night
On the birthday in the kitchen
My grip was loose my eyes were open

I felt your shape and heard you breathing
I felt the rise and fall of your chest
I felt your fall
Your winter snows
Your gusty blow
Your lava flow
I felt it all
Your starry night
Your lack of light
With limp arms I can feel most of you

I hung around your neck independently
And my loss was overwhelmed
By this new depth I don't think I ever felt

But I don't know
The nights are cold
And I remember warmth
I could have sworn I wasn't alone

mmm....tasty lo-fi

Phil Elvrum and Julie Doiron

Friday, March 11, 2011


Why are powerful drugs used to starch shirts, powder insoles, and make unique clothing? Because they are also excellent fine powders and durable textile fabrication materials. From Hamilton's Pharmacoepia at Vice.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

the skin that’s broken

black streams of hair

twisting through the valley

collecting glances,



in the flow like my chances of

knowing the path

realizing contentment after your facts are

revealed folly


down the paper road towards her

I’m wholly disappointed

in this aura

flashed past

like walking laughter

travels stationary

falling into ordinary desperation


deeper and deeper till words no longer matter and there is only this

sound to turn my wheels in a cold puddle

dead children’s silence

holding on to

a novel way of saying no to everything

singing “look for me in the

open ocean

sky and dessert”

and I agree to devote

time to this ruin

casting off reality as a filtered


a dirty window

lenses wiped with a narcotic spirit

smoke and vapor cleanse

lights my psyche

turning pages under my tongue

tell me the questions to this

answer I found in the lost places



“kiss the skin that’s broken

and build me a new sea

made of your fallen and

collected tears”

washing away the flavor

of quickened years shifting over body like all my fears

stapled together

and nailed to the nearest

swim trunk

soon forests fill with posters

of my deformed face and beached

near death images remain with me for a while

till the rain returns a smile when she walks by

mushroom circle

we live in plastic

fearful of water and weathering the heat of

isolation or a/c suffocation


this occupied land

these are my colonialist’s words trying to form

my oppressed mind into some free illusion

but I live on time

borrowed from death

owing the air to everyone I sold

a single breath in debt I’m

surrounded by thieves sleeping

in fallen leaves underneath

the dead trees I dream of

burning cities back to fertile ashes

inoculating clouds of spores

Tuesday, March 1, 2011


have you ever swam

through pillowed dreams

like this

resting on me

so that we can both

breathe love

easily embrace the insides of our

spines and

find the climbing ferns

intertwining around

pillars of your kind


face me naked

stripped of mask

and worn illusion

I’ve been craving your rusted beauty

beneath the paint

do you sometimes think

of being purified

by blood and lust

have you imagined

green forest palaces that fill a hazy air

with our own thickened


if I whispered it into your ear

would you pull away from


soft warmth

of my breath’s wool

even in

frigid weather

walking hours on vapor secrets

and told jokes dissipating

like my bleak eyes' dark holes

deepen the brown dirt

disintegrating lies in salt water

can you taste it

my sour expression realizing the impossibility

that you would take me for what I wish

in this undressing

disrobing the fertile valleys scent

cleanse my moist stressed


if only I could say what’s

clouding my mind

the torture

without feeling human for

someone’s skin

and seeing every moment with lids weighed down

your picture hidden

hung low and

disfigured within