Sing, Sing, Sing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tK0IxYo1sSc

Goddamn I love Zoot Suits. 

I like boring things.

Genius, visionary, avant-gardist though he is, Andy Warhol is a bit of a dick. He is highly sexist, objectifying his muses relentlessly; in particular Edie Sedgwick, who ended up overdosing. "I am a deeply superficial person." That just about sums up his entire artistic agenda. Appearance. Appearance. Appearance.

Pure Gonzo

Ralph Steadman: cartoonist, writer, composer, magician with a pen and paper, creator of 'Gonzo Journalism.'

OM NOM.

 Once you've stalked enough photographers, you start to realise that the true creatives have something in their works that, try as you might, you can never imitate. It's an essence, a secret technique, a certain je-ne-sais-quoi-le-fuck-it-is that gives you the shivers and makes you wonder: why don't my photos look that good? I believe Peter Cagnacci to be on of these freaks of nature. My first impression was that perhaps he goes a bit overboard with Photoshop, but if you look close enough, you understand that this is the essence I'm talking about. The saturation and over-exposure make his photos ethereal. They draw you in and don't let you out. He is a wizard with photo editing programs - he can see potential in photos that noone else can and brings it out, BUT, he doesn't put much thought into the story behind the photograph. What are the photographs saying? To me, sometimes they don't say anything, while at other times I can tell they're trying but not quite getting the message across. But then again, perhaps that's part of the essence of his works: they're just photographs. Beautiful photographs. AMAZING photographs. Check them out and decide for yourself at http://www.petercagnacci.com/ and http://kidsdieyoung.tumblr.com/.

c/o Peter Cagnacci

Les Ballets Russes

Above are some costume designs by Alexandre Benois for the ballet "Petrushka" (1910). It tells the story of a puppet who is brough to life and "imprisoned", along with other dolls, by his charlatan master who makes him perform at fairs. He eventually escapes his prison, only to be slain by a Moor doll over his jealousy for their mutual love of a Ballerina doll. The story ends with Petrushka's (the puppet) ghost scaring his master away, leaving the audience to wonder who is "real" and who is not. I love the creativity, intricacy and colour that went into these designs. I'm off to see "Ballets Russes: The Art of Costume" - an exhibition in Canberra - next weekend. I can't wait to see these beauties.

I Hate Mondays.

Banksy. Street artist. Innovator. Genius.

His works are dualistic in that they are simplistic while simultaneously showing complexity. Simplistic in the sense that most of his pieces comprise one single illustration (or object in the case of his installations), and complex due to the intricacy of the illustrations (which is unusual for a graffiti artist) and his insightful yet entertaining social commentary. Even if you glance over one of his works, his message is clear. Take for example, his works along the Gaza Strip.

 The Gaza Strip borders Egypt on the southwest and Israel on the south, east and north. It is about 41 kilometers long. Initially under Israeli control, the Gaza Strip was then transferred into the hands of the Palestinians in accoradance with the Oslo Agreement, thus between 1994 and 1996 Israel built the Israeli Gaza Strip barrier for its own security. The UN and many other international bodies consider Israel to be the occupying power of the Gaza Strip as Israel controls its airspace and territorial waters, and does not allow the movement of goods in or out of Gaza by air or sea. In these works, Banksy highlights the blatant denial of a basic human right - freedom of movement - which screams for government attention, yet almost lightheartedly echoes the struggle of the people.

Due to ongoing legal proceedings, Banksy has never revealed his identity. Which I think is an excellent idea. The longer he can evade paparrazzo attention and the toxic celebrity environment of drugs, alcohol and solicited sex, the better.

Cisum Ynkuf.

 Nathan Wind Photography: I love the energy in his photos, especially because it is musical,creative energy. He captures the spirit of the music in the facial expressions of the artists, and the black/white photography exaggerates this by focusing the audience's eye on the subject rather than the colour.

See more of his stuff at:

http://nathanwind.doctorfassman.com/takeshi/

Willett.

On inspiration: I had a creative writing teacher who said that the Zen of writing is "You don't know what you're going to write when you start, you just allow yourself to start." On change: In between albums, if you really want to do something and change yourself, it's like you're a huge ship, and you're trying to turn it around 180 degrees. It takes a while, and it takes a lot of work. It's terrifying but liberating. On being an artist: I'm learning about that now - what it is to be an artist in your life. To be constantly changing and to be able to kind of put on one mask for a while, then take it off and put on another mask, I've always disliked musicians who are so self-aborbed that they can't see out of themselves and the world around them. I've kind of liked people who are very aware that they are trying on a persona. On our generation: We're very good at being cynical, and reading people's bullshit. But I think we've lost the ability to be sincere. People will always e able to connect with music, because it really pulls on their heart. But if they can live their lives in a way where they feel love and can show love and heart, and not be sceptical and afraid of it, that's the heart of our generation.

*Excerpt from frankie's Issue #40 interview with Cold War Kids' frontman Nathan Willett.

Ba-ba-ba-ryshnikov.

                                              

This is Mikhail Baryshnikov, arguably the greatest ballerino of the 20th century. Take a long hard look. Go on, linger over those muscles. What drew me to ballet was its perfection and elegance - which Baryshnikov reflects in his poise, persona and silhouette. Having started ballet lessons for the first time at age 19 (and just after the release of Black Swan) I have received a lot of criticism regarding my interest in the art. Just for the record, I did not start ballet because I saw Natalie Portman prance around in a tutu and then get eaten out by some chick. I am in love with the movement of ballet - the seamless transition from chassé to arabesque to pas de bourré and, as previously mentioned, the elegance and perfection associated with it. Ballet requires immense fitness, balance, and coordination and it will be a long time before I'm on par with The Russian, if ever. For now, I'll just swoon. 

Etchings from a body tortured.

c/o Yours Truly

Forever your girl.

c/o Yours Truly

You made me promises, promises.

Day 15 - still stuck on the couch. There is nothing but shit on TV, and I haven't heard a good song in a very long time. I'm so tired of the repetitive, unoriginal, predictable, steaming crap that bands come out with, and the clueless fuckwits that rave about how awesome the bass is or how insightful the lyrics are. "You're amazing just the way you are"; "Take a bullet straight through my brain"; "Do you ever feel like a plastic bag"; "Baby you're a firework"; "Where you came from, where you came from"; "Boom boom boom, even brighter than the moon moon moon". Really? Really? Come on you fucking wankers stop wasting your time taking drugs and write some fucking proper music. FUCK. "I just want to put some flowers right in your vase." HOW AMBIGUOUS! Like my dad always says: must have stayed up all night thinking of those lyrics. It might just be the fairy-floss shit that they play on Channel [V]. But I am not going to pretend to be a muso - I wouldn't even know where to look for up-and-coming artists or underground bands. That's where the talent seems to be, as much as I hate to admit it - because 'underground' has such a stigma attached to it. Only alterno-anti-pop-culture-hipsters who wear their grandparents' old clothes and big scarfs around their necks even in summer and black Doc Martens listen to underground music because they're too alterno-anti-pop-culture to listen to anything unless they are the first person to ever hear it. Well, I see their point. Mainstream is becoming more and more Mainfuckingterrible. Don't get me wrong though, there are some pop songs that are just so catchy you have to love them. I'm not ashamed to admit I rock out quite frequently to Kesha and Miley Cyrus. All I'm saying is, sometimes it would be nice to turn on the radio and hear something different, something that makes you stop what you're doing just to listen. Something you can classify as groundbreaking. A 21st century Bohemian Rhapsody, if you will. And then there's the pretentious fucks who write overly astute lyrics like  "Understanding is cruel the monkey said as it launched to space" and "Ignorance is bliss until they take your bliss away" that seem perceptive but are actually absolute nonsense. 

Jesus the creativity is never-ending today. "I'm here for your entertainment". Where have I heard that before... "Let me entertain you"? No.. no that's not it.. those are two completely different ideas. "Can you handle" and "Heat it up" and all the variants are very popular too these days. Oh god save me now Short Stack are on. Oz Artist of the Year? Fuck off. Watching their guerilla gig. They cannot play live. Maybe I'm pretentious. Maybe I'm just jealous, because I haven't got a creative bone in my body. Maybe I could be a producer, I believe I atleast have the ability to differentiate self-indulgent tripe from musical genius, and that's much more than can be said for the majority of artists I've heard recently. 

Come back John Lennon, Michael Jackson, Frank Sinatra. The music industry needs you.

Lover you shouldn't come over.

Salvador Dali is a genius. I absolutely love his works, concepts, ideas - everything that came out of that mustached mouth. His paranoiac-critical method was and is the height of avant-garde. I am trying to create my own surrealist work but there's not much you can do without a good camera or the strength to get off the fucking couch. Damn you, lymph glands!

Simply on my lips.

c/o Yours Truly

 

Entered

The end of the week already. And almost the end of the year. That's scary. I honestly feel like time goes quicker than it used to. An hour feels like 20 minutes. A month feels like a week. I'm trying acid for the first time tonight, and I'm nervous. Really, really nervous. But I know I shouldn't be, and I can't be, because that could lead to a bad trip. I want to have fun. But I don't want to end up with long term side effects. Shut up. Always so negative. Happy thoughts. My Michael Jackson collection is coming along nicely. I have 4 books, 2 DVDs, 2 videos, 2 CDs, 1 record, 1 magazine, 4 1986 trading cards and 3 stickers. And I will shortly be buying a ticket to the HIStory tour of the #1 impersonator in the world.

Tables, they turn sometimes.

I hate working in hospitality. Absolutely fucking hate working in hospitality. I would sooner be a garbagewoman, a debt collector, a sewer worker, than be employed under the soul-sucking, blood-boiling career umbrella that we refer to as "The Customer Is Always Right". Fuck the customers! What do they know? If you're such a fucking coffee connoisseur, why aren't you behind this counter hmm? I'll tell you why. Because these people are either the trophy wives of the Upper Class, or the retired 40-something elites or the unemployed. Generally, people who have nothing else to do except make us professional arse-lickers miserable.

Because you can't buy misery. It's an occupational position.

And someone's gotta fill it.

Look I'm sorry, I might be able to sense when the kitchen door is about to be swung into my face, or possess the ability to catch the three plates that are plummetting to the floor without spilling a grain of rice because your fat ass knocked them out of my hand because you didn't see me because you were too busy demanding to know why I didn't realise that when you said latte you actually meant half-full-half-skim-3/4-decaf-mugaccino-sans-chocolate. But did I mention, I am not a fucking mindreader.

Hospitality must be the lowest of the low professions, deserving absolutely no respect from the people we deal with. What else would give customers the impression that they can speak to us as if we are rabid, stray dogs who are trying to hump the shit out of their Chanel-suited leg when really, all we're doing is asking whether that order is take away or dine in. No ma'am, we don't fucking charge extra if you eat here. We should. Having to listen to your mind-numbingly boring stories of how Rosita hasn't cleaned the house properly makes my ears bleed and let me tell you, hospital bills ain't cheap.

It is my firm belief that it takes so much more of a conscious effort to be rude, impatient with, and inconsiderate towards people than it does to crack a smile (be it fake or otherwise) and just say "Please" or "Here, have a $200 tip for putting up with the soy-drinkers and the not-too-runny-not-too-hard-with-truffle-somehow-baked-into-the-yolk-of-my-poached-quail-egg-eaters of this planet. You've earned it." And you know what I'd say? I'd say "Thank you kind sir."

Because I'm just nice like that.