A friend and I have been making music together, as well as separately, and we put it all on here.
Our twitters and his Flickr is one there, too.
I am finished experimenting with disposable cameras. They are out of my system. Here are a list of pictures that happened within a 3 month threshold. Some I don’t remember. But all were under the influence: euphoria. I hang out with weirdos and draw dudes skating and praying to roadkill. Oh, and I write a lot. This is the last installment. What now?
Sneak peek into the upcoming LookBook I’ll be releasing entitled “I Need Some Ka$h“. Nobody probably gives a shit, but I’m interested and looking forward to putting the last few pieces together and putting it up for release. But I’m still drowsy off of nothing. So here is where I’ll stop.
I’m gonna be publishing a LookBook, possibly this month or next, of all my current illustrations and designs (t-shirt) I’ve been doing. It’s not any good drawings, but ugly is the new beauty. I’m gonna make personal t-shirts for myself in the summer. I want to publicize my artwork, being good or bad, for a personal satisfaction. I am entitling it “I Need Some Ka$h…“
18-year-old London-based singer, Archy Marshal A.K.A. King Krule has released his video for one of the two singles he dropped late last year, “Octopus“.
I’m drowsy off no sleep and a cup of chai tea. I’m burnt out and could fall into a deep slumber for 24 hours, dreaming for days on end with open eyelids. Half the time I don’t even make sense to myself.
He’s inhaling strawberry cough in the bathroom, mirrors surrounding him as he tries to drown himself in his sorrow. It reminds me of an old movie sketch drawn in the 1950′s, where everybody talked the same and wore a suit and tie trying to be a hard ass. But very vividly played out, I enjoy any video that King Krule does produce. It’s as if he can’t see through crying eyes, singing his broken bird song to an entity that really isn’t there. I especially drew morality and inspiration from him staring at himself in the mirrors. Not looking like he didn’t like the man he saw, or rather envied the man he used to be. But it soothed me. He looked calm simply singing his sadness out with one exhale of strawberry breath. A blue love song. Played over oceans as you attempt to not cry through your words. Attempting to love what isn’t there. And if you close your eyes, you can see a red crescent moon as you stare up at the stars floating over a body of water. You never really know where you’re heading until you panic. Until you leave a mode of discrepancy and become fearful of where you’re headed. But the palm trees soothe me. And the stars never remember my name, but I like that. I can close my eyes and imagine it being our first kiss every time we meet again. But maybe I’m crazy in this white patterned room. Maybe after being awake for 47 hours, I’m still drowsy.
The eerily-satisfying visuals of Robert Raimon Roy‘s most recent music video “Axela” is hauntingly beautiful. The quivering, colorless projections have me thinking it’s a lost love song in a sketched foreign film, film reel emitting static. Almost like a swan dance. “Axela” took a few moments for it to really impact me, visually and musically, yet instantly I was still drawn in by it’s mysterious ambiance. It looks painful for him to emit even the slightest of sound. As if an off screen, poorly budgeted play played out beautifully, choreographed into the haunting swan dance it is through virgin eyes.
“Axela” is my swan song. And once the projector finishes its reel and fades to black, you can’t help but wonder what happens to the man in the suit.