Dang Dude

It's been almost a month since I posted here. I've been rocking 60 hour weeks, and don't have much time for anything else. It's not that I haven't thought about both of my loyal readers, rather, it's that I've wandered into a shut down mode.
All day, I roll over witty headings for my inevitable next post. I realized that my humor is nothing but dumb puns, for the most. It almost got hopeless. I'd note odd occurrences or peculiar situations to relate. I had begun the long slide towards becoming one of those guys that mutters to himself, feeling self-important and philosophical. On that note, I'll speak up.
I stay away from my flat, even when I'm not working. I'm usually out all day on the weekends and walking. I enjoy joining tour groups. I never actually make the jump to talking with the other members. The main reason for this is that I usually go along with the Russians, Koreans, and Japanese. I eventually split when thay start to notice that I stop and gawk with them.
That leads to this; Men with guns are patrolling the streets of Staromestska and the metro lines. Apparently, some evidence of a potential terrorist plot against the Jewish Quarter, and, by extension, the city itself has come to light. My fanciful mind calls up Brazil, the movie. This info is most likely coming from people who would benefit from having European countries that are on the fence in regards to the recent actions in Oil Country a little worked up about the threat of the brown people from that part of the world and their intentions to kill everything. Czechs are laid back about this kind of stuff. Their attitude is "don't tell me what to do, and I won't tell you what to do." They're allowed this in the world stage, mostly because they aren't much of a power, economically or militarily. It would, however, be another name on the list that GW could show, saying all the while, the Czechs are cool with us fucking with Iran...
I digress. Everyone's a little on edge, and guys with machine guns are patrolling the streets. I heard a fighter jet fly by more than once this morning, and I wondered if I should go and watch the news. A week ago, I was getting on the Metro at Mustek, and an official looking fella was standing by the entrance to the compulsory ticket area at the head of the lengthy escalator. I felt a rush of panic. I don't know why. I had a valid ticket. It's just that the people were lined up, as opposed to rushing through the gates and down to the trains. I thought, "I don't have my passport. " My mind started racing. "Are they looking for bombs?" I really worked myself into a tizzy, and considered walking right out of the station, when a woman with a variety, I'm talking a wide spectrum, of problems, (Mental, Physical, Emotional, et.al), fell down the escalator, and the waiting crowds went nuts, all whooping and hollering. Then it hit me. They're taking retards to the zoo (I'm only paraphrasing The Dead Milkmen, I'd never be so insensitive and crass). It was a field trip from the asylum. I got in line, and went with the flow.
Where a normal tour group glances at me uncomfortably when they realize they've got an other in the group, these guys, the ones with the wherewithal to realize that I'd worked myself into the middle of their group, stared at me like fucking psychoes. I smiled back, and felt great doing it.



Well, I was going to post some mixmusic for the folks back home, but ezarchive is cramping my style. Maybe next time. I'm all jacked up on some high graged granola, fruit, caffe latte, a little fresh squeezed, and a bazillion endless cigarettes, so let's see what I had prepared a month ago... nothing...
Not only has my cd drive completely quit working, but, apparently, my bookmarks folder has been wiped from my computer. I'm pissed now. More later...

Far & Few

I work 12 hour days. I get up at 6:30 in the morning, and my last lesson finishes at 6:30. I'm teaching (2 and 3-year-olds) at a pre-school for five hours, then off to synagogue to teach the Rabbi's 6-year-old, and I finish with adults at various locations throughout town. It's a wear, but fulfilling. It helps that I listen to this most mornings, if I can. It's postal workers cancelling stamps in Ghana. Put it on repeat and try not to feel better by a smidge.



I just heard that the Crocodile Hunter died. I don't know. I can't count the times that I saw him fucking with a cobra or trying to hug a badger and thought that I can't wait for the inevitable show where he finally gets it. Don't get me wrong. It sucks the dude died, but it's hard (for a meager misanthrope as I) not to have thoughts like that when he would announce that he was going to do something seemingly suicidally perilous. "My breath reeks of KFC and I'm gonna give this alligator a little smooch." Do it. Do it. Do it. Today's going to be the day. I'm disenheartened that he was just swimming along, and wham... Bye Buddy. I hope you're fucking with dangerous animals on some higher plane.



The whistling postal workers got me thinking sonically. Peep this shit. I know. I am a cruel bastard.



Speaking of finding shit with sound, found sound.



I steal music... from here.



and here.



OK, enough of that. Chech out some quirky mag covers...



I'm too pooped to pope. Until next time, remember that it's about a blank who wants to blank.

Onkel Zbyndas Winterrock

OK, It seems that I've figured out how to post MP3s. I plan on putting up Czech rarities for the kids back home. Here is a little something called Big Mac by OZW, or Onkel Zbyndas Winterrock from their album Nevergreeny. It's hard to dig up English info on most of these underground groups, and my Czech is meager, at best. I've focused my search on Black Point Label. They haven't led me astray, yet. I found their store while I was wandering the streets one day. It's a total tiny record shop, and I felt immediately at home. Their vinyl was just three pitiful boxes with Styx and Wings and whatnot. I'm off the wax for now anyhow. I was disappointed by the fact that it was just garage sale junk... Then I stumbled onto a mint condition Nick Cave & Die Haut. I had to step away from the wax, but I felt a renewed interest to peruse further. The cat behind the counter seemed a little "eh. I work in a record store, but eh..." I approached him with my mangled Czech. "Hello. I am looking for Czech underground (I actually said Alternatif. Forgive me, but that's what they say.)" He kept pulling out Ska. "No Ska... Please. (Ska being a four-letter word, for me.)" It wasn't working, and his Cosby sweater was forcing me to lose steam. "What do you like? What is new and good?" He recommended the new Red Hot Chili Peppers... I actually frowned. He motioned for me to wait a minute. He went into the back and came out with an absolute record nerd bruiser. A Tubby guy with thick-ass Birth COntrol glasses and a bright red Residents T-Shirt. That frown turned right the fuck upside-down. He didn't speak a lick of English, but he knew exactly what I was talking about. "BlahBlahBlah King Crimson. BlahBlah Zappa. Blahblah Devo." He would grin and nod and come back with a stack of exactly what I wanted. His name is Vasek (Vash-eck). He rocks. He's not a snob:He's a nerd...



What do Bob Dylan, Malcom X, John F. Kennedy, and Fidel Castro have in common?



While I'm getting my nerd on, does anyone remember Mouse?



One blow music/ethno-music/cheesecake/picture gallery geekout, then onto some other nonsense. Turkish Record Covers.



Howzabout the requisite photo site? I know it's not Russian, but the dude's name is Sacha... Waldman, if you're nasty.



Some housecleaning. Do you need a stupid/strange/quirky/offensive/offbeat photo to identify your unique and individaul self to others on MySpace? Steal one from here.



Or an animated gif?



I'm beat. Keep 'em peeled. I'll be back. Meanwhile, I know it's not PC to call orcas Killer Whales, but it's better than Africanized Dolphins.

Try, try again

Can you hear more than 17 seconds of this?

Pozor Na Kradeze

I need to take the time to set up my keyboard with the Czech alphabet. My Czech is still so meager, but I've trained myself to read it as written. That is the beauty of this seemingly unapproachable language. If you know the sounds of the letters, then you can have a pretty good idea of how it is pronounced (not that I can pronounce it correctly). I write Rehorova, a street in my hood, on this keyboard, and it looks wrong to me, because, with the correct Czech letters, it is pronounced Rzh-ye-horzh-oh-vya. Even the unaccented letters can be a mouthful. Ice cream is Zmrzlina (pronounced just as written).
My reason for wanting to use the correct letters, is that I am going to start hosting MP3s of Czech Underground groups (get them while they're hot), and I don't want to diss the artists by misspelling their names. I know I'm picky, but the difference between Ess and Shhh can mean the difference between Shit and Sit. I digress.
I'm a total nerdo, but this is my desktop wallpaper and it makes me smile...



Well, It's been awhile since I posted some good old-fashioned smut. I've been delving into Freudian theory in my free time, and the last week or so was all about phobia. It got me thinking about Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds. Watch it and think long and hard (I told you I've been reading too much Freud) about the tiess between birds and female fear... Blahblah. I was looking for images to tie with this tangent that has yet to materialize and I found old pictures of boobies. 'Nuff said.



We now return to your regular broadcast. I'm not much of one for the cartoony in my hard art, but Buzelli's work is simply adorable...



Gottfried Helnwein's work, on the other hand, is decidedly not adorable...



I've written lots about my undying admiration for Guy Bourdin. He took great shoe pictures. Sophie Delaporte has a similar feel. It's kind of what I like about Roxy Music album covers. They're ostensibly hot, and undeniably cold.



I was missing my pal, Ekwador, and went looking for shots like these. S-I-T-B, yo.



OK. One more artso-fartso, then onto the usual mindless inter-fare. Shivs...



Let's see... Mindless... Hmmm... Howzabout Drunk Animals? Yeah, that'll do.



I've been missing the SQUIRM, so I've been getting my SKRONK where I can... Poke around here for more.



More later. Get your feet set...

This is just a test...

I want to post MP3s. Comment if you can hear THIS. It's by a Czech group called Marno Union.

redyellowgreenyellowred

OK, Let's see what I can do in the hour before my lesson. It'll be sloppy, but what do you want for nothing? I'm just going to post in order from my "stuff I found on the internerd" folder. Conceptual continuity be damned! First up, a painter that I've admired for a long time, Inka Essenhigh. She's done tons of stuff (I love her boy's wallpaper series from way back), but, now that she's using oil, her work is super-rocking. Granted, Comic books have informed almost every aesthetic filter I have installed in my brainpan (no shame), but her work goes well beyond comic-booky. I dug her up at the Saatchi site, which is well worth perusing for new desktop wallpaper or ironic myspace icons.



Waits is touring stateside. No word on any shows on my side of the pond. I'll just hold my breath and rock back and forth until I can get my grubby mitts on this.



Here's a droplet for my laptop maestroes. Grab some Gojira soundtracks.



I found a big spider in my bathroom last night, or, rather, he found me. I never thought that he'd make a nice brooch.



Not to be a retro-slut, but this shit is cool NOW.



On the obverse, this shit was never cool. I was talking with Barndance about a Currier & Ives Crucifix that he has hanging at Ipso Facto. We got onto their Darktown series. It's not one that people mention when they discuss the legacy of C&I.



On a lighter note... Pictures of kids doing cute stuff. It's like Anne Geddes, but a tad rougher. (PS my obligatory Russian photo site)



Fatty Arbuckle won't be my friend on MySpace... Read.



Everyone has heard the Wilhelm Scream.




I did all this in 45 minutes...

Wouldn't you miss me? (Dark Globe)

Well, It's been almost a month, so I've probably lost both of my faithful readers (you know who you are...). Sorry 'bout that. I'm going to strive to make this a weekly post. That seems realistic. Keep the Faith.



KJP and I took a daytrip up to Kutna Hora a few weeks ago. It's home the one of the most important silver mines of the olden days, a ton of Communist Palankas, a cathedral or two... oh yeah, and the Kostnice Ossuary.



It's powerful, being in a church cellar filled with bones. My emotions vacillated betwixt the recognition of a Archetypically Jungian sacred place, redolent with ancestral calm, and a rocking case of the heebie-jeebies.
The skulld have me thinking of the few who've passed since I've posted last. 3 come to mind.
; Masashi Kitamura, Arthur Lee, and Syd Barrett. Kitamura came to me late in the formation of taste. Lee never really blew my mind. Syd... I can't say enough.
It was Opel that turned me on to him. I know the early Floyd, and, admittedly, it was a coyote guide on more than one confused and colorful night spent during mis-directed adolescence. It was his delicate solo songs that hit home with me. The rhythm on Rats alone is enough to bend your mind if you lend an ear. He sums it up for me at the end of Dolly Rocker when his strumming finally just falls to pieces and he sighs "oh my". I don't feel as though I can express to what degree he helped me in my own darkest days. People talk about the tragedy of a lost genius. I think that's selfish. I feel that the delicate meat of his loss is that he wanted to be in a band and meet girls, and it all went soso wrong. "oh my"



Well, let's move onto what else I missed whilst on hiatus. Once again, GW puts his best foot forward on this side of the ocean. Meeting with the biggest economic powerhouse in the EU? Butter her (that's right! a chick! In charge, no less!) up with a little vulcan nerve pinch.



Ah, Mel Gibson... Christopher Hitchens says it more eloquently than I ever could, as per usual. I mean, he refers to that one Jesus movie as a "twistedly homoerotic spank-movie."



While we're on Nazis, read up on Heydrich. KJP and I were wandering the streets and came upon the orthodox cathedral of Cyril and Methodius. We went to the basement on a whim, and found out about the parachutists. In short, 4 Czech resistance fighters dropped into Bohemia in order to kill Reinhardt Heydrich. He was Hitler's solution to the "Jewish Problem." These Parachutists dropped in on a purely suicidal mission just to take out this piece of aryan white shit. They ran right up to his motorcade and dropped a grenade in his lap. To the scumbag's credit, he held on for a few days. The Czechs hid out in the basement of this cathedral. For a second, they had a chance of surviving. The church was covering for them. Hitler was shitting his shorts. then, one of their buddies ratted them out. Almost instantly, the cathedral was surrounded. These guys were down in the crypt with half the nazi forces outside of the door. They can't give up, because that would mean unspeakable torture, and, plus, they've gone this far to give up without a scrap. They sit in the tombs, shooting any nazis coming through the door. At one point, the rat who snitched even stuck his head over the hole, telling them to give up. What do do? These guys started digging like absolute madmen. They took a metal pole and started to dig into solid rock in a last-ditch effort to make it to freedom via the sewers. They dug about 8 feet into concrete, brick and rock with a 4-foot metal pole. This is with a bazillion Nazis beating down the door. Alas, they saved a bullet apiece for when all hope was truly lost. They used those 4 bullets. Hitler responded by killing all the church leaders and their extended families. He levelled the town the parachutists were from, killing everyone in it.

I've been reading tons of Freudian theory lately. I'm more interested in his influences and the prototypical sources of the talking cure. For the last few weeks it's been hysteria, phobia, and perversion as they relate to Mesmerism. This cat, Charcot, was a big influence on Sigmund. He crystallizes something unnameable that I feel about the role of the analyst in analysis (Heisenberg, I might be looking in your direction). Anyhow, enough of the boring history and blahblah. I just think it's funny that Freud had this painting of Charcot in mid-session at Salpêtrière hanging above his couch.I wonder what little Hans thought, or, more importantly, Dora...

As an aside (think Parfait), has anyone seen any Waits shows? I want details.



Well, let's get the photo bizness out of the way. This page has tons of great stuff. Looklooklook!



This has been around awhile, but they still make me smile. How else to say it, but French women flashing a street photographer...



Check out Ernesto Timor. He's got so much work to peruse, and his links are worth a peek or two.



These are made of money... Holy Wow, Batman!



Sorry for the Robin quote, but how else was I supposed to preface a worthless page like this? Who wants a new desktop wallpaper?



Again, yet another validation for spending time sifting through Russian Photo pages...



Sometimes, when I see a tram go by with its windows full of people, I think of the last supper. Now, I think of spools of thread, too.



Dave's in Japan.



It's a little late in an already lengthy post to start talking about Japanese stuff that I find to be cool, but you have to peep this little fella out.



Mis-printed Type...



In conclusion, Slime Moulds move...