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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...