(B) for Blog

A Portrait of an Artist as a Student

Part III: Accidental Encounters with the Picturesque

Copyright © Noah Davis / All Rights Reserved

Rebel Yell – Billy Idol

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thursday

as far as i can see

CBD Radio 9/1

I’m the verbal-spit Smith Wesson
I unload with sick spit the quick wick could split a split-second,
Bomb with a lit wick expression
You here a tick tick then you testin..

Back by popular demand of the hood. Ladies grab your dresses.

The Return
by
Milo Ben-Amotz

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there’s no home for your here girl go’way

Week-End

Alex Prager
_________

Thanks & Happy Birthday D.C.

Heading East and Into Heaven

Our species is the only creative species, and it has only one creative instrument, the individual mind and spirit of a man. Nothing was ever created by two men. There are no good collaborations, whether in music, in art, in poetry, in mathematics, in philosophy. Once the miracle of creation has taken place, the group can build and extend it, but the group never invents anything. The preciousness lies in the lonely mind of a man.

And now the forces marshaled around the concept of the group have declared a war of extermination on that preciousness, the mind of man. By disparagement, by starvation, by repressions, forced direction, and the stunning hammerblows of conditioning, the free, roving mind is being pursued, roped, blunted, drugged. It is a sad suicidal course our species seems to have taken.

And this I believe: that the free, exploring mind of the individual human is the most valuable thing in the world. And this I would fight for: the freedom of the mind to take any direction it wishes, undirected. And this I must fight against: any idea, religion, or government which limits or destroys the individual. This is what I am and what I am about. I can understand why a system built on a pattern must try to destroy the free mind, for that is the one thing which can by inspection destroy such a system. Surely I can understand this, and I hate it and I will fight against it to preserve the one thing that separates us from the uncreative beasts. If the glory can be killed, we are lost.

(Pg. 131)

John Steinbeck East of Eden

Somebody Said the Kids Are All the Same These Days

OAK zine.

Song of the Night

Can’t Stop Now – Major Lazer

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Russell & Textor

†

Out West

Copyright © Michael Avedon / All Rights Reserved

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec

1864 – 1901

My Father’s Desk
Larry Sultan, 1987

Song of the Night

Like A G6 – Far East Movement

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The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

William Butler Yeats

Hans-Christian Schink