BluBlu + Muto

Amazing video by Italian street artist Blu: Muto, “An ambiguous animation painted on public walls”, painstakingly produced in Baden (02007) and Buenos Aires (02008), and full of astonishing transformations and lovely interplays between 2D drawn space and 3D, physical elements…

Animation plays with how we experience time by constructing an illusory continuity. However, most of the time it aspires to immerse the viewer fully in the world it posits, by allowing no trace of the artist’s process or environment to sully the frame.

A fascinating twist comes when it’s executed in the street — which I don’t recall seeing until today. Even as every image is effaced by its successor, all leave a trace. But what’s especially cool about this, from a long now perspective, is how the foregrounded timescale of these drawings-in-motion (accented by “real time” sound effects) is overlaid on accelerated shifts in traffic, light and shade of the urban backdrop. This helps make the film at once both strangely ordinary and quite surreal: beautiful.

breather resist

*just a quick note of possibly an apology? with smaller acts or self promoted groups i feel a bit guilty throwing the music up for free. however, generally when the groups are around they have shows, directly sell their work (merch, media, blah blah blah) so there is a way for them to be legitimately discovered. but, when a group like Breather is no longer around and they are so worth a listen.. i'd rather put up the music in a free form so it can still be heard by new listeners. rather than letting it die with only the kids who originally knew it haven't access to it. so, that's my logic. thanks.

-atti
__________________
(breather resist
mediafire links)


- Charmer

"astigmatism"

no time for rest.
no time for assurance.
he'll keep pushing away.
he'll keep his eyes wide open.
question. observe. repeat.
he won't stop until the ones who love him are gone.
he won't stop.
he's lost in the lies he's told himself.
he won't stop until they're all gone.
he'll keep pushing away.
just please don't let him go.

download.

- Suicide Note Split

 "bad with dates"

bad with dates only when i'm thinking this makes sense.
and my sleeping friend,
how could this be anymore constant,
than it already is?
am i the asshole? am i the asshole!?
this feeling is so constant.

download.

- Split Sessions

"it's pronounced library"

How could we make the difference?
The subtle change from nothing to nowhere.
We hear what you say.
Here's a solution....We hear what you preach.
Here's a solution...Shut up!
Forgive me if that's not what you had in mind.
Blank eyes stare to a puppet's masquerade.
How high they jump, how nice their outfits, and those moves they make.
There's your revolution.
I know it's hard to take, just plug your nose and swallow.
Forgive me if that's not what you had in mind.
Don't be afraid to choke.
I know it's hard to take, just plug your nose and swallow.

download.

- Patent Cruciform Casket


"cruciform casket"

This is not for attention.
It is nothing, but something to pass.
I wish I could steady this sinking ship,
but it looks as if I'm drowning in voices.
Be sure to send them to all your fucking understandings.
Not much for conversation.
Polished, inscribed.
Not much for conversation except for when
it's about things i just don't understand.
This is for you. I'll only be busier out of my skin.
To swallow nothing, but something.
I'm dreaming maybe or am I sure. it's nothing, but something to pass.
And I'll follow this sinking ship down beneath the surface.
Out of skin.

Taking it in.

download.

- Full of Tongues


download.

- Only in the Morning EP


"it stops two"

When you say there is nowhere else to go but up,
I just dig myself a deeper hole.
There is no way up.

download.

little did she know

by K-the-I???

digital effect glitch 

thats funny (brrwwwppp)

little did she know the front row she supplied the interview.
the memory of you was never actually there.
continuing duration-
maybe surprised, 
around the world i plan to be like "we understand."
granted, i meant it deliberately 
easy enough
upset
insert drum kit
its over nothing, dealing with every emotion
settle the argument, the brighter day waking up in the morning
looking for that special one more down,
how does it sound (how does it sound) .. to be so lonely

i dislike what she told me
im finished, using feelings that she never thought mattered 
or even existed in her eyes.
temptation should of never should have came with a disguise.
the way she moved her thighs 
felt designed for total control on another persons mind
if it isnt next to you.
.. and formulate a conversation
"where are you going from here; im waiting"
the whole life (my whole life) i been patient for this moment

(all for this moment)

beautiful roses for a beautiful girl.
my valentines day is forever, even though future generations of drifting
looking to remain- 
with the mrs butter-soft skin; 
i'm always in the mood for the touch sensitive
hush 

keep quiet (keep quiet) 

beautiful roses for a beautiful girl.
my valentines day is forever, even though future generations of drifting
looking to remain- 
with you, 
mrs butter-soft skin; 
i'm always in the mood for the touch sensitive

hush (hush) 

keep quiet

(silence)

.

.

.

make any money? plenty to offer.
i happen to notice the proper left and right, 
bouncing around up and down. 
thats besides the point.
when you understand my actions expressed, girl,
i never wait.
messing around? couldn't.
not worrying about the how, 
pound for pound lets get the paper.
i'm ready to wake up from staying from ___
luckily established vapors couldn't occur.. (what could we do)
not in the back,
without the sun setting;
it wasn't for exposure. 
overkill overturns, over until the colder it gets. (until the colder it gets)
there we can burn skrilla, it earns milly on silly songs. (silly songs)
wishing this would just go on. (whistles)
this is what i should of been doing right all night:
getting the party, double jumping, 

i'm not ready for the noise.

this is what i shoulda been doing right all night:
getting the party, double jumping, 

i'm not even ready for the noise.

this is what i shouldn't been doing, righting left all night,
getting the party, double jumping, 

i'm not even ready for the noise.

breathe. we're in boston.

♥ is where the home is, & vise-versa.

elephant's Øth symphony

by atti?

Mommy wanted a doctor - but she got a broken gurney anchored by obtuse configuration; God apparently doesn't take requests from sluts and junkies. Two eyes multiplied to four to eight to sixty-four and judgment poured across the tile wrapped in umbilical tears, every droplet as abstract as that child's face; she called him, never. Jack Daniel's bastard himself, grinning like an idiot at the look of disdain from trembling lips. Mother greeted mistake with latex smothered oven mitts, and the forehand of another six years to five fingers across his cheek for forgetting to turn out average. He was her anathema, for the simple fact that she didn't like the idea of mirrors or accountability. But that's ok, another eight ball of coke should ease the pain. Shaking hands with the skeletons in the closet to try and find normality - amongst a standard he was whole, but more empty than any bare spine and narrow rib cage could fathom. He was all alone, with the chime of shattering mirrors and the occasional duet from a passing soprano. Never loved, but was never loved.
Counting rings strangled in the puddles beneath his knees, he reached 17 before the water fall was cut down and all that he allowed of his sorrow was this solitary puddle, lonesome as the day it was conceived - as was he. Neversolo, he learned to conduct the voices in his head along the stage he discovered, laid across his forehead. A whore for attention, he spent weeks conducting string quartets atop the silhouette of the locks clasp. Waving blistered hands as if blanch wings of doves, he wrote his first piece beneath yesterday's misfortune and performed it on the eve of solitude. None but all were in attendance, just as he always dreamed.
"What the fuck are you doing!? As if your atrocity weren't horrid enough, you decide now to be a fucking lunatic!" Mother flew across the symphonies crescendo, as the lyrics of metzo-alto made the maestro giggle in joy.
"What is so fucking funny! that is it, I knew I shouldn't have never kept you... piece of shit." The beauty continued to dribble across her lips as he dropped his hand with all sincerity, and an acute thrash met the snare drum before the percussion line raced into densely orchestrated atmosphere. The drums thundered through trembling staffs as the brass section infused with the twin picking bass cellos that mumbled across the innocence of a screaming violin with the most sinister of intention! Faster! Faster! Faster! Arms tense and convulse. Faster! Faster! Faster! Maestro's hands mock the chaos he's created as he flicks his wrists! Faster! Faster! Faster ... before he then falls to his bed, dripping with the arev of his independent showing.
"You did great tonight." He whispered to himself as the music ran down his wrists.

J. BANNON

probably better known: the lead singer of Converge.

BANNON:

When I was young, I stumbled upon some paintings my father had painted. The day I found those is likely when my imagination started to race on its own. When I was 11-12 became obsessed with the vibrant artwork of the skateboard, bmx, and metal music cultures. I've been hooked ever since. I started painting and drawing on my own in a serious manner since I was 13 or so. I did this until I enrolled in college in 1994. In school I abandoned the "Fine Art" exclusive approach, and enrolled in the Design Program. 

I don't consider myself a traditional musician/artist/writer. I see those definitions as a bit limiting. "Life" artist makes the most sense to me, as I see all of my creative outlets to be linked together, coming from the same place internally.

watching water

'I can stare at a puddle and see a million places I love 

it's comforting thoughts of places I've been, places I will never see again, 

send my love to all who were there..

wishing I could crawl back in. '

lexicon devil

   Twenty years ago this week, Darby Crash, lead singer of 
the Germs, killed himself in a premeditated, drug-facilitated 
suicide that many believed was meant to ensure his own 
legend at age 22. Had it been a different week, the media 
might have run with a myth-making "American Sid Vicious" 
story. As a punk PR event, however, Darby's exit was poorly 
timed. About 24 hours later, a disturbed young man murdered 
John Lennon. 

Lexicon Devil: The Fast Times and Short Life of Darby Crash and the Germs

By Brendan Mullen, with Don Bolles and Adam Parfrey

Crash's band the Germs turned out to be more influential than anyone could've dreamed at the time. Many music historians consider the Germs to be the first performers of hardcore punk, the genre that has given us Black Flag, the Dicks, Minor Threat, and influenced much American rock music of the past 15 years: Fugazi, Nirvana, and the Foo Fighters, who originally included Germs guitarist Pat Smear. 

For his part in all of this, Darby was one of the most relentless drug addicts in modern music, and there's a description in Lexicon Devil from his last year in which, though Crash is too high to open his mouth, "Germettes" are still feeding him pills. On the other hand, Crash is described by many people as extremely intelligent and occasionally even caring. He charmed as well as constrained people into following him around and doing what he told them to do.

Furthermore, the monster Darby Crash was nursed in an extraordinarily pathological environment -- the L.A. punk scene, which produced music as diverse as that made by X, the Go-Gos, the Blasters, and Joan Jett. The SoCal kids were out having fun as an act of rebellion, squatting in old Hollywood apartment buildings and gigging at the legendary Masque. Most of the participants describe the scene as carefree fun, but the pain, desperation, and degradation couldn't be more palpable. Male prostitution is central, and at one point, Crash's roommate is pictured servicing Hollywood Square Paul Lynde the night before the latter's death, which is attributed to amyl nitrate.

The career of Darby Crash lasted only a couple of years. He made one album that didn't sell very well, and then committed suicide by heroin overdose in 1980 when he was 22. You might wonder how that life could support a biography, but this book is about as compellingly readable a portrait of a personality and a culture as anything you're likely to set eyes on.

foxhole manifesto

poem by jeffery mcdaniel
animation by nick gieg

the accidental dear hunter

by atti?

we have discussion like head lights
-dear,
i'm enamored by the snarled bumpers
and rusted bolts
you think make you anymore beautiful
than you look
in your own

smile.

this trainwreck is a car accident;

those rubber necks
made of fiberglass crack at the sight
of what we've become..

(as the engines run
-head on)

one.

if i was a coupe
you'd be a tractor-trailer
-if you were a tractor-trailer,
i'd be too drunk to see you coming
-if you saw me coming,
id be too drunk to see you turning
while i turned the same direction
in guessing what the opposite of the other's next
correction

wouldn't be-

we have awkward encounters
where hesitantly stepping side to side in unison
turns into a 16 car fox trot

pile up

that we can't help but to cause
-because scattered across those car wrecks
and shattered windshields,
the most adorning qualities of each driver
can be seen stopping to fill up the tank
for another 3000 miles

on good intentions;

where at the beginning of the journey
we see the end of our last endeavor,
as a reason to keep on driving

into oblivion.

we drive across separate arteries
at the same speeds in different times of the ride

-we drive, because we love the roads;

but more importantly,

where they go.

we drive with our eyes closed;
we ride with maps of eachother
stretched across the inside of the windshield.

i left our last accident early.
i figured i'd arrive early so i'd have time to pick her a flower
- and write a note attached to it that would say:

"i'm sorry i crashed into you last time.
i just missed

your touch.

i love you dear."

or something like that.

she left our last scene late
.. because she was so upset that i didn't stop

while she screamed it through the glass.

it took her a bit longer to compose herself.

but where i left early, she left later
-and where i stopped to pitty these rides
and to wonder if she was even coming this time;

she began to speed to make up for lost time.

i didn't mean to hit her,

she knows how much i truly care
-i just have a fucked up way of showing it.

and as we round the same corner

from separate ends,
those yellow lines begin to tangle
and we both just look ahead;
the roads all disappear, and the steal traps where we hide our hearts
fade into the scenic view

-of you.

we run at each other with open arms
-like the sappiest beach scene of your girlfriends
favorite love film

faster!

faster!

faster!

.. until we crash.

i'm sorry dear, i just ..
missed your touch.