D wants me to write a post, but fuck that. I don't have anything to say about music or the philly night life scene. I haven't even really been out at all. And if I was going to go out, I wouldn't pay 15 bucks to go stand around pretending that I'm into 80's or trance or whatever Level plays on a saturday night. However. I'll make an exception for delicatessens with Free and CloseBy on the menu. Yeahhh. World Cafe Live. D got 2 super special press passes and we got in for free to see the show.
Can you believe thats the reason we got into this blog shit? D deserves it though, he's working this blog 24/7. I, on the other hand, don't do SHIT. Blame it on writers block. Lack of inspiration.
Except right now. This here is what we call a rant. A quick little reminder that I do indeed post on this blog, and am somewhat responsible for filling up a page from time to time.
I wanna talk about that video D put up earlier. David Choe is a new inspiration for me. Anyone who attacks life so violently is a righteous role model in my eyes. Yes, he's fucking shit up and destroying society. But from outer-space, the only way to tell there's life down here is to set something aflame. Which is to say, most of us aren't doing our job properly.
Graffiti is an inevitability. A way of proving our individuality and assuring the masses of our existence. And it isn't limited to paint form. Vocal graffiti, kinesthetic graffiti, culinary graffiti. Shit needs to be different and violent and out of place. If it's not, then it's too reserved and conservative, and not really worth much of anything to anyone. Show someone something. Make that something stunning, and show it by shoving it down their fucking throats. Maybe they'll enjoy it, maybe they'll vomit it on to the dashboard, either way you've inflicted a change that's greater than what a pretty picture hanging behind a velvet rope could do.
The world is desensitized to polite art. Art that's simply trying
to say something. Forget talking. The only reason we speak is because we can't communicate emotions directly. In two and a half years it'll be 2010. The tools we have available to convey emotion are all around us, and are so much more powerful and jarring than the instruments of change our ancestors used. Shakespeare would be so fucking pissed if he knew we weren't using everything we had our disposal. He'd probably come out of his grave and start choking muthafukas.
Okay, I'm not sure if I'm just fucking around with words here, or really saying anything of value, but fuck it, I feel this, so something here must be true. Or it could be I'm on some crazy adrenalin high. Either way, that's a hundred words. Gimmie my fucking paycheck.