Hunger Is To Art What Sentiment Is To Hoard
There: a hunger artist naked in a gallery; deep in order to conceal. Remote. The artist pads about on hands & knees, sniffing a rubber lamb chop. A classic condition being cruelly extended here. Russian? Foreign? The tragedy? To stay hungry; forced awake; attending public ceremony among band music; treated by police doctors who address the symptoms in a traditional manner, by deciding they are faked.
The stone walls have a barred slot where visitors get down on all fours. A number of people are inclined to do so, to talk slowly. Growl with pointed teeth that can rip meat off a bone. Or whimper, as some do. Or show snapshots of their own Dogs. An audience in far greater number’s than the hunger artist could ever command. Art critics are bitten.
Bound to 40 days & nights, confined, refusing sustenance, living for long periods on a teaspoon of sugar dissolved in water. Visitors pay admission to watch it starve: gawk at the bony, bare arms. The manager places a 40-day limit on the hunger artist’s performance, not because it will die of starvation, but because of the calculation that 40 days represent the far edge of the public’s fickle interest. The four corners of the Earth. The walls close in. In fact hunger artists can fast for more than 40 days. High blood pressure, arthritis, depression, dizzy spells & rotting gums are strong-willed symptoms of an enduring effort to employ a role in opposition to the state. To culture. To history outside receipts assembled by taxes. To absorb & neutralize every threat to consumer consciousness. There: lies art outside the strict silhouette of the written word.
In a sense, the spectacle of Artists living in cages have a kind of shifting eloquence, offering a genuine impression of the latitude of free expression, placing small incisive shocks amid stores & restaurants. Also, I suggest the grim reality that the performance artist, liberated from control, hair cropped & dog-collar secure, may carry their own ethnicity’s atavistic wish. Repression. To be a silent figure – not still – spin around the stillness – a ponderous whirl – a perennial frenzy.
A real Dog enters the gallery. A Boxer, trained, with a strong, sharp bark; limitless warning. The total state wants to drain all conviction. The dissident. Churned into breakfast food or canned laughs. We imagine we shape our fate. Taking art to the extreme. It’s possible you’ve never really thought of this before you engage in the belief seriously. The more nearly complete the state, the more vivid the singular Artist – so unassimilated into the state machine – that we must find a way to make it disappear. Erase. Delete.
The holding cell is so cold frost forms on the alloy knob. Unable to sleep from chest pains. Starving to protest the present condition, of course, & to grow evermore silent – the still, fixed center of muscles. The purpose is the last act of the condemned. We keep no person liable to damages lest they be killed.
Egoism & or Egotism
All the world is a philosophy & we’re merely philosophers in an unjust society. Like your buttocks on your chair — The ego seeks to impress; the attention sought is either accepted or rejected. This stems into desires to evade stress, avoid pain, to locate sustenance & a mate, to have a roof over your head.
The crisis or stumbling block here is desiring attention (or a repertoire) via sacrificing comfort, wealth, & power. For instance, being a (male or female) slut means you can be sexual but not too sexual. Subjectivity is the capacity to feel connected to a moral compass & use these to make self-directed decisions, sublimating envy & jealousy into a socially acceptable form of social critique of sexual expression. Having boundaries is “being objective” knowing we are limitless: everyone has the power to shape reality. We’re the lost in Never Never Land.
Every act when in action is based in good or evil, right or wrong, a barometer for the egoist. We are judged by our appearance (appearance is half the battle) plus how we interact. This law of human nature is referred to or known as “the struggle.” Since self-interest is psychological, then our rationale breeds ethics. For instance, if you do not dress to impress your social clique might give you an oddball eyeball. But you will not be removed.
🐍 
Everyone must answer, “Am I a God connected to the appearances of physical bodies separated from each other in space + time, colliding according to causal determinism?” During unstable times – when environmental conditions shift or humankind develop unity – viruses adapt, outflank & re-emerge. It seems as if our idols are the same as us: as the king says to the pauper.
SOI
STATEMENT OF INTEREST
Industry professionals do not understand the business the way that I do. I know they themselves do not know success otherwise they can use me to bring in cash with a K.
What does it take to be successful? The myth is true: Bad publicity increases the spoken word by 40%.
Clichés are overly familiar & commonplace. The word itself, over the years, reserves negativity. We use it with an intonation to down-size, belittle or demean. Cliché’s make movies win awards. To me the word is merely a desire to see characters as they see themselves. So then why lose millions? Why not make room for the genius & thought-provoking?
Media is a thin rope everyone walks. It affects everyone. So why be rejected by an audience? Why not attract all 6 billion people of Earth?
Every director creates a unique design & their idea is “worthy.” All stories aim to take advantage of its air time.
In Hollywood, I develop original content, meet with production & studio execs, mentored by entertainment Alumni & other great artists. I harness a ball of energy at the tip of my fingers & showcase story-lines. I interweave the discomfort of competition we experience daily as ordinary citizens! I portray the distrust between sexes which is a search for religion. I display the beauty, patience & rage families inhibit … Breakdown the elements of shame & envy.
I cannot rush my work as it will cause the disorder we see today in media. By surprising my fans they will know they are always in my thoughts. Audiences need me so the future needs me. I aggrandize my name. If someone does me a favor, I return the favor.
Movies use the ideas I have & make me feel I am good enough to play with the big wigs.
As noted in my hometown feature, for a decade I have spent my free time to be a successful novelist, filmmaker, comedian, screenwriter, book-dealer, brother, son & perhaps husband one day. I’m egalitarian & live for your rights. I cannot, & will not, rest until my calling is answered.
Other Interests? I urge people to recycle & live green. I help people on the job or bored or with flat tires. I roam the ghetto, pick up garbage & help anyone I see in distress. I open the door for people & attack criminals. Why not?
IF I HAD 1 YEAR TO LIVE & WON A MILLION DOLLARS … I’d donate to the poor. I’d open a school for writers; teach them a style of writing that is not cliché. I’d also open a school for comedians; teach them to be self-righteous. To not judge lower class or apply peer pressure but become egalitarian. I’d build comedy clubs & libraries.
Melting Pot
Robin Williams broke it down as, “Poly means Many. Many Ticks!”
Politics allow adults to act like children & vice versa. Where is the demarcation? Ask those in motherhood & fatherhood! The result of patriarchy versus matriarchy? Mein Coif.
That joke probably went over your head as is the intent. Pun Intended literally, figuratively & metaphorically!
Chivalry died before the word could ever be enacted. Men masturbate themselves into pussyfooting. I’m no longer “going out on a limb” : This country is in dire need of a maternal figure in the flesh ‘n bone.
To quote Zach Galifianakis, “As a prank when I was 15 my older brother told me, ‘You have to masturbate with your feet & to this day, that’s how I do it!'”
The great so called MELTING POT which no leprechaun will ever thieve. Except an Arab leprechaun like “me-self” of course, lad.
A metaphor for a heterogeneous society becoming more homogeneous, elements “melting together” into a harmonious whole with culture. The term came into general usage in the U.S. after it was used as a metaphor describing a fusion of nationalities, cultures & ethnics in the 1908 play of the same name.
Think B.I.G.
Ready to Die is the debut studio album by American rapper the Notorious BIG. He seemed to have signed off his fate. By that I mean, by calling yourself after an adjective meaning to be labeled as a criminal. It was released on 9/13/94 by Bad Boy Records. The label’s first release, the album features production by Bad Boy founder Sean “Puffy” Combs. Recording for the album took place during 93 to 94 at the Hit Factory & D&D Studios in NYC. The partly autobiographical album tells the story of B.I.G.’s experiences as a young criminal. Ready to Die is his only studio album released during his lifetime, as he was murdered days prior to the release of his 2nd album Life After Death in 97, achieving gold certification. On November 8, 1994, after the release, it was certified gold. Then in 1995 it became a certified double platinum by the Recording Industry Ass (RIAA) & the album has reached a certified quadruple platinum with sales. It’s still a factor in revitalizing the East Coast hip hop scene, amid West Coast hip hop’s commercial dominance. The album’s 2nd single, “Big Poppa”, was nominated for a Grammy for Best Rap Solo in 1996. In 1993, Biggie was signed to the Uptown Records, label by A&R Sean “Puffy” Combs. When executive producer Sean Combs was fired from Uptown, Biggie’s career hung in limbo, as the album was only partially completed. After a brief period dealing drugs in North Carolina, Biggie moved from writing his lyrics in notebooks to freestyling them! B.I.G.’s rhymes are showstoppers. Tracks only enhance them, pushing the rapper to new heights. AllMusic Steve Huey says, “firmly rooted in reality but plays like movie scenes!” The New York Times proclaim, “His lyrics mix autobiographical details about crime & violence with emotional honesty, telling how he felt while making a living dealing dope.” Rolling Stone “maintains a consistent level of tension by juxtaposing emotional highs & lows. Clear, sparse terms, allowing the lyrics to hit the first time you hear them.” The album shipped 57K units in its first week of release. 2 months later, certified double platinum on October 16, 1995, only a year & a month after its release. Ready to Die was then certified triple platinum on August 26, 1998; certified 4x platinum in 99. The Rolling Stone go on to say, “Ready to Die is the strongest solo rap debut to date : breathtakingly visual moments of his birth.” The Source gave it 4.5 mics stating “Big weaves tales like a cinematographer, each song is like another scene in his lifestyle. Overall, this package is complete.” They re-rated it to 5 mic max mics. “Ridiculous beats, harmonizing honeys, ill sound effects, criminal scenarios & familiar hooks.” Rolling Stone places it at #8 on their 100 Best Albums of the 90’s. Stylus Magazine: “Sweet, hypocritical, sensitive, violent, depressed & jubilant. These words can all fittingly describe B.I.G. at various points on Ready to Die. “The album that reinvents East Coast rap for the gangsta age, Ready to Die made the Notorious B.I.G. a star. Today it’s recognized as the best hardcore rap mostly due to B.I.G.’s skill as a storyteller! Wallace takes his street corner experience & filters them through his considerable charm. The result is a record that mixes long stretches of menace with romance & lots of humor. No rapper ever made multi-syllabic rhymes sound as smooth!”
Here is Suicidal Thoughts; the last song he ever had pleasure & privilege to see resonate amongst his disciples. His true fans.
All my life I was considered as the worst
Crying to my mother
Even stealing from her purse
Crime after crime From drugs to extortion
I know my Mama wishes I was an abortion
She doesn’t even love me like she did when I was younger
Sucking on her chest just to stop my hunger
I wonder if I die will tears come to her eyes?
Forgive me for my disrespect Forgive me for my lies
I just want to slit my wrists & end this bullshit
Shoot a magnum at my brain stem
I’m glad I’m dead
I wear a Budda hat
I can’t believe suicide is on my mind
I want to leave I swear to God death is calling
Except when I brush over There ain’t no coming back
People at my funeral Fucking like they miss me
My Baby Mama miss me But she’s glad I’m gone
She know me & her sistah had something going on
I can’t sleep I can’t eat I reach for my piece
I’m sick of dudes talking I’m sick of hoes talking Matter of fact I’m sick of talking
He went on to do both voices in Gimme the Loot in 93. A first for rappers. He was ahead of the curve. A prophet.
(1st voice) I slam like Shaquille This is real
When it’s time to eat a meal
I rob & steal
(2nd voice) Chill
Before you find out how blue steel feel
(1st voice) Hold up He has his wife in the car
Fur coats & diamons? She thinks she’s a superstar
(2nd voice) Ooh Biggie lemme jack her
Kick her in the back
(1st voice) Chill shorty let me do that
(2nd voice) You ain’t got to explain shit
I’ve been robbing people since the slave ships
With the same clips & the same 45
2 point blank You’ll be sure die!
Live by the gun Die by the gun
Does this make sense? Register? Is it chemically relative? Trivial? Think B.I.G.
Comedic Disability
If anyone is dysfunctional, it’s society not accommodating the continuing evolution of the human species. If we shame each other with labels, or medicate each other into submission, we undermine a gift; crushing a civilization before its’ time to take roots. This is why we crack jokes. It filters oxygen to the brain & improves your health.
Noise pollution is by definition a virus directly afflicting your IQ with no effective medication. We learn to live & tolerate noise pollution despite our noble intent demanding conformity of masses on all sides of a debate to police each other instead of coincide.
The cycle of attack & apology, of disagreement & boycott, leaves us talking more leading to tinnitus (the Latin root “ring”) the perception of sound in the ear when no external sound is present. This cycle of pearl-clutching unfurls abject sorrow & banishment. We don’t want people to be afraid of saying something interesting on the off chance it’s taken the wrong way.
Prolonged exposure to noise as low as 70 decibels disable foremost musicians, construction workers & special forces (from gun-shots /explosions) a lead source of suicide. 600 million people worldwide suffer. To name just 10: William Shatner, Steven Martin, Rush Limbaugh, Anthony Kiedis, Chris Martin, Bob Dylan, Ronald Reagan, Charles Darwin, Ludwig van Beethovan & Van Gogh who cut off his own ear!
Affinity For Glass Ceilings Not Mirrors
Get your proton pack, Egon, cause there are only protons on the port of this here ship. At the helm, with my eye patch, my New Zealand parrot, my wooden orbiting leg, donned as “The Kickstand.” Or peg leg.
I put out the vibe like Harry Valentine in Dumb & Dumber. I make pirates walk the plank, & take the energy to new extremes, like your favorite App. To quote Will Henley, “Be the El Capitan of your Fate. Master your Sole.” Or peg leg.
We don’t discriminate how it is to be in someone else’s shoes here! Or shoe!
I don’t accept hand me downs. ARGH! Positive vibes are as tangible as evil omens, poltergeists & voodoo enchantments you cast upon your frenemies under your nose, while you breath, between your teeth. My parrot is of the roughly 393 species in 92 genera : found in most tropical & subtropical regions.
Pun of the Day? Black Rain is not Chocolate Rain. Chocolate Rain is Jungle Fever. So is Black Rain.
RadioAutomatic 