Well the switch is on. Just running protons in one direction now… not colliding for weeks, or months. This morning it occurred to me that the Large Hadron Collider uses protons. The symbol for these is a + sign. The flag of Switzerland is of course this: +. I’m not positive that this means anything, but I’m cernturn that it’s an interesting coinciDance.
Category Archives: Cern Large Hadron Collider
Sing In Soprano Sotte Vocce
Kodachrome Nikon Daze
the animated bunny is from Brian Raszka for The Library Project. The first image is of my archive under my house in CT where all the old days are stored… outdoors… it’s a long story… you should read the old days of the blog, etc…. anyways I made that shit to last and last they shall and fuck time and fuck space and rain and….
gee don’t I sound like king lear?
Well a house devided, etc.
Cloudy Thoughts
I was going up to the Library by way of the park when thunderheads rushed in out of nowhere and ended a mess of kid’s field trip and a giant spike of electricity crashed down against the trees and it felt in the air and in the noise and in the light of it all like the end of the world. It got me thinking about armegeddon and this image of Hoover by Charles Mingus III that I’ve been wanting to share with you (follow the link to see more of his amazing work in various media). It also reminded me of this waking dream I had during the insomnia of La Rienne A Vegas weekend. I wrote it down in a red crayon at dawn.
Orson Whales is being featured on The Daily Reel and is well passed the 70,000 hits mark on Vimeo. Must try to get it screened somewhere in Hi Def.
Zarathustra's Secret Garden
A vlog fooling with painting and Lou Reed and Bowie and thoughts on upcoming Royal Wylds music Video for Kimbo and some documentationof my work next to Crista Grauer’s at Artflux last week and just, you know, loving spring in Beautiful Sugar Mountain Brooklyn.
Pittsburgh Going Ashore – Pittsburgh Coming Aboard
ABC is as easy as 1 2 3 as easy as Do Ray Me, you see?
Once I saw the changing of command on the USS Pittsburgh at Grotton, CT with my brother from a Bolex mother. When The Captain leaves the ship they blow a dog whistle and say: “Pittsburgh going Ashore.” It is as if the soul of the boat has left the boat. When The new Captain walks the gangplank, the dog whistle is blown in opposite progression and the Ensign speaks these magic jazz hand words: “Pittsburgh Coming Aboard!” and it is as if the boat is born again.
Me and Pat call melady Young Pas (or green onion in Korean, or Sly to the Midwesterners or Sylvie to you… etc.): Pittsburgh. She is the Captain my Captain. She is the queen of that little steel Swiss, but rusting Town in the middle of the Eastern Sea Board. I was throwing out all my old clothes yesterday and getting rid of all the wire and plastic hangers… nothing but wood is good quoath Pittsburgh and I concurred while wearing the buddhist Stettson and the silk guns and the Star Wars blasters still in the a tiny casket to be burried by the IRA somwhere beside the river Liffey. I tripped and fell upon a Bazooka shell full of old memories of Pittsburgh’s youth and there were steller shots of her as Stella amongst the stars and my street car named desire and some calling cards from old beaux and a shot of her leaning away from a dire wolf… him stealling kisses and trying to eat her heart out and I realize it is good to walk with pax but always have silk guns in a silk casket somewhere… the silent big stick as the Church on the Hill said, or was it The Mac daddy Author, or Ike? Yes Ike who I like if only because he said, “Beware the military industrial complex”… The king can speak the truth, but the wolves are still there… stealing kisses, and hearts, and gold, and souls.
I became quite green with jealousy looking at the explosive contents of the shell… and then I found a receipt for the first futon we ever shared and a letter I wrote to fair Pittsburgh in Pittsburgh when I was in the Tower of Pain and hats and song. It was not the most regal of things… a manic all night scrawl on yellow legal paper… but you know what? It was really a very romantic letter. It brought a single tear to my eye that dropped into the vast Atlantic… How can a shell hold such wealth I thought? For in that moment I realized that this was a contract signed thirteen years ago… So Why has it taken me so long to honor it and honor fair Pittsburgh?
… Because you see, I have been hiding in plain sight, playing the fool on the hill. Now it is time to wear the purple robes and take the crown that is mine. Today Pittsburgh. Tomorrow the world. It is my job to be her knight in shining armor coming to her emotional rescue on a fine Arab charger. It is my job to keep the dire wolves at bay. Hail Pittsburgh hail the Queen.
I was at Freddy’s the night Sly Fox left for Las Vegas and I gave two guys my moleskin and said, “Make me a drawing, buy me a beer…sort of as a joke…and I went outside to smoke… when I got back they had drawn this and bought me a magic hat #9… it is names of the superbowl champion (two years in a row) Steelers from the seventies when I used to wear the black and gold slicker to protect me from the hard rain…. Coin see dances coincidences…. They were Pittsburgher… friends from many moons ago… reunited in the city on a drunkes Spree… fiddle di di.
Another Green World
Another vlog while I scan and scan. This remix has a lot of Goddard clips and a Brian Eno mash up. The drawing is a finish of a Carloine VK start from The Library Project. Stangely today Moby Dick came on TCM. I missed, however, Orson’s Sermon.
Cern
Fire On The Mountain (Janus Front Matter)
They watched him with an ever changing mood and played a sort of game, trying to guess who and what he was: Hero, or Villain? Mustache, or bow tie? He simply ate a light lunch of paté and then a tart and a new bottle of wine for each that he barely touched. By turns, Pat found him a charming gentleman and Patty saw him as a ruthless war profeteer, the type who sold ammo to the South Africans during Apartheid and he’d retort, “Well that’s simply business, dear. Repressing people takes a lot of ammo. Supply and demand.”
And she’d say, “I demand a level of morality.”
And He would concede her point and then she would say, “But he has such gentle eyes. Maybe he only makes chocolates?”
“Maybe he sells shoddy formula to Africans causing malnutrition when the mothers ought to just breast feed anyway? Maybe that’s what he does after the chocolates?”
“Maybe the mothers are too hungry to lactate,” she’d say. “The formula is the only chance those babies have…. But then why not feed the mothers with cheese or something?”
And he’d say, “But I do love his suit and look at those shoes and what’s that wine he’s drinking? Is it really Château d’Yquem? Oh but he’s having a plum tart… what a match. He has exquisite taste.”
“Taste for blood,” she’d say. “Like the Count of Dracula.”
And on and on it went. The old man was a neutral cypher but their lunch revolved around his inscrutability. They couldn’t read him at all, so all they did was try to read him and his very neutrality charged the atmosphere with conflict.
Highway image is from Double You at The Library in a weird fluke it seems like the urban mirror to my mountain Ring of Fire.
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