elienation

"Leaving Jezebel"

2012-01-26T15:46:00.000-08:00

As can see, a sad turn, yet one i warned myself, and jez, of years ago, as would've been indicated if the audio had played in the correlating 2007 brief footage at the end, from above. It went something like, I knew i was taking her into a non conforming situation of sorts, for humans and felines, and who knows what will happen. It has been an up and down trip, and she'd gone missing already last summer, but i thought we now had things licked; our little routine of stop and stays and road and more road and little breaks alongside said road... But it didn't work out that way, the whole way through at least, and i'm probably a fool for thinking i could tame my hobo calico. She was an adventurer. Unconventional in her wanderings, and dealings with the other felines. A bit of a provocateur, but always smart as could be. And good god - i always thought of the irony -- how i coulda been all well and cool with a junkyard ratty kitty katty -- yet here i got the most beautiful puss i have ever seen, and many others agree to; boy was she a looker. Even with her fattened up rump from all those wild humboldt grassfed mice, you still had to say wow, what a beaut.

We had that connection -- laying on chest stare into eyes -- lost in cat to human zen. She got me up in the mornings, and kept me up at nights. No matter my pillow on top of face routine, Jez would find an opening.. Stick claw down and gently, with nails retracted, she'd paw my lips, sometime nose, wherever the breathing was coming from. She knew i'd have to pay attention to that. More than a few times i'd pretend sleep and squint and watch her Holyness higher than thou perform her little routine, as she'd go through the motions heavily purring, scouting out the different openings, attempting once and waiting, then attempting twice, and finally a thrice and i had to give it up. And up i got, to the door for letting out and filling bowl with the best food the stores had and then let her morning adventures begin. Sometimes i'd go back to sleep, oftentimes i would, and wake to find her back in the sack with me.

"she was such a huge, important factor in my small, insignificant life"

Twenty Twelve and the Mystery Landscape

2012-01-10T22:45:00.000-08:00

TWENTY TWELVE RINGS in and there seems to be an air of personal hopefulness for many, conjoined with an air, er ocean, of mystery on how worse, and how more Absurd, things will become. For my part on the latter, there's Absurdist Video Art, a blog i contribute to and am a part of for the Video Art side of things. On the hobo side-o-things, I cross-country'd it in latter November till latter December where I arrived in the mid-west. I thought i'd catch up, and wrap up on writings and such on travels, by late Decemeber, but events took the turn they take, and my last leg of travel had some downsides to it. Unable to process at moment, and the holi-daze provided a distraction, and figurings on going forth provides more distracts. A video essay is in the works though...News Years eve i did my usual hang at friends who lives on the other side of 8 mile outside of Detroit proper, for the audio fireworks display which starts sporadically around 9 or 10, until midnight, and then it's an all out assault on the sky; fireworks the D style consists solely of actual gunshots. It's an audio mix of 8mm's, uzi's, shotguns, etc. It gives a good example of just a fraction of the actual guns that are out there on the streets. Here's a brief video I shot capturing some of the nearby sky shootings.

Next will be a ramble south to Florida... Likely an extended stay for a stretch. Within the parameters of such is a complete mystery. Where the days take me i suppose, though lots of corners to cross, situations to gander... I suspect either i dip into some, or else the possibilities become too overwhelming, collapse onto one another, and i buy a 2 month Greyhound bus pass and reserve myself to a coach seat watching America roll by and i, simply have to watch...We'll see...

"Quartzsite Brief"

2011-12-02T20:48:00.001-08:00

A SIMILAR SITUATION AS "the Slabs", free camping, desert, yet without the Slab stench, and a bit more spread out, various places free BLM car camping spots; it's become a favorite destination for the likely last breed of "snow-birds" - old retirees who can afford a big rig RV and the gas to cruise on down from the North. Of course from there it's free, but many no longer will be able to secure the first two - big rig/fuel costs - to take advantage of the final destination free stay. This is Quartzsite, Arizona, a place just past the border of California which seems very immersed in the RV economy with RV shops and many pay RV spots both temporary and long term (the free BLM land camping is only supposed to be for "14 days", where then you are supposed to move "25 miles" away somewhere else, or pull into a pay place.) My area was the Hi Jolly spot, seemingly one of the smallest free areas from the looks on the map, but a convenient one to get to and as can see, plenty of space to call your temporary own.

Occupy LA Eviction Fail

2011-11-28T17:24:00.001-08:00

HAVING BEEN there for Day 1 of "Occupy L.A.", the Los Angeles branch of the Occupy Wall Street NY movement, and having shot a little video of the event, I thought to stick around town and catch, and film, the so-called official "last day" of the actual physical occupation, as it was announced late last week by the mayor that the police would physically come in and evict the occupiers from the park, at a specific time, one minute after Midnight on Sunday night, (technically Monday morning, the 28th). Now to the occupiers, and many others, the translation of the mayors words were, "don't go anywhere, and please throw a massive street party at 12:01 a.m." And so it was.

November Love Affair

2011-11-23T22:37:00.001-08:00

IT WAS ONE OF THEM ordeals where you meet the chick a day or two before you're about to skip town. And then, of course, you end up stickin' around.

This in turn leads to one week turning into two then into three, and ultimately, it's a month long love affair; all with it's ups/downs, uncertainties and confusions, and ultimatums in which you try to figure on whether or not you should take the gal with you on the road.

In the end, you decide it's best for the chick to stay here, for you to disconnect and move onward. She's younger after all and still has much to experience, rather than be boxed into much uncertainty and continual change.

This is how my October Road in America got somehow lost in the passing days and weeks; that sweet American Autumn where the air cools and the colors change. Perfect for Road, but alas, lost to circumstance.. And November too, got mostly snatched up in the same mess of mainstay, of figuring, and waiting for an outcome to this whole affair.

Now, this being me, ELI, we reveal that this affair is not about a young dirty blond button nosed beauty to die for. Instead it's a dirty blue nosed pitbull puppy. Still to die for though.

She had showed up unexpectant just days before i was to bail. It was only days after i had arrived in L.A., back in June, when i had lost my cat, Jezebel. Now, days before leaving, i find a pitbull puppy show up in the backyard of where i was living. Just as it would take 3 weeks for me to find Jezebel, it would take 3 plus weeks for me to find a home for Jackie.

During this time, and as i look back now it was more like over a month, she was with me everyday, and almost every hour of every day. With no owner claiming her, no response to my found pup signs, a few promising homes not panning out, and this being LA, I had everyone telling me how it was really the Universe sending me a message, landing a near life long companion right in my lap, and by goll Eli, ya can't fuck with the Universe... And in the end, I was in fact going to take her with me, but.. But, as the affair above reads, it was best to give it extra time, try a bit more to find her a home to stay.

And the extra time worked.

Losing out on October road was all worth it in the end, as Jackie found a fellow sister pit to grow up with and some super nice owners.

The nights that followed i painfully missed the girls loud snores, and deadly evening silent farts; her whining to play and excitement for awakenings. And even Jez my cat looked around anxiously anticipating some puppy teasing which she's gotten used to employing from high above a branch from tree.

Damn near broke me down saying good-bye to Jackie. But was all good in the end. A month long pitbull care taking and another mental test of patience and decision. That damn beautiful pit done me in, worked me over; a 24 yr old dirty blond bomb woulda been a cake walk to git over compared to my blue nose Jackie.

photos by Steve Craig.

Video Artist Paul McCarthy

2011-11-14T23:35:00.001-08:00

Paul McCarthy: He began his career in the 60s, but didn't sell anything until the 90s. Until then, he was, 'basically just a guy covering himself in ketchup.'

I had seen McCarthy about a month or so ago in Los Angeles at this big whoopity doo art extravaganza downtown. He was meandering around with a few others, looking, maybe had something to show, don't know and if so, i unfortunately missed. As i recognized him i noticed the table of books in front of me had one of his. Glossy, big.. i remember thinking about the production value gloss of the book, which somehow took my attention away from the photography inside, of models with pig masks on, having sex or ... like said, all that stuck was the gloss...

I wanted to say hey, hello.. if i had an Absurdist Video Art sticker i think that woulda gave me the prop i needed to give, and greet etc. But then i wasn't positive it was him. "Texted" SteveX who got me in to this thing and who i was there with but at the moment separated; wanted to get a postive ID.

The article below is good, and talks exactly about Hollywood VS. Weirdo Art-ARt. McCarthy at that moment, was my version of a [insert famous h-wood director or whatever] sighting and admiring and jerk off moment of wanting to say hey to perhaps that which represents both tenacity/talent and also major right time/right place luck, all in the realm of ketchup covering, mask wearing, shoestring video art to which i concern a decent amount of myself with.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/2011/nov/11/paul-mccarthy-artist

2011-11-03T21:40:00.001-07:00

"My Parking Lot" Santa Monica, CA. late October.

HaLLoDay HaLLoWeeN (West Hollywood 2011)

2011-11-02T10:48:00.000-07:00

The best event of the year in L.A., by far, is Halloween in West Hollywood. I'd wager it's the best/biggest Halloween event in the country. Come October, away from L.A., I'd always feel the pull to throw my mask in rucksack, hop a greyhound and hit up the event. I never would go through with it though, so when i found myself, still in L.A., and Halloween here, i had to hit it.

No where else can you find a mixture of every different flavor, in race, sexual preference and age, hanging out, together, and having a genuine party the fuck down blast. The anon nature of "Halloween" creates a perfect storm of sorts for great times without the usual hangups, prejudices, violences... You can disguise yourself as much, or as barely legal little, as you want. In a society where we wear our brand name homogenized costumes day in/day out, it's refreshing to have a day, to, in a way, acknowledge this through absurdity, but also let loose and play out some sort of different extreme from gruesome to weirdo to sexpot to whatever image you want, while having an event to share your shape shifting of choice with others. This outdoor masquerade ball does it right, get's it right.

My mask is always a hit, with many requesting photos and chicks squeezing my huge nose. (Apparently my ass was also a hit this year as i got ass guy grabbed 3 times; the anon nature ain't completely without it's grievances and gropes of course).

Here's a brief vignette I shot, by chance capturing a DJ set of a slight remix of Madonna's song "Holiday", which seems to sum up the one night of the year where everyone comes together for mandatory party down.

Elienation Herman Cain Endorsement

2011-10-29T11:14:00.001-07:00

Following up on the PoLiTiKo angle, is my smoking endorsement for Mr.Cain.

"SUMMER POLITIKO" film by Eli Elliott

2011-10-18T20:41:00.000-07:00

My post summer political magnus opus of sorts... Given some extra time in LA, along with some extra space to perform a bit more, i hustled to put something together; a reflection on the previous summers most important political little events and revelations.

The idea began with a VHS tape i'd purchased several weeks prior for 99 cents. It was an old Ross Perot, CNN produced interview from '92. Having been a big follower of Perot at the time, i got the tape to recall how the culture jamming zillionaire resonated, both back then and now. Originally this short was longer, with much more of the perot stuff in it and a CIA conspiracy theory which built up throughout.

The few people i showed though, didn't get it. And perhaps one would have to remember that Perot was ahead of the polls in the summer of 92, ahead of both Bush 1 and Clinton, which was unreal, surreal really. Then, he suddenly dropped out, citing a vague reference to his daughter being threatened, which doesn't take a translator to translate 'the powers that be' were sure as shit not going to let an outsider crash the well established, gridlocked and corrupt ''system''. Perot came back to the race, but the steam had simmered, it was too late. Nevertheless, he still finished with something like 12-15% of the vote, which was unheard of from a 3rd party, especially one who had dropped out halfway in.

Anyway that stuff got dropped and i opted for a more straight take of sorts, cut to the chase etc. Though still leaving some of "weird guy Ross" in, to keep it, a bit weird.

It's my 100th youtoob video art upload. Which doesn't mean anything really; with the addition of a digit perhaps a brief reflection on when i started this online screening venture while weening off the film fest angles (most 'film fest' fanatics poo-poo'd youtube at the time, and now of course, they all have youtube channels). Further summations could be made, but maybe for later.

For now, i could be dropped down to 99, or to Zero if the YT censors stumble on this one. For now, SUMMER POLITIKO.

OCTOBER'S JACKIE

2011-10-05T19:56:00.000-07:00

Always having been my favorite month in Los Angeles., i find myself entering into another, October L.A. Though weather patterns different nowaday, this does feel like the fall month i remember of past. Significantly cooler and that feel; the beaches gray themselves out and that summer attitude vacates the air. In a way it's core L.A. I've always dug the feel.

This lengthy stay, not planned, but a house sit made it worth the extra time here, allowing that heat - HOT - heat to simmer throughout the land, and its tellin' me now you got no more hold backs for not ramblin' on.

Almost...

When i arrived in L.A. in June, a week later i'd lost my cat. Now as i have a week or so before i leave L.A., i find a puppy.

Jezebel was recovered after 3 weeks, and now "Jackie" (my naming), a grey and white female pitbull pup, i need to figure a home for. She literally showed up one morning in the backyard of where i'm staying and didn't leave. After neighborhood inquiries, signs, and vet visits for microchip check (negative), i lean towards her being dumped in the adjacent alley. Though she wasn't skinny, her coat was a mess of fleas and you could tell she'd been around the block a bit, maybe not long, but enough for the 6-10 weeks she's been alive.

That same damn empty feeling losing jez, hits me similar with this one; the bewilderment of an alley dump adds to it. And the thoughts to hang on to her, and the thoughts of handing her over, throw their weight around.

"PANTYHO FILET"

2011-09-11T22:19:00.001-07:00

Found Pantyhose stuffed inside a McDonalds Filet-O-Fish Box, Vons Grocery Store Parking Lot, Los Angeles, CA. Sept.11 2011.

"One Weekend Can Change Everything"

2011-09-07T18:54:00.000-07:00

September 2011, West Los Angeles

VIDEO + PHOTO

2011-08-28T16:08:00.000-07:00

The Video Page has a bunch of uploaded vignettes from previous weeks. And the Photo page has a few new, for those glancing here now/again.

Hopefully can get a larger screen size, better HD viewing as most were shot in such, in future. Vimeos not uploading the formats properly and i save youtube for the stranger stuff and performance stuff. So for now it's the blogger uploader.

FOUND L.A. "TO DO LIST"

2011-08-28T16:03:00.001-07:00

VIDEO VIGNETTE - "Jesus Is The Art Director"

2011-08-22T21:21:00.000-07:00

Elienation - Venice Beach Border - August, 2011.

RUBY ROLLS

2011-08-08T21:28:00.000-07:00

RUBY BAILS AND SADNESS PREVAILS... She hits the August Road, headed east with a dozen little stop off's, some planned and the rest improv'd and she fired up the truck -- with a little cot in back to sleep (and brand new foam mat that i rushed out to get her at the ma/pa foam store - NORMS FOAM - where years ago i got my first real foam pad for my first liveaboard van, "The Davis"; glorious sleeps, really). But anyway... She's off.

AND I'M WONDERIN why i'm not on that same immediate road -- we both have same mutual end game mission/destination -- south florida for some filming and writing and documentin on a major "exotic" energy demonstration... which could rock the world.

But with August heat everywhere else i wasn't rushed, couldn't get excited jus yet.. And Ruby, more rushed, has visits with some friends, which really better for one on one visiting anyway.. And then over all -- i need to take my own lead -- not be the dragger on, follower, plan modifier after the plan already in place etc. etc.

But now of course as Ruby's big blue diesels out from garage and onto that August Road, i immediate want to git rollin myself with enormous drive; huge regrets surface for not getting the act together sooner as all reasons for hangin round suddenly vanish from memory and i'm dumbfounded why i don't have road underneath me,as Ruby does. And naturally this feeling hangs hard and will last for days.

So i see her go -- she off on her cold fusion journey..while my american fusion journey still some weeks away, as reasons and some obligatory things trickle in to remind. And for now i rejoin Jez full time, off the street and at Rubys post up uncles spot which enables me some work to get done and further figurin on things without distractions and worry on usual street things.. Jez who's been in this spot for weeks, after having been lost for weeks.. Now she lays outside amongst the fallen bogodavisha flower petals.. She'll show me the ropes here..

And what of LA. LA's been LA. A re-visit of friends, familiar spots, some new observations on old situations; all hasn't completely settled to surmise or summarize.

LA is the usual congested mess though; physically and spiritually. More money keeps getting dumped into this mess with mega-opolus malls and zillion buck parks, while meanwhile somewhat quietly a longtime independent bookstore shuts down in the palisades, while not so quietly a raw food co-op gets raided by the FEDS in Venice, across the street and a block up from where i been vehicle'rly sleeping at night.

Continuously out of touch LA as 100 yards further you enter a bustlin-hustlin-yupster hipster infested nauseated nightmare called "Whole Foods" where the cash registers operate at a frantic pace reading out digits with double zero's on the end for half a dozen overpriced items (and where you can get 1 pound of humboldt grass fed beef for 10 bucks, where in humboldt same beef, same pound - 2.50).

But the insanity is masked by the ever present insanity that gets worn on the sleeve; yet every self proclaimed Queen Esther is really tiny tiny drop in bucket compared to the overall madness we don't wanna realize...

JEZEBEL FOUND

2011-07-09T22:06:00.000-07:00

Jez Found from Eli Elliott on Vimeo.

"THANK GOD FOR HER NICOTINE ADDICTION" I now think as i remember her saying on the phone how she takes her evening cigarette breaks on her porch just before nightfall and thats the time she's been seeing the new Calico who's been hanging around the hood.

That's the time when she's been seein' Jezebel.

IT WAS A COUPLE a streets over from where she'd gotten lost -- Dennis Hoppers old street -- i cruised over, called out, and within a minute she appeared on the sidewalk, nearly 3 weeks after I'd last seen her...

Surreal, whoa, wow ---

Damn Jez, this is where you carved out yer hang eh... I saw an old time car behind the fence of where she was, one that prolly never moved, and i imagine clever calico surveyed the scene for quite some time, recognized the project car to be a good post up spot...

After some back and forth under fence hesitation as cars rolled by and she'd duck away and then pop back out, i scooped the noticeably lighter Jez up and walked down the sidewalk where i then saw sweet cigarette gal on porch, taking her evening nicotine nightfall break and i called out - thanks thanks thanks -- thanks for callin, and observin, and noticin the schematics of animal life in your hood...

"i'm gonna drop somethin off for you tomorrow" as i had no cash on hand but she sez immediately no - no - no "i'd be insulted" she say... So that ended that reward idear (but a few days later i sent her a hand written card tellin her she a hero etc.)

So, Jez be back. And the relief knowin she's cool and not trapped, tortured or dead is a wunderful feelin'.

"She Exits Without Returns As The Alleys Grow Deeper and Bewilderment Reigns Supreme"

2011-06-12T18:48:00.000-07:00

L O S T

HAVE YOU SEEN ME?

"JEZEBEL"

And so it go, life interrupted; the hobo calico, out the parked van window, which was either pried open from someone on the outside, or somehow, squeezed open by miss-chief clever herself, either way she exits, which is usually fine, but this time... no return.

This after a no problem settling in week in L.A.; albeit a flashback to a few years prior where as a kitten she was in same van, same beach where i let her roam free in the days and she would always return. In the same neighborhood 2 plus years ago, i kept her inside the bus for the nights, but once she did snuck out, but of course returned a few hours later at 3 a.m.

This time though, not so; not at 3 a.m that night, or the next, or the next, or the..

I half suspect maybe she's picked up on the alley cat life; met a few others and she's learning the ropes. Maybe even diggin it. I guess never get a pet that's too much like you.

The pycho-lodge toll was heavy the first several days; constant sick to stomach feeling; appetite totally shot. As well, this all went down as the clock struck 12, marking another spin around the sun, aka, 'the birthday'.

"She'll return" is a usual response, but the nature of 'returning' in this situation, consists of returning to a large van parked in a neighborhood much different than the one from a few years prior; already heckled by a stopping motorist to ''get out of here'', and a major sweep 4 months ago by the copz that took out almost all the rv's in the neighborhood; literally ticketed and towed all of them; pay the thousand buck ticket and return, as some did, then get your rig taken away all over again, as happened to some. I thought this would be some sort of news, or that friends would have heard about this. But nothing. I got the scoop from the streets and my own instant eyeing of the noticeably vacant scene. Didn't know what i was coming into.

So compounded is the game i gotta play of taking chances parking where they don't want me, and now seemingly having the po-po on their side, but needing to be here for her, possible, return etc.

Posters abound, and days the first week were 4 times walkaround routines; 6am, 12.pm, 9pm, and 12a.m. Calling out through the alleys, passing the Mexican wino's sleeping on cardboard, "we keep eye out", and on the otherside, walking the sidewalks passing the yupsters, hipsters, and rest "aww, nope haven't seen";

I imagined for a moment this could turn me into an oddity legend of sorts, "that guy who calls out for his cat", as 2 - 4 - 10 years could go by as daily I would always be seen walking the alleyways and sideways of the hood, repeatedly yelling out "JEZEBEL..JEZZZ...CHI CHI CHI CHI..C'MERE JEZZZZ". It would be my routine, my mad purpose; finding that girl that's seen more road than most.

But the ego has to question, was this her early road retirement.. Did she get back to L.A., and say, as I often have, 'Fuck This, if we're back in this chaotic cesspool then it's going to be on my terms, i dig you dude, but i gotta dig on this scene alley cat style, not from the confines of the bus and the days in the brush on the beach..'

But goddamnit Jez, it weren't gonna be fo'ever... We were gonna hit more road, more rest stop breaks, yes Target parking lot's under shade but also national land for you to roam more interastin terrain for longer...

And then there was that land i promised you. A few acres, a trailer or some strange hogan hut i'd construct out of clay, a scratching pad at front door to signal your entry (or hell, separate cat door altogether), and trees, helluva lotta trees; unlimited roamin, and woods, and maybe a few rescue strays for you to entertain.

I did have plans.

For now it continues; more flyers and more visibility and maybe a lead. So far I've received 2 calls. One said they saw her on a roof, but it turned out to be a different cat.

The second call went like this "YEAH, I KILLED YOUR FUCKIN CAT". I said "Oh yeah" and he went on to try to describe how he did it before I disengaged. This call came just as I was deep in thought on Jez. Nice timing. I'm surprised more of the sad latter (in)human(e) behavior hasn't surfaced.

The bewilderment reigns. None of it makes sense though. Not her style. And biggest fear is not her living the alley life, which i know she can work, but her being snatched and jailed up in someone's goddamn apartment. I walked by doing my calls and heard a small boy from a small apartment above yell "No SMOKEY, come here!" Smokey being a common name for a grey cat, which Jez partially is... It gave me chills up the spine and the next day i plastered flyers all around the same apartment complex...

So it go and an off start to travels rendered, but so is the road and the unpredictability that i knew going in, when i saved Jezzie from an isolated and bitter life passing through Michigan 4 years ago, knowing we weren't going to be going about things "normal", and shit could happen...

Jez in the early days, having blast in the trees, Santa Monica, CA.

NORTH TO SOUTH : "THE THING"

2011-06-05T23:02:00.000-07:00

North - South / West - East / South - North / East - West

EACH LEG OF TRAVEL will be signified by a different grill stuffed animal, masted to the front of the bus. From North to South, and specifically L.A. as destination, it's "THE THING".

Part of the SuperHero team, The Fantastic Four, The Thing stands out as a blocky, complex, mass of a character; hence is very fitting for a los angeles trek and extended stopover/stay. L.A. is a mass mess of blocks; a conglomeration of variety, madness, tensions; it's definitely, this "THING" - an undefinable area of complexity and true chaos.

I've always thought The Thing character as a massive body in search of identity. Orson Wells once called L.A. something to the effect of a dozen different suburbs in search of a city.

The Thing is also strength and solidity, both nice to have crested on the mast, leading the way for that first stretch of physical and mental Road travel.

For more on the history of grill stuffed animals, see THIS.

And here's a website that celebrates these Urban Beasts.

"ESTHER'S FLOWERS"

2011-06-03T18:39:00.000-07:00

MOJAVE, CA

"HE IS RISEN"

2011-06-03T18:28:00.000-07:00

MOJAVE, CA.

"TOWELS AND FRAGRANCE"

2011-06-02T20:57:00.000-07:00

FOWLER, CA.

"FALSE TEETH RON"

2011-06-02T20:33:00.000-07:00

Truck Stop, Ricon, CA. (Bathroom Stall)

The Push

2011-05-10T01:43:00.000-07:00

Gearing for another push. This one stretching out to a possible year, albeit due to fuel costs a rising, extended stops along the way to post up at will be necessity. Whether it be friends, vandwelling areas, walmart parking lot shuffles, side of secluded roads, or..

A slow crawl of sorts through America; loose and improv'd it looks. Shooting things, various vignettes most like, and a longer essay'ish piece i've had in mind for a time. Maybe real, real long to go against the grain of the quick fix video it and forget it trend.

South first, er maybe North, but prolly the ol' stompin grounds south; friends to greet again. Ocean, and other. And then a big cast off east.

The Diamond gets some d.i.y. hobo shelving additions; though the real overall needs to be Elienation, the mentality. Mentally gearing up for another push. Cutting those temporary safety wires i, gladly, got tangled up in 18 plus months ago. As so did my partner, Jezebel. A big harsh road re-awakening for us both.

Some stories too i hope. Maybe i get this online writing/posting thing right and consistent, for once. (for at least, my own liking; i'm an online 'failure' in the other sense; few readers, youtube views dwindled, less than 60 'friends' on farcebook, etc., really a complete online failure all around in that sense of fame, hipster attention, etc etc.)

So it go, we go, slow.

New Absurdist Works and Reviews | Fuck The Earth Night

2011-04-29T13:28:00.000-07:00

The first ever Fuck the Earth Night took place on Earth Day.

Here is a review for the film of the night called Squirrel Mommy by American Films:

http://absurdistvideoart.com/2011/04/27/squirrel-mommy-fuck-the-earth-film-of-the-night/

And my contribution to the evening is now uploaded online, and here that is:

FRISCO BRIEF

2011-03-18T20:44:00.000-07:00

FRISCO AND WHAT TO MAKE --- She’s got the hustle / bustle of all the downtown city greats…but I don’t know what to make of nowadays Frisco --- It’s not JACKS frisco no more – tho the bums are plenty and the cement is pounded by many – and there’s interasting things to observe, scenes to see etcetera…old chinawomen still get old and are still beat creatures navigating the Amercian city, THEIR American city, with absolute surety and ease…

But now, on everycorner, the green cafe’s, starfucks, everyeveryeverycorner…which, well, have been turned into beat bum hangs, all day nodding off characters of all sorts, constantly full and I went to corner to corner to corner, trying to secure my own settle down chair to and it was a no-go, full houses and even nervous Filipino woman lying and saying chair across from her was occupied (I went back numerous times and it remain vacant – gave her dirty look my last pass by). And no grunge original dirty couch cafes seem to remain... the yuppies know their BRAND and stick with it…

AND THE WOMEN OF FRISCO seem an odd bunch…on one hand yas, yas, wonderful curvy creatures with sublte about them maneuverings and outer wear styles…not too showy, but smooth... But here’s the thang -- hand to hand they are with these boyfriends you wouldn’t expect.. geeky, hiptery and the like, blah blah bores you would guess.. But then I think it takes a strange guy to make home a city that’s healthily saturated with gays.. I think the straights maybe think their chances for tail are greater because most of the cocks out there don’t go for the puss..so it’s all about them odd’s…it’s sorta like the whole “teach English in korea” crowd – geek guys who specifically take the across the globe gig not for the easy dough but for the easy lays, as the legend has it…

Frisco is prolly the same -- the tails themselves get frustrated bein round so many men that have no interest in their glorious curves sexually..so when tall lanky urban outfitter dork knob tech bores with a pussy preferred dick comes along – she surrenders… And then you find yourself at an indian/Pakistani all you can eat buffet looking across at wonderful tall curvy as her boyrfriend catches you with the almost knowing gaze saying “yeah, I’m lucky as fuck…Austin, L.A., Seattle, I tried em all and never coulda scored this kinda tail anywhere, but here, well the odd’s, the odd’s...and please you vermin you, stop lookin at my woman’s buttocks..” And so it go…

IT’S POURING RAIN…A FRISCO RAIN… I have a small dingy 5^th floor room in a fleabag hotel of sorts because nowadays even the fleabaggers are charging a hefty frisco dime, so… But the windows open up with no screens and I half hang out observing the streets in my own solitude as usual situation... The hotel diagnol has a flurry of open windows, some with lights on.. I seek out a free nighttime peep show and I find a prancing around in lingerie chick, and a guy in a chair in his underwear… I’m waiting for her to sit on his face or something… but he’s shinagling with a laptop computer on his lap and that seems to get in the way of the lingerie.. Sad.. Others I see sit in their rooms and I think to self “everyones in their little cages”.

But Friscos a goddamn city alright… You know you’re in a great goddamn city, downtown sect, when if you stop walking, for just a moment, just a split second pause to make a decision of left or right, you are accosted by someone trying to sell you a bottle of cologne “real expensive in the stores bro” – or someone pegging for coinage, or someone running some sort of scam and trying desperately to pull you in “c;mere for a minute sir, looky here, looky here..”…these are the great cities. You gotta keep movin in the great cities; any pause you make sends out an immediate stench that the predators can pick up within a millisecond, and you’ll get pounced on. You must keep moving in the great goddamn cities.

A COUPLE A DRAMA queen gay's bickered down below, i waited a few to see if they'd come to blows, but it was all drama... I shut the window, decided to call it a frisco eve... Wrapped myself up in sleep clothing head to toe to fight off the bedbugs, pillow over head to drown out the queens below, and crashed...

MAKING IT IN THE BIG BAD BEAUTIFUL, FUCKED UP, WORLD

2011-03-02T23:52:00.000-08:00

AS I ORGANIZE MY ONLINE life, that is the real life theatrics transferred to the non physical digital world, I manage to narrow things down to writing, visual art, and sound art, all under the same moniker, the name of my first zine way back yonder, ELIENATION, yet with separate post fixes for each (((Elienaion.COM, Elienation.NET, Elienation.ORG))).

It serves, mainly to me, as a nice little storage facility. A depository for current and future reflection, and adding on to, nicely separated to three fields of exploration that interest me enough to have devoted much of time/thought, life i suppose, engaged in these "arts".

To others though, it's largely non existent; the curious lurk, the mystery 'fans' check in (whom i suspect a few), the friends pan over it, once, and move on to their own forays (most friends are artists themselves, caught up in their own worlds and struggles etc.) And due to my piss poor self promotion, this non recognition remains the same after several years engaged in this game.

Which brings up the idea of making it; as lay before me my 3 fold arenas of various creations and the ideas of what it means being, and having been, a fringe existing artist of sorts, fucking around, albeit happily most of time, in the margins.

I KNOW I HAVEN'T made it in the real world; the American mainstream that is of jobs, careers, white fences, pregno wives, and 2.5 rugrats. The so called 'dream', in which 'making it' in this arena to me would be more of a nightmare. Hence, thank gawd i'm a failure.

But I've also failed in the traditional sense, in the so-called art world. The recognition never fully realized, and this not in the mainstream arts to which I have the same disdain as the above 'dream', but in the alter art, modern art, any gawd for fuck sakes art world really. Not totally true, as I've been clustered in established avant corners here and there...but enough true to realize I really haven't made it to any momentous degree, in the albeit avant petri dish of real arts that exist.

WHERE I HAVE made it though is in my own world. To a decent degree that one can. I think many don't make it at all in their own worlds. They make it in other peoples worlds. They have to get up, put on the facade and go out and be successful, but it aint their world, it's someone elses.

There's no time for meandering, thinking; creating in whatever field of interest. Unleashing the 5 year old within to sit down and do some serious creative damage for the sake of letting loose, minus the ego; such is not allowed by the image needed to maintain in order to sustain the accepted status required to exist in someone elses world.

And even artists exist in someone elses world as soon as they're labeled successful, or established, or whatever.

To me the whole trips always been an ongoing art project anyway. It's absurd to take this shit, this fucked up mess, too goddamn seriously.

show up here, this early, and stay till there, this late? and do the shit again tomorrow, and for the next 30 plus years? then die forever? you serious? you really fuckin serious?

The whole trips an absurdity, and one whose current path has a very bleak and unpleasant planetary ending. And we are but a speck in that goddamn cosmos; likely the laughing stock of several thousands of other planetary entities who check into ongoing theater Earth.

I've made it to some warped to most, unrewarding to many, totally confusing to others, degree of outlaw eccentric creating of my own liking, and listening and viewing. The ego still chimes in plenty; why aren't you here nor there; representing or being represented; motivated to motivate for monetization, recognition, adulation, sexploitation, etceterization. But really it's observation, and the creation thereafter, that will remain key for me; therapy for making it, albeit alongside and in the margins, of the big bad beauteeeful, farked up world.

“If at first an idea isn’t absurd, there’s no hope for it.”
Albert Einstein (1879 – 1955)

WWW.ELIENATION.NET

2011-03-01T22:03:00.000-08:00

Here is my experimental music site featuring online albums by Eli Zodiak and collaborators.

www.Elienation.Net

SON OF NOLTE

2011-02-08T23:51:00.000-08:00

Edit by Eli Elliott - Shot by Ernesto Maxamillion

Long lost likely son of actor Nick Nolte is profiled with a striking resemblance both in physical appearance and voice. Vince Chritton seeks to one day meet his real father.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zofY7C6aD2I

BUS STORY 2011 - "The Other Bus" (and Not a Blowjob in Sight)

2011-01-04T16:15:00.000-08:00

5 HOUR FLIGHT - 3 HOUR BUS - 5 HOUR TRAIN - 6 HOUR BUS. This return to the west coast all on a few hour sleep from the new years eve night prior where in Detroit you got a taste of how many are really armed as the different flavors of gunshot peppered in the Gregorian calender change.

With most firework displays you sometimes hear that one strange sounding bang that you wonder may be gunfire; in Detroit it's the opposite. It's all gunfire and you have to listen hard to detect the one rare actual firework. A gun enthusiast would have a field day identifying the various weapons via sound; there were Uzi's, 9mm's, shotguns, and various other semi-automatics that smattered the sky for a solid 10 minutes and commencing for another 20 in a call and answer fashion.

AIR TRAVEL nowdays reflects the 5 bodied paradigm. They no longer serve you food for free. Instead of filling your trays, they place screens in front of your face, ingesting your body with free television and digital downloads to consume. Starving the physical body from actual food while feeding the newly developed cyborgian body with digital information. The airlines actually have it right on this level as this is how people consume nowaday anyway.

Nevertheless after 5 hours of Dog The Bounty Hunter episodes i was still starved, physically drained and ready to move the fuck on.

A 30 minute shuttle to downtown LA, Union Station, historic building with old time seats still intact in the large waiting area. Individual seats almost like your own cubby hole. I could easily do the 2 and a half hour wait for the 2 am bus in these seats. These were the real deal and it didn't take long for security to come and check that i had a ticket. These were bum paradise seats where you could actually get comfortable and log on some serious z's. Sitting in one of these felt like taking a warm bath, the nostagia so great, resurrecting a time where quality was king; a far cry from the uncomfortable plastic not made for human consumption but mass production model that's been the nowaday norm...

I WAS A WHORE TO MY FAITHFUL GREYHOUND; like a bastard i chose the Amtrak for this go around of travel. The Amtrak nowaday is really a combination of both bus and train, since in this country "we have train service that the Bulgarians would be ashamed of" (Kunstler).

I felt guilty of my GreyHound deceit, but i was curious what the difference would be. A Hound bus versus Amtrak bus. The Am was sleeker from the outside, and more leg roomier on the inside. The group on board was a mundane bunch. None of the typical, creatures of the Hound. A recently released prison inmate did emerge on my second Amtrak bus, but it turns out he was really a seasoned Hound rider who got the Am for cheaper at the last minute so decided to run with it "fuck the greyhound, this shit was cheaper!"

THE CLASSIC young guy and young girl couple sat across from me, a blanket over her chest so he could slip his hand underneath and fondle her breasts. But still, this was tame. When it came time for the gal to lay her head on his lap, blanket over her face, there was no bobbing motion, and no reaction from the guy. On board a Greyhound this would NEVER happen. I've witnessed 2 full on blowjobs on board the Hounds, and they didn't even have blankets to cover up with to conceal. This Amtrak no blow covered head on lap was some lame and tame shit. Oh Hound, how thou can i repent and thus be permissed back into your filthy graces?

THE TRAIN really can't be beat as far as commercial forms of travel. The view, the seat room, the walking around, the goddamn cafe with coffee...good god. It was a good rail ride, the ongoing movie was whizzing by right out your window. The landscape along the rail lines; the desolation to the junkyard clutters to the little hobo encapments in the bushes. This was IT; knowing i'd have to crawl back on another lame bus for another lagging 6 hours was a laxative like downer difficult to fathom and face...

THE FINAL LEG OF bus riding started out with a full house. Every seat taken except for a couple of jackasses who tried to hold out. When 2 young kids, prolly around 7 and twins, entered the bus and kept walking up and down the aisle, it was obvious they needed seats.

The name of the game with bus travel is trying to secure two seats to yourself so you don't have anyone sitting next to you. And i'm guilty for playing the game, prolly more guilty than most when i start twitching and performing my brief spasmatic type motions when i see someone approaching and eyeing my vacant seat. It has always worked. For some reason they don't want to sit next to me.

But when it's a full house the game's over. You got to give your shit up. And when there's 2 goddamn small kids needing seats then you better take your fucking backpack off your seat and offer it the fuck up. These 2 jackasses didn't seem to get it. I finally asked the young kids to verify "you guys need seats"..."yes, but they're all taken"...I pointed out the 2 vacant seats that were masked as being taken then in Greyhound fashion yelled out "you got an empty seat -- then you gotta give it up"! They moved their shit and the kids got their seats.

Eventually the Father came on board and nicely asked one of the jackasses if he could move his fat ass up front so he could sit with one of his children. I awaited the answer to this and swore he better fucking comply to the dad's request. He did.

But my own hypocrisy started to set in as next to me was a young gal and i noticed her boyfriend was sitting diagonal from me. The thing to do would be to give up my seat so the two could sit together. But the boyfriend was sitting next to the recently released face tattooed inmate, who i'd have to then sit with. Most wouldn't be able to tell the recently released status, but he had on plain standard issue, county or state (but not labeled) grey sweats top and bottoms and a pair of blue slip on shoes. Most would probably think he was just wearing some comfortable attire for a bus ride. But for me that was enough to recognize he'd been inside, and to add to that the brown manila folder (containing release papers) as his only form of luggage.

Now I've had some of my best rides sitting next to the recently released. The shine in their eye when a Harley would roar down the highway; the wild appreciation for freedom all over again.

This one was a talker i could tell. He'd ask me already if i had any weed on me. But after planes traines and busses and a few hours sleep for the last 24, i wasn't eager for all the jive talk.

AND I began to think that maybe this couple who i was preventing sitting together needed some time apart from one another anyway. They probably could use a break. Collect their thoughts individually. Maybe this was a preferable seating arrangement for one of them, or both of them. They could ponder their relationship. Figure where to go from here. Should they move on, marry, carry on as is? Yes, i thought, give em some time apart. They had a LOT to sort out.

BESIDES, the recently released inmate i could tell was a likeable dude. I would start talking with him, and before you know it perhaps some sort of scheme would unveil and i would find myself starting out the new year embroiled in a total life of crime. I would end up wearing the same state issued grey sweat suit that this guy was wearing in a few months. With this thought now embedded in my mind I decided for now to remain seated right the fuck where i was.

About an hour later at our first stop another seat opened up and my rationalizations were wearing thin, and guilt setting in. I gave my seat up to the boyfriend who said "you sure that's cool with you", I said "yeah, of course" and he took the seat. The couple immediately began snuggling with one another and she slept the rest of the way nestled up against his shoulder...

THE FATHER OF THE 2 TWINS who needed seats was a middle aged guy, balding, glasses. The twins were good looking kids. Very featured faces, very European, cute and distinguished looking. There was no mother present, and I quickly figured the backstory on this one was that the guy prolly made it with a very attractive looking euro broad on one of his European business trips. I started getting more specific. I think he fucked a Polack. The kids had a sort of Pole like feature to them and Poland has some extremely attractive tail. Yeah, he fucked a Pole and out came a pair.

He was a good Dad though. Held his sons hands off and on during the ride. Gently told them to be quite when their voices raised; the usual Greyhound father would issue a "shut up" followed by a whack. So it was a relief witnessing a different approach that worked better than the standard issue shout and smack.

THEY DUMPED US OFF at a Denny's parking lot, finally. A few stuck on for one of the last stops on the route continuing North. The recently released exited and combed the lot for his ride that was supposed to show. He borrowed a cell phone from someone on board the bus and began calling and getting hold of numerous people. I had to walk 3-4 miles and it never occurred to me to call someone, but then it occurred to me that i wouldn't know who to call anyway. I wished him 'good luck' which sort of acknowledged my knowledge of his new found freedom.

It was a good day, brisk and sun. The Gregorian now read 2011 and i breathed in a readiness for another go around at life, living and all that jive...

Early November Brief

2010-11-27T17:05:00.000-08:00

A few images to run along with November field notes piece.

November Brief from Eli Elliott on Vimeo.

November Field Notes From The Hound

2010-11-17T01:08:00.000-08:00

HE STOOD UP IN the aisle and reached for his knapsack in the overhead bin. The bus was going over the Bay Bridge in Frisco. He pulled out a sealed bottle of mouth wash. Opens it up and takes in a big mouthful. Still standing in the aisle he swishes the wash around in his mouth for a good 20 seconds. He has bird shit on his jacket.

The swishes then begin to become slower and slower. And slower. They stop and he stands still with his cheeks puffed out, full of wash. It’s as if he suddenly realizes the conundrum at hand. The other passengers realized this from the beginning. And now the realization hits him: he doesn’t have anywhere to spat out the wash.

The passengers prepare themselves. The facial muscles clinch; bodies tense up. The sight and unknown aftermath of an enormous mouthwash swallow are about to commence.

Instead, he sheepishly opens back up the bottle. Slowly he spits out a long and narrow stream of washed around spat back into the bottle. Having emptied his mouth, the horror show seems to be over. But then he accidently drops the cap to the mouthwash bottle on the floor, where it rolls down the bus aisle abyss; the open bottled spew of swished around spat begins to permeate the air in the coach…

Back home, on the Hound.

I HAD 12 HOURS TO kick it in Oakland. Fresh off an 8 hour GrewDawg and a flight the next day. Heard some noise down toward the water so wandered thataway. It was Jerry Brown yapping his career politician schpeel on a podium to a smattering couple hundred sign holding lemming like cheerleaders. A day later he would be declared Cali’s new governor, again (he was governor 30 years ago). His opponent, EBAY CEO former, had spent around 140 million dollars on her failed campaign.

140 million dollars.

Night came and I still wanted to knock around Oakland some more but everything seemed to be closed. The Hells Angels were out, it seemed doing security for some concert, “Godsmack” or something. A couple prospects u turned their horses in traffic causing some cars to honk. I observed the scene a bit, admiring the Angels for keeping their game consistent and together after all these years.

A bodybuilding/speed freak couple flailed out of the concert in a huff; he got right in her face and called her, “a dick”. She ran after him, attempting to throw her body on him, playing off an assault as she yelled “help help”. Another winner relationship in America.

I walked further and encountered a man on his cell phone:

“Well you should just look for someone with 3000 dollar suits…that seems to be what you’re after...And I’ll tell you what, you and Patty, well you two can just ride off in the sunset!”

I pondered the backstory on that one for a good four blocks.

The pro-dope campaign had a few headquarters in downtown Oakland which were bustling about. Their efforts would fall short the next night. While it was the hip thing to do, get out and vote to legalize the ganja, the actual growers where I’ve been living were vehemently against legalization, and the inevitable corporatization of grass.

This was all a week ago or so. An abrupt jaunt back to the Midwest. Grandmother funeral. Now I’m doing the whole thing in reverse. The 2 flights, and the Oakland GreyDawg North for 7 hours. The creatures of the Hound are in full force. Mouthwash man in the aisle. Another guy who clearly got beat up bad the previous night, and would keep going in and out of consciousness both in the station and on the back of the bus (he would end up getting left behind in Santa Rosa; even through his split open scabbed over face, I could see the horror in his eyes as our bus pulled out, the 5 minute break over, him still on the outside making a fruitless jog to catch up to the coach to no avail.)

I later thought back to how I didn’t even attempt to yell at the driver to stop for split open face, though it was probably too late anyway. I’d been on so many Hounds and the driver never stops. But when our McDonalds food break was over, a short little gal was still in line for coffee and I told the driver to hold up she’s still inside. And he did wait for her.

Later, this same shorty gal would be lying down, outstretched on 2 seats in a slumber, and a man would enter the bus, returning from one of our late night breaks, not properly making out where his seat was he would sit down right on top of shorty gal. He sprang back up saying “sorry, sorry”. Shorty gal then sat up a few seconds later tire eyed and said, “did I just get sat on”? Me and the girls across from me started laughing hard.

ROXY RUBICON EPISODE 5

2010-11-10T21:34:00.000-08:00

ROXY RUBICON EPISODE 4

2010-10-17T22:56:00.000-07:00

THE ABSURDIST FILM FESTIVAL

2010-09-24T01:51:00.000-07:00

FEATURING MY FILM -"YOU INSPIRE ME JOSH"

MR. ABBOT KINNEYS WILD TOAD RIDE AND THE EXCESS OF WESTSIDE LOS ANGELES AMIDST COLLAPSE

2010-08-25T00:51:00.002-07:00

VENTURED back for the summer to the west side of los angeles, specifically Venice/Santa Monica. Still a somewhat "home" as Gus Mcgee reminded me 'no one ever leaves Venice'...

We were coming off the disaster in the Gulf, still a few weeks away from the cooling off attitude that the oil was stopped and supposedly "dispersed". Disaster was still very much in the air, and this coupled with the grim crumblings of America; more job loss and overall fragility becoming even more apparent. But the dispersent present throughout west LA, was clearly reality dispersent.

I OFTEN NOTICED a somewhat disconnect with some friends and aquantices in L.A. with regards to the current collapse that's been unfolding now for years. The recent venture back made me understand it; as the shit was hitting fans everywhere else in the states, and the world, L.A. was celebrating the remaining excess.

EXCESS.

If collapse is going on, you wouldn't know it in LA. Even as the homeless increase, as more RV's enter the streets, it doesn't matter because there's always been homeless and there's always been RV's. People are used to it and the obvious increasing visuals of it get drowned out from the visuals of an ever increasing EXCESS, ocurring even in these times of despair everywhere else.

A hoity toity enormous WHOLE FOODS is now open on Rose ave.; a constant flow of bustling hipsters and yupsters can be seen flocking in and out from morning to night. I took a stroll around inside and squinted my eyes at the gross scene to-be-seen-scene; a hipster fuck twat donned in a wool skull cap in July holds up the teeniest tiniest too small for him t-shirt wondering if he'll look cool enough in it as he considers the 39.99 price tag. There are the tattooed too cool for school crowd seated outside with their little smoothies or cups of hot july soup! The parking lot is blatently designed to exclude rubber tramps; it's simply no longer an option for the RV folks to park in, many who rely on the food and supplies from the right next door dollar store. I twice attempted to park there, both times turned around and left. Every space is labeled "compact".

It's these moments when Wile E. Coyote emerges in the mind with his dynamite detonator, trying to push the handle down, yet somehow blowing himself up. The thought enters, then the reality: It's a lost cause, a no-win game; teeny tiny t'shirt lovers win until nature takes it course and...

And then there's the street named after Venice forefather, Abbot Kinney. Imagine the Abbot Kinney street as the Pirates of the Caribean ride, a grungy, fun, energetic yet laid back jaunt down a blvd. And then coming back a few years later and imagine it's turned into the Mr. Toads Wild ride (hipster 2.0); this bizarre, surreal, really? no really? type of uncomfortable bumpy ass ride down a blvd you no longer recognize.

I actually had a friend urge me to take a stroll with him down Abbot Kinney, knowing that I'd be blown away at the transformation. Holy fuck. It was 80 dollar t-shirt store after 80 dollar T-shirt store, sardined right next to one another on and on and on they went. He made me go in with him, several of them, whereas he went straight for the t-shirts to show me the price tags to prove he wasn't exagerating. He held up the tags, said "see".. and then turned right around to leave, paying no mind to the people working there, whereas I tried to put up a somewhat front by looking around pretending to be halfway interested, a knee jerk reaction I regret; fuck these places. These temporary little useless waste of space bullshit enclaves that do nothing. Again, what a goddamn waste in a time where space could be used for so much more; even if it is for art to soothe the soul amidst the notion of headaches to come...

He then urged me inside a new coffee shop, "Intelligencia" or something... All cement inside, cold and stupid looking. The many posers who bought into the phony facade, sat moronically on the cement, or waited in the cold line for a probably 10 dollar latte. The only natural reaction one has once inside ''Intelligencia'' is to turn around and get the fuck out. Which after mocking it for a minute, we did.

"First Fridays". When I first heard about this I assumed a bunch of art galleries had opened up on Abbot Kinney and "first fridays"(of every month) was an open studio night or something. Not the case. What this night consists of is a bunch of hipster twats walking aimlessly up and down Abbot Kinney. You can see the real Venice locals inside of one of the few remaining mainstays, the Abbotts Habbit coffehouse, looking like locked up prisoners inside their own neighborhood, as the "out of towners" make their way west for a now considered, trendy night out.

There are a few bars in between, and yes stores are open, but the aimless, crowded, crammed, claustaphobic walk was the real scene to-be-seen. That and the newest odd TREND taking place in L.A. - FOOD TRUCKS.

For some reason these have caught on big time. They are trucks that pull up right on the side of the street and start cooking and serving food inside their little kitchens. One bar actually turned it's parking lot into a food truck court with 4 or 5 of them in the small lot. The food is deceivingly cheap. A taco might cost a few bucks, but when you get it, it's small and way too flavorful...so naturally you have to order another because that didn't do anything for your hunger; only lured your taste buds in for another one or three. When all is said and done you've gone from a few bucks to 8 bucks. And you're still kinda hungry.

MEANWHILE, the big whoopity-doo in Santa Monica was the grand opening of the brand new Santa Monica mall. Yes, a fuckin mall. The previous Santa Monica mall was indeed pathetic, the way most malls are supposed to be. When they closed it down for 2 years no one seemed to miss it, and the previous year I was in Santa Monica i didn't even know it was closed. They pretty much demolished it, but then they spent 265 million dollars (TWO HUNDRED AND SIXTY FIVE MILLION DOLLARS) and re-did it into this open air Beverly Hills looking thing, with the high end hoity toity stores, and a bunch of other techno playing clothing stores, along with an improved food court and a killer view from the top. The price tag, as ridiculous enough, it's actually the concept that's more ridiculous. The new open air mall, is right next to the 3rd street promenade, which is basically 3 full pedestrian only streets with tons of shops on each side. So they built an open air mall, right next to...an open air mall.

And again, the EXCESS.

Who the fuck, in their right mind, would allow such a project to go forward when we are a bankrupt country on the brink of everything collapse? Who thought it'd be a good idea during this time of absolute crisis, to spend 265 million on a remodel job to a mall, an open air mall, right next to another open air mall?

While everyone else in the country is suffering, losing jobs, companies and businesses folding, Santa Monica is celebrating their grand opening of their 265 million dollar mall. Unreal, but it's one for the "what were they thinking" history books, when they look back post collapse and try to put some pieces into place.

And that's the excess that this place has. There's so much wealth floating around, that it does just that, it floats around; the aimless shuffle of dollars back and forth. An area in America where at any given time there's a handful of 50 million buck movies being pumped out factory style.

And technologies that can save the world, literally, struggle for 20 years to rack up a mere 100 million dollars in research and development funds. But 2 years and 250 million bones for a mall with a Nordstroms in it is cause for celebration.

Nordstrom opens at Santa Monica Place on Friday

ROXY RUBICON EP. 3

2010-08-25T00:51:00.001-07:00

ROXY RUBICON EPISODE 2

2010-08-08T00:26:00.000-07:00

ROXY RUBICON and the collapse of 2010 - EPISODE 1 -

2010-06-15T17:03:00.000-07:00

Cinema/Creativity/Current Times Etc...

2010-04-06T16:57:00.000-07:00

Full post: http://jonjost.wordpress.com/2010/04/01/cinematic-hesitations/

"Perhaps it is exhaustion from the work on Swimming (and other things at the same time), or perhaps it is the wages of age, or perhaps the distractions of my modest bit of teaching, or….

Or perhaps it is the natural drying up of creative energies. Or perhaps it is simply a little hiatus of the moment. Of all this I am a bit unsure. What is sure is that the last year or so has seen my mind pondering the matter of doing creative work, of doing it in a hostile environment which celebrates celebrity or mammon and disdains the quiet and/or thoughtful or creatively adventurous, of all the work and the absent “pay.” Not merely fiscal pay, but psychological. For myself I don’t need a pat on the head from a festival or a critic, nor does a kick in the balls bother me. I do these things out of a compulsion, some inner need to express things, to make sense of the world. The only approval or critique I really require is my own. The approval or disdain of others really has little meaning, though naturally it is “nice” if someone likes what I do (if it is sincere, which sometimes one feels it is not), and “nicer” if I can see they got something I was out to do, and maybe even “nicer” if they can see things in my work that I didn’t see but can see after it’s pointed out." - jon jost

Performance Piece : "YoGa MiND oRGY"

2010-04-02T14:47:00.000-07:00

MOURNING SANDRA BUTTOCKS by E.E.

2010-03-29T22:49:00.000-07:00

I'm Dancing and playing w/a stick to Fela Kuti

2010-03-19T00:18:00.000-07:00

ZERO CHILD cHanNneLing - stick play + dancing

Dumb Druids - "INTEGRATION"

2010-03-01T16:47:00.000-08:00

Dumb Druids are Eli Zodiak & Ruby Crater
Current tracks @ http://soundcloud.com/elienation

DumbDruids - INTEGRATION by Elienation

COK FUK STIK

2010-02-08T02:54:00.001-08:00

bLunDeR fUCk by E.E.

2010-01-26T16:38:00.000-08:00

"BAcK tO MaN" - eli e.

2010-01-14T12:16:00.000-08:00

"Fertilized Footlongs and the Marginless New Year" by Eli Elliott

2010-01-11T00:55:00.000-08:00

"DOES THE CHICKEN TUSCON MELT QUALIFY for the 5 buck footlong deal?" And here I had just finished writing down all the fresh vegetables I was going to eat daily for the new year. Well, I'd start on Monday. One last factory farmed, fertilized - pesticized, fructose corn syrup sauced submarine sandwich for the long twenty-ten road ahead...

Like for most people, 2009 was a welcome adi-fuckin-os. Son of a bitch, what holy shit on rye waste of goddamn time -- I mean it seems there's been a collective "what the hell did (didn't) I do"? going around. As if in late December everyone laxitive'd up and ran themselves dry with a cleansed out, relieved fuck you salute to 09.

Twenty Ten, "The Dime", is being lauded as the big beginning, the fresh start, much more so than the new years of past. I have trouble imagining that anyone will come out of it any different, likely worse off, but then that wishful thinking energy could manifest some nuggets of productivity. How much it will contribute to the uncharted "strange place" we are headed towards is unclear. But I think at this point just maintaining your mental health is going to go down as a major win.

I'm still recovering from the years end. The holiday barage of "good tidings and joy"; the family spendage, the childhood scenery retrospectives; appreciating how far you've come (or gone), whle listening to some opionize how far you haven't. The drunken dad informing you that your life "is shit", bringing up things from 15 years prior you were convinced he surely musta got over by now. Nope. Then unable to fathom how a female partner could see anything in you due to the utter financial nothing you have to offer. People become so ingrained in what society has force fed them to believe, even in a time where everything and everyone is completely and permanently broke and it's things like a sense of humor that is proven far more valuable than depreciating federal reserve notes.

I recover quickly, but it's easy to see how many never recover from parental stabs, or how many settled for a standard life to avoid the criticism altogether.

I walked out with my Chicken Tuscon Melt, into the dark, foggy strip malled parking lot of Eureka. A StarFucks to the left, a CVS drugstore to the right (I'd been in both already), a Radio Shack, a hair salon, a Dollar Store, and a trio of jokers selling male cologne out of their car to passer by's.

"Excuse me, do you wear male cologne"?

"No."

"Yeah, neither do I, but listen were from Sacramento doing a promotion giving out free trial samples of this new cologne, you want to give it a try?"

This snake oil presentation smelt so 1990's. I mean, really - people still do this shit? Cologne out of the trunk of cars?

I later wondered, this being the 20-10's, not the 1990's, that this must be part of some reality TV stunt or something, I must've just missed the camera's. But this is Eureka, and strange shit sometimes happens. Decades sometimes get recycled here.

But I liked it here. I had trouble finding my place though. In LA you could blend in, be anonymous, and do your thing. But here you feel like an asshole just sitting on the sidelines. LA we were all on the sidelines; happily existing in the margins away from the meglomanifuck beast of "the industry". But here there is no beast to rage against, cower from, or piss at from a distance. There's an actual art scene of sorts and there's no one out to ruin it. Studios are affordable, arts' accessible if you want it to be. The meglo is now me. The beast within, confused on how to proceed, begins backtracking with the insane:
Maybe I give LA another run. 6 months strong. Get in a few pictures. Nothin big of course. Few lines, shot, killed, whatever. I got my cred now from the Idaho film. They'll be able to see that I can play some sorta lunatic fairly well. I'd do it right this time. Stay away from the beach. Fuck the beach. Forget Venice. I'd just end up hanging out with the homeless again. If I do live in my van, I'll have to make it, like, SilverLake or soemthing. In any event, the east side. A cheap hotel downtown where my friend Cindy Pop is livin. I think I could swing it. Be in a few pictures, stockpile the money up, have enough for some Oregon land or something...

Yeah you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave. LA burns it's 2 letter imprint on your brain. The misunderstood hopes, the ridicolous dreams, the mad women desires, the lunatic attractions, these thoughts can work you over in an instant. I walked from the sandwich shop to my van and had hashed up a whole new absurd return to LA plan. Fuck. Hence why I have to do something with my sorry ass here, rather than fumble around like an asshole there.

I would look into some studio space Monday. Buy my vegetables too. And stay away from the 5 dollar fertilized footlongs from here on out.

Twenty-Ten baby. The Dime cometh. Rah Rah Rah

Detroit Drive at Decades End

2010-01-05T11:33:00.000-08:00

My, now yearly, end of year random drive through the neighborhoods of Detroit.

Video - Eli Elliott
Music - Pale Reverse

STUFFED BACKPACKS AND DIRTY DIAPERS - Observations on Plane Travel at the Turn of the Decade by Eli Elliott

2009-12-18T21:38:00.000-08:00

I ACTUALLY PREFER TO PAY THE 15 DAMN DOLLARS it costs to avoid playing the role of stuffed backpack slamming overhead bin idiot who thinks he‘s beating the system. Air travel now days require you to pay a fee for a checked in under the plane piece of luggage. Usually 15 dollars per bag, sometimes more, with a few rare airlines now making it a selling point to offer no charge on what used to be free for checked in luggage. What this has led to is passengers bringing all of their would be under the plane luggage, directly onto the plane, into the overhead bins. In order to accomplish this they take medium sized duffel bags and regular sized backpacks, and stuff them full until the seams are as close to the ripping point as possible. Airports now days consist of hundreds of travelers trodding hurridly and clumsily with massive overstuffed backpacks strapped to their backs. On board the plane, this has lead to all the overhead bins being jammed up with peoples shit, as passengers, stewards, and stewardesses, take turns performing loud slamming competitions in an attempt to shut the bins. BAM BAM BAM (rearrange all the shit, re-try) BAM BAM BAM (another rearrange attempt, re-try and so forth…). Pre-takeoff now consists of continual loud frustrated clammoring from the front to the rear of the plane. Almost always, your bag is never above where you are seated. While you may be seated in the front of plane, you usually need to stuff your bag towards the middle or rear of the plane, where the only empty space remains. When the plane lands you have a mass idiot crowd of passengers trying to retrieve their bags in all directions, greatly delaying the best part of air travel, getting off the damn plane.

SEATED IN THE TINY Nor Cal airport, waiting for the security gates to open, a black guy sits across from me, stuffed to the fuck backpack on him, while carrying an odd, semi-eerie white mask with a clown type nose on it. It was a few notches above your typical dime store mask, so it was odd that this guy wouldn’t want to at least put the thing inside a paper bag or something to protect it better. But obviously this was an “attention getter”, a conversation piece, a declaration prop stating that he’s a performer, of some sort. He was also wearing these shoes which have separate departments for each one of your toes. Think gloves for the feet. These are new agey high techish numbers which are supposed to bring you as close to walking barefoot as possible, yet still able to, barely, fall into being labeled as “shoes”. Another prop, but also I suspect it was a sly attempt to get past security without having to “take your shoes off” as is required now days. I gleaned with my own sly smirk a half hour later as I saw him barefoot, without his gloved sock footies, apparently the TSA agents making him take them off.

As Sock Footie sat across from me, I encouraged no conversation as the attention getting props worked in the opposite fashion for me. He even extended his feet, practically begging me to ask about them. A no go. Then he did the talk on cell phone bit, where you purposely talk in front of someone on your cell phone, knowing your conversation is stranger audible and in turn framing it as such, this as a way to reveal yourself for open real person communicato afterwards. Didn’t go for that either. Sock Footie got to get his tongue on soon after though, as he took about 25 minutes going through security, talking it up lively and laughterly with the TSA people, while he dressed and undressed himself, with his scarfs, sweaters, prop mask in hand, and of course the toe shoes which seemed to take forever for him to put back on. The words “Hollywood needs performers now days” was stupidly mentioned by one of the agents. Whatever.

MEANWHILE I SAT across from a Jeff Ellenstein type, a tall lanky jew kid with curl hair and apparently an artist of some sort with his big art case folder. Art I surmised was probably the only thing that kept this kid going, alive, etc. as he fidgeted about, bit uncomfortable, anxious, perhaps about where he was going and why, both in the moment and in life. I thought about ol childhood friend Jeff Ellenstein and suddenly wondered why we had stopped being friends, and suspected it had something to do with the jew thing. I recall that we had debates over which was better, Christmas or Hanukkah. His argument was that you got your presents sooner and they continued on for 8 straight days, He had a good point and I don’t know if I ever could counter it. And now I wanted to befriend this jew kid across from me, in some lame belated attempt to make up for my lost Ellenstein friendship. But before I mustered up any communicato, I reminded myself I needed to hit the latrine before the plane arrived. For some reason my ass always get’s extra moist inside of airports, and I head to the latrines frequently for a good wipe down to dry the situation up. I left my Ellenstein regrets behind and went to wipe my ass.

PLANE TRAVEL NOW days has almost become comparable to Greyhound bus riding. The last time I entered a plane I settled in my seat, got settled and immediately went for a magazine in the pouch in front of me, but instead found a fresh and fully loaded dirty diaper. I told, and showed, the stewardess and her face scrunched up as she said “I aint touching it!”. Um, okay. I remember sitting there trying to figure this situation out, as the stench grew stronger. Eventually she gave in, returning wearing rubber gloves and carefully taking away the dirty diaper. I wasn’t sure what I was more surprised by, the dirty diaper or her initially expecting me to live with it in for the duration of the flight.

Plane travel has also begun taking almost as long to get to your destination as it does with buses. To get a cheap ticket now days you have to select a flight which has you stopping at least 3 times all over the goddamn country, sometimes actually backtracking, before finally reaching your destination. 3 hour flights can easily take 9-12 hours when everything is said and done.

ON BOARD THE FIRST stretch of travel, settled in my seat, immediately checking the pouch in front of me as is now habit, the “steward” appeared (male stewardess) and he was donned in an extremely festive holiday sweater vest which had 6 good sized robins on it, embroidered Christmas ornaments, and sparkly snowflakes. Ironically, worn by a male, this vest does not initially convey festive holiday cheer whatsoever. Instead it screams out one thing and one thing only: GAY. Not a straight man alive would wear a 6 robin sparkly snowflake sweater. Ever. Apparently I’m wrong though in what it conveyed, as two 85 year old women commented as Steward 6 Robin walked down the aisle - “We just LOVE your sweater!” Steward 6 Robin slyly grinned out a weak “thank you”, perhaps biting his lip a bit at the old lady gay appreciation/attention thing (even Sock Footie, seated near the front, neglected comment to his gay brethren, perhaps feeling a bit upstaged I suspect).

THE LOS ANGELES LAYOVER was plagued with a new air travel phenomena I hadn’t yet experienced - the shuttle bus terminal transfer nightmare. Myself and several other passengers were dumped into huge LAX airport with no hint of where the hell to go for transfers. We walked around in different directions aimlessly. Sock Footie kept crossing my path and it was clear he was as confused as I. Finally the situation arrives at a point where you end up going up to any behind the desk person and just ask them where the hell you are supposed to go. All the desks seemed to be directing people to gate 39, where we were to line up for a trip outside onto the shuttle bus.

OUTSIDE, walking onto the bus, I noticed Sock Footie in front of me take the scarf around his neck and swoop it up over his head as a sort of shall or hoodie. On board the bus I remained standing, allowing the elderly and pregnant to take the surrounding seats. I looked to the back, and there was Sock Footie, seated in the middle bench, his shall wrapped over his head and it was as if we were in the Middle East aboard some rickshaw transporter filled with locals and their crying babies, and there was prima donna’d Sock Footie all shall’d up sitting high amongst the locals. This image solidified further as our driver was middle eastern , and concluded our journey by arrogantly commanding us to “LISTEN UP, YOU GET OUT HERE AND GO TO THERE AND WAIT FOR NEXT BUS - EVERYONE LEAVES NOW”, prompting I’m sure a few passengers to wonder if this shuttle bus business wasn’t just some full on plot instigated by a terrorist organization and we were being led to bus after bus until we would eventually board a plane destined for the side of some building.

But things have calmed since late 2001 - into 2002, where I remember being on board a flight and before take off a panicked, frantic lady sitting next to me kept subtly nodding her head towards a dark man behind us, as she whispered in my ear, “I saw him go into the bathroom and he spent a long time inside there. I’m thinking about informing the stewardess.” I could hardly believe it, but that was the tone of the time. Our flight took off and while ascending she kept muttering to herself regretfully “I should’ve said something…I should’ve said something…” This current shuttle bus driver would have never been hired in 2002 as a floor sweeper let alone airport driver...

THIRTY MINUTES AND 2 Shuttle buses later we finally made it to our terminal associated with our connecting flights, most of us wondering what in the fuck that ordeal was all about as we literally shuttle bus’d our way through the outside airport traffic, crossing runways where moving 747’s were taxing through. It seemed some miracle we actually made it to where we were supposed to be. I immediately hit the latrine as my ass was super moist and a wipe down was definitely due.

At the gate, seated and waiting, an older gentlemen from the shuttle bus maylay, sat purposefully across from me and tried for some conversation. I engaged with only answers and no questions for him so he gave up soon enough. A few sentences in I had already pegged him for GAY, which at this point was more due to the combined flagrancy of both Sock Footie and Steward 6 Robin. Tiger Woods could have sat across from me and I would’ve pegged him as homosexual. My insecurities with the gay deal was also stemming from the white skull cap I was wearing which I was beginning to believe was too queer looking, interfering perhaps with everyone’s gaydar or something.

THIS LAST STRETCH of air travel was an overnight deal. A “red eye” which air travelers are obsessed with saying. “When’s your flight” -- “Takes off 11pm, get’s in around 6am” -- “OH, IT’S A RED EYE!” It’s an overnight goddamn flight. What’s with the constant necessity for verbal establishment of labeling it as a red eye? Air travelers are an odd bunch now days anyway. Everyone loves talking about their travel plans in airports to stranger passengers, as if they are adventurous real life hobo’s hopping freight trains. “Well I connected out of Houston, got into Phoenix where I had a 2 and a half hour layover before finally arriving at LaGuardia!” Then they describe their return flight, and compare it all to the flight they had 2 years ago, and then their strategies for future travel plans. “Now next time, I’m thinking of going straight into Phoenix, take a RED EYE that night into LaGuardia, and avoid Houston altogether!” And why the hell would this be interesting to some stranger passenger from Ohio?

On board, the “red eye”, I was seated next to another would be 2002 red flag, who thankfully now was comfortable enough to speak Arabic publicly into his cell phone on board the plane before it took off. We got along well and celebrated with laughter as the middle passenger didn’t show up, enabling us more room to sprawl ourselves out for attempted sleep. Soon after the plane took off and before this dude (who had the aisle seat) started nodding off, I figured I’d better excuse myself to the latrine for a good, solid wipe as my airport induced moist ass was screaming for one final dry down .

"JULY" - Elliott Piece in 4 Parts

2009-10-29T16:41:00.000-07:00

JOHN in PEAK OIL TEE

2009-10-10T16:43:00.000-07:00

30 MINUTE NOISE RECORDINGS - #3 - 9/30

2009-09-30T23:18:00.000-07:00

HOW YOU LIKE ME NOW, STEVE CRAIG

2009-09-24T20:03:00.000-07:00

VIDEO EXCERPT - NOISE RECORDINGS #2

2009-09-23T22:15:00.000-07:00

This appears not to work, tho the first half gives off an interesting sound.

Here's the download link to the actual 30 second or so video excerpt -
http://www.divshare.com/download/8623028-118

30 MINUTE NOISE RECORDINGS - #2 - 9/23/09 - Eli Zodiak -

2009-09-23T22:11:00.000-07:00

This session had a circuit bent keyboard, toy accordian, some trumpet, and a how to speak Spanish audio cassette running in the background. Very meditative in parts, in a noisy, drunken trumpet player type way of course.

CYBORG IMMORTALITY ONLY 20 YEARS AWAY

2009-09-23T16:28:00.000-07:00

Hang the fuck on for another 20 if you can...

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/science/science-news/6217676/Immortality-only-20-years-away-says-scientist.html

"So we can look forward to a world where humans become cyborgs, with artificial limbs and organs."

30 MINUTE NOISE RECORDINGS - #1 - Eli Zodiak -

2009-09-16T23:53:00.000-07:00

30 mInUte Noise Recordings by Eli Zodiak will be ongoing noise sessions recorded on the spot and unedited using various sound devices, instruments, audio etc. #1 features circuit bent keyboard, brief 1 string didley bow, didgeridoo, and vocal interpatation throughout of an advertising firm office email.

This session started out rough, developed into some good 'noize riffs' working in the didge and adding, experimenting, with the vocal piece throughout.

WikiPeDia - "BACK TO THE LAND MOVEMENT"

2009-09-16T00:10:00.000-07:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Back-to-the-land_movement

"Regarding another possible strong trend in the future, it is possible that social or economic conditions, coupled with the new technical capabilities, will result in waves of emigration from the cities and immigration to the rural regions. The worldwide ecovillage movement, while not yet of a scale to be called a "wave," has both urban and rural components that aim at building sustainable village cultures. This global network, along with systematic approaches to ecologically more sensitive design, such as permaculture, have evolved out of the back-to-the-land movement. There are those who see these phenomena as interlinked parts of an agrarian revolution that only began with the back-to-the-land movement of the 1960s & '70s."

KUNSTLER - ""The good people better start to man up . . ."

2009-09-15T15:58:00.000-07:00

New Kunstler/ClusterFuck Nation piece -
http://kunstler.com/blog/2009/09/reality-receding.html

"This monster we call the economy is not just an endless series of
charts and graphs -- it's how we live, and that has to change, whether
we like it or not. Now, it is obviously a huge problem that a majority
of Americans don't like the idea. If they were true patriots, instead
of overfed cowards and sado-masochists, they'd be inspired by the
prospect. But something terrible has happened to our national
character since the triumphal glow of World War Two wore off. I just
hope that the Palinites and the myrmidons of Glen Beck don't destroy
what's left of this country in a WWF-style "revolution." In the best
societies, such idiots are marginalized by a kinder and sturdier
consensus about justice. In America today, the center is not holding
because there is no center."

Classic and concise Kunstler; really summing up the bottom line of it all: Real change is needed to even begin to think of averting collapse, yet the change mantra is being propagated and sidetracked into other avenues, which in turn only worsens the overall. It's illusion on top of illusion (the change promoted, and the protest to the change) while the PalinBecks get exposure for clamoring away in the foreground.

Review of Collapse the movie featuring MIKE RUPPERT

2009-09-13T23:55:00.000-07:00

From the Toronto International Film Festival, CoLLapse is from the director of AMERICAN MOVIE, YES MEN.

http://www.tiffreviews.com/2009/09/14/row-three-tiff-reviews-collapse/

Chris Smith’s latest documentary, Collapse, once seen is nearly impossible to forget. Despite its focus on the now commonplace concerns for modern society’s unsustainable growth, the film sets fire to one’s imagination in a way so few talking head documentaries ever achieve. At its core is Michael C Ruppert, CIA whistleblower and activist reporter, who, like a modern day Morpheus, pulls back the veil of reality to show in a stark light the underpinning make-believe that sustains our hope in a sustainable status quo. According to him, any perception of stability at present exists solely because those in power see no political advantage to alert the public of how dire the situation has become. Not even Obama can get you out of this one, he warns; this collapse runs deep and is inevitable, and it is happening right now.

HOLGA PHOTOGRAPHY - aUGuSt 09

2009-09-13T01:32:00.000-07:00

New Holga photographs from August 2009.

"BLAST OFF"
"THE TWO SCOTTS"
"RUBY"
"MOHAWK PARTY"

Homemade 1 String Didley Bow Noise guitar

2009-09-13T01:16:00.001-07:00

Practicing a new noise instrument I made.

Oil pastel on found wood #1, #2

2009-08-28T17:08:00.000-07:00

Joe Bageant blog

2009-08-12T01:24:00.000-07:00

Great essay/letter from Joe Bageant - http://www.joebageant.com/joe/2009/08/a-rambling-reply-to-robert.html#more

<<"The one certainty is that future will be an entirely different thing than has ever existed. Why? Because the global ecological collapse underway and now irreversible is gonna change everything. Period. For everybody. Nothing like it has ever happened in the past, so the past is completely irrelevant as a basis for assessment. Reading about the collapse of the Mayas won't help much. We ain't Mayas and there are six billion of us munching away and shitting in the same global outhouse now.>>"

Back Down - Illusion Town

2009-07-28T21:38:00.000-07:00

A TRIP BACK to, LA.. the west-beachside specific as commencing east of LINCOLN blvd. is no mans land for most part----

AND societal depression? what depression? as LA hums and heaves it's illusionary glory with a nightly packed washington blvd. and the only sense of any depression is the small patches of grass space at the farmers market--which normally would be occupied but nevertheless you hardly notice as the buzz and bang of the barefoot girls foot parade commences as fresh peds and manis are galantly shown off while fetish guys control their tongue-tongue urges to lick every goddamn painted toe dry---you can almost picture the insanity a footer must face, eventually breaking down and next thing you know he slurps up as many little piggies as possible before being pummeled by purses and pancake plates...

BUT the 'depression' has always been the same depression that's been going on here, only amplified some -- more tarped up live aboard RV's than ever -- and the real struggles are visually lost and glossed over by the massive excess of still able to afford these pretty pedicures and the like...

so...

SO it goes as another sojourn south reveals all the usual suspects still remain---within days i see em all--even Red waiting on his inheritance lawsuit from a famous mother and i didn't see him at first and was glad---his legal schmeegal battles musta been over and done with, finally, and just like he said a year ago, "i should be outta here in a few months"---but no, backpack still on and drying laundry on a park bench---he was still bummin it and waiting---hassling with the hassles...and goddamn for that, i thought he'd be long gone by now...

SO they were all there, and then i was there, wondering why i wasn't really there as i once was there---i take in big glorious ocean lunges everyday and the reminder surealness takes shape, of living in the greatest illusion on earth, the one most pay millions and billions for, yet here I be, and many straggler others, living it for free--on the streets, in our vehicles--and what a trip it all be...

But it is the illusion -- "the energy" as discussed one day with johnny hornbeckler on what the attraction really is, yet it is the illusion of energy really.. it seems like things are going on, but what's really going on? -- who's really moving forward-- no one -- but its the illusion of forward motion in a fairy tale land and since LIFE is all such a damn fantasy anyway, then, well, you sorta have to give this goddamn place a pass..it's all a joke anyway and we'll all be dead anyway achieving nothing we dreamed of achieving here..so, as long as you know...then OKAY.
it's all just a way to play.

(and pass the breaths.)

And meanwhile T-Bone Sorray makes a coincidental appearance down here and we both find ourselves re-living ol glore days while going to restaurants we took for granted back in thee day, while visiting the new excess that wasn't here before...notably a generic money hungry bar next to the dollar coffee cafe we hung at each night and one bar night a wild pack of cougars started putting the hits on and immediately we were brought back to mid 90's where older not yet cougars put the hit on and we spun around in their convertible as they asked "so where do you guys live" - at time T-bone was living in van and me in some bum hostel -- So now the current day dozen year later cougars ask the same question and we avoid it the same sad way as before, as now i'm in my van and T-Bone on his visit is sleeping nights in his mini van. And us the prudes made the escape as it was all too much in the end...

AND TOMORROW i purge all my sad junk from sad storage unit i've clung on to all these years -- sad junk of forgotten film ideas, copies of my films after films after films, grandmother letters, and former loves little notes that i bang my head over -- having to discard-finally-- My own murky achievements and lost chances cultivated in big plastic bins soon to be heaved in the van northbound, way northbound, for even further processing which permeates my hand to my forehead as head shakes back/forth...

"why do we have all this shit" as out of the blue around a depressing storage hallway appears a guy who first introduced himself to me as BOWZER 12 years ago now seeing me in the middle of all my shit, depressed and beaten and Bow Wow moves quickly on not recognizing me as its a quick passing glance -- it's the classic LA small world of character crossings.. And yet it was another lost cat, still here, still fumblin around, finding a way to keep playing in fantasy land, pass the breaths before they cease... I actually caught another glimpse of him again next day out and about in Venice amongst a flurry of other hollywood location scout tools i figured.. another racket; more breaths inside the bubble...

The illusion continues and i head north to eat my corn on the cob that i threw in the humboldt ground 4 months ago.

SUBJUGATIONS 3

2009-07-10T15:20:00.000-07:00

by Eli Elliott with music by Valerie Opielski. Featuring found answering machine recordings.

CYBORGIAN YOUTH BLUES - by- Eli Elliott

2009-02-20T00:27:00.000-08:00

eSSay : Art : Current Day Dilemnas : Personal Ruminations on the Film World Toilet Swirl and Ego Satisfactions - by eli elliott

2009-01-25T20:08:00.000-08:00

(I'm learning) There comes a point in one's "whatever endeavor" where one desires, almost expects, for things to jack up at least a notch, or two or three, in the noticeability realm of things. Whether this takes the form of monetary rewardings, or a bit of meager recognition in some established form, the ego begins whispering aloud in bewilderment "uh, i am alive and have been doin some shit, ya know?" After one does something for a continual period, even under the auguise of "pure", non recongnition caring, monetary-flomatary I don't care, there still seems an itch that even the purist ego feels the need to be scratched, if by nothing else than a goddamn hangnail; it's not so much the need, but maybe the surprise, that "it" hasn't "happened", in the even slightest of ways. The "it" and the "happening" are of course abstract, unable to define formwise; but you sorta expect there to be some sorta form of an "it" unfolding and a "happening", happening.

You can blame it on the current culture, and the state of art - And because it's true - the culture accepting crap as art; all the massive energies and monies going into promoting and supporting it; the whole act is akin to a herculean mindless monster, whom you can't even begin fathoming trying to share the same room with let along finding a way around - and because it's evident makes it all the more frustrating. Especially when thinking where to go from here. "If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?" Making films now it seems is like going deep, deep into a forest and chop chop chopping, turning and walking back; satisfied, but did you make a film? Ultimately the artist is one fucked up number anyway, and it don't matter; he knows he'll be trekking back out there to execute another chop.

Perhaps another part of the frustration is the current technological whiz bang of access and output now being easier and stronger than ever; yet the result is the traditional outsider outlets now ignoring, the outside, while the new technological outlets i.e the net, awards the ultra mundane and mainstream. The shit that gets attention in the online world (which then in turn get's attention in the old print world) is so goddamn vomit inducing----yet these "pioneers" are awarded the revenue, the aforementioned print media nods, and etc. etc. My friend, artist SteveX who himself battles it out in the "who you know" art gallery world, sent me a link to this front page LA Weekly feature story, a supposed internet phenom called "Cute with Chris"...yeah your finger is already forced halfway down your throat with the name alone; my first glance of 20 seconds of video had my fist out of my throat and instead swinging for the screen. Steve recommended I do one of my characters and perform a mock up on the clown -- that seems all there is left to do really; mocking the already propped up clownery created crap culture. Hence the popularity with HOT CHICKS WITH DOUCHEBAGS dot Com.

It's not just me wondering where to go from here, and why, but established long time filmmakers, who when they were coming up had access to Euro TV outlets, festival acceptance, and grants for $$; now those avenues, all dried up, they are finally raising the "why bother" question. A recent blog entry by Jon Jost, who's American film tours now days draws in only handfuls of people, yet his work is way ahead of the pack, some, his best ever, writes --

And then, more pointedly, one might ask in these days, just what might the point be at all? This past week a little e-mail came in from Jim Stark, long ago early producer for Jim Jarmusch, who I wanted to have meet a very young and very good Korean filmmaker friend, Dahci Ma, who was in New York to pick up her first prize at the Dance Film Festival held at Lincoln Center. Her film, Mysteries of Nature, is a wonderful work. As is another I saw, Nevertheless. She’s 21 ! Jim wrote me that he wasn’t taking anything new on, and that the market for his kind of independent film (like Factotum with Matt Dillon) had completely disappeared. I had to respond that mine had evaporated a decade and a half back…. Thus, faced with this reality - that there’s not a dime to be made with all this work, and likewise it seems even festivals are bending toward the more commercial, to fill their seats with warm paying butts - why bother? Or perhaps less philosophically and more pragmatically, how can you afford to bother?

And again, as mentioned the real artists being the real 'fucked up numbers' anyway, and would have it no other way...
Jon continues:

The films I’m working on now all were time-and-a-hundred-bucks films, as have been most of the things I’ve done since DV arrived in 1996. For me digital video was an opening to expand the range of what I do, to do more of it, to practice my craft and art as one ought to be able to do, rather than sitting or running around, looking for the money to work. Counterpoised though has been the cultural change in which such concerns as mine have been devalued to nothing, while blatant commercialism has been elevated into the sine qua non of our existences. No money-making, no point. So we plow ahead, apparently pointlessly.

So, my own trip. A few years ago, seeing the trend, i said fuck it and just dug in with doing my own little auto bio essay/travel films, different variations from lo-fi cut up abstracts - Tales of Ordinary Madness - to a more complete series, trilogy of sorts - Grey Areas North -- Beginnings: On the Brink of Collapse -- and from a month ago or so In the Meantime. And many little sidetrack vignettes in between. I'll likely continue on with these, some other ideas to tinker around with, ponder on, etc.. Meanwhile Ruby says "Write a script!" ie do something grand.. but I don't know. I think i will start sketching a bigger something, tho keeping it in the lo fi realm...i have a neato little cheapo cam that Clause brought me.. i'll start shooting with that..

And in the same realm, tho somewhat different plane, is Recovery House, my starring feature movie role and film collaboration, coming out soon.. Something i have acknowledged as a recognitionary/complimentary nod not measured in press rewardings or monetary measures, something much better, a gift i'd been waiting for, for a dozen years; collaborating with like minded fellars, and getting a role within it all...(while someone else holds the camera for a change!) A huge thing to me. For many recent previous months i found myself waiting for the completion of RH to fulfill the ego's needs..like this would be the "it" leading to some sort of "happening". But with delays, completion setbacks, i caught myself, feeding the ego w/abstracts, realizing i needed to get back into my own Vid noirs. Push Recovery hard when it gets completed, but not bank my non bankability on it.

world of eli 1999

2009-01-14T00:36:00.000-08:00

Super 8 film, 10 years ago.

Here Tomorrow Gone Today

2009-01-14T00:01:00.000-08:00

Kelly said "sad how life passes by so fast", goddamn..that's it aint it. Sad. You put off thinking that you will get to that point of looking back and having to face the usual variety look back elements ; regret, regurgitations, realizations -- weren't you suppossed to be a fill in the blank by now -- and then you, seemingly suddenly, get there and kick yourself for pretending not to see it coming.

All i think i really wanted to be was a first baseman. A first baseman steps about 5 feet away from first base and has that specific area to take care of. I loved the specificity of the task. I wanted to be a damn good, solid first baseman. Somewhere my athleticism got lost, abandoned. And instead of having a specific goal to be the good at, a specific task to train over and over and master, I ended up in the abstract..floating around abstractly unable to even define some of the things i'm apparantly decent at. Krist..

Every now and then I'll see an old dude with big white beard, long hair, leathered up, riding a Harley Davidson. For some reason that goddamn image gives me hope. Like i look forward to getting to that point of just scooting around on a bike with a big white beard. Everything will have passed, and then it'll be just about the ride. And the irony then realized will probably be that it always has just been about the ride.

OR.........................

IN THE MEANTIME - film by Eli Elliott

2008-12-12T00:53:00.000-08:00

NORTH COAST RAMBLES 12/3

2008-12-03T13:05:00.000-08:00

Humboldt, back, after a santa crUz stretch, via the (grey)Hound..still the characters abound, tho this was more the college fare, HSU'ers on their holiday break seeing bay area families.. Commenting as the college fare crowd does; majors, ambitions; young naive plans that want to make sense but ignore current day realities - caught up in the nostalgia of college life and labels; pieces of paper meaning nothing. The illusion. the blue pill.

But balanced out from the college fare was a madman seated behind on the ride down to frisCO. 21 and already a rich empty life of meandering, fathering, fighting, drugging, and photographin... i dug it juxtaposed to the rest of the crew on board, especially the typical college slack he was engaged in conversation with, who seemed enthralled somewhat with the madman and his mixed martial art cage fighting hobby and a seconds later you learn he's a nude photographist "couples stuff, not porn or anything"...and had actually come up to try and be part of the college fare, but it didn't work out money wise but really it didn't work out because it didn't work out... he had already graduated in different ways and ready to move forward not backwards into school, but likely he was going to move diagonal into jail with all the missteps, mistakes, and excess energy to GO..

And so it go - some Hound grime under the nails nearing the years end.. got my fix in for the year; i return and work on a bop jazz visual summation in brief of the year prior - while pondering the zero nine ahead..

TACTILE SITUATIONAL AWARENESS : with Robin Carter

2008-12-03T11:40:00.000-08:00

EZ/RC -HALLOWEEN-

2008-11-08T23:33:00.000-08:00

Eli Zodiak & Ruby Crater : Outside Halloween Performance

COMMONWEALTH by JOEY GOEBEL : BOOK REVIEW by Elliott

2008-10-27T17:51:00.000-07:00

COMMONWEALTH by Joey Goebel is a novel set in the current day about the rich, the poor and the delusions and realities existing within. The story and characters are based around politics, relationships and all the images everyone tries to maintain to keep their gimmick alive.

The book centers around BLUE GENE, a late twenties red-neckish type character with the typical tell tale signs of such: cut off tee's, bad tattoos, a mullet, and hickbilly grammer. Upon first glance it seems an open and shut case with Blue Gene. But not all is as appears, and throughout the novel you're continually shocked at what is really what.

Goebel takes the time to push forth some of the highlights of so called red state America; flea markets, monster truck rallys, and pro wrastlin. But it is the professional wrestling scene that is given an extra nod, and I'd like to think this was on purpose as pro wrastlin rarely gets the real world similarity nods it deserves. In this case the "pro-wrestling" scene is the lowest of the lowly ranks, the local wannabees with day jobs who turn themselves into characters one night out of the week at the local national guard armory. It's an excellent reference to what is going on in the novel, and what goes on in everyday life, everywhere. We all have our own "gimmicks" we try to maintain, but unlike the wrestlers who know what they are doing is staged and fake, we on the other hand refuse to come to that truth; we pretend what we do, who we are, is "real". Yet our gimmicks, whatever they may be, are really on the same level as the gimmicks the wrestlers have; phony maneuvering to improve life positions while creating our own characters and angles that we fight tooth and nail to live up to and maintain. Purposeful or not, for the observant reader it sets the stage nicely for the the character realizations that develop along further into the novel.

The great thing about Commonwealth is that it is very timely and current. Much of the novel evolves around a big election involving Blue Gene's brother, and it's through this fictional, satirical insight that you actually begin to understand how the hell number 43 got elected as president. The former boozing and drugs becomes negated through major family connections and a somehow turnaround Karl Rovian image makeover, or "gimmick"; a fake "for the people" redneck, who now has conversations with God. Commonwealth breaks it down and through satire sneaks up on you forcing you to make some very real life comparisons.

Religion is brought in to show the power it holds over so many. How entire lives can move in a certain direction because of a certain decision based entirely on a religious based happening or belief. Again, Goebels writing forces one to recall number 43's "message from God" revelation to head into war in Iraq.

The details to the current are refreshing as well. The settings feel real, very familiar. Two characters conversing in a WalMart while specific 80's rock songs blare in the background. These little details give pause to the reader, and for perhaps the first time you stop and wonder, why the hell is that? 80's music becoming the big box store standard; the new elevator music.

The current day simpleton catch phrases are used throughout the novel as well. Those which have overtaken modern day language, dialogue, and car bumpers; again, somehow seeing them in a fictional setting shows how simple and empty they truly are, yet how deeply meaningful they resonate with those yearning for a black and white you're either with us or against us mentality.

Reading Commonwealth you sit outside of the country we've become; this absurd place where lower class support the war mongering wealthy who in reality could give 2 shits about even the middle class let alone anything underneath. Yet a few twists of language spin and they are completely and utterly bought and fucking sold; they become the cheapest and easiest commodity on the market to fuel the machine.

Ultimately the book brings forth an interesting solution to obtain at least a certain level of common wealth. You revel as an unlikely character emerges to take action in a way simliar to the political culture jamming of Ross Perot; using the one thing that will work and doing things that the system is not used to, nor set up to accomodate. And you witness the resistance which is so ingrained; threatening the very gimmick that the standard issue wealthy and those in power have created for themselves.

A little bit about the book-book itself: The size of the book is a semi-whopper, 500 pages or so. But it's nice to haul around a good size paperback; it seems we've entered into the nostalgic phase where 90%(?) of what we read is web based, and that 10% takes on a more special-nostalgic feel. I thoroughly enjoyed grabbing my copy with the red lipsticked gal on the cover, settling into the read, spilling coffee on the pages, and engulfing myself in that now nostalgic practice of physical book reading. And with a novel that locks you in, satirically reflecting where we've arrived.

COMMONWEALTH cruises along very quickly, and before you know it, it becomes one of those "you can't put down" books. I found myself up till 3am a few nights compelled to swim around more in this humorous, yet very realistic world Goebel has created.

-Eli Elliott

NORTH COAST RAMBLES 10/20

2008-10-21T01:06:00.000-07:00

The North Coast keeps cool.. Goddamn i like the weather up here..
The Dollar Tree started sellin red wine.. For a dollar.
The cafe's fill up with the regulars; their trips i haven't a clue - Usual hang around clans..
My gut expands.
krist, i must be up 20plus pounds.. Lotta gut weight tho.
Met another dude from LA. Cool spuds pit dog. He's feeling his way around the new digs.
He likes the weather too.
Why buy 3 buck plus Mad Dog anymore, i think..
When the goddamn dollar stores sellin red.
For a dollar.

Update on Now - Rant on Then

2008-10-15T12:30:00.000-07:00

I'VE BEEN HAPPILY HOLED up in Humboldt..been given ''a pass'' as i say whenever getting to ''go inside'' off the streets and out of the bus. Not that i object to the latter, but the obvious room to stretch and breath and turn a faucet and water comes out is an amazing comfort. Beyond that though is the lift of stress from vehicular living and all that entails. And beyond beyond that, or perhaps in front of all that, is a good friend whom you can be yourself around. I remember steveX once saying something to the effect "you got your whole life to be alone" as in why not hang with someone for a solid stretch and break it all up a bit.

I had returned to LA earlier in the year after an absence. I re-acquainted with all the characters and resumed a routine of sorts. The usual headaches sprung up, strange sicknesses were in the air, and the threat and anger of more condos and permit parking permeated the area inducing a nasaueted frustrational rage hard to shake. The situation can infuriate when you roll into the 99cent parking lot only to find all the big trees cut down to make way for a ..."Whole Foods" chain store. It's a perfect contradiction example of what the label reads and what the reality is. I wanted to get the fuck out. To me the fight wasn't even a fight. Deluded irrational ignorant assholes we're running the preliminary show while forces were already in place for events to get far worse.

With Ruby up in humboldt, a house sit in the works, i bailed. And maybe for the first time i finally said enough with the goddamn place.

LA is like a drug you can't get off. You rationalize in your mind all the many reasons you should be there, but the reality of the non-situation always points to a non deductive pattern of total run around with frequent character recognition hellos and hey's, while haze of celebertyism sticks thick like the glaze on a glazed donut; it's on the surface and it may seem good, taste good, but in reality it does nothing for you and is only a cover for the genuine fluff underneath. Furthermore the fame haze is tainted in ways you just don't see; similar to the glaze donuts that my old high school friend used to make at the donut chain shop - they would hock big loogies deep out of their winter michigan throats and spit them into the big glaze mixing bin which would then cover them delicious donuts. Nice, huh. That's LA as well and unfortunately it takes a dozen years for the fumes from that glazed loogie in your gut to rise to your head and hit the nerves that pull back the curtain revealing the sad reality you've been living in.

It's like hanging around a bunch of speed freaks, everyone talks yet goes nowhere yet the talk is grand and high and it all makes sense and rather than shoot heroin all you have to do is keep hanging around the various dozen pockets of la la land..hipsters here, gigantic tits there, the fake creativity in the air...
You're in the center of the universe "and you belong."

Collapse Watch dot Com

2008-10-12T23:56:00.000-07:00

Postings and collapse updates are going down at http://CollapseWatch.com

As the World Burns part 2

2008-09-21T22:10:00.001-07:00

As the World Burns part 1- Eli Elliott

2008-09-15T21:40:00.001-07:00

Book Review : CONRAD BEAR MEETS THE SUCKER by Andy H. Boyd

2008-09-13T19:45:00.000-07:00

"I must find them and together we will reunite and form a trio of sexual deviants capable of manslaughter- the victim being The Sucker."

Andy "Heck" Boyd's second book is about a mission to find a Bear, kill a disease, and have sex with a blue haired hott. It takes place in a confusing world where the digital future and the nostalgic past co-mingle and mix. With cartoon bears and antiseptic vomiting flys mixing alongside digitally enhanced blue haired, red haired, and Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket wearing humans, it's easy to see how someone would write this novel off as an acid trip on electronic paper. But it's really more of a post apocolyptic glimpse, where combating disease is paramount, giving blow jobs in exchange for filling your fuel tank is accepted, and things like butter are hard to come by. Meanwhile the brand name remnants of the past turn nostalgic and become the last names of individuals (Alice Wonderbread).

Drugs become digital bytes to maintain what our bodies have morped into through chip technology. While the typical drugs like heroin still provide the chemical bodies with some pleasure, it is the CD-Rom digital byte filled drug which have become the real high.

As with Boyd's video comics, his color schemes in this novel are equally strong, vivid, wild -

"The two bodies rise from the ground between tombstones. And they light up with immense bright colors. Yellow neon red translucent fluorescent blue pink sassy."

Andy Heck Boyd is also a video comic/cartoonist who has already been kicked off youtube once for his great work, only to return with a slew of more punk rock 'toons which combines collage, folk/outsider art, total raunch, stream of consiousness pieces which on the surface seem sometimes nonsensical, but are always clever, funny as shit and way ahead of their time, or perhaps in sync with the current times, though of course it will take looking into the rear view mirror years from now for people to realize it.

Anyway...

Like his toons, his writing is short and consice for our chip body culture which no longer has the attention span which we used to have. Conrad Bear is a great, satisfying read easily devoured in an hour or two. This is current, up-to-date art which fulfills our needs to get instantly ''moved'' through thoughtful artistic expression. Andy's art is like an enjoyable premature ejaculation; totally fulfilling without the guilt of cumming too quick.

READ - Conrad Bear Meets the Sucker

WATCH - Andy Heck Boyds Video Comics

Reaching Satori and the Cat Named Butchie

2008-09-04T16:24:00.000-07:00

SEPTEMBER ROLLS AND unofficially ends summer while bringing on that last third of the year. Summer, while seeming a blur, still resonates sweet; it was a memorable one, far removed from the usual madhouse los angeles sweat box of a dozen plus straight years prior. Sweet NorCal and never a day where you feel like suffocating - always cool- the cool, even the McLuhan "cool", thats the Northern Coast West;

The summer ended with the last breath of a legend, Butchie the Cat. Butch turned up around 18 some years ago, inside a van belonging to good ol Steve Davis. Butchie made it his home, and that same van a dozen some years later, i would end up making my home.. Earlier this year i watched as the charity donation i gave the van away to towed it off from sunset blvd. in Venice. I stood there, near disbelief, paused a moment and slapped the hood of the old Dodge, telling the tow driver, "God, this thing holds alotta memories...lotta history to it..."

From Steve to Butchie to Eli -- One tire was dead flat, the roof was rusting apart and leaking making the inside moldy, neither of the front doors opened, yet i wanted to hold on to her for all the history she represented. Even tho i had a larger van i was now calling home, it seemed to take everything i had to make the call and let her go...

Butchie came to me while Steve was dying, along with 4 other very hip cats. I was allergic and always been a very non cat guy. Butch made short order to change all that.

AT THE SOUND of my 6-7pm motorcycle rearing up on the Vernon lot, Butchie would lead the pack and come out front to greet me. He'd take center court and fall to his back, showing off by performing his Brazilian ju-jitsu. He'd do sweeps and rolls, have an imaginary opponent in his guard, then reverse position and mount the ground. It was a ritual that made the los angeles death trap traffic ride home worth it.

The big eater would chow like none other; polishing off all the bowls of scraps from the other felines. Late night, when i ate, we'd have a raw ground turkey jousting ritual with the Butcher on his hind legs, his lips pursed, swatting wildly with one paw to knock the turkey outta my hand. Wild swat swat swat then big raw reward on the ground...

Then later in the eve he'd hop up and lay on chest, staring deep in my eyes. Transfixed, both of us. A sweet, concentrated calm took over. And after Steve died i'd always say to myself, "i can see Steve Davis through the eyes of Butchie."

The night before Butchie was to make his big trip for retirement in the Pacific Northwest i sat alone with him outside for 4-6 hours, just staring; petting, staring, talking; getting it all in one last time as i figured it'd be the last i had with him. There was something about Butch i wanted imprinted in me and never forgotten by me, while at the same time selfishly wanting him to somehow realize he made a difference in my life that i couldn't explain...

I did see the Butch again, in Oregon, with his new handler Ruby, who went far far far beyond the call of cat duty to make the Butcher as comfortable as possible during his frequent sick bouts. In return, she got a mega dose of the Butchie charm that left a hole larger than she coulda ever imagined when he left.

And finally, more time with Butch in NorCal during what would end up being those last months, and what would end this summer of zero eight on a sad, but then jubilant and thankful note, that this bum was able to relish in a handful more of Buddha Butchie chest stare downs, where the soul of Steve Davis screamed sweetly and time stopped and Satori reached;
All through the eyes of one helluva powerful, tough and hip cat that made a difference;
Ah, Butchie.

BUTCHIE - RIP -

2008-09-01T17:24:00.001-07:00

....he would make these horrendous dumps in the litter box that demanded an immediate 2 person disposal..i mean they were absolutely out of this world smell wise..(liquid many times too)..
i would yell out "order up" every time i heard them coming..ruby would scoop and i'd frantically light match after match to kill the smell... we'd package it up in newspaper then based on the amount and weight we'd give it a price, like at the deli.."5.79"..
it was horrible smelling but we are totally going to miss those packages..

----------------
..toughest cat in the West. love you BUTCH.

Honorary Hot Chick with Douchebag of the Month: McCain/Palin

2008-08-29T18:02:00.000-07:00

Lost Chucky and The Politics of Humboldt Bay

2008-08-21T22:35:00.000-07:00

Sasquatch in the Chip Landscape

2008-08-19T16:34:00.000-07:00

The amazing thing about the Bigfoot blunder is in this "day and age" of techno-(il)logical upgrades and "sophistications" one is now quicker then ever able to put a gorilla suit in a styrofoam cooler and say "i caught bigfoot" and then appear on all the major media networks worldwide, hold a press conference outside of silicon valley and convince millions of people that there's an actual possibility that someone found a sasquatch body.

Only in the chip landscape.

One of my favorite commentaries on the bigfoot blunder:

Era of Embarrassment

2008-08-17T23:48:00.000-07:00

LUNCH IN SAMOA CALIFORNIA, a restaurant playing up the nostalgia of this old mill town, tho indeed coming off very authentic and genuine. There is no menu. They serve one meal selection for breakfast, another for lunch, another dinner. Long row bench tables. The setup where you're sitting with other people while you eat. In the kitchen are ex merchant marine looking hepcats carrying large pails containing the days soup. A young college aged seemingly newbie waiter makes the ironically serendipidis comment something to the effect "this is like the great depression", referring i surmise to the food being hauled around in the big pails.

BUT I IMAGINE this is how it will be in the near "great(er) depression" future. Restaurants will no longer carry menus with the typical 3 dozen selections and the plethora of sides, drinks, appetizers, deserts, condiments, and so forth. It will be one choice only, based on whatever is available for that week. Served in large pails without the heavy exotic seasonings and oils the typical restaurants use to sex up the food. Instead you are forced to actually taste the real food, which tastes quite good anyway in it's natural state.

It's served in a steady flow here; the salad, the soup, the bread, followed by the main course, the "only choice entree"-which for lunch was a ham slice, baked potato, chili, and peas. Desert follows, a typical yet surprisingly good small piece of yellow cake, white frosting.

Simple. Yet good, and incredibly filling. And for me, a joy of having the decision of "what to order", eliminated. I like it when restaurants take control and say, this is what we got, take it or get the fuck out.

Inside the restaurant was also a mini museum. Late 1800's to early 1900's photographs of workers from the heavily forested northern california area.

There were a few chainsaws from the 50's and earlier. Massive machines. Hard to fathom a guy using it all day long. Everyday. I was overwhelmed with the thought of how pussy we, as men, are now days. These motherfuckers were pulling 10 hour shifts operating a 50 plus pound piece of machinery which today is now half the size and weighs a feather. I was wearing my weightlifting belt because my back had been fucking with me lately and i felt like an asshole realizing these guys would have the same tension i had and likely would work through it, with a 50 pound chainsaw strapped to them to boot...

But it was the photographs; the dignity and nostalgia that old photos bring out. The men dressed sharply; even the workers you had to do a double take on, wondering if they were actual laborers or owners. There was a certain pride portrayed. A stoic excitement that they we're producing something. Building upon some sort of future.

It made me think of the photos of that will represent this current civilization. Tattooed freakazoids parading about taking for granted a nation in dire straits. The TV and Digital Chip landscape so ingrained inside to the point of needing to express it on the outside with ink on skin or rings in eyebrows. The movements all a ridiculous robotonous reflection of programmed brain washed mass culture being fed "the cool", while excitedly being led down embarrassment alley flocking mindlessly as the fool; I came across this video which somehow seemed to silently sum it up perfectly. A video perhaps the future will look at while studying the lead up to the collapse of civilization.

The poor saps who do inherit these remnants will perhaps look back and coin this period as "Era of Embarrassment". Perhaps the peak period will be seen as 1980-2012. The Era of Embarrassment.

"Everywhere you turn in this nation, you see a society primed for implosion. We seem unaware how extraordinary the American experience has been, especially in the last hundred years. By this, I don't mean that we are a better people than any other society -- these days, ordinary people in the USA make an effort to appear thuggish and act surly, as though we were a nation of convicts -- but for decade-upon-decade, we were very fortunate. Even the Great Depression of the 1930s may seem like a relatively peaceful and gentle "time out" from a frantic era of hypertrophic growth, compared to the storm we're sailing into now."

-James Kunstler

"WASTING PEOPLES EFFORTS" starring MR. HONORLESS POWERTRIPPER

2008-08-12T18:28:00.000-07:00

another fuck politician hovering with the air of dignity, parading with the phony high ethical values, blah blah blah.
an honorless scumbucket.

what gets me are all the volunteers, and workers who devoted decent chunks of their lives to propping this guy up, when all along this guy was carrying the affair card in his back pocket. the one thing you do not do if your running for student council let alone the fuckin presidency of the united states, is have a goddamn affair. it's a very simple direction which you run full fuckin speed the other way if even the hint of temptation breezes into the picture.

all the millions of dollars given to this guy to support his campaign that he already totally and completely jeopordized by willingly fucking around on his wife.

and his wife near death from cancer, yet willing to completely devote her life for his cause, only to be shit upon.

and to think edwards was considered the "safe, clean, dirt-free" candidate.
fuck these people.

Flier Posted for My Stolen Chucky

2008-07-24T15:43:00.000-07:00

LOST : CHUCKY

CHUCKY ESCAPED (OR WAS TAKEN) FROM THE FRONT GRILL OF MY VEHICLE

HE’S TRAVELLED THOUSANDS OF MILES ACROSS THE U.S. AND NOW HE’S GONE

PLEASE RETURN CHUCKY. HE’S GOT MORE TRAVELS TO DO.

AND HE NEEDS HIS MEDICATION.

LOSTCHUCKY@YAHOO.COM

Bruce Conner Dies

2008-07-12T14:46:00.000-07:00

An Artist of the Cutting-Room Floor

Anthology Film Archives

An apocalyptic scene from Bruce Conner's 1976 film, "Crossroads." Mr. Conner died on Monday at the age of 74.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/12/movies/12conn.html?_r=1&oref=slogin

Liver/GallStone Cleanse

2008-07-10T21:10:00.001-07:00

This is supposed to get rid of the gallstones and serve as a liver cleanse as well. It's been around for a while, various versions, this is a friends version:

Stop eating at 3pm. Eat no fat in your pre 3pm meals.

7 pm: 3/4 cup of water -- 1 tbsp of Epsom salt

9pm: 3/4 cup of water -- 1 tbsp of Epsom salt

11pm: Juice of 1 grapefruit w/half cup of olive oil. Take a 'sleep aid' to help crash out (valerian root for example)
Go to sleep immediately. Try lying on back for first 30 minutes or so.

next morning-
7am 3/4cup water -- 1 tbsp of Epsom salt
9am 3/4cup water -- 1 tbsp of Epsom salt

No food until at least the next 2 hours.

Diarahea central should start kicking in, and maybe continue throughout day. Even if it kicks in after your first 7am dose, still take the 9am dose to really get everything out.

I did it a week or so ago..went well but made the mistake of not doing some filtering when D-central kicked in, so as to check how many if any stones i had expelled... I've heard and seen pics of people who've gotten rid of some serious stone action and actually have the rocks to prove it! I took a look, for some dumb reason thinking i'd see them on the surface, but i suppose stones don't float, so the action would've been on the bottom...

BUT-- i did just read this on a website-and did experience the greens as small objects, which i initially wrote off as from my oatmeal and rice/pea protein i had the previous day, but now perhaps not--
You may notice green objects and maybe greenish liquid excrement in the toilet bowel. Those are small gall stones. Some gall stones may be dissolved by the treatment.

These green objects did dissolve somewhat with touch/squeeze (yeah i got a few out) and were maybe too uniform to be from the oatmeal.

Adventures of Melvin Doom

2008-07-05T01:25:00.000-07:00

"Somethings Happening"

2008-07-04T17:44:00.000-07:00

via http://CollapseWatch.com

SOMETHINGS HAPPENING 07/03/2008

QUOTE
Starbucks to Close 600 Stores, May Cut 12,000 Jobs

QUOTE
American Airlines Plans Nearly 7,000 Job Cuts

QUOTE
L.A. Times to Cut 250 Jobs, 150 In Editorial

QUOTE
U.S. private-sector employers slashed 79,000 jobs in June

Quote
GM stock falls to lowest level since 1954

Post from lifeaftertheoilcrash.net forums
by velociraptor:

"Just think about this, if it goes bankrupt we should expect at least a 20-25% layoffs, which would likely mean 50-70 THOUSAND employess dropped almost immediatly. We just heard from Starbucks that they are going to fire 12,000 this year. Airlines will fire tens of thousands, countless other companies are laying off in the multi-thousands each.

Its pretty frightening to think we could see 100-150 thousand job loses before the winter, maybe even more. Thats just from big companies. Tens of thousands of small companies will be forced to do the same.

Is it possible that by the New Year we could see half a million people lose there jobs nationwide?. I think so."

The Endangered Yellow and the Belittled Blue

2008-06-30T11:10:00.000-07:00

from HTTP://COLLAPSEWATCH.COM

SCHOOL BUSSES BECOME ENDANGERED AND COPS PATROL IN GOLF CARTS : IT'S HAPPENING

'the Hell's He Doing ? and the Drunken Zoogal Wakeup

2008-06-29T21:25:00.000-07:00

MY FRIEND ZOOGAL CALLED me in a somewhat drunken stooper this afternoon, asking me "What the hell are YOU doing???" I had turned him on to the whole peak oil scenario some years ago and now, as all the predictions have become real..gas heading towards 5 dollars, housing market in shambles, food $ on the rise, hard crash collapse on the horizon...he was pissed that he was still 2-3 years out from being able to secure some land, but even more pissed, and confused, as to what the hell i was doing, or not doing...

Apparently his recent gal pal had asked him about me, after he told her i was the one responsible for dooming and glooming the hell out of him...

"well whats he doing?"

"well, he's..he's driving around in a bus..he, makes some movies, well, uh.."

and then he became infuriated with the realization of the question.."yeah..what in the hell is he doing"

And it was a valid question, and especially timely as for the past 3 days i haven't been doing shit. A few of those days i recall waking up then going back to sleep then waking back up and it being around 6 or 7pm.. Out of it, in a daze; the last thing i did was spend an allnighter making that Orpheus 5 movie, shooting and editing, then uploading, then not recovering from it.

But it was a question that's been fucking around in my mind anyway; i did have a plan for the collapse, and was carrying it out, somewhat: save money through continuing to eliminate rent by living in the bus, solar panel the roof to get your energy for free, and convert the motherfucker to run off of waste oil so you can drive for free.. But the last two haven't been met, with some previous months of figuring/floppin and fumbling around options...

"Buy some acre of land out there in the middle of nowwhere for a grand or something!"

He was drunk, but he was right... I'd like a homebase to park the Rat Diamond (bus), and spend time dickering around on the land...

But he was also off on the grand..maybe a lucky snatch up here or there, it's possible. Some ebay searches spat out some 20-40 acre pieces for around 30 grand... So...

So, Zoogal, he reminded of how the beginnings of it (the collapse) have arrived...knocked me outta my 3 day pathetic daze...

i'm gonna try to find someone around here with one of those goddamn ''costco cards'', as they got a cheap solar setup, so as to at least get that situation rolling...

NEW MIKE RUPPERT POST

2008-06-28T03:30:00.000-07:00

Thursday, June 26, 2008

The Peak Oil Movement Is Unprepared For Its Two Biggest Challenges

PLEASE DISTRIBUTE WIDELY

by Michael C. Ruppert

It is now only a matter of weeks before the truth about Peak Oil comes crashing through the mass media, the public consciousness and the imagined realities of life. In July we will see that OPEC (especially Saudi Arabia) cannot increase production. The long unconnected dots will become clear lines depicting a now inevitable collapse and die-off. The once impenetrable edifice of the old paradigm which locked our warnings away and blocked them from real public discussion will rupture. Peak Oil is certain to become an issue in the U.S.general election this November.

Two events are about to take place, and indeed have already begun. The Peak Oil movement, those of us who labored and sacrificed for years,have our collective pants tied round our ankles and our heads inserted deeply into non-energy-producing regions. The first event is easy to address if we focus. The second, however, may literally render what"was" the real Peak Oil movement ineffective and condemn hundreds of thousands, if not millions, to death. Because what people hear and learn in the first months of true Peak Oil awareness will determine the course of discussion, planning and of history, from here to eternity.

Problem 1:

Within weeks or months the major media will become "aware" of Peak Oil. They will come to the Peak Oil movement and say, "OK, what do we do now? What should a President do? What should congress do? What should people do? I have seen no serious or focused attempt to prepare for this demand. I am tinkering with a proposed Presidential Platform on the subject by myself and when I think I have something serious Iwill release it. The addresees of this email ONLY are encouraged to offer suggestions. [Ed: By this, Mike is referring to the recipients of his original email. Blog readers are encouraged to send suggestions to the blog. But Mike is not recommending that everyone start calling the media on their own.] But all of the people who have labored so long and sacrificed so much should be prepared for microphones to be thrust at them nationally and locally. What are you going to say?

Will you say, "It's time to go to Plan B"?...

Problem 2:

This is the most serious threat of all. Already, people who we have never heard of, and who have never sacrificed or contributed an iota, are starting to emerge saying that they have "disovered" Peak Oil. They are presenting themselves as experts. Their first approaches will be to local and regional media outlets who don't know their derrieres from a dry hole in the ground. The local and regional medias will be the ones funneling discussions and questions upward to the Larry Kings of this world. This is just the beginning of a deluge. More than half of those who will wind up on CNN, Fox, ABC and on the pages of our newspapers will be either one of two things: rank opportunists and snake oil salesmen who will distort and peddle bad ideas and self-promotion; or they will be out-and-out disinformation artists funded either by Wall Street or the US government. They will be intent on lining their own pockets, protecting the old paradigm and blunting a truth which has begun its demand for payment before foreclosure. These people will be murderers of the worst sort. Yet they will be flooding media switchboards, email inboxes and fax machines at media outlets around the country. And because they will be making noise they will get the air time that the real activists who have spoken truth will not.

How do I know this?

POWs, Iran-Contra, CIA drug trafficking, the 1992 presidential campaign and 9-11. It happened in every one of those "earth shattering" crises or events. I was there. I watched and felt it happen in every one of those sagas as it unfolded.

People who we have never heard of will be getting the spotlight and the Peak Oil movement will not -- because it gave up at just the wrong moment. The struggle to define Peak and what it means for mankind is just beginning. Are you willing to sit back and watch the snake oil salesmen, dilettantes, and wolves in sheeps clothing dictate the discussion and set the agenda, just when the window and demand for real education opens wide and beckons?

Michael C. Ruppert
Author: "Crossing the Rubicon: The Decline of the American Empire atthe End of the Age of Oil"

ORPHEUS 5 - eLi eLLioTT

2008-06-26T19:06:00.000-07:00

GEORGE CARLIN - RELIGION IS BULLSHIT

2008-06-23T11:17:00.000-07:00