I walked through the dessert following one of the lines, altering it intuitively. It led me to an apartment building near some large body of water, strings of lights, and a train. I followed people in nice suits as their heels echoed up concrete stairs. Gold light emitted from the place. I passed an open living room with a vivid powder-aqua sofa. People with black hair sat on the couch and I admired the color combination, knowing this was the kind of place I wanted to live.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Software
Grandpa Obie was learning Ableton Live and suddenly put it into an 3d non-linear setting. Automation lines in red and yellow extended over the mountains like telephone wire, but were not being held up by anything. Any point that was touched could be adjusted, and I realized they could not only be used to change volume levels, panning and effect levels in music, but also the direction and outcome of our destinies.
I walked through the dessert following one of the lines, altering it intuitively. It led me to an apartment building near some large body of water, strings of lights, and a train. I followed people in nice suits as their heels echoed up concrete stairs. Gold light emitted from the place. I passed an open living room with a vivid powder-aqua sofa. People with black hair sat on the couch and I admired the color combination, knowing this was the kind of place I wanted to live.
I walked through the dessert following one of the lines, altering it intuitively. It led me to an apartment building near some large body of water, strings of lights, and a train. I followed people in nice suits as their heels echoed up concrete stairs. Gold light emitted from the place. I passed an open living room with a vivid powder-aqua sofa. People with black hair sat on the couch and I admired the color combination, knowing this was the kind of place I wanted to live.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Hurtling Through Space: an excerpt from a parting letter
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| This is a picture Jack took of me with a long exposure and a zoom lens |
Sunday, January 15, 2012
#DCSG-LDE/Obese Beats
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Back in the days when Emily Montoya worked at Video Library, my brother and I would don our coolest outfits each Wednesday, $1 rental day, because we knew she would be behind the counter. Some 7 years later Emily and I are friends and fellow Meow Wolfers. Emily is a megalithic DJ, DJ Dirt Girl, and I want to go to the mountains, find her in the DJ caves, and ask to be her disciple.
Over break I was able to see Dirt Girl a few times, once at Unity Bash, an annual Warehouse 21 event, and once at Robocalypse, Meow Wolf’s New Year’s Eve party. Bobreezy, who went to my high school, came home from Brooklyn to make an appearance at Unity Bash. Bobreezy raps about what he represents: “I wake up with pussy in my mouth, ‘cuz that’s what I’m about…”
In preamble about the next artist, I’ll briefly describe an occasion that occurred in my sleep several years ago. I was sneaking through a state building with a giant multi-colored seal on the floor, which was guarded by the “Rainbow Tiger of the East,” standing as large as a house. A skinny blue creature on stilts controlled the giant multi-colored tiger, and I hid beneath jewel-toned curtains, crawling out to flit between executives on phones and escape across the river. As I swam I heard a cry and the words: “He’s dead!” I saw Keyboard AKA Noah Devore, lying on a stretcher. “Oh no, am I dead?” He said. I told him he didn’t have to be dead he had to sing. “What should I sing?” He asked. I told him to sing about his feelings.
As Dirt Girl conquered the stage Benji and I rode her sound waves in our true forms: Benji with Gibbon’s arms, and me as a Coyote-Slingshot (as Noah W. has accurately described my style). A friendly spirit took us in, and Benji noted: “…that homegirl handed us WATER, like she was scared we were gonna keel over from dehydrated coyote slingshot gibbon-limbed dance exhaustion... ...or " #DCSG-LDE" as I call it.” Dirt Girl can really work a crowd, and this is what Benji yelled during a dramatic break before a slow-motion voice uttered: “I can really work a crowd.”
Naturally, Dirt Girl ushered us into the arbitrary Roman calendar change with her obese beats and golden transitions. Robocalypse had 800 guests this year, and I ran into every homie I’ve ever known. Then I ran into every homie I’ve ever known as I blindly danced into them, wearing Rainbow Symphony Glasses. I opted for a traditional 60’s-Mod-Wind-Up-Robot costume and painted plentiful cardboard silver accordingly, my key getting loosed amidst the writhing sea of androids. El Museo Cultural was transformed into the inside of a cyborg’s brain, arcade games, bars, sculptures and robo-squatter’s quarters littered the warehouse space. Upon entering I was offered free admission by my Meow Wolf pal David, and then given four free drink tickets. After carrying conversations with friend’s parents from childhood, old besties and throngs of acquaintances, I carried the Recently Dethroned, Alcoholic Robot Mining Princess (Jack) home. Some drunk strangers mistook my yellow car for a taxi, so I drove them home to: “Fiesta Street” where the party doesn’t ever end.
Back in the days when Emily Montoya worked at Video Library, my brother and I would don our coolest outfits each Wednesday, $1 rental day, because we knew she would be behind the counter. Some 7 years later Emily and I are friends and fellow Meow Wolfers. Emily is a megalithic DJ, DJ Dirt Girl, and I want to go to the mountains, find her in the DJ caves, and ask to be her disciple. 
Over break I was able to see Dirt Girl a few times, once at Unity Bash, an annual Warehouse 21 event, and once at Robocalypse, Meow Wolf’s New Year’s Eve party. Bobreezy, who went to my high school, came home from Brooklyn to make an appearance at Unity Bash. Bobreezy raps about what he represents: “I wake up with pussy in my mouth, ‘cuz that’s what I’m about…” 
In preamble about the next artist, I’ll briefly describe an occasion that occurred in my sleep several years ago. I was sneaking through a state building with a giant multi-colored seal on the floor, which was guarded by the “Rainbow Tiger of the East,” standing as large as a house. A skinny blue creature on stilts controlled the giant multi-colored tiger, and I hid beneath jewel-toned curtains, crawling out to flit between executives on phones and escape across the river. As I swam I heard a cry and the words: “He’s dead!” I saw Keyboard AKA Noah Devore, lying on a stretcher. “Oh no, am I dead?” He said. I told him he didn’t have to be dead he had to sing. “What should I sing?” He asked. I told him to sing about his feelings.  |
Keyboard, sat on stage at Unity Bash, apparently in pain: “pooping out his feelings” with his famous man-boy bedroom-pop. Noah Wingren and I placed a $5 wager over whether Noah D. would be wearing the sparkly-white sweater that he found in the W21 lost and found and wore to a “Dress your Worst” party last summer, which I haven’t seen him out of since.
As Dirt Girl conquered the stage Benji and I rode her sound waves in our true forms: Benji with Gibbon’s arms, and me as a Coyote-Slingshot (as Noah W. has accurately described my style). A friendly spirit took us in, and Benji noted: “…that homegirl handed us WATER, like she was scared we were gonna keel over from dehydrated coyote slingshot gibbon-limbed dance exhaustion... ...or " #DCSG-LDE" as I call it.” Dirt Girl can really work a crowd, and this is what Benji yelled during a dramatic break before a slow-motion voice uttered: “I can really work a crowd.”
Thus it was that I went to the mountains, found Dirt Girl in the DJ caves, and asked to be her disciple. Several days later she gave me a sacred artifact, passed down through the New Mexican DJ lineage: a scratched CD containing the Ableton Live Suite.
Naturally, Dirt Girl ushered us into the arbitrary Roman calendar change with her obese beats and golden transitions. Robocalypse had 800 guests this year, and I ran into every homie I’ve ever known. Then I ran into every homie I’ve ever known as I blindly danced into them, wearing Rainbow Symphony Glasses. I opted for a traditional 60’s-Mod-Wind-Up-Robot costume and painted plentiful cardboard silver accordingly, my key getting loosed amidst the writhing sea of androids. El Museo Cultural was transformed into the inside of a cyborg’s brain, arcade games, bars, sculptures and robo-squatter’s quarters littered the warehouse space. Upon entering I was offered free admission by my Meow Wolf pal David, and then given four free drink tickets. After carrying conversations with friend’s parents from childhood, old besties and throngs of acquaintances, I carried the Recently Dethroned, Alcoholic Robot Mining Princess (Jack) home. Some drunk strangers mistook my yellow car for a taxi, so I drove them home to: “Fiesta Street” where the party doesn’t ever end. Saturday, January 7, 2012
Chimera
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A couple of times during lunch break all the Meow Wolfers went to the Horseman's Haven, a little family restaurant in the parking lot of a gas station notorious for having the spiciest chile in town. We discussed how excellent it would be if Benji ran for mayor - everyone loves Benji and he could run on a platform of art, youth, tourism, and decriminalizing marijuana. He was dubious about it, because he wouldn't want to go to tons of meetings all the time, but is an excellent speaker. "Could I just be a puppet?" he questioned, Vince, the founder of Meow Wolf, said he would be Meow Wolf's puppet, and mentioned that to win in New Mexico all one needs is around 4,000 votes, Benji could simply shmooze with all the 15-year-olds now, and in 3 years get their votes. As we left the Haven our waitress referenced Benji: "He's so nice! Such a happy boy!" I asked her if she would vote for Benji for mayor.
I've been working with my art collective Meow Wolf, on one of their projects Chimera, which goes into local schools and collaborates with kids to make art. At the end of this semester we got into small groups and made movies, most of which involved zombies, aliens, and "party Rock Anthem" by LMFAO.
At Ortiz Middle School some of the kids had gang tattoos and way-too-cool attitudes, but in the end they were just kids and we all had a lot of fun once they warmed to us. One little guy had symbols on his knuckles, an all-white outfit, complete with fedora, pointy shoes, and a bejeweled belt-buckle. I complimented his style and he absolutely beamed.
My favorite group of middle schoolers wrote a movie about a news-anchor/science teacher, goblins, a meteor and a Sphinx, one of the funniest ones was titled "Inspirations" but they are all viewable here. My favorite plot was devised by a class at Gonzales Elementary. Benji, a friend and fellow wolf, saw that this plot held social commentary about capitalism, socialism, pop-culture and surrealism: P Diddy was the football coach for Charlie. Steve Jobs hands Charlie flowers and opens a vortex into a world of cat clones with his iphone. At some point Paul Bunyen is working at Mcdonalds, but he looks like Fidel, which appeared to make a statement about socialism serving capitalism.
At the end of the semester we piled out all the costumes and equipment, and noticed that the curb outside the school said: "Kiss and Drop." I kissed the items and dropped them, then trotted into the sunset.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Indie Movie of the Evening
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When I first got home I went to a house show with my #2 BFF Will, it was the debut of the music video he had been the director of photography on/edited. I was greeted by a huddle of hipsters holding Budweisers. One of them "C" had my haircut of the future: dark brown with a teal streak.
The set-list was being held down by a jelly-bean, and the band Treemotel was comprised of some old college buddies. Greg, the fiddle-player now also plays musical saw, which combined perfectly with the slide guitar. David (on slide) created tremendous hockiting rhythms against the glockenspiel-pattern. I wish I could link to the video, as it was beautiful in it's technicality and creative use of plastic, but it won't be on the internet for a while as it's being shopped around to film festivals.
I'm better at precision-standing-around/mingling now that it's legal for me to drink. I don't recall an ounce of the witty banter I engaged in at the house show, but I do know that "C" and I bonded over art, fashion and both being protagonists within the indie movie of the evening. In the end we tore sections from the graphic design publication Kindling that sat in the hearth and exchanged full-names. Although I'll probably not see C again, now that our internet-lives are connected, I was able to view C's art and subsequently put a photograph that I adore on my blog. At first I thought it was some sort of sound stage with fog effects in the background, but then I realized it was a vertical shot of an adobe house with the sky above. It captures the magic feel of Santa Fe's architecture.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Wave
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Noah had a dream that a giant wave crashed over the desert he lived in. The dead trees with wasp nests and lizards were covered. An underwater coyote creature walked around, and tube-bridges connected the tops of buildings. One of the tubes broke and a woman within it died, Noah felt what she felt.
Noah had a dream that a giant wave crashed over the desert he lived in. The dead trees with wasp nests and lizards were covered. An underwater coyote creature walked around, and tube-bridges connected the tops of buildings. One of the tubes broke and a woman within it died, Noah felt what she felt.Sunday, January 1, 2012
Pheemalramicpacaloomer
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On X-Ma$$ Eve we eat boiled coyote teeth (posole) and tamales, my dad and I always sing The Pogues song that begins: “It was Christmas Eve babe, in the drunk tank…”. Assorted younglings are sucked into my house and I feed them whiskey from the plastic rainbow shot glasses I keep in my closet. Because we live close to the Faralito Walk, my dad and I break out our marching samba drums and turn the formerly peaceful-drunk-caroling-carousers into roudy-drunk-caroling-carousers. This year my brother joined us on Agogo bell and we were mentioned in The New Mexican. As the walk progresses I am swept from group of acquaintances to group of acquaintances like a jellyfish, but somehow every year I collect a group of pals and end up with them at my house, drinking cider by candlelight.
My uncle made a ship from scrap wood when he was a kid, and it’s been sitting in the windowsill of my grandparent’s adobe beehive since. Each solstice my grandpa turns the ship around, because the direction by which its shadow sails across the wall changes at solstice, and my grandpa wants to see it sailing forward. Grandpa Obie also told Noah that he had better not sit in the laundry basket because it’s the portal to a hell-dimension, after I had dubbed Noah the “Molasses Dog”. Noah said : “I am the Molasses Dog and all I can do is lean against the heater.” Grandpa Obie said that he thinks Noah is the new Jack Keroac, but not to tell him that lest his head get too big.
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| Skeleton Kitty |
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| Pheemalramicpacaloomer |
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| Faralitos on Canyon Road |
My grandpa is officially named: Dennis Overman, but got the nickname "Obie Adobe" when he made 1,000 adobe bricks in a day. He's an original hippie, artist, carpenter, construction worker, and musician. The first time Grandpa Obie and I performed together was during my guitar recital in 5th grade, the whole music class was supposed to perform, but they had secretly arranged for me to have a solo, saying that they "forgot their instruments." It was only when my grandpa joined me to sing harmony on Bob Dylan's "You Ain't Goin' nowhere" that I realized what a sweet trick it was.
I went to The Hollar, a little restaurant in Madrid NM, to accompany Grandpa Obie on musical saw the other day. "Irene" by Caribou, complimented my drive up the winding mountain roads.
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| Jazmyn bending fire with her will |
"EIO" is what Earl, Ian, and Obie have been going by when they play The Hollar, but since my uncle Ian is in Peru we were: "EEO" for a night. We played old-timey cowboy and folk songs, along with original material by my grandpa, 3 of my grandpa's recently deceased friends, all by the name of Dennis, and Earl. During our break I drank a delicious IPA from the Marble Taproom and noticed my skills improve threefold when I returned to the saw. After forgoing free fried okra due to wait-time, my family and I stood in the parking lot and made plans to craft our traditional "Pheemalramicpakaloomer" cookies.
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| Me |
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| Pals on Canyon Road |
"Pheemalramicpakaloomer" is the name Grandpa Obie gave to a particular cookie cutter shape. Amongst the 37 shapes that are crafted each holiday season many decoration trends become traditions: Killer rabbit, inverted foot shape turned PacMan ghost, writing "foot" on the bear and other such puns, and then by the end just writing "Turtle Farts" "Machine" "Dog" etc. on everything. This year "Dog" was the most popular word.
On December 23rd I won the facebook-status-like-competition of the day, cashing in at around 20 likes. The status was: “I want to make a fragrance for MEN that comes in a flask, it will be scented like whiskey. It will be whiskey.” On December 24th my dad handed me a flask of Jim Beam, saying: “Here’s some cologne.”
On X-Ma$$ Eve we eat boiled coyote teeth (posole) and tamales, my dad and I always sing The Pogues song that begins: “It was Christmas Eve babe, in the drunk tank…”. Assorted younglings are sucked into my house and I feed them whiskey from the plastic rainbow shot glasses I keep in my closet. Because we live close to the Faralito Walk, my dad and I break out our marching samba drums and turn the formerly peaceful-drunk-caroling-carousers into roudy-drunk-caroling-carousers. This year my brother joined us on Agogo bell and we were mentioned in The New Mexican. As the walk progresses I am swept from group of acquaintances to group of acquaintances like a jellyfish, but somehow every year I collect a group of pals and end up with them at my house, drinking cider by candlelight.
My uncle made a ship from scrap wood when he was a kid, and it’s been sitting in the windowsill of my grandparent’s adobe beehive since. Each solstice my grandpa turns the ship around, because the direction by which its shadow sails across the wall changes at solstice, and my grandpa wants to see it sailing forward. Grandpa Obie also told Noah that he had better not sit in the laundry basket because it’s the portal to a hell-dimension, after I had dubbed Noah the “Molasses Dog”. Noah said : “I am the Molasses Dog and all I can do is lean against the heater.” Grandpa Obie said that he thinks Noah is the new Jack Keroac, but not to tell him that lest his head get too big.  |
| Grandparent's land |
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