things of the lately.
TYLER THE CREATOR: YONKERS
i have not seen/heard hip hop this abrasive and stunning in a very long time. reminds me of the rawness and urgency of some of my favorite tracks... cage’s manic horrorcore anthem AGENT ORANGE ('divorce ya head and neck and scalp it / rip off all ya flesh and make an outfit') or the campiness of gravediggaz 1-800-SUICIDE or immortal technique’s incomparably brutal DANCE WITH THE DEVIL. this kid's demented swagger is chilling.
he talks a lot of shit. in the video he eats a cockroach, vomits, removes his shirt, and hangs himself. awesome.
I’m a fuckin’ walkin’ paradox, no I’m not Threesomes with a fuckin’ triceratops, Reptar Rappin’ as I’m mockin’ deaf rock stars Wearin’ synthetic wigs made of Anwar’s dreadlocks Bedrock, harder than a muthafuckin’ Flintstone Makin’ crack rocks outta pissy nigga fishbone This nigga Jasper tryna get grown About five-seven of his bitches in my bedroom Swallow the cinnamon, I’mma scribble this sin and shit While Syd is tellin’ me that she’s been gettin’ intimate with men Syd, shut the fuck up Here’s the number to my therapist Tell him all your problems, he’s fuckin’ awesome with listenin’.
Jesus called, he said he’s sick of the disses I told him to quit bitchin’, this isn’t a fuckin’ hotline For a fuckin’ shrink, sheesh I already got mine And he’s not fuckin’ workin’, I think I’m wastin’ my damn time I’m clockin’ three past six and goin’ postal This the revenge of the dicks, that’s nine cocks that cock nines This ain’t no V Tech shit or Columbine But after bowlin’, I went home to some damn Adventure Time (What’d you do?) I slipped myself some pink Xanies And danced around the house in all-over print panties My mom’s gone, that fuckin’ broad will never understand me I’m not gay, I just wanna boogie to some Marvin (What you think of Hayley Williams?) Fuck her, Wolf Haley robbin’ ‘em I’ll crash that fuckin’ airplane at that faggot nigga B.o.B is in And stab Bruno Mars in his goddamn esophagus And won’t stop until the cops come in I’m an over achiever, so how ’bout I start a team of leaders And pick up Stevie Wonder to be the wide receiver Green paper, gold teeth and pregnant gold retrievers All I want, fuck money, diamonds and bitches, don’t need ‘em But where the fat ones at, I got somethin’ to feed ‘em In some cookin’ books the black kids never wanted to read ‘em Snap back, green ch-ch-chia fuckin’ leaves . It’s been a couple months, and Tina still ain’t permed her fuckin’ weave, damn
Francesca Woodman's work is often characterized by long exposures where women move through the shot or are suspended like apparitions. reminiscent of the paintings of gerhard richter. i think particularly of callas descending the staircase. ghosts. memory. silence.
she committed suicide in her early twenties. she jumped out a window.
james blake’s new record was just released; a collection of broken, naked soundscapes. his voice quietly devours everything around it. not a thing out of place.
this is my favorite track, for some reason abridged.
i have been scouring the internet for images of elaborate rapevan murals. as though owning a rapevan were not enough to call one’s character into question, the mural seems to say: i celebrate my questionable taste and dubious repute, and i celebrate with abandon.
popular subject matter includes: wizards, desert landscapes, proud horses/unicorns, splayed women, star wars.
read a really lovely review of hecker's new album/listen at coke machine glow. CMG continues to do justice to music criticism, they are my favorite source for intelligent, astute reviews in spite of their Kanye Hype Bandwagon Jumping.
british miracle boy soprano from back in the day, here performing Handel. makes me a little weepy.
elegantly-shot videos from YAKFILMS = beautiful oakland cultural documents. the dance style turfin’ combines traditional breaking/poppin’ elements with krump and balletic pirouettes. mesmerizing, and, when danced in tribute; heartbreaking.