OBAMANATION from mid to the far west

From the Biggest Man among you, to our very least.  This Land is our promissed land. We are United, and we have finally come to the mountaintop only to see the next peak to climb, and that that job is in our hands.  We come from you, and me, and our Forefathers; from Gulf Stream Waters to Staton Island.  We came from yet another skinny lawyer, heading to the big seat in the East. He hails from the Lands of Lincoln, and Aloha alike.  Linking the chains of American History to the opening curtains of its final act.  USABCD End.  With fresh eyes we finally see we now are one under the Sun; something new, yet eternally true.  We recognize eachothers' truths and Rights to exist Freely under the Rule of Law.  In the Chief Executive's Office's first memorialized act (Chief of Staff Emanuel's 1st White House MEMO), a cease and desist was put to all Federal mandates of the previous administration's.  In the word's of the First Couple's first dance: 'At Last'. Thank Gods almighty.  We are one under the eyes of the law.  Right on from here on out.  Right on!  Now we only need to get ourselves in full compliance, fully united under the guiding light of these principles.  We just have to shed the light of justice upon us, and shed the shackles we have heretofore imposed.  I pledge allegiance, w/Liberty and Justice for A-L-L!  I-N-I!
W/<3,
*$toph

-from the Haleakala offices of the acting CHIEF Executive Officer of these Universe/cities of W/Illinois  

thurd eye binds

____________________

Trance Formation (Anddendsum: Yoho Jojo!)

Of course: what's reliving an episode from our childhood like that without a little moral support from our fine friends at FenslerFilms? Am I right my Hasbros, or you gonna seize and deceast my ass three?

trance formation

Yeah boy. Talk to Alex and get you a copy of this highly collectible and rare piece of indy film history.



From the liner notes by yours truly:

On the Transformers: the Movie(86): the Remix(99)  (2/4/5)

Beyond Good. Sure. Beyond Evil? Mmmmmaybe. Surely not outside the wild imaginative reach of a certain auto technician in training. Perhaps even the younger age Matthew Puckett, at some level, originally intuited: the mightiest of heroic constructs, like all our industrial devices, could breakdown beyond the point of no repair. And later at any rate he had to know that mechanics’ vocabulary actually included the word “shit.” And that the evolutionary destiny of robotics lies in pink-hotrod-hotties. But you gotta understand: at the time of “the Transformers: the Movie” original US theatrical release, this all came as quite the shock to us sheltered children of Suburbia. We’d been content w/just commercially injected half-hour doses of mindless mayhem, and virtual animation the series’ binary psychodramas provided our all too slowly moving and rapidly disappearing prepubescent lives. This flick definitively carpet-bomb-86’ed plenty of kids’ mental cherries back in 1986. Hardcore; Newborne.

Why then looking back should the film seem now well... so freaking childish? Maybe it was all the freon, axl-grease, or thundering repetitive rattle-rattle John Lee clatter Boom-boom-boom-boom wafting around the chop-shop air there? More likely; an overdose droning on of man-hours, engaged in robotic servitude, slaving to get CFC + noise shitting, design fucked monstrosities back into working order for their insane in the mundane, wind resistant, plastic paneled owners. But however it came to be--- although History is clear on this much @ least: more than a few metric tons of Schlitz and PBR were involved--- a threshold was achieved one night, over cheap rentals, in the mind of a man who’d heard just about enough Muzak infiltrating his consciousness. Matters had to be taken into the only skilled appendages he had: his own grimy hands.

Enlisting the technical assistance of his would be accomplice and younger cuzin; Alexander Demaris, and holing up in his efficiency bunker, wading up to his neck in a complex web of prime dirge: Matt got down n’ dirty w/it. He composed a defiant, W.S.Burroughs-ian, battle plan of attack D-fence: He’d mix in raucous trax (tunes diametrically opposed to the conformity concert, rocking our sad excuse for an outside world to its very brink); vivisect, bootstrap, utterly transform, and revitalize the audibles of this fine flick; into something more indicative of the power, this watershed story of glory n’ gore, this movie still held, in our collective memory banks at least. Transformers would once again kick ass!

Back in the day, we didn’t have y’r fancypants non-linear-editing, personal- computing, @home production studios. No sir-ee Jr. Well akchly, we kinda did. But I’ll be a GoBot’s uncle if we had either: access, time, or the inclination to use ‘em. All that this job required to hack it was: some excessive late-fees, a stack a wax tracks, and a garage-sale bought, homemade, stereopathetic, VCRecording studio. Using the penultimate century’s greatest art form, a masterpiece was collaged unto its rightful throne in the cinematic echelon.

The rock demons assuredly beamed up at us all from Hell the night this gruesome Champbanite twosome laid down, in one ‘n a half continuous, contiguous takes down pat, this overdub to end all dubs. Later cuts’ attempts to recapture--- as I guess the 2 initial copies were either thought lost, or cast off to the mercy of videostore sea (the one kulture jammed original rental copy got lost in circulation, or copied back over) the alchemical magic moments, we see in abundance herein--- lacked the originals’ dynamism. The disconnects here- still disturb; the congruent syncronisties- continue to mystify synergetically. Geekdom needn’t get their signed Tom Cruise tighty whitey’s in a bunch: proper props were paid Dr (Galvatron) Spok, that motormouth (Blurr) from those old Fed-Ex commercials, Scatman (Jazz) Crothers, Eric (Wreck-Gar) Idle & Weird Al “Dar[ing] To Be Stupid” Yankovich. While every last syllable of Unicron’s dialogue, Orson Welles’ swansong (and for many of us kids, introductory) performance, remains here wholly intact along w/the plot. They just kicked out the jelly. Sorry, Judd Nelson diehards: don’t narc on us to Metallica, Okay? And in exchange we promise not to tell anyone you like Judd Nelson.

New and improved soundtrack!
Now includes:
Butthole Surfers, Melvins, I think Slayer probly, Reverend Horton Heat, Moistboyz, Funkadedlic, Man... or Astroman!?!, M.E.T.H.O.D. Man, Primus, Mr. Bungle, Beck, Metallica used with implied aural consent (back when they were really drunk), some Steve Albini band, and an explosive Monster Magnet finale.
As well as plenty other classic cuts that are too punk for my poseur ass to discern with any kind of certainty. Enjoy. `

Ill Numer0 Viente Y Tres

Sorry folks,
We now interupture our irregularly scheduled blogcast, to meditate a bit on a this one two-bit numeral, that's been primed to blow my mind today. So today's blog is brought to you by the letters 'J' and 'C', and the...
.
# - 2 - 3
. the number
. twenty-three .

I bet a lot of people are gonna be blindsided by this one, and truth be told; i've even been caught by suprise. I doubt a large percentage of people ever give much thought to the constellated matrix of meanings inherent in specific nubers. Like not likely near as many G-d fearing Americans, f'rinstance, as I reckon do put thought into JC. Whether we're talking Penny's for your thoughts, or spiritual meditation on our holy savior Jeepers Creepers. But even if you're numbered among the multitudes that don't no give two shits; if you're not neccessarily mindful of these matters: they still matter. It's in the very nature of habitual numerical 'laws' of mathematics and nature still rule Nature. Even if you're not aware of the patterns, you're still patterning your very life after them. But even you, oh ignore ant one, I'm sure have heard this one...

Psalms Chapter 23
א מִזְמוֹר לְדָוִד: יְהוָה רֹעִי, לֹא אֶחְסָר.
1 A Psalm of David. The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
ב בִּנְאוֹת דֶּשֶׁא, יַרְבִּיצֵנִי; עַל-מֵי מְנֻחוֹת יְנַהֲלֵנִי.
2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters.
ג נַפְשִׁי יְשׁוֹבֵב; יַנְחֵנִי בְמַעְגְּלֵי-צֶדֶק, לְמַעַן שְׁמוֹ.
3 He restoreth my soul; He guideth me in straight paths for His name's sake.
ד גַּם כִּי-אֵלֵךְ בְּגֵיא צַלְמָוֶת, לֹא-אִירָא רָע-- כִּי-אַתָּה עִמָּדִי;שִׁבְטְךָ וּמִשְׁעַנְתֶּךָ, הֵמָּה יְנַחֲמֻנִי.
4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me; {N}Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.
ה תַּעֲרֹךְ לְפָנַי, שֻׁלְחָן-- נֶגֶד צֹרְרָי;דִּשַּׁנְתָּ בַשֶּׁמֶן רֹאשִׁי, כּוֹסִי רְוָיָה.
5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; {N}Thou hast anointed my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
ו אַךְ, טוֹב וָחֶסֶד יִרְדְּפוּנִי-- כָּל-יְמֵי חַיָּי;וְשַׁבְתִּי בְּבֵית-יְהוָה, לְאֹרֶךְ יָמִים.
6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; {N}and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD for ever. {P}

Considering that, and if you will the following exerpt for contextualization's sake...
From Aronofsky's Pi (Math is everywhere)


So yeah, Pi and Theta, we can see y'r point... and, in deed, do conseed. But 23? You been smokin some weird weeds? You been sniffing too much of Jordan's perfume? What did that guy say 233 signified again?

Maybe you're thinking it's like Max's mentor advises him?
That once a mind becomes fixated on something, on a number; you can start to see it everywhere. Just like me and my copywrited 'faces in places', which I see copied and writ large all over the place. Like some witches trick, I've become especially attenuated to recognizing them. And although I'm probably the only one here who saw the face (I made especially for us) in place over bert's head up there, I ain't the only one concerned with the phenomenon. And although it's a bit over my particular head's in-clan-ations; there exists now, a branch of computer science, dedicated now to engineering better facial recognition warez. Whilst they're in it to create the new and "improved" panopticon of the future, I'm into seeing things come alive. If I can't achieve breakthrough levels, those thresholds required to catalyze a reawakened animism and reconnection to all of Nature, at least I can see how you maybe could (in a truly relative kinship society). Beholding that beholden picture in my mind, lo these many y'rs; we might just kiss the face of a just God yet... or at least kiss Chris's reflection (made in the image). But enough mastaburtory reflections on my own fixations, I want to fix our attentions on a particularly strong particulate fixture in another's thinking.

My friend, who here we'll call 'J', is making his fateful return to the fold of the faithfull tomorrow. I'll, who we'll hereafter refer to here as C, >ahem< C 'll be seeing Jay, for the first time face to face in a couple years. The happy couple's reuniting after J enjoyed (I hope) a working sabbatical in Peru (where I hope to check out too). But back when, in the day they were 's'cool mates', the two often exchanged ideas on all manner of weird notions, including J's preternatural obsession with the number '23'. I still don't pretend to understand the significance, and I'm sure he didn't have much more of a clue about it either, other than to know it felt important and lucky.

Now, as "luck", or who knows what or who else, would have it: on 2-23, the two of them, and a third long overdue for a visit friend, K, J and C will see eachother again. J has returned stateside, and has been staying in a city that holds no number more dear than 23 (Chicago just loves Jordan, Sandberg, Dye, and Hester). So after recieving, on his automated message service, the news of J's plans to hook up tomorrow C "co-incidentally" recieved news that this exists...

And now he's obviously freaked enough to share all this with you. I couldn't say what all this magic # business might mean, other than something...
did I mention that dr.pepper (recently advertising their special blends of 23 flavors) is their major softdrink of choice?

next time I will get into the number 3 surely, as third times the charm.

Autumnal Good Byes

Stand In Fall Out (2K5)
















Thought I'd leave things off with one last peek at me (or my image-in-hairy surrogate) here, as I've pretty much flown the Cookoop south for the Nuclear Winter to Myspace.com/Mystophspace
I'm not sure anybody ever much came here anyways, but I'll still continue to put up the posts looking Faces in Places straight on hereabouts, on the off chance someone's reading this blather and bother. Like the above slide, which was to serve as an representative intermediary emmisary, between me and the audience of an art grad school's review board. But there's also the additionally reflexive commentary going on with the picture inside the picture. Though I'll tell you this was all staged. One can imagine that I'm engaged in a critique, that itself is critiquing the critique process, where a body of work, or a piece of yours, is to be measured as a gage of yourself: Some thing that's supposed to speak for you, which might be allright in a situation that requires mediation, like here our dialogue out here in psyberspace, or when you need to clothe your self in another skin for legal reasons involving exposure of your natural indecency, but these gestures inevitably fall short of expressing the totality of a human being themselves in all their complexity. So I hope to turn the process on its head and say there's an inevitable fall out that occurs when filtering eachother, radioactive by-product, even when you're not sitting in front of a cathode emitting screen and holding plactics no doubt containing volatile organic compounds in unergonometrically correct postures for extended periods, when a "work" is produced in leiu of natural art to being ourselves. I think this helps to explain in part the impulse in general to imbue our world with anthropomorphicized structures, we're trying to replace a deep seated need for intimate connection with our world, you know: that, coupled with the simple fact that, as Anais Nin put it so eloquently; "We don't see things as they are, we see things as we are." So in that sense all Stoph's Stuff is borne of a yearning to reconnect with y'all and everything.

Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!

...T'was brillig, and the slithy toves
did gyre and gimble in the wabe...
because with their vorpal blade, their flaming sword held just east of eden,
they stormed the gates! and about damn time too.
photoshop is mine, and nothing will be the same ever again. a once piss poor unviewable slide, now is transformed into only a pretty crappy finished image. Makes a world of difference: "ARRRRGH!!!! Tis good to be a pirate," he chortled in his joy. And so rested he, by the Tum Tum tree.