thee fucktard, no one loves you.

dear fucktard, no one loves you. i know. even your mother loathes your whiny ass, she told me one night over tea biscuits, whiskey and waters and her yapping. she waxed poetic about the Patti Smith Group, and said that she knew why i'd never be famous. i mostly ignored her, and tried to sneak glances at her legs. when she would get up i'd watch her walk, and wonder why your father was such an idiot. HOW COULD HE LEAVE SUCH A FINE LADY!

anyway this was about five years ago. i was different then, an animal, stark raving mad, but in control. i tried to not come off as a creep. this was when anyone old enough to have seen blade runner in the theatre was considered a creep. you would hear the vixens at the rock show say things like - "he's so creepy." and then they would pine over you fucktard, about how you can't commit and how you do ten strokes, bust and say a bunch of "i'm sorry(S)".


this was years ago, when i was still mourning my failed marriage. i think a few good women may have loved me then, but it never took. they would light candles for me, bring incense in and chat things. we would listen to Sleater Kinney, or Le Tigre and i would hear the wonderful impromptu treatises of the FOURTH WAVE Feminists. i grew up, it was Wasco's Growing 33 summer so i had just turned 30. and it scared me, i hadn't done much, it was possible that i would do nothing. yet, with those few i grew a bit. started to see the other side, felt my patriarchy start to decay, felt my armour chip.

but you fucktard, you always made it easy. with your fixed gear bikes, and Animal Collective pretense. hey! not all fix gear bikers are fucktards, but as with anything, especially with the poets some get mixed in. they hide amongst us, waiting for mom to drop off the laundry. you and your dude snark at the bands, and pass te same six ladies amongst each other. they think you are sweet, but its only that you are a coward. but hey, no worries. we all are cowards!

the conversations go like this:

FUCKTARD: so dude, you hear the new Battles?

ME: no why?

TARD: so dude i just put together a new fixie. shit is tits.

ME: right on.

TARD: this band sucks that's about to play. i saw them at Pat's, they can't touch some of the better bands.

ME: oh. i'm in that band. what bands you talking about?

TARD: awww man, your cool though. shit you know?

ME: i'm walking away now.

TARD: word dude. hey have you seen my girl _________?

ME: you mean ___________? she standing right next to you.

TARD: hey __________ i didn't know you were there!


the poets. the painters. something about them. they always seem to have a leg up, its too difficult to trust them. i don't know what they are talking about. of course there are exceptions, but they don't read the blog. i get to talk to them, and its always enlightening - their trips, and awards. that fucktard's mother was right, i will never make it! i should of asked her - make it where? 


this was years ago though. i grew. cuz no one loves you when your a fucktard.

TREMONSTER ART WALKERS WITH TEETH AND GUM

(in pome form, without illustrations)

damn, the love lost. she held a pencil

drew his face along remnants of Daddy

placed mouse tongue inside her friends

mouth made Lesbians, toasted

a sack of well intentioned Balls

along side a list of unrequite

danced the liberal city at happy hours

where they nodded theys, she cackled

swollen ankles for youthful vengeance 

was serving drinks, tattooed, and pierced along

riding the rider of the Fixed Gear,

she brings her tips home.

(and You thought the pomes should be In the Tradition)

glory blister and whitey nigger testament.

he swagger, and she poet thinks alongside the reading,

"i've forgotten more lines than you will ever -"

and he in Gingsberg Tie Die- the audience says, "DIE"

(YES, THEY DID.)

but he thinks they will only mourn me

will only mimic me, the graybeard

theWhitePhallus gleaming righteous Lincoln,

"I always wanted the Blacks free."

THE OOPS FACTOR, or The Now That's Class Reach Around

So in the interest of a certain rigor,  i wish to discuss the concept, we have come to call "The OOPS Factor". I'm not really interested in where the term originated, but its here - mostly used by little kids when they spill something, or knock over something they had not business fucking with in the first place. the concept as i have used it over the years is much like this - a fuck up, that you know full well you are going to make, but you do it anyway, and attach the oops.

(this may turn into a review of sorts as well, but its my blog so .  .  .)
THE EXAMPLE


Friday. Now That's Class - Wonderful Fest


David and I arrived around 7:30 to be in time to see Bim Thomas and the debut of his OBNOX solo project. we there was a possibility that it would start later than the advertised time, but in an effort to not miss it, we took the chance everything was on schedule (for the most part it was, but thats a whole other blog). Bim went on around 8:30, and the place was filling up nicely. it felt like it was going to be a good night, good enthusiastic crowd, stellar line-up. ran into some friends, LJM and her crew, didn't see any people i hate (that list is slim, although i loathe quite a bit more).

Bim was awesome! him and elijah were in sync, and after watching them rehearse at our house for a few weeks, i had grown to be totally in love with this batch of songs. its rare to witness the musicians working it out, i mean we don't get a glimpse of that process that often, i have to tell you  there is a certain genius to what he's doing, beyond them being good musicians, it has a weight that i don't usually encounter in the rock music. its was gospel, it was community, and i was a part of it coming together by proxy of living in a house that can stand some quad reverb and a drum kit at all hours.

here's a bit of live footage:


so after the bim debut, we went to hanging out- i was drinking full tall glasses of Powers whiskey on the rocks, and feeling pretty good about it. while waiting for Kid Cuddles (per usual, but more on that later). i noticed a few things for one, the ratio between dudes and ladies dudes was about even, and there were some pretty people there. it was surely a summer highlight night. here's the oops happening.

this band called NO BUNNY got on the stage, and began to whip the crowd into a frenzy. the front man was wearing some sort of bunny mask, and cod-piece, nothing else. cajoling, cursing. there were moments were his interactions got serious, this one kid decides to grab the cod-piece of his tepid meat, and bunny man jumps off stage the crowd going nuts, takes this kid and slams his ass, the kid's head hits the floor like a busted watermelon. no way he walked away from it without a concussion. absolute concussion level floor smash.

the frontman, then hops back on stage, stark naked, the most average penis i've witnessed, and continues the set, like he's not naked, and getting rubbed out by the hungry, excited crowd.


THE OOPS FACTOR


1. kid, rule number one at the rock show: DO NOT TOUCH THE SINGERS PENIS, OR THE AREA MOST HETRO MEN CONSIDER THE PENIS. (FYI: this is the area from belly button, to knees.) Now you have a concussion, and oops just won't cut it.


2. Frontman. if you are willing to practice your art naked, you must develop some dick control, the wind, and people jostling is not an excuse for a you becoming erect throughout the show. especially as my friend says -  "there's no thickening agent!"
oops will not cut it. 

NO BUNNY AS JOHN THE BAPTIST.




as for Kid Cuddles, well lets just say - she is quite compelling, and i can wait for that.

forge ahead. or Anita Wills, or as the cops call her - crackhead.

for those of you who need details: winter, Nov. about 2:15pm. 
(some of this taken from my journal)

Take me to the water .  .  .

- traditional.

"There is so much i want to tell you."
that's what she said.

so i handed her a cigarette. I've come to know her because i like to stand outside, and since i smoke, and since its the law - i tell myself - i like smoking outside. she, Anita Wills is addicted to crack, and since this addiction comes with its share of ghosts, demons and habits - she will look for a friendly face, and ask for a cigarette, money, gum - she does not have sex to support her habit. Anita makes a point the second time our paths met.

"There's so much i want to tell you." we puff. there are some people, in suits entering the Cafe at Arts Collinwood, we nod. they do not notice. Anita continues,

"when i was a little girl, my daddy had this pipe he would chew. i never saw him light it, but it was always in his mouth."

yeah, i take another cig out of the pack, she nods and waves her hand at me,

"he was very proud of his ability to read, and since he was the youngest of twelve, it was a big deal. alot of us can't read that well, even now."

i know, its kinda sad, but its not just us, a lot of folks can't read, or don't like to.

"my daddy was proud, and so we always read together. Little House on the .   .  . ray chandler, malcolm x book he wrote with the Roots fella. my daddy loved mysteries, and history books."

is he still alive?

"no. no. you black men don't live long. you better watch out youngin', we ain't made to do all this stuff. when my old man first came home with it, i knew it was no good. like i had a feeling, like i'd seen a ghost pass right across my face. and i knew, but he was excited, and he hadn't been feeling too good bout things. that was 1987."

wow, that long?

"what you mean WOW? nigga, can't nothing kill a woman, but a man. and we bury you mothas all the time. you don't realize it yet, but its not gonna be much longer for you to sit on the side and just judge us. you think you protected huh? i've been watching you. you too good, ain't gonna say nothin' huh nigga?"

not my place. i make art, i'm not a politician. how? what am i suppose to do?

"i guess nothing. i mean you ain't no shy ass nig that's for sure. you speak, but you ain't gettin' your hands dirty. no, no. not workin' in there. you could .  .  . well, nevermind young blood. you just keep on with that art thang. it work for you, just ain't help nobody else."

i'm not sure that's fair. i mean .  .  .

"that's what i was gonna say, my daddy worked all his life, was proud of books, like you. but you ain't know him so you don't know he made it for you to sit up in there art and all. ain't shit fair. not one thang. you old enough to knows that."




*      *        *
Postscript.

since booker t. and ole' W.E.B. the debate of the doing, and the thinking. harlem rebirths, hughes, the panther and the lash. art for arts sake .  .  .

Baldwin, he talked about being a witness. that a writer's job, her/his only mandate was to testify, to witness us in all the painful, joyous swatches of this being HUMAN. and in it all, from booker to beyonce, fred hampton to obama .  .  . the poor, is the poor. is the poor. thinkers be damned. makers be ashamed. preachers and leaders be stoned. ain't fair, no one damn thing.

The Beginning of this new blog, or for better or worse: THE STEVE BARRETT CASE

For "obvious" reasons there seems to be a systematic destruction of the critique, whether in the form of music, book, or art reviews, policy reviews (close reading) - behavior, although judged privately, is never publicly discussed in any useful way. Just the meandering, whispering that leads to gossip, which leads to myth, and then finally (and with heavy hearts) FACT.

( I'm leaving out the victims name from this blog because it should of been her decision to reveal her identity. I believe she was forced to, and yes courageously by the sanctioned journalists who are supposed to cover our city with some type of ethic.)


For instance, the last two weeks in CLE there has been a sensational build up of half hearted, and vague discussion regarding the STEVE BARRETT Case. While this "case" is being investigated, and is in the midst of legal milieu (the trial starts July 5) it has been on TV, and in the so called alternative weekly. concerned folks (and they should be) have sparked up conversations on Facebook, and in bars. The victim of the privacy breech has been interviewed, by the media, and her life has changed rather quickly because of the shock and awe of the situation. She is by most accounts and public opinion considered brave for speaking out. I tend to agree with this assessment, but i wanted to bring up a few points that trouble me regarding the STEVE BARRETT Case:

1. What/why is the fact that child pornography found on his computer hard drive not the subject of the discussion in any real way? every time i've overheard a conversation about it - the subject has been the shower cam, and the intentions of such an upsetting breach of privacy. the media has not disclosed any real facts about this pornography. was it 6yr old naked, playing with toys, or was it teenagers pandering at adulthood? was it homosexual in orientation, or the age old hetro smut that creeps tend to use for escape? would it matter?

well, that should be the second question (forgive me, this blog has no editorial staff so syntax may shift, but i will be as diligent as i possibly can regarding grammar, spelling, and tense)
2. Should the age of the child porn subject matter?

3. Was there money made with the publishing via internet of the shower tapes? If so how much, and although this is extremely unlikely to be found out, and troublesome as a concept who bought the material? Are there people in our greater community, who knew both parties, and participated through purchase, or watching, or passing along the links. And for those of us within this community, identified by the superior journalism of THE SCENE as "The Scene" - how do we know that our own partner, male or female did not check out the Shower Flicks of Lightning Fingers?

4. Have you ever watched adult rated amateur videos, or check out stills filled with unknown subjects, and if so, did you ever consider that someone knows these unwitting subjects, and would consider your participation in the twisting of their images for sexual gratification grossly unjust?

5. What about the Child Porn!?

6. How did the story become such a part of the public fabric via traditional media, without the question of libel coming up? Or did it, and since thats not exciting we ignored our role as the defenders of privacy, and innocent until proven guilty. Some people within this so called community "THE SCENE" have spoken publicly to that very point, but that has been obscured by the gross/creepiness of it all.

For we know this man, and have seen him involved in things we love. we've seen him at the front of the crowd during a sold out, or even, nearly empty show pumping his fist in the throngs of the wonderful music being performed. As artists, we may have even been on a bill or four that he organized at Pats in the Flats, or some other venue and thought weird dude, but cool dude. Not creep. Not pederast/pedophilia.


the wiki definition of Pederasty


So what now? how does a community, loosely defined, but for all accounts considered his, recover? What will we do the next time a member of this community betrays our assumed trust?


I'm just thinking in type, so chime in, there is so many angles to this situation, i'm sure there will be plenty to say in the weeks to come.