"Zos and Kia are next to the Dream Machine. William Burroughs takes care of us."
via zoas23zoas
via zoas23zoas
Two dream machines (or dreamachine) at the October Gallery,
London (stroboscopic flicker device that produces visual stimuli
created by artist Brion Gysin and scientist Ian Sommerville).
"Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie."
When your head gets twisted and your mind grows numbWhen you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
When you're laggin' behind an' losin' your pace
In the slow-motion crawl or life's busy race
No matter whatcha doin' if you start givin' up
If the wine don't come to the top of your cup
If the wind got you sideways it's one hand holdin' on
And the other starts slippin' and the feelin' is gone
And your train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it
And the wood's easy findin' but you're lazy to fetch it
And your sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long
And you start walkin' backwards though you know that it's wrong
And lonesome comes up as down goes the day
And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away
And you feel the reins from your pony are slippin'
And your rope is a-slidin' 'cause your hands are a-drippin'
And your sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys
Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys
And your sky cries water and your drain pipe's a-pourin'
And the lightnin's a-flashin' and the thunder's a-crashin'
The windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops are shakin'
And your whole world's a-slammin' and bangin'
And your minutes of sun turn to hours of storm
An' to yourself you sometimes say
"I never knew it was gonna be this way
Why didn't they tell me the day I was born?" And you start gettin' chills and you're jumpin' from sweat
And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet
And you're knee-deep in dark water with your hands in the air
And the whole world's watchin' with a window peek stare
And your good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flyin'
And your heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'
And your jackhammer falls from your hands to your feet
But you need it badly an' it lays on the street
And your bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat
And you think your ears mighta been hurt
Your eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt
And you figured you failed in yesterday's rush
When you were faked out an' fooled while facin' a four flush
And all the time you were holdin' three queens
It's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean
Like in the middle of Life magazine
Bouncin' around a pinball machine
And there's something on your mind that you wanna be sayin'
That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'
But it's trapped on your tongue, sealed in your head
And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed
And no matter how you try you just can't say it
And you're scared to your soul you just might forget it
And your eyes get swimmy from the tears in your head
An' your pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead
And the lion's mouth opens and you're starin' at his teeth
And his jaws start closin' with you underneath
And you're flat on your belly with your hands tied behind
And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign
You say to yourself just what am I doin'
On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'
On this curve I'm hangin'
On this pathway I'm strollin', this space I'm taking
And this air I'm inhaling?
Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard
Why am I walking, where am I running
What am I saying, what am I knowing
On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailing
On this mandolin I'm strumming, in the song I'm singing,
In the tune I'm humming, in the words that I'm thinking
In the words I'm writing
In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinking
Who am I helping, what am I breaking
What am I giving, what am I taking?
But you try with your whole soul best
Never to think these thoughts and never to let
Them kind of thoughts gain ground
Or make your heart pound
But then again you know when they're around
Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down
'Cause sometimes you hear 'em when the night time come creeping
And you fear they might catch you sleeping
And you jump from your bed, from the last chapter of dreamin'
And you can't remember for the best of your thinkin'
If that was you in the dream that was screaming
And you know that's somethin' special you're needin'
And you know there's no drug that'll do for the healing
And no liquor in the land to stop your brain from bleeding You need somethin' special
You need somethin' special, all right
You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track
To shoot you someplace and shoot you back
You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler
That's been banging and booming and blowing forever
That knows your troubles a hundred times over
You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race
That won't laugh at your looks
Your voice or your face
And by any number of bets in the book
Will be rolling long after the bubblegum craze
You need something to open up a new door
To show you something you seen before
But overlooked a hundred times or more
You need something to open your eyes
You need something to make it known
That it's you and no one else that owns
That spot that you're standing, that space that you're sitting
That the world ain't got you beat
That it ain't got you licked
It can't get you crazy no matter how many times you might get kicked
You need something special, all right
You need something special to give you hope
But hope's just a word
That maybe you said, maybe you heard
On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve But that's what you need man, and you need it bad
And your trouble is you know it too good
'Cause you look an' you start gettin' the chills
'Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill
And it ain't on Macy's window sill
And it ain't on no rich kid's road map
And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house
And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ
And it ain't on that dim-lit stage
With that half-wit comedian on it
Rantin' and ravin' and takin' your money
And you thinks it's funny
No, you can't find it neither in no night club, no yacht club
And it ain't in the seats of a supper club
And sure as hell you're bound to tell
No matter how hard you rub
You just ain't a-gonna find it on your ticket stub
No, it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you
And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you
And it ain't in a cardboard-box house
Or down any movie star's blouse
And you can't find it on the golf course
And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus
And it ain't in the cream puff hairdo or cotton candy clothes
Ain't in the dime store dummies an' bubblegum goons
And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices
That come knocking and tapping in Christmas wrapping
Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute, look at my skin,
Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow,
Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry,
When you can't even sense if they got any insides
These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows
No, you'll not now or no other day
Find it on the doorsteps made of paper maché
And inside of the people made of molasses
That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses
And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies
Who'd turn you in for a tenth of a penny
Who breathe and burp and bend and crack
And before you can count from one to ten
Do it all over again but this time behind your back, my friend,
The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl
And play games with each other in their sand-box world
And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools
That run around gallant
And make all the rules for the ones that got talent
And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do
And think they're fooling you
The ones that jump on the wagon
Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style
To get their kicks, get out of it quick
And make all kinds of rnoney and chicks
And you yell to yourself and you throw down your hat
Saying, "Christ, do I gotta be like that?
Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at
Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel
Good God Almighty, that stuff ain't real": No, but that ain't your game, it ain't your race
You can't hear your name, you can't see your face
You gotta look some other place
And where do you look for this hope that you're seekin'
Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'
Where do you look for this oil well gushin'
Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'
Where do you look for this hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere
And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist
And turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church of your choice
Or you go to Brooklyn State Hospital You find God in the church of your choice
You find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital
And though it's only my opinion
I may be right or wrong
You'll find them both
In Grand Canyon
Sundown
In this conceptual approach to making art, Warhol inherited the legacy of Marcel Duchamp, an artist he knew, admired, painted, and filmed. Like Duchamp's ready-mades, the ultimate importance of a work by Warhol is not who physically made each object, but the ideas it generates. As the son of immigrants, Warhol in his early works returned again and again to the theme of America itself. What else are the paintings of cheap advertisements for nose jobs and dance lessons concerned with if not the American dream and the price of conformity it exacts? As soon as he'd examined the American obsession with celebrity and glamour in the portraits of Elizabeth Taylor and Marilyn Monroe, he was quick to show its race riots and electric chair. Unlike Duchamp's, his was a highly public art, one that criss-crossed between high art, popular culture, commerce, and daily life.
Everything that passed before Warhol's basilisk gaze—celebrities, socialites, speed freaks, rock bands, film, and fashion—he imprinted with his deadpan mixture of glamour and humor, then cast them back into the world as narcissistic reflections of his own personality. This is what makes him one of the most complex and elusive figures in the history of art.
By Richard Dorment | The New York Review of Books
"Native Americans, Aboriginal Australians, Taoists, Zen Buddhists, Tantric
meditators, and mystics everywhere do not think of the Dreaming world
as an 'un'-conscious. For these peoples, the sentient Dreaming world is
the basic reality. Though marginalized and invisible to mainstream cultures
today, Dreamtime has been the essential reality for people from the
beginning of time."
-Arnold Mindell
National Museum of Australia Director Craddock Morton accepts a secret/sacred object from central Australia from Pamela McClusky, Curator of African and Oceanic Art, Seattle Art Museum. Photo: Lannon Harley.
Seattle Art Museum Returns Important Australian Aboriginal Secret/Sacred Object to Australia
SEATTLE, WA.- The Seattle Art Museum has decided to repatriate an important central Australian Aboriginal secret/sacred object to Australia.
The return is particularly significant as it marks the first time that an American collecting institution has independently initiated the return of a secret/ sacred object to Australia.
Secret/sacred objects of the type being returned are typically used in religious ceremonies by central Australian Aboriginal men. They are considered to be physical manifestations of sacred ancestral beings and as such have great spiritual power.
The National Museum of Australia has been providing advice and assistance to the Seattle Art Museum and will store the object temporarily while consultations proceed regarding its final repatriation.
“The National Museum of Australia is honoured to have been able to assist in this way. The Seattle Art Museum has shown great responsibility, as well as compassion and respect for Aboriginal culture, in deciding to repatriate this object. It is to be commended for its initiative and leadership,” said Craddock Morton, Director of the National Museum of Australia.
According to custom, central Australian mens’ secret/sacred objects are not allowed to be viewed by uninitiated men, or women and children. Their public display is a cause of great distress to Aboriginal elders, who have been seeking their return for many years.
"We appreciate The National Museum of Australia's guidance through this return process," said Maryann Jordan, Seattle Art Museum's Interim Director. "The Seattle Art Museum is one of the few places in the U.S. for Australian Aboriginal art to be seen and discussed. We have a deep respect for Aboriginal heritage and understand the importance of this object to the culture that created it. We are proud to return it to its rightful home."
The Director of the National Museum of Australia’s Repatriation Program, Dr Michael Pickering, said that the object will be housed in a restricted store while the Museum consults with central Australian Elders and their representatives to determine the culturally appropriate management and return of the object.
The object was first collected in 1970, and has been in the Seattle Art Museum’s collections since 1971 but has never been publicly exhibited
The return is particularly significant as it marks the first time that an American collecting institution has independently initiated the return of a secret/ sacred object to Australia.
Secret/sacred objects of the type being returned are typically used in religious ceremonies by central Australian Aboriginal men. They are considered to be physical manifestations of sacred ancestral beings and as such have great spiritual power.
The National Museum of Australia has been providing advice and assistance to the Seattle Art Museum and will store the object temporarily while consultations proceed regarding its final repatriation.
“The National Museum of Australia is honoured to have been able to assist in this way. The Seattle Art Museum has shown great responsibility, as well as compassion and respect for Aboriginal culture, in deciding to repatriate this object. It is to be commended for its initiative and leadership,” said Craddock Morton, Director of the National Museum of Australia.
According to custom, central Australian mens’ secret/sacred objects are not allowed to be viewed by uninitiated men, or women and children. Their public display is a cause of great distress to Aboriginal elders, who have been seeking their return for many years.
"We appreciate The National Museum of Australia's guidance through this return process," said Maryann Jordan, Seattle Art Museum's Interim Director. "The Seattle Art Museum is one of the few places in the U.S. for Australian Aboriginal art to be seen and discussed. We have a deep respect for Aboriginal heritage and understand the importance of this object to the culture that created it. We are proud to return it to its rightful home."
The Director of the National Museum of Australia’s Repatriation Program, Dr Michael Pickering, said that the object will be housed in a restricted store while the Museum consults with central Australian Elders and their representatives to determine the culturally appropriate management and return of the object.
The object was first collected in 1970, and has been in the Seattle Art Museum’s collections since 1971 but has never been publicly exhibited
via artdaily.org
William S. Burroughs reads poetry by Jim Morrison over music provided by The Doors on the track "Is Everybody In?"
via Alberkowski
"Don't Stop 'til You Get Enough", released in July 1979, is the debut single from Michael Jackson's Off the Wall album. Written by Jackson, the track was the first solo recording over which he had creative control, and his debut single released under Epic Records.
Jackson's first single to top the U.S. charts in seven years, the song was certified gold within a few months of release. The musical piece also won Jackson his first solo Grammy and American Music Awards. Garnering critical acclaim for its composition, the track is considered the first song to showcase Jackson's talents, both as a singer and songwriter
"Rock with You" was released on November 3, 1979, as the second single from Michael Jackson's fifth solo LP and breakthrough album,Off the Wall. Written by Heatwave group member and songwriter Rod Temperton, the song helped Jackson score one of the first Billboardnumber-one singles in the 1980s, as well as one of the last big hits of the disco era. It reached number one on both the pop and R&Bsingles chart and became one of Jackson's most-loved songs. A video for the song shows a smiling Jackson dancing in a sequined suit against a background laser.
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Mervin Bradbury said:
[this is good]It is remarkable, rather valuable piece read more
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[this is good]Thanks, Renee. I haven't picked it up yet, but looking fwd to it. Merry Christmas! read more
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[this is good]Really cool print, Chris. Just in time for Bob's new Christmas album. read more
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always the greatest <3 read more
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