These relics are among the left-behinds.

"The additional rise of this stock above the true capital will be only imaginary; one added to one, by any rules of vulgar arithmetic, will never make three and a half; consequently, all the fictitious value must be a loss to some persons or other, first or last. The only way to prevent it to oneself must be to sell out betimes, and so let the Devil take the hindmost."

The Public Sphere

"It seems to me today that [...] the idea is gaining ground that these ancient motivations [solidarity and family bonds] are no longer important, that they can be discarded without any consequences. It is believed to be perfectly possible for a company's successes to coexist with permanent insecurity and a continuous turnover of employees."
-from "Homo Globatus" in: On the Edge of the New Century — Eric Hobsbawm

Bon voyage Olympus

This was the last photo I took with the old Olympus CAMEDIA C-5000 Zoom, an all-around handy point-and-shoot. It was taken in the late afternoon on 12 Dec. while driving west on NY-17, just before the turn-off for Rt. 201. The 5000 equals the whopping 5 megapixels of the camera. even with poor lighting, I enjoy the silhouettes of the lamppost and power lines set against a typical cloudy day in Binghamton.

The red eucalyptus leaves is the first photo I took on the Canon SX-10 IS. Since getting it, I've already missed tons of great opportunities to test the settings out. Reading reviews of it, and ignoring the quibbles from the hoards of camera geeks, I'm very happy with what it offers and the clarity of the zoom. The only better sensor out there would be on a DSLR, and I am no where near that affluent (yet) to afford one. I'm hoping to hone my compositional technique on this camera before venturing into the blue horizon of DSLRs anyways. I look back at my old Canon Rebel 35mm-film camera and memories of the photography class I took in high school return. And there is always the WWW to offer a nice review of what I should already know.

Worst lead up to a round of shots

me: It's obvious that most of the stimulus package that Bush gave Americans went towards the purchase of Chinese goods. We essentially gave our Federal Reserve Notes to China.

balding old man: Not all of it, I'm sure...some must have gone to Taiwan, or maybe Korea.

me: Same difference in this context. I guess not all of it went to benefit Chinese companies directly, as we probably really stimulated the outsourced industry in Asia. My point is, American industry wasn't stimulated very much. Ever hear of the North American SuperCorridor Coalition or the Amero?

balding old man: You've been listening to too much Rush Limbaugh, or reading too much Internet media.

me: (laughs) I'm paranoid for good reason, balding old man. Now let's have those Jameson shots and toast for a better tomorrow.

Stepping out of the trance

I heard some extraneous account of whalers trying to save a penguin from a hoard of orca whales today. They killed tons of whales to try and save one penguin, the water brimming crimson from the spilled orca blood. I'll take this as a poetic analogy to how Congress is trying to solve the economic crisis. It should just allow the practice of fractional-reserve banking to die gracefully, or at least to transmogrify into something more stable. I'll continue to be a stoic observer.

Trudging into Oct.

In the midst of having samples collected in Maryland cut, also in the thick of campus recycling and composting. the large amount of waste generated by any municipality, even a college campus, once you actually have manage it. i think the average for weekly pick up of mixed recycling (glass, plastic, aluminum) and cardboard (plus any stray paper, shredded documents) has been 13 tons. that's 26,000 lbs. It could be more if people recycled properly, yet it should be a lot less if people stopped buying cases of 8 oz water bottles. seriously....8 oz of water? whose thirst is that gonna quench?

A break from traveling

I used to look at the interstate expressways emerging from the tunnels outside of NYC and think of the the great country lying beyond the suburbs of New Jersey. Outstretched towards the west lay unknown territory beyond the industrial complexes of artificial marshes and sloughs. I’d imagine how the trucks would thin out to nothing amidst the forests and fields, with the occasional stray house with Amish and “country people” residing. The setting sun would cover this land with a soothing, profound glow and I couldn’t fathom what secrets and treasures lay beyond such a beautiful site.

I have a better idea of the “treasures” that lay beyond Bayonne in my older age. I also am beginning to find that much of what lies beyond, towards the west, closely resembles much of everything else. I could travel down the streets of Hagerstown and feel as if a familiar pizzeria in the deepest reaches of Queens is just around the corner. The marina in Cleveland bears a remarkable resemblance to the south shore of Long Island, minus the huge interstate that blockades it all in. Even excluding the shared Italian population Piccola Italia in Montreal bears striking resemblance to Bensonhurst. Larger differences among urban places are only noticeable if you’ve lived in a sprawling metropolis like NYC for as long as I have, while subtler differences that may be obvious to me will not be apparent to a visiting friend or relative who may even be more traveled than me.

Places share a common thread of consumerism, a thread that is now being stitched more and more into formerly poor areas of Brooklyn. The ubiquitous presence of Starbucks is an obvious example, as is the Subway chain. Many people are attracted to specific urban centers for the more local commerce of a specific restaurant or eatery, a specific clothing store, a favorite bar and the like. No one comes to Williamsburg to eat at the McDonalds on the corner of Broadway and Havemeyer St. They might want to come to the neighborhood for the excellent food at a Korean grill, or for the vast selection of brews at bars that cater towards the beer-snob. The national chains that open new locations are catered towards the locals, the older blood that has lived in the city longer and maybe lacks the financial backbone of people looking for the $15 dinner. *Insert vomited socio-economic theories here.

There is shared architectural design between cities, as well as a similarity in the infrastructure design. Some people find difficulty in knowing where in space they are relative to where they’ve just been. These people lack the foresight of recognizing the grid of a city. The changing grid structures throughout a city reflect different neighborhoods. Many people who haven’t grown up in a city often refer to neighborhoods as “towns” either out of habit, or because they fail to realize that there is usually a gradual change as you enter one neighborhood and leave another as opposed to a sharper demarcation between towns of a suburb or rural setting. I constantly wonder how the overall consciousness of a city will change with suburbanites flooding the urban grids. Again, the question remains, “What will the average face look like in 10 years?”

Harbingers

There has been much time for reflection on the changing neighborhood, the changing borough and the constantly changing city in which I've grown up. Static, no. Dynamic, yes. That sums up a lot of what New York is. However, outer borough lifestyle certainly maintains more static nuances in everyday living. This goes beyond realestate. One past time I've always kept at is that of a city-walker. You venture through the grit, the concrete, the asphalt and use many clichéd words along the way, but you have that freedom to merely walk and use the muscles in your legs to travel. I feel that, in addition to walking, to stop and observe is a necessity for city-walking. Many agree and practice these two activities, and based on them, one cannot help but notice that there is a constant lingering of cranes that has become the norm for neighborhoods outside of Midtown. A barrage of development for outsiders moving into the formerly poorer areas.

This push and transformation is part of what is commonly called gentrification. And, as the link will outline, white people love this. These aren't merely youngins on the subway wearing black NY Film Academy hoodies, so-called TNHs (Transient Nard Heads) who more than likely cannot fathom things like community gardens being built and maintained solely by a junior high school in the ghetto.

Labeling a group of people aside, the move is not met with absolute animosity or bitter resentment. Many business owners seem to welcome it without the same amount of qualms as long-lived residence. They can only look towards higher profits if they can mold their business with the likes-dislikes of the new residence in mind. However, there are many who feel betrayed and like second-class citizens. One, of course, cannot blame anyone who is moving into the luxury highrises (families wanting a new breath on life) but it is easily and vindicative to put blame on the lethargy of the City Council, the poorly managed Department of Buildings and the Bloomberg administration.

An outline of the frenzy in NYC

The demand for affordable housing

The greed of landlords

Reflections on the old grime, now gone

With inevitable change, where will things go? How will the face you see on the street change? A snap shot of Greenwich Village in 1920 and 1980 are certainly different with the types of faces one will encounter (technological advancements aside) The faces one is likely to meet on the street in the village in 40 years will likely contrast that of 1980 greatly. Even in 10 years from now, the types of people one is likely to meet on the street will have swung widely in one direction from a long-standing position. That pendulum swing can be seen through the barrage of development.

Here is a short series of photos that characterize the invasion of bedazzling glass facades and cranes.

After a restless night...

Is it detrimental to my mental health reading this apocalyptic extreme left wing propaganda?

chycho.com has updated with a long synopsis of the way our world has been going down the path towards heated global conflict; the acceleration of key events will trigger more traditional military movement. The reason is, and will continue to be, based on protection of global interests, though one can easily say, global domination and not be slapped and called a spazmo. The US obviously in hastily rushing into conflict with Iran, which can only serve to forestall any promises our current nominees reiterate for countless iterations. Things seem to be painstakingly falling into place, similarly to the previous century's events that lead towards global conflict. The main difference I can see is that there are skewed alliances, and that conflict is based primarily on economic upheaval (at least more so than than in the 1940s, but discussing key events in the strengthening of the illuminati i associate with masturbating into a sharks mouth....you'll end up a eunuch) There is a push towards a more controlling fist on global markets.

While I refuse to believe in everything that is read (I mean, you have to take most analysis these days with a grain of salt) sifting through various liberal propaganda does outline a starkly hellish future based on key events that are almost always left out of the public eye. Immediately and unequivocally, the mass movement of people into a warzone begs for the entire world to stop and consider the ramifications. For me, there are no sugar-coated premonitions. How long before the entire Muslim world is at war with us?

Things really do seem to be accelerating.



How has a year and a half of being in graduate school effected my former idealistic future?

At least in my present institution, I've come to feel that tenured professors don't give a fuck and will usually protect themselves over standing up for a student in need. I feel that my case may be different, but it's been a turn off. I've been told it's the same way in the humanities, though subtler in the "don't-give-a-fuck" mannerisms of aging professors. It seems to coincidental that the cold shoulders received through out this year and a half occurs in the poverty stricken city of poor valleys and rich hills. *Cue socio-economic debate. My mother tells me I should read more Carl Sagan.

Idealisms vanish.

Little moments of agression

Little moments come when two people are confronted with their own brutal reflections. It can be manifested at various turns in life, road-rage, a friendly game of cards, sex, a casual night out with friends (drinks usually in the dozens). That first one is probably the most interesting to me, particularly if you are driving alone. Driving off somewhere alone, multiple hours in a vehicle without anyone. The thoughts and recent experiences racing through ones mind ramifies ROAD-RAGE. The thoughts, memories now blurred and not quite pure emotion, that upwell from musical mediation. Buried desires exhumed from the thoughts one has alone inside the cab of a vehicle. Pure bliss.



17 July

Labeling My Ass

[This is an article originally slated for a failed magazine, Sept. 2005]



I listen to a tape by a band from high school. It is called Rooftop Life, the music of Brooklyn teens. The music is very much in an expected and predictable structure. The songs begin with a single, clean chord progression that is easily imitable by the listener upon the first chorus of listening. It has a folky tinge to it, and the voice croons about loss of love and loneliness in the neighborhood park. The park can be any city park in Brooklyn marked by that prosaic maple leaf centered in the green plastic plaque. (or is that the leaf of a london plane?) The song progresses to an accented part, where the singer whispers, “I’m not alone/ I’m not afraid.” Cue loud guitar riff, ballsy bass fill and heavy bass drum and cymbal crash. The song follows nicely with a repeat of choruses, a blunt guitar solo, some feedback, and then a quiet coda featuring an acoustic guitar repeating the folky melody. All in all, not a bad song; I could just picture the singer sitting on a bench in the park creating this song, not caring about the old Italian men playing bocci or the young girls practicing their backhands in the tennis court. (maybe the later is somewhat distracting)

Of course, this seemingly simple tune has conjured up many images in my mind. Rooftop Life had been billed as a hardcore punk band during one performance at the ill-fated Spiral Lounge in the Lower East Side. Characterized with the reminiscence of sitting in the park and romancing the girl that got away, the tune sounds more adept to an emo tune sung by an urban hipster fresh from his flight out of the Midwest. (Transient-Nard Rock?) Yet, the writer has lived in Brooklyn all his life. No one has yet to mention the term “emo” to him, nor has the concept of the hipster as the new trendy urban youngster come to fruition. It is 1999. What a difference just four years will make on the way the local music scene will progress.

There are genres of music that have clear distinctions, yet the nuances and offshoots of a genre like rock & roll tend to meld together. While this is only natural, people will stand by a certain sub-genre and remain loyal to it. It may seem like a reflection of the high school clichés, yet it is manifest in popular culture, in magazines and TV. In the end, terms are thrown around a bit too freely to warrant any legitimacy. Rock music can be broken down into definitive genres itself. Metal, psychedelic and punk are all terms that have risen up at various points in the history of the music. The punk phenomenon certainly has had lasting ramifications on the music industry. One only has to look at the bands in the 90s who garnered success through releasing hit punk songs and albums. From this genre of rock music sprouted many sub-genres. Post-punk is a term equivalent with the likes of Joy Division, Echo & the Bunnymen, Gang of Four and Orange Juice, among countless others. Name dropping is only practical if one is familiar with the name mentioned. Otherwise, an intentional credence towards a band morphs into a mere recommendation; a person’s unawareness is sometimes the only thing separating them from becoming part of a music scene. In other words, ignorance can lead a person to hug the trend and never let go.

Post-punk obviously came after punk rock, yet what is the term exactly? Allmusic.com calls post-punk a “more adventurous and arty form of punk, no less angry or political but often more musically complex and diverse.” Fair enough. If taking the term literally, one could then say the 90s revivalists of punk music are “post-punk.” Yet for any respectable music aficionado, calling Green Day post-punk could lead to heated ridicule and derision. Another sub-genre for Green Day was needed. Let’s call it pop-punk, or punk revivalist. This could be something Rooftop Life should aspire to. All they need to do is revive something. How about disco? (Just kidding)

I hesitate to say that Green Day consider themselves revivalists of punk. It’s not as if the genre disappeared itself after the 70s. It isn't the case either that post-punk was the first to incorporate adventurous or arty forms of angry politics into the music. Bands simply began to explore other themes and not limit themselves to a formulaic standard. New instrumentation incorporated into the music means a new genre, yet in whose eyes? Surely no new wave band is complete without a synthesizer. This is a reflection of the music industry trying to sell something new to the public with media to promote it. Musicians and bands do not create new labels, though perhaps A&R and managers do. The participants in these “genres” or “scenes” do not necessarily consider themselves to be part of it. An example is goth rock. Peter Murphy is quoted as saying he is a “post-punk” not a goth rocker. Yet, his band Bauhaus are considered being the founders of the genre. What one considers himself (in Murphy’s case) and what critics perceive his work as being, or what his work is being promoted as, tend to differ. A fabrication of that "new thing" is generated via media and people outside of the actual music scene. Once a new term has been established and a successful band is associated with that term, regardless of whether or not the members consider themselves part of it, imitators and copycats are abound. Copycats do not necessarily mean a bad thing, yet the whole meaning behind the term can become convoluted. Many times the imitators receive more fame and fortune than the progenitors themselves. More importantly for record companies, profit can be made from advertising a new genre through these imitators (dare I mention Nirvana?) This is where conglomerates such as Clear Channel and distribution giant Ticketmaster make millions. In the end, are the new genres a reflection of new creative output, or simply an extension of one big corporate commercial?

Some bands “defy categorization” according to critics and the record labels who release their music. They seem to shift in and out of all genres of music, yet remain principally a rock band. It has been difficult for critics to describe the music of Mr. Bungle and Mike Patton, instead opting to say that his music “genre hops” and is frantic, with conjured up images of Patton being a lunatic himself. In this way, Mr. Bungle defeats the entire notion of sub-genres and corporate plans of cashing in on the new music of the time, even though they were signed to a major label themselves. Mr. Bungle is still a far cry from being a household name, unless your folks watch a lot of Pee Wee Herman. Bands described as “genre hopping” do not necessarily try to break the mold and create a new genre. Instead, many of them appear to be reveling in the elasticity of the music itself. Rock music is one of the most elastic forms of creative output, owing a large extent of this to the blues. It is because of this that there are so many new bands out there to begin with. However, all bands still share the same roots. The classic Chuck Berry intro may be replaced by a wall of dissonant feedback before a yelling growl beckons the audience to spill the blood of the virgin into the chalice of catatonia. The spirit of getting the place rocking is still there, albeit, the production is higher, and the flames from the demons’ nostrils at the Rob Zombie show certainly put no one to sleep. In the end, a song that was released in the 70s which is currently being covered by a band with a big name could have very well been released in the 50s by a doo-wop group. Songs are recycled by new bands and the whole concept of a new genre becomes silly. There is no new genre. From the position of the artist, the music itself is a continuous progression of ideas. The position of executives and salesmen of the music, viewed as a product, dictates that a new genre is an easy way to make money off of something expected. There will always be a cyclic method to bring profits around again, as seen through the corporate eyes.

The music industry has been cashing in on the new music of the time since the introduction of Victor’s gramophones. The first jazz record was released by a band of white musicians claiming jazz music had been a completely white invention. Years later, a division of popular music into many categories means there is a little vitriol for everyone to invest in.

wide open eyes (meandering)

i find my eyes are on the clock a lot these days. I feel pressured to get as much rest as possible before jumping up and running around, filing, writing, guessing, mis-interpreting (is that possible to do?) and then gallivanting, much too much gallivanting.

I will always feel like a stranger in a strange land, which leads to accusations of myself being an alien to society, an alien among residents. if i confuse you, it only means that i am even more confused, probably. i have definitely come to realize that a state of normality is defined by a sense of confusion.

"WAIT WAIT WAIT, i have a confusion."

"you have a confusion? well, you better get that checked out. You don't want to be walking around with a confusion sticking out of you."
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4 day weekend back in Brooklyn, yet i know how it will go. Work needs to be done, but then I will have to sit and talk for hours with various people, family and friends, sit on the roof and watch the planes go by above my head (air-traffic fascinates me) maybe decide to go for a 3-hour-30-minute walk (always happens) which becomes a rendezvous with someone, unexpectedly, and a movie or more discussion proceeds unexpectedly (or maybe 3 movies) By the time i realize (i'm so bad at keeping track of time) it is past dusk and evening, dinner plans become inebriation plans, socializing, or just simply milling around waiting for people to become free. Maybe i'll go into a record store, or walk blocks to see if that good pizza place is still there. fade.......things become a blur of grandiose ganders and thoughts of going to sleep early to get a fresh start on the morrow. (which means waking up at 11 instead of 7.) Mutliply this by 4 days and i am behind schedule, yet i seem to have caught up with my privileged upbringing in a metropolitan (THE metropolitan)

3 hour drive back up north, sit and stare at the mirror. FADE)

"It's fun to dream." (a post-modern academic blurb)

So then the badger creates a cyclic Cycladean sphere from the clay found on Mílos, for a dollar. The sphere has hidden candies in it and everyone from the area eats and eats, sugar after sugary mouthful, the delicious treats from the Antiquity B.C. (based on current archaeological recoveries)

"...but with the exception of Naxos the soil is not very fertile: agricultural produce includes wine, fruit, wheat, olive oil, and tobacco. Cooler temperatures are in higher elevations and mainly do not receive wintry weather.

"A distinctive Neolithic culture amalgamating Anatolian and mainland Greek elements arose in the western Aegean before 4000 BCE, based on emmer wheat and wild-type barley, sheep and goats, pigs, and tuna that were apparently speared from small boats. Excavated sites include Saliagos and Kephala (on Keos) with signs of copper-working. Each of the small Cycladic islands could support no more than a few thousand people, though Late Cycladic boat models show that fifty oarsmen could be assembled from the scattered communities, and when the highly organized palace-culture of Crete arose, the islands faded into insignificance, with the exception of Delos, which retained its archaic reputation as a sanctuary through the period of Classical Greek civilization." (where is the "sanctuary" today?)

soft cell

from the hinterland to the foreland

A large alluvial fan debouches a Montana range. You have a system that graphs out the change form hinterland to lower-relief foreland. Low-relief has the fanning out effect. Relief from stress, work, being uncertain? Large relief in knowing what exactly to do….following a straight path. Small relief in being perplexed, looking for a set course of travel. High-relief (single road, chasms, cliffs, no means of escape………..insular) Low-relief (make diversions, conduits, flat fields, meandering mind……….open to suggestion)

Dichotomy? Low-relief: ways to question your own confusion.

very, very hungry

I sit waiting for pierogis to fry. I smell the onions in the butter and oil and my stomach punchs itself in the face. I have had nothing to eat all day and it is 8:12 PM. The reason for the absense of food is one crazy schedule. of course, I've put things off, deadlines approach and my procrastination haunts my empty stomach. but there is something to be said about being hungry; hunger reminds me of our early human ancestors. I understand why people fast. there is some spiritual gain from fasting, yet there is also a biological one involving a re-adjustment of the digestive system. mentally, it reaffirms life's bottom line. FOOD. My hunger makes me appreciate food more, and in effect, it reminds me of what I have in life; I love the things I call my own. Through this, however, I do not deny I am very privileged compared to millions of other people. Self-induced hunger is one thing that makes me feel alive.


i sit while the flooding is slowly subsiding. Binghamton is once again hit with rain and the converging rivers of the area are rising. the state of emergency is about to end, though i feel listening to it being reported scares one without any threat of danger. granted, conditions are dangerous on roads with loose soil and mud and fast moving water. but listening to a disembodied voice over the radio seems to make people scared and panic. people drive more reckless and only make matters worse.

the truth is one individual's reality. so there are many truths. a terrible truth for one might be a lax truth for someone else. it is the convolution of reality based on individual experience. a message does not contain just one meaning. a state of emergency can even hold various connotations.

Time to finally break my fast.