Psychic Tremors

Let’s NOT occupy Wall Street

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny) — Tue, 27 Sep 2011 16:16:00 +0000

This past week has seen a swell in the surge of protesters to downtown Manhattan, as part of a contingency to basically yell “Fuck you!” to Wall Street bankers and President Barack “Osama” Obama. Their goal is to have a similar impact as the protests that have taken place in the Middle East of late. Sadly, they are the same type of misguided fools as the Tea Party protesters, just on the opposite political side of the spectrum.

For starters, we are not a Middle Eastern country run by dictatorship, nor do any of these folks have anything NEAR the semblance of the pains those folks have been through. Therefore, they lack the emotional heart to actually make a difference. Those folks overseas are fighting for their lives, something nobody over here (less military personnel) has any idea about. Let’s face it: these are middle to under-middle class young adults basically searching for a cause, an identity, a meme, notoriety, and possibly a lawsuit – courtesy of the great city of New York.

The reasons I am so agitated by this event are many. For starters, let’s discuss how nobody participating has any regard for our city. Do any of them care about the long-term impact this “peaceful” protest will have on our already destroyed city budget? We’re closing down schools, laying off teachers, closing firehouses and hospitals. Do any of them care that the police who are there to protect them (although all you’ll hear from their side is schoolyard ‘Fuck the Police!’ rhetoric) are going to further bankrupt the city into the millions of dollars? Do they care about all of the downtown businesses that are already struggling, and losing money during this stay because folks don’t want to go near the crazy train that are the protesters? I doubt it.

This shows the narcissism of our current generation.

And let’s be honest. Most of us are extremely angry at the government and Wall Street over the economy and bailouts and things that are or aren’t happening. But you should have learned from every other protest that’s happened in this country that not since the days of the ‘colored’ water fountains have any of them meant a goddamned difference in any way. Okay, maybe Kent, but still. Did the WTO get the hint when they destroyed Seattle? Did George W. Bush give a flying fuck when they destroyed Portland?

No.

And now you’ve completely steered your “cause” away from Wall Street and made it all about police brutality. Yes, I’ve seen the footage. That’s not police brutality. You know who knows about police brutality? Poor minorities, none of which there seem to be. Poor minorities know better than to scream in a police officer’s face for hours. Police brutality is when a man gets shot 41 times for pulling out his keys; it’s when a man is sodomized with a baton; it’s when a man is beaten to within an inch of his life on the side of the road, not being thrown to the ground or maced or shoved. And these white kids are overreacting like a Jerry Springer crowd. Stop acting like you've never seen COPS.

Sure, there are some bad cops. But most of these guys are just there, begrudgingly because of duty, or perhaps because they need the overtime. I've seen how the situation plays out: They start out fine, but these protester idiots heckle them until the boiling point. You need to view this from their perspective. A man can only take “Fuck you” X amount of times before boiling over. And you know damn well these privileged kids are doing nothing short of poking at the bears. As far as I’m concerned, you get everything you deserve down there. You are exactly like the paparazzi; taunting folks with cameras in their faces - apparently that's all this generation understands anymore. As a matter of fact, I wish that I was NYPD right now so that I could stomp on some heads, myself.

I’ve said it before, but I do truly believe many folks down there are secretly looking to be roughed up by the police, for fame or money or something else I can't comprehend. But when I saw the girl taking swings at cops, that proved my theory. Who is stupid enough to take swings at the po-po and not expect to get beaten down? Is it right how she was taken down? You’re goddamned right it is right. They are the only folks willing to serve to protect our monkey asses in this world. Does corruption exist, HELL YEAH. But DO NOT throw fists and try to call it police brutality. I realize the hatred that exists in smaller towns around America, where the fuzz has nothing to do but clock speeding cars, but these motherfucking protesters are causing THAT many police to be possibly stopping REAL crimes like rape and murder, not to mention that subway theft has become way out of hand. NYPD are the greatest police squad in the world, as far as I’m concerned, and although there is much corruption within, this is also not the era of Serpico, so get off your box. You should thank them each and every time you see one for shaping this city into something you suburban twats can live in without fear. The next time you’re walking down the sidewalk in Red Hook, blabbing on your cell without a care in the world – realize that ten or more years ago you’d have been mugged, raped, or much worse. NYPD put that fear into the city, it’s why I’m much more terrified to go to other cities, where the cops are nowhere to be found.

Also, let's talk money and responsibility. Traditionally, it's my opinion that many of the liberal protesters of the world come from families with money, which causes them early resentment of it, and shapes them into middle-fingering the "amighty dollar". It doesn't include ALL liberal protesters, but usually the ones most fervently for a cause such as this is basically hate-fucking their parents. Basically, what I'm saying here is to come and talk with me when real life hits you, you have real responsibilities, and need money. Then we'll see what your opinions on spending your days protesting are. I guarantee most of these protesters today will go on to make money and realize that protesting is shit.

In summation, the protesters are just as frantically insane as the Tea Partiers or even the Westboro Baptist Church; what they are about is singular, and they refuse to consider anything outside of their scope. They go places with bad signs and yell.

This is, ironically, EXACTLY where the "powers that be" actually want them to be: easily manipulated.

And, really? Using a comic book hero (V for Vendetta) your theme, and donning masks? REALLY? You want to be taken seriously? Why not just show up as Papa fucking Smurf?

Pack up your bongs and go the fuck back to Ohio.

Don't 'Got' it

noreply@blogger.com (Psychic Tremors) — Tue, 16 Aug 2011 23:53:00 +0000

It's been awhile, and while I'd love to be all Kanye/Jeezy about how awesome I am, I don't got it, lately. No excuses, no explanations, just truth.

rapture

noreply@blogger.com (Psychic Tremors) — Sat, 21 May 2011 03:46:00 +0000

before it's too late. video taken throughout this week, via iPhone. song composed and recorded today, by john meadows, via Les Paul, RMC wah, hidden recipe and Cubase.

waiting #2

noreply@blogger.com (Psychic Tremors) — Sat, 07 May 2011 04:29:00 +0000

video recorded 05.06.11 in greenpoint and williamsburg on my iphone. this version is the extremely compressed version, original being > 1GB. if anyone has any adobe premiere tips regarding lowering sizes without quality, i'm all ears. please? seriously.

77

noreply@blogger.com (Psychic Tremors) — Sat, 26 Mar 2011 21:55:00 +0000

...

noreply@blogger.com (Psychic Tremors) — Wed, 23 Feb 2011 07:07:00 +0000

WELL...

noreply@blogger.com (Psychic Tremors) — Mon, 24 Jan 2011 07:12:00 +0000

what a brutal winter it's been...

just wanted to clue any onlookers to some mostly photographic tumblrs i've got going on...
one
two

and twitter

that's all, for now.

Youse tubes...

noreply@blogger.com (Psychic Tremors) — Sat, 22 Jan 2011 06:11:00 +0000

So, the youtube channel is set up...all the pertinent videos you've probably already seen, now on display for the smarmy, the jaded, and the inconsiderate...

the good news is at least "owls" (possibly others as well, i'm so lost...) were uploaded at a much greater rate, so the quality should be considerable.

go here

365

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny) — Sat, 15 Jan 2011 06:49:00 +0000

...and so it seems MMXI is the place to be, all of a sudden...

Miracle of the Frozen Sun

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny) — Tue, 21 Dec 2010 21:34:00 +0000

Jerry Sneede is the man. So is Julius T. Leisure.

End of year clearance, mixed media...

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny) — Fri, 17 Dec 2010 04:28:00 +0000

"self-portrait", pastels over photo print with glue finish, paper, 2010, john meadows

"Tyrus Shankaneck", pastels over photo print with glue finish, paper, 2010, john meadows

"Purpose", pastels, print clippings, glue finish, paper, 2010, john meadows

"Invention of Celebrity Assets", pastels over photo print, glue finish, paper, 2010, john meadows

My year in tweets...

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny) — Thu, 16 Dec 2010 21:15:00 +0000

I've decided to put up some personal favorites from this year, for those who don't use the service. Call me arrogant, just don't call me Shirley. Feel free to follow.

MMX nears an ending...

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny) — Wed, 15 Dec 2010 07:49:00 +0000

So...here we are...the end of MMX...WTF?!?!?!

I felt inclined to photograph the greater portion of my travels this year, just for a reference standpoint. Yesterday, I undertook the idea of doing a search through all of my hard drives of all photos >12/31/09, and wow. There ended up being over 10,000 images...While I'll grant the occasional JPEG added for random reasons, truth be told - my stupid iphone alone reads "IMG_9000+", so it's pretty true.

I began perusing through the search engine, until the point where I realized about 80% of the photos were to and from doctors appointments, at which point I became a little sad and quit.

So that's been most of my year, eh? Lots of appointments and lots of random neighborhood shots in between chores. Well, it makes sense, considering I would sum up this year with this song...

Add to that a whole lot of unnecessary outside, random chance sort of things that required my attention, and that's about it.

A dud.

I feel a bit guilty. At the start of this year, I was truly convinced that this would, in fact, be the greatest of any ever witnessed. That feeling had not transpired over a new year in very many, so I took a lot of stock in it. Boy was I incorrect. But what can one do but move on towards the next?

I was hoping to create some type of end-of-year super-finale, but who knows if I even can at this point? There are too many outside factors constantly derailing me. I will try though, that's for sure.

And as for the other 20% of the year that I relived through my photos - that was fucking awesome. I did, in fact have so many great times, long displaced amidst the realm of all that was shitty, so don't take this as a negative. I started the year in Rome, for fuck's sake! Witnessed multiple weddings of some of my best friends, DROVE A CAR for the first time in years (forget the failure that ensued)...saw a few great shows, including one of my all-time favorite bands, FAITH NO MORE!, got to see what the backyard looks like for the first time, was able to celebrate a 2nd annual anniversary trip to Montauk (one of my favorite places on Earth), a Yankee game, a Rangers game - the list goes on, and yet I whine...

Some call me 'lucky', and wish to trade places...to that, I ask you to re-click that link above, make it your reality, and reconsider. I know I'm lucky. Lucky to be alive....all else is happenstance and perseverance. I would still trade everything to exist amidst YOUR reality and fix it to something manageable and great, so fuck off, you quitter, whining bitches. You need a kick in your ass and have NOOOOO idea, seriously...

The same people who appear to resent me or are 'jealous' of my situation are mostly the same people who neither understand any of my artwork or are bothered by it, for all of its disorienting ways. PEOPLE, try to understand - what I create is a manifestation and...what's that fucking word...see, this is what I'm talking about!...(minutes later) CATHARSIS of what I AM, what I deal with on the daily. All of my stupid videos and whatnot are me attempting to communicate with others; to show a piece of my reality. DEAL. That weird, Steven Bochco-style film approach is all I know, nowadays. That is the very beginning of what it is like in my world.

Back to happy, we have a new year upon us - it is all we can do but be prepared, try our best, and move on into MMXI... I know I will. I love new years, it's always a chance to look at things as 'another shot', as opposed to 'another year lost', which is what most folks do. I, however, love the thought, so let's go!

Trapped

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny) — Fri, 03 Dec 2010 06:12:00 +0000

Post-Rant rant.

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny) — Thu, 02 Dec 2010 20:44:00 +0000

So now that I released all that pent-up rage I'd been holding, perhaps some insight into my loathing of Doug, as well as the medical industry.

First off, I did edit that last one. I was a little too boiling over, and when I get that angry I say and write things that get misconstrued later. Also, I can't afford any type of lawsuits.

A few months ago, my neurologist put together a set of tests for me, which required me to stay in the hospital for seven days, tethered to an EEG monitor. You can check out the tumblr I made while I was in there here.

My doctor was not the admitting doctor, however. I'm not quite sure how that works, but she's lower down the ranks of the highly-esteemed hospital, for reasons I'll delve into later. Since this was an epilepsy test, the admitting doctor was Doug, the "cock of the wok" of the epilepsy center. And a douche.

Doug treated me like a second-class citizen, always spoke condescendingly, and did not believe anything I said to him of any of my symptoms, as if because it did not compute in his world, it could not be. Everything my neurologist had set up, he completely wrote off, and many of the tests she ordered he canceled, only to get me out and free a bed earlier than expected. I've had about three years now to do research into my situation on my own, and I can tell you he straight up lied to me to get me to leave. I became very arrogantly pushy in the end, to the point where he realized he did not have that "doctor prowess" over me, to the point that after a time, he would no longer even speak with me, but rather leave me in the dark, completely. The last day and a half in there, all needed information came via nurses and technicians, and the night neurologists on rounds, don't even get me started on them; they want to be hanging out, and generally don't seem to know anything about neurology, like watching the interns on "Scrubs" or something. Kinda funny, coming from a top 10 hospital.

So, possibly thanks to Doug, nothing was learned in attempting to fix my situation. And he is on my "ultimate shitlist".

My ultimate shitlist consists of people who, if I ever spot on the street, ever, I will physically attack. Now I'm the farthest thing from a violent person, I don't get into fistfights (unless attacked) and these fine folks on this here list are the only ones I ever would.

How does one make the list? Who is on this list already?

Well, I won't say who, but the reason people make this list is because they or their actions caused me to feel like a piece of garbage, completely without any reason, other than their egos are THAT massive. Like how that angry chef treats people, but sans yelling. I guess that's my 'Dem's fightin' woids!' moment, because in every case I was not capable at the time to act on it, such as while in the hospital, tethered to a monitor, or while working a job I couldn't afford to quit. Those sorts of scenarios. And I don't even need to beat their asses - time heals wounds - I'll just be happy with my grandest hay-maker to their face, then I'll walk away.

Getting back to the medical community, the complete system of "top-ranked" hospitals and so forth is self-defeating, in a sense. On one hand, it allows greater research and development, because these will be the hospitals that receive the most donations and sponsorships. And, in a sense, it draws the "best" doctors to work there, as well. Let's take a moment to examine "best", shall we?

I've seen numerous doctors at this particular hospital, and I've noticed everything from the most awful doctors I've seen anywhere to the best doctors I've ever imagined. But you know what, I'd bet that anyone could use that same analogy of their own hospital, with the exception of Woodhull and St. John's (deceased), sorry. They're pretty shitty hospitals, absolute horror shows.

The way the "best" doctors are judged, however, is most likely not how you would judge them. They are judged by their "research" and "published works" and "rare studies" and so on. Not actually doctoring. So what type of individual would psychologically fit into this role of being the "best"? Someone who thinks their superiority is superior to all? Check. Someone who is competitive to get exactly what they want in this regard? Check. Someone who would place all of these requirements to be the "best" above all else? (I can't stress enough how big of a deal the New York Magazine list of best doctors is) check.

I've had several doctors who are usually on that list. Hell, I saw my surgeon on a Discovery Channel production about the brain, getting all Hollywood and shit. Has he ever made me feel as if he cared if I were fine or lived or died? No, not after his paperwork was in order. That's my point.

They are incapable of actually caring about your well-being, your quality of life. My neurologist, however, has been putting up with my bullshit and looking into everything all this time. She seems like a robot, but she really cares. She's getting there, as well, with the "requirements" to become highly esteemed, but she's still held down the ladder by the "best" ones. It's so political as well, it really feels like a giant corporation or Congress or something, with all the titles and how they just are, in general.

This is why I've been so angry over this. I feel so much better now. Not about my poor grammar, however! I am so rusty and never truly had wonderful grammar to begin with, being the son of two (at one time) English teachers. Sorry, but it probably won't ever improve.

Rant...

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny) — Thu, 02 Dec 2010 07:40:00 +0000

So, I'm in a ranting mood. This is just to get it over with. I'm sure any of my handful of readers know all and well of my condition, and I don't feel like re-examining it at this point, so if you have questions, just ask me, via emails or whatnot.

But the aforementioned remains atop my queue, simply because of some recent medical appointments that left me wishing hellfire on many people.

Recently, I underwent severe Neuropsych testing as a final, last ditch effort on learning anything that hospital-provided science hasn't been able to figure out about me, in terms of actually helping me. Basically, what this entailed was a one and a half hour interview with a super-trained neuro-psychologist (one from YALE, so it MUST be good!), followed by what I recollect to be a 5-6 hours of further testing, in all areas, from IQs, to all things memory, short-term and long, cognitive abilities, and finished off with the infamous 'personal inventory' test, which has been a standardized staple in *not* processing people's mental states, since around WWII.

I can't begin to explain how eager I was to take this test. This woman in charge, she raised my hopes with the following statement (paraphrased in my own sick way): "Those other doctors, they're only able to read you in a way akin to fixing a hard drive. I'm going to see what's wrong with the actual software and fix it."

About 90% of that phrase is exact, I don't recall her using the word 'akin'.

So I took the test, quite eagerly I might add. I recall the receptionists made a point to let me know they'd be in touch about a follow-up to learn the results, as opposed to the standard 'set-it-up-before-you-leave' that most doctors utilize.

After the two weeks necessary to process the exam passed, I gave up. I already knew what was up. The thing is, my (bless her heart) neurologist had already pointed out to me that this test was very few and far between to get covered by insurance, and since I'm pretty broke, I have a feeling she called in a *favor.

*for those of you outside the greater NYC region, a "favor" is something you wouldn't understand unless you lived here. It's the type of thing that can ruin your life, if played wrong; something that, if you have any - you only have a few, so you play them, accordingly. They usually involve important people doing things they would never. Such is the case of the man who saved my life - my wife called a "favor" to a very important person, whose sister happened to be a bigwig at another top 10 hospital, and she made a phone call to the top dog of neurosurgeons, at yet another top 10 hospital. He rolled out at like 4 am to crack me open, and the rest is history. That's just how shit rolls here.

The reason I know it was a favor is because of her assistant. The moment she received the news of what her job was to be, it became quite obvious, to the point that she overly attempted to remind me that it 'may not happen'.

Regardless, my poor neurologist is a saint, considering; poor thing was so obviously dealt me as one of the bottom chain when #1 couldn't begin to understand how I could have post-surgical problems. This was never more apparent than my prior giving in to her attempts to test me, when I stayed in the hospital for several days, strapped to the EEG; when I realized that the "big dogs" on staff were absolute buffoons, ones I could wipe my ass with; that she was the truly shining star amidst the group that will continue to hold her back until their retirement, such is the way of supreme top-hospital doctorship.

Know what? Fuck that. I'll call you out, I fucking hope you google alert yourself, you piece of shit. Douglas [UPDATE -my attorney told me I should go ahead and remove the last name, sorry], M.D., you are a fucking idiot piece of shit, and not only are you everything that is wrong with science, brain-damaged or not, I guarantee I get at least 20-30 IQ points on your sorry ass. You are an accomplished vomit. You didn't even begin to TRY to help me. I'm thinking of the top vulgar words to describe you, but don't care for the PC police to chime in - but you're the N word, the F word, and so on, and so on....(note: he's neither black or gay, those are just the ugliest words in our language, and being at a loss of worse things to come up with, you get the point, I hope...)

Moving on...

So I (obviously) never received the call for the follow up from the 'super-special' neuropsychologist. (insurance probably paid 40%, so...)

My poor neurologist has to attempt to give me the news of the result.

Let's move forward, shall we?

Last week, I was finally 'awarded' the opportunity to learn my 'last chance' results; here is the short version: We were not able to make any generalizations, based upon your testing. We're going to finally pass the buck on this and attribute everything you complain about to anxiety and depression, hereby releasing us from any liability, and placing the entirety of the workload upon your psychiatrist. We were not able to assume any correlations in anything, and believe you should be fine, so can't see why you're not. In a sense, it's all in your head. (D'OY, THAT'S ONLY THE PART YOU CUT OUT AND ALL!)

"When one is aroused, anxious, or upset - any wiring problems are exacerbated. Take a guy with Parkinson's, start yelling at him, his Parkinson's gets worse...Take a guy with MS...and, put him in a situation where he has to visit a mother-in-law he hates, and it'll get worse..."

(words of wisdom by my other doc)

So, you mean to tell me - DEPRESSION is the reason my right side drops out? ANXIETY is the reason I have these bouts where I feel as if I've been drugged with bad acid? DEPRESSION is why I struggle for words now? or is it ANXIETY? and my non-existent short-term memory? IT'S CUZ I'M SAD FROM BEING BRAIN-DAMAGED, Y'ALL!!!!

Fuck that, I ain't sad or anxious. Fucking mopetards are doing everything that is wrong with this world, that's all...

It takes a nation of ME to figure this shit out, as per usual, because I STILL rank in the top 1 percentile, I don't care what I've lost, I have to...

And Doug (that's right, I have no respect for any of your medical authority), if you're reading this - if I ever see you in the street, I'mma beat you senseless. WORD IS BORN, SON!!!!!

Happy Hanukkah to all.

OH YEAH, here's the jam I was doing. It's where I'm at right now...

345.5 by johnemeadows

Caprichos

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny) — Tue, 30 Nov 2010 05:27:00 +0000

Capricho 43, "El sueño de la razón produce monstruos (The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters)", c.1797, Francisco de Goya

ARE you like me? I doubt it, otherwise I'd be a lot more famous than I am right now. But if you were, your 'take' on "art" would be like mine: mostly indifferent on an intellectual level, but drawn to things that suck you in on an emotional level. Such are the "Caprichos" by Goya.

Now, Goya is a super fantastic artist - world-renowned, so to speak - but his 'Caprichos' go largely ignored. Why is that? They are the one variant in a lifelong body of work. They also happened to be created at the onset of his downfall; he was stricken with a disease - some say 'syphilis', others Meniere's; but that is another topic, as doctors (especially then) don't know shit, so who the hell knows what he suffered from? There are only guesses at this point. *yes, I take particular aim at medical doctors right at this very moment for being so cocky and arrogant that they do, in fact, believe that they are at par with 'God', unbeknownst to them that they are merely diagnosticians, one level higher than service auto mechanics. (and behind in keeping up, because cars are popping off, whereas humans remain the same - auto mechanics have to try twice as hard to keep up!)

What was I saying? Oh yes, so my REAL artist brother-in-law stopped over today because of a passage in an art book review that he was reading; he knows me very well, and thought the passage would speak to me. It did.

Returning to the 'Caprichos', so Goya did these plates upon succumbing to his 'disease', whatever it was. He put them out, then redacted them in fear of the 'Inquisition'.

I find these to be his greatest works, simply because I can identify with them on so many levels. If you haven't, just look through them here, it's worth it.

The passage from the book he brought, however, is what came to my attention. The book is "Mysteries of the Rectangle" by Siri Hustvedt. Although his conditions are different, there was much to be said about her take on (at least my) reaction to the entirety;

"...But the name of the sickness is less important than the nature of the artist's suffering. We know that he couldn't keep his balance, that he was plagued by sounds that weren't outside but inside his body, and that when it was all over, he had lost his hearing for good. Being sick, even for a short time, alters space. What was near - the bureau, the bathroom, the stairs - are suddenly remote, and reaching them requires efforts unthinkable in health. The derangements of vision, hearing, and balance that Goya suffered, however, caused far more serious disturbances to spatial orientation because they began in his head, and the head feels like the house of the self. Vertigo not only turns what was once solid ground into spinning, heaving space, it creates a body that has lost its familiar relation to air and earth, to up and down - the essential markers of perception."

Now, "Vertigo" is only one of the things I deal with (not quite, something similar, yet different), but I've never seen 'my plight' written in such a way as this, it truly moved me that an outsider could understand in any way.

word cloud...

noreply@blogger.com (Psychic Tremors) — Fri, 19 Nov 2010 06:20:00 +0000

from Sarah Palin's resignation speech...

Return of the son of Disapproval Matrix

noreply@blogger.com (Psychic Tremors) — Thu, 18 Nov 2010 04:52:00 +0000

you'll probably have to open to a new page (click, right click, whatever) or save to see this all, but whatever. i had fun. my commentary is in red and/or bad paintshop.

last night

noreply@blogger.com (Psychic Tremors) — Mon, 08 Nov 2010 20:45:00 +0000

a van was double-parked
on a two lane street
hazards were on
for safety
all the cars drove around
except for one
who decided to just sit there
and honk
and honk
and honk
eventually just holding the horn
this went on for about ten minutes

wow

hmmm...

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny) — Mon, 08 Nov 2010 06:33:00 +0000

this is the band that I went to see on Saturday night. They were amazing.

What this got me thinking was that perhaps I need to 'blog' here more for my own sake.

I'm not sure if that's good or bad at this point, but I feel as though when there was movement each day over here, things were better, so I'll at least attempt to bite. That's about all I have to say at the moment. I'm deeply ensconced within Rocky V at the moment.

For the record, they're called Song of Zarathustra, check them out. They are amazing.

Aside from them ruling, some notes from Saturday night:

Cake Shop, on the LES, (link withheld due to 'not cool enough to bother' standards) is way too hip for a guy like me. I went to the show alone, and the time I spent alone drinking upstairs was unbearably uncomfortable. I'm the type of guy that can usually find the groove in this situation, but I spent a great amount of time being the guy who everyone was looking at and making fun of and/or judging in their own way.

Luckily, once I proceeded downstairs, I was lucky - at least the majority of the show was of and/or related to Minnesota, something I can relate to, and so everyone downstairs was mostly a transplant from there. It was beautiful and amazing. Even the a-holes from the midwest are still genuinely caring and friendly, I can't explain it.

Anyways, that's it. Just sayin' hello. I love you, go fuck yourself, and all that. This isn't rocket science. It's reality.

...this year

noreply@blogger.com (Psychic Tremors) — Sat, 06 Nov 2010 04:59:00 +0000

williamsburg bridge, circa 1998

this year has come and almost passed
as though it never happened -
i know it has, i am right here;
but none of it seems real.
i've attached a 'taste' to every year;
less the ones that were torn from my brain -
but this one i'd call "interrupted".

sure, i've had my way of it -
but nothing i've felt proud of;
most of it, interrupted -
by others or myself.
you know how sometimes
one finds that groove,
only to hear the phone ring?
the knock on the door?
the text message?
the friend in need?
the family member, slowly dying?
your own mind frying?
lost at sea for what seems an eternity -
qualia deceiving you;
series of overstimulations
constantly keeping you rabid,
like a fucking frothing beast -
out of control,
without even realizing,
or understanding?
how to get back;
the constant pings
of techie rings -
the fervor to keep up,
as you continue dying.
days lost,
amidst the sea of nothingness.
have you ever spent an hour
answering a simple email?

sadly, i've done much more than many -
but that is simply not good enough.
have i progressed?
have i achieved?
do i at least feel accomplished?
no.

this year is but lukewarm water -
i survived, but was not refreshed;
and drowned quite a few times
along the ride.

i never stopped paddling, though;
and it has yet to end.

i give to thee my favorite photograph,
from my tied-for-favorite year,
hoping to gain something positive.

other realms...

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny) — Thu, 04 Nov 2010 05:02:00 +0000

#1 "we surf the internet", john meadows, 2010, pastel on paper, magazine print with sealant

#2 "look closer", john meadows, 2010, pastel on paper, magazine print with sealant

#3 "fame", john meadows, 2010, pastel on paper, magazine print with sealant

Bloodbirds

noreply@blogger.com (Psychic Tremors) — Wed, 20 Oct 2010 15:24:00 +0000

"Bloodbirds", John Meadows, 2010 (blood on paper)

...

noreply@blogger.com (Psychic Tremors) — Thu, 30 Sep 2010 03:43:00 +0000

A comedian died yesterday.

I'd recently heard of the hospitalization, thanks to another comedian, Craig Robinson. It bothered me deeply, but at the time I was pretty sure he was in good hands.

Why do I care? I've never met the man, simply enjoyed his work over the years, and always felt bad that he never received any recognition.

This brings me to a bigger point. I saw a bit of myself in him. Which is not to say I could begin to compare any talent of mine to any of his, but some things ring true. We are/were both people who are in that world of being ignored by 'club', while schooling them in many ways, often times influencing them.

What I witnessed throughout the day was a very somber, honest, severe reaction from every comedian I know of - a very 'Haiti-like' response, via the twitter and facebook. My personal favorite comedian, Patton Oswalt, seemed to put it best.

First (but less important to me) with his now seemingly infamous tweet:

But, more importantly - this one:

What I didn't witness, until several hours later? All the generic, trying to get in on the tragedy-porn tweets of the masses. There was a giant chunk of time that only my favorite comedians cared, in a world where everyone loves to get in on all things death and tragedy, in an attempt to increase their followers/hits/whatever.

This says many things. It says guilt - these comedians, always stuck trying to do their own hustle, all the while knowing of his talent and failure.

It also says respect. All comedians must believe they are the best, it's what makes them great. But what I felt today was something very different - it was about the closest thing I've felt to admitting defeat. Sure, when someone like George Carlin dies, they come out in droves to honor the legend. But it's not so often that a veteran whose time never came has gone out like this. And something, although I can't exactly make it out, was quite palpable to me throughout all of this.

I guess this perpetuates everything I already have come to understand about the art/music/showbiz world. The ones that are real are ignored by the masses, and robbed and simultaneously disregarded by the successful.

(Capricho 12 - "Out Hunting For Teeth", Francisco José de Goya, 1796-7)

He wasn't for the faint or PC, but he was a King of roasting. He was also an Ivy league schooled lawyer who walked away because he couldn't live with a lie.

To think that Mencia, Foxworthy, Cook, and Cable Guy are still alive is simply the stuff that kills faith.

RIP Greg.

Here's a compilation put together by the HuffPo: