Wednesday
Thursday
i have recently learned about soundboards, audio clips found online that can be used to prank call. i did not know such things existed until my roommate received a call from my other roommate, who was prank calling us with a soundboard made up of Peewee Herman sound clips. my roommate played along, being familiar with the particular Peewee lines and comfortable improvising a conversation with the soundboard. although a machine was producing the sounds, a human was choosing and initiating the audio clips. i am interested in this relationship. It is not fully organic conversation, because the audio clips are pre-recorded. there is still an interchange, because the side that controls the machine must decide what clip is played next. it is easy to highlight the clips’ robotic qualities. playing the same clip repeatedly emphasizes the word delivery and inflection that remain unchanging. to achieve a conversation that appears to have two human speakers, the delivery must remain seamless and the machine’s response must work with what the human speaker says. of course, the conversation is funnier when the responses are unrelated, but it is harder to ensure a flowing conversation.
in October, we had decided to create a zine about public space, documenting specific actions we had done in the city, such as graffiti, guerilla theatre, and culture jamming. we also wanted to incorporate details about how to do these things yourself. from the beginning, we were seeking to empower ourselves, as well as those who would read the zine. the strike began shortly after that. we did not meet in the three-month period, as other things became more important. the project had inspired something in me, because i have always been interested in issues of public space, and have previously participated in guerilla theatre and culture jamming. i had never done graffiti in my life, although i have been increasingly interested in it as an art form and cultural commentary. the thought of drawing in public and performing illegal activity terrified me. i decided to try it out and photograph my work to include it in the zine. my first attempts were shoddy and i was not pleased with most of the work i created. as i got more comfortable, i started to develop a style. i also had to adapt to the colder weather. spray paint cans do not fare well in the cold, and it is necessary to work fast in these conditions. i opted for a black permanent marker and started to draw on more unusual surfaces. now, i draw everyday. i use it to connect to the places and people around me.
...
the writing process was both individual and collective. we wrote pieces reflecting our own ideas and thoughts of empowerment. we also had a writing session where we wrote in a stream of consciousness style, passing our writing around after five minutes so that someone else could continue writing where the other had left off. we did this for a few hours, with very positive results. everyone wrote with passion and fervour. we merged these writings in one long dialogue, split up amongst ourselves to give the impression of many voices talking in one person’s head. to ensure that the audience would feel this way, we decided to have everyone walking in a tight space, like sheep being herded around with no direction. we would walk amongst them so that they could not be certain where the voices were coming from.
...
the writing process was both individual and collective. we wrote pieces reflecting our own ideas and thoughts of empowerment. we also had a writing session where we wrote in a stream of consciousness style, passing our writing around after five minutes so that someone else could continue writing where the other had left off. we did this for a few hours, with very positive results. everyone wrote with passion and fervour. we merged these writings in one long dialogue, split up amongst ourselves to give the impression of many voices talking in one person’s head. to ensure that the audience would feel this way, we decided to have everyone walking in a tight space, like sheep being herded around with no direction. we would walk amongst them so that they could not be certain where the voices were coming from.
Monday
You're my girl.
i am a child, you are glue (perpetually always)
what's stuck to me, it's you it's you (perpetually always)
even though you're gone, i'm still holding on (feeling had ain't so bad) (ask Ronnie for his part in the song)
un(wanted) by prairie oysters,
unwanted by prairie oyster
even though you're gone, i'm still holding on
even though you're gone i'm still holding on
even though you're gone, i'm still holding on
even though you're gone, i'm still holding on
you're my girl
you're my girl
you're my girl (girl girl girl girl girl girl girl)
you're my girl
you're my girl
you're my girl
you're my girl (girl girl girl girl girl girl girl)
you're my girl
(unwanted by prairie oysters)
unwanted by prairie oysters
by prairie oysters
by prairie oysters
by prairie oysters
(by prairie oysters)
-Boxes & Bags
------
when i draw on walls, i do it for a few people. i do it for myself to have fun and practice drawing, i do it for others to shock and entertain, and i do it for myself again, to see familiar figures whenever i pass them. the best are the ones that i don't expect. in an instant, i can recall the weather, my mood, the people i saw, the things i did. without that visual, i might not have been able to recall that day. i am made aware of myself and the world. those events frame the drawing, thus containing secret codes to unlock my senses. i carry pens in my pocket at all times and draw whenever i feel like it. although i usually carry around a few notebooks, i'll use anything as a surface; torn posters, garbage, and bigbox ads.
the paper and glue remains of torn posters can be found everywhere; on lampposts, on postboxes, and on construction's site's plywood barricades. anyone can put up a poster, and yet its life on the city streets is limited. the advertisements for pizza shops, art classes, shows at Rancho get taken down eventually. some are taped, some are stapled. often, the posters are glued on. it is harder for to remove those posters (i don't know any of them, but i know there are people who tear posters for a living), and a white residue is usually left behind. this is the back of the poster which has adhered most well with the glue and must be taken off with some scrubbing (i assume). most people are not up to destroying all evidence of there being a poster. rather, they seek to eliminate the contents of the poster itself. now informationless, the paper is bare. i use those blank spaces, paying particular attention to the outlines created by the rips. from the shapes, i make out mouths, legs, eyes, arms. these drawings do not take me a long time to make, twenty seconds at the most. i improvise characters out of lines my pen can create. Most of my creatures are slightly lobsidded, making them haunting and strangely delightful.
i pass garbage on the streets whenever i am out. many businesses recycle stacks of cardboard boxes every week. people who live on my street throw out furniture, wood, and appliances. All these things are great drawing surfaces. They allow me to practice without becoming attached to the finished products. i don't see these drawings ever again. i leave them for my neighbours on their old washing machines. i never see their reaction, safe for the few people who have commented on my work while i'm making it. i am curious to see those who encounter my drwaings, especially garbage disposal workers, who see other people's trash all day and are not expecting a creature or a bubble with a few words scribbled in. i hope the drawings confuse and amuse.
i see thousands of capitalism's poster children everyday. i see then on public transit, on buildings, on garbage cans, on bus shelters, and alongside the torn posters i have been drawing on. these posters tell us what to do, what's best to buy, where to find a doctor who will treat your erectile dysfunction, where to go to lose the most weight. these particular ads contain pictures of people who are the world's most beautiful, most successful, most(ly) happy. i don't mark posters that have been made to make people aware. my targets are the ones that are trying to sell a product. i add lines on the faces of models to give them a wrinkled appearance. now these young, seemingly perfect people are old and haggard. i prefer those who are wrinkled, whose skin has lived long enough to become spotted, veined, and leathery. i prefer them to paper dolls. i prefer them to fake smiles.
i'm a freeart freelancer. i make art free of charge. i reconfigure the places that i travel daily. i remember being scolded by my mother for drawing on the walls of a closet i had crammed myself into. even now, i draw on walls. i fill the otherwise empty spaces. i don't expect much in return from the people who see it, no rewards, no recognition. i am confident that people see and are affected by my drawings, because i myself have been affected by graffiti i have encountered.
i really enjoy discovering other people's graffiti. i share a connection with all graffiti artists. i see so many pictures and messages that people have left around town, they have become familiar landmarks. some graffiti is cheerful, while other graffiti might be cynical, joking, or deeply moving; traits found in all of us. we lead similar lives. we touch feet with pavement. we document our lives, life of the city. we put on free shows in the world's biggest gallery. we combat the seemingly dull days.
i oppose graffiti that is destructive upon the environment or the reader. the graffiti might be covering up another graffiti. i am not sure whether or not such action is considered rude among graffiti artists. graffiti messages might also be offensive or hateful. i don't support messages whose goal is to hit you with a stick. it hurts any listener.
------
i will make you a mixtape.
what's stuck to me, it's you it's you (perpetually always)
even though you're gone, i'm still holding on (feeling had ain't so bad) (ask Ronnie for his part in the song)
un(wanted) by prairie oysters,
unwanted by prairie oyster
even though you're gone, i'm still holding on
even though you're gone i'm still holding on
even though you're gone, i'm still holding on
even though you're gone, i'm still holding on
you're my girl
you're my girl
you're my girl (girl girl girl girl girl girl girl)
you're my girl
you're my girl
you're my girl
you're my girl (girl girl girl girl girl girl girl)
you're my girl
(unwanted by prairie oysters)
unwanted by prairie oysters
by prairie oysters
by prairie oysters
by prairie oysters
(by prairie oysters)
-Boxes & Bags
------
when i draw on walls, i do it for a few people. i do it for myself to have fun and practice drawing, i do it for others to shock and entertain, and i do it for myself again, to see familiar figures whenever i pass them. the best are the ones that i don't expect. in an instant, i can recall the weather, my mood, the people i saw, the things i did. without that visual, i might not have been able to recall that day. i am made aware of myself and the world. those events frame the drawing, thus containing secret codes to unlock my senses. i carry pens in my pocket at all times and draw whenever i feel like it. although i usually carry around a few notebooks, i'll use anything as a surface; torn posters, garbage, and bigbox ads.
the paper and glue remains of torn posters can be found everywhere; on lampposts, on postboxes, and on construction's site's plywood barricades. anyone can put up a poster, and yet its life on the city streets is limited. the advertisements for pizza shops, art classes, shows at Rancho get taken down eventually. some are taped, some are stapled. often, the posters are glued on. it is harder for to remove those posters (i don't know any of them, but i know there are people who tear posters for a living), and a white residue is usually left behind. this is the back of the poster which has adhered most well with the glue and must be taken off with some scrubbing (i assume). most people are not up to destroying all evidence of there being a poster. rather, they seek to eliminate the contents of the poster itself. now informationless, the paper is bare. i use those blank spaces, paying particular attention to the outlines created by the rips. from the shapes, i make out mouths, legs, eyes, arms. these drawings do not take me a long time to make, twenty seconds at the most. i improvise characters out of lines my pen can create. Most of my creatures are slightly lobsidded, making them haunting and strangely delightful.
i pass garbage on the streets whenever i am out. many businesses recycle stacks of cardboard boxes every week. people who live on my street throw out furniture, wood, and appliances. All these things are great drawing surfaces. They allow me to practice without becoming attached to the finished products. i don't see these drawings ever again. i leave them for my neighbours on their old washing machines. i never see their reaction, safe for the few people who have commented on my work while i'm making it. i am curious to see those who encounter my drwaings, especially garbage disposal workers, who see other people's trash all day and are not expecting a creature or a bubble with a few words scribbled in. i hope the drawings confuse and amuse.
i see thousands of capitalism's poster children everyday. i see then on public transit, on buildings, on garbage cans, on bus shelters, and alongside the torn posters i have been drawing on. these posters tell us what to do, what's best to buy, where to find a doctor who will treat your erectile dysfunction, where to go to lose the most weight. these particular ads contain pictures of people who are the world's most beautiful, most successful, most(ly) happy. i don't mark posters that have been made to make people aware. my targets are the ones that are trying to sell a product. i add lines on the faces of models to give them a wrinkled appearance. now these young, seemingly perfect people are old and haggard. i prefer those who are wrinkled, whose skin has lived long enough to become spotted, veined, and leathery. i prefer them to paper dolls. i prefer them to fake smiles.
i'm a freeart freelancer. i make art free of charge. i reconfigure the places that i travel daily. i remember being scolded by my mother for drawing on the walls of a closet i had crammed myself into. even now, i draw on walls. i fill the otherwise empty spaces. i don't expect much in return from the people who see it, no rewards, no recognition. i am confident that people see and are affected by my drawings, because i myself have been affected by graffiti i have encountered.
i really enjoy discovering other people's graffiti. i share a connection with all graffiti artists. i see so many pictures and messages that people have left around town, they have become familiar landmarks. some graffiti is cheerful, while other graffiti might be cynical, joking, or deeply moving; traits found in all of us. we lead similar lives. we touch feet with pavement. we document our lives, life of the city. we put on free shows in the world's biggest gallery. we combat the seemingly dull days.
i oppose graffiti that is destructive upon the environment or the reader. the graffiti might be covering up another graffiti. i am not sure whether or not such action is considered rude among graffiti artists. graffiti messages might also be offensive or hateful. i don't support messages whose goal is to hit you with a stick. it hurts any listener.
------
i will make you a mixtape.
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