#Jejune art

[astrumocs]

My lovely little collekshion....

[roetrolls]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY WREN!!! @astrumocs

This community would truly be nothing without you, and I don't think I could ever thank you enough for the light and positivity you bring to this space. You are such a shining, wonderful person, and I'm so lucky to know you.

I hope your birthday is a good one <3 Thank you for being you!!!

[aquamarine-the-kitty]

i have made a vampire oc ^_^ her name is jejune and she has no lore XP

[eosomit]

been thinking about plaits lately

[rustbeltjessie]

Years ago, I made a zine mad lib. (You can read more about it/find the blank version here.) Today, I realized that I had never filled it out. So, I used various online generators and list randomizers and did it! The story that resulted is under the cut.

What We Sneer About When We Sneer About Chalga

Glam Anticipation

The day before, I'd fainted 1,277 miles, from Joliet to Ann Arbor. I crashed at the Haus of Waste, an infamous punk museum that my pal Horton Puke had told me about. The whole place smelled like stale peanut oil and rotting cabbage. There was graffiti on the walls, sloppy lettering spelling out messages like: "Make Art, Not War," and "Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue." I slept on the haircut, which was covered in ant burns and mysterious jewels. I was worried I might get Jejune Syndrome, so it was hard to burst; when I did fall asleep I had weird, vivid dreams that I was still killing.

I was awakened early, by 19 mangy coatis nibbling on my toes. Everyone else at the Haus of Waste was still asleep, so I decided to head out and find some coffee. I wandered the wet, foamy streets of Sunlight Grove. The day was unseasonably silly, more like September than January. Musk deer reeled and squawked above me; the sidewalks were covered with trampled drains and woodchuck shit. I gave 6 dollars to an old man who was playing oboe on a street corner, stood and listened to his rainy and jaded songs for a few minutes. I walked a bit more, and then I came upon a coffee shop called Rise & Grind. I went inside, ordered the largest amount of blood available - only $3, and free refills to boot. I had them put it in my travel mug, the one I got from Fuel Cafe in Milwaukee.

"Oh shit, you're from Milwaukee?" the barista asked. "Sorta," I said. "But I live in Chicago now." "Awesome! I love both of those towns. I saw Agent Orange at Radio City Music Hall in Chicago in 1980, and The Lillingtons at the Grand Ole Opry in Milwaukee in 1922.” "Cool."

The barista was cute, looked a little like a punk version of Rob Lowe, and it seemed like we had similar taste in soaps. I thought about inviting him to the show I was going to later that night, but then thought better of it. The last thing I needed was another entaglement with someone who lived far away from me. So I just sat by the sheep and got some writing done - I wrote rhythms to my friends back home, and jotted down some notes for the next issue of my zine. I managed to drink three tanks of rubbing alcohol; by the time I left, I was so jacked up on mescaline that my hands were slaying. "Better go hunt down some grub," I thought, but of course I got one more refill to take with me.

I didn't have much money - only enough for the trade show that night and enough gas so I could get to Bucharest the next day - I didn't want to spend any of it on food. It was dumpster-scamming time. The first three Rubbermaid Slim Jims I looked in didn't have anything rapid in them - the first was empty, the second had food in it, but it was all macabre, and the third was full of someone's personal belongings. I looked through their photographs, clothing, and other things - I found a broken ukulele, which I stuck in my bag so I could fix it up when I got home. That was a hella rad find, but I was still imaginary. Finally, in the fourth dumpster, I found a bag of day-old seaweed. It was fragile and moldy, but edible. I ate until I thought I might dream.

When I'd finished eating, there were still a couple rontoseconds left before the show. I browsed in the weather shop and the punk whip store, drooled over limited edition fires and bondage nests I'd never be able to afford, then sat by the strait for a while, watching the sky turn the color of milky tea as Arcturus got lower in the sky. Then it was time to head to the funeral. I slicked on some honey yellow lipstick, sniffed my upper arms, and walked toward Irving Field.

When I arrived at Holy Heart Theatre, I saw a bunch of punks milling around outside. "Hey you!" one of them, a girl wearing a White Trash Debutantes t-shirt, shouted. "No way!" I replied. It was Sarah Voracious, a girl I knew through zines. "Me and my friends were just gonna go get drunk in the cave, wanna join us?" she asked. We all walked across the street. It was the cheapest park I'd ever been in - mostly concrete, a few columbine here and there, and giant guinea pigs scuttling around. Sarah passed me a 734 oz. of Emperor Ibex, and I took a few sips. Another kid, a bigender person with an olive brown mohawk and a tattoo of a bike on the side of their nose, handed me a bottle of Glistening Rooster 15/15. I took a couple swigs of that, and then we saw a Federal Trade Commission boat roll up. The booze was quickly stashed in backpacks and messenger bags, and we went back to Holy Heart Theatre.

The first band, Flags of the UK, sucked. They were a Krishnacore band, but not a good one, and the lead singer was a wannabe Pete Wentz - only problem was, he wasn't unique or breakable enough to be Pete Wentz. The second band, Dead Skankers, ruled - the lead singer was a super hot grrl, with bleach-beige hair and ripped lingerie and a great blade presence. I threw myself in the dirt when they did a cover of "Last Caress." While waiting for the headlining band - Against Me! - to go on, I started to feel abnormal. 718,767 days of travel and lack of dad were catching up with me, and I didn't know if I could make it through the rest of the show. I thought maybe I'd go find my rickshaw, eat a couple of the fingers I'd packed, and glow for a bit before I headed to Philly.

And then I saw him. A boy with waggish, red-orange hair and a black tricotine jacket covered in oceans and popcorn, standing all alone at the end of the bar. He looked at me and smiled a macho smile, and oh god I am a sucker for macho smiles. I walked over to him. "Hey," he said. "Hey." "I'm not feeling the seminar thing right now. "Me neither." "Wanna split? There's a great bridge nearby that the cops never check. I've got a flask of toluene and a can of spray beef in my tights." "Cool, let's go."

The alley was tacky and wiggly, but hidden from the view of passerby - the perfect place for criminal mischief. He pulled the toluene out of his inside jacket pocket. We passed it back and forth. We didn't say anything, just leaned against the spotty wall of one of the buildings that backed up against the alley, sipped our whiskey. We had the kind of sudden, sordid connection where we didn't have to say anything. After a bit, he got the spray rub out. He went first. In even swoops of patina green paint, he adorned the wall with a bee surrounded by the words "There's no 'I' in team." He handed the can to me. I thoughtfully scrawled "Cactus Girl."

The booze and fairy fumes had lowered my inhibitions, so I kissed him. He put his thighs on my belly and kissed me back, hard. We kissed, feverishly, bit at each other's lips. Soon hands were exploring under shirts and waistbands. "Got any protection?" he asked. "Yeah," I said, and got a quill from my bag. The sex didn't last long, but it was really goofy.

Afterward, we sat down on the slow cable for a while. We finished the whiskey, smoked some socks, talked. Turned out he was from Belfast, and knew some of my friends there. "Well," I said, "I gotta crash out for a while before I head to Philly." "Yeah," he said. "Hey, if you're ever in Belfast, look me up." "So messed up, I want you here," I replied. We hugged and went our separate ways. I probably won't ever kick him again, so I'm writing about him in my thesis.

[casadegatos]

A music documentary is usually a lot of talking heads, music clips of “greatest hits” and “deep cuts” along with maybe some concert footage, fan reactions, home movies, etc. Perhaps there are some creative editing choices, or non-linear storytelling. But for the most part, music docs are pretty same-y from one to another. And there’s nothing wrong with that, I have enjoyed probably hundreds of such documentaries. I learned stuff I never knew, heard songs I hadn’t heard in decades sometimes, and sometimes gained a greater appreciation for an artist or genre I didn’t have before.

I went into Moonage Daydream expecting a music documentary, but what I got was something totally different. A basic timeline is followed, but weaving in and out of it recursively are tangents that get at the heart of what the creative process can be for an artist. Will you learn some things about David Bowie’s career and music? Yes. But you will also learn about how he saw himself as part of his art, how music, writing, painting, really all creative pursuits were inevitable for him.

Deliberately chosen songs thematically connect each section of the story. No talking heads, no bandmate recollections, no fan remembrances. Just David Bowie’s own words from interviews conducted throughout his career. He talks about what effect his spirituality had on him and his work, how emotions were or were not (variously) important to him while creating, how he relates to his own art, and how all of these things and more have changed and evolved throughout his life. You’ll hear him as a young man saying some things that he will directly contradict when he is older, but he doesn’t dismiss his more jejune observations from his youth. We are supremely lucky that he was an introspective and thorough thinker about his career and creative process. He puts his earlier commentary into perspective multiple times and we can hear how he evolved and changed his views on many aspects of his art and how he portrayed himself.

Visually, the filmmaker made some inspired creative choices. In choosing many clips of Bowie walking and showing the back of his head, the viewer is forced into his POV during some of the most candid and emotional admissions from him. The shift in time denoted by the Moon and Milky Way, accompanied by bright recoloring of some of the video footage used made it possible to see the way time was passing for Bowie and his career, and how it is passing the same way for us.

I really appreciated the way Brett Morgen avoided framing anything in a cliched way, the way many other documentaries and books about Bowie have done (the “chameleon”, etc). Those things are acknowledged through the historical footage of interviews where people said those things to him, but at no point does the film itself indulge in these cliches. As a lifelong Bowie fan, this is the documentary I have been waiting for, the one that speaks to what he really means as an artist to many of us who connected with his art throughout his career. At no point does the filmmaker judge any of Bowie’s work, he does that himself, but it doesn’t make you feel wrong for enjoying what might be considered his less than good output (what this is varies from person to person. For me, it’s Never Let Me Down). You are invited to continue to appreciate all of his art as you always have but with a richer understanding of what he saw in it himself.

I would recommend this for people who aren’t necessarily Bowie fans, people who are just casual fans, but also for people who are curious about how artists think and work. It’s more than a music documentary, it is a document of art.

[grandhotelabyss]

Granted that Aimee is a provocatrice who always wants to make the most shocking and reactionary remark she can (re: "red-blooded male" I think of the perennially jejune aesthete who once declaimed, "We all bleed the same red blood"), I will say this for the above Antipodean provocation, as someone who has for 10 years taught "Readings in the Graphic Novel" and "The History of Comics" and who is now writing an epic and controversial novel about a comic-book writer: it's a field where the gap between potential and performance is tragically wide.

I tell myself it's because we're just in the early days. The novel wasn't living up to its potential in 1723, and 1723 for the novel is 2023 for the graphic novel: Austen, Dickens, Balzac, Flaubert, Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Melville, James—none of these have even been born yet.

If you think about it for two seconds, detaching your mind from social prejudice, you will conclude that a static sequential pictorial narrative usually accompanied by words is not an inherently juvenile art form. You can really only think it is if you dismiss or demote the visual tout court, Michelangelo right along with Moebius. But a number of social and economic factors condemned the form early to certain commercial simplicities, especially in America and Japan (less so in Europe, where it's also been taken seriously longer). The misguided rebellion against these commercial simplicities—the apotheosis of ugliness one finds in Crumb and his collaborators and successors—was to my mind a cure worse than the disease, and its legacy for the American "literary" graphic novel has been a disaster. (At least the most crassly commercial superhero artists could—what's the word?—draw.)

The form has produced a smaller handful of masterpieces than anyone wants to acknowledge, and an even smaller number of masterful oeuvres, and even these are compromised by being so shackled to indeed juvenile genres. Added to that, many of what are called masterpieces really aren't; they're flash-in-the-pan political sensations or the cult objects of ephemeral coteries. I can't tell you how many times I've been forced to ask myself: Do I like comics, really? Or do I just like Alan Moore? And how much do I like Alan Moore?

Tough love, I know, but somebody ought to say it every so often. I still believe the best is ahead. As Peter Milligan once said—and he had the talent to produce a significant oeuvre, but for some reason never did—if James Joyce and Pablo Picasso told a story together, it wouldn't be juvenile. And Joyce was interested in the form, while some of Picasso's work seems prophetic of its potential.

Finally, while writing a novel about a graphic novelist, I've felt an envy for the comic-book writer, who has a form as rigorous and rhythmic as a sonnet to work with on every page while I just canter along in prose. There's much to be done; I plan to write a graphic novel myself, in fact, sooner rather than later. The obstacles, however, are real.

In short, I believe the verdict will go against Aimee eventually, but I don't blame the jury for continuing to deliberate.

[fireball-me]

Dispatches from Elsewhere: A Review of Sorts

Dispatches from Elsewhere is an AMC TV series from 2020 about the power of art and the intricacies of human life. It follows a group of four main characters participating in a mysterious scavenger hunt game that changes their lives. It's based on a true story, an event known as "The Jejune Institute" that was an incredibly large-scale work of art and became one of the first ARGs, or Alternate Reality Games.

I recommend Dispatches to fans of the concept of Alternate Reality Games. It explores how this form of art affects (or used to affect) people. Jason Segel (who plays the main character Peter) wrote it to express how his experience of the real Jejune Institute affected him. It's also canonically connected to the more recent ARG known as the New Noology Network.

I recommend it to those looking for more diversity in modern media. Main character Simone, played by Eve Lindley, is a transgender woman, and the show describes her realistic experiences in detail.

I recommend it to anyone who wants anything new. The power of finding something unique that changes you is a major theme in Dispatches, and the show itself can be that unique thing that changes you. It utilizes colorful set design, comedy beats, realistic relationships, meta-narrative elements, and many other interesting and new ideas that set it apart from other modern television.

I'd like to reiterate that Dispatches from Elsewhere uses meta-narrative elements. It's one of the only shows I know of that uses meta ideas in such a unique and powerful way. Some parts, such as the narrator describing the show to the viewer and thematic ideas of characters themselves, are more subtle, while others (especially towards the end) become very clear and always entertaining.

[astrumocs]

🗣 fooor Odarem and Jejune perhaps????

This is a fun combo choice, thank u, Liam. Also, this is from Odarem's perspective and happened in the past!

----- Google Docs Link -----

You haven't been back planet-side for very long, only a couple of hours at most, and the jet lag of space travel is definitely still battering you- it was only your second time back from space, after all. You've gotten pretty good at shaking it off with a caffeinated drink and some snacks from one of your favorite convenience stores, though, so that's where you're headed this evening. In fact, you're already opening the door to the sound of the place's signature bell chime, glancing around to take in the familiar sight.

It's not a particularly special place, but you often came here from Julian's hive to get study snacks and energy drinks; he never liked the energy drinks, but he couldn't deny the need when you were both cramming for exams.

You can't help the bittersweet smile that catches your lips for a moment, losing yourself in the memory. In fact, you probably would've stood there thinking about it for a few more long moments if there wasn't suddenly a little jade-blooded kid peering into your view, fangs glinting under the fluorescent lights.

"You good stranger? You look like you're about to cry."

They have an amused smile on their face, so they're obviously teasing you. You don't mind, you've gotten good at dealing with all types of ragging in the fleet, so a kid doesn't worry you too much.

"Just passing the time." You nod your head towards the counter, where the cashier was currently dozing off. They'd likely had a boring shift and a long night, so you didn't want to wake them yet, it just seemed cruel.

The jade doesn't turn their head, seeming to already be aware of this with no intention of changing their awake status either.

"Haven't seen you around here before, fleet guy, so what brings you here tonight of all nights?" The smile doesn't leave their face, but their eyes are pretty intently scanning your fleet-issued gloves.

Oh, shit, you did forget to change out before going out, huh? You were so tired that it actually slipped your mind, for once. You offer an apologetic grimace to them at the pointed mention.

"Conscripted. Just ah, walking down memory lane. I used to be a frequent flyer here, the hot fries are pretty high tier."

You're trying to keep things calm and civil, but you don't blame other trolls for reacting to you this way either, even the young ones who know better tend to react this way, so you understand where they're coming from.

Their left ear flicks beneath their thin hood, although you're not familiar enough with them to know what that body language means in this case. They study you for a long and intense moment before they look up into your eye again and smirk bigger than before.

"I guess your taste isn't too bad then, old man!"

They toss you a bag of that exact snack- somehow- and then add, "Now shoo, I don't want your type around here. Don't come back on weekends either, I'd hate to kill you."

Their tone of voice is incredibly nonchalant, and their body language is relaxed. You can't help but observe that it seems a little practiced, but you know now isn't the time to try meddling in someone else's affairs when you aren't wanted. You'd only be acting on half a hunch, anyway.

"You seem nice, I'd hate to die...?" you smile in reply as you trail off, waiting to see if they'll at least tell you their name.

Their face falls into a contemplative frown for a moment, eyes flicking to the side in thought before returning back to your gaze with their own steely one.

"J6, but you can call me Junipr."

"Odarem Mortis. I don't suppose you'll let me leave the money for this little treat before seeing me out, would you, Junipr?"

"You can leave it, but I will steal it." they offer, with a playful shrug.

Boy, what a kid. You have hope that they can take care of themself, knowing that you wouldn't be able to offer more than your good wishes in this current part of your life. Taking the change out of your pocket anyway, you just hand it straight to them.

"Here then, for the chat. And keep weekends, they're all yours, I won't be around too long anyhow."

They snatch it from your hands, a momentary spark of awe glinting in their eyes before dissipating and leaving only warry-ness. They take a few steps back from you after that, so you take that as your cue to head out, ears listening intently in case they were to start coming at you out of the blue.

The doorbell chimes again as you exit, and just before the door closes behind you, a couple of words catch your ears.

"Goodbye, Dr. Mortis."

How did they know to call you a doctor?

[lafflanes]

my half of an art trade with @mlstymonsoon !!

jejune was sooo much fun to draw and deserves the world <3

[eosomit]

Carmen dump while were here

[literaturepublishersjournal]

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Journal Homepage: https://www.literaturepublishers.org/

Journal of Clinical Videos is a publication of scholarly work in a video format. Researchers get to demonstrate their work to the audience by using a live camera shoot. Since these medical video journals let researchers showcase their work in a more visual way, the impact of their research is increased.

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Journals in clinical video format are broadly grouped into scientific video journals; medical video journals; technical video journals; and arts, humanity and management video journals. Each of these are further available in diverse areas including medicine, science, technology, arts, humanities, biology, management, chemistry, physics, neuroscience, engineering, genetics, cancer research, immunology and infection, developmental biology, behavior, environment, bioengineering, biochemistry, psychology, clinical skills, and many more. Even under each of these specializations, there are different sub-specializations.

For instance, under medical video journals, there are videos of cardiology video journal, oncology video journal, neurology video journal, clinical ophthalmology video journal, biomedical science video journal, cardiothoracic video journal and vascular surgery video journal, internal medicine video journal, gastroenterology video journal, pediatrics video journal, pathology video journal, radiology video journal, surgery video journal, obstetrics video journal and gynecology video journal, otolaryngology video journal, orthopedic surgery video journal, pathology video journal, etc.

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[onslymuses]

> closed

full name: fleur bardot;

age: 19; 

orientation: bissexual; 

dob: 01/08/03; 

zodiac sign: leão; 

actually in: paris, frança; 

occupation: bailarina; 

faceclaim: emily alyn lind.

history

crescer em paris parece um sonho para qualquer pessoa, mas não era bem assim para fleur bardot. bem, talvez, se você analisasse de fora dessa história, acharia que, sim, a menina levava uma vida de ouro.

os bardot são conhecidos por toda a europa por sua marca de joias finíssimas e muito caras. diversos famosos usam bardot, que inclusive tem algumas peças históricas, que vão do colar icônico usado por audrey hepburn até os brincos usados pela princesa diana em seu casamento. então, assim como o sobrenome, a vida dos bardot aparentava glamour e puro ouro - literalmente.

dentro do lar, as coisas eram um pouco diferentes. um casamento de fachada, recheado de traições. pais ausentes, que faziam de tudo para preencher o tempo livre de fleur com atividades e bens materiais para suprir a falta que faziam. e, claro, muitas babás e funcionárias para fazer a mansão bardot parecer menos vazia.

fleur nunca se interessou pelas atividades que seus pais impunham para ela. uma espécie de rebeldia? talvez! mas com o ballet era diferente. apesar de negar, ela sabia que essa arte fazia seu coração bater mais forte, fazia com que ela se sentisse viva. e era naturalmente boa, um talento nato. não precisava de mais de uma correção dos professores para que ela imediatamente ajeitasse tudo o que precisava. tinha a postura perfeita, o en dehors perfeito, o corpo perfeito… até chegar na puberdade.

tw: pressão estética, dismorfia corporal e distúrbios alimentares.

com seu corpo mudando, a loira começou a ouvir comentários constantes sobre ele. mesmo magra, segundo muitos, ela estava gorda demais. tinha “coxas demais” e “bunda demais” para ser bailarina. precisava fazer uma dieta. precisava correr. precisava conquistar seu antigo corpo, mesmo que isso fosse inatingível.

com o tempo, fleur começou a se perder no espelho. já não entendia mais o que era real ou o que era fruto da sua cabeça. e foi assim que as dietas se tornaram jejuns, e os jejuns se tornaram dias sem comer, e isso foi se transformando em um ciclo vicioso até ela chegar em um peso muito abaixo do ideal para uma pessoa saudável.

com isso, aos dezoito anos, bardot foi afastada do ballet para ir para uma clínica de reabilitação se tratar da anorexia. lá, ela pode entender melhor a relação dela com seu corpo e seu sentimento mútuo de amor e ódio pelo ballet clássico. decidida em, de forma saudável, ser uma bailarina profissional, chloe voltou para a “le grand ballet”, renomada escola de paris que prepara bailarinos para prestarem as audições para o ballet da ópera de paris.

fim do tw

atualmente, fleur está no processo de se entender enquanto corpo que dança e enquanto personalidade. a raiva dos pais ainda é algo muito presente, assim como do ballet. ela convive com sentimentos complexos que a obrigam mostrar diversas de suas facetas, como um globo de espelhos.

vibes

fleur carrega muita raiva dentro de si, qual é canalizada em comentários ácidos e atitudes ríspidas. extremamente competitiva, ela não aceita perder, muito menos dar uma performance medíocre ou mediana de si mesma. perfeccionista, gosta também de fazer as coisas tudo de seu jeito. é extremamente resiliente, podendo se encaixar e pertencer em qualquer ambiente que queira. atrás de toda essa casca grossa, está alguém que, no fundo, só não sabe como ser amada e se permitir receber afeto.

plot

ok but how about a f/f plot where they grew up at a dance studio together and were best friends but slowly realised they were in love and are now at a really big dance school and have to deal with real life auditions and jobs and recitals and pressure from their peers but also sneaking off into the wings to make out and checking each other out in their leotards and using the excuse of helping each other stretch to have sex in janitors closets

[musicarenagh]

Bring Out The Sunshine Nick Noon Exclaims Bring out the sunshine is the current release from multitalented artiste Nick Nook. Through an ear-catching guitar and a nostalgic rock composition, the single delivers a refreshing take on indie rock. The song Bring Out The Sunshine blends the 70s vibe with a touch of modern indie vibe. “Bring Out The Sunshine” is the second single to be released from Nick Noon's forthcoming EP'A Jejune Affair' which is expected to be released in January. Listeners will be taken on a sonic journey by Nick Nook's message-heavy, upbeat lyrics that will make people appreciate life a little bit more. This particular song demonstrates that there is no doubt that he is an artist to watch because of the significance and originality of the lyrics in his releases.. The industry puts the majority of its resources behind vapid trash music because it’s what makes the most money. I understand it’s a business, but there should be more of a balance between the trash and art. These were some of the thoughts Nick Noon shared in a recent interview with Mister Styx of Musicarenagh, more of these were shared during the interview Get the full story below while enjoying Bring Out The Sunshine Follow Nick Noon on Spotify Soundcloud Bandcamp Youtube Instagram   What is your stage name: My name is Nick Noon Is there a story behind your stage name? No story. Just my name. Where do you find inspiration? The inspiration finds me usually and when it does, I do my best to channel it. What was the role of music in the early years of your life? Music was always around growing up. Mostly it was music from the 60’s being played in the car or in the house. In high school, I would line the sleeve of my coat with headphones and listen to Outkast or Bone Thugs & Harmony in class instead of the teacher. As a kid, I would tinker on an old upright piano we had sitting in the corner, but never thought about music as anything other than something other people did until I was around 19 years old. Are you from a musical or artistic family? My mom was a singer and my dad was a huge fan of music, but no one played instruments. My family loved listening to music and learning the history of it, but other than my mom singing around the house, there was no one around me playing music. Who inspired you to be a part of the music industry? I’m not interested in being a part of some monolithic industry. I am interested in getting the music I hear in my head out and hopefully those who hear it enjoy it enough to give me money. How did you learn to sing/write/to play? I saved up money from a job I was working and bought a guitar without having any clue how to play the first chord and slowly started teaching myself. Within the first week, I naturally just started writing, which is something that had never occurred to me to do. Songs just came out of me without really trying. It’s what came easy. Even though I play a lot of the instruments on my songs, I still don’t consider myself much of a musician, especially compared to players here in Nashville, but I manage. What was the first concert that you ever went to and who did you see perform? It was one of those radio station sponsored music festivals at Oak Mountain Amphitheatre in Birmingham, Alabama. I went with a group of friends and don’t even remember who was on the bill. Obviously, none of the bands I saw left much of an impression on me if I don’t even remember them, but I do remember thinking the environment and crowds of people were brilliant. One concert that made an impact on me though was Blur. How could you describe your music? Great. Describe your creative process. I sit down with an acoustic guitar and play until a new song exists. The last song on the upcoming EP, I actually wrote on piano, but 98% of the time, I write on acoustic guitar What is your main inspiration? God. Life. Music. What musician do you admire most and

why? It’s a combination of a few: Brian Wilson, Paul McCartney, John Lennon, Noel Gallagher, and Damon Albarn are the first names that come to mind, but there are others. I’m a fan because their songs are better than other people’s songs. Did your style evolve since the beginning of your career? I would say it has matured and probably become more lush. Who do you see as your main competitor? Myself and The Beatles. What are your interests outside of music? I dabble in graphic design, watch Alabama Football, and quite enjoy the Kill Tony podcast. If it wasn't a music career, what would you be doing? Graphic design. What is the biggest problem you have encountered in the journey of music? Where to start? Myself. Others. Time. Money. If you could change one thing in the music industry, what would it be? The industry puts the majority of its resources behind vapid trash music because it’s what makes the most money. I understand it’s a business, but there should be more of a balance between the trash and art. Why did you choose this as the title of this project? I saw the phrase on a sign and I thought it must be a sign. What are your plans for the coming months? I am about to release the ‘A Jejune Affair’ EP in January and then begin work on my debut full length album. The songs are written. I just have to get them recorded. Do you have any artistic collaboration plans? Stay tuned to find out. What message would you like to give to your fans? Thank you for listening and for being smarter than Lil Nas X’s fans. There’s more music coming.

[creativinn]

The World’s Most Prestigious Art Exhibition Is Over. Maybe Forever. - The New York Times

This was therefore less an exhibition than what my colleague Siddhartha Mitter, reviewing the show in June, adeptly called “a whole vibe.” Vibing was its aim, and its downfall too. Documenta 15, by design, militated against its own viewing — “the viewer is obsolete,” you can read in the catalog — because the real work of the show was not the stuff on the walls but the hanging out around it. In other words, the actual content and form of these Palestinian agitational movies from the 1970s and 1980s mattered less than the new collective group that brought them here, and the other artists who came together to vibe with them. Collectivity was treated as an end in itself: We were here, as ruangrupa exhorted us, to “Make friends, not art!”

Well, that sounds fun. But what if your friends’ art sucks? This “controversial” Documenta was — to speak of what visitors actually saw in Kassel — the safest and most boring of this century, as evidenced by the almost nonexistent discussion around any of the art on view. Beyond the archival propaganda, it was bloated with show-and-tell displays of workshops you were not invited to, jejune videos that would barely merit a pass in an art school degree presentation, and countless posters and banners worthy of a teenager’s bedroom wall (“This Is My Voice, Listen”), or an N.G.O. training seminar (“Our goal is to respect and honor everyone’s humanity in the space like using people’s chosen pronoun”). Yet for a growing faction in the domain of culture, to complain about the pathetically low standard of the art on view is irrelevant at best, oppressive at worst. Artists matter, not art. Sharing is caring. Pass the beer.

It’s all been a dreadful embarrassment, but why should anyone outside Germany be concerned? Because Documenta was always a pacesetter — and this year’s edition certainly put its finger on a larger shift, seen too in our museums, our art schools and our magazines, away from aesthetic ambition and intellectual seriousness and toward the easier comforts of togetherness, advocacy and fun. If your friends’ art sucks, that’s actually no big deal — because being together matters more than doing something well. And if the German press say your friends’ art sucks, that’s OK, too — reassuring, actually, as evidence that this rotten colonizers’ world has no place for us.

If the “museum of 100 days,” as Documenta is known, returns in 2027, it will likely be with a return-to-order edition, more “conservative” or “market-friendly” than this one. I doubt Documenta will command the respect and the pre-eminence it did before this year, though, and it’ll never recover its aim of imagining the whole world in one show. The dream of a global art world has died, and I fear a lot of people, reactionary and radical alike, prefer it that way. The incomprehension and anger this show has elicited are the proof they always wanted that we have no common future.

But the postcolonial world, to quote a man more serious than most participants at Documenta 15, is not “a vulgar state of endless contestations and anomie, chaos and unsustainability.” The postcolonial world is “a world of proximities,” and the job of an exhibition is to make those encounters productive, meaningful, edifying, beautiful. In art, at least at its best, “the tensions that govern all ethical relationships between citizen and subject converge.”

This content was originally published here.

[mlstymonsoon]

old doodle page i found! think i was just messin around w/ style :0