#deejay theory

[deejaybear]

OMFG the trailer!

There was so much I could yap about right now, but what i really need to talk abt is this

Now correct me if im wrong here; but I swear that looks like goddamn VIP lounge.

AND HES IN A SUIT! Yes, it could be because he’s 1 of the final 3 or something like in s1, but that is NOT the game dormitories.

AND

THIS FROM LBH’S INSTA.

ITS THE PRACTICALLY THE EXACT SAME BUT HE HAS A VIP IN FRONT OF HIM.

Could this possibly be In-ho after he won his games in 2015? In-ho who - just like Gi-hun did - spent years searching for a way to shut down the games that took everything from him? In-ho who instead of managing to stop the games, was offered a job and began to work for them?!

AND if that’s the case could this be Gi-huns recruitment?!

[snorpdawg]

Hey Guys,

What if the way I finally post my self-insert shipping art here is by posting a shitpost. Would you guys still like me then

[tuftastuff]

ANOTHER SET OF RANDOM DRONERS HEADCANONS BC WHY NOT

This is also a little bit of a theory but let's go. So, Mouse's dad is a chief of Clan Ruto. He's a shorescrubber and is from Paroa. I mean, his clan is there, he lives there, so it makes sense. However, Mouse is in team Tikkis, and they want to save their Island, Nui. Mouse's island. So here's my hc/theory. Big Moe fell in love with a woman on Nui and they had Mouse. But becouse Big Moe holds a high position, and has lots of responsibilities becouse of that, he had to go back to Paroa. And Mouse stayed with her mother, visiting him from time to time. That's how she met Corto and Enki and that's why she cares about Nui. There is probably better explanation in the comics but I have no way of acquiring them so.

Shino used to have panic attacks. We know that the Academy was abusive. And, well, this took a tool on Manta and Shino, especially Shino, who just couldn't take it anymore. And Manta helper him through it. They were supporting each other in a place, where making friends was near impossible. That's also why Shino is really patient with Mantas anger outbursts. The Academy scarred them both in different ways but they have each other.

Adam is Hannah's biggest supporter when it comes to her sexuality, however he is judging. "I get that you like girls, but Corto? Seriously? For all this time spent in the closed you really have a terrible taste". At the end of the day tho he wants her to be happy and if it means getting acquainted with the Tikkis so be it.

Speaking of which, after a long time he will learn not to get annoyed by Corto, and be civil with her. He also starts liking Enki, as a friend. Enki already likes Adam and Adam will come to appreciate Enki and his knowledge, even tho the boy is really eccentric. But the most surprising one will be Mouse. They just don't vibe with each other, for the longest time. Mouse finds him suspicious and Adam finds her annoying. However, they bond when it comes to technology. Maybe Mouse helps him, maybe Adam her a few times. And thus the friendship is born. They are both judging besties. And both annoyed at Corto and Hannah for being so oblivious.

So this world has social media. I like to think that they have an app that is our version of tiktok. And Deejay, Debbie and Shiny are doing their version of tiktok dances all around the island. It's funny at first but quickly gets on the nevers of the rest of the contestants. Especially when they want to train and can't, since this trio is dancing on the race track and NO NO NO JUST A MINUTE I DON'T LOOK GOOD WE NEED ANOTHER TAKE

[musicalhell]

Paul McCartney’s what?

Oh, I'm so glad you asked. Buckle up, my children...

So in the late 1960s, a conspiracy theory began to circulate that Paul McCartney had died in an auto accident and the remaining Beatles (possibly with the help of MI5) hired a double to replace him. As with all conspiracy theories, the "proof" existed in secret clues that only the initiated could decipher: coded lyrics, backmasked tracks, and images in album covers (for example, the band crossing the street on Abbey Road supposedly symbolizes a funeral procession, with Paul as the deceased). Many of these were invented out of whole cloth for a satirical article written by a University of Michigan student, but if there's one thing The Onion has taught us its that a lot of people don't know satire when it's staring them in the face.

The Beatles, of course, adamantly and repeatedly refuted the rumors, but since conspiracy theories as a rule involve distrust of official sources it did no good. Radio deejays discussed the "evidence," songs were written referencing the phenomenon, sales of albums skyrocketed. A 1969 interview of McCartney by Life magazine and his subsequent solo career took the air out of the theory, and of course John Lennon's very real and public murder in 1980 made the whole thing a lot less fun (though references still pop up occasionally; McCartney himself alludes to the phenomenon in the Simpsons episode "Lisa the Vegetarian").

But why did anyone believe it in the first place? Several factors were at play here:

The Beatles had recently taken a year-long hiatus from music and had retired entirely from live performances;

McCartney, in addition to increasingly strained relations with his bandmates, had largely withdrawn from public life to spend time with girlfriend (and eventual wife) Linda Eastman and her daughter;

Widespread distrust of established social and cultural institutions; the Vietnam War, Civil Rights protests, etc. pretty much primed people for conspiratorial thinking;

The Beatles were writing some really weird shit at this time. This was the era of "I am the Walrus," "Revolution 9," and "Glass Onion." The lyrics range from deliberate allusions to the sociopolitical climate to nods to other Beatles' songs to absolute gibberish, and trying to figure it all out has led people down some weird alleyways;

The Beatles' target demographic was really, REALLY into psychedelic substances.

I don't do conspiracy theories in general but the British Royal Family is so colossally out there and has been for so long that I'd buy almost any explanation for the "Where is Kate?" thing. Started chemo and doesn't want to be photographed bald? Sure, it's possible. Locked up in the Tower of London? It's happened before. Died on the operating table and everyone's stalling until they can get her replacement from the same firm that did Paul McCartney's doppleganger back in the sixties? Yeah why not, sounds like something they'd do.

[ryanhamiltonwalsh]

NICK LOWE ON THE ORIGIN OF "SO IT GOES"

If Nick Lowe has ever spilled these details on the origin of "So it Goes" before, I somehow missed it. In a new interview with Guitar Player Magazine, Lowe traces both the lyrical and musical inspiration to Thin Lizzy.

“I had a brief job tour-managing for Graham Parker & the Rumour. I produced their first album, Howlin' Wind — in fact, that was the first album I produced — and their manager Dave Robinson had also managed Brinsley Schwarz for awhile, and Brinsley himself was in Graham's group. They were going on tour with Thin Lizzy, who were enjoying some sort of surge of success at the time, and Robinson asked me if I would tour-manage them. “I remember Thin Lizzy's ‘The Boys are Back in Town’ playing all the time on that tour. It had this little descending thing that just got under my skin and I started singing ‘and so it goes, so it goes, so it goes’ while I was walking around doing my tour manager duties. The song isn't really about much. It's a bunch of interesting words strung together. “I was talking about ‘the kid’ who cut off his right arm, and a 50,000-watt stack. The ‘kid’ was [Thin Lizzy guitarist] Brian Robertson — that was his nickname. He was quite a rock star. He was a good lad, actually, but he'd occasionally throw rock-starry tantrums. I wouldn't have liked to be at the receiving end of one of them, but he was always great fun to watch, and as a spectator sport it was quite interesting.”

Incredible. One reason I love this so much is that I always listened to "So It Goes," did the math, and thought, "Nick Lowe wasn't playing these kind of huge tours when he wrote this song. What is he basing this verse off of?" The answer is tour managing the opener on a huge tour, of course! Based on this new information, I pieced together a few additional details here out of general curiosity.

Thin Lizzy's Jailbreak LP had been released in late February 1976, but it wasn't until a few months later, in April, that "The Boys" dropped as a single with, at first, little fanfare. Thin Lizzy guitarist Scott Gorham recalls, "We had demoed maybe 15 songs and were only going to put ten on the album. As a band we chose that ten. It was one of the managers that went through the ones we’d rejected and The Boys Are Back In Town was among them, though it didn’t have any guitar harmonies on it at the time, though the lyrics were complete. So we swapped it over. We were pretty bad at picking the singles [chuckles]. It was these two deejays in Louisville, Kentucky, that made the song a hit by playing it incessantly until other radio stations caught on."

On their subsequent tour with Queen, they hit Louisville, KY and, one would hope, those DJ's were treated like absolute royalty by the band. No one knows the precise origin of the song's lyrics, but one theory is that its about Manchester England's Quality Street Gang, whom local police once attributed all of Manchester's major crime to, while the members themselves claimed they were just a “social friendship between a group of men.”

Thin Lizzy guitarist Brian Robertson particularly felt the pressure of their newfound success and began heavily drinking. Then, in March of 1977, he badly injured his hand in a bar brawl during a Gonzalez show at The Marquee Club in London. Backstage, Gonzalez guitarist Gordon Hunte slashed Robertson's hand with a bottle and Robertson "subsequently broke Hunte's leg, broke the collarbone of another man, and headbutted another, before being hit on the head with a bottle, rendering him unconscious."

Robertson missed a tour due to this injury and claimed to quit, and Thin Lizzy announced they were a trio once again, but by the time the Fall '77 tour with Graham Parker began, Robertson was back in the band, worrying everyone—including Parker's tour manager Nick Lowe—with his short fuse and outrageous drunken antics. I imagine this consequential hand injury must be, in part, the source of Lowe's exaggerated verse about the kid cutting off his right arm.

So, in conclusion, if Robertson had never rejoined Thin Lizzy, we might have never got "So it Goes."

Trying to add up all the watts here. Hard to hit 50,000.

As for the political verse of the Lowe song, we'll have to unpack that in a different post.

And so it goes.

[reggae-vibes-com]

Deejay Theory - Everything Is Energy

Deejay Theory - Everything Is Energy. This collection features cuts from Kabaka Pyramid, Eesah, Runkus, Royal Blu, Suku Ward, and Blakkamoore. #Blakkamoore #dancehall #eesah #kabakapyramid #royalblu #Runkus #SukuWard Read the full article

[zuluhit]

South African Songs Download

South African Songs Beneath their beaches, mountains and several distinct ecosystems, South Africa offers a captivating music scene of eclectic local talent. We've picked out 7 acts across a range of different genres and styles that we think you should hear, maybe we'll do a second part of the content in the future, but for now it's just going to take a while to get your fill of South Africa's latest musical offerings. 

The period after 1994 saw a dramatic growth in the popularity of Afrikaans music. Numerous new young Afrikaans singers (soloists and groups) released CDs and DVDs and attracted large audiences at "kunstefeeste" (art festivals) such as the "Klein Karoo Nasionale Kunstefees – KKNK" in Oudtshoorn, "Aardklop" in Potchefstroom and "Innibos" in Nelspruit.

Apart from dozens of new songs being introduced into the Afrikaans music market, it became popular for HipHop Music modern young artists to sing old Afrikaans songs on a stage or in a pub, with crowds of young admirers singing along. The reason for the dramatic increase in the popularity of Afrikaans music can be speculated about. One theory is that the end of Apartheid in 1994 also meant the end of the privileged position that the Afrikaans culture had in South Africa. After losing the privileged protection and promotion of the language and the culture by the State, the Afrikaans-speaking community seems to have spontaneously started embracing and developing their language and culture. 

Latest south African biography

Latest south African biography very own BLK JKS played at the 2010 South African World Cup kick-off at Orlando Stadium alongside Alicia Keys, John Legend and The Black Eyed Peas.

This was due to pop artists like Steve Hofmeyr, Nádine, Kurt Darren, and Nicolis Louw bringing a new fresh sound in Afrikaans Music. Many of the songs sung and/or written by these artists are similar in sound to Euro dance music. Critics would claim that all an Afrikaans pop artist needs for a song to be popular is a catchy tune and an easy beat. This is due to the massive popularity of a form of couples dancing called "langarm" or "sokkie". The dance halls where this takes place could be considered as night clubs but they play almost exclusively Afrikaans pop music. The Afrikaans pop music market therefore generates tremendous demand for new material.

The best South African Songs of the month featuring Sho Madjozi, Prince Kaybee, Emtee, Kwesta, Mr JazziQ, DBN Gogo and more. Produced by Tboy Daflame and the legendary Dr. Thomas Chauke, "Shahumba" is a genre-defying record that fuses hard-hitting contemporary drums with Xitsonga traditional music guitar riffs and groove. The visuals start off by showing a portrayal of a young Sho Madjozi who had dreams of being a musician and switches to present day when she is popular and has made a hit with Shahumba (Chauke's clan name) - who is notoriously known for not doing features and has released over 40 albums. Actual footage of Sho Madjozi, as a kid, and her family can be seen towards the end of the video. Talented deejay and producer Prince Kaybee connects with King Monada for the emotive song "Insurance", taken from his latest studio album, The 4th Republic. In the song, King Monada expresses that he requires his potential romantic partner to have insurance before getting into a relationship with him, and advises people not to fall in love without being insured. Rising deejay and producer SayFar dropped the visuals to "Amathafa". The track blends dance music elements with afro-pop and features Mnqobi Yazo, who questions a lover's intention and the strength of their relationship. "Amathafa" is the lead single to SayFar's upcoming debut EP Rhandzu, which means "love" in Xitsonga. Tellaman teams up with Sha Sha and Nigerian artist Oxlade to deliver his new single "Overdue", off the Rhythms of Zamunda compilation album. The infectious Afrobeats-inflected tune is a standout (from the new songs) on the project that features and has songs by some of the continent's best.

Latest south African biography

Latest south African albums very own BLK JKS played at the 2010 South African World Cup kick-off at Orlando Stadium alongside Alicia Keys, John Legend and The Black Eyed Peas.

The band, which was formed in 2000, mixes kwaito, ska, reggae, ambient, jazz, prog in its music. Their debut album After Robots was nominated for two South African Music Awards, including Best Album in 2009.

Contract Us:

Phone: +2349120010105

Website: https://zuluhit.com/

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[hiphopraisedmetheblog]

Super Cat

Super Cat It’s A Hip Hop Page But We Can’t Forget Certain Artist From Other Genres Who Also Tapped In On Hip Hop Culture Also , Many Have The Theory That Hip Hop Comes From Reggae Music Where dem deh when Kingston run hot? When wi looking di food for di pot? And guardin’ poor people head-top? When the politics friction drop? Super Cat, Legendary #Jamaican deejay, born William Anthony Maragh 60…

[medea10]

Medea Plays Pokemon Scarlet & Violet: Part II

This game has a lot of options on where you should go and what you should do. I’ve been bouncing around thanks to the open world concept.

As I mentioned in my prior post with that ewwie-looking fella in the school uniform, anybody can be at school at any age. Pokemon Scarlet/Violet is no exception here. Even this 60 year old can be a student. Let’s do some investigations on the titans.

Surprisingly, only one of the titan pokemon has been destructive and yes it’s Bombirdier.

Even the Pokedex advises you not to take photos of the falling boulders. Not gonna stop me from doing something reckless.

At first, you fight them. But then in mid-battle, they stop, look for a glowing plant, eat it, and become an even bigger bastard. That’s when Arven steps in and fights alongside you against these formidable foes.

Oh fuck.

That’s a cursed face right there. That’s a face that says, “I ate your puppy. He tasted like love”.

Arven has a legitimate reason for making you go up against these overgrown pokemon. And in a heartbeat, he became my favorite character.

He’s doing it for his ailing pokemon. Apparently, those herb mysticas the giants eat have something in them that help with certain ailments. He’s helping this little fella see and walk again.

Arven, I’m sorry I judged you harshly before. You’re an all-star. Time to make some sandwiches.

Koraidon will eat the sandwich and learn a hidden move like dash, jump higher, climb, swim, and glide. That solves the HM dilemma. Let’s pop in on campus to see what’s up.

If Gible is going to teach us how to blow up a Piplup with Draco Meteor, I’m going to enjoy this class.

Dawn’s Piplup being blasted with Draco Meteor will never not be funny.

You can take classes from a wide variety of teachers and subjects.

Hey look, Professor Laventon made his way onto this game. That’s nice.

The teachers will always go to you for the correct answer because you apparently stick out like a sore thumb and you can’t sit behind a fat guy and remain unnoticed. I seriously hate being called on.

Hey look, Mr. Salvatore made a nod to Professor Bellis from Pokemon Masters Ex. That’s nice.

When you’re not taking classes, you can sometimes talk to your instructors and get close to them in the process.

Like helping Miss Dendra out with her cooking. Dude, the home-ec bruh told you to put some butter on them bread slices. But no, you had to be little Miss Al Roker and say...

This is actually a fun school. I see no downside to thi...

And I’m overcome with PTSD suddenly.

Yeah, there’s midterms and final exams. Even hearing those words, years after getting my degree still makes me break out in a cold sweat. Thanks Pokemon.

It sure feels good to fill in all of those empty spaces with your blood on the answer sheet, doesn’t it? Get the fuck outta here with that cute class banter, Mr. Jacq-strap.

“the oranges of Paldea”

Who wrote this test, Donald Trump?

AHH, couldn’t get through a shit-post trilogy without making fun of Donald Trump. I ain’t even sorry.

I swear, if I went to a Pokemon University, I would have graduated Magna Cum Laude instead of...actually, I graduated with a 3.48. I’m satisfied with that accomplishment. Okay, let’s head on to the Team Star situation.

Director Clavell (or “Clive”) and the unseen hacker want you to infiltrate all of the Team Star hideouts and challenge each of their leaders. But before you do that, you have to defeat 30 pokemon in under 10 minutes. Then comes the leader.

*clears throat*

I have a theory. Hear me out. This is Grimsley’s son. I am convinced of this. And let me go further. Grimsley had a son with some woman from Naples. Soon after, Grimsley ditched the family. Unnamed mother and Giacomo move to Alola where Unnamed mother starts dating Guzma. Guzma has Giacomo hang out with his Team Skull members while he smashes Unnamed mother. Team Skull get Giacomo interested in deejaying. They break up a few years later. Unnamed mother and Giacomo move to Paldea. Here we are.

I stand by this theory.

After you defeat the 30 pokemon in under 10 minutes and defeat the leaders and their pokemon AND their giant pokemon automobile, we get flashbacks to 18 months ago when Team Star got started.

Like Atticus was the one who gave everyone their own personal design. He even made Mela’s boots. I guess Atticus is the reason why Mela walks around like a Monty Python character.

While I’m on Atticus. He’s like if Kakkashi-sensei had a femme son that spoke like David Cross playing a warlock. I ain’t even sorry.

After defeating a Team Star area, the hacker gives you some LP money. And then Penny comes and gives you items for crafting TM’s. Okay, let’s do gym battles.

Just like with finding the Sunflora in Brassius’s gym, you have to do some crazy gym test. Like in Katy’s gym where you have to push a giant olive through an obstacle course.

Or indulge Iono during her live stream by finding Director Clavell in a crowd of people. A shotty attempt at a Where’s Waldo if I ever saw one.

Or bid on some food. At least the gym leader here gives you money and let’s you keep what’s left.

Despite what I said in the prior post, there will be some gym tests where you get asked to battle by someone. Like one of Iono’s fans or a gym assistant who thinks you’re getting to close to Kofu.

Now you can trounce these gym leaders.

Iono, I don’t like that you keep saying “friendo”. I’m getting major Javier Bardem callbacks whenever I see it.

And don’t forget Nemona wants to battle.

She really loves battling. And she will follow you to the ends of the earth just to battle you again and again and again. You could be dead. And she would dig up your corpse, hire a necromancer to bring you back to life, and beg you to battle her.

I think that’s all I’ll do for this shit-post. Time for a sandwich break.

To be continued.

[cleanerdoesntgaming]

Sorry for the disturb, but I wanted to ask if you have specific sources about the yfm lore stuff. I am very curious about them and wanted to check them out myself

the puff’s death thing came from a tumblr post I made debunking 8 bit world and some other songs

the deejay & puff relationship thing was because of the running gag in the series which most of the lore could be gotten out of the jokes so might as well

the benatar & axel moving away thing was gotten from one of ray’s shorts explaining why benatar stopped singing

and the hired lookalike theory is because axel’s hair got WAY lighter and Benatar’s skintone got somewhat darker so I felt that was kinda odd

[generalechoes]

Monthly reggae disco in North-East London. The night is named after sadly departed MC Earl Anthony Robinson, the voice behind classic deejay tunes such as “Drunken Master”.

For our July session we’ve got something slightly different to the usual dance, this month we've got something to feed your head AND your feet when we welcome writer and researcher Edward George to Walthamstow. 

Edward’s radio show The Strangeness of Dub on Morley College Radio is a truly essential listen - it dives into dub, versions and versioning, drawing on critical theory, social history, a deep and broad musical selection, and live dub mixing.

Edward will be in conversation with Paul Rekret about these topics and more at the start of the night, before taking to the decks to play some of the selections discussed.

The Strangeness Of Dub show is described as follows: 

"Dub is strange. A musical process and a sub-genre formed in the early 1970s and pioneered by Clement Dodd, Sylvan Morris, Lee Perry, King Tubby, Scientist, Jah Shaka and The Mad Professor, dub takes place through a kind of violence, an act of reducing archival audio documents to fragments and traces, yet is associated, in its sound system context, with communal reverie and meditative states.A marginal music and a music of margins, first and most enduringly located on the ‘b side’, the underside, of phonographic recordings, dub is a sub genre of reggae music, subordinate and secondary to song-writing, musical performance and recording. And yet more so than reggae song writing, vocal or musical performance, dub’s influence reverberates across other genres of electronic music, even while never quite comprising a genre of its own."

Check out the Strangeness Of Dub archives here: https://morleyradio.co.uk/series/the-strangeness-of-dub/

Edward George is a writer and broadcaster. Founder of Black Audio Film Collective, George wrote and presented the ground-breaking science fiction documentary Last Angel of History (1996). George is part of the multimedia duo Flow Motion, and the electronic music group Hallucinator (Chain Reaction).

Paul Rekret is a researcher and teacher in political and cultural theory. He is associate professor of politics at Richmond American International University, London, and is author of numerous publications including Down With Childhood: Pop Music and the Crisis of Innocence (Repeater, 2017), as well as being a contributor to The Wire and London Review Of Books amongst others.

Doors 7.30pm

Talk 8pm

DJ sets 9.30 - 1am

Advance tickets £6 from Ticketlab - https://ticketlab.co.uk/event/id/12319 £8 on the door / £3 for Trades Hall members

[medinainternational]

(Motif-Radio) Reggae Pon Top # 31 2021

SINGLES: MATIC BILLY JEAN STONEFACE PRIEST- WOLF IN A SHEEPSKIN BUSHMAN- STAND UP STRANJAH MILLER- RUFFER THAN DEM KHALIA AND DRE LISLAND- WILDFIRE ALEIGHCIA SCOTT- CRY KASHIEF LINDO- LOVE STAKE MYKAL ROSE- GLORY TO JAH SUN SHADE- MONEY OVER LIFE GEORGE NOOKS- PRODIGAL SON LUCIANO- CAUGHT UP BULBY GOING BLIND

RIDDIMS: WORLD TRAVELLER RIDDIM MEDI ROCK RIDDIM THE CULTURE RIDDIM DIGITAL ENGLISH PRODUCTIONS DANCEHALL: TALEBA WAX- STAND UP IN LOVE MASICKA- HIGHLIGHT KONSHENS & SPICE & RVSSIAN- PAY FOR IT SIZZLA- JAH ALONE BLACK SPIDER FT. VERSHON- YOUR FRIEND DEMARCO FT. BOUNTY KILLA, BEENIE MAN- HOMAGE DEEJAY THEORY FT. KABAKA PYRAMID- GREATNESS SEXY BACK RIDDIM KABAKA PYRAMID- BETTER MUSS COME JAHMIEL- MINDGAMES

AFROBEATS/ ONE DROP: IYANYA- OVER MAJOR LEAGUE DJZ- DO ME MAJOR LEAGUE DJZ- FOCUS ON THE BEAT GOYA MENOR- MENO DORIME MC REAL PEE FT SLYM KHID- HOUSE PARTY ANGELA OKOMIE FT. SHATTA WALE- FREE DE MATTER IDOWEST FT. BLAQDEE- AGBAWO TRENCHES IYANYA- CHANGE AM LINVAL THOMPSON- WHAT'S GOING ON BULBY- STAY HOME TONIGHT BROTHER DAN MEETS KIBIR LA AMLAK- STRENGTHEN MY FAITH ETANA- HIGH GRADE JOHNNY CLARKE- JAH LOVE IS WITH I JOHNNY CLARKE- JAH LOVE IS WITH I DUBPLATE

[jenildasjewelquest]

the customary graduation message

everyone probably already knows i love to write but this gets pretty personal so i think it's better posted this way. to have drafted this message in my head during those short moments of reflection between final requirements for OJT, thesis, and graduation, and it's finally here. except that it wasn't accompanied by my face full of makeup and the smug smile that i was already practicing, it didn’t involve watching myself and my batchmates in academic regalia - nope - instead, a smartphone-taken grad photo on our stairway, with myself in the formal wear that i had defended my thesis with; then cheering at the TV as my classmates' names were called. with snarky unemployment and adulting teasings put aside by the existence of my stable freelance work, there were long moments at night in quiet personal reflection. for once, i deserved to celebrate myself and my achievements - cum laude with a GPA 3.425, graduated on time despite serious hesitations and near-giving up, and in the course and school that i never regretted taking - multimedia arts, de la salle-college of saint benilde. it's a celebration that, i realized, i didn't want adulterated by the pretentiousness of celebratory posts on Facebook. the people i wanted to thank are worth more than that, honestly! so yeah, if you've already gotten tired of reading that long paragraph of how happy i felt about my finishing college, i think you should stop. or you know, keep scanning and waiting for your name to pop up when i thank you. good luck.

(in no particular order.)

i'd like to thank the 10th floor lab staff who let me borrow headphones every day in my last terms, granting me 80% more focus as i crammed thesis and org work. i’d like to thank all the staff of the college for always ensuring we felt and were safe in campus. i'd like to thank my color theory prof who told me to keep learning even though i said i wanted to repeat his subject because i was unsatisfied with how i performed in it even though i LOVED his subject. i'd like to thank my thesis adviser, who made our topic and project work through thick and thin, panic and pandemic - who became my inspiration for considering to return and teach in the college.

i'd like to thank the acquaintances, friends, teachers, moderators, production staff and actors, schoolmates, classmates, and org mates who put up with my naivety, frankness, and attempts to be better; a higher gratitude goes to those who saw more than these small parts and still stayed. i'd like to thank those who saw more than a name, a title, and GPA, more than my course, my interests, or dreams.

i'd like to thank my numerous what-ifs for teaching me about love and self-worth, for reminding me what i deserved. i'd like to thank my first ex who introduced me to the student org where i met my real love. i'd like to thank my second ex who helped me in the said org for a time. and i'd like to thank my wub for being the first to warmly welcome me into the after-college freedom.

and in retrospect, i'd like to thank those whose impact on me started even before August 31, 2016: my senior high social studies teacher who shared how he strove "to be of contribution to people", my noli me tangere teacher who broke down what was expected of us youth, and my calculus teacher who persisted in teaching us her subject even though more than half of the pilot class (myself included) could only scrape passing marks. of these, my biggest thank you is to my first mentors in journalism and design, who endorsed me to my full college scholarship. and to the preschool teacher who told me that i "was highly addicted to the mess of the room" for making paper doll dresses in class: hallo, im cum laude now! *winks*

and of course, the greatest thank you to my family for always putting up with all my academic adventures, praying that things would always turn for the best.

Sir Mike, Sir Roy, Ms Melay, Ms Kat; Sir Nuguid, Sir Jan, Sir Xander, Ms Jocas. Ms Fe, Sir Paul, Sir Lord; Sir Vincent, Sir Cao, Ms Portia, Ms Mones, Sir Blaise, Sir Jhino, Sir Jan, Sir Duran, Sir Joby, Ms Iris, Ms Myla, Ms Vanny, Sir Bong. Sir Petilla, Mrs Ferreras, Ms Gargaran, Ms Casauay; Sir Solas, Sir Cloyd. Teacher Joyce. Jerome, Tricia. Jay, Stephen, Clarisse, Janikka, Marj, Sean, Miggy; Terrence, Deejay, Sam, Kai, Ryan. Mij, Angeliz, Path, Jamie B; Jamie C, Chino, Kuya Daniel, Ate Mau, Fish, Bree. Zoe, Thea; Gene, Kyle, Emil, Aldrin, Kevin, Koji, Jason. Jason. Papa, Mama, Lolo, Lola, Dulce, Marielle, Ate Lyca, Francine.

everything in my college life was irreplaceable. no single social media caption or post can ever effectively summarize or celebrate it, but here was my attempt - i had prayed for experiences that would shape me to be the person He wanted me to be, and here i am now.

congratulations, batch 2020 graduates! we made it!!

[devinsfm]

joe keery. cis male. he/him.  ／  jack devin just pulled up blasting video killed the radio star by the buggles — that song is so them ! you know, for a twenty - four year old radio show host, i’ve heard they’re really impulsive, but that they make up for it by being so captivating. if i had to choose three things to describe them, i’d probably say obscure vintage horror comics, blurry photographs of mysterious figures in the woods, and vivid descriptions of spine - chilling tales  . here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble ! ( sam, 23, est, she/her )

hey there, demons ! *ba tum tss* i’m sam and i never do this, but i really felt like it was time for a change, so i drew lots of inspiration from some of my favorite ocs and i love what i’ve come up with ! character info is under the cut and please feel free to message me if you would like to plot !

i. stats

𝔣𝔲𝔩𝔩 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢: jackson willard devin

𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔰: jack, spooky guy, the night watchman 

𝔥𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔫: salem, massachusetts

𝔡𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔟𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔥: ocotber 31st, 1995

𝔷𝔬𝔡𝔦𝔞𝔠: scorpio

𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫: demisexual

𝔬𝔠𝔠𝔲𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫: host of the graveyard shift, a radio program airing every weeknight from 12am to 5am

𝔭𝔬𝔰. 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔰: captivating, witty, resolute. 

𝔫𝔢𝔤. 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔰: impulsive, gauche, naive.

ii. history

jackson willard “jack” devin was born on halloween day ( yes, really ) in salem massachusetts ( yes, really ). his mother stayed home with him as he was growing up while his father is a boston cop turned sheriff of the county and he’s an only child.

outside of the popular tourist spots, his hometown has a very close - knit, stuck in the 80s vibe. it’s the sort of place where everyone knows everyone for their entire lives because no one ever leaves and no one new ever moves in. phone and internet signals are nearly impossible to come by, so the local arcade and the video store still have quite a booming business in the year 2020. jack grew up in a not - so - typical small town suburban gothic environment, his dad’s income being just enough for them to get by every month.

he was an energetic kid who cycled through all sorts of interests, trying out everything from little league ( disaster ) to music lessons ( not as much of a disaster, but he wound up getting bored of it ). nothing seemed to really stick until he got his first horror comic : a vintage issue of tales from the crypt with tattered, yellowing pages. he was five years old and paid five cents for it at an elderly neighbor’s yard sale and from that moment on he was hooked. it started with the comics, but he quickly expanded his horizons to movies, books, and television in the genre of horror.

he got intro drawing and that was the only thing besides his newfound interest in horror that he could sit still for. at first he would just try to re - draw the panels in his comic books, but soon he was drawing anything and everything that caught his interest and he was getting good. he was being homeschooled by his mother at the time, but once friends and family and, well, everyone took notice of his skill, they were encouraging his parents to nurture his talent.

his parents fought about it. his dad didn’t see the value in his skill and wanted him to instead focus on academics, aspiring towards his son one day becoming a lawyer or a businessman or even following in his footsteps. jack never wanted that for himself. he was homeschooled by his mom up until then and she believed in him. it was with her blessing that he would go to a real school for the first time at the age of fourteen, starting off his freshman year at a high school that was a thirty minute train ride away in boston and catered exclusively to youth who demonstrated an exceptional talent in some area of the fine arts.

jack did well in school, but his grades probably would have been a lot better still if he didn’t start purposely acting out as his relationship with his dad got worse and worse. he started skipping classes, getting caught trespassing in cemeteries at 2am, and smoking a lot of weed. 

when it came time for college, jack planned to attend art school. he swears he did. he looked a few schools on the west coast to get away from his dad for a few years yikes and planned to apply, but on the deadline date he got so high that he forgot to submit his portfolios. yes, really.

he loaded up his van ( a turquiose monstrosity he painted to look like the mystery machine ) and headed out to california anyway after telling his parents that he would be attending UCLA. of course, they quickly found it that it was a lie and his dad was furious. the two got into a huge fight over the phone and things were said. the result is that jack and his father haven’t spoken to each other ever since. 

he did lots of odd jobs while he was on the road and basically lived in his van, which didn’t change right away when he decided to settle in LA, but he eventually got a job fetching coffee for the late night employees at a local radio station.

it was the typical, cliché story : the regular late night host called out of work at the last minute, there was no one else around and they were going to be on air in ten seconds. jack was thrown in front of the microphone and told to think fast !

he did, and the listeners loved him for it. whether it was his ramblings about horror movies or his thick boston accent or his reckless use of swear words on live radio, he turned out to be a massive hit. the successful night earned him a gig as an occasional substitute deejay, and with each broadcast he grew more and more popular, and about two years ago he was finally given his own program.

the graveyard shift is a radio program that airs every weeknight from 12am - 5am in the los angeles area and on apps such as iheartradio. jack hosts the show as his ( thinly veiled ) alter ego the night watchmen and discusses topics such as the paranormal, conspiracy theories, and all things horror. it’s one of the most popular programs of the time slot in the country.

it’s something that he never expected or picturing himself doing, but now he can’t imagine doing anything else. he’s become really passionate about revitalizing the field and bringing radio into the 21st century. he signed a HUGE contract with the studio when his show first started and now he’s a quite well known radio personality in the area and across the country.

iii. extras

huge stoner. high as fuck 90% of the time, and the other 10% of the time he’s probably still high, just not as fuck. 

well known for his on air antics. he’ll light a joint in the middle of his radio show, he’ll prank call a friend and broadcast it to the entire city, he’ll curse in every single sentence and skate by on the after hours excuse when he’s reprimanded for it. he’s so outlandish and bizarre and like nothing that’s ever been heard on the radio before, and it just draws people in.

he often seems shy in person, but it’s more like he’s just a little socially awkward, something which also shines through in occasional non - malicious but blunt remarks and general lack of regard for what people think of him. he really just...doesn’t care.

genuinely seems to believe it’s either halloween day and / or the year 1986 at any given moment as that’s about as recent as his pop culture references get. he’s never heard of the k*rdashians, he doesn’t know what the mcu is, and the phrase yeet means absolutely nothing to him. mention any of it to him and he’ll just stare blankly bc he honestly doesn’t have a clue.

HOWEVER, he did start the area 51 meme from last summer.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

still draws. especially if he has to still for a stretch of time, then he’ll take out his latest sketchbook ( he goes through a lot of them ) and start doodling. he’s still quite good, mostly in his favored comic - esque style.

BIG CHAOTIC ENERGY and ZERO IMPULSE CONTROL

a chatterbox with friends but don’t be fooled...he’s been giving his own dad the silent treatment for almost seven ( 7 ) years now. it’s his preferred method of expressing anger towards someone because he isn’t really a fan of confrontation, but he’s maybe a liiiittle bit stubborn.

most of the time he’s a really easygoing person, a good friend and very loyal to the people he cares about. well - meaning, not the best at advice but he’s more likely to try and cheer a person up anyway. 

he has a pet pied ball python named the crypt keeper ( tkc for short ) who he sometimes just carries with him because he likes to just chill wrapped around jack’s hand and arm. 

iv. wanted connections

maternal or paternal cousins ( their grandparents probably live in boston or new england but otherwise anything goes for this )

close friends

friends

guests on his radio show 

fans / haters of his radio show

people who don’t like him / find him annoying

exes ( 1 - 2, can be on good or bad terms )

“casually dating” but it might get real complicated soon - allie james

( these are just ideas and i’m trash at coming up with stuff, so please don’t feel limited by what’s listed here. )

[gagosiangallery]

Richard Prince at Gagosian Beverly Hills

January 15, 2020

RICHARD PRINCE New Portraits Opening reception: Thursday, February 6, 6–8pm February 6–March 21, 2020 456 North Camden Drive, Beverly Hills __________ In 1984 I took some portraits. The way I did it was different. The way had nothing to do with the tradition of portraiture. If you wanted me to do your portrait, you would give me at least five photographs that had already been taken of yourself, that were in your possession (you owned them, they were yours), and more importantly . . . that you were already happy with. You would give me the five you liked and I would pick the one I liked. I would rephotograph the one I liked and that would be your portrait. Simple. Direct. To the point . . . Foolproof. I started off doing friends. Peter Nadin. Anne Kennedy. Jeff Koons. Cookie Mueller. Gary Indiana. Colin de Land.

They didn’t have to sit for their portraits. They didn’t have to make an appointment and come over and sit in front of some cyclone or in front of a neutral background or on an artist’s stool. They didn’t have to show up at all. And they wouldn’t be disappointed with the result. How could they? It wasn’t like they were giving me photos of themselves that were embarrassing.

Social Science Fiction.

Another advantage was the “time line.” If you were in your sixties and you gave me a photograph that had been taken thirty years earlier, and that’s the one I chose, your portrait ended up in a kind of time machine. I couldn’t go forward, but I could go backward. Vanity. Most of the people I did liked the younger version of themselves. So the future didn’t really matter. Half of H. G. Wells was better than no half at all.

Who knew?

After friends, I did people I didn’t know.

I had access to Warner Bros. Records and their publicity files. The files were filled with 8 × 10 glossies of recording stars that they had under contract. How I had access is beside the point. It was a long time ago. Let’s just say an A&R guy gave me access, “permission.”

I spent time in their LA headquarters, in Burbank, and went thru the metal cabinets and took the “publicities” I wanted, took them home, put them in front of my camera, and made a new photograph. The first one I did was Dee Dee Ramone.

I did Tina Weymouth, Tom Verlaine, Jonathan Richman, Laurie Anderson. I did the two girls from the B-52s.

Not knowing these people, having never met them, or talked to them, but still being able to do their portraits, excited me. Satisfaction. I spent weeks in the basement of Warner Bros. I thought I had an advantage. My method, if you could call it that, was far more flexible than the regular way portraits were taken. I didn’t need a studio. A darkroom. A receptionist. A calendar. Makeup. Stylists. I didn’t have to deal with agents or the “personality,” good or bad, of the sitter. My overhead was minimal and I could do the portrait all by myself.

By myself. That was the best.

Why I Go To The Movies Alone.

At first I thought this could be a business.

Up till then none of the art that I was making sold . . . or sold enough to make a living. I had just quit my job at Time Life the year before and was trying to make a go of it living near Venice Beach in LA . . . sharing a house with three roommates and living off the occasional sales that Hudson, my friend from Chicago, would make selling my “cartoon” drawings.

This idea of a “portrait business” made sense to me. Who wouldn’t want their portrait done this way?

I continued to do friends. Paula Greif. Dike Blair. Meyer Vaisman. I did everybody’s portraits for Wild History, a book that I put together for Tanam Press of downtown writing. The author’s portrait accompanied their contribution. Wharton Tiers. Spalding Gray. Tina L’Hotsky.

By the end of ’84 it was over.

I’m not sure if it was the lack of interest in me, or in others. (My energy evaporated.) Maybe it was the inability to convince people to commit to a commission. It was a good idea, but after doing about forty of them, I put them in a drawer and moved on. Bored? Restless? I don’t know. Let’s just say it didn’t take off.

Leave it at that.

My cartoon drawings turned into jokes and the jokes started taking up everything. In the end, I think most people would rather have their portrait done by Robert Mapplethorpe.

Thirty years. Time passes.

The social network.

I looked over my daughter’s shoulder and saw that she was scrolling thru pictures on her phone. I asked her what she was looking at. “It’s my Tumblr.” “What’s a tumbler?” I asked.

That was . . . four years ago?

About three years ago I bought an iPhone. Someone had shown me the photographs you could take with the phone. I had given up taking pictures after they got rid of color slide film. I tried digital, but couldn’t make the adjustment. I never liked carrying a camera and was pretty much inkjetting and painting anyway . . . so the idea of using a big boxy camera with all its new whistles and bows wasn’t for me.

Enter the sandman.

The iPhone was just what I needed. I couldn’t believe how easy it was to point and shoot. You didn’t have to focus. You didn’t have to load film. You didn’t have to ASA. You didn’t have to set a speed. The clarity . . .

I could see for miles.

The photos you took were stored in the phone. And when you wanted to see them, they appeared on a grid. The best part: you could send a photo immediately to a friend, to an e-mail, to a printer . . . or, you could organize your photos, like my daughter had, and post them publicly or privately.

When worlds collide.

I asked my daughter more about Tumblr. Are those your photos? Where did you get that one? Did you need permission? How did you get that kind of crop? You can delete them? Really? What about these “followers?” Who are they? Are they people you know? What if you don’t want to share? How many of your friends have Tumblrs?

What’s yours is mine.

My daughter’s “grid” on Tumblr reminded me of my Gangs I did back in ’85 . . . where I organized a set of nine images on a single piece of photo paper and blew the paper up to 86 × 48. The gangs were a way to deal with marginal or subsets of lifestyles that I needed to see on a wall but not a whole wall. Each gang was its own exhibition. Girlfriends, Heavy Metal Bands, Giant Waves, Bigfoot Trucks, Sex, War, Cartoons, Lyrics . . . were all rephotographed with slide film, and when the slides returned, they were “deejayed” and moved around on a custom-made light box until the best nine made the cut. The “cut” was then taped together (the edges of the slide mounts were pushed up against each other and Scotch-taped), the nine taped slides were sent to a lab where an 8 × 10 internegative was made, and from the internegative the final photo was blown up. I’ve probably lost you. Technical stuff . . . application and technique. Sometimes it’s better to leave the “background” out of it. Better to “take it for granted.” Why should I care how a photograph is made?

Only sometimes.

How was it called back then? Sampling?

Primitive now, but back then . . . 50-inch photo drums were few and far between. The paper was 50 inches wide and came in a huge roll. If you wanted to, you could take a roll and roll it down the street, roll it down the sidewalk, roll it all the way down the West Side Highway.

Shakespeare’s in the alley?

No. Philip Roth is in the alley.

Joan Didion is in the alley.

Don DeLillo is in the alley.

What’s up, pussycat?

There’s a lot of cats on Instagram. Food too.

And there’s tons of photos of people who take photographs of themselves. (Yes, I know the word.)

On the gram. I was just asked why I like Instagram. I said, “Because there’s rules. And if you break the rules, you get kicked off.”

I got to Instagram thru Twitter.

Twitter first.

I’m not sure when I first started tweeting, but I liked trying to fit a whole story into 140 characters.

I call it Birdtalk.

I used to bird in the early ’90s for Purple magazine and birded in my first catalogue for Barbara Gladstone in ’87.

Short sentences that were funny, sweet, dumb, profound, absurd, stupid, jokey, Finnegans Wake meets MAD magazine meets ad copy for Calvin Klein. Think Dylan’s Tarantula. Then think some more and think Kathy Acker’s Tarantula.

Or, don’t think at all. I know I don’t.

Sometimes.

Sometimes I write down the first sentence that starts off my favorite novel.

Relative. I’m not much of a theory guy. But sometimes I think there was a reason why Einstein was a technical assistant in the Swiss patent office.

Let me fill your cup.

Twitter accepts photos, but is mainly text-based. I like to combine the two and tweet both photo and text.

I called the photo/text tweets I was posting . . . “The Family.”

I posted photos of my extended family . . . mother, brother, sister, nieces, cousins, uncles, aunts, in-laws, stepchildren, boy- and girlfriends. I would caption the photos with a short description of who, what, why . . . measuring my words so that they fit into the guidelines of the platform.

After posting the photo/text, I sent the information to my printer and inkjetted an 11 × 14 print of the marriage. I made thirty-eight “Family” tweets.

Distribution.

I placed each “Family” tweet in a plastic sleeve and pushpinned the sleeve to the wall. The wall was at Karma. I put all thirty-eight up. Salon style. It was Saturday. The doors opened at 12 pm. By 12:15 pm all thirty-seven were gone. One to a customer. I kept the one that had my father, mother, and sister in it. (My father and mother were naked, and my sister was sitting in between. My family wasn’t like yours. Hobnob doesn’t begin to describe them.) I sold the “Family Tweets” for $12 each. First come, first served.

Well, well, well . . .

In ma ma ma my wheeeeeeeel house.

I used to stutter. By the ninth grade, the sparkle was in my eye. It got so bad, the impediment turned me into a clam. I slept all day, every day. I wouldn’t get up until Sunday. I waited for Bonanza to come on the TV. I loved the cowboy father and his three sons.

Two summers ago, my niece was working for me out on Long Island and she showed me how to screen save. I didn’t know about the option. What other options don’t I know about?

Screen Save.

This might be one of the best applications in an apparatus that I’ve ever encountered. All-time. Hall of fame. First place. Just what I need. MORE photographs.

Hey kids . . . what time is it?

Now I have a theory.

I was beside myself.

Congratulations.

This past spring, and half the summer, the iPhone became my studio. I signed up for Instagram. I pushed things aside. I made room. It was easy. I ignored Tumblr, and Facebook had never interested me. But Instagram . . .

I started off being RichardPrince4.

I quickly recognized the device was a way to get the lead out. If Twitter was editorial . . . then Instagram was advertising.

A gazillion people.

Besides cats, dogs, and food, people put out photos of themselves and their friends all the time, every day, and, yes, some people put themselves out twice on Mondays. I started “following” people I knew, people I didn’t know, and people who knew each other. It was innocent. I was on the phone talking to Jessica Hart and had just looked at her “gram” feed before picking up the phone. I asked about a picture she posted of herself standing in front of a fireplace wearing what looked to be ski clothes and big fur boots. The post was in black and white, head to toe, full figure, and behind her, above the mantel, there was a portrait of Brigitte Bardot. I told her someone should make a portrait out of this photo. She said, “Why don’t you?”

Come to think of it.

I’m not sure if she knew about my Family Tweets. She might have. I think we even talked about them after she came to my studio for a visit. After I got off the phone, I thought about her suggestion: “Why don’t you?”

I went back to her feed and screen saved her “winter” photo. I sent the save to my computer, pressed “empty subject,” pressed “actual size,” and waited for it to appear in a doc, checked the margins and crop, clicked on the doc, and sent it to my printer. My inkjet printer printed out an 11 × 14-inch photo on paper . . . I took the photo out of the tray and put it on my desk.

Looking at Jessica’s feed reminded me of 1984. Except this time I had more than five photos to choose from. I went back to her feed a second time. I scrolled thru maybe a hundred photos she had posted and looked at all the ones that included her. The one in front of the fireplace was still the best.

Walk on.

Jessica had tons of followers. Thousands. And a lot of them had “commented” on what she posted. I read all the comments that had been posted under her fireplace photo. There was one comment I wish I could have gotten in my original screen save. When you screen save an Instagram image, you can get maybe three, four comments in the save if you include the person’s “profile” icon that appears on the upper left of the page. I decided early on I wanted the person’s icon to be part of the save. But what else could I save?

I went back to my desk and kept staring at the printout of Jessica. What do I do now?

I didn’t want to paint it.

I didn’t want to mark it.

I didn’t want to add a sticker.

Whatever I did, I wanted it to happen INSIDE and before the save. I wanted my contribution to be part of the “gram.” I didn’t want to do anything physical to the photograph after it was printed.

Five cents.

I went back to the comment.

I commented on Jessica’s photo in front of the fireplace, but my comment was one of hundreds and showed up outside, way down at the bottom . . . out of the frame.

If I wanted my comment to show up near her picture . . . how?

I got lucky.

I’m terrible when it comes to the tech side of technology. But somehow I figured out how to hack into Jessica’s feed and swipe away all her comments and add my own so that it would appear under her post. The hack is pretty simple and anyone can do it. You hit the gray comment bar and pick a comment you don’t want and swipe with your finger to the left, and a red exclamation mark appears. You press on the exclamation mark and four things come onto the bottom of your screen.

1. Why are you reporting this comment?

2. Spam or Scam

3. Abusive Content

4. Cancel

To get rid of the comment, you click on Spam or Scam. It’s gone. Just like that I could control other people’s comments and Jessica’s own comments. And the comment that I added could now be near enough to Jessica’s photo that when I screen saved it, my comment would “show up.” Make sense? It’s about as good as I can do. What can I say? Einstein and cuckoo . . .

So now . . .

So now I was in.

Waiting to follow.

Richardprince4 would appear at the bottom of Jessica’s final portrait. My comment, whatever it would be, would always be the last comment. The last say so. Say so. That’s good. That could work. My “in” was what I ended up saying. And what I would say would be everything I ever knew . . . what I knew now and what I would know in the future.

Tell Me Everything.

Finnegans Wake meets MAD magazine.

Zoot Horn Rollo. You seem to be where I belong (emoji).

The first three portraits I did were of women I knew. Or almost knew. Jessica, I knew. Pam Anderson, I knew. Sky Ferreira? I didn’t know, but was following her and had been reading about her new album and seeing posters of her album broadsided on sheets of ply on the Bowery and on Lafayette near Bond. I wasn’t sure what I was doing or why I chose these three. I just had lunch with Pam and had seen Jessica in LA. Sky, I was following because she seemed interesting. There was nothing more. No attraction. No fan. No desire. No date. No wanting anything from her. And the pictures she posted were candid, boozy, and seemed to be letting the viewer in on some kind of backstage diary. She also had thousands of people following her, and I could tap into her followers and follow them. I can do that? I didn’t even know I could follow the followers. Like I said, the hardware was all new . . . and I was just getting started.

The shoreline is never the same. (Like it should be.)

When I first started getting rid of comments, I thought the person whose comments I was getting rid of might get pissed. “What happened to all my comments?” I found out quickly that “the getting rid of” only affected my feed. The deleted comments didn’t affect the followers’ feeds. Their comments were still there even though they were gone from mine. All that happened is that MY comment showed up below their photo. Was I allowed? Yes. I guess so. It’s hard to explain. But the process is open, and at the moment, it’s the way it works and anyone and everyone can do it.

The language I started using to make “comments” was based on Birdtalk. Non sequitur. Gobbledygook. Jokes. Oxymorons. “Psychic Jujitsu.”

Some of the language came directly from TV. If I’m selecting a photo of someone and adding a comment to their gram and an advertisement comes on . . . I use the language that I hear in the ad. Inferior language. It works. It sounds like it means something. What’s it mean? I don’t know. Does it have to mean anything at all? I think about James Joyce confessing to Nora Barnacle. I think about opening up to page 323 of Finnegans Wake. Then I think about notes and lyricism. Policy. Whisper. Murmurs. Mantra. Quotation. Advice.

Chamber Music.

Didn’t Duke Ellington say, “If it sounds good, it is good”? He did say that, didn’t he?

Who are these people?

Larry Clark, Diane Arbus, Robert Mapplethorpe take great portraits. I’ve watched Larry take photos and I don’t know how he does it. I wouldn’t know where to begin. I could never go up to a stranger and ask them if I could take their picture. I’ve done it maybe two or three times and didn’t enjoy it. That part of art is in Larry. It isn’t in me. I feel more comfortable in my bedroom looking thru Easyriders and poring over pictures of “girlfriends” that are right there on the page. Page after page. Looking. Wondering. Anticipating. Hoping. What will be on the next page? Will I find a girlfriend that I really like? That’s my relationship with what’s out there. It’s as close as I want to get. That’s what’s in me.

IG is a bedroom magazine.

I can start out with someone I know and then check out who they follow or who’s following them, and the rabbit hole takes on an out-of-body experience where you suddenly look at the clock and it’s three in the morning. I end up on people’s grids that are so far removed from where I began, it feels psychedelic. Further. I’m on the bus. I feel like I’m part of Kesey’s merry tribe. I’m reminded of Timothy Leary’s journals, which I purchased years ago from John McWhinnie, and the concentration that came over me when I discovered his hand-drawn map of his escape from jail. How he literally shimmied on a wire that had been strung up from an outer utility building to the perimeter prison wall . . . and how I would trace with my finger his overland express to Tangier, where he hooked up with Black Panther Eldridge Cleaver and spent the next year seeking asylum in different parts of North Africa, ultimately ending up in Switzerland where his ex-wife ratted him out, and how fighting extradition took up the rest of his life. Wow, now it’s four in the morning.

Tune In, Turn On, Come Out.

“Trolling.”

If you say so.

I never thought about it that way. The word has been used to describe part of the process of making my new portraits. I guess so. It’s not like I’m on the back of a boat throwing out chum.

“We’re going to need a bigger boat.”

Included.

Everyone is fair.

Game.

An even playing field.

“Outside my cabin door. Said the girl from the red river shore.”

Men. Women. Men and women. Men and men. Women and women. Blacks Whites Latinos Asian Arabs Jews Straights Gays Transgender. Tattoos and scars. Hairy.

I don’t really know the score.

The ones I adore.

I just know where I belong.

“Oh, there I go. From a man to a memory.”

How do I tell you who or why I pick? I can’t. It would be like telling you why I pick that joke. WHY THAT ONE? There’s thousands of jokes. I read them all. It takes days to read just one joke book. 101 of the World’s Funniest Jokes. Days. If I get one, find one, like one, out of the 101, it’s a good day.

People on IG lead me to other people. I spend hours surfing, saving, and deleting. Sometimes I look for photos that are straightforward portraits (or at least look straightforward). Other times I look for photos that would only appear, or better still . . . exist on IG. Photos that look the way they do because they’re on the gram. Selfies? Not really. Self-portraits. I’m not interested in abbreviation. I look for portraits that are upside down, sideways, at arm’s length, taken within the space that a body can hold a camera phone. What did de Kooning say? “When I spread my arms out, it’s all the space I need.”

At first I wasn’t sure how to print the portrait. I tried different surfaces, different papers. Presentation? Frame? Matt? Shadowbox? I tried them all. Finally this past spring my lab introduced me to a new canvas, one that was tightly wound, a surface with hardly any tooth. Smooth to the touch. Almost as if the canvas were photo paper. It was also brilliantly white. I don’t think it could be any whiter. And . . . the way the ink jetted into the canvas was a surprise. It fused in a way that made the image slightly out of focus. Just enough. The ink was IN and ON the canvas at the same time. When I first saw the final result, I didn’t really know what I was looking at. A photographic work or a work on canvas? The surprise was perfect. Perfect doesn’t come along very often. The color that had been transferred from the file of the computer to the jet, from jet to canvas, was intense, saturated, rich. If someone I followed had blue hair, their hair looked like it had been dyed directly onto the canvas. Dye job. Rinsed. Beauty salon. It was brilliant, great color. You might call it “vibrant.” The vibe between the image and the process was “sent away for,” seamless, effortless . . . all descriptions I used to use when I tried describing my early “pens, watches, and cowboys.” (Has it really been forty years?) The ingredients, the recipe, “the manufacture,” whatever you want to call it . . . was familiar but had changed into something I had never seen before. I wasn’t sure it even looked like art. And that was the best part. Not looking like art. The new portraits were in that gray area. Undefined. In-between. They had no history, no past, no name. A life of their own. They’ll learn. They’ll find their own way. I have no responsibility. They do. Friendly monsters.

Speak for yourself.

To fit in the world takes time.

For now, all I can say is . . . they’re the only thing I’ve ever done that has made me happy.

http://www.richardprince.com/writings/bird-talk

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