Maybe it's just because they're my friends that I'm convinced of their objective geniuses. Now I'll have to post about my terrific musician friends, too. But first, I offer you two of my favorites, M. Cody White and A. Petersen:
Oh look, it's a dirty studio. I should be on a hoarders show. I was in the process of kicking apart this crate, when I got a call from the guy who coordinated the install wanting to know if he could get the crate back. There was a pause, and then an "oh shit..." This panel specifically is the most damaged of the bunch. I want to progress with an idea of dissolution, or decay. Kind of like butoh. I might attack the bottom half with a hammer even more to knock some of the paneling out. I like a splintery mess on the bottom with a tight painting around the face and hands and chest and quickly falling apart.
How I Know My Phone Is Dying
* Keeps launching Pandora on the Warren Zevon station
* Only works on speakerphone so that god can hear its cries
* Like a Grandpa in the old folks home, no longer recognizes grandchildren/car charger
* Shows complete apathy over whether or not it's on ringer, vibrate
* Calls you in my pocket so you can decide
* Clock only updates when unlocked, phone only unlocked when someone needs me hence--also like grandpa in the old folks home--thinks it's Tuesday, September 24, 1978
* This doesn't explain why it now receives text messages by Pony Express
* It was made by a company that has been bought, spun off, and no longer exists
* It still exists, but only that--nothing more
Anyway, I'm sorry to see it go. It was a good phone.
