supergooglin:
HEART BEARPOD SEEN IN VANCOUVER SKIES
If I disappeared tomorrow I’d leave behind the expansive, exhausting matrix of my internet wandering to the great search engine in the sky. On secret sites and password protected forums my future followers will attempt to prove or disprove my multiple identities and trade info on where to find authentic, TRUE bits and pieces as they revel in the eternally fleeting nature of my insight—the genius gift of Secret Rockstar Knowledge bestowed upon me by @hena, Goddess of cool hunting, who smiled on me from up in the clouds as I smoked the wild green grass and body surfed between the lyrics and the beat. She gave me the ability to drop critical pearls into the viral swineflu of the internets. Character limits in comment boxes and on Twitter were turned into creative catalysts—it was mind blowing to realize that the most complicated, impossible to explain things came across as succinct and well-put in140 characters or less. It was like taking a Polaroid of an architectural masterpiece. Auras of ghost light and other magical ephermera that get filtered out as mistakes by supposedly state of the art equipment are captured in a spur of the moment SNAP.
In the end, the art of living and the art of dying are all about the simple joy of pressing a button and pressing it NOW.
ak47:
Kyoto Station, Kyoto, Japan (via matt watkinson)
Just because something doesn’t exist doesn’t mean it isn’t real.
zono:
via img.2chan.net2007-06-09あははははは
合格した美少女に東大ラグビー部の魔の手が！
Surfing feels so right when I’m already dazing out amongst the big buzzing TV, refrigerator, and Air Conditioning machines. I love being online when there is no where to be and nothing specific to do…I drift off into the webs of infinite associations…one thing leads to another—I go from a person I follow to clicking on a link to watching a video and then switching over to Word and jotting out a few rough ideas. Now and then dragging songs into a playlist—the beta for my next mix. There’s a fluidity that doesn’t feel like multi-tasking. In fact, it doesn’t feel like work—at least not in the sense of busting yr ass over a finite task. This is more about seeing ripples through to wherever they end up. It’s about going on hunches.
The graffiti artist Swoon and her crew are bum rushing the Venice Biennale this week on a boat assembled out of pieces of NYC trash. A part of me wishes they were crashing tomorrow’s 140conf instead…I’m also hoping Russell Simmons (@UncleRush) will show up after all. I’ve been tweeting into the wind hoping he’d answer. It felt like destiny when I imagined him at the conference—it seemed so RIGHT that one of the main innovators behind the cultural ascendancy of hip-hop should join the crew brainstorming the next level of the Twitter revolution.
This is not to say that the conference is not already super star-studded…last I heard a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model had joined the eclectic mix. I just always like the possibilities that open up when even the best parties get torn along the seams…I like the idea of fences being jumped and tickets discarded. Like Woodstock…that great event that’s a part of a story that’s been handed down from generation to generation of a revolution built on peace, love and happiness. A story about the people vs. the state, David vs. Goliath—the many vs. the few.
It was a story we were told had already ended—but in reality is only just setting sail…
“I want to be like him. He’s never hung-up, he goes every direction, he lets it all out, he knows time, he has nothing to do but rock back and forth. Man, he’s the end! You see, if you go like him all the time you’ll finally get it.”
— Jack Kerouac, On the Road, Part 2, Ch. 4
(via phazerblast)
Last night I found myself thinking: if I was a for real celebrity and had hundreds of thousands of followers on Twitter I wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to unleash some Orson Welles, War of the Worlds art lies. I’d (ab)use my powerful influence to tweet that the sky was falling or that Pinkberries was giving out free samples to men dressed head-to-toe in pink, or that Demi Moore had cheated on Ashton with one of the Jonas Brothers. Then I’d sit back and enjoy the mayhem that ensued.
But then it occurred to me—I was thinking in old media terms. In this brave new media landscape the next War of the Worlds isn’t going to be the work of one famous man broadcasting to the many—it will be the result of the many communicating as the many. The next great art lie will be disseminated like hot breaking news, when all kinds of people retweet and reblog information that’s not meant solely for their streams but for ALL streams. The difference is that of tweeting or tumbling with the intention of adding to a growing feedback loop as opposed to communicating to a specific set of followers.
A corporation or art collective could accomplish this with only a small amount of patience and coordination: by seeding people in various, unrelated streams (like the Scobleizer , #TCOT and #P2 streams) and waiting several months until they were all accepted as “real” people, an art lie could be let loose that would spread FAR FASTER than one broadcast simultaneously into millions of radios. What created the War of the Worlds panic was not the act of Orson Welles reading H.G. Wells’ story on air—but the subsequent conversations between those who listened to the broadcast at home or at work. The audience discussed the content and convinced themselves it was real—in the new media landscape, this discussion would ALREADY be included in the retweets and reblogs. The amplification of the message and the message itself are one and the same. The more dispersed and decentralized the art lie’s dissemination is, the faster it will travel.
So much for needing to be famous!
Andy Warhol paints Debbie Harry on an Amiga (via theisotope)
I love this despite the fact that the interviewer is such a total nervous dork. I guess I can’t blame him…anyways, viva Andy Warhol…and viva the internets that he would have loved so much! Let’s pick up the Tumblr torch to carry on his coolness!!
a quick sketch in illustrator of a friend of mine, thought she would look better naked and with tattoos, haha, she agree’d. :)
this reminds me of an email i need to write…thank u, telepathic tumblr!
Dusk by Kei Liwanag
Evening came and I felt boxed-in. I watched TV all day and hadn’t caught a single synch—not a tremor or a gastronomical event or anything— just like the day before and the day before that. Usually a lull meant that an intense series of synchs were making their way towards me—even so, I couldn’t help but wonder: Was it all over? Was the download finally finished? Did I have all the information I needed? After all that I’d seen, a part of me still believed it possible that I’d wake up one day and everything would be back to normal.
