motleycoup

Karmin - Super Bass by Nicki Minaj

2011-06-08T13:12:00.000-05:00

Kimbra - Settle Down

2011-06-02T22:38:00.001-05:00

SNL...The Creep

2011-02-02T23:38:00.000-06:00

Just for fun...and because I love Nicki Minaj:

SNL Digital Short: The Creep

The Age of Movement

2011-02-02T22:34:00.001-06:00

This post means a lot to me because it's the first thing I ever wrote in my free time. I don't remember why I thought to write this sort of call to action of today's youth...but I remember thinking it was important.

The musings of a discontented child:

It’s the age of portable music, the Internet-All-Mighty, and skin tight jeans. We’re those irresponsible, lazy new generation of youngins that can’t differentiate between a microwave and a toaster oven. We’re that group of kids that is so caught up in the bustle of societal advancement that we somehow have forgotten the good ole’ days of eating ice cream on a blazing hot summer day while lazily swinging back and forth on an old tire swing, perfectly in sync with the rhythm of the Earth…right?

Nah.

These are the days of ambition, advancement, and attribution. These are the days of acknowledgment, betterment, and contemplation. These are the days of change. No longer are the days of reckless, irresponsible, belligerent, and altogether blasphemous behaviors associated with the young generations. The youth of the world can change this stereotypical perception of our lifestyles, the perception of alcoholic, no-good, cash guzzling little hooligans. We are the youth who are intimate with events of the rest of our planet. We are the youth who are educated in the aspects of knowledge and perception. We are the youth who are able to formulate original standpoints and opinions based on the knowledge we so enthusiastically acquire.

Let’s generate discussion and thought, and provide for an environment of unified creativity and advancement. Why not ask what if? Let’s take theories and ideas and twist them into the practically impossible, but save room for improbable. Let’s ask the unquestionable questions, break the unbreakable barriers, and explore uncharted territory. Let’s stretch our minds so far, that we render ourselves incapable of distinguishing a limit.

This is the age of movement.

Cursive - From the Hips

2011-01-23T15:37:00.002-06:00

Forget to Not- Bob Kaufman

2011-01-23T15:05:00.000-06:00

Forget To Not

Remember, poet, while gallivanting across the sky,
Skylarking, shouting, calling names … Walk softly.
Your footprint on rain clouds is visible to naked eyes
Lamps barnacled to your feet refract the mirrored air.
Exotic scents of your hidden Remember, poet, while gallivanting across the sky,
Skylarking, shouting, calling names … Walk softly.
Your footprint on rain clouds is visible to naked eyes
Lamps barnacled to your feet refract the mirrored air.
Exotic scents of your hidden vision fly in the face of time.
Remember not to forget the dying colors of yesterday
As you inhale tomorrow's hot dream, blown from frozen lips.
Remember, you naked agent of every nothing.

... Bob Kaufman

Patty Griffin - If I Had My Way

2011-01-15T14:23:00.000-06:00

Continuum

2011-01-15T14:13:00.000-06:00

It was night, the stars were out, and the moon was bright. He could smell her smell: citrus perfume, Burt’s Bees Chap Stick, and spearmint gum. Tall cedar trees grew on either side of them. They were lying on the top of Freedom’s Peak, a notorious cliff overlooking the lake from which daring thrill seekers plunged for minutes of fame. A place of much activity during the day provided the two with pure bliss and complete solitude during the night. They stared at the stars. He wondered what she was thinking about and if she remembered their first date; he had brought her here with a bucket of fried chicken, two beers and a guitar. She had looked beautiful underneath the cedar, her features barely visible in the moonlight. He had clumsily serenaded her with sweaty hands and a shaky voice. Now they were five years older and madly in love.

He lay there and remembered everything he loved about her. He lay there and thought of how he couldn’t remember anything before the day they met. He lay there and imagined what it would be like to live without her. He lay there and decided that he couldn’t ever leave her. He lay there and breathed and thought. She rolled over, very gently, and laid her head on his chest. She fit perfectly.

“Baby,” he whispered. “Yeah,” she whispered back. “Marry me,” he said. She said nothing. He just laid there and breathed. After a few moments she stood up. “What’s the matter,” he asked. She again said nothing. She walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down. “Baby?” he asked. She turned and looked at him. “Yes,” she said and she smiled.

Her smile.

Then she jumped. “Woooo!” she yelled. He raced to the edge of the cliff and watched her body fall for what seemed like an eternity. Then she hit the water and she disappeared. He held his breath.

Then he saw her head shoot out of the water and he breathed again. “What’d you do that for?!” he asked. She laughed.

Her laugh.

He knew he had to join her and jump. He thought of how he needed to jump because she jumped. He thought of how she was brave enough to jump and how she was okay. He thought of how happy he would be once he jumped and joined her in the water. He thought of her. He jumped.

---Shereen Rabie

dreaming out loud

2011-01-10T19:00:00.003-06:00

dreaming out loud

		w.c. pelon

Andy Grammer

2011-01-01T12:20:00.000-06:00

Here's Andy Grammer's "Keep Your Head Up"

For those of you that watch The Office Rainn Wilson aka Dwight Shrute appears in the vid:

Joji Kojima

2010-12-28T02:13:00.000-06:00

Ever wonder who was behind Lady Gaga's "Fame Monster" album cover?

It's Joji Kojima: baroque jewelry artist of the avante garde.

The Dø

2010-12-25T23:35:00.001-06:00

Finnish-French duo called The Dø: Perhaps it's the quirkiness of their music or the playfulness of singer Olivia Bouyssou-Merilahti's voice but I just can't get enough! Their debut album "A Mouthful" was officially released in the US earlier this year.

Recommendation: LISTEN TO IT

Crazy Cool Christmas Trees

2010-12-25T00:12:00.000-06:00

Some festive foliage that will leave Santa a little confused:

Save your soda cans, this Mountain Dew tree is fun and recyclable.

Wanna step up your game? Try a tree made out of beer bottles.

This tree was created by 1000 knitters participating in The Eden Project.

Why ride your bike when you can display it?

Pac-Man anyone?

This tree was created by a group of glassblowers from the Benetian island of Murano.

Spinning fiber obtic tree say whaaat?

Last but not least, the upside down tree. Why put presents under the tree when you can put them on top?

There is Something that Lives in the Wind

2010-12-24T19:54:00.001-06:00

There is something that lives in the wind,

It tells me ‘your time will come’, be ready.

It doesn’t wait for my hesitance, doesn’t pause for my decision.

To be swept away by the wind and ride its gusts through columns of air so sweet I’ll never eat again.

I lay. Limbs loose, waiting. Sweep me away.

I stand eyes closed. Take me with you.

I jump arms up. Please take pity.

There is something that lives in the wind.

My company it does not desire.

Rejected, turned away. Alas I carry too much to be taken by the wind.

There is something that lives in the wind.

It requires weightless compliance.

--Shereen Rabie

Mark Jenkins

2010-12-24T18:40:00.001-06:00

Mark Jenkins: box sealing tape aficionado.

Want more?

Tim Burton's "Vincent"

2010-12-24T18:22:00.001-06:00

With the mention of the name Tim Burton, most people automatically revert to productions such as The Nightmare Before Christmas, Willy Wonka, and Alice in Wonderland. But let us explore an earlier work of Burton's, a 1982 black and white stop-motion short entitled "Vincent." The short relates the story of Vincent Malloy, a young boy who fantasizes that he is Vincent Price:

An excerpt from Burton on Burton describes the story as

      "flitting between the reality of [Vincent's] banal suburban existence and his fantasy world, Vincent imagines himself in a series of situations inspired by the Vincent Price/Edgar Allan Poe films that had had such an affect on Burton as a child."

Burton elaborates with,

       "Vincent Price, Edgar Allan Poe, those monster movies, those spoke to me. You see somebody going    through that anguish and that torture - things you identify with - and it acts as a kind of therapy, a release. You make a connection with it. That's what the Vincent thing really was for me."



          Personally, I LOVE this short. I think it is an expressionistic masterpiece that truly exposes how Burton saw himself as a child. According to Burton on Burton, Tim always acknowledged an inherent vapidness in his surbuban home, he always felt out of place, as if he was searching for something else, something greater. This sort of longing is portrayed perfectly in Vincent's large and desperate eyes, the lethargy of his motions, and the sparse furnishings and landscaping of his environment. This short displays perfectly a boy that is searching for his escape.

For fun, here are is an original sketch of Burton's:

And Vincent's script:

Vincent Malloy is seven years old
He’s always polite and does what he’s told
For a boy his age, he’s considerate and nice
But he wants to be just like Vincent Price

He doesn’t mind living with his sister, dog and cats
Though he’d rather share a home with spiders and bats
There he could reflect on the horrors he’s invented
And wander dark hallways, alone and tormented

Vincent is nice when his aunt comes to see him
But imagines dipping her in wax for his wax museum

He likes to experiment on his dog Abercrombie
In the hopes of creating a horrible zombie
So he and his horrible zombie dog
Could go searching for victims in the London fog

His thoughts, though, aren’t only of ghoulish crimes
He likes to paint and read to pass some of the times
While other kids read books like Go, Jane, Go!
Vincent’s favourite author is Edgar Allen Poe

One night, while reading a gruesome tale
He read a passage that made him turn pale

Such horrible news he could not survive
For his beautiful wife had been buried alive!
He dug out her grave to make sure she was dead
Unaware that her grave was his mother’s flower bed

His mother sent Vincent off to his room
He knew he’d been banished to the tower of doom
Where he was sentenced to spend the rest of his life
Alone with the portrait of his beautiful wife

While alone and insane encased in his tomb
Vincent’s mother burst suddenly into the room
She said: “If you want to, you can go out and play
It’s sunny outside, and a beautiful day”

Vincent tried to talk, but he just couldn’t speak
The years of isolation had made him quite weak
So he took out some paper and scrawled with a pen:
“I am possessed by this house, and can never leave it again”
His mother said: “You’re not possessed, and you’re not almost dead
These games that you play are all in your head

You’re not Vincent Price, you’re Vincent Malloy
You’re not tormented or insane, you’re just a young boy
You’re seven years old and you are my son
I want you to get outside and have some real fun.

”Her anger now spent, she walked out through the hall
And while Vincent backed slowly against the wall
The room started to swell, to shiver and creak
His horrid insanity had reached its peak

He saw Abercrombie, his zombie slave
And heard his wife call from beyond the grave
She spoke from her coffin and made ghoulish demands
While, through cracking walls, reached skeleton hands

Every horror in his life that had crept through his dreams
Swept his mad laughter to terrified screams!
To escape the madness, he reached for the door
But fell limp and lifeless down on the floor

His voice was soft and very slow
As he quoted The Raven from Edgar Allen Poe:

“and my soul from out that shadow
that lies floating on the floor
shall be lifted?
Nevermore…”

The last quote is from Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven." Here is the original poem:

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

"Liquid Kiss"

2010-12-24T17:29:00.000-06:00

Check out this sculpture entitled "Liquid Kiss" by Tsang Cheung-shing.

The sculpture is on display at the Central Concourse of the Hong Kong International Airport.

...talk about a wet smooch, eh?