Tuesday Night Post #11 /  by DBL



Flock of see ghouls,

     You can now follow me on Twitter @DBL3.  I will not bore you with everyday situations such as,"In line at Yogurtland, ARGHH... can't wait to have my after work yogurt TREAT!!! LOL!!!", and such unless I really am in line, at Yogurtland, and well maybe I really am fiending for my Yogurt treat.  Your not one to judge ME!

     This week I will double up on the post.  I am over-flowing.  In need of putting up three I will hold back and leave it for the next shopping spree,  sweet gift of words, silly rosy ambitions.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *      

Strange Occurrences
(Stories of the Two)

I don’t believe in Coincidences
“I chose my world softly”, he once said

From my advantage my words burn bright
But pale underbellies of untouched skin
Roasting high and dry
Are my chance encounters with him

A mutual meeting
A need to dive deep
Not up or Down
Deep into a place that exist for us two

I knew a world he once envisioned
He knows an existence filled with disarray
A switch from senseless to decay
I found meaning of pleasure in flesh and disdain
I Knew I knew nothing of the void I chose to remain
The moist stifling place he calls home
A place I was curious to dwell not alone

My words echoed in his heart
A direct freeing of the new
An avatar turn askew
Tie me up
Tie me down
Strip me of this Triple Crown

Help me render what I need to know
A dimension far from the one we both know

*     *     *     *     *
Circle Dance with Two Colors

Lets consider that I am flawed
Lets ignore that I am not raw

I have felt things I think I don’t want
And exposed myself to things that help me rot

I know nothing of the love that I hurt
Or the need to re-live the things I need to rehearse
I see reaction in the small creatures I nurse
And see the red as my patience reverse
In the same way I react to the perverse
And the answers that perplex me from her

I am a fool with the sweetness that she rejects
And the sweetness that I project

I have sensed that I must give up
And have seen how frivolous it is to give it up

I am sure I will not learn from this end
I will surely see her in a twin

If it’s not in the world I will go to sleep to
It will be in the world that will soon turn a new

You can say I am a sucker for words…
And actions and small gestures and love
And well  I am a sucker in other words

In the same way that I try to work on problems and solutions
In the same way I confuse and dilute any resolution

An awkward circle this little dance
I held a rose purely my intentional circumstance

I can go until this is long and convoluted
Still empty for the thought is eluded


Tuesday Night Post #10 /  by DBL



My fellow meat puppets,

Lets just hope we don't choke on our vomit as we awake. 

-DBL
*     *     *     *     *

Brought Together

A single hair winds and binds
In between the three strands
Across my chest
Goes across my ribs
A mental picture I create
A needle and thread by which I intend to connect
Uncountable wavering thoughts
Held up high, my limb, needle in hand
Mouth agape
The needle dives in flesh and far
Forty knots in a row except for the last five
Clustered safe as heaven's gate 
To feel the path that set me straight
Piercing thoughts
Piercing veins
Collecting fractures bones and lose ligaments
Pulling taut slipping through my finger tips
With a breath I am brought inside myself



Tuesday Night Post #9 /  by DBL


 
 Waterlogged

Lets talk from the place where things are not strange
Position in the mind in which nothing is confusing
Attempts of awareness chase the epiphany building
Try not to grapple with the logic for it’s the one thing that dilutes
An offer of protection of the firmness that is objection
Can strangle off an extension of what might have been

Find freedom in a voice
Slide into the void that has a neighbor
Companionship is just one form
True liberation is sloppy
Sticky and confusing to the frontal self
Getting lost offers a recharge
A tossing up of the cards allows them to dance in their truth

Limbo is a stage don’t linger there to long
Although the next stage
Might be a variation of the first
You might find the presence there over-bearing

Embrace every thought it is a presence of existence
Jumping over formalities produces subjugation
Of course thoughts are refection’s of footsteps, stumbled and planted
Existence is a phenomenon ruminated
Grabbed, pinched, firmly interrogated
Lets give it water, some time to its self 
A moment to invent an alibi



Tuesday Night Post #8 /  by DBL


Expanding Field of Malignant Tumors,

With every loss there must be some found. With every negative account there is a positive one. So... where did our money go? Money made is some how lost. A ghost of bills light and easy to move. Move Where? A different course, a different country or a different time. Time was bought so we can be left confused. Turn it upside down then it goes down stream or upstream. Either way it goes to the top of everyone's mind out of sight at the right time. I am no Scientist but can you make energy out of nothing? Whats the law of thermal dynamics???

But this has nothing to do with this post.

-DBL

* * * * *


Reflections of the One (Stories of the Two)

I believe in phantoms. I've seen some with ugly long faces permanently in horror Others still and sunken reminders of the plague that can be a thought. One keeps me company. A creature similar to me, fallen off course, a start for chance encounters. As I walk, as I see, she becomes the template in which I measure the rest of material existence. The standard hair, the pretty dress The average pair of legs, Become a crumbly itchy projection from the outside world. Fleshy and materialized forms of earthly delusion. Into my minds eye it comes, destroyed by that which is occupied with, my dark angel. It seems as though this lovely ghost was made special for me To exist in my tarnished heart. To be looked for desperately in my sleeping life, and spiritually in my waking one. It is ironic that when I began to see the light it was partly blocked by this shadowed figure. An angel so disturbed, She finds a temperate climate in my darken soul. And angel so beautiful She brightens the same space. She is with me so often I could write stories of our voyages. I ride on her wings of sensual piety but the weight of us both keeps us on this middle earth. For now she tickles my perverted mind, but soothes it back to the surface. A relationship that is ephemeral because of the fact that we exist together, purely as converging paths of an instance. An instance that needs to be understood removed of judgment. Because this instance is our own she is willing to wrap her elusive self around me. Let us forget our role. Our birth and our death, Our creators and destroyers that make us of different substance. May my words be a testament to the possibilities of new rites.

This Bondage is not of marriage but of a three-legged union.

Tweet

Tuesday Night Post #7 /  by DBL


Frontal Lobesers,
            Lets set some waves in motion.   You ever been part of a wave at an massive gathering?  I always find it more gratifying to see the wave then be part of them.  I am sure some love to be the first crest.  Its a feeling that if i would describe I would no doubt start a tangent about the urge we have to connect and flow into each other.  Maybe start to babble about the mirror of the natural world that is technology.  It is our play our way of digesting what is really happening,…maybe a different time.  

-DBL

 *     *     *

In Transition
(Stories of the Two)

A sudden blow to change the coarse vessel

Resumed the oath he once had lost
Engulfed in thought and growing moss
Lined up square on a triple cross

From above the corner came a floating figure

Seeing signs of times advance
Questions of the past romance
Finding freedom in his lance

View point scores a visual of her dirty soles

Figures fall with approach
In his mind he rides the coach
Way of life severely broached

Riding on wings of white shine black on her back

With passing situations
He opens up to varying positions
Trying not to make any deceptions

Moved by heavenly urges bored enough to touch with her toes

Making friends with the eagle
Trying not to feed the ego
He realizes he must let go

Sitting down at the level to eat with the folks with her fingers

Like a book taken off the shelf
Dusted off and full of health
Setting fire to himself

Gravity pulls the meal her essence has no longing use of legs

As time goes round and eventually continues
Things build on chance encounters
For both an evil end is nothing that matters 




Tuesday Night Post #6 /  by DBL




A Text Message, Ghostly Received from One Not Seen or Spoken to
(One of Many Communication Formats between the Beau Ideal and the Ordinary)

Just words
No tone
No voice
No body, breath
No essential Non-verbal communication signals.
Just words organized by
Letters Symbolizing thought.
What degree of Communication is this with this heavenly interviewer?
Questions asked, answered
then asked again.
Tag, simple word play.
Any spirit could be summed.

+Were u happy?
-U mean was i ever happy?
+In the end?
-I was happy and unhappy, its complex.
+How r u now?
-Good days and bad days.
+How r u creating?
Anyone could be this voice.

Systematic Cold the interviewer.
Distance makes the exchange unreal.
With a change of subject it becomes Real.
Creative thought, action in speaking of creativity.
Responding in inner Ideas of creation.
This can be dangerous.

Scope of Creative ether
Train linked Germinating boiler
Fever Ignored Death
SCTCVerf Cinotd GeR oithler

When will this conversation go wrong. When will it stop.
I get more info then I want more.
Then the Fear.
Then I want more, Push the Bruise.
Squeeze the wound.
Scratch the itch.
Scratch again
Scratch again
Scratch again
Scratch again
Pick the scab
Watch it bleed.
Let it heal.
Watch it ooze.
Pull, pull, then resist it back.
Feel it push
lean in.
Forget the signs
the flags
stubborn beast.
Snort, head down.
Cannon ball of lust and obsession.

Then it turns.
I see the distance
The need in myself to say I love to hold on.
But this pain is not new it is child play.
One with perspective from below
Word from above.
Fleeting this emotion is, since there is no outlet.
-What if I wanted this in my life?
-What if all I ever need was it, but i could never realize that.
 -Only when im away will i know that i wanted it.
-u in my life is harder than me alone.






Tuesday Night Post #5 /  by DBL



Collective Sleepers,
       Late starts, yes they slow the terminus but the terminus will result.
With child like infatuation, 

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

A Clear and Conscious Distance

What is this distance that is so clear and clean.
A view from above
A clear view.

From a perched location in detachment, it was not hard to fantasies about who he was and what he did.
She looks at the screen.
Watch’s him work.
He sweeps
He mops.

Him focused on the mundane task, the irksome dance, she drifts into the emotional mathematics of what was possible once in a time when she fantasize on the potential of the situation.  

In her eyes he becomes little squares of liquid crystals as her thoughts begin to stream…

Let us go inside.  Will we let things become what they are as we become that one thing that has eluded most of the ones that try and try again after a while all hell breaks through, how can I love this state of unravel?  How can I trust the one that see me for who I was and what I will be?  Can you accuse me before I am?  Simple time calls for complexities that I alone cannot enjoy.  I remember once when you said those things I love to hear and I questioned the only thing that is real and touchable.  Regulations.  Stormy darkness that is I will soon let it go but I am not ready for the moment in which I have let the ones I kept inside become myself.  Logging user motion detected.  Cluster fucks the collective consciousness that eats itself for the reason of existence.  If I ever let you in it is because I have given up on myself.  Myself is more precious than anything I know therefore when I hear I am precious from another it means nothing by use of emotional mathematics.  Stamp the time stamp the date I will remember this bytes.  In between is where I am on the roof is where you are ready to jump even if there is no force in which it would bring you to the ground.  Transfixed the repair, for it was not already broken, twice fold.  Don’t try to understand when you are trying to resolve.  Chose one choice if you are to win.  Let me find the time to know myself before I want you to understand the things that I have built myself to become.  Search back search click new page resolve.  Why should I trust when I know that reality is a question that must not be answered by the ones that asked it only by the ones that live it?  I don’t suppress myself in hopes of living long I do it in hopes of finding out what there is to live for.  X’s & O’s & 1’s and I can’t forget to save.  Don’t try to expunge my thoughts.  They are mind.  My possessions are an extension of the things that can break.  Let me love you in hopes I can break free when needed and when I am need I can break myself in two for you and for myself.  I can fracture in infinitude, one for me and several for the server.  Let me fear the fear that I fear for I fear in all its fear.  Just trust in the fact that I have demons that dress as angels for my heart is unwilling to see the facets of my personality.  There is no break in code or timing so is this genuine? If you step into my abode then you are mine if you are mine then you are for me to keep, this is a privilege.  Drive around me but if you drive in me that is when I cannot exist.  For I become the tool of another’s reality, which in my head is only possible if I truly adhere to the belief that I can become down into them…

On and on her mind disengages in things she is unconscious of and things she truly wants to resolve. 
Her comfort comes from being able to know where he is and seeing the phantom move in the screen. 

There is no comfort in dialogue. 






Tuesday Night Post #4 /  by DBL


 Cohabitants,
                  Maybe you have not noticed but things are changing.  The things to come will reignite your ideas of what is possible and if not careful put out the fire that is within all of us.  Keep track of all you hear and see.   Let us find freedom and recreation in critical thought.  Take a few breathes and think "why?".   Then ask "why?".  What ever you do don't panic.  It will make sense.  We are all a part of Team 6.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

The Fox in the Hole

Under the afternoon sun I doze
On my side
An ear to the ground and one to the sky
My thoughts fall into the object of my desire
The cause of all evil and the drive of my existence
The dream we all dream of is my companion
A servant to my servitude
Among my family things are said
In my sleep my thoughts and the things I heard come together
They color a reality I am not sure I understand too well
That fox in the hole
In my slumber he is as real as the lark I caught the other day
A fleeting victory
How many times will I search and destroy that fox?
How many times will it take a different form?
Turning inside out
Revealing a nanosecond of clarity that in my dreams open up the mystery
But in my waking life feels as if my tail is waging me
I see the picture in my minds eye circulated among the rest
We can’t smell the fox in the pictures but we rather believe it exist
No questions
Without our fox my friends would get disoriented
Just the search to find something to search for
Would reveal things we are to well trained to not think of
We give up our freedom to serve the hunt
In my dreams I corner it but that is when things get cloudy
Vague in meaning I wake up remembering the instant I go in for the kill
But I don’t remember the kill
I open my eyes
The light blinds one eye
The other by the dirt
I shake myself off
Drink some water
Feels like a good day to kill my cousin






Tuesday Night Post #3 /  by DBL



Ending to a Unreal Life Altering Text Conversation
(Six Impromptu Responses)

No. 1
Severed finger
Sewn apart
Fingers crossed
Dipped in butter
Brown and toasted
Flavor tense and reflected
Shoved away Rejoined in rhythm.

No. 2
Today decided to not care anymore
Tomorrow I start walking sideways
Everywhere except in tight spaces.

No. 3
There is no fun in time travel
mys-fuctional meddling.

No. 4
Relaxed pose
Open sore
Systems to penetrate
Leave us kneeled and saturated

No. 5
Counted toes count
Once for u
Once for separation
Once for circles son.

No. 6
Inch by seconds or miles
Worried ones watch in horror
Moistened surface the length is measured
Ground is to taste the others mistakes
Crush.


Tuesday Night Post #2 /  by DBL



This is more of an evening posting thing. Tuesday night postings if you will.
Recently I have been having dreams in which I feel as though I am watching someone else's thoughts. They seem so foreign; the kind I feel would never come from my mind. Most are stories.
I remember seeing this event one time or perhaps it was a story I once was told, or something that I had said, or maybe I dreamt it...

I Did Not Witness the Flower, nor Did I Witness the Felling
Sitting on a patch of green at a muddy park. Sitting, staring, things here and there caught my eye.
At times I lost my train of thought, stared into open space, staring, staring…
My memory forgets the second I saw the two little sprouts of green wiggling out the mud. Those two little ones left a shadow in my heart forever darkened with love and desire...
I wondered if they came from the same organism. Siblings maybe struggling for their own space to consume; their location and relation trivial.

As I watch with an empty mind I see them reach and grow
Leaves, stems expanding pushing air
It takes me a slight thought to identify their varying patterns of behavior

One sweet but proud
Looped and twisted
Lovely moments that hypnotized my subconscious
I was soon pulled into its dance

Reaches up for the heaven veering a sudden left then to the ground
Loop back up
Then the cycle again
Re-orient
Then the cycle again with a varying variance that produces the same but a singular event
So caught up with the instant, so focused and close
I pull back
It is a pile of loops and curves, smooth and sexy
Image of its potential not finished but promising
As my eyes lust for a touch that's when I notice a peculiar surface change
It comes very slowly
They creep out with no pride or conscious
Slowly piercing the space around them
Two inch thorns
Red and splendid
Sharp and threatening in their shape
I marvel at this thorny bush
A creature so perfectly dangerous but inviting
Inviting in a sense that one could get lost in its complications and its sudden revelations
Its growth slows so my attention turns

Elsewhere

The other seedling is a seedling no more
It begins its towering ascent into the sky above
Expanding its limbs any direction it can envision
Any it can invade
This tree a faction off of a contemporary of the bush
With two phenomenons, my mind well occupied, I have no thoughts of my own
Just reflections of what I think I see…

Barriers are broken
Personal space becomes a place for tension
As I stare time, really, I feel is lost
Overlapping and repeating I see no distinction
A thorny vine creeps up the tree
Or are there three?
Movement is fast as I realize what occurs
These juvenile things with recklessness jump at a point to interact
One reaches out, the other up
One leans in close, the other around
Winding, grasping, hugging, knotting, and flowing
This dance seems only to fulfill an intention to thrive
A single goal
A feeling that I mustn’t interrupt overcomes me
Mainly because of the curiosity I have to see where this will end
From the thrusts here and there, both seem stressed
Both seem much matured
A tree bounded by a thorny bush pushing out adding tension as it grows out and upwards as trees usually do
Rings on top of rings
Layers of cells

I left that scene of which I bore witness.
I had things to do. It was getting cold, and I had forgotten my sweater.
I left them.
One tall, almost too high to see. The other dense, with buds that were ready and willing to show the light, climbing as high as they want.
Forever anchored to earth with their relative distance.
Forever growing high and wide, and if willing, down and out.
I still replay it in my head hoping I can extrapolate what it meant and where it would have gone. It’s exhausting because of the infinite possibilities and the tendency for memory to fade and warp details. Sometimes I see similar creatures doing similar things. In any case the event still exist in myself.

Much love,
-DBL


Tuesday Post #1 /  by DBL

Greetings,

This is the first of several of my writings I will post every Tuesday. They will vary from poems, general writings, stream of conscious, word equations, lyrics, to anything that I think makes enough sense to post, or just needs to live somewhere.

-DBL


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


Words from One Walking the Line Between Illuminated and Enlightened
Falling on the side of Nihilistic

60 Orange Rose's of Jesus Christ

Sent
60 Oranges on roads of there demise.

60 talent scouts to each hard,

Sound off enrichment bonuses to their friend.

Banking lessons to the One.

Sending messages,

Evil ones.

Constant splatter of the souls

Living life never more.

Precious system source of wealth

Symbolized by current stealth.

60 paths of revelation.

Seeping, Read, and Constellations.

Sipping, Red, and hesitations.

Sending words, Re-guards, and E-motions.

Feeling through a constant

Frontal lotion/ corrosion.

Spliced and mended credit card.

Romantic Age maintained,

Good exchange.

Goods exchanging

Health/ wealth maintained

Continue this other way.

Figure 1 for 2,

Your way of seeing

Is

A Different hue.

Watch them say "I am the light"

While they wiggle in the
Dusty
Blight.

Running hands

Over the hide,

Cattle that don't need to create,
Soon lose the power to subjugate.

30 soon departs,

No one really knows how it starts

Or when it ends

Cycles through and through.

Grab a broom

Sweep away.

Wooden
Stick

Hanging

You.




L@TE: Friday Nights - The Transformation Call with Harupin-ha Butoh Dance Company (Berkeley, Ca) /  by DBL

Greetings,

On December 10 I will be part of a Butoh performance at the Berkeley Art Museum in Berkeley, California. By special invitation by a good friend/ contemporary/ b-boy/ and Butoh dancer Luku Netherthot.


-DBL









L@TE: Friday Nights @ BAM/PFA

From meditative masterpieces to off-kilter performances, L@TE programming invades Gallery B with classical and experimental soundworks, dance, video, and conceptual and performance art. Guest programmer Tomo Yasuda’s L@TE series concludes its dialogue with the exhibition Flowers of the Four Seasons: Ten Centuries of Art from the Clark Collection for Japanese Art and Culture in this final piece.

(Doors 5 p.m., D.J. 6:30 p.m.)
Programmed by Tomo Yasuda

December marks the end of the year, a transition to a new season, abrupt but not as shocking as the transition from the Edo to Meiji periods, a near-apocalyptic experience for the Japanese, when foreign pressure opened Japan to the modern world. Berkeley-based Butoh masters Koichi and Hiroko Tamano and over fifty dancers from their Harupin-ha Butoh Dance Company will interpret the winter season and change with a performance based on the 1918 short story “The Spider’s Thread” by Ryunosuke Akutagawa. Staged in Gallery B, the dance will incorporate BAMscape, Thom Faulders’s 1,500-square-foot hybrid of sculpture, furniture, and stage. San Francisco-based Vomica will accompany the performance with an original composition. Thefinal video loop in a series of four by Sara Magenheimer, this one evoking the last month of the year, will round out the spectacle. The Transformation Call is programmed in conjunction with the exhibition Flowers of the Four Seasons.


Berkeley Art Museum

2626 Bancroft Way
Berkeley, CA 94704
(510) 642-0808

Jackal: DBRP Performance at The Torrance Art Muesums Zoom 2 /  by DBL

jackal at tam by DBRP















Description:

Three performers: The Handler (which had the Jackal by a leash), the Jackal (which wore a leather headpiece) and the Controller (behind the laptop).

The Jackal and the Handler performed on a ring of salt.

The headpiece had a web cam on the front (which served as an eye), a microphone (which served as a digital gag), and a L.C.D. screen (which served as a filtered window to reality). The live video and audio feed, from the Jackal, was first processed by the Controller which was behind the laptop and in front of the projection. Then the feed was sent to the projector and back to the Jackal, transformed and filtered. What the Jackal saw and the audience saw was the equal.


Performers:
The Handler- Wet Mango
The Controller- Aaron Moreno
The Jackal- DBL

Torrance Art Museum /  by DBL


*object control will not be participating

July 3:

STATIONS: 751
7 Artists
5 Hours
1 Day

TAM: On Saturday, July 3, 7 sound and media artists from Los Angeles and Orange County will collaborate on a five hour performance that explores the concepts of transition, interaction and improvisation. Incorporating both electronic and conventional instruments, light projections, and movement, the program will feature new works by DBRP, phog masheeen, Eric Strauss, and FLOOD.

Compositions will be presented as a continuous stream of interconnected events that will transform the Torrance Art Museum into a cooperative sound/media installation and minimal conceptual circus. This performance exhibition will be curated by the Long Beach group FLOOD who produces and curates SoundWalk, a one-night multi-media event dedicated to sound art.

FLOOD’s practice of curation as a separate aesthetic category has resulted in SoundWalk striving to function as a stand-alone work of art comprised of other stand-alone works of art. Within this context, Stations: 751 will serve as a further experiment in “curation as art” as the five featured sounds artists function as a sub-curatory of artist-collaborators who determine such things as object placement and performance progression. As a result, sonic overlap zones and chance events will be among the elements that are a direct result of the curatorial expressions of the artists themselves. It is FLOOD’s hope that the results of this experiment will positively influence the group’s approach to future curato-artistic practice.

WHAT: Sound Art Exhibition curated by FLOOD (Kamran Assadi, Frauke von der Horst, Shelley Rugg-Thorp, Shea M Gauer, Marco Schindelmann)
WHO: Divine Brick Research Projects (Aaron Moreno and bumble head, Wet Mango, DBL), phog masheeen, Eric Strauss and FLOOD
WHERE: Torrance Art Museum (TAM), 3320 Civic Center Drive, Torrance, CA 90503
(310) 618-6340
WHEN: Saturday, July 3rd (11:00AM-5:00PM)
ADMISSION: Free
PARKING: Free

A Stepping Aside to Collect My Thoughts /  by DBL

It is hard to concisely explain my train of thought as of today. With few things lining up, but all seeming to converge to a point: some personal, free overflowing everywhere, others at the macro level, the point at a pins tip.

What is most important is not that I cannot explain it, but that it is occurring in more places then just in my Reality. What I hope to at least understand is that what is occurring becomes clearer with one concept I have most recently in the last I’d say 2 years realized, always known just solidified. This it a modest occurrence, it is the realization that there is a handshake behind any bamboozle. For those that like to dive into purity and ancestrally gods, these are not immune.

Priest: Conducers of Truth

I recall a personal epiphany in which I understood that behind the Mayan colonization is the Mayan hand shaking the Anglo one. Deal dealt in blood, rape and loss. Then much like now knowledge was power. To predict is to control.


Let us call upon Mel. Mel Gibson, for his movie is so fresh in our collective memory stream, which is always in a schizoid flux. Let us picture the Mayan priest versed is all the ancient secrets and knowledge, through him we knew the gods, through him his power helped us see the face of the gods, their love and their anger. Him, the priest, asked us to sacrifice a few to subdue the omnipotent ones. A simple prediction from the omni-conduit came proof of the destructive power of a lie. Predictable celestial bodies became the tool to control the masses and show them the indiscriminate destructive power of the gods.

I also start to direct my focus on the Mayan ruins, legacy shrouded in mystery. To step into the once lustrous ruins was to be of the elite class. If by some occurrence you, as a peasant class found yourself in this sacred place what were the chances that you could understand any of the coded language that surrounded you. At present, to step into the ruins what is the meaning of this occupation? You could be of peasant class or of the elite to execute this action although more and more we are restricted entry because of age and entropy, but to understand the secrets heavily veiled with age, from which class would you need to be from or flow in?



The Virgin Mary

Lets try to reach inside and find the real purity; If that is a possibility, purity. The one gift that is sacred is to give life. More precisely represented is the ability to incubate a thought. Many a times there has been a need to make a concept more native to another's understanding. The honey added to the poison (or medicine, however you choose to see it or it chooses to be seen) reflects this want to hold on to this modest idea I am trying to erode to, a more modest belief that allows a release of power.

Some would say a weakness in ones Self others say a stepping down from arrogance. A possible rephrasing: From primal to civil we gain power to control and manipulate. In finding that what is created is not mystical, arrogance is cultivated. A whipping girl is established soon we all are gods with free will to create or destroy. The priorities shifted from process to product, from Virgin to Christ.



When Consumption Becomes Replication

All things, to me, are fluid. This is, like all things mentioned, personal physics which allow me to stumble and manifest Truths that interconnect. During one of my liquid ventures I stumbled onto a word (This word is Conducer) that describes a phenomenon that I have been trying to grasp to understand. This phenomenon involves an embedded urge we all have, which is the urge to create.

Yes the obvious urge that comes to mind is the want to create another, which is the sexual urge we all have. I want to go further into this idea and explore the urge to create a self, create a reality, create a structure, create a language, create art, but giving attention to a system that taps into this urge and stimulates it. This creative urge could be a biological survival tactic or learned conditioning, as of now it is really not important where it comes from but that it is the urge that is simulated by things such as video games, virtual worlds, networking sites and other newer technologies or to be specific, technologies that have an entertainment element to them and some how helps us achieve a higher state of content. Such things have always existed that cater to that urge: cooking, sports, arts, and Self-Realization. What is different is the way the experience is mediated by parameters chosen by another.

This word or noun, the conducer, is referring to the one that is not only a consumer but also a producer, intertwined and eating itself.

EX: An avatar created by one existing in Second-Life manipulating, creating in a world that is in-part created buy another…I mean by another consuming producing then consuming its own, an experience where consumption and production are synonymous. Is this any different then what once existed? Is this just a clearer definition of what is human or Humanism?

My hope is not to confuse but to communicate in an easier form. All thoughts are solid in creation, pulled apart to share. This is where things are lost and the vacuum between you and I resides. Work is needed to stitch these things together and find a forum where we can endure.

Sitting on my steps as my blue sky becomes a gridded haze,

-DBL

SoundWalk 09-VID /  by DBL




                               CLICK IMAGE ABOVE TO VIEW!!!


Bipeds alike,



This is the Sweep Performance performed at the SoundWalk of Long Beach, Ca (September 25, 2009). Many thanks to electronic emergency and many that helped out.

The audio consists of 2 channels each with two different excerpts from two different Sweep Performances performed at the SoundWalk.

The actual performance  consisted of one performer sweeping with a broom that was wired to a computer.   The computer filtered the sound of the broom accentuating it.  This sound was then directed back to headphones that were worn by the performer and anyone else that wanted to follow him and immerse themselves in the performance.


-DBL

SoundWalk Performance Update /  by DBL


Converging Life Streams,

My hopes is to have the SoundWalk performance vid ready to share soon. I really enjoyed this piece and hope to experience it again, and give others a chance to do so with me. It was nice to be a part of the Soundwalk of Long Beach for the second time. Although it is bitter sweet.

I really do feel it is unfortunate it is a very little known event, mostly known to Long Beach locals, if even that. It is quite a unique event. Growth and positive spirit of audience and of the organizers is my desire.

One thing I found that was encouraging is the energy and spectrum of the audience. Most glad to see children and many of our community elders there and most ecstatic to see may colors and origins on many of the faces.

Art is strangled, sheltered in least terms, when hermetically sealed. Oxygen is for growth, your carbon, expelled, is just part of that cycle. You must breath on it, by all means break that air tight seal. Stir in all your germs all the filth, conjure up an elixir, strength is in the mix, to combat an pin hole panoramic view.

On a tangent now. Been thinking of that great white art box all artist love to put there finger prints on. So much white to reflect the light. To much space to contain the ego.



-DBL

Tarfest Recap- "Research in Performance, Sound, and Dissent" /  by DBL

Cohabitants,

With hopes of transforming each molecule and atom of the Tarfest audience with waves of undulating, random and beaten sounds, this invocation delivered.

To tilt the unbalanced unconscious was the goal. Success measured in unveiling of error for tomorrow to be recalculated.

Thanks to ones that transformed into characters of weight, appreciation for the passive willing to absorb, acknowledgment for those active but not brought to light and special thanks to two extraordinary ladies (and one life stream in utero), willing testifiers, active and transformed.

One peculiar thing. Just before the performance music was turn on in the gallery, played through the p.a. system. By the end it fused with the noise of the performance and gave a nice texture.

This video and sound objects were presented the remaining days of the show.

-DBL

Wooden form functions as a resonator feedbacking onto itself to produce a wave of undulating texture. Headpiece has a pitch bended analog synth. Piece was and exploration in control symbolism and recontextualization them.


DBRP Performing at Tarfest 2009 from DBL on Vimeo.

DVD copy now available (with extras)



This Friday (Tar Fest Info) /  by DBL

Tarfest Art Show

Juried by Rita Gonzalez, Curator, American Art, LACMA

Korean Cultural Center
5505 Wilshire Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90036

Opening reception 6 – 9pm.
Attendance is FREE.
Exhibition continues through Oct. 8, 2009

Produced in collaboration with the Los Angeles Art Association.
Korean Cultural Center