Punks are never complacent. Once they grow into complacency they cease to be punks. Hence, some of the best rock bands of all times turned into nothing more than shadows of their earlier selves in their later years. Examples would be Morrissey from The Smiths, REM, The Smashing Pumpkins, U2. It happened to them all.
Beatnics were the earliest incarnations of punks. Patti Smith, Jim Carroll(The Basketball Diaries), Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg and William Boroughs are probably the most recognizable names within this category. I feel as though soon will be the day that no remaining soul will know what they stood for. On the Road, the famous book by Kerouac written in the 50's, refers to an era of boundless freedom in the history of the US that will probably never be repeated.
Beatnics, in turn, were influenced by the ideals and philosophy of the Romantics. Romanticism was a revolutionary movement in art and music in Europe around 1800-1900, during which individualized emotion was cherished and complete personal expression was the highest goal. The musical pieces of that era were characterized by drama, creepiness, and highly sensual sounds, such as Beethoven's Symphony no.5, The Erlkonig by Schubert, and my favourite, Chopin's mesmerizing piano pieces.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KuUJ3rhevNk
Saturday 19 May 2012
my religion
It seems everyone knows what hippie culture was all about, but only few know about something known as "punk". Punk is an attitude, although it also defines a genre in the history of music that is associated with certain types of beats, rhythm, lyrics and singing style. But it really is all about the attitude, and bands that weren't typically "punk" in their musical style would still be considered punk if they stood for punk ideals. On the other hand, a lot of bands that mimicked the musical style to be associated with the punk movements had no idea what it really stood for.
1. We are NOT hippies! Punk shared some characteristics with hippie culture but was also fundamentally different from it.
2. We are shameless in the face of the fact that we are outsiders.
3. We are different and embrace our weirdness.
4. We defy...
5. Passion is our middle name.
6. We're honest.
7. We do fight, but not because we're told to.
9. We keep this saying in mind -"I don't regret the things I've done but those I haven't done."
1. We are NOT hippies! Punk shared some characteristics with hippie culture but was also fundamentally different from it.
2. We are shameless in the face of the fact that we are outsiders.
3. We are different and embrace our weirdness.
4. We defy...
5. Passion is our middle name.
6. We're honest.
7. We do fight, but not because we're told to.
9. We keep this saying in mind -"I don't regret the things I've done but those I haven't done."
panopticism
Panopticism relates to everything. And so, I'd like to share with my readers a short essay that I wrote explaining what it is all about by referring to the essay Panopticism by Foucault (Dane, this is especially for you):
Panopticism
begins with a description of Jeremy Bentham’s Panopticon, a nineteenth century
structural design for a prison. The principle behind the design is explained,
the mechanism analyzed, and throughout the chapter Foucault shows how it provided the model in which a self-disciplined
modern society has been able to develop.
Foucault gradually leads us to the realization that “We are neither in the
amphitheater, nor on the stage, but in the Panoptic machine”(Foucault
301).
Bentham’s Panopticon is composed of a
tower annularly surrounded by cells. The tower has wide windows that open into
the inner side of the ring. Each cells extends the whole width of the building
and has two parallel windows, the inner one facing the tower’s window, and the
other outwards. This parallel setting allows the light to cross the cell from
one end to another; hence the supervisor can easily observe the individual in
the cell from the tower. With the Panopticon’s structural elements, Bentham
creates a scenario where the inmates in the cells cannot see the guardian in
the tower, and therefore cannot verify, at any given moment, whether or not
they are being observed. Thus, this is a very efficient mechanism of
control over great quantities of people as it exerts a constant sense of surveillance
and produces self-imposed discipline. An additional element is that each inmate
is isolated as the sidewalls of the cells prevent him from seeing or coming
into contact with his peers.
By close and constant observation of
isolated bodies, each of the imprisoned entities is vulnerable to specific measurement,
classification and even experimentation. This gathered information,
Foucault argues, is used to increase the efficiency of control, a principle
that works similarly in modern times. Patients in hospitals are observed
separately, their symptoms documented, and the effects of the medicines they
were given monitored. Among schoolchildren, Panopticism makes it possible to
asses character and aptitudes. Amongst workers, to compare the time it takes
each to complete a task and calculate their wages accordingly, to teach
different techniques simultaneously and decide which works best.
Over the last few centuries, the role
of disciplinary institutions has transformed from dealing with “problematic
populations” or situations and preventing destruction, to productivity,
increasing the possible utility of individuals. For example, Christian
elementary schools in the seventeenth century were founded to prevent drunkenness,
theft and general disorder. At the beginning of the Revolution their role has
transformed into preparing the children for work and strengthening their
skills.
Foucault describes a process in which
the disciplinary establishments increase, but at the same time morph from
defined, enclosed institutions (such as workshops, armies, schools) into
external surveillance spread throughout the modern “disciplinary society.” The
police force, along with informers, is an example for a state apparatus that
exercises constant unseen surveillance over society, providing a permanent
account of citizens' behavior, thus creating a disciplinary network between the
defined institutions.
Foucault sees “discipline” as the form
which power takes or in which it is exercised. He also thinks of
it as a technique that increases each multiplicity’s usefulness to the
power which controls it, while decreasing the cost of regulation per
entity. It is not one place or institution but a set of relations and
mechanisms. With the inclusion of the public and non-institutional members in
observation, the disciplinary mechanism is decentered, which has the effect of
increasing the efficacy of the disciplinary mechanism as there no longer
remains the point of having an active agent in order to keep the same power
using the threat of violence.
An important point is that in the
modern society discipline works in an unidentified, unconscious mechanism of Panopticism,
not replacing other mechanisms but connecting and extending them, exerting
control over the smallest details. Thus, Foucault attempts to unveil the Panopticism
that penetrates every tiny aspect of modern human life. It is the unspoken laws
that govern our lives and subconsciously become part of our nature. Therefore,
even though we seem to have the freedom to become the kind of individuals
we wish to become, our freedom is constantly compromised by the fact that our
personalities come into shape in the shadow of the unspoken social
rules of behavior. Foucault insinuates that whether in prisons, schools, or
factories, we are all prisoners.
For pictures of the Panopticon:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Panopticon
Thursday 17 May 2012
I'd like to take a short pause from my poetic narratives to talk about something that has affected us all as college students and citizens of the free world. Why don't you people ever speak up? And you call yourselves "New Yorkers"??
Take out creative writing course for example. I would like to make an important distinction. Nobody seems too happy with the fact they have to comment on approximately 150 pieces by their peers, nor can most of us make it.The interesting phenomenon is that this is wrongly justified by self-accusations of laziness, which, if your thinking doesn't go deep enough to separate effectiveness from pure practice, probably wouldn't take you too far down the road of logic.
There is a difference between being lazy - refraining from doing simply because one doesn't feel inclined to put any effort into something productive, into a transformation of some sort - and not taking part in something one just isn't naturally meant to do. Of course, we are raised to act against our urges and not follow our desires. That is how societies are kept in order, and have been for hundreds or thousands of years (at least).
I agree with the idea that the best way, and maybe the only way, to improve one's writing is to read, read read. However, if one doesn't have the choice over what they read, the reading could feel forced, and thereby oppress one's sense of creativity, as any forced activity does. Each and every one of us has their own little world of emotions and associations, and naturally we are interested in different styles and subjects. I'm sure I wouldn't be alone to say, I really couldn't relate to and/or enjoy a lot of the pieces that I had to comment on in this class. I enjoyed some of them, some made me think. But I would have learned so much more if I was given the choice of reading from different sources as well, or focusing on works from fewer chosen people. In writing as in art (the two are entwined to me), it is more about quality, not quantity. Although I would have been happy reading just as much if I was given the choice, or at least a long list of names and pieces to choose from. Unlike many others, our teacher seemed like someone open-minded and approachable that you can talk to. And so my question to you, why did you remain silent? I'm pretty sure the idea was giving everyone an equal treatment, which is a very nice way to go, but the world outside it cruel and we better get used to it, the sooner the better.
Take out creative writing course for example. I would like to make an important distinction. Nobody seems too happy with the fact they have to comment on approximately 150 pieces by their peers, nor can most of us make it.The interesting phenomenon is that this is wrongly justified by self-accusations of laziness, which, if your thinking doesn't go deep enough to separate effectiveness from pure practice, probably wouldn't take you too far down the road of logic.
There is a difference between being lazy - refraining from doing simply because one doesn't feel inclined to put any effort into something productive, into a transformation of some sort - and not taking part in something one just isn't naturally meant to do. Of course, we are raised to act against our urges and not follow our desires. That is how societies are kept in order, and have been for hundreds or thousands of years (at least).
I agree with the idea that the best way, and maybe the only way, to improve one's writing is to read, read read. However, if one doesn't have the choice over what they read, the reading could feel forced, and thereby oppress one's sense of creativity, as any forced activity does. Each and every one of us has their own little world of emotions and associations, and naturally we are interested in different styles and subjects. I'm sure I wouldn't be alone to say, I really couldn't relate to and/or enjoy a lot of the pieces that I had to comment on in this class. I enjoyed some of them, some made me think. But I would have learned so much more if I was given the choice of reading from different sources as well, or focusing on works from fewer chosen people. In writing as in art (the two are entwined to me), it is more about quality, not quantity. Although I would have been happy reading just as much if I was given the choice, or at least a long list of names and pieces to choose from. Unlike many others, our teacher seemed like someone open-minded and approachable that you can talk to. And so my question to you, why did you remain silent? I'm pretty sure the idea was giving everyone an equal treatment, which is a very nice way to go, but the world outside it cruel and we better get used to it, the sooner the better.
Thursday 19 April 2012
home alone
you're off to work you went away and now I just meow around the house and sniff your boxers (you forgot them in the bathroom) getting high like on catnip
carrying them with me mouth crawling on the cold futon with my tail up
just to feel it brushing against the empty air where there used to be a part of you
carrying them with me mouth crawling on the cold futon with my tail up
just to feel it brushing against the empty air where there used to be a part of you
Friday 13 April 2012
I hear myself in his eyes, see my face in his smile. his is a reflection of life as a stage, as a game. and like a swan in immaculate waters, he laughs and plays through a world of cold faces. Brian and Justin. romeo and juliet could only dream of coming close. Brian and Justin. when i see it in my mind's eyes all the chaos around disappears and there's peace. too much to do, none makes much sense. everyone can do something, more than me. all the passion in the world to act upon all that i silently decipher and absorb. not one way out. everyone's got something. they're talented in ways that i don't care to be, in ways that i should. galaxies ahead of me.
but i'm there, with only the things that matter. only i can see. they always get lost before they come back to me.
but i'm there, with only the things that matter. only i can see. they always get lost before they come back to me.
Thursday 29 March 2012
if i stay here i will forget what i need to remember.
i will not be another tag, another number, another male/female, circle the right answer. i will not be reduced to what you already are, you are your click-clock, lip gloss, 5 layers of makeup, humorless clowns, the scariest ones.
these are the mountains, this is the sky i have for scenery.
every day i worry with all this education i'm going to forget what i need to remember.
rhythms and notes run in my nutrient-depleted veins, but Intro to Music leaves me speechless when all we do is memorize dates and hollow words, quizzes in music trivia.
the deaf have hearing aids and i have two hands. and writing is when fingers speak for the tongue that won't. yet in Creative Writing all they do is talk, the ones who use their tongues like fingers, and i seat paralyzed, depleted. i don't play with the non-disabled.
i will not be another tag, another number, another male/female, circle the right answer. i will not be reduced to what you already are, you are your click-clock, lip gloss, 5 layers of makeup, humorless clowns, the scariest ones.
these are the mountains, this is the sky i have for scenery.
every day i worry with all this education i'm going to forget what i need to remember.
rhythms and notes run in my nutrient-depleted veins, but Intro to Music leaves me speechless when all we do is memorize dates and hollow words, quizzes in music trivia.
the deaf have hearing aids and i have two hands. and writing is when fingers speak for the tongue that won't. yet in Creative Writing all they do is talk, the ones who use their tongues like fingers, and i seat paralyzed, depleted. i don't play with the non-disabled.
Tuesday 20 March 2012
Charlie and I,
Savage black curls, paving the way with every single move,
Going to the bottom of beauty like you only could
Charlie and I,
Stitch me to your mischievious shoulder,
you always showed the world how we belong to nowhere.
Well, I know where you are.
I've followed you once in a pale boy's smile,
embraced by your scent in my grandfather's clothes.
I've waited since before I knew.
With my lazer beams, I could see your every single move,
Laughing to the bottom of sadness like you only could
-- My cursed gift.
The world is still industrial, but there is no revolution.
And I'm still running to you without motion.
I've been here since before I knew
We're forever separated by digital screens and time
but I swear I'll know you in a smile, I'll love you every time.
Savage black curls, paving the way with every single move,
Going to the bottom of beauty like you only could
Charlie and I,
Stitch me to your mischievious shoulder,
you always showed the world how we belong to nowhere.
Well, I know where you are.
I've followed you once in a pale boy's smile,
embraced by your scent in my grandfather's clothes.
I've waited since before I knew.
With my lazer beams, I could see your every single move,
Laughing to the bottom of sadness like you only could
-- My cursed gift.
The world is still industrial, but there is no revolution.
And I'm still running to you without motion.
I've been here since before I knew
We're forever separated by digital screens and time
but I swear I'll know you in a smile, I'll love you every time.
Monday 27 February 2012
2 paragraphs in the book of a life like this
According to Plato, most people seek to transcend to eternity by taking the usual route of finding a mate and creating a new family, achieving the only immortality they will know through a continuation of the human race. For others, the beauty they are able to perceive in the human body in all its subtleties becomes the inspiration for a life-long search for beauty in all its forms - the usage of words, pictures, music, ideals. The body is not merely a physical object but a symbol, a representation, a reflection of memory and meaning...
Me, I just have the ability to see beyond the matrix. And it makes me feel so alone.
The bodies were at rest. I’m blinded by his paleness of skin, the saturated shine of his soft coppery curls, the delicacy of his baby scent. I cannot place him in this era, an imaginary object in space, a treasure found deep in snowy mountains of the ice age. I am a biologist and he’s a different species to me. The fact that nature somehow arranged for him to be completely “naked” doesn’t cease to baffle. Yet it’s here all alive and loving Jimi Hendrix and cheesy classics, rapidly consuming protein and anything that could make it if briefly forget his involuntary nakedness. Little chords with hard rock ears tingle my belly. “tu tu tah tah tah tu tah” he is reciting a wee tune to himself and I’m gently taken to vague Muppet Show memories when he suddenly turns his icy blue gaze to catch me off-guard with the boyish smile that I wasn’t quick enough to erase. Bastard.
All the things that he was getting to know. And soon wish he could forget. He pulled me closer and mixed his lips with mine before I could think of anything to say. My charming disease.
Me, I just have the ability to see beyond the matrix. And it makes me feel so alone.
The bodies were at rest. I’m blinded by his paleness of skin, the saturated shine of his soft coppery curls, the delicacy of his baby scent. I cannot place him in this era, an imaginary object in space, a treasure found deep in snowy mountains of the ice age. I am a biologist and he’s a different species to me. The fact that nature somehow arranged for him to be completely “naked” doesn’t cease to baffle. Yet it’s here all alive and loving Jimi Hendrix and cheesy classics, rapidly consuming protein and anything that could make it if briefly forget his involuntary nakedness. Little chords with hard rock ears tingle my belly. “tu tu tah tah tah tu tah” he is reciting a wee tune to himself and I’m gently taken to vague Muppet Show memories when he suddenly turns his icy blue gaze to catch me off-guard with the boyish smile that I wasn’t quick enough to erase. Bastard.
All the things that he was getting to know. And soon wish he could forget. He pulled me closer and mixed his lips with mine before I could think of anything to say. My charming disease.
Friday 10 February 2012
Outside
Loneliness is a
warrior’s dance
I’m a dancer soldier dancing on firing tanks
I see every detail I swim inside the close ups
I'm flying on waves of rhythm that never stops wherever they take me dark blue and cement death 3 am here I am icy cold and thirsty breath and all the walls that don't stop me outside your window
you never find me
I’m a dancer soldier dancing on firing tanks
I see every detail I swim inside the close ups
I'm flying on waves of rhythm that never stops wherever they take me dark blue and cement death 3 am here I am icy cold and thirsty breath and all the walls that don't stop me outside your window
you never find me
Compromise
THERE is nothing else.
Flashbacks. The Basketball Diaries. I am the boy lying motionless in a bathtub, my neck too weak to support the head that falls back in an everlasting dream…or nightmare, or a combination thereof.
There is no reality, just transitions between visions of pure beauty and sheer horror. I am young and old. The flesh on my arms is unscathed and my veins are in place. I have never damaged the shell. It’s all coming from the inside and its external interactions…with bodies, eyes, sounds and voices. It created all the drugs I never needed and now they’re taking over.
I lay defeated.
I want to just stay there in calm. I don’t want to fight anymore.
I know it’s stronger than me.
Flashbacks. The Basketball Diaries. I am the boy lying motionless in a bathtub, my neck too weak to support the head that falls back in an everlasting dream…or nightmare, or a combination thereof.
There is no reality, just transitions between visions of pure beauty and sheer horror. I am young and old. The flesh on my arms is unscathed and my veins are in place. I have never damaged the shell. It’s all coming from the inside and its external interactions…with bodies, eyes, sounds and voices. It created all the drugs I never needed and now they’re taking over.
I lay defeated.
I want to just stay there in calm. I don’t want to fight anymore.
I know it’s stronger than me.
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