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JOURNAL

MARCH 2019





Still on hiatus from personal photography projects. Feels good.



  


The reason and purpose behind asking for some celebrity’s autograph is beyond me, but even more baffling is the concept of paying for an autograph.



  


And the Brexit farce continues.



  


Does anybody remember Horst Schimanski?



  


Difficult to imagine the barren mental landscape of a soul so dead who doesn’t read any fiction at all.



  


Do Wookiees use shampoo?



  


The wretched hives of toxic fanatics known as fanboys have shown their true faces in the 21st century.



  


This is not a recognized flotation device.



  


I’m not entirely sure if there is such a thing as ”esoteric trenchcoat cinema”. Perhaps there should be.



  


”I am not your foot.”



  


Parliamentary Elections are getting closer and all I can think of is the damage the parties have caused on this country with their negligence, incompetence, naivete, greed, and duplicity.



  


”Let a golden diarrhea of dollars rain on me.”



  


What kind of a person listens to the same degenerate hillbilly country song several times in a row?



  


Still waiting for Clarke’s Childhood’s End to take place in real life.



  


Humankind’s tribulations are just flatulence of the gods.



  


Minimalism is one of the very few ~isms that I find rational and practical enough to endorse.



  


Not exactly thrilled by the Mouse House’s expansion into the biggest media colossus in the world. All of these giant companies should be broken up before they acquire so much power that they can't be stopped.



  


Finally some good news. Monsanto lost in US Federal Court. “Although the evidence that Roundup causes cancer is quite equivocal, there is strong evidence from which a jury could conclude that Monsanto does not particularly care whether its product is in fact giving people cancer, focusing instead on manipulating public opinion and undermining anyone who raises genuine and legitimate concerns about the issue.”



  


Restless and weird dreams were abound last night. As per usual.



  


Return of the dreaded earworm.



  


Interesting article in The Guardian about regional accents and the inevitable associations regarding speaker’s class, intelligence, and socioeconomic status.



  


I have it on good authority that Cesar Flickerman works for Fox News.



  


Just how many cheesy and formulaic television shows did Hollywood churn out between the 1970s and 1990s about an altruistic hero or a group of heroes on the road, travelling from town to town and helping little people by fighting against the villains of the week? The Knight Rider, The A-Team, Renegade, The Incredible Hulk, Highway To Heaven, Kung-Fu, Starman, MacGyver, Stingray, etc. There must be a name for this particular ”good samaritans on the road” trope/genre.



  


MULHOLLAND DRIVE (2001) really isn’t that difficult to understand once you realize what it’s actually about.



  


The Lunar Orbital Platform-Gateway space station is a long-needed sparkle of hope for taking more steps outside this planet. Here's hoping the station gets a Monolith Burger restaurant.



  


Social media exploits human vulnerabilities like the need for social approval and the inability to resist immediate gratification.



  


Among countless other flaws, humans are doomed because they’re hellbent to pigeonhole, define, and isolate themselves by their gender, sexuality, nationality, religion, and ideologies. They grab hold of an attribute that offers a simplistic blanket statement about their identities. Then they hide into their trenches, arm themselves to the teeth, and start attacking each other.



  


Binge watching movies is a fine way to take some distance for one day from all the madness of humankind. The irony is that the movies I chose of course depicted large doses of terminal human madness. Ah, well...



  


Musician Dick Dale was forced to keep on playing gigs as a seriously ill old man, because his American "health insurance” refused to cover for diabetes, post-cancer treatment, and other debilitating conditions. This is just as miserable as the news of diabetics in America dying because they can’t afford the outrageous insulin prices.



  


Just realized that Facebook might be actually run by ScumSoft.



  


Mind-boggling how billions of people still have so much faith in Facebook, and willingly trust the company with their highly personal, intimate data. Good luck with that.



  


The unbearable lightness of being is not really that unbearable if you put your mind to it.



  


My obsession with compiling lists would appear to be alive and kicking.



  


The inherent flaw in all stories is that inevitably they will all come to an end.



  


One part of me would like to play Fallout 3, Dead Space, and Dead Space 2 again. The other part of me doesn’t want to lose 2-3 months of my life by sitting in front of the computer.



  


”Brandish nightstick.”



  


And now Apple Books is recommending me books I have already bought. Just how incompetent can these algorithms really get.



  


Leisure-suits should come back in fashion.



  


It’s been ages since the last time I played Astro Chicken.



  


”What’s that aroma?”



  


Amiga 500 was a fantastic way to waste time.



  


”Pulsating pectorals.”



  


”The frail blanket of human assumptions.”



  


Poe's Law and Pommer's Law are both still as valid as ever.



  


When I think of all the absurd ceremonies that I’ve had to participate during my stay on this odd world, I can say in full confidence that they didn’t make much sense back in the day, and they make even less sense today.



  


Random Access Memories: The garish 1970s disco shirts I used to wear as everyday clothing.



  


The joy of rediscovering old books you had forgotten and now they feel completely new, as if you’re reading them for the first time.



  


Damn the cashiers who make random remarks regarding the things customers buy from supermarkets.



  


If only someone could explain the exact mechanics behind technology addiction. What is the true nature of the satisfaction we get from the gadgets and contraptions we play with every day?



  


Guardians are saved now thanks to the Mouse House finding the required common sense to reinstate Gunn after a farcical smear campaign.



  


The occasional moments of panic when I realize that there isn't enough time for all the books I want to read.



  


Some Of My Favourite Photographers: Miron Zownir. The most outrageous, decadent, depraved, and tragic human madness straight from the gutters. Definitely not for everyone.



  


Why have I not known about Herbie Hancock's 1969 album The Prisoner before?



  


Apparently Tumblr’s traffic has dropped 30 percent since December 2018 when they started attacking users with censorship. I'm not surprised, as I was one of those who quit Tumblr. Even though I deleted all my photos, they're still sending me emails about how my unused account contains banned content. Bloody incompetents.



  


Clickbait journalism be damned.



  


All the big tech corporations should be broken up as soon as possible. This is the Second Gilded Age, and modern day robber barons are just as rotten as their predecessors.



  


This morning's world news once again proved how the world is filled with people who have been conditioned to waste their lives in mental prisons based on societal, religious, ideologic, and economic oppression.



  


One of the advantages of not being nostalgic: I don't miss any of the places where I've lived.



  


It's pretty mind-boggling that Amazon, the richest corporation in America, didn't pay any federal taxes last year. At the same time, low-income workers who are barely able to make the ends meet, pay taxes from what little they earn. Land of the free, indeed.



  


Random Access Memories: The old woman at the supermarket buying dozens of litres of apple juice so she could pour it all into her bathtub and take a bath in it because ”the gypsies” had cut off her water.



  


”If the mind can find no meaning, then the senses give it.”



  


There are millions of things one can be grateful of if one takes the time to think about all the things that could’ve gone seriously wrong in one’s life. Things could always be so much worse.



  


The mannequin keeps on waving to passing trains.



  


”The increasingly widespread hobby of navel contemplation.”



  


Roger Ramjet is probably the sloppiest cartoon I’ve ever seen.



  


Apple Books could be better with more customization options, but Apple has always been notoriously control freak about its products.



  


There’s probably no stopping of the Internet’s ”downward plunge to a dysfunctional future."



  


Public library is one of the most important inventions of this wretched species.



  


A day in the life of a semi-reluctant consumer.



  


In a perfect world, HBO would adapt Hyperion Cantos by Dan Simmons into a high-end series in the vein of Game Of Thrones and Westworld.



  


Darkest hours of the night with eyes wide open.



  


Never trust a politician with a combover.



  


Random Access Memories: Climbing on the rooftops of 7-storey apartment buildings as an 11-year-old kid, using the outside ladders that didn't have any kind of safety railings.



  


What many don’t realize is that one of the greatest luxuries of modern day life is time, not all the junk you can buy, or the imaginary achievements you can win by selling yourself in the rat race.



  


And just like that the pathetic, misogynistic trolls got their asses handed to them by Larson's massive success.



  


Maybe it has nothing to do with beauty. If everyone suddenly turned ugly, the worst narcissists hustling for likes on social media would probably start competing about who’s ugliest.



  


The world as we know it would collapse completely if we were to lose electricity.



  


I’ve got dozens of well-loved books looking for a new home.



  


The concept of ”lesser Hemsworths” is really brutal, and most of all, completely unfair.



  


If I were forced to pick one literary quote to represent something fundamental about me, then it would definitely be from Oscar Wilde's The Picture Of Dorian Gray: "I adore simple pleasures. They are the last refuge of the complex."



  


Ten years ago, I had no idea where I would be at this moment. Sounds consistent to me, because I have no idea where I'm going to be ten years from now.



  


I'm definitely a slower reader than 20 years ago, but I would argue that I'm also more attentive. You lose some, you win some.



  


Why don't we order completely useless plastic trinkets from Chinese webstores, as much as humanly possible, so that we can get high on the ephemeral rush of wealth, and having agency in the world. The act of purchase and accumulation of matter, nevermind how trivial or redundant, will validate us as human beings, and allow us to hang on to our dear Obedient Consumers membership cards.



  


Saturday morning, red wine, and a good book. What else do I need? Peace all over the world and good will among men. Ha, that's pure fantasy, so I'll just say "more wine".



  


Random Access Memories: There was a character called Latrine in a screwball spy comedy called TOP SECRET! (1984). That was only one of the many jokes that I didn’t understand at all as a kid back in the day.



  


How to separate art from the wrongdoings of the artist? Is it even possible when an artist's works have permeated the culture thoroughly and influenced millions of people?



  


Random Access Memories: After hours in a dark and vast, labyrinthine apartment filled with junk and prog rock vinyl records, inhabited by two sisters I met in a night club what seems like aeons ago.



  


When it comes to choosing sides between victims, and fans defending celebrities they blindly worship, I will always choose the side of the victims.



  


Read. Sleep. Repeat.



  


Some recently listened albums: Pink Floyd - The Wall, Melissa Auf Der Maur - Out Of Our Minds, Christian McBride - Vertical Vision, deadmau5 - Polar Soundtrack, Polanski - Mosquito, Slowdive - Slowdive, Triosk - The Headlight Serenade



  


Everything in its right place. At least for a little while.



  


I would really like to, but I keep telling myself that there’s literally no point to it. But as a matter of fact, there’s really no point to anything at all. So maybe I should after all.



  


Today turned out to be such a glorious day after all. Our loathsome bourgeoise government resigned over a catastrophic failure a mere month before the next elections. I can’t remember another government of such rottenness. They were arrogant, ruthless, uncooperative, and obstinate. Good riddance.



  


It’s commendable that Kirk Hammett and Robert Trujillo would play a Pink Floyd cover during a Metallica concert. I just couldn’t listen to it after Hammett started trashing David Gilmour’s majestic guitar riff.



  


Everything is relative. The things that make my day are insignificant to humanity, but mean the world to me.



  


The tragedy of obstinate worshippers is that they will defend even the most depraved abusers, molesters, and monsters simply because they’re unable to give up their blind idolatry.



  


Some of the music I've listened to over the years has become permanently imprinted (or rather, burdened) with memories of people, situations, and places. If only there was a way to cleanse the music from the associated memories and experience it fresh and new again.



  


Did anyone seriously think that venal parasite would sit 24 years behind the bars.



  


Why have I never seen the robust and provocative art of Betty Tompkins before?



  


In a time when information and facts are more easily available than ever during human history, ignorance, wilful stupidity, and intellectual dishonesty are crimes against humanity.



  


The number of my daily fake followers on Instagram fluctuates around five "persons". They appear out of nowhere, and soon after disappear, often sporting ludicrous user names.



  


Made yesterday a major effort to find positive world news amongst all the misery and depravity dominating the headlines. The one positive news I found was about digitally projected Van Gogh exhibition at L’Atelier des Lumières in Paris.



  


In a perfect world, writers and filmmakers wouldn’t resort to tired tropes and contrivances.



  


Apple Books just recommended to me the biography of a famous boxer who's better known as an aggressive brawler and a rapist. No thanks.



  


Misogynistic trolls have neen really busy again on the Internet. These man-babies really don’t want women to interfere with their toys and sandboxes.



  


My extended hiatus from personal photography projects has proven most welcome. Instead of spending most of my free time on obsessing over images, it has been fantastic to focus exclusively on reading books.



  


Hats off to Brie Larson.



  


A plague of pustulant boils upon the scurvid asses of conceited false prophets who proclaim from the rooftops that ”art is dead”, ”rock is dead”, "physical media is dead", "truth is dead", and ”cinema is dead”. The only thing that seems to be dead right now is the common sense of humankind.



  


What a perverse concept: to use complex logical constructs to rationalize and uphold nonsense.



  


If only the medieval iconoclasts of Byzantine empire could’ve seen the garish splendor of modern day celebrity idolatry in all its forms. Those poor, deluded fanatics might have combusted spontaneously by the time they laid their bigoted eyes on Instagram.



  


Are humans truly at their happiest only when something passes in or out through their orifices?



  


Since Cathode Ray Mission became somewhat obsolete with the fall of cathode ray tubes and analogue video tapes, we could perhaps have Light Emitting Diode Mission in conjunction with streaming video. Videodrome for the modern ages.



  


All cars should have ejector seats, especially for dispatching backseat drivers.



  


Intestinal fortitude of the emotionally lobotomized.



  


Really looking forward to seeing how Scorcese’s team pulls off the digital de-ageing in THE IRISHMAN (2019). So far, in other feature films, the results have been mixed at best.



  


Someone should put up a magazine called Trailer Park Safari for cantankerous, renegade geriatrics running overseas false flag operations supervised by Captain Spaulding and the assassins known as Faceless Ewoks.



  


Yesterday’s foray into the heart of the city resulted in a bonus stash of milk oolong tea.



  


Some recently listened albums: Hammock - Oblivion Hymns, Jan Garbarek - Paths Prints, Ladytron - Ladytron, Cleaning Women - Intersubjectivity, Röyksopp - Junior, Daft Punk - Tron Legacy Soundtrack.



  


I have no idea where, why, or how the idea for phlegm marinated, roasted dick pizza manifested itself. It would be best forgotten. For all time.



  


I remember really liking the look and feel of certain TDK and Sony audio cassettes back in the day. The design of the more expensive cassettes became really classy and stylish during the ’80s and ’90s. Of course the cheap cassettes from the '70s were delightfully garish fun, but quality-wise they were trash.



  


Larry the stuffed coyote.



  


Trying to find some books I've read about 30 years ago. Maybe I've remembered them all wrong. Wouldn't be the first time that happens.



  


If the allegations presented in LEAVING NEVERLAND (2019) documentary are true, there shouldn't be any room left for categorical denial. This is one more long-needed nail in the coffin of blind idolatry. Humans are deeply and fundamentally flawed creatures, and worshipping any one of them fanatically will not turn monsters into saints that are beyond reproach.



  


The ”trendy” brunch restaurant was more like a cheap workplace cafeteria.



  


An intimidating heap of miserable chores and responsibilities finished.



  


Now that I’ve completely ruined a beautiful, sunny morning by reading morbid world news about the colossal stupidity of man, I must come up with an effective antidote to counteract all the poison before the whole day is ruined.



  


Damn, new Facebook scandals just keep on popping up. Global lobbying against data privacy laws sounds disturbingly sinister.



  


After months of wearing heavy winter shoes, sneakers feel like flimsy slippers.



  


The world is more saturated with images than ever before, and their shelf-life has diminished rapidly. The perpetual flood of images on sharing services like Instagram do not encourage viewers to stop and appreciate the images in a patient and detailed manner. Instead, images are being swiped into oblivion after a few of seconds and promptly forgotten unless they’re suitable fodder for some social media outrage.



  


The fulfillment of Western life would appear to be a lifetime spent as a mortgage and debt slave to banks. Living the dream.



  


That feeling when you return to one of your ”favorite books” that you last read 20 years ago, and realize that you really don’t remember anything about it.



  


Some Of My Favourite Photographers: William Eggleston. Unparalleled skill in discovering absurd and fascinating gems from the most mundane, everyday haystacks.



  


A middle-class Western consumer looking for spiritual guidance in India, saying ”Now I feel, like, really spiritual, and stuff”.



  


How about more profits and tax cuts for billion dollar corporations that manufacture luxury products using slave labour.



  


How about more bailouts and get-out-of-jail-free cards for blatantly criminal investment banks.



  


National Gallery’s František Kupka exhibition was a highly fascinating experience. Such a diverse body of works ranging from hilarious political illustrations to geometrical abstracts.



  


Lady Gaga said very recently that ”Social media, quite frankly, is the toilet of the Internet. And what it has done to pop culture is abysmal.” This is one of the greatest truths of the last ten years.



  


My younger self would’ve never believed how satisfying it could be to clean a bathroom, to scrub away all that grime and gunk until the surfaces are literally shining. Perhaps this is one form of madness.



  


Jim Morrison on stage, screaming at the audience ”You’re all a bunch of fucking slaves!” How right he was.



  


Bears, weasels, and Tasmanian devils.









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