The rain sweeps across the highway outside of my window. the trailing sounds of heavy wheels discharging the water, a phantom moan of disappearing strangers. Into the darkness they vanish. It's Christmas night, I have gorged. The addiction, compensating for what's no longer here. The emptiness, the shadow play in my mind. It can't be like this forever can it? My psyche tugging my body with marionette strings fueled by apathy.
I listen, the sounds of the rain drops pelting, the asphalt, the Doppler effect. If I commit myself enough. If I focus enough.
I will become transparent, I will become translucent, I will lift into the sky like the dampness does by morning time.
The final insult flung, she spat venom into my ear through electric currents. Flustered, frustrated, beyond repair. I, monotone, defiantly replied "Don't call me anymore." Thinking I was bluffing, a tiny cackle crept into her words "Okay." She smiled at the other end of the line, proud of not giving a shit. I ended the call on my cell shaking with a static fury. Two years later she calls again, and for the fifth time I pass on picking it up, on hearing her voice again. She is enveloped in the passage of time.
she called me an idiot. Ironically, I knew deep down, she was a moron. Vapid, empty, hollow shell of a deliciously sculptured goddess. We were made for each other like a bent key for a broken lock. I stared into her deep black eyes as she kept mouthing unintelligable words . . . my peace was diminished, I burst into flames.
WARNING: OFFENSIVE LANGUAGE AND TOUCHY SUBJECT MATTER.
Ask Will is a short interview series, where I ask an abundance of questions to a former co-worker Will. I find him endlessly funny, and unabashedly unfiltered. He will give his opinion, and not shy away from it.
EP 1: Pre-Obama election/current politics.
NOTE: All of the opinions heard and said in this video are given by said main subject. I am not here to objectify or slander anyone's beliefs, be they political or religious. That being said, this is a look at a young man's random thoughts about the world we live in today.
I neither condone or object to one's beliefs, and allow them to speak their mind. My opinions, unless asked will be of my own, and not part of this video series. I am merely interested in porviding the viewer with compelling footage, and a look into the thought process of individuals you may never have the chance to converse with.
It's something I just heard about, and it's absolutely shocking. It's 12:57 AM, July 6th, 2009, and I'm hyperventilating as I write this. Now, take a seat. (well do you stand at your computer, you hipster-non-comformist scum.) This is real heavy.
Michael Jackson has passed away. I know, I know. it's terrible.
Okay, now you can have a moment of reflection for the loss of our "King of Pop". I had to take a moment myself, whether to actually capitalize the letters in that moniker. I are no English major.
But seriously folks, what got me to write up this stunning announcement was the footage of Michael Jackson's ghost on "Larry King LIVE". Now I know you're thinking, the only ghost on that show is Larry himself, but people are actually claiming to see the gloved one's apparition loafing around in his Neverland ranch.
Here's the video. (accompanied with some copyrighted horror music)
Now, weirdos, ahem, I mean people are actually debating this as paranormal fact. As you can see, the shadow, er ah, Jacko slinks through some sort of hallway vanishes into thin air. Now, this leads me to the realization that people are more fucking nuts than ever.
Seriously.
Poor Jermaine, a chance to bask in the light after all these years of eating beans straight from the tin can, absolutely shunned by society. The public, more in favor of his talented, highly controversial brother. Now MJ is stealing his thunder once again! Holy Mackerel, you done good, Mikey.
Which leads me to the celeb frenzy that occurs when one reaches a status that few can. "Celebortality", because my penchant for phrasing is awful. One can be canonized no matter what they did or didn't do that leaves a stigma on them when they're alive, but vanishes once they're no longer on this earth . . . er spiritually. I'm sure 35% of his original body is there somewhere at the funeral.
No, I'm not trying to make light of the situation, but it's amazing how quick the tide has turned in favor of Jackson. I myself, who is somewhat an emotionless tool, was caught off guard when I actually felt a jolt of sentimentality hit me when I heard "The Way you make me feel" on the radio the day of his death. I received a call informing me he had died hours earlier, and I replied with the flippant "Bullshit." There it was though, Jacko gone.
A friend of mine commented that he thought Jackson had absolutely no talent at all, and didn't understand the big deal. While he is a fair many years shy of my age, I tried to explain Jacko's impact on the world without sounding like a maniacal fan. Alas, he complains that Jackson never wrote any music that dealt with healing the soul and the world like "Angels and Airwaves" and "Coldplay" do. I kind of figured from there, that, ah he's probably never listened to the music once. So I'll just let that go. Musical tastes aside of course. Busting your balls here, bro! What's the worst that can happen to him, a bunch of saucy fruits in lycra jackets tying their arms to his and having a dance off?!
Unfortunately for Jacko, his negative buzz stuck with him well after he was no longer relevant. The abnormal lifestyle, the cosmetic surgery, giving Marlon Brando a cameo in his "blood on the dance floor" video. It goes on and on. Although, now the public has been rushing to cash in on Michael's notoriety, and I don't blame people on wanting to make money. Holy shit though, now I'm seeing as much MJ paraphernalia as I do Obama shirts.
(That's an actual shirt. I kid you not. I facepalmed hard when i saw it on sale at Union Square Park.)
Infact, I know a girl who's selling I heart MJ shirts, it's quite a smart, simple design, and I'm sure when he comes back from hell to drag her down, he'll look snazzy in one too. In final remembrance of the quite talented Michael, I leave you with one of his more rare collaborations with a fine pop singer of the eighties, a Mr. Edward Murphy.
So, scouring the internet for work is not only a massive effort of
placing correct "keywords" in search engines and hoping for the best. The journey itself consisting of how many jobs out there necessarily don't adhere to what you studied four years in college for. While I do consider myself a Jack-off-all-trades (yes I do note the second 'f') I find it a complex nightmarish plunge into the unknown. When 90% of the time you get work based on who you know (and that's basically the template of my monetary gain for some reason) I hardly know anyone anymore because I do work so much.
Stuck as a corporate goon, not wanting to raise up in one's position because time will be lost and there will be no creative fulfillment is a hell i wouldn't want to wish on anyone. So where do we go from here? Daily visits to craigslist (and by daily I mean, by seconds of each day) to scour work, that would be feasible as compared to winning the lottery.
I scour the 'Arts and entertainment' as well as the 'writing' positions, but in all honesty both are scarce. The writing section you need to have a masters in language, even though, clearly they can see that you write well. It's not legitimate unless you have that BFA in that field.
So on I search, banging my head against my keyboard. Luckily enough, in times of desperation I've begun to learn editing skills on my new Imac, complete with Final cut pro. With that, I have to purchase a new digital camera, as well as new fire wires to complement the process of new found skills. So there's that to look forward to, but, the filming process is a looming beast that's also problematic.
The main motivation right now is a mix of two things, well, maybe three. Justification for my BFA from Fashion Institute, my artistic gratification, as well as my unabashed desire and love for money. I don't care, I like money, having money, spending it and smoking cheap cigars and acting obnoxious with my friends as we do it. So I ask the many gods of this world to set me on the right path so I can get back to the fiendishly reaganesque levels of debauchery.
and those are the low rung of finding work in this world.
But as I build my pesky portfolio, that I have the worst patience with. Books on Dreamweaver piled upon my desk, I question myself, what am I doing at this moment? Where have I gone wrong? I realize, I was writing this post instead of looking for new work.
So this weekend was pretty uneventful, due to major storms, boredome, poordome, people canceling, general lack of interest of what I do and so on and so forth. How's that for a run on sentence.
I find myself amazed at how much my A.D.D. affects me in general situations, it's like a shark let loose in a fiesta, constantly moving. I have to keep going or I'll just start spiraling down in boredom and the creepy black hole of depression starts to soak up my brain.
Anyways, this friday, hung out with some people that know people that I hardly know. Which always makes it completely uncomfortable for me. I always feel like I have to be on, when in actuality no one really gives a shit.
That is a tale for another time. What's more important, is the introduction to that tale. So i was summoned to RADEGAST beer hall, in Williamsburg Brooklyn. Where forearmed sized mugs of ale will set you back about 14 bucks. It's a nice little spot to chat with friends, get to know knew people, oggle the beerwenches.
So as I make my way to the bar, my friend, has not arrived yet, and I circle the two areas about two times. Later on I would find out that the people I was supposed to sit with were already laughing and joking, completely oblivious to who I was and vice versa.
So on one go around, I head to the bathroom, and take out my illegally opened container of alcohol and ... oh nevermind.
SO, I'm waiting in the restroom waiting for any available slots. Some inebriated guy comes by, and he's looking nervous. I'm just avoiding eye contact. Then he does that usual, dance of anxiety. So I try to give that reassuring nod of, "I know. I know."
He's like "My friends in the stall, but I see four feet"
So I look closely at the bottom of the occupied stall, and sure enough, there were two people inside, or a shaved deer with vans. I was like oohhh, snap.. there's a hook up going on. I realize how terribly empty my life is... then the door jolts open. The most zestiest man with light eyes, orange-iest tan and bleached hair steps out... and announces
"Hello my name isSPARTACUS"
I can only assume he was homosexual because not only was he dressed better than I (which is not hard to do) He twinkled like those vampires from TWILIGHT. the anxious guy had a look of fear on his face, and I figured there was no chick in that stall. I promptly spun around, because magically I didn't have to go anymore. Stepped out the restroom and hightailed it.
Back into the brouhaha, I finally met with some people, was already drunk, but due to my A.D.D. and lack of women, and the prospect of early work the next day, I dejectedly called it a night.
Lest you people think I am homophobic, I am not. I'm just not cool with dudes that call themselves after 1950 Kirk Douglas films. (My gay friends will agree to this)
So godspeed to you, Spartacus, whomever you are, you had more action than I got, I will think twice about going into any stall from now on. To affect my life is like to affect others on the heels of rosa parks, J.F.K., Neda and Obama.
So it's been a pretty eventful(less) time in my life these past few weeks. The Antagonist Art show was a success, all my 30 plus business cards were taken, didn't receive one phone call or e-mail from anyone, so I assume everyone used the cards as throwing stars and/or alternate toothpicks with the nearby pizzeria. (Hell i got one free sicilian and a drink comped!)
Anyhoo, with that dangerous headfirst plunge into the artist society, (I'm more of the fringe type since I'm so hip NO ONE knows about me) I had to go out and plan what to do next. I have a friendly interplay with Antagonist Art Movement people (michelle, Un and all) so I was flattered when they said it was cool if I wanted to continue doing work with them.
Apparently the art director for the Ramones liked my stuff, so that was very cool to know. Next project on my slab is now going into hyper mode.
Going into the Antagonist art deal again though, I'm working on writing a short film for them that will be artistic and trippy and just plain watchable. I'm working with Mike Robayo, you can check out some of his reels like this one right here...!
I've handed in the black and white images for a twisted comic book my friend Danny albert has writen (Now I have two other books I will work on with him.)
I am writing (!) a series of illustrated novels with my artistic hero Winnie Chang. She was a manhua artist in Korea, but got burnt out by it all. She is giving me all the notes and basically, I am going to pretty it up with words while she does all the gorgeous art. You can check out her site @ http://winnie76.com/
Other than that I've seen some really messed up stuff too, and I'll update on that later. The nyc transit system is probably hell on rails. That last ying yang battle I saw was topped by the utter ugly side of humanity when ... ah I don't want to get into that into this blog, the next one... here are some puppies.
these are just tiny sections of much larger pieces appearing at the NIAGARA ANTAGONIST THURSDAY! SHOW. I'm nervous, but genuinely excited to show them out there. Hope to see you all there.
ANTAGONIST THURSDAY! ONE NIGHT ONLY ART SHOWS.
THURSDAY APRIL 2ND 9PM-2AM
21 and UP!!
Myself (Alex Mercado) and Ramon Trif will have some of our work on display @ the NIAGARA BAR 112 ave A. L.E.S. in the EAST VILLAGE, MANHATTAN N.y.
come see our art, drink, be merry, mingle, make connections and have fun.
things to do this weekend . . . So as I arrived back from the wonderfully boring landscape of downtown Orlando, I realized, I have a hefty plate of “to do” items back in NYC.
I have to prep for a tentatively scheduled “Antagonist Art Movement” show in The L.E.S. (wow, I’m so trendy, I’ll be Sure to wear my skinny jeans, and hipster Glasses!) So I am genuinely excited for that.
At the Marianne boesky gallery The works of Yoshitomo Nara are Being displayed from feb 28th till March 28th, So CHECK IT OUT
This week down to OULU in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. http://www.oulunyc.com/ to have some farewell drinks with my friend, Iris, who is a philanthropic sweetheart going off to teach English to students in Thailand. Go Iris, go!
Also check out, The KRAZY! Showing at the JAPAN SOCIETY Remember Fridays are free 6-9
WARNING, DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU EATING, OR A QUEASY.
So this past Saturday was quite the eventful one, with my completely numb acknowledgement that I was going to audition for a band. My friend and I were scheduled to try out as dual vocalists for a “Screamo” type band. All the previous week, we collaborated on lyrics (surprisingly it’s quite easy to work with him.) I, with the haunting past of O.C.D., reread the lyrics chicken scratched into my notepad about ten billion times.
I’m the melodic vocalist, while my friend does the screaming thing. I have no idea how one can abuse their vocal cords to release a sound so furiously engaging. I get jealous.
This is kinda what we're going for.
"This could be anywhere in the world" - Alexisonfire
Anyways, so I have this creeping little notion in my head all morning, about how it’ll go, will they like us? Will they like me? Will I screw up royally. How will I sound. Will my vocals fit the music? (I saved tracks off of their Myspace page through an flash system that keeps it as MP3’s, easy as that. Playing them over and over.) So I tried not to worry about it too much, I mean I sang in a choir as a child.
Hell, I was kicked out of the choir as a kid for laughing at everyone when they forgot the lyrics to the song we were performing at the unveiling of a new building. I mean, it was hilarious!
Anyways, I kept it out of my mind. At work, I was just focusing on the time left for the day. So I decide to further forget about my future date with destiny by getting lunch. Yes, that’s it, I’ll get some lunch!
So back to the O.C.D. thing, I can not leave a place without furiously washing my hands. (Hell I’ll open doors with sleeves!) I lie to myself and say that I’m doing this so I won’t catch a cold that’ll ruin my performance. But we all know it’s because I might just be a lunatic.
I’m washing my hands at the restroom, speaking to a friend, when I look over my shoulder. I hear a shuffling of feet, and a man with ginger hair and a horrified expressioncomes running in, hand clutching over his mouth. I see something begin to stream between his fingers.. a mucous-like, orange-colored fluid. I know what’s going to happen, because in that split second I spin into the mirror and hear the pitter patter of my entire back showered with the insides of someone’s stomach. It was like a burst of air, and my back feeling quite drenched.
The was was literally covered in something and my outline in the center of it. I can’t tell you the irony of the moment where I wanted to wash my hands from the dirt and then as easily caught a possible AIDS-bath. I ran so fast into a janitor’s closet and stripped it’s not even funny. Cursing, and in panic, I scrambled to see a water hose and Spun the handle for release. I didn’t hold onto the hose, and comically, much like a three Stooges sequence, the hose whipped around uncontrollably and doused me even more. I had a friend pick up a new shirt for me as I laughed off the moment. Fearing I would run into the assailant again. I didn’t want to see him, didn’t want an apology. I didn’t want to be anywhere near that guy’s mouth opening towards me again. I was so disgusted, I wanted to just kinda peel this first layer of skin off or something.
YUCH.
I mean I had to laugh it off (but cry deeply inside) But I looked at it like It was a sign of good luck… not the kind of luck I’d look for. But whatever.
Yeesh.
They told us to come back and audition again, so… Thanks, pukey.
