nft
state of the union

purple is not in final piece
the head of the statue of liberty in chaos
drawn by Alex Mercado (BEAST TREMONT)
ink/digital

kingdom

digital

the faceless king watches the world enter the void he 
has his sword to deal with all.

in

nsfw

spread ti around, kids!!

quickie reviews.... JUST WATCH THE MOVIES!!

CONFESSIONS (2010) A masterpiece, unexpected.
turned out to be my favorite film of 2010, most beautiful
revenge film ever lensed! even better than korean revenge
films (and i saw i saw the devil, and the chaser too!)




DREAM HOME (2010) A wicked, unflinchingly violent
film about a woman goign through any means to get her
dream apartment. B-R-U-T-A-L! Highly reccomended.




GANTZ (2011) Suprisingly sleek, and mostly faithful
adaptation of the gory pssimistic sci-fi actioner manga.
the 2nd half comes out later this year.
High recommendation fun stuff!




TRUE GRIT: Pretty looking film good acting,
don't know what the fuss is about, missing about
a half hour of character development, but the
actors do such a superb job with what little
they're given it's a fun little time killer.



In the process of watching A SERBIAN MOVIE...
very good, was expecting shitty exploitation film...
hideously grotesque and overtly sexual
(but nothing worse than in HBO series)
it's got the same pessimistic, arty vibe that martyrs
gave me which completely floored me.

b l a q u e: extended edition

in the L.E.S.

I had contemplated whether or not I was a terrible kisser

as both our faces crashed into one another.

The clicking of our front rows of teeth send an electrical shock

through my brain. I admire that slight pain.

It feels alive.

It feels like something has happened, and although we scrape each others enamel off

in a furious accident.

We're both inebriated, I more than she.

It always feels like the first time as I try to siphon the passion from someone else's lips.

the steam of our heat rising from exposed mouths dissipating into the winter sky.

My lip is bitten over and over and it's incredibly amazing and off setting. Then my ear,

then a nip at my neck.

I am dealing with a pro? Am I a terrible kisser? Oh No!

I am an incredible filth talker, but we're in public, and outside a bar, and it's weird.

My hands begin to travel, and my brain is fighting a clinical assessment with my

kissing style, my raging hormones, and a lack of equilibrium.

the kiss breaks off and small talk ensues.

I don't see her again.

Our passionate embrace stuck in time in the L.E.S.

ah.

true story.

“And so,

the event rages on. the lights dimming,

the bodies pulsating and sucking the cold

out of the room. She approaches me, nose

nearly scraping mine.

“Oh god he’s so annoying.

I wish he didn’t come here.

I didn’t invite him.

I wish I can make out with anyone.

I want to just make out with anyone right now.

I don’t care who. I just want to do it.”

Her hot breath tumbles across my lower lip,

the hairs on the back of my neck raise.

This is what I’ve been waiting for, for a while.

She darts her head left and right, never leaving my personal zone.

I tilt my head down, eyes fixed on hers,

everyone else vanishing into a black void.

“How about me?” I poise the question with a naughty assurance.

Playfully. deadly serious.

It registers on her face my intentions and she pulls back. “Not now.”

somewhere a record needle scratches an imaginary 45.

I feel the gravity of the situation crushing down on my head. stunned.

“Not never.” I defeatedly reply.

her answer is mumbled, but answer enough.

hours later she makes out furiously with the annoying guy

as I pick up trash from the gallery’s floor.

end theme of DECEPTION w/photos

stupor

I recollected a moment,
a long time ago.
helping a friend who was staggering drunk,
back home.
feeling abject horror at her state.
making sure she would be okay,
as she went on to ignore me.

the foolish rush of blood to the noggin'
smitten with something that wasn't love,
nor lust . . . but need. that phase had passed,
we both had it out of our system.
but care was still in my heart somewhat.

I made sure she got home safe and sound,
while I took the long road back, dejected and disillusioned.
not worried about her feelings about me,
but my feelings about me.

flash forward, months after.
I, feeling dejected and disillusioned over
someone else entirely.
My feelings completely atrophied from this friend.
Yet we remained close . . . as close as acquaintances can be.

the night moved on,
the scene full of pariahs and sycophants.
androids, dolls, machines with pleasing aesthetics lined up.
phony, i drink, where have i gotten myself into?
what is this?
i drink.
i assume i will be funnier tonight. but no,
i will unleash a backlash. my body punishes me.

I have become the one staggering, blindly drunk.
the world gone topsy turvy.
a kaleidoscope of pavement, sky, and whirling lights.
loud conversations bubbling into murmurs of
inconsequential dialogue.
I beckon for her help, as I am clearly not fit to
walk the streets alone, since i had one too many.

i was a fool to think they actually gave a shit.
I was put in a car that dropped me 5 blocks away,
alone, teetering on the verge of blacking out.
into the wicked, dark night of an unforgiving city.

red

RED (there is no home) teaser 3 from MPFILMS on Vimeo.

the gate

there is a vortex that appears.
past midnight.
the sky will open, the black will swirl
into a luminescent white.
A great glowing eye from the heavens.
the only way to see it,
is to raise your hand,
palm outward. flat.
and slowly spread your fingers apart.

can you see it?
will you comprehend what it is,
when you do?

when your heart beat surges,
and the calmness eventually overtakes.
will you feel it?
will you know how to react.

will you be content?

absolute

three hundred and sixty five days
internal chaos, self destruction and self loathing.
the faces that appeared and vanished in the blink
of an eye.
that eye punctured by the ugly sight of another world.
darkness creeping in. spinning. funneled into a mutated keepsake.
The snails pace of evolution.
the stolen kisses that led no where.
challenged libidos, justified the mistrust of others.
the disgust.
not falling. not slipping one's toe into the black abyss.
teetering. not becoming the shadow . . .
the shadow the malformed brain guarantees
it will provide a cushion. a safety net from reality.
not possible. not falling into the trap of
misanthropy. misogyny. the lulling call of her . . .
the one called absolute.

she beckons, but must not be shown audience to,
her song will whisper around the ears, but
the moment it hypnotizes, the moment it
travels through the canals, the bloodstream.
it is over. she must be rejected or she will
swallow one into the deep recesses of nothingness.

yule tide

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.

phone tag

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.

Welcome to the ether, bitch.

verbal spar.

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.

"Ask Will" episode 1

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.

Breaking News

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.

FRIDAY 6-8

A FRIENDLY REMINDER FROM ANTIMOTION / F9

Please join us for some drinks + music on FRIDAY - JULY 3RD at ZAKKA
BOOKS in DUMBO, BROOKLYN, to celebrate the release of FUTR WRLD.

The store will feature artwork from the collection from 6 - 8. ALL WELCOME!

Thanks again for your support - ANTIMOTION / F9

For more info on this project visit:
http://anti-motion.com/futrwrld.html
or email:
info@anti-motion.com


for directions visit:
http://www.zakkacorp.com/contact.php

155 Plymouth St, Brooklyn, NY 11201

Link: <http://maps.google.com/maps?hl=en&q=155+Plymouth+St,+Brooklyn,+NY,+11201&ie=UTF8&split=0&gl=us&ei=IL81StjyJoGMtgfBkdi7CQ&ll=40.704343,-73.987083&spn=0.009256,0.014012&z=16&iwloc=A>

ZAKKA NYC
155 Plymouth St, Brooklyn, NY, 11201
*F Train York St. Station / 1st. Stop from Manhattan
718.801.8037

www.zakkacorp.com
info@zakkacorp.com

finding work in the new age depression

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.

But back to reality.

So where am I stuck looking? Well,
craigslist
simply hired
myspace jobs
monster

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.


byeeeeee!

i am not spartacus

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 is SPARTACUS"

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.