Where Angels Dare: Reliving the Death Camps

Dread. Sinking into a mind state where no anguish can touch the mind frame. In these places life was not only lost, but taken, swept away as dust in the wind. These camps, these fields, these stories on the walls... a histroy unto itself. Remove the situation, remove the politics, remove the history, remove the stereotypes, remove everything but the person. The individual. What is left? Dread.

What is it this place has seen, what is it that this soils breathes, what was bread here for those who walked away to pass on through future actions. No sides, no teams, no reality, just individuals... just dread. The somber sense of the place is unmistakable, not just the facts bringing the senses to a height, but the energy. You can not deny such a force, it is there in every place you go. But here, in these lands, much more has passed. Dread.

I do not feel compassion, although you would think one would, but more intrigue, I am too far removed. But I am haunted, with the plight, the suffering, and the monsterism of the control. What lies in the deepest revelations of this for me? What lies so deep? Realisations of control, realisations of the ability of so few to manage the impressions of so many. Control of information, desire to be part of something, a league of similarities. This is not a new formation of society, but maybe the most basic principle of control. But here, in this dread, I find an example of the most extremes. The most dreaded.

Here, where angels dare tread.








no symbolism, or take on any events is intended here, no reference to actual people meant, no offence to anyone, more a look at a general realisation. The writer intends no offence, no meaning to indivuals, or no political statment with any imagery, this is a personal reflection on social actions.

Melbourne Stencil Style

People are always talk about Melbourne's Stencil Style with such surprise. It is that old attitude of the BourneCity crew that there was always somewhere else doing the same thing as us, but better, or before us. BourneCity may not have been first on the stencil map, but it sure has taken lead in so many areas of the culture. From the creative and diverse forms which the art-form has taken on, to the cultural acceptance of the practice, to the rise of the practice in less traditional formats, be it on canvas, in galleries, in t-shirts. The original use of stencils as a form of street art, as a tool of various political resistance movements, as a message to the people or simply to just 'get-up' is a thing of the past. BourneCity now embraces the many that take part.

The Man with the Blue Guiter part1

Once you have a taste, it seems it is difficult to return. Once you have one, it seems you always want a second. Once you have two, it seems the third is already desired. Once you have 20, it is too late, because if you see one unlike the others you have, that too must become yours. Consume. Earn. Spend. Consume. Have. But remember to learn, and teach, and share.

Society breeds you, those who have you breed you, and they can never keep you close enough to themselves for their liking. But you will not fall to far from their kind, no matter how far your run, how far your stray, your kind is your kind.

Once you see another, it is hard not to compare, once you feel close it is hard to let go, once you let go, it is hard not to wonder. Once you wonder, it is hard to change perspective. Once you perceive it is difficult to imagine.

Once you find comfort, it is hard to leave, once you try one, it is hard not to try another. Once you have walked, you will run. Once you have run, you will jump. Once you jump, you will fall.

To have. Always wanting more? Objects for these ones may vary, from the vinyl of the jazz collector, to the jars of the perfectionist. To the old tin cans, stamps, maps and old oil caps. Sneaker freaker, magazine keeper, destined to go deeper into the pages of knowledge, the pages of truth, the music to the ears, to maker of beers. But to have, is to know, only making it harder to one day let go. One day to walk and leave that blue guitar behind.

Dboy Sticker Gateway

Outlook

Another image taken of Dboy by Julie Bullock, with my alterations.

They are breed well, so aware of the coming storm, masked and ready, the look is unmistakable.

The communication lines have been clear today. Those who have traveled far to BourneCity at this time of year experience a different view, an altered outlook from those that dwell here when the sun belts down. In my role, I meet many of these visitors, and the effect of the city is often remarkable, often obvious, often immediate, yet remains subtle as that is its way. The darkness creeps in much earlier, the city creeps slowly through the days, mundane days, it is still sinister, as always. There is a certain appeal in the doldrums and that can not be explained, only felt. Notice: A certain enduring nature of the dark tarmac which maintains its state all the while being pelted with drops from the sky. Grey hues seem so full of colour, the style is always there.

Inside small bars, rooms, halls, and lofts across the city people gather, speaking easy of the state of their affairs. Down lanes ways past stickers, paint and thoughts, through smells and up stairs, down alleys and past bins, here you will find the keepers of the city, those that breed the creativity that makes BourneCity such an intriguing habitat. Their creativity spills out of conversations and into music, into life on the walls, into their eyes.

As they look out into the sky, the bleeding sky, unprotected by the natural layer, unprotected from the world's ugly tirade of unpleasant circumstances, the look in their eyes in unmistakable. They have felt this city, they have breathed this air, spoken amongst themselves about this state of affairs. A compassion, yet fear, a desire yet refined nature. These are BourneCities pride, its offspring, subject to it's effect, subjects to it's influence.

They are breed well, so aware of the coming storm, masked and ready, the look is unmistakable.

V.3.2

Transmissions have been encoded. The signal from the ground is weak, the distortion in translation has revealed a subtext which must be maintained in sound format only. The user must display discretion. The new wave of information that has been uncovered has entitled us to continue the Movement.

Stay True my friends.

Disjointed communications of unparalleled density will portray all in a desirable way.

Stay True my friends.

Low Fidelity revolution. Industrial Standards or formatting.

Complete.

Life is Such

Do you feel me? Saturday morning, 11am. I wake on the couch of a East BourneCity apartment, nice place too it seems. Leather couch be sticking to the side of my face, but not to uncomfortable. Polished baords, heater on, leafy outlook. It takes me a moment to realise this is SneakyHands place and recall some the events of the night before, and how it was I came to be here. I stealth up the hallway, not entirely sure of how many stayed, and where in the house they may be, my memories of the last hour or so of the night before are hazy, if not a little creepy. It was something like a bad music video, with a little touch of a Rob Zombie flick sliced into the framework. Hysterical laughter, vial projectial action with full sound effects, the loss of all sensability, it was all there.

I find my way out of the building, into the sunlight. It is autumn, the sun shines, but still the cold strikes a fresh blow to my skin. I pull my oversized hood on top, plug in some earphones and select Santana (For a review of Santana check out my boys site Dropping Beer) for my motivational background, it is going to be a long painful walk. But any other method of transport would be cop out. I know some of my best revelations have occured on walks like this, and I am prepared to make the journey another one of notability, this city, BourneCity has a way of making it worth while. I feel my head swell, my legs ache, not many couches are really long enough for the length of the dboy style, it seems last nights was no exception.

Although this neighborhood is not familiar to me, I can smell the way home, towards the G, through the mud, under the RichMad underpass towards the stacks and murky water, up the hill and down the other side. 200 metres from my departure point I come across a bottle-o, so a can of Bundy will also lead me home, it is the only way.

A good 1/2 hour later and between Santana, the pain in my head, my lack of fitness, and being alone for the 1st time in a week with time to think I am getting deep on myself. Thinking about the consequences of my actions, about the trials and tribulations of being a minor success, about what I am going to do with my current state of affairs. Nothing to out of the usual, but enough to get the blood ticking and inspiration flowing.

Then, as it happens in Bourne City, I come across something that makes me swelter with pride, something that says to me the people here understand. Half way up the longest hill you would want to walk up in my condition, outside an old block of flats I used to hit up in my younger days, there is the mattress, propped up, signed up and speaking to me. It was not the place it had been left to lay, but brought in especially for the occasion, marked and situated. Nothing left to chance with the style, and the message clear, relevant and striking.

This is BourneCity people, Such Is Life.

The Bullock Effect

check out the myspace of my friend in SanFran Julie Bullock. Mad photography.
She took to original for the above bit in Barca while we were there.

Link Up to Julie's MySpace

Twist in the Tale

It is art that starts in someones mind. Be it mine, someone elses, or a combination. Another player may mix some paint, clean some nibs, pull on the hood and bomb the street. It may, as in this case, be a number of people, all over the world, inlcuding myself, hitting up walls with cans, markers, stickers, but above all passion. Some of the artists in this piece inlcude Pez and Six.

Along the line I take a photo.

Then the digital realm takes over. The author is dead, the medium is irrelavant, it mixes, matches, switches and clashes, blending together in visual form to become something new. This is my style.

above: Original image taken of stickers in Portabello, UK.
below: resulting image using images taken in UK, Spain, Australia and Sweden.

Clarity

A friend said an interesting thing to me yesterday...
"I had a revelation on the way to the shop this morning."
In that moment I was struck with an overwhelming sense of clarity. In her words I saw a clear and distinct path I wanted to walk, an obvious and complete way of life that I search for. It was just a moment, and by the time her next sentence began it was gone. But in that instant what The Movement is and what I want to gain from it was all before me, it was a vision of metaphysical purity.

The relationship between mind and matter, substance and attribute, fact and value, and the direction of my self is something that I have felt attuned to since raising myself out of the depths of teenage angst and into the world of realisations. The combined sensation of a number of realisations into a moment when some clarity is reached can only be described as a revelation. My friend has in that instant brought to me a unique feeling in my life. I have had revelations before, but this one, in regards to the progress I am making in my journey was powerful, mind blowing, yet in it i found some peace. Some peace in the knowledge that the slow progress I attain to is not with out merit.

That clarity I had found may be lost in the day to day life I must continue to struggle through. But I know that in the background of my thoughts, the overtones of my beliefs, the power of the energy I choose to expel is moving me forward in my journey. My day to day life is but the physical aspect of my journey, the mirage of my other journey, taking place in the thoughts, in the beliefs, inside the reality that I create around me, and with the people I choose to surround myself with. My thoughts are with my people, my thoughts are positive, my thoughts may not be obvious, but the results are.

Bill Hicks may have been onto something...