nathan would publish poems, but no one cares so he won't waste his time.

exhibit 19. case in point

(c) nathan masserang prints (2010)

playlist of the week:

• the entirety of sleigh bells' "treats"
• summertime clothes [dam funk remix] - animal collective
• heaven's on fire - the radio dept.
• the gaudy side of town - gayngs
• sylvia - the antlers
• lust for life - girls
• flux riddim - mj cole
• i wanna dance with somebody - whitney houston
• life in marvelous times - mos def
• stay close - delorean

my first book will be titled

we have an army of babies, i don't think we are going to win this one & other poems

home for the summer. poop.

nathan hates kyle so much.

that is all.

nathan forgets that thing.

exhibit 17. "Albion rose from where he labourd at the Mill with slaves / Giving himself to the nations he danced the dance of Eternal Death" - Blake





is this what we've come to? squabbling over the most erroneous shit?




i have so many babies
so, so, many, many, babies
as if bradstreet had anything on me
i'm popping them out
they're all about
a mess, a jumble
a sheepdog
a necessity



exhibit 18. MY HANDS ARE COVERED IN INK




new missions: make something cool every day
everydayevery
eeeverrrydayy
daaaaaaayyyyeveryyyyy


swimming in babies, as always.

din dah

exhibit 16. merry chrishmish

nathan writes the next great american controversy.

feeling the lichens of her life crawl up her arms in a duplicitous fashion.feeling the lichens of her life crawl up her arms in a duplicitous fashion.feeling the lichens of her life crawl up her arms in a duplicitous fashion.feeling the lichens of her life crawl up her arms in a duplicitous fashion.feeling the lichens of her life crawl up her arms in a duplicitous fashion.feeling the lichens of her life crawl up her arms in a duplicitous fashion.feeling the lichens of her life crawl up her arms in a duplicitous fashion.

bring your bat and your chopper,
and a first aid Kit,
and some antiseptic,
this could get hectic.

houston, nathan has a problem: he's in space.

exhibit 15: correct me if i'm wrong, but that's incest. no wonder they were struck down.


renew jam: islands. it's too happy, and too good to not listen to.


focus on: bnr. yes. doing so. unimpressed. the only saving grace of such an album is the occasional heaviness of 2 brothers known as shadowdancer. soap is an epic track. housi is an epic track. the rest is fair at best.


enough of that.


CHANGE THE WORLD
CHANGE THE WORLD
CHANGE ERIC



and they still make girl bands? disappointing. do better.



it's not my musical douchebaggery, it's just i've heard them, and i've heard enough, and i don't like what i've heard. my assessment is as follows: }gender{ bands are so fourth grade. they pass in and out of culture and leave the same mark as the last, that is, if they make any mark at all. they perform like banana peels in the hands of a pubescent male: used for one function and thrown out.


maybe i just like indie shit. but let's be honest here: no matter how good the track is, the band isn't perfect. no band is perfect. i prove this point by saying that i believe radiohead (there i said it) is not a perfect band.


maybe it's generational, or worse, gender based. ugh. that would suck. and it probably isn't true. i mean, you know that cher and barbara are still billionaires because of two words: gay people. but i don't listen to them, and i know that the stereotype is just that: a stereotype.

and maybe i'm still bitter about getting my heart broken by a fan of these bands. it's like a freudian association or some shit like that. he was an asshole, not the people who made the music.


but their music still is not "good".

gasoline, saccharine
hotel, taco bell


"nathan, you sit there wishing for something to happen and you just need to get out there."
"it's no use. i'm banned from the club. they got my picture and shit."
"so? go punch out the guys with the picture. they know why they have the picture, but it doesn't tell them how hard you hit."

thank you dana


on that note, the albion community will be shocked at the party i'm throwing next year. the vinyl is in, and the equipment is set up.

next week: art is supposed to comment on culture... right? damn.

diana ross, are you cold?

because you about to get a blanket.


there were all the people talking and laughing and crying, and she was just standing there stroking his hair and choking out sobs as if he slept soundly. every convulsion seemed to shake her even more than the last, and i was nearing the front of the line. i saw his face and began to search for the door. i wanted to leave, i couldn't do it. this was all too much emotion in one spot. my mouth was dry and papery and i stood, looked at him, and looked to her.

"how are you?"

"i've been better."

"i'm sorry."

and at that moment i found the door.


this week has been some rough gem caught deep within the mines. it was beautiful, picturesque, and devilish.


until again.