of what use is the art that does not ruthlessly seek to force life to imitate it?
AIKEN LAYNE The Cafe Noir's small, mahogany confines smelled of tobacco smoke and leather, cigarette ash and java beans, a small gaggle of hipsters lounging about the counter at the front of the store, chatting with the staff whilst the old men, with their fat hands and wrinkled foreheads, puffed their fragrant belicoso's and cursed …
Continue reading "The Iron Garden Part.4"
EDITOR'S NOTE: This rare piece, published in 1924, was originally written by the Leading Futurist and Cosmic Idealist, Enrico Prampolini. I have reproduced it here for the edification of my audience due it's rarity and artistic importance. In the aesthetic phenomenon of the evolution of the plastic arts the necessity of considering the Machine and …
Continue reading "The Aesthetic of the Machine & Mechanical Introspection In Art"
We come here long after the sun sinks below the horizon. The meeting spot is an abandoned, five-story, brick building inside of a demolished industrial park. This time there is only three of us, and we all know what we are here for. After entering through the main doors, the chain lock was cut long …
Stirrings Barren was the plain upon which she stood, pale-nude and swathed in the wind, raw-howling out across that rutted waste. The forms rose soundlessly from the ashen sand, porcelain masks glistening bone-white beneath the moon. Unease and silence so total that she felt the world itself had ceased it's celestial transit. Then a cracking …
Moon-blood The city buzzed like a noise-struck hornet, skittering round a white-hot light. The sound pouring forth from beneath the shade of jagged, phallic highrises, behind which grumbled ramshackle factories discharging grim, hellish plumes of living charcoal up into the darkening, moonless sky. A man stood backlit by moon in that blasted district, silent as …
The Coming of Erebus The pulsing heave of synth-wave and bio-hum washed over the solitary man with the lineman's gloves. He stood back-lit by neon, silent as statuary. Smoke slow-coiling about plain black ball-cap, chrysanthemum skyliner, heavy tinted aviators and trim-fit bluejeans. He stared straight ahead, as if the club goers, dancing in schismatic …
In the Western World there is seldom anything anyone fears being called more than a racist. But the phrase is quite confusing due to a ever growing multiplicity of meanings. As far as I can discern, however, all of these various differentials can be boiled down to two basic meanings, what we can call small …
What merriment can be derived from a land bereft of song and how oft does one hear the uninhibited singing of the common man? Songs, of a certainty, are plentiful, but singing... well that is something in terribly rare supply! And what of this common man, surely, he is part and parcel of the problem. …
