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3DP Vol 1: The Naked Podcast
Gay weathermen, Hassidic party boys, streetwalkers, and horny Turks.
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A Journey to India
' + 'A blog of travel in the world\'s largest democracy.
' + '
Digital Silly Putty
' + 'Fantasizing about future networked objects.
' + '
The Heavenly Bodies of Robert Capa
' + 'A timeline of the life of war photographer Robert Capa.
' + '
burning man twenty ten
' + 'mashup of West Village buildings and Burning Man double rainbow
' + '
drawings on Mylar with Copic Wide markers
' + '
future tense nostalgia
' + 'my commute to work told in GoogleMaps images
' + '
everyone\'s anything
' + 'flouting schemas of classification by desconstructing the idea of self
' + 'I don\'t know who I am or what I want to be. Blasphemous rogue. Knavish wretch. Shakespeare caricature. Someone I forget. Some silly stuck stupid situation. Canned quick cut merely mutilation. "The lunatic, the lover, and the poet..." No separation. I\'m friendless senseless endless. Slack jaw crushing skull. I\'m deadly rip-off hip cough. I\'m exceedingly dull. I\'m cheese and spam. Choking chicken bone giggles. Strangled by banana pits and Vienna sausages. Cheese Its and boiled esophagus. Stretched thin over layer and layer of you and me and me and you and everything we go through and the few that kept fucking themselves until calluses grew. I am the surgeon collecting scabs in mustard jars. The urge to stick skin and hair and fingernails on the tongue. I am the salt and blood and smoke. The mud and piss and concrete. And every heavy bong toke. I am the Kwisatz Haderach. The Dijon Cadillac. Diesel fuel and burning fat. Sex and death in a Vietnamese restaurant with some random girl I\'ve never met. I\'m an IOU. The I love you. The AOK. The ASS. The everyone\'s anything. Weasel. Piglet. Powder coal kisses. Torturous caresses. Sing a song lyric. Shan\'t get away with it. What everyone says about me. Unfeeling uncaring undeniably understanding under the circumstances. Overbearing overzealous overly overt over the matter. I\'m the make less sense out of senselessness. The rage and be relentless. The abstinent abstinence. I\'m the casualness of casualties. The culmination of calamities. The ability to write read and satisfy needs. If need be.
'; } function changeMain5() { document.getElementById("main_inner").innerHTML = 'subway riders\' 10 commandments' +
'a New Yorker\'s take on the Vatican\'s 10 Commandments for Drivers
' + '1. You shall not kill. Unless, of course, someone looks at you wrong then KILL KILL KILL.
' + '2. The subway shall be for you a means of commiserating about service interruptions that forced you to take a cab home.
' + '3. Courtesy, uprightness and prudence will help you deal with homeless people that smell like pee.
' + '4. You shall not position your baby strollers so as to form an impenetrable obstruction to the sliding doors.
' + '5. Subway cars shall not be for you an expression of American Idol and an occasion of bad rapping.
' + '6. Charitably convince the young and not so young that profanity isn\'t as cool as they think it is.
' + '7. Support the crying girlfriend whose boyfriend just cheated on her.
' + '8. Bring MTA booth operators and their victims of bungled card swipe together, at the appropriate time, so they can beat the crap out of each other in The Arena of Death.
' + '9. On the platform, protect the more vulnerable party from any flatulence caused by a heavy Indian meal.
' + '10. You shall not release your genitalia from your trousers in view of others.
'; } function changeMain4() { document.getElementById("main_inner").innerHTML = 'thoughts on an uptown bus
' + 'musings on living in New York City
' + '' + 'I\'d never ridden the bus much in the city. My girlfriend swears by it, but it seems so impractical waiting above ground exposed to the elements. Waiting for the walking caricatures or neglected nightmares the city has sown. But I was inspired on this day maybe. I got on the M5 and took it all the way to the end of the line.
' + 'I squirmed trying to get comfortable across the unyielding plastic, my knees crammed into my chest (the curse of long legs). Then moved to a better vantage point with slightly more leg room. We passed street sales and American flags, young men playing street hockey.
' + '' + 'A man boarded with a leaking stub of a cigarette talking loudly on his cell phone, wet from the light rain.' + ' "I says to him, \'Yo bro, we are on a schedule.\' And he says to me, \'Motherfucker, don\'t you see I\'m on the fuckin\' phone?\' And I says to him, \'Yo bro, you better calm down unless you wanna throw down here in the fucking street, you understand?\' I mean, I know he\'s a recovering addict and all. But all those guys are all alike. You gotta have a firm hand with them, you know? Don\'t take no shit off \'em. I mean, Christ, our fuckin\' mom\'s in the hospital and this shithead is on his cell phone?\'' + '" His hair is the color of motor oil.
' + '' + 'There are wet coughs rattling around in the back of the bus. Communicating germs across the steel poles and molded topography of the seats. This makes them my people, my brothers and sisters, my invalids, my infections. Those that must make this tolerable as I am obliged to make this tolerable. People say the city has changed. Starbucks on every corner, Bed Bath and Beyond, Barnes and Noble. The same chain stores punctuating Middle America. Luxury rentals sprouting up around the city like plague. I never knew the city before, so perhaps I live in the shadow of its heyday. But its sheer abundance, its humanity still has the effect of triggering snapshots in my mind. Interior moments captured for unexpected recollection. The bus driver is kind. He waits for an older lady struggling with a cane to board the bus. She thanks him. All of us doing our part to make this tolerable. It\'s hard to live freely without real money in the city and I think that one of these fond recollections could be back on myself poor and riding a bus uptown.
' + 'A guy sits next to me for no apparent reason. There are plenty of seats on the bus. Why is he sitting next to me? I find myself suspicious of my brothers and sisters. Gay man or terrorist? Child molester or imbecile? Nothing would surprise me. Drunk in a well-known heroin bar last year a man asked, if given the choice, would I rather be killed by a gorilla or guerrilla. I opted for the gorilla thinking that at least there\'s a chance that I could run away, zig-zag through the jungle or otherwise scare him off. "Are you fucking kidding me?" the boozy drunk rasped. "Have you ever seen a goddamn gorilla? He will tear you limb from limb! That motherfucker will make you feel pain you never thought possible!" I insisted that a guerilla armed with a machine gun and a machete was more lethal and he started to scream and pace back and forth furiously wrestling with the question of death by gorilla or guerrilla. "What, are you some kind of idiot? What\'s WRONG with you? Are you fucking stupid?"
' + 'The last time I was on a bus was last May in Peru in the middle of the desert. We were about an hour outside of a little town called Arrequipa when our tourist bus broke down. We paced alongside the road with our luggage while the Peruvian bus driver looked futilely under the hood. It was getting colder and darker and after several attempts we finally flagged down a local driving a giant flatbed truck used to haul some sort of powdery rock. A couple men and I took charge hoisting everyone and their luggage into the truck and sat down on the hard dusty steel bouncing along the desert road trying to make the best of the situation. People passed around food; I passed around my remaining Peruvian beers and we joked and sang in different languages to each other. It was one of the dearest moments of my life. Pulled so hard out of my usual context and delivered from a desperate situation, in part, of my own orchestration. Something I desperately needed at the time. To sabotage my daily routine.
' + 'The bus is getting more crowded. Asian, Indian, Hispanic, white. An older black woman. We pass a garish model in a Victoria\'s Secret window shouting NEW! VERY SEXY MAKEUP. The bus smells like fresh bread. An older woman with grey hair in a black coat and khaki pants sits next to me, her ass pushing into the side of my thigh. She has a small moustache, like Hitler. We\'re passing Central Park. A year ago I was walking through the park with a girl I no longer talk to observing the changing leaves and reading Whitman. Older snapshots and context again changed so dramatically. An Indian girl with a perfect bob and black sweater and brown pants sits down. The bus driver almost smashes someone in the door. This happens often in the city.
' + 'An older couple boards, she in all black in front of me, he sitting to my side. They look pleasant. Content. Happy almost, a rare state of being on public transportation. He looks at her, "We\'re confirmed M5 users now." There is a long silence between them. They have obviously been married for many years. What can one say to the other after so long? After his history and tastes have all been exposed, her political discussion and ethical opinions exhausted, their inside jokes well worn. A lifetime spent in the service of one another. I suppose you simply smile pleasantly beside each other on the M5 making small talk. And it\'s beautiful in its own unassuming way. A stream of people filter off the bus. "Very popular stop," he observes.
' + 'The bus hasn\'nt moved for 10 minutes and the driver laughs uproarously with another MTA employee outside. It seems the driver has caught up to the bus before us and now we have to wait.
' + '"Look at the people on the second floor." the woman says.
' + '"Dancers?" he replies.
' + '"No, exercise."
' + '"That supposed to be good for you?"
' + '"Other people, not you," she purses her lips coquettishly.
' + '"Wanna sit over here?" she invites.
' + 'The man thinks about it. "I can see you better here. It\'s nice to look at you."
' + 'Another snapshot flares in my head. She doesn\'t respond. Is it one of a thousand feeble compliments lost on her? Or has she filed it away in a tiny part of her somewhere along with so many others? To be pulled out when he passes? To remember all of the small insignificant comments she never let him know she treasured? They make me blissfully sad. Nostalgic over a life never lived. The beautiful contentedness of their relationship, of old age. I think that\'s my greatest fear. That I won\'t have that. That after all of the loving deserving people that I ever had relationships with, that I would ultimately end up on the M5 alone. By choice no less. Without someone to talk about the weather to or the show we just attended or the young girls exercising in the window whom I should know better than to stare at. Tapped in to the deep sadness of New York City that lurks underneath the trash and asphalt, rotting corpses and sewer systems. That all of the young love I had ever known, the beautiful relationships that helped push my boundaries would be reduced to memory and faded photos with clothing and hair styles long outdated.
' + 'Regardless, the happiness of these days shall be ever mine. Closed in a snapshot from time to time. Picked over in an album. Written in a letter to a neglected friend.
'; } function changeMain3() { document.getElementById("main_inner").innerHTML = 'be still' +
'a tribute to an unknown older sister
' + '09.29.2006' +
'
folded up in mother\'s womb
' +
'in the innocence of sleep
' +
'nightmares not yet put in words
' +
'grow quietly in the deep
' +
'
ears and eyes are still stitched shut
' +
'the flesh barely bound to bone
' +
'the body floating gently
' +
'in the cavern all alone
' +
'
' +
'woven like a butterfly
' +
'in the depths of her cocoon
' +
'the tender walls stifle calls
' +
'the blood reacts to the moon
' +
'
' +
'and women murder doctors
' +
'and hang coats on coat hangers
' +
'cloning frozen embryos
' +
'that no one will remember
' +
'
for folded up in her tomb
' +
'the cord that nourished instead
' +
'has strangled it in darkness
' +
'and left it inside her dead
New Yorker cartoon submission 2
' + '
';
}
function changeMain1() {
document.getElementById("main_inner").innerHTML = 'New Yorker cartoon submission 1
' + '
';
}
/*function changeVideo2() {
document.getElementById("main_inner").innerHTML = 'the end is the end is the beginning
' + 'the end is the end is the beginning
' + 'The Happy Scale
' + '
' +
'The "happy scale" is a digital scale combined with an MP3 player. When users stand on the scale, instead of getting a visual indication of weight, they hear random happy messages about themselves implying that weight scales can measure more than simply cultural standards of beauty. '; } function kneeSlapper() { document.getElementById("main_inner").innerHTML = '
KneeSlapper
' + '
' +
'The KneeSlapper is a MIDI device that users can strap around their thighs to play any MIDI sounds with the tactile sensation of kneeslapping. This allows musicians to play rhythmic parts off of their own bodies.'; } function changeSide() { document.getElementById("side").innerHTML = '
' + '' + '' + '' + '' + '' + '' + ''; document.getElementById("main_inner").innerHTML = ''; document.getElementById("hell").innerHTML = ''; } function song1() { document.getElementById("main_inner").innerHTML = '
darling little starveling
' + 'darling little starveling
' +
'i\'ve got no tongue to taste
' +
'i\'m thin on skin to wrap you in
' +
'and all air goes to waste
' +
'i\'m feverish and skeletal
' +
'feral and hysterical
' +
'still you just implore me to give more
darling little starveling
' +
'i\'m bloated big with need
' +
'my ribs stick out like weapons
' +
'these arms dangle helplessly
' +
'in frailty and subtlety
' +
'no where near longevity
' +
'i wait while you peruse what\'s left to use
o but to no tender avail
' +
'spit and curse and sob your worst
' +
'yet silence will prevail
' +
'slight me fight me bite me
' +
'do nothing more in spite of me
' +
'save feed on less and less to emptiness
darling little starveling
' +
'there\'s little left but flies
' +
'that stick and choke in shriveled throat
' +
'amongst kisses dead and dry
' +
'at long last this is our catalyst
' +
'of spoon-fed fuck run ravenous
' +
'and there\'s little love that\'s left to lavish you
death of an American dream
' + 'here\'s to the death of an American dream
' +
'that overdosed while fast asleep like some ex-celebrity
' +
'and we all knew that this day would come
' +
'it\'s no surprise now to anyone
' +
'such a shame it had to end this way
' +
'
' +
'but i\'m awake for the first time in my life
' +
'and my heart aches with the emptiness inside
' +
'\'cause life is fake and the world passes us by
' +
'i\'ve seen it all for the first time
' +
'
' +
'here\'s to counting down the minutes on TV
' +
'in between advertisements that sell us what we need
' +
'and no matter how hard i try to pretend
' +
'i can\'t get out from in front of that camera lens
' +
'the life i knew is now pure entertainment too
' +
'
' +
'but i\'m awake for the last of the reruns
' +
'and my heart breaks when i see what we\'ve become
' +
'it only takes a simple touch to make the world dissolve
' +
'
' +
'into television snow and static on the radio
' +
'pixel dust that blows through computer wires and telephones
' +
'a billion 1\'s and O\'s that make our lives so bearable
' +
'a reality unfolds that no one dreamed was possible
' +
'
' +
'here\'s to the end of the civilized world
' +
'that made lots of promises it couldn\'t quite deliver
' +
'and i have to laugh in embarrassment
' +
'at the way we\'ve squandered our inheritance
' +
'with lives so spent we might as well be dead
' +
'
' +
'but I\'m awake for the rest of Kingdom Come
' +
'and my heart craves to one day see ourselves undone
' +
'it only takes a simple touch to make the world resolve
' +
'
' +
'forget our fathers\' dreams bathed in the blood of industry
' +
'selling freedom on the cheap and spreading through nations like disease
' +
'with promises of relief and remedies for everything
' +
'subscribe to our beliefs and miraculously you\'ll be set free
' +
'
' +
'and what does it all mean when everything you believed was illusory
' +
'and how can you achieve any semblance of democracy
' +
'
' +
'dream another dream';
}
function song3() {
document.getElementById("main_inner").innerHTML = '
mesh
' + 'i don\'t know who i am
' +
'or what i want to be
' +
'i could be suicidal
' +
'i could be a memory
' +
'
' +
'it might all be an experiment
' +
'or a statistic in the end
' +
'heaven is an asylum
' +
'when you\'re your only friend
' +
'
' +
'here i\'m tied just hypnotized
' +
'trying to decide my fate
' +
'wishing i could believe in something
' +
'that this world hasn\'t make me hate
' +
'
' +
'and i kill lovers, torture others
' +
'with weapons of the flesh
' +
'my only proof there is a God
' +
'is when our bodies mesh
' +
'
' +
'i don\'t know who i am
' +
'or what i\'m supposed to be
' +
'i could be very typical
' +
'i could be a mystery
' +
'
' +
'it might merely be someone\'s dream
' +
'or a statisic in the end
' +
'it all comes from inside of you
' +
'when you\'re your only friend
';
}
function song4() {
document.getElementById("main_inner").innerHTML = '
sexy psycho
' + 'sexy psycho
' +
'slash your sexy wrists
' +
'sexy psycho
' +
'cough us up a kiss
' +
'sexy psycho
' +
'suffocate yourself
' +
'sexy psycho
' +
'poor pathetic girl
' +
'
' +
'sexy psycho
' +
'shave your sexy legs
' +
'sexy psycho show us how you beg
' +
'sexy psycho
' +
'pant away the pain
' +
'sexy psycho
' +
'got no one to blame
' +
'
' +
'my christopher my murderer
' +
'my savior my father figure
' +
'my hypocrite my drug addict
' +
'my heretic my stimulant
' +
'
' +
'sexy psycho
' +
'sell your sexy self
' +
'sexy psycho
' +
'see you down in hell
' +
'sexy psycho
' +
'shake that piece of ass
' +
'sexy psycho
' +
'said her peace at last
';
}
function song5() {
document.getElementById("main_inner").innerHTML = '