crash[blank]

duke city fade

2011-11-20T15:50:00.001-08:00

by gabe jaureguiberry
ace barber shop
109 4th st sw
albuquerque, nm

solid gold 67 camaro rs

2011-11-13T16:51:00.001-08:00

1967 chevrolet camaro rs
albuquerque, nm

johnson supports pardons for marijuana offenders

2011-11-08T19:48:00.000-08:00

"if i am elected president of the united states, i'm going to pardon all non-violent federal convictions for marijuana," said former nm governor gary johnson in an address to the international drug policy reform conference last week. the conference was hosted by several advocacy groups, including l.e.a.p. (law enforcement against prohibition) and the a.c.l.u.

in his speech, johnson cited last month's gallup poll that found, for the first time, a majority of the u.s. population favors outright legalization of marijuana. he cited the discrepancy between public sentiment and public leadership on the issue.

"50% of americans support legalizing marijuana. amongst the universe of politicians, 0% of the universe of politicians support this notion....can you think of any other area of public policy where there is that kind of disconnect? i can't."

the chasm between policy and popular opinion has widened exponentially in the last year, since the obama administration spun away from the official tolerance articulated in the ogden memo, in favor of drug enforcement policies from the bush era. adopting a fusion of anti-drug and anti-terror policy, a venomous hydra of prosecution that now includes military-trained d.e.a. squads of dubious international legality and the domestic targeting of state-legal medical marijuana dispensaries.

according to the latest f.b.i. data, more americans are arrested for drugs than any other crime,
with marijuana accounting for more than half of these arrests.

all this, as gary johnson notes, against the backdrop that a record majority of americans are now in favor of legalization. last year, another gallup poll found 70% of americans in favor of prescribed medical marijuana to relieve pain.

yeah, the american people get it. in a world where this kind of hypocrisy reigns, sometimes you got to light one to ease the pain.

more from the marigold parade

2011-11-07T13:26:00.000-08:00

"free haircuts for the 1%"

watching the parade from his backyard

this lady says we should boycott bueno foods because they do business with monsanto

marigold parade 11.6.11
albuquerque, nm

dia de los muertos marigold parade-- bicycle edition

2011-11-06T22:11:00.000-08:00

making marigolds

juan on a tiny bike trailing a tonka truck w a cassette recorder strapped on top

young one says, "i ran out of candy to throw because i ate it all."

our crew

marigold parade 11.6.11
albuquerque, nm

albuquerque csi!

2011-11-02T14:36:00.000-07:00

here's the new video, "pliers," by gnash quintet, gusher. the track is off the upcoming release, drought valley gruncle core, which drops next week. pick up your copy at the album release party saturday, november 12th 8pm at outerspace (albuquerque, 309 washington se) experience gusher live, performing alongside abq grind godfathers, ronoso, and wet witch (from jersey).

"pliers" by gusher
video directed by stephen turselli
albuquerque, nm

album release party:saturday, november 12th 8pm at outerspace (albuquerque, 309 washington se)

new mexico has highest drug overdose rate in the country

2011-10-09T14:17:00.000-07:00

new mexico now leads the country with the most deaths by drug overdose per capita with 26.63 deaths per 100,000 people, according to the latest cdc data. new mexico’s overdose rate is more than double the national average.

meanwhile, the fbi annual crime report released in september shows that last year, more americans were arrested for drugs than any other crime. driving under the influence, another drug-related offense, placed second. here in new mexico , 8,814 people were arrested for drugs and 11,301 people were busted for d.u.i.

the ever-skyrocketing number of drug arrests have done little to stem overdoses. nationally, the overdose rate has nearly doubled in the last ten years. 12.7 people per 100,000 now die from overdose. in 2000, that number was 6.7. for the first time in history, more people die by od in than in car crashes.

it's prescription pills that are responsible for the current spike in overdoses. narcotic painkillers and anti-anxiety meds are responsible for more overdoses than cocaine and heroin combined. the incidence of overdose parallels the increasing prescription of these medications: vicodin is now the most widely prescribed drug in the u.s.

the american medical establishment has as big a drug problem as the rest of the country. given this track record, why are we trying to medicalize marijuana? trusting doctors with drugs is like trusting banks with money.

despite the overdose statistics, the federal government is now aggressively prosecuting marijuana users, and even state-licensed medical marijuana dispensaries. a major crackdown in underway by u.s. attorneys in california. no word on how this general federal pressure will affect new mexico’s small medical marijuana program, but one california ruling may have local repercussions. the i.r.s. is using a part of the tax code that was originally designed to hurt drug cartels. that code is now being used to bar state-licensed dispensaries from taking any business-related tax deductions.

while the current federal government cracks down, former new mexico governor gary johnson, legalization advocate and still flickeringly viable presidential aspirant, is actively courting the stoner vote. in an interview with outside magazine, johnson calls marijuana users the “largest untapped voting bloc in the country.”

asks johnson, “a hundred million americans have smoked marijuana. you think they want to be considered criminals?”

hell, no. we want to be accepted, just like any pill popper.

57 corvette

2011-09-25T09:41:00.000-07:00

1957 chevrolet corvette
tijeras, nm

el descanso de rachel ibarra

2011-09-17T20:32:00.000-07:00

descanso for rachel ibarra
a few miles south of truth or consequences, nm

gary johnson declares war on the war on drugs

2011-08-08T23:41:00.000-07:00

in a passionate op-ed in friday’s washington times, former new mexico governor and republican presidential candidate gary johnson unleashed marijuana legalization into the mainstream national debate. unfortunately, many people were too distracted by watching the economy trip and fall down the stairs to notice. nevertheless, future opportunities to bring the issue to the fore are assured; johnson is a viable republican candidate, and he is making ending the drug war a platform of his campaign.

for the first time in forty years, we get to seriously discuss not how the drug war should be fought, but whether there should be a drug war at all.

johnson has been straightforward about his views on legalizing drugs before-- ending prohibition is a natural feature of his libertarian principals. but in his editorial he elaborates, framing the debate around money and security. the piece is titled, "Hitting the cartels where it hurts: Legalization of marijuana would end profiteering and violence," and it goes on to describe the drug war in terms of, well, actual war.

receiving scant coverage among english language news sources for such a bloodbath so nearby, the violence in mexico has escalated dramatically since 2006. that was when then-newly elected mexican president felipe calderon declared war against the cartels. now the death toll, according to johnson, is 28,000 (his figure is conservative. stopthedrugwar.org estimates 40,000 people have been killed).

johnson distinguishes immigration from border violence, calling out the hazards and hypocrisy of marijuana prohibition.

Border violence... is a prohibition problem. Just as we did for Al Capone and his murderous colleagues 90 years ago, our drug laws have created the battlefield on which tens of thousands are dying. By doggedly hanging onto marijuana laws that make criminals out of our children while our leaders proudly consume wine at state dinners, we have created an illegal marketplace with such mind-boggling profits that no enforcement measures will ever overcome the motivation, resources and determination of the cartels.

along with the times op-ed, worth reading in its entirety, johnson released an ad that compares the tally spent on imprisoning marijuana offenders ($3,100,000,000, according to johnson) to the number of deaths from marijuana overdose (zero, according to everybody).

johnson's overture to end prohibition comes as part of a recent rationalist wave of thinking on the drug war. in january of this year, calderon's predecessor, vicente fox, stated that he favored and end to drug prohibition. two weeks ago, the naacp adopted a resolution calling for an end to the war on drugs.*

however, even as sanity begins to flicker in the mainstream, the obama administration is now charging against weed with guns blazing full force . gone is the avuncular moderate of 2009, willing to let medical marijuana smokers hang out and burn down in the basement. that year, the justice department released the ogden memo, formally promising to ignore medical marijuana users who were acting in accordance with state law.

but those golden days of civil indifference are over. now the obama administration is exercising some hard dick enforcement straight out of the bush years. at the end of june 2011, the department of justice issued a memo targeting medical marijuana dispensaries . just last week, obama's drug czar, r. gil kerlikowski,** presented a new strategy that has the capacity to expand the drug war infinitely, merging the war on drugs with the war on terror (i think its called efficiency in government when two amorphous, unwinnable wars are consolidated into one).

meanwhile, the global economy is stumbling backwards and flailing for the bannister for dear life. it maybe that when it hits the landing, we end up so broke that we'll have to do as a nation what so many american families were already doing on the DL-- flipping weed to pay the bills.

* do you know what this means? stoners and black people could end up voting republican 2012. i'm not saying it's a lock, but it's not the long shot it once was.

r. gil kerlikowske, director of white house office of national drug control policy

somehow i believe director kerlikowske when he says he never smoked a joint in his life, don't you? his shits are probably like buckshot pellets, pinging in the pan.

from dollface filmz

2011-08-04T21:55:00.000-07:00

demetrisa of dollface filmz and occassional detroit on why it's cool to be a girl:

dollface filmz
albuquerque, nm

la santisima muerte with bulldog

2011-07-28T18:22:00.000-07:00

stencil in parking lot behind la montanita co-op
albuquerque, nm

"quelle horreur!" by abraham the poor

2011-07-26T15:57:00.000-07:00

hi. how are you? it's been a while, but i'm back. so much to share with you.

to start, here's a new video from abraham the poor, tracking a young man's journey through wet insomnia and naked rats to spiritual contentment. doubtless, if people dressed like that at my parties, i would be disenchanted with the rock star lifestyle as well.

"quell horreur!" by abraham the poor
directed by hannah macphereson

albuquerque, nm

still on vacation, samara? who are you, george w. bush?

2011-07-13T11:28:00.000-07:00

hi friends. yeah, sorry i had to send my brand new computer right back to china the day after i got it. so, waiting on that, still. i'm calling it an accidental summer vacation. but, don't worry, i'm still with you. please, check back in early august. crashblank will be blazing hot, just like the bosque on fire. ok ttysoon.

<3 sa\m/ara

mercury in retrograde

2011-05-12T08:10:00.000-07:00

sorry, friends. my computer died. so did my camera. also both my blenders, though that will have a less direct effect on my readers, probably. anyway, see you sometime in mid-june, when i can get the $$ together for new devices. in the meantime, i wish you lots of aesthetic pleasures, sexy cars, and, of course, love. please, check back here--oh, let's say, about a month from now.

cheers-- nos vemos.

<3 sa\m/ara

fart house: "song"

2011-04-28T08:07:00.000-07:00

"SONG" By Fart House from Supernormals on Vimeo.

warning: NSFW. albuquerque band, fart house, has a new video, "song," and it is some stripped sound laid against an intellectually provocative (some might even say, "morally challenging") backdrop. the video contains images of vaginas juxtaposed with terrorists. it's like fox news.

the short flick by patrick duncan, andy martin, and kaleb wentzel-fisher also features cameos by 5-time deming duck race champion, lightening pete, as well as the upstart, little yellow fuzzy, who stole first place from pete in 2010.*

*i'm guessing. i don't know. i haven't been to the duck races since i was eleven years old. but, if i had racing ducks, those are probably the names i would give them. i also like the name, "shazzam!!!" btw, i'm not even sure these ducks in the video have ever raced in their lives, let alone win five times, nor race so fast as to steal the title from the hypothetical five-time champion. but, there's no evidence against it, either.

http://www.myspace.com/farthouseband
http://brapola.blogspot.com/
http://www.Supernormals.org

albuquerque, nm

la india with the boomin system

2011-04-21T14:53:00.000-07:00

stickers in nob hill

artist??

albuquerque, nm

new mexico state schwaggies

2011-04-20T16:15:00.000-07:00

by saba
albuquerque, nm

happy 420

2011-04-20T14:56:00.000-07:00

on the diversion channel bike path near osuna
albuquerque, nm

a truck named seraphina

2011-04-17T20:59:00.000-07:00

this is oma. oma has a delivery truck named seraphina. oma says, "her name is seraphina, she loves-a gasoline almost as much as i love wine!"

seraphina's dashboard is outfitted with an alter.

inside there is a goose. her name is esmerelda. usually esmerelda is allowed to run free, but today there is an "interested dog," so she stays locked up safe.

esmerelda and oma sing a tune together.

albuquerque, nm

spraying is a health hazard

2011-04-12T11:21:00.000-07:00

behind the old pulse nightclub
albuquerque, nm

68 pontiac lemans @ the senior center

2011-04-11T15:15:00.000-07:00

i <3 the air force

1968 pontiac lemans
albuquerque, nm

happiness

2011-04-04T07:43:00.000-07:00

let's start with this fact: round things are fun. compare peas, for example, with broccoli. other fun foods: m&m's, isreali cous cous, and papaya seeds. well, i guess you don't actually eat papaya seeds, but they look like rabbit poops, and that makes them hilarious.

who doesn't have fond memories of an older sister standing on your head in a netted playpen full of large primary-color pellets while your parents ignore your anguished shrieks and drink beer by the pitcher? no? well-- i feel sorry for you, then. but those of us who are blessed with those memories have to nod our heads in agreement and say, yes, those ball pits are sound evidence that round things are fun (...wait-- maybe it was me standing on my sister's head? yes, that would make more sense...fun!).

how about when you saw a bean bag chair ripped open for the first time? don't lie and say it was anything less than a delight.

snow balls. gumballs. baseballs. giving someone blue balls. good times! breasts are round, and they are fun. balls we've already mentioned, but some people even think they are fun without turning them blue (and to those people who think breasts are the most fun, and to those who think balls are the most fun: you're both right! round things are fun).

anyway, this not even remotely comprehensive list of evidence is to remind you: there is a curvature to happiness.

so, how can this be applied? i'm not sure. but the shape of happiness is a fact we just proved.

practicing war at night

2011-04-01T08:44:00.000-07:00

a flight engineer calling the huey into a landing zone at night

watching our wingman takeoff while we delay on the ground

images by a handsome air force helicopter pilot who wishes to remain mysterious

southern new mexico

free download: sandia man

2011-03-29T12:14:00.000-07:00

he stalked his kill in the hoary dark and cooked the meat in the mouth of a cave. consumed by earth, doom, spear, and fire, he was sandia man, the first to come. thirty thousand years later, the epic of smoldering primeval is retold in sandia man's self-named release. metal at its most lithic and malefic, now available for free.

sandia man
albuquerque, nm

"ray of light" by monster paws

2011-03-28T10:35:00.000-07:00

today monster paws premiers their second music video, "ray of light," right here on crash[blank] for your viewing and listening pleasure. this is the second video off their debut album, and it features some kids with a good attitude about life road tripping down to the city of rocks and then fractalling into space energy. why, "ray of light" is just as glimmering as their first video, "champagne bike ride," and that vid positively sparkles.

"ray of light" is directed by kyle traynor, and alexander paul headed photography.

enjoy the love and light in real life at monster paws' dance party thursday, april 7th, at the launchpad.

you can purchase the album at the show, or off i-tunes, here.

i wrote a profile of monster paws for alibi when their album came out in november.

albuquerque, nm

griffin arellano takes his low rider for a maiden voyage

2011-03-23T14:42:00.000-07:00

griffin arellano takes his low rider for a maiden spring cruise on unm campus

"i just convinced my girlfriend to bring me this bike. she's from taos, and she won it in an auction back when she was 7 or 8. ....i've never had a car or anything like that. a low rider is as close as i'll come. you know the secret? this is my secret. just envision it, and you will receive."

--griffin arellano, freshman @ unm from fort collins, co.

arellano doesn't know the bike's exact origins, but the welds suggest DIYconstruction

hey, y'all, it's spring! go outside and ride your bike!

albuquerque, nm

tripp haley @ fixed and free

2011-03-19T16:23:00.000-07:00

fixed

and...

free...? or no? i guess it's hard to understand what is free.

fixed & free & entropy

walls by tripp haley
behind
fixed & free bike shop
114 tulane se
albuquerque, nm

save the film industry in new mexico-- take action

2011-03-16T10:52:00.000-07:00

call now and express your opinion:

susana! martinez (505) 476-2200

mayor berry (505) 768-3000

posts at a gallery/gas station in gallup

2011-03-12T11:45:00.000-08:00

submitted by kris kerby, who saw these in gallup, nm, while on tour with his band, tenderizor.

"those posts were at some indian art gallery/gas station on the outskirts we stopped at to tinkle," he says.

gallup, nm

new mexico mayor and police chief arrested for running guns to mexico

2011-03-11T03:42:00.000-08:00

and in more drug news, krqe news is reporting that in the border town of columbus, new mexico, the mayor, chief of police, and ten others have been indicted for smuggling guns to mexico. no one is officially saying that the guns were destined to arm america's beloved high suppliers, but the atf and dea conducted the raid.

the death toll in mexico attributed to the drug war has been estimated at well over 28,000 since presidente calderon began battling with cartels in 2006. meanwhile, here in the u.s., the price of mexican dirt weed remains steady.

columbus, nm

new mexico mota report

2011-03-09T13:25:00.000-08:00

we've come a long way in drug policy since the first weed law was laid on the books in jamestown colony, virginia, in 1619. that law required farmers to grow hemp, but i'm sure what the founders really meant was that people who grow weed should be mercilessly prosecuted.

of course, we're living in more sober times than that summer of free love in 1619, but all is not lost. it looks like at least medical marijuana will live to see another day here in new mexico. there was a piece of legislation pending that would repeal medicinal use, but it won't come to a vote. according to the santa fe reporter, state rep james smith (r-sandia park) is pulling his own proposal. instead, smith is now asking for a study to see how the whole let-sick-people-smoke-the-weed thing is going four years after medical marijuana was legalized. in 2007, with the passage of the lynn and erin compassionate use act, new mexico became the twelfth state in the union to legalize medical marijuana. the resulting state program currently serves around 4,000 patients.

meanwhile, just say now is estimating that new mexico would generate somewhere between $51.5 and $76 million dang dollars in state revenue if we were to go the legalization and taxation route. the numbers are extrapolated from official reports by california and washington state on the anticipated financial impact of legalization and taxation. hmm. doesn't new mexico have a budget shortfall or something? i remember hearing a little something about that. i don't know-- taxes, budget, snooze...

yeah, so let's talk about paragliding crashes. you know who i mean, one of legalization's most famous supporters, former new mexico governor gary johnson. in december, governor johnson told the weekly standard that he smoked la mota after he broke his back paragliding. johnson got tangled in a tree, and he fell to the earth from fifty feet above. then he spent the next three years numbing the pain with herb. the accident was in 2005, so that's three years of recent, consistent criminal activity. and, guess what? last month johnson came in 3rd in the straw poll for presidential candidate at the conservative political action conference, one of the great mystical oracles for political future.

so it may be that america is finally ready for a president who admits he was stoned for three straight years. attitudes are changing. a recent pew poll found now almost half of the country is supportive of straight up legalization. that's 45% for legalization, and a slim 50% majority against. i'd rather see those numbers flipped, but, hey, it's progress.

ok, that's enough learning. here's a nice set from psychic sidekick to mellow out to-- you've earned it.

Latest tracks by Psychic Sidekick

behind lobo men's shop

2011-03-03T06:37:00.000-08:00

top-- putos, else, silk roy
bottom -- (help please?)

albuquerque, nm

tenderizor invites you to touch the sword

2011-03-01T09:28:00.000-08:00

behold-- tenderizor's grisly wail from the albuquerque abaddon. lucky us, we get a preview of the title track from their soon-to-be-released album, "touch the sword," and it bleeds, and it shrieks, and it slashes at all that is sacred. that is to say, damn, it feels really fucking good. touch it. touch the sword.

tenderizor is about as close to a supergroup that can be scratched out of the dirt around here, including kris kerby (sabertooth cavity) on drums, steve hammond (leeches of lore) screaming his mutherfucking lungs out, brothers mike and pat day (both fando) on lead guitars, and pillar of the arts underworld, raven chacon (dog shit taco, black guys, KILT, and many more), also on lead guitar. the cover art is by 505 favorite son, mike giant.

tenderizor will cap off a quick tour around the west with the official album release (tour dates below). you can order the album from the record label, sicksicksick distro. "touch the sword," in all its 12 inches of glory, drops on saturday, march 26th, at burt's tiki lounge. go.

tenderizor west coast touroar:
3.10.11   flagstaff, az   the big house
3.11.11   reno, nv the road house
3.12.11   portland, or plan b
3.13.11 portland, or reed college
3.14.11   arcata, ca the alibi
3.15.11   oakland, ca the stork club
3.16.11   la, ca   f-haus
3.17.11   san diego, ca (somewhere)
3.18.11   phoenix, az    tribe house
3.19.11   tucson, az (somewhere)
3.26.11 albuquerque, nm burt's tiki lounge

"nude #3" a short story by brian haney

2011-02-28T08:50:00.000-08:00

"ophelia" acrylic on canvas by robert christopher

"nude #3"

by brian haney

What he sees in me, so I become. I am his canvas that gives when he touches, is stretched and bent as he pulls. As he visions, so I open. I am his flower. I am his flower and he is my stem holding me up to all the world.

He pokes with the brush. He jabs with the brush. The brush is in his hand and he holds it like a cleaver. He slashes and swipes and I am sure that I am brutal, so I ask him, “Is it any good?”

He looks up, a streak of crimson on his nose. His face is pained. He does a poor imitation of a smile. “Just don’t move,” he says.
If he could, he would take pins to me and splay me out in a beautiful arc – a sweeping bird wing, the full white cup of a ship asail. In his mind, he would pin me out and there would be no blood. I know he would have no blood. We are both of us selfish that way.

I am corseted in costume drama finery, a whorish child descended steeply from Queen Victoria and Scarlet O’Hara. I am genteel and unapproachable, yet in the end I’ll give it up and pant like an eager dog for more. Today I say nothing, only eye him and dream of him – dream of him over me and under me and around me and inside me. But I say nothing. I am silent in my choker. He drops the brush and it clatters to the floor. He comes to me and pushes me deep into the couch. The whole time I say nothing. I know he dreams of it this way.

In the morning, it’s already stuffy and hot. The afternoon will be hell itself. Get up before him and make coffee, very strong coffee – I can’t stomach the stuff myself. Clear the table of the books and sketches, the bottles and the buttons, the jars of water with their floating cigarette butts and lay out a place for breakfast. He wakes up sandy and scratching and sits at the table for a long time saying nothing, only sitting and thoughtless. Eventually he gathers enough consciousness to mutter a feeble apology for something – which I accept. The mornings, though, are the best part for he is growing with inspiration and I only want to be near a fire that burns so brightly. I do it all just for the mornings. He talks to me and it’s strange and impossible talk, but it’s also beautiful and deep and it’s so deep that I wish only to live there, to gaze into that deepness and listen for the bottom. He tells me that he serves only Beauty – and so he does – but I serve Beauty by serving him breakfast.

We start painting by 10 or 11 and I try to take the place he gives to me and discover who I am to be today. “The left arm. It was higher yesterday. Can you hold it higher?”

I tell him I’ll try and he paces with a cigarette clenched between his fingers like a specimen. A tickle of sweat runs along the crook behind my ear. He is watching me and pacing like a cat, watching and waiting. “A little higher,” he says, “You are…you are a fountain of water. Yes. You are flowing from the earth all light and liquid. You are the leap of water up before it splashes back,” and my body is becoming liquid, melting under his tongue. “My spring, my eternal source. I come to you and you wash me. Your very finger swipes away the filth and stink of this world.” His eyes are shining now, bluer than the sea is blue, sparkling like the freshest pearl, and he takes up the brush and begins to work, dabbing with strokes deft and fleet as bird tracks. He does not even look at me; it is all coming from him now and he is furiously painting. Finally, I leave and close the door to the soft scrape of brush on canvas.

I remember someone handing me a drink. Her fingers were as heavy with baubles as the boughs of a Christmas tree. Around me, the white noise of escalating voices and clicking heels on the wood floor was peppered with laughter. I wasn’t really sure who the place belonged to. This is the party where we met: all the hands were working overtime. Hands turned up in mock helplessness, some pinched lightly, some tickled, playful but irritating. Other hands, too. Hands that menaced sloppily with their drinks and those that smoothed shirts, nervous. “Never tell the left hand what the right hand is doing,” and the hands lifted and clapped in feigned amusement. Every hand pointing, pointing this way and that, that way and this, but never missing their mark. Each unerringly found the most famous in the room. The one whose shoes gleamed from the spitshine. These special few were the lights around which all the hands fluttered. It was a pathetic kind of fame, though. A fame that existed only in that particular group. Step outside the group and it disappeared down the vanishing point. I had had about all that I could take of it and found a corner to hide in.

That’s when I noticed him. From his corner, his eyes cut through their bullshit and he said nothing. I stared him straight in the eye but he went right on looking. Finally I crossed the room to…I don’t know what. Throw my drink in his face? Slap him? Confront him, anyway. But he beat me to the punch.

“Has anyone ever painted you?”

“What?”

“Painted you. You’re so…I mean, you move like a…a…I don’t know. You look like…it’s…there’s something there, I just don’t know what.”

It sounded like a load of shit to me, too, but he was persistent and…something else. It was the way he talked, I think.

“No really, I was watching you. You move like a…well, in a rhythm these frauds could never understand. Now you’ve got grace and flow. All that these people have is venom in their hearts. They move like somebody opened their lids and crammed them full of fucking machinery. A couple more hours in the sauce and these drunken phonies’ll be vomiting gears and motor oil.”

I laughed and told him, “They think the world needs them or something. Fact is no one even gives a damn.”

“We’d be doing the world a favor just to machinegun the lot of them. All of them talking about ‘art.’ They’re too crass and stupid to know anything about art, but I can tell right away that you…that you know about Beauty. And your eyes – my God.”

A sudden laugh erupted across the room and the applauding hands broke like waves in its wake.

In the end, I agreed to model with him and, of course, one thing led to another.

Afternoons are the worst. The window’s stuck open, so the room is getting cold. His surge now ended, he begins his fall into despair. Now my roles are either the comforter or the enemy, the source of his talent’s loss. “You’re killing me,” he tells me, “I can feel you sucking at me. I have my work and what do you have? What? Only to live off my work, that’s what. Just go. Leave.” I try not to take it personally. He says these things as a reflex. As inspiration leaves him, he swings desperately. It makes me feel horrible, but I know the shipwreck that causes him to say these things and I try to imagine how it would feel to watch Beauty leave me stranded and alone and forgotten; to see the back turn and the beloved walk away in perfect composure. That is why I tell myself not to take it seriously. If he wanted me to leave, if he wanted me to go, he would speak in quiet, in unhurried calm. And in the evening we’ll drink – things will be better then.

Today he waits a long time to tell me who I am. He is pacing, the cigarette is at his fingers now and he drops it. “Who do you think you are?” he asks me.

Who am I? I am the beauty doll made anything with a wardrobe. I am a mirror. I am a fine marble block with one flaw. I am an imperfect red, a gory smear in its center. I am all smoke and coughing. I am a strong cup of weakness. I am a pain form whose divisions have not been measured. I am pussy up to my eyeballs. I am a torn coat of many colors, a button missing. I am a lost button. I am the button that fastens you to breakfast. I am your tail and you are eating me whole. I am the artist making a self-portrait through you. Who am I but what you see?

And you. Who are you? Who are you but an eyeball? You are all eyeball and the world is your seeing spot; the universe is only as large as your line of sight. Who are you but what you see? We are the same, you and I.

“I don’t know,” I tell him.

“Well, come on. Think.”

There are places in Mexico where the Indians will demand money if you take their picture. Some people used believe that cameras take the soul along with the image; that what we think of as two are equal and inseparable.

“I just want to know.”

“What?”

“Who does this work belong to? Just so we’re clear.”

He gets defensive. “Well, it’s mine, naturally. I do the painting. I bought the canvas and the paints.”

“But it’s my body.”

“Well, it looks like you, maybe, but it’s not your body. It’s my way of seeing your body.”

“No, but what my body looks like; that belongs to me.”

“I don’t see why. I –”

“Because something in this is mine. Because I’m a human being, not a picture, and I deserve something. The world doesn’t exist so you can see it. It’s whole and outside you and you just can’t look at it and say it’s yours.”

“Well, fine, it’s ours then. What difference does it make?” he laughs, “Look, we’ve got too much work to do. Can you stand a little straighter? You moved just…there. Yes. That’s right where I want you.”

On the first day we moved into the apartment, the walls were a different color. You would have hardly recognized it. They were orange, a color he said was “the sickest color in the spectrum. It’s like a call to violence. Name me one masterpiece where orange is not the color of agony.” It certainly was an awful color for a wall, but I tell him that surely there must be some master sunset somewhere that uses orange and he laughs, “Landscape? Landscape is for girls and faggots. Listen: if you paint landscape, you’re afraid of the human body; and if you’re afraid of the human body it must be because you’re twisted from a lifetime of degradation.”

“Well, what about Cézanne?” I told him, “All those Mont Ste. Victoire paintings?”

He looks me in the eye. “Cézanne took that mountain and he made it a human body. That’s how great Cézanne was. Don’t forget that.”

The walls were painted white in a day.

I am cold and naked now. A light is on me and he is gone behind its glare. It is only his voice and my body holding hands in a universe of light. We are thinking the same thing.

“Am I beautiful?” Though he’s the one to say it.

“Yes, of course. Everyone is beautiful.”

“No, but me…outside of everyone else. Do I…am I –”

“How can you doubt it? How could you paint me like you do without being beautiful yourself?”

We are quiet. The light buzzes.

He says, “I just need to hear –”

“I know. I need it too sometimes.”

“I just –”

“I know.”

His voice is filled with doubt – it must not be going well. His breathing stutters like he’s crying. I hear the click of the brush being put down. We’re only talking now. I would move to him, but I know he needs me under the spotlight so that he can feel like no one is watching. I tell him, “Don’t,” and he interrupts.

“I just feel so far away sometimes. So far away. Without my work I’d…but it also takes me away, you know? There’s a whole world out there and none of it could give a shit about what I…about what we…. But I love that our world is so small, though. That I can see all of it and none of it is poisoned or choked.”

“So do I.”

“But don’t you need…? I mean, what do you get in this? I’m barely able to say what I get.”

“I get things. I do.” I’ve begun to shiver with the cold.

You see, this is our work. I am his subject; he is mine – which means we’re both objects, too. Useful in our way.

His shirts, blackening at the collars, buttons missing; I’ll take those. The soft paintbrush tap when he finishes for the day; that, too, is mine. His blue eyes moving left to right, almost reading, as his brain searches for another fragile image of me is something more vivid than what he paints and it is mine. “It’s all just one line,” he told me once about faces and it is, one line from the weak tea light of morning to our muffled sighs under the cover of darkness. One long line of meals and arguments. One line that runs from blue to red and back again. A line that pierces our work, holds it in place.

I’ve learned so many things – maybe more than he has – and one day I’ll leave. One day I’ll have taken what I can from this and I’ll see it all clearly and stand up and leave. He’ll say, “Tilt your head to the right,” and I’ll say, “Go fuck yourself.” It’s only a matter of time. One painting will lead to another and finally he’ll capture me: mind, body and soul. And I’ll be there forever. I’ll be protected and saved. I’ll be sealed in the canvas and time and death and failure will melt like snowfall. Then sometime after that, we’ll just crack apart – he’ll need a new subject, another subject will need him – and I’ll leave like that, like someone quits playing tennis one day because she’s sick of it. Like that, and I’m done.

He tells me that he’s through with it: no more making love. He knows that it only saps his energies and leaves his work less potent. “I’ll save myself for the paints,” he says. And the drinking is over, too, he tells me. “I need to see clearly,” he says tapping his forehead, “I need clarity.” We paint all morning and I can feel that it’s going well, he’s moving without stop – a good sign – and as he paints, he talks: “My moon flower, my sugar love, my sweet and sweetest angel. I can see you down to the root. I see the finest hairs of your body and they are radiant and new. My only love, my true and truest bedmate, my secret smelling flower, my cup of new, my Christ on earth,” and on and on and the words surge under my breast, a lift like tides that draw me out into deeper water where I am swimming, swimming, the dolphin maid that calls to sailors with a voice that shatters their hearts in an instant.

“I have never been better,” he says later, “You have never been more.” That night we drink long and make love twice.

The walls are covered with colors. You would hardly recognize me. Here, I am blue and haunting, ripped and jagged. There, my eyes are large like pumpkins, orange and glowing. He sees me now beautiful, now sad, now naked like rocks. I am lonely as a mountain peak, high and wind swept. I am thick as swamp water, green and oily. I am a silver beam turned like a hand. I am remote, something seen from a long way off. I am smooth as thighs. Or I am moving, rolling like a horse or with the blink quick jump jerk rhythm of a reptile. I walk eyes steady toward the viewer, or turn away, glancing over a shoulder. Once razor cut and exact, next scrambled like eggs. Disassembled, rearranged, put together by a drunken shotgun. Pressed like a flower or inflated like a tire, I am twisted and pulled into things I could never see, things it would take another’s eyes to see. He has taken me up and put me down time and time again. He has found all the pieces, but he still does not know their master.

He comes back late and drunk with a little fat man. He says that the man runs a gallery and tells me the gallery’s name as if I should recognize it. I know what’s expected of me. I oblige him and act impressed. The man walks around with his hands at his chest, appraising everything – the paintings, the refrigerator, the lamps, the book shelves, the clothing tossed about – all the time muttering, “My, my, my.” He lifts a handkerchief and drops it. It falls perfect and ghostly to the floor. He runs a finger along the windowsill. His fingers almost snap as he flicks away the dust. “My, my, my.” We drink a round and then another. After each drink, he exhales and says, “My.”

After my painter passes out, the man touches my shoulder. I do not look at him, only stand and lead the way.

He agrees to show the paintings.

I am calling from a phone booth. I have found a dime in the change return. Nearby, a songbird is singing dizzily, ridiculously. He answers and I tell him, “I’m just calling to see how you are. To get a few things.”

“Terrible. I burned your things. The smell…and…you were there…and then the paintings –”

“What about the paintings? What did you do?”

“No. No, I didn’t…no, they’re gone. The gallery. That’s what I mean. I even sold some. You didn’t…I didn’t think they meant….”

The silence drones like a light bulb. We are both thinking about the same thing. The bird takes up its meandering song again.

I tell him, “It’s a nice afternoon. Beautiful. You should get out.”

“It’s strange,” he says, “I tried to paint you from memory. I just can’t seem to remember. Just the smell. It’s strange.”

“Look, they mean something to me. Yes. Of course. But we’ve finished our work, you said so yourself. We couldn’t –”

“And then your eyes. What color are your eyes? Just tell me so I can remember.”

Somebody shoot that damn bird.

“One by one I’m losing my pictures,” he says and hangs up.

I have pictures, too. I have seized them and made them mine. I have cooed to them lovingly and coaxed them into my hand. I have waked to find them lying in bed with me, beer on their breath. No matter how I’ve collected them, though, they are only pictures. We’d all take the real thing if we could get it, but what lasts? Things fail and rot, rust and fizzle – only their picture remains.

I’m not sure what I would have: love or a picture of love. I mean, how do you know it’s love without a picture to compare it to? And why put up with the suffering fights, the cruel silences, the horrible words that come with the package of love when you can have a snapshot, clean and clear and neatly framed? As with anything, it’s only a question of whether or not you can afford the price.

In the end, though, everything is taken. “Finders keepers, losers weepers.” They teach that to you when you’re young, but it takes a long time to learn it. Keeping and weeping, saving and sobbing, even if you don’t want to play, it’s the name of the game. You choose one side only to find out that you’re on the other. Everything we have is stolen from someone else. It’s taken like a breath, it’s bought like a brush or it’s found like a button.

by brian haney

brian haney is a writer, actor, director, teacher and cyclist in albuquerque, nm. brian is the creative director with theatre-in-the-making, where he teaches a variety of acting and playwrighting workshops. brian's hometown is philadelphia, but he has called albuquerque home for almost 16 years.
contact: brian.m.haney@gmail.com

albuquerque, nm

"imprint" tonight at kimo art gallery

2011-02-24T12:55:00.000-08:00

hand-pulled screen print by jonito sanchez

when was the last time you had a solid dose of zombies, aliens, and just plain old black morbidity? if it's been a little while, you can re-up on it all at the kimo art gallery in downtown albuquerque. tonight is the opening reception for "imprint," an exhibition by printmakers jeremy montoya, jonito sanchez, and channing avery. their silk screens and block prints are entertainingly rich with all the spacey, freaky, and morbid themes that new mexicans hold so dear. and plenty of rock to go with it. the opening reception is tonight, thursday february 24th, from 6-8pm, and the show will run through april 2nd, 2011. check it out.

hand-pulled silk screen by jeremy montoya

albuquerque, nm

"natalie wood" by the handsome family

2011-02-21T08:58:00.000-08:00

the handsome family
albuquerque, nm

listen to dirt city

2011-02-18T11:25:00.000-08:00

at dirt city chronicles, ernest aguirre has an 80 song playlist of burque puro, including tracks by scared of chaka, of god and science, eric mcfadden, the handsome family, broken bells, the eyeliners, and more. listen.

bill e. shakes presents "the shakedown"

2011-02-16T10:51:00.000-08:00

bill e shakes

he's from the A, man, doin' everthang. young stunner, coming with that A game. quoting bill e. shakes, duke city represent. bill has a new release in collaboration with boy dirrt called "the shakedown i & ii."

"the shakedown" contains 44 songs and is shakes' 24th release--yeah, count em, 24. a hard working man, bill spends almost every free minute in his studio.

"it's an obsessive habit," he says. "this morning i was up by 7, took a couple bong hits and was recording by 7:30."

music has been all-consuming for a long time.

"my dad was a dj. i got exposed to tons of music. growing up, i got tons of legos and tons of records."

bill's first favorite album was "born to mac," by too $hort. now bill obsessively writes his own music.

"when i'm just walking around, i write a 16 [i.e., 16 bars of music- samara] when i hear a beat, the song's written in an hour and a half....i do all the writing, recording, producing, and mixing-- the whole concept from top to bottom."

bill in his home studio

nationally, bill e. shakes has recorded with artists like aceyalone. locally, bill and boy dirrt have been collaborating since they met in 2002.

unfortunately, boy dirrt, whose tracks simple life and new mexico freestyle helped put him on the map, was not available to interview, since he is currently serving a couple years up in indiana on drug charges. he turned himself in on january 7th of this year.

it's a damn shame, says bill. "i respect the fact that you need to eat, but there are so many guys that just up and went to jail and that's it. you never see them again. it's an epidemic in the rap game."

however, bill is still in abq, puffin lala and makin dolla. he's put 21 releases on fat fish records, an albuquerque label.

he was signed at one point with universal, but nothing was released. once the company decided bill e. shakes was not going to be their next mega producer, the project was shelved. that was okay with bill, who hated working with the company's artists and repertoire division. a & r reps essentially act as creative coaches.

"i'm all for being a team player and coming up with some pop hits, but they have you work with this dude doesn't even make music. my guy was an nba player."

bill moved back to albuquerque and signed with fat fish records in 2005. you can hear his current release, the shakedown here. his next project, "creature of habit," will be out this spring.

listen to the shakedown here:
the shakedown part i
the shakedown part ii

bill e. shakes
albuquerque, nm

73 scout ii

2011-02-16T10:46:00.000-08:00

1973 international harvester scout ii
albuquerque, nm

love

2011-02-14T17:36:00.000-08:00

boys versus girls—switch!—now it’s girls versus boys. we all played it--are still playing it. or, what about the tension in the elevator and no one knows each other and it is hard to say something, but then, they get off at their floor and you never see them again. but you remember them, even now. why? or that first time you laid naked next to your love, your first awareness of the power of that kind of intimacy?

but, your lover betrayed you. you undressed yourself in every way for them, the most humbling gift you’ve ever given, and, they just look back you, blankly, coolly. you realize that the passion between you wasn’t even intense enough to devolve into hate. maybe she is the woman who is the mother of your child, but now is a disfigured soul manipulating you, haunting you, fucking up your life as best she can. maybe he is the man who wrote you a love letter every day for a year, and then never said a word to you again when you got pregnant.

maybe it’s the love that faded like a paper heart in the window, sunlight bathing it day after day until you can’t read it anymore. even the sweetest rituals can pale to nothing. who is to blame? the sun or the heart?

so many ways to love and be loved. it can be so hard.

my love passed away last year. but, christopher clark, you are with me to this day. i learned so much from you. how to be strong, how to be cool, how to be alive, how to be dead. how to fuck things up, and then fuck them up more and more and more and more. how to be fearless, set fires, be forgiving, be generous, be myself and love myself. how to take the beating of a lifetime and then stand up, brush my shoulders off, and walk through the world with a sweet and open heart. how to be friends. and, of course, how to love. all this from you is with me always.

my readers, if you are not lucky enough to have a lover today, remember that love is infinite, love is timeless. it’s always changing, it’s always moving. when love comes into your heart, it will surely change shape, and it may leave you. such is love. we can’t own it. we can only recognize it, channel it, cultivate it, and be grateful when our lives are so blessed. sometimes, we can shape it. but not always.

but, if your heart is open, love can always come in, and it will. i promise.

happy valentine’s day.

love,

samara

"stripper song" by fast heart mart

2011-02-14T01:33:00.000-08:00

fast heart mart appears with golden boy this wednesday at low spirits, 2823 2nd street nw.

fast heart mart
"stripper song"
albuquerque, nm

our lady of kazan

2011-02-11T23:42:00.000-08:00

our lady of kazan is a russian orthodox monastery in the barelas neighborhood of albuquerque. en un de los barrios mas hispanicos in town, across from a giant pink 50's relic store sign that reads "drugs," it's one of a handful of russian orthodox monasteries all across new mexico.

our lady of kazan was founded thirty years ago by his eminence symeon carmona, the titular bishop of cyzicus. father carmona and father barsanuphius deane painted the murals on the monastery's outer walls in 2001. father barsanuphius has been at the monastery for sixteen years and teaches iconography.

father carmona is included in the mural as a holy being among the saints. carmona's halo is square, to indicate he is living, and he holds his pet chihuahua, chopo, in his hand. incidentally, father carmona is, in addition to being a father in the russian orthodox church, a crypto-jew.


his eminence, metropolitan symeon carmona and chopo

mary of egypt, a promiscuous girl in 6th century alexandria who, among other sins, seduced boys on a spiritual pilgrimage to jerusalem. when the sexy pilgrims got to the church where jesus was resurrected, a mysterious force prevented her from entering. she felt so sad about it that she ran off into the desert and lived as a clairvoyant ascetic for 47 years. when she died, she was buried by a lion.

saint barsanuphius of optina. he was born in samara, russia and served as a colonel in the army before becoming a monk at the age of 45. he, too, was clairvoyant.

archangel gabriel

schemanun macaria, a russian nun who passed away in 1993. severely injured at the age of three, she is a patron saint of the maimed and crippled.

saint john maximovitch the wonderworker, archbishop of shanghai and later archbishop of san francisco. he was clairvoyant and walked barefoot in the cold. he was sainted in 1994.

our lady of kazan monastery & holy royal martyrs russian orthodox church
324 hazeldine sw
albuquerque, nm

sabertooth cavity releases "en lak ech"

2011-02-10T07:58:00.000-08:00

for christopher clark

reposted from alibi

V.20 No.6 | February 10 - 16, 2011
This Week's Music

Sabertooth Cavity

New Mexico band releases noise freak-out En Lak Ech

By Samara Alpern

Don’t limit it by calling it music, man. Jazz derangements, electronic debris and heaving melts of guitar are just part of it. What Sabertooth Cavity offers up with its first album, En Lak Ech, is a little more meta. Or a little more Dada. However you want to take it.

En Lak Ech album art

“It’s not just music,” says multimedia artist and Sabertooth guitarist Mat Galindo. “It’s art.”
Sheathed in silk-screened burlap, the album is being released on Saturday, Feb. 12, at the Small Engine, an art space Galindo co-owns.

You can think of Sabertooth Cavity’s work as a reflection of the cities it comes from. “It’s about a whole environment,” says Jef Cameron, who plays flute and saxophone. “How it looks, how it smells. ... It’s about the chaos of Albuquerque.”

It’s also a little bit about Carlsbad, where most of the band grew up. Sabertooth didn’t get together until 2006 when Jef Cameron, Mat Galindo, his cousin Henry Galindo (guitar and vocals) and Rene Aguilera (bass) connected in Albuquerque. Kris Kerby, who plays drums and joined the band in 2007, is from southern New Mexico town of Loving (and he’s got love for Loving—the town’s name is tattooed, thug-life style, across his belly).

As heterodox as Sabertooth Cavity is, the band is pure homegrown New Mexico, both in what they produce and who they are.

“The local scene is rife with influences for us,” Mat Galindo says. “It’s more [about] local people producing, the creative community doing it for themselves. “

Among the local influences is the godfather of New Mexico experimental, Raven Chacon (Tenderizor, Death Convention Singers, Black Guys). He’s also a co-owner of Small Engine, and he’s co-releasing En Lak Ech on his own label, Sicksicksick Distro.

“Raven talks about how music from here is sparse, like the desert,” Cameron says. “That’s definitely true in some of our music.”

And the experimental wave has its influence as well.

“There are no rules,” says Henry Galindo, whose surrealistic vocals add melody and sometimes a little abstract poetry, but rarely anything like straight verse.

“We admire anyone out there who is experimenting with new things, opening new doors, creating something completely original and entertaining,” Kerby says.

And, of course, Mat Galindo will barely grant that what Sabertooth Cavity does is music. “It’s our own type of language,” he says.

"in yo scraper" by fat fish & blok boyz

2011-02-02T14:01:00.000-08:00

"in yo scraper" by fat fish & blok boyz
albuquerque, nm

71 olds 442

2011-01-31T08:20:00.000-08:00

1971 oldsmobile 442
albuquerque, nm

"tears of fire" by glad as knives

2011-01-29T13:05:00.000-08:00

ginger dunhill and cannupa hanska luger are glad as knives.

"knives only have one function, it is to cut," they say. "when a knife cuts it is content, we are glad as knives."

"tears of fire" is their first video.

santa fe, nm

enai on his 85 skyway

2011-01-28T07:57:00.000-08:00

"the first day i got this bike, i got a ticket. i went through a stop sign on this road and a policeman stopped me and gave me a ticket for it. he said, 'hey, man, nice bike.'"

1985 skyway with custom crank and breaks
albuquerque, nm

yum

2011-01-27T11:45:00.000-08:00

image by robovisual

damn, new mexico, every day you find a new way to make me proud. for example:

an albuquerque woman says that while shopping at a local grocery store, she was served a taster's cup full of man goo-- or, as koat action 7 news puts it, "a sample of yogurt that may have actually been bodily fluid." the clinical yet vague way koat tells it, we can't be sure it was aquavit del hombre-- it may just have been a harmless kiddie cup full of mocos for all we know-- but let's just follow our gut when we hear "bodily fluid" and "yogurt" used in the same sentence.

at this time there are few details about the incident. reporter christie ileto says that "[police] are staying tight-lipped about the so-called encounter."-- she said it, not i.

albuquerque, nm

nese and chale at the old silverboard

2011-01-20T13:52:00.000-08:00

nese and chale

nese and chale
behind the old silverboard sk8 shop on harvard and central
albuquerque, nm

i am nm film

2011-01-19T15:03:00.000-08:00

in her first state of the state address as governor, susana! martinez proposed to deal with new mexico's budget shortfall by killing the local film industry....right, right-- that didn't make sense when i heard it the first time either. but apparently that's the plan. martinez hopes to cut tax credits for film production from 25% to 15%

i'm confused about this-- i thought people voted for republicans because they want lower taxes. but i'm sure it just seems like a nonsensical idea because economics are complicated, and not because martinez is totally off-base.

i'm not sure where this fits into the tax argument--and guess what? i don't want to bore myself or you another second by discussing taxes, ok?-- but i think somehow it's relevant to mention that it's really cool the coen brothers like to make movies here. and it's extra cool that pho linh, the best vietnamese place in town, is in the same motel where josh brolin gets tagged in no country for old men. seriously, susana!, are trying to argue with that?

more cogent arguments on why reducing the tax credit is not a smart idea in the video above.

small engine 1.14.2011

2011-01-18T20:19:00.000-08:00

ink drawing by christoph knerr

it was cold but not bitter, and hoodied kids crowded la calaca, aka small engine, the new metamedia psychedelic playpen en el barrio barelas. it's “experimental,” you guys (i.e., no heat). reclusive illustrator christoph knerr [1] had a rare show, presenting a new series of caligo drawings. along with the exhibition, "creatures in little big spaces," were musical performances from great white buffalo, shoulder voices, and leeches of lore.

knerr is author of the mess explosion comics, and also illustrated the cover of leeches of lore’s latest album, “attack the future,” (released on cassette in 2010 by sicksicksick distro). knerr’s art is also seen on show posters, mini-comics, and other paraphernalia for boris and the saltlicks, fast heart mart, and the saltine ramblers.

leeches of lore "attack the future" ink and color pen by christoph knerr

wee pen-and- ink devils and other creatures look like they’re from one of the more sinister texts off the guttenberg press. each dark drawing, roughly 2"x2," is consumed with equal passion for purgatorial fantasy and the rational laws of perspective. strange to see something so painstakingly simple and handmade. these are not our ways anymore.

[ missed great white buffalo, sorry ]

behind a small armory of star stained, once-pink stuffed animals, shoulder voices traced over old love wounds with multi-conscious rock that was, like the pile of teddy bears at their feet, fuzzy and wrought. there were pink unicorn rim shot jokes aplenty. wearing red-on-red little-boy’s brontosaurus t-shirt and glittery cummerbund, little bobby wondered in a racked croon: “you are so -->sensitive <-- why can’t you be more?” exactly. i couldn’t agree with you more.

next, leeches of lore began their set by ripping the guts out of “cougar v. bear.” leeches representing the new mexico real, what with the science fiction and the porch-setting country crashing into holy fucking metal murder. that’s how we roll. leeches of lore is one of the best bands playing —check them out.

[1] that’s pronounced “kuh-nehr,” as in “kuh-nerrd.” he’s german, and that’s how they say it.

small engine

albuquerque, nm

happy new year

2011-01-18T08:58:00.000-08:00

stencil outside cellar door, artist unknown

...and, we're back. hi, welcome to 2011. great things awaiting us this year, i'm sure. this is new stencil outside cellar door. a clean canvas for us all. a couple months ago, the wall looked like this.

more to come soon-- crash[blank] is back awake.

outside cellar door

147 harvard se
albuquerque, nm

jank supreme

2010-12-21T22:49:00.000-08:00

"only in new mex could you register a whip like this," says jeremy mccollum, guitarist for celestial stoner rock monsters, supergiant. friends of mccollum note how the exposed fuel tank adds sportiness, while a rear passenger custom ammo box affords gentlemanly style.

image submitted by jeremy mccollum

toyota...??

albuquerque, nm

sorry, i just can't help myself sometimes

2010-12-15T10:10:00.000-08:00

albuquerque, nm

geronimo @ roberto robledo's

2010-12-14T12:59:00.000-08:00

roberto robledo says he thinks this is by a guy named geronimo

@ robledo's boot and shoe repair

104 richmond se

albuquerque, nm

gov johnson smoking the weed

2010-12-06T17:32:00.000-08:00

sporty libertarian and former new mexico governor gary johnson tells the weekly standard that he smoked hella weed for pain relief for three years following a paragliding crash in 2005. he says he wanted to avoid the narcotic addiction that he experienced when he used conventional pain drugs in the past.

gary, you so crazy! don't you know that if you turn to weed, big pharma doesn't get paid? hey buddy, that's not my america! just kidding-- in my america, everyone gets paid.

unfortunately, gary johnson is not the republican new mexicans voted into office this year. instead, we chose agitated chihuahua dog susana martinez. in july, the new mexico independent (r.i.p.) reported that the governor-elect wants to repeal new mexico's medical marijuana law.

maybe it's a good time to make a donation to drug policy alliance.

evil by rennie sparks

2010-12-06T10:19:00.000-08:00

lyricist rennie sparks of albuquerque's haunted americana duo, the handsome family, has a new collection of thirteen creepy stories on kindle called evil. the sunday times of london says the collection "balances emotive sincerity and detached black comedy with thrilling precision." the philadelphia city paper says the book is "w.s. burroughs meets carson mccullers." check it out.

buy the book.

albuquerque, nm

yo digo dance

2010-12-03T11:16:00.000-08:00

tu dices baila, pero yo digo dance porque soy una white girl.

"yo digo baila"
instituto mexicano del sonido
mexico df

new silver jewelry by susan elnora

2010-11-30T09:23:00.000-08:00


Railroad necklace one of a kind, hand forged sterling silver

raven emblem necklace, sterling silver

moth and lantern necklaces, sterling silver

ordinary things are very elegant when susan elnora describes them in silver. it just feels like home, right? and very rock n' roll, which is the way to be.

available at pop gallery and jett gallery in santa fe, and mariposa gallery in albuquerque.

jewelry by susan elnora

glorietta, nm

available at:

mariposa gallery

3500 central ave. se

albuquerque, nm 87106

505.268.6828

www.mariposa-gallery.com

jett gallery

110 old santa fe trail

santa fe, nm 87501

505.988.1414

www.jettgallery.com

pop gallery

133 west water street

santa fe, nm 87501

505.820.0788

www.popsantafe.com

lowell lundeen jewelry

430 1st ave n

minneapolis, mn 55401

612.338.8030

www.lowelllundeenjewelry.com

colfax

611 w. 39th street

kansas city, mo 64111

816.931.4307

happy birthday susie

2010-11-28T09:12:00.000-08:00

suzy
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ufd45MoNIuQ&NR=1
las cruces, nm

mega

2010-11-28T07:05:00.000-08:00

I'm Mega. I'm 22 and I live in New Mexico. My music is a product of everything that surrounds me, mentally and physically. I write about people I know and people that don't exist. Hopefully, you can somehow appreciate what I do and apply it to your life. You see, my music is proof that if you really want to do something, the only thing stopping you is yourself. Everything you see and hear is done in my bedroom; No fancy studios, No publicists, No money. I do everything myself and I'm proud of what I have to show. If you consider yourself a fan of what I do, then take what I'm saying into consideration. Go out there and do something. Art has no limits, just remember to be who you always were.

- mega
http://www.myspace.com/mega
http://www.mediafire.com/megabeats

las cruces, nm

happy thanksgiving

2010-11-26T18:17:00.000-08:00

volkswagen beetle - let's call it 1954

el paso, tx

love and friendship at the old motel

2010-11-23T07:08:00.000-08:00

"and see this, this right here is why you are my best friend"

"pretend like it was meant to be"

thanks, khyber!

old motel site
central and san mateo
albuquerque, nm

62 impala and my first trip to hooters

2010-11-22T09:13:00.000-08:00

this was my first visit to hooters. yes. this is true. the back story written on the menu says the chain was founded in small town florida. i can believe that. hot dogs, fried pickles, girls wearing shiny slightly-darker-than-natural-skin-tone nylon stockings under bright orange short shorts-- yeah, that all jibes with what i remember about florida.

i've only been to the sunshine state a handful of times: there were a couple family vacations to epcot center, and when i lived in new orleans, i fled a mardi gras or two by heading to prime vacation destination (wink!), destin, fla. hey, i don't want to be unkind to destin, but lets face it, a bingo hall inhabited by the sun-weathered poor and elderly does not a vacation destination make.

anyway, back to tits, ass, and curly fries. the reason i went to hooters was not to punish myself --although, if i ever do find myself in a pitch of self loathing, i think ordering a series of "5 wing flappertizers"* might be just the ticket. however, on this occasion, i was invited to lunch by some friends. it was the wish of this one sweetheart of an air force pilot, currently exiled to clovis, to eat a 20 piece platter of hooter's special brand of 3 mile island hot wings. he's not even in it for the boobs, he says, just those triple-fried, greasy, greasy wings. to be honest, i believe him. he's more of a leg man. anyway, it was his desire to eat at hooter's, and, as he was buying, it was my desire as well.

i don't care how hardened you are to the cruelties of life, it's still a little disturbing to walk into a strip club that prides itself on being "family friendly." i am a sex-positive person, but i still don't think tittie bars should hand out balloons to patrons under the age of twelve. call me old fashioned, but kids that age should be learning about sex by courageously fumbling forward through the bases after killing a bottle of sweet vermouth hijaked from stepdad's liquor cabinet. right? i think it's one topic upon which katherine harris and i can agree.

there are plenty of very beautiful, very stacked women working at hooters. unfortunately for us, our competent waitress had ruined her otherwise bangin' figure with a pair of rock-hard, veiny franken-tits that invited stares for all the wrong reasons. however, she was an ace at affecting that cloying, kittenish demeanor that many men apparently mistake for genuine attention. well, good luck to you, girl. you seem smart. sorry about your boobs.

the nicest pair, as i'm sure you have guessed by now, were the fly '62 impalas parked out front. just gorgeous. worth the trip. and if you want a take-home message from this little rant, it's that if you are willing to pick up the tab, i am willing to drink and dine with you anywhere, and then i will write a witty** post about our adventure. so don't hesitate to hit me up.

*5 wing flappertizer is an actual offering. i didn't make it up to get a laugh.
** as measured by subjective standards. that is, no standards at all.

1962 chevrolet impala
albuquerque, nm

fast heart mart bares his soul

2010-11-19T12:40:00.000-08:00

fast heart mart http://www.fastheartmart.com/
buy a cd
albuquerque, nm (currently wandering america)

ink by dawn purnell

2010-11-19T07:15:00.000-08:00

ink by dawn purnell

http://dawnpurnell.com/

505.986.0002

dawn's custom tattoo

901 san mateo

santa fe, nm

old stuff from former revlis

2010-11-18T12:48:00.000-08:00

it's not there anymore, but this was at the former revlis. now it's the new location for silver board. i'll have new pics from there up in a minute.

712 central se
albuquerque, nm

this is downtown

2010-11-17T10:20:00.000-08:00

by josh frager
albuquerque, nm

don't look at me! go lobos!

2010-11-16T23:59:00.000-08:00

1984 (?) dodge ram van
albuquerque, nm

kerby's drum goes to heaven

2010-11-16T12:43:00.000-08:00

on monday, november 15th, at 9pm, kerby of sabertooth cavity and tenderizor sent his snare drum to heaven in a fiery blaze. the pyre was held at the drummer's home in albuquerque, new mexico. in attendance were a few friends watching sexy music videos on youtube.

kerby and the drum were first united six years ago. "i found her while browsing through music world in hobbs (new mexico) and knew i had to have her," says kerby. over the years, the two played with a variety of notable artists, including see you next tuesday, heavyheavylowlow, arsonists get all the girls, and the jonbenet.

kerby and his drum shared many wild adventures. recalls kerby, "i remember driving drunk and it fell out of the back of my truck in loving, new mexico, and i didn't even realize it till the next day. i went back searching for about an hour and found her laying in a ditch."

after a respected musical career, the snare drum enjoyed a happy retirement as a pot for a jalapeño plant in the backyard.

rest in peace, little tambor from hobbs. ashes to ashes, dust to dust, amen.

tenderizor http://www.myspace.com/tenderizor

sabertooth cavity http://www.myspace.com/sabertoothcavity

albuquerque, nm

dirt city chronicles

2010-11-16T00:56:00.000-08:00

have you met ernest aguirre? he's got a good wingspan over new mexico music, from cruces to abq, 1970's - present, fast heart mart to boy dirrt. he also has some punkass humor that is pretty entertaining. check out his blog, dirt city chronicles. i especially recommend his most recent post about brokenCYDE. that's right, that's us! yeah, albuquerque, own it!

boy dirrt http://www.myspace.com/dirrtykashmuzik
fast heart mart http://www.fastheartmart.com/
dirt city chronicles http://dirtcitychronicles.blogspot.com/

albuquerque, nm

putos, else, and slip @ la underground

2010-11-15T10:52:00.000-08:00

wall by else icr (los angeles), putos (melbourne, australia), and slip (abq by way of nyc) @ the la underground

demon dog by putos, photo by morris park crew

electrodemon dog by putos, photo by morris park crew

else icr of la did the robo-crest above and brooklyn born, abq-based slip writes his name, below

the artists at work

putos from melbourne, australia, is responsible for the awesome electric demon dogs on the bookends. he's says yes, he does know what "putos" means. do they speak spanish in australia? who knew?

slip detail

hey, that's a picture of me taking a picture. photo by josh frager

the la underground
2000 central se
albuquerque, nm

warning @ rail yard

2010-11-14T11:19:00.000-08:00

submitted by josh frager
@ the old rail yard
albuquerque, nm

luna with pig head

2010-11-12T17:11:00.000-08:00

this happened a few blocks from the university:

alaric, who has lived in this neighborhood his whole life, got a pig's head from his grandmother. the family had just recently slaughtered the pig.

"here," she told alaric. "maybe you can give it to one of your mexican friends."

but instead, he went down the street and fed it to his neighbor's pet wolf.

photo submitted by christopher clark
albuquerque, nm

outside cellar door

2010-11-12T11:57:00.000-08:00

artist unknown
outside cellar door gifts & gallery
147 harvard se
albuquerque, nm

0000

2010-11-11T21:07:00.000-08:00

indie filmmaker eddie alcazar is back in his hometown of albuquerque to shoot "0000," and it looks like it's going to be a sick flick (ps: it's pronounced "zero." yeah, now you're in the know). here's some test footage shot at the rail yard.

0000 The Movie (Test Footage) from 0000 0000 on Vimeo.
contact@0000themovie.com
facebook.com/0000themovie

albuquerque, nm

wig wam bam is back to life!

2010-11-11T08:58:00.000-08:00

with the publication of the 93rd issue of wig wam bam, music writer captain america revives the beloved "albuquerque zine of music and nepotism" from its mysterious year-long narcosis. wig wam bam is the world's go-to resource for sordid accounts of music that gets played in bars around albuquerque. with the exception of this recent thirteen month sabbatical, captain america has been chronicling live music in new mexico ~~slavishly~~ continuously since 1998.

commemorating the new issue, captain america writes, "you waited a year for this?! sucker."

you can pick a copy of wig wam bam at the kosmos, blackbird buvette, low spirits, burt's tiki lounge, silverboard skate shop, newsland, launchpad, and natural sound. or you can read it online. but the hard copy also comes with comics.

albuquerque, nm

68 camaro ss

2010-11-09T15:07:00.000-08:00

1968 chevrolet camaro ss

albuquerque, nm

love is love

2010-11-08T22:14:00.000-08:00

unm campus
albuquerque, nm

christopher clark memorial wall

2010-11-07T22:13:00.000-08:00

my love, he died, and everything was so fucked afterward. as just one example, i don't even know if christopher has a grave. so this memorial wall by defone means a lot to me.

i just met defone a couple weeks ago. he says goes by "def one" because he doesn't listen. but he heard my tale of sorrow, and kindly, kindly offered to paint a wall in memory christopher. thank you so much, defone. this wall is behind my friend ben's house, in the alley just south of eton st., across from where christopher used to live. thanks, ben, for sharing your space and being a very decent man.

so my love is remembered on the street where he was a king, surrounded by flying war machines and the awesome specter of ween rising over the mountains. christopher, i love you so much. be seeing you again someday.

just like he had on many nights before, the night before he died, christopher left me a love letter on a scrap of paper on my desk. he wrote his beautiful, accidental last words on a checkstub from alibi. i didn't find it until after he was gone.

his eyes are perfect-- blue and silver and dark and gold. christopher was the most beautiful man i have ever seen in real life.

defone compares his work to a photo

ben has two wolves, naya and luna, who will be keeping christopher company, and ensuring this wall does not get messed with.

this is luna-- she is a sweetheart, also gorgeous and ferocious. so i admire her because i aspire to that as well.

alley south of eton, between yale and buena vista
albuquerque, nm

monster paws

2010-11-04T12:37:00.000-07:00

reprinted from alibi v.19 no.44 | november 4 - 10, 2010
This Week's Music

Monster Paws

Killer Pop Music

By Samara Alpern

Wes Naman

Get out your laser lights and lamé couture: Spontaneous dance parties are about to break out all over town in response to Monster Paws’ eponymous debut album.

Monster Paws—Nate Santa Maria (The Oktober People, Excalico, Gingerbread Patriots) and Isaac Kappy (Prime Certified)—add surging bass and a few fistfuls of glitter to songs that are, at their heart, soulful indie jams. There is an assortment of moods on the album, but every track is intensely, relentlessly, dance-tastic.
“We want to express pure joy in sound form,” says Kappy. “It’s about getting over yourself and having a good time.”

Monster Paws’ formula to achieve dance party excellence operates on the premise of “What would Michael Jackson do?” But, Santa Maria says, the duo also asks, “What would Hank Williams Jr. do?” Another secret is robots. “Robots are Nate’s answer to every bad situation,” says Kappy.
Monster Paws is Kappy and Santa Maria’s first original collaboration, but together the they’ve hosted Baby Ketten Karaoke for years. “I guess I just wanted to write what I thought was good pop music,” says Santa Maria, conceding that pop music has a bad name.

“Champaign Bike Ride” by Monster Paws

Monster Paws harnesses the power of synth-sparkling groove, but the music isn’t superficial or predictable.

The lyrics are filled with emotional pangs, and the arrangements on the album, which was mixed and mastered by Kappy, are complex. “Listen with headphones,” suggests Santa Maria. “There’s a lot of cool panning things that we’ve done. It’s spatially interesting.”
Monster Paws is also armed with two music videos. In August “Champagne Bike Ride” was released. It features rapping and skateboard tricks by Mario Rivera (Left Unsaid, Your Name in Lights), and portrays the band and an army of friends enjoying the activity described in the song’s title. That work won Best Music Video at the Albuquerque Film Festival. “Ray of Light” is scheduled for release in late November.
In the meantime, Saturday is the perfect occasion to show off your silver hot pants, pick up a copy of the album and find out why people are raving about (and to) Monster Paws.
“People have sent me videos of babies dancing to our music,” says Kappy.
“Yeah,” Santa Maria says. “If babies like our music, it’s gotta be all right.”

Monster Paws CD Release Party
with The Gatherers, Julius Tux and DJ Nicolatron

Saturday, Nov. 6, 8 p.m.
Launchpad
618 Central SW
Tickets: $6; 18-and-over
launchpadrocks.com