banned fish

Banned Books Week 2005
Saturday, September 24 through Saturday, October 1

"Censorship is telling a man he can't have a steak just because a baby can't chew it."
-Mark Twain

so many fish - and they're all mine

i wanted to post something in honor of 10000 fish but it took me this long to figure out what and jenn see beat me to it - so this is in honor of 10,247 fish and counting...

Preface to The Picture of Dorian Gray

-by Oscar Wilde-

The artist is the creator of beautiful things.

To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim.

The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.

The highest as the lowest form of criticism is a mode of autobiography.

Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.

Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope.

They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only beauty.

There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.

The nineteenth century dislike of realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass.

The nineteenth century dislike of romanticism is the rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in a glass.

The moral life of man forms part of the subject-matter of the artist, but the morality of art consists in the perfect use of an imperfect medium.

No artist desires to prove anything. Even things that are true can be proved.

No artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style.

No artist is ever morbid. The artist can express everything.

Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art.

Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art.

From the point of view of form, the type of all the arts is the art of the musician. From the point of view of feeling, the actor's craft is the type.

All art is at once surface and symbol.

Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.

Those who read the symbol do so at their peril.

It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.

Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital.

When critics disagree, the artist is in accord with himself.

We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.

All art is quite useless.

sacred spaces: a response to frank for everyone (my fish)

being far away from the turmoil, i peer in through glassless windows as the sky burns:

sacred spaces

we all have sacred spaces. some of us pack them in shoulder packs and carry the weight of houses on shoulders too heavy for our tired feet. some of us know that special place waits right around the next corner or the next or...

he spoke to me through my closet door, "i want to be considered home" - i wish it were enough.

i've always had homes hiding up stairs and behind tapestry-curtains lined with library shelves
i know that i need physical representations of my identity and
without a tangible alter to my psyche i feel
lost,
unsettled,
even physically ill

- and they painted the door black to keep the evil spirits of NB out - did you know that? one snuck in thru an open window one night and i threw wire shelving at it - it didn't bleed -

you see, i've known this girl jenn since she was born, retroactively knew her before we met and i can tell you that she's always found her sacred place in the intensity of interaction between her and other people - even this conflict is better than the lackluster of apathetic small talk in venues too loud for "real" interactions.

don't get me wrong, i'm not apologizing for her - that's not my job - and i don't think i've ever felt pride about a town just a space, so i'm actually kinda jealous of your reaction - i guess i just wanted you to see some of my understanding (even though you may not read this or i may not post this) - maybe i just wanted to be included (translation: i don't know how to keep my mouth shut)

i also know
that she's been toning it down, trying to see what the world would be like without the force of her drama-magnet at full blast (when i turned off my freak-magnet, i got lost all the time)
that she's never been happy with drama but thrives on intensity
that it's usually easy for her to fit in even if she's never quite fit
that SI is a new kind of challenge

without the feel of "real" interactions nothin is real - not me, not the world, not you

the fact that your sacred place is torturing her is not a comment about you, nor even about the place itself. mostly, we bring our miseries down on ourselves but there's something to feng shui: a place can help or hinder your recovery - a place can define/reflect/deny your identity

"i wrap myself in the fabric of the seventh floor"

the ability to meld your sacred space with the place you live in is amazing
for those of you lucky enough to be born in your sacred place, you have filled your world with you and you are filled with your world - when you breakdown, when something gets loose, the security blanket of family and friends is stretched far and wide for years before you were even born - your children will know that and may not stay - i envy you
for those you us who have to gather our support structure as we go and keep it somewhere inside, home is the most important thing you can call a place

"sok, i'm not any lonelier than i was already."

-mysfit signing off

ahoy! we be pirate fish!

ARRRRR!! it be International Talk-Like-A-Pirate Day and this here fish be feelin srry for all ye landlubbers out there. By the Powers! ye'll all be keelhauled without a few helpful hints from your matey, the Dread Pirate Scarlett, har t' show you the way! Garrrr! listen up ye filthy bilge rats, grab some grog and soon all ye lily livered sprogs will be settin up the jacks and goin on account.

firs' and foremost, be ye lads or be ye lasses, ye be needin a proper name - one to strike t' fear of davy jones' locker in the heart of all that dare to cross ye path! hearty thanks to me matey, Sealegs Bonny for showin t' way!

me hearties, i canna be helpin ye wi' t' way ye look as i canna be seein ye, but there be pictures all o're t' place, if ye be really wantin to celebrate t' day, ye be goodly inventive and be findin' 'em all on your own!

ARR! here be a wee bit o' help wi' ye's speach - t' help ye fit in as it were:

The Pirate Alphabet
A: Ehhhhhhh? -- "What's that?"
B: Are -- as in "Be ye ready to surrender?"
C: Si, si! -- To a Spanish pirate, "Yes!"
E: Eeeeee! -- "Maaaaaaaaybe . . . "
I: Aye -- "Yes!"
L: 'Ell -- A destination, as in, "To L with you, matey!"
O: Oh! -- "Oh!"
Q: Queue -- A sailor's pigtail, usually tarred.
R: Arrrrrr! -- A general expression of glee.
T: Tea -- A very inferior substitute for grog.
Y: Why? -- To be said in a grumpy voice when the cap'n gives an order.
Z: Zee -- To a French pirate, "the."

if ye be wonderin why it be talk-like-a-pirate day, here be a short history and what we in the know be callin the "Official Site".

well me hearties, i be feelin that thar be enuf for the likes o' you! Happy TALK-LIKE-A-PIRATE DAY!!

be like the squirrel, fish, be like the squirrel

Little Acorns

by The White Stripes

Take all your problems
And rip em apart
Carry them off
In a shopping cart
And another thing you
Should've known from the start
The problems in hand
Are lighter than at heart
Be like the squirrel, girl
Be like the squirrel
Give it a whirl, girl
Be like the squirrel
And another thing
You have to know in this world
Cut up your hair
Straighten
your curls
Well, your problems
Hide in your curls

for jenn see - if you can, find a copy of this and listen to it

punkfish - a response

so when other blogs have really great posts, i have this tendency to rant in the comments section, and i'm not sure people really appreciate that. so i'm trying something new. this is in response to Henjin's inspired (and inspiring) guest post on tesco's blog and keep in mind this is all just my perspective:

to begin with, you're right: punk is dead

that is the movement, the music (if music can die), not the attitude. the attitude is laying in wait for the right moment, the next great adventure, for its time to cause havoc again. i suppose you might say that it is waiting for a messiah - but then, aren't we all.

for those of us who grew up in the eighties and came of age in the nineties when punk had already made its point, become a "movement" and then a fashion, we had to discover punk backwards - DK was one of my first and i had to get to the beginning in order to realize that, punk had suffocated in its own puke and like all subcultures, it fell victim to the aesthetic principle: if you don't look like us or listen to the "right" music you're obviously the enemy. but that was in the eighties and i was still using kool-aid and permanent markers to color my hair.

by the nineties, as rebellious and violent as the punk-culture had become, you could actually go to HotTopic at the mall and for a few hundred dollars(!!!), come out looking like a street punk - if you hadn't noticed, this is a contradiction. most of the punks i knew in the nineties were strutting around like over-stuffed peacocks and projecting the "fuck you - i'll look any way i like!!" attitude to - well, everyone. these punks were aching for the same meaning, the same release that punks in the seventies fought for: the ability and expression of rebelliousness; but the media and fashion had already gutted the rebellion. (this is definitely not unique to punk - making something mainstream is a great way to tame anything out of the ordinary - it works kinda like kryptonite).

i didn't consider myself punk at this time and in fact i'm not sure i ever have, not even when i had a 4-in mohawk. i'm not so good with labels, you see, and besides i died my hair so much because i wanted to be born with purple hair (or blue or green or or or...). i had punk friends though and one of them (with a tri-hawk at the time) sat me down long before i ever "looked punk" and explained how i was like the seventies punks, the ones who thought too much and decided that the best way to be heard was to stand out and yell.

so where does all of this leave us in 2005? to be honest, i'm not really sure - i've basically lost interest in new music. "punk" fashion is now worn by pop-idols and many would-be punks are listening to techno, trance, house and lounge - some of which, like any music genre, is really good. i know there are still underground punk and hardcore scenes in basements across the country and college radio - if you can find a good one - is still a good, if random, place to find music that hasn't been stripped to fit the crap that mainstream radio pushes between commercials. Hey - there's always internet and satelite radio right?

there's a few punk and rock bands out there that i can still dig - Happy Anarchy for one, Flogging Molly for another, but as a whole it feels like since mainstream music is between waves so is sub-culture rebellious music - afterall, the two mirror each other like evil twins. my advice? listen to whatever you like, it makes no difference to me.

thanks again to henjin and tesco for inspiring this rant.

- mysfit signing out

there's a fish on my forehead!

i am the calm center of the universe

i am someone who does not care, nothing affects me

or

i care very deeply about everything in specific, but little details do not bother me in the least

i have purged all resentment from my heart and soul

i no longer care that there are those in the world, yea, in my very own house, who will not give the same level of consideration they expect

i can be anything with this glass of raspberry lemonade and vodka in my hand, slipping down my throat, filling my veins with warm acceptance

i can even accept you taking my life in your hands by talking on the cell phone while driving

if you can accept me calling you an asshole

i am the calm of the gigantic black hole at the center of the universe

i am following my fish

am i a fish dreaming i am a man?

Chuang-Tzu once dreamed he was a butterfly. When he awoke, he no longer knew if he was a butterfly dreaming he was a man, or a man who had dreamed he was a butterfly.

ghost butterfly - from the desk of mysfit's photoshop glee

not sure but here i am again - it's 2a.m. and all's well. the old man cat is laying idly by my feet, dreaming of fish and the fish sings to my-my-my insomnia. i suppose that you may well be prepared: this will be a tangential fish.

a public service message from your friends at the fish:

please donate anything you can to the on-going relief effort in Louisiana. and use your common sense - there are many people who would take advantage of a generous heart and a crazy situation - so make sure that the charity you are giving to is legit and has a track record of helping people in this region. to check on any charity look them up at the Better Business Bureau or CharityWatch.org. Note: Charity Watch is a good place to go if you don't know how to donate or want to find the best way.

fish in the second: There's only 53 days till Halloween!!! and i don't know what i want to be. last year i was an optical illusion and almost ended up in a riot (no i mean a riot - my eyes were watering with tear-gas by the time we slipped down a back alley and got out in the nic of time) - what was i the year before or even the year before that? what are you going to be this year?

due to this train of thought and for tesco, i decided to post this pic of me from halloween past.

tank girl - halloween 01

(i suppose this would be for jenn see and for monkey 0 as well) though keep in mind that it is 2a.m. and a fully-slept mysfit might object to this blatant use of my image.

onto the next small fish: i really miss my mohawk. i've had at least three, all different colors, though black is the best. now though i've got corporate jobs at "good" corporations - you know, ones that make an effort at the very least and i've got to look all normal and what not.

last fish: i had a lot more to say but those damn moths... those damn damn moths. instead here's a picture of a dragonfly that i drew:

early experiemental fish

a little fish whispered in my ear saying, "mysfit's photoshop glee". so here's one original fish, in before/after form:

original

zalu w/o bubbles
the eye/bubble is from a different unrecalled photograph - sorry about any confusion - to be honest i never meant to make a fish.

one pissed off fish

not a whole lot to say right now as this article has taken all the words and some of the hope right out of me as i realize that it is still 2005 and we have till 2008 with this bastard.

let me clarify: nothing in this article comes as a surprise, but it's kinda rough seeing it all in one place and put so succinctly.

sleepless fish

so here it is, 4a.m. and suddenly, i'm wide awake. it wasn't easy either. lying dazed in my bed, i tried to ignore my consciousness, but it was too late - all the tiny, nearly weightless worries add up after awhile and there's no way to sleep in that kind of quicksand. so i finally gave in, got up and decided to take care of those little things my body needs when it cannot find rest (i.e. to pee, drink water, and brush my teeth for some reason - i'd take a shower too, but my downstairs roommates might kill me).

seeing how i was trapped in an upright mood, the fish called to me, whispering my name in the computer hum and so a sleepless fish was born.

he, for that is what he seems to be, is a strange color that is "something like blue".

he doesn't believe in armadillos, but worships seashells.

the definition of a seashell is "the calcareous shell of a marine mollusk or similar marine organism". he looked it up.

he's forgotten his name and would like you to make one up for him.

he's never fertilized eggs and doesn't like eating mushrooms, but looks forward to both events.

he sleeps upside-down to scare the other fish.

he likes rain, long swims by the beach and sea anemones.

he'd like you to ponder this picture of a sea anemone, and contemplate why we are all here.

he doesn't like any species of beetle especially the one crawling across the wall over there.

the moth dive-bombing the computer screen scared the shit out of him, but he won't admit it.

he's got eight fingers and ten toes, even though he has no hands or feet.

he thinks it's funny that the only word the spell-checker could come up for "anemones" is "honeymoons".

he also thinks that if the spell-checker is going to check grammar, he should get to choose what type of grammar it checks.

he's not even sure why i'm writing this.

he's concerned about where that beetle went.

he conquered the cat by attrition and gets really excited about new words, like Coleoptera and insomnious (versions of which he has heard before).

he's going to stay up the rest of the night so i don't have to.