Very interesting project related to the Radiohead Nude remix thing that I partook in a while back. James Houston missed the deadlines for said “contest” but decided to though some stuff together….Very nice. Like he says:
“Based on the lyric (and alternate title) “Big Ideas: Don’t get any” I grouped together a collection of old redundant hardware, and placed them in a situation where they’re trying their best to do something that they’re not exactly designed to do, and not quite getting there. It doesn’t sound great, as it’s not supposed to.”
I actually built one of the Sinclair computers that he uses in this project back in the summer of ’81,a trip to see it used here. He certainly made better use of it than me. Check it and give it some time, it really does not kick in until about :45 sec, it is worth the wait:
gypsy moth oak tree
devastated by year four –
leafless nude july
Her name is Vi. I know…. very old fashioned name, but hey, she is a honeybee, real old time pet and human companion. We have been farming bees on this planet for at least 3000 years (honey hunts documented back to at least, like, 15,000BC !). Vi and her gals come to our cement BeePond throughout the day….
Notice her proboscis just to the left of her front leg, below her left compound eye. Water sucked up there and stored for a trip back to her hive which is about 70 human feet away. I have never been able to hear her or the others drinking. So quiet. Civilized. Nude.
If you click on her you’ll get a full size image. Pinkltink_3 snapped this image. Notice how incredibly hairy honeybees are….Very cuddly.
“Wow, that asparagus is deeevine.” marveled Cocoa.
“Yes, indeed.” Worth the wait, I agreed, as I finished my second cup of French roast.
“Ok, so can we NOW, open that package that has been staring at me this whole dang breakfast?”
“Yup, here it goes.” At this point Orphy, the nude cat who runs the joint, sauntered out of the sun room over to our umbrella, hopped up on the pine bookcase and surveyed the impending opening.
As I lifted the box, I was again surprised by the heft of the piece. My stainless penknife was needed to cut through the kraft gum tape and jute cordage. The smell of machine oil started to prick my nostril while reminding me that the helicopter kit install was falling way behind schedule…. I unstuffed the top layer of what was a combination of quarter inch reel-to-reel audio tape, stale smartfood popcorn and, and….well, I guess you would call it shredded early 80’s vinyl album art with a sprinkling of AP wire feed dated the first of April 1985. “Weaahrd.” I found myself say, in perfect Boston dialect, as I held the vintage packin’ mix in my still pine-gummy fingers, looking questioningly at Cocoa.
“So, Coop is that it? Just a strange mix of shredded stuff?” she asked while wrapping Orphy’s prehensile-like tale around her long tanned ankle.
I reached back in the box and touched a cool piece of metal. Rectangular, of sort, with, wait….some plastic feeling stuff and a cord of some type stretching back into the box; I lifted the old piece of what I now knew to be radio broadcasting equipment out onto the polished concrete deck table.
“Finally. There it is. Now, what is that Coop?” said Cocoa genuinely interested in the beat-up piece of gear.
“Well, that my lovely is a honest to goodness radio cart machine.” I said as I continued to pull the power cord from the box.
“Right, Mr. Radio Dinosaur. What is a cart machine.”
As I reached a snag in pulling the cord out of the box I explained: “A cart machine is a specialized auto-cue quarter inch tape playing machine commonly used in radio broadcasting through the dawn of Computer, digital playing mechanisms. Commonly thought of as a simple 8 track player like device it was actually far more specialized and rugged. The computer pretty much replaced most of the cart machines in radio by the time I started to ween myself from broadcasting. Like many of the displacements that digital technology effected, the cart machine was seen as not “good enough” and way too prone to malfunction comparatively….”
“Woe, Spock. That is quite enough. Fine. I get it. So who and why would someone send you this thing?”
“Well, I was known, by some folk, to have an uncommon love for the things. In fact I use to reinstall the machines in studios, surreptitiously, generally during an overnight shift, after the “official” engineer mothballed the cart machine from the studio.
“Ok, so Coop, honey. Why would someone send you one?”
“Just look at this thing, it weighs about ten pounds. It has real plastic buttons and it smells like a cybernetic dinosaur, nice oil. I bet this is pure Marvelous oil…. In some ways these machines remind me of my old 3G iPhone….”
“Coop, look, my power points are getting burnt out here with all the UV today. I just need to know if you need any help with anything else. I’m about done hearing about the cart machine as it will be a while until you clue me into what led, caused or who did this parachute drop thing. You can unravel your package yourself…. Unravel your package. Hey, actually I think your own package may be getting burned out here too, your Kimono is a bit loose, hon.”
“Would you look at the heads on this deck, they are in good shape. I wonder….” as I talked to myself Cocoa, lifted the cat off her lap, stood up in her hip-first-swivel-floating way and I looked up at her exclaiming: “Wabi-sabi! Wabi-sabi!”
“This is wabi-sabi?” Cocoa questioned, floating her arms over her head, chest and points following slowly and perfectly.
“No, this machine, it is wabi-sabi.” I said as I watched Cocoa coninue to lift and reach for the sky, now on her powerful, perfectly balanced tip-toes, tan and sparkling tourquoise nails and pads, buoyant on the teak decking.
“Wabi-sabi, wabi-sabi. Coop why don’t you stand up and reach up like me and let me check out your rear end?”
“Umm, OK…. Why? I didn’t fall that hard really….Hey, this cart machine is actually attached to a battery powered supply already, and here is a cartridge.”
“Great!” said Cocoa winking and slapping me to attention, “Stick it in.”
naked parquet kings
celtics beat l.a.
As I reached the top of the red pine tree I had enough sap and needles stuck to my forearms to make me wonder if this ninety foot climb was worth it. Gum Armed Detective Arborist…. The parachute was just about in reach and the strange design on it was starting to come into focus; red and black, the design could almost look like a flag but it was still hard to figure with the pine cones, jays, titmouse and chickadees flouncing about the branches as I made my way up the hundred-plus year old sage. It smells better than Hai Karate up here, though….
“Hey, you doin’ OK up there?” Cocoa yelled up at me.
“Well, ya. I think I am just about there.” Finishing this sentence was of course the cue for the branch I was stepping on to brake. I just managed to grab the cord of the parachute when I fell: Snap, crackle and pop. It sure seemed like the parachute was helping me fall a little faster despite bouncing off a few surprisingly soft limbs.
Fortunately the bed of pine needles and the chicken compost broke my landing, as I managed to land mostly on my good ankle.
“Wow, now that is what I call a landing.” said Cocoa.
“Ooow. And Uggg.” I replied.
It was clear that the parachute design was not anything real special. It seemed like it had once been the advertisement of some radio station. A “W” and an “X” was all that was included in the recycling effort to glue the chute together.
We walked back to the package, Godzilla sniffin’ and pulling on the chute, which was only about twelve feet in diameter.
“So, Coop, which associate of yours would parachute a package to you on a Sunday?” asked Cocoa.
“Well, I know of a lot of people who would fancy the idea but those folks would be more interested in dropping bombs or incendiary devices. Which I guess, could still be inside the package, but there is only one person who would fashion a parachute from old radio station banners and drop it. A total radio-monkey…. but that person is dead. Or so I thought.”
Heading back to the deck, we stopped by the asparagus patch and picked up some fresh stalks for breakfast. I picked the purple ones, Cocoa the Green Giants. Godzilla snorted up some deer droppings for an appetizer; She was one little foraging beast of disgustment.
“Ok. So can we open the package now?!” Demanded Cocoa in a mock whine of apathy. I don’t know how she emoted that particular combination but she did. It must be the way she wiggled her hips, like a gogo dancer in a petticoat. Umm, or something unnatural like that. Then again it’s probably down to the lack of a second cup of Joe that was mashing up my perceptions. Oh yah, that ninety foot fall through the pine limbs.
“Yah, lets open that after we get the food on the table. I could kill for a plate of our eggs, bacon and the asparagus. What, we have been waiting for, for over….what has it been, two years, three, to eat from our own patch. The package can wait a bit can’t it?”
“Oh, sure Coop. I’m not hungry anyway. But, you do look a bit pale. You sure you OK, that was quite a fall. How is the new leg and ankle holding up?”
“The osseointegration is still dead on but ah, its ok, a bit phantom itchy though.” I said, as I flexed the ankle and made the servos hum assuringly, noticing that there was still some pine tar on my good leg, my prostetic leg. Hey it kinda looks like Manny Rameriz’ infamous helmet, circa 2007, I thought as I picked pine cone fragments, chicken turds, pine needles and tar from my bluish limb. I’ll have to check with the company about gettin’ some spare parts.