CANKER BANE

2009-12-23T09:49:00.000-08:00

CankerBane has moved.

http://cankerbane.tumblr.com/

2009-12-09T23:58:00.001-08:00

Spring 2010 Schedule REVISED

2009-11-23T21:55:00.000-08:00

Monday/Wednesday:
8-11 Jewelry/Metal Arts
4-7 3D Visual Dynamics

Tuesday/Thursday:
12-3 Intro. to Graphic Design
5:30-7 Intro. to the Modern Arts

Friday:
10-4 2D Visual Dynamics

Spring 2010 Schedule

2009-11-17T18:08:00.000-08:00

Monday/Wednesday:
12:00-3:00 3D Visual Dynamics
4:00-7:00 Industrial Design

Tuesday/Thursday:
12:00-3:00 Introduction to Graphic Design
5:35-7:05 Introduction to the Modern Arts

Friday:
10:00-4:00 2D Visual Dynamics

2009-11-16T13:12:00.001-08:00

There are no excuses in art school.

Dear umma and appa,

2009-11-05T01:51:00.000-08:00

This is what my bike used to look like.
Now it is super "tarcked" out with white wheels and a silver flat bar with red grips.
There are still no brakes, but don't worry. There are obvious limits to my riding skills and I feel like I am very comfortable with them. I switched my tires from ultrawears to a rubino and a randonneur because ultrawears kind of suck on the street.

Love,
Nathan

P.S. A few weeks ago, Grace and I stumbled upon this really amazing lighting bouncing off an ordinary office building, one of those structures covered entirely by panes of glass.

Things he can say he did in college:

2009-10-28T22:09:00.001-07:00

- raced in an alleycat in Oakland, completing 90% of the race on busted wheels after getting hit by a car near the Rockridge Bart station. Probably would've placed earlier if he didn't get hopelessly &%@#ing lost in Fruitvale.

- tried Chapeghetti for the first time.

- started a bike delivery service with Al called Chimera Courier. As of now, total customers = 0

- napped.

College is cool. Right now it's turning into a mix of socializing, eating, napping, biking, working, studying, listening, churching, observing, and learning.
This Saturday I'm probably going to race in my first alleycat in San Francisco. Pray I don't die.
Seriously.

+++

2009-10-21T00:26:00.000-07:00

LISTEN TO NEW MUSIC DRINK TEA DAILY LEARN HOW TO PHOTOGRAPH LEARN HOW TO DEVELOP LEARN HOW TO PRINT CONSIDER CHANGING MAJOR BUY A FIXED GEAR FIND YOU'RE NEVER SATISFIED WITH THE PARTS YOU HAVE WANT NEW PARTS DISCOVER BIANCHI PISTA CONCEPT START A BINACHI PISTA CONCEPT THAT I CAN'T EVEN BUY A VITAMIN WATER WITH BUY VITAMIN WATER WHEN IT'S ON SALE GO BIKING IN THE RAIN LEARN HOW TO SKID WITH MY LEFT SIDE LEARN HOW TO SKID WITH MY RIGHT SIDE TRY BIKING DOWN HILLS IN SAN FRANCISCO CHICKEN OUT AND GO DOWN THE SMALLER HILL BUT IT WAS A MIGHTY HILL NEVERTHELESS LOOK FORWARD TO GRAPHIC DESIGN EAT PHO AT SCHOOL DISCOVER IT'S JUST ALRIGHT BUT THE PEOPLE ARE REALLY NICE GO TO SHOWS AND HAVE A BLAST GET STRANDED IN THE CITY WITH NO WAY BACK TO THE EAST BAY FIND OUT THERE'S A BUS THAT RUNS ALL NIGHT SAVED MISS PEOPLE HANG OUT WITH PEOPLE WISH IT WOULD RAIN AGAIN WISH EYE CONTACT COULD BE MAINTAINED NEED A FLU SHOT SEVEN ELEVEN HOT DOG WASN'T AS GOOD AS EATING IT IN LA WITH GOOD PEOPLE

word.

Flickr

2009-10-11T11:37:00.000-07:00

Check it out.

My room is a mess right now, my track bike wants new handlebars, and my drawing teacher only seems to get more and more bizarre.

"Think of what we are doing as a game.
there’s something weird about it,
and you discover what it is
play the game to win."

This week I saw Strength, Deelay Ceelay, and Starfucker at the Bottom of the Hill. The entire show was amazing, and after the show getting back to Oakland was one crazy adventure. Hopefully an adventure like that will never have to happen again.

27

2009-09-27T16:31:00.001-07:00

Things NATHANAEL unrealistically (and somewhat impulsively) wants:

- fixed gear bike
- tool chest
- skateboard
- Nikon 50 mm lens
- Pentax K1000 w/ 50 mm lens
- Banjo Brothers Bag
____________________

I don't like people who chew loudly.

College, Week One

2009-08-30T23:58:00.000-07:00

Rather than trying to write something coherent and insightful, I will just type out random bullets and miscellaneous points.

- My dorm is nice, nicer than the ones at Berkeley. Earlier this week, I visited the UC Berkeley campus and residential halls with some new-found friends, and my dorms are nicer. /point

- Tonight is the first night my room-mate is sleeping over. This past week, he has been spending time with his family in a hotel instead of living in the dorm. It is cool though. His family lives in Taiwan, and apparently he does not have many opportunities to see them.

- My school does not have a meal plan, so I need to either cook all my food, buy it elsewhere, or starve. Cooking has not been that bad, and neither has buying food elsewhere. Next to my school's San Francisco campus is a burrito place that is pretty tasty. They have different kinds of tortillas and beans, and their salsa verde is bomb. As of yet I have not starved once.

- There are a lot of people here who can draw very well.

- Hills can be hell when biking. Yesterday (or two days ago) I biked through San Francisco with a new friend, and things can get pretty nuts. After we went biking, we made teriyaki chicken stir-fry and watched a documentary called Mash. The documentary is all about fixed-gear riding in San Francisco, and now more than ever I want a fixie (and I want to ride it like the guys in Mash do -- fearlessly).

- Classes start tomorrow (or later today).

The end.

2009-08-19T23:08:00.001-07:00

" People don't change the world.

People change themselves, and then the world changes around them. "

" The one thing I constantly learn about myself is that I know nothing. "

" For rulers hold no terror for those who do right, but for those who do wrong. Do you want to be free from the fear of the one in authority? Then do what is right and he will commend you. "

If I have to think too much about what to write, then my writing becomes ingenuine.

(That took me a long time to write.)

Look what I found

2009-08-17T17:53:00.000-07:00

Organization is definitely NOT one of my fortes, but something I enjoy about organizing is finding things from the past.

It's fun, to flip through these lost items and just peruse through them.

My dog is dying.

2009-08-15T00:02:00.001-07:00

And I don't know how I feel about this. Now I realize the immensity of that timeless question: "Do dogs go to heaven?"

It might sound menial, worrying so much about a dog, but when you spend time with something or someone for more than a third of your life, something forms, an invisible, deeply personal bond.

As someone who believes in heaven and a God, it's relatively easy for me to say goodbye to fellow believers. There's always that hope I can cling to, that no matter what happens I'll see them again sometime in the future, in a better place.

But will I see my dog again? Who knows, only God does.

This is one of those moments in life where I truly need to live by my words and beliefs.

Learn from the past, live in the present, and dream for the future.

God, give me strength.

2009-08-11T13:34:00.000-07:00

There was something in my head that I wanted to write here, but now I can't remember it.

el Grache

2009-07-09T08:26:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been having really vivid dreams, yet I keep forgetting to jot them down and document them. Maybe less exposure to media propels the imagination.

class schedule

2009-07-02T09:08:00.000-07:00

Monday/Wednesday:

8-1 Community-Based 4D Visual Dynamics (not really sure what this is but it sounded cool)
4-7 Drawing 1 (i can't draw)

Tuesday/Thursday:

8-11 Tools B&W Photo (i can't take photos)
12-1:30 Intro to Visual Arts (requirement requirement requirement)
4-5:30 English 2 (better than getting stuck in English 1)

People always ask me if I'm excited for college, and you know what?
Now I am.

2009-06-13T21:30:00.000-07:00

Photobucket

Blogspot

my computer

So, seeing as how this is something new, something which I've never experienced before, my conclusion is that it's a result of the CMYK color setting, which is also something I've never used before.

the end.

Hopefully, when these get printed they won't be all janky.

2009-06-11T18:15:00.000-07:00

(and living.)

By the way, I'm probably never going to upload the praise set as a note on Facebook again. I don't know how to respond to the comments.

2009-06-10T20:20:00.001-07:00

anyone know of any good DJs available for a wedding this September?

Boston, Day 4

2009-06-05T23:14:00.001-07:00

Two a.m. in the morning and there is no energy left to upload a couple pictures. Expect a crapload when I get back home onto my own computer.

Until then, just be satisfied in knowing that I had Chinese pastries again for the first time in years, and they were pretty amazing.

Something I notice about myself when I travel is that it always motivates me to do things, yet I can't execute any of these things because they require me being at home.
Always motivated at the wrong times.

I have this strong desire to go to Chinatown on the Orange, Red, and Gold lines when I get back to LA, solely to get food.

Boston, Day 3

2009-06-04T19:17:00.000-07:00

Harvard graduation ceremonies abounded today. My cousin had forewarned me that there would be an enormous amount of people, but reality usually tends to supercede my expectations and not the other way around.
There were the most bizarre people at the initial, school-wide ceremony. At Harvard, they have one large ceremony for all of the different schools, and then each of the separate schools and houses have their own ceremonies.

By far the men (and woman) in top hats were the most interesting. They wore classy tuxedos and fancy pantsy top hats, and on top of that, they carried in their hands things that can only be described as wands. For a moment I felt like I was in Hogwartz.
I remember seeing one of them in the morning on the T (the subway) and wondering where the hell they were going dressed up like that.
Check out the guy with the blue, tassle-y hat. There was another person dressed up exactly like that, yet their garments were orange.
Apparently the more prestigious you are academically, the more ridciulous your robes are.
Congratulations cousin, good job on graduating from the Harvard Graduate School of Education with a Masters. Woo hoo. Now go change the world.

Boston, Day 2

2009-06-03T21:00:00.000-07:00

Boston continually grows on me more and more, and as I spend greater amounts of time walking and travelling around the city, I feel as if I could stay here forever.

Buildings like this will pop out from seemingly nowhere, standing in stark contrast against the normal Boston landscape. The last time I was in Boston, which was in late August last year, this building was here as well.

Why?

Maybe

the building is very very very historic, and wasn't supposed to be cut in half in the first place. Advocates for the preservation of the bulding decided that it would be better half-preserved than half-demolished, so for almost one whole year they've been defending it by living underneath it.

Maybe not.

Yeah.

Boston is definitely a great city, but a winter here would probably kill me. Or a winter here would probably end up with me killing myself. Living with a snow for over a month, that's just terrible.

Oh yes.

I tried cannoli for the first time today (with cheese instead of cream). It's pretty damn GOOD.

Boston, Day 1

2009-06-02T19:12:00.000-07:00

Nathan left for the airport last night at approximately nine at night, after eating dinner with his aunt, her husband, and his cousin and his girlfriend. His flight was supposed to leave at ten fifty-five at night, but got delayed for a rather long time after a part had to be replaced on the plane he was riding on.

(However, the airport didn't have any spares of that particular part, so they had to go and take the part out of an idle plane. This is remeniscent of something Nathan tried doing once with his bike after it sprouted a flat and he needed that bike in particular because it had a rack on the back that he needed because of a prior commitment.)

Leaving LAX late did not really phase Nathan because he did not even notice. He was asleep on the plane before it left. At nine in the morning on Tuesday, Nathan arrived at Logan airport in Boston. There he rendevouzed (that may be spelled incorrectly) with his cousin and together they left.

Nathan's cousin surprised him with a weekly pass for the T, Boston's metro system. Personally, Nathan was shocked that they even had such a thing. It was a very pleasant surprise. They spent most of their day walking around Harvard (the school Nathan's cousin is graduating from) eating and looking and buying and reading.

There are a lot of fascinating buildings around Harvard, and in particular the business school looks like a very fancy wealthy surburb (Surprise).

The bookstores and booktables are equally intriguing. I like them.

2009-05-30T22:15:00.000-07:00

Remember this? Meet part three.

__________________________

Blue waves lapped against the calm, serene beach and generated an atmosphere of peace. The waves hugged an island that had remained untouched for what seemed decades, and the absence of human influence was obviously apparent. Lush forests and bountiful life flourished on the mass of ancient, volcanic rock, and everything about the place suggested an attitude of freedom and vitality.
A seagull drifted lazily along the swells of the warm breeze, and it scanned the ground below it for signs of anything remotely interesting or edible. It had almost completely circled the island once, just about ready to give up hope, when its black beady eyes saw something motionless on the sand. Whatever it was, it looked dead and ragged, sprawled out within the zone of the tide.
The bird zoomed down in spirals towards its target, and as it glided towards it in anticipation the shape of a figure began to come into view. The figure looked unlike anything else the bird had ever seen before, in terms of shape, color, and what the figure grasped in its hands. However, this bird did not have a particularly stellar memory and none of these things remotely bothered the bird at all. Right now the curiosity of the creature overrode any semblance of reason the bird possessed.
Just as the bird hopped closer and was about to peck at the lifeless mass on the beach, a loud eruption of noise ripped through the tranquility of the island and before the bird knew what had happened, it was dead.
A man walked out of the surf of the ocean as water dripped from his entire body. He acted nonchalantly and strode forward with purpose, as if for him walking through water was analogous to striding on land. His attire stood out in sharp contrast with everything around him, with his floppy, brown hat and oversized coat that made him look strange and out of place. The lifeless, arid desert seemed like it would be a more fitting place for a man such as this, than the rich island which he now stood on.
There was a slight trail of smoke which emitted from within his jacket, something which was odd considering that he was soaked thoroughly with water and smoke seemed like one of the last things to come forth from his coat.
The water had begun to rise slightly as the man made his way towards the figure that lied on the beach, and it lapped at his ankles in a way that was almost playful. He sighed when he looked down on the lifeless figure, and could not help but let a slight smile creep onto his normally stoic face. She was still beautiful, the woman who was now slightly submerged in the sand, and her face shone in the light of the sun. Her red dress clung to her body, damp from the ocean and its never-ending waves. Clutched in her hands was a long object wrapped in rough, beige cloth.
Gently the man reached down and picked up both the woman and the mysterious object, and together they made their way into the forest.

____________________________

For whatever reason, I find the death of the seagull, in all its abruptness, hilarious.

2009-04-26T22:47:00.000-07:00

"This is probably one of his favorite types of music."

When I listen to music, I find myself getting tired of sounds very easily. So I look, seeking new noises, and find new music to sate my insatiable desire for ear food.
My musical taste doesn't develop, it progresses. After listening to something and becoming tired of it, I don't have much desire to go back to it spontaneously and hear it.
I just get bored.

Treatment

2009-04-24T09:10:00.000-07:00

Black Panther – Crystal Castles /// Occupied Motion

Treatment by: Nathanael Cho

A person is going to bike around a set course continuously throughout the entire day at specific times. For the majority of the film scenes will be shot from the first-person and the face of the main character will never actually be seen. Only in the beginning and the end will the perspective of the first-person not be blatantly obvious and the scene is open to interpretation.
The specific times for the different shots will be spaced out and the lighting at those specific times will be variably different in an objective sense. For example, from six in the morning until nine at night I will go out every three hours and take footage. The camera will either be fastened on top of my head or be held in my hand as I bike.

The purpose of this film is to demonstrate an alternate reality that is contrasting to the words “Occupied Motion”. Often times with our lives, we unknowingly set ourselves in a groove or routine. Whether we realize it or not, it is present and there is a high probability that this monotony and habit dictates not only what we do but what we feel and experience. I desire that by seeing the various shots in their simplicity and beauty, which will be carried out throughout the day and thus overlap ones normal schedule, the audience will be stimulated and become aware of their surroundings. Scenes will be simple, and the ultimate result I seek is self-action.

Shot List (all times are subject to change):

- No music yet, only the ambient sounds of the environment and the bicycle. The camera will be held low to the ground and pointed up at an angle no more than 45 degrees. The bicycle is on the ground, one wheel suspended in the air and spinning freely. [5-10 seconds]

- Camera is now held at a “normal” first-person perspective and the character is on his/her bike. Initially the camera is pointed down at the ground and then shifts up to look forward. Position is held for a period of time and then the character looks to his/her left, leading to the next cut. [approximately 30 seconds]

- Previous perspective is maintained and character is now looking to the left for a period of time. Then the character looks to his/her right and the scene cuts again. [approximately 30 seconds]

- Identical to the previous shot except character is now pointed to the right. Wait again set period of time and then look up. [approximately 30 seconds]

- Character is looking up afterwards until perspectives shifts downwards to the floor. Scene cuts to next one. [approximately 30 seconds]

- Last scene on bicycle, character is looking down for a period of time until the camera is jolted suddenly and film goes black. (Note that the camera is not damaged, the damaged is only implied.) [approximately 30 seconds]

- Final scene, the bicycle is lying on the ground again yet the background is not identical the one seen in the first scene. Wheel is seen spinning rapidly and then scene fades out. [10-15 seconds]

End

2009-04-21T09:32:00.000-07:00

This is going to be one of those self-centered posts about me. Me, I, My. Not you, her, him, yours, theirs, they. Me.

I never realized there were places still like this around where I live. When I was younger, I must have seen it before. My father and I would often go hiking spontaneously, sometimes in the most bizarre places, yet I guess I just did not appreciate places like this back in the day.

When I lie back and stare at the rock now, my imagination beings to explode. I envision a face and some sort of enormous creature frozen in the stone, waiting for the time to come when it will break free and walk the Earth. The nooks and crannies remind me of dwellings and I imagine tiny mice or birds living in them, using the rock as a fort or a base of operations.

I am glad my imagination has not died with age thus far. Being monotonous seems boring. The expected is boring. Math is boring.

The Number on the Wall

2009-04-20T18:04:00.001-07:00

David was a strange young man. For some reason, every time he was in a public place, he had an urge to draw. Perhaps you, the reader, are thinking, “Hey, having in urge to draw is not that bizarre. What are you talking about you crazy writer person!” But let me tell you, David’s urge to draw was far from normal. Every time he felt a compulsion to draw, the same thing popped into his head, yearning to escape through his hands onto the surface of anything. That thing was a potato.
One day David was at the beach and he stepped into a Port-o-Potty because he had some business to take care of. Peeing was definitely a priority, but more importantly David disgruntled with the sand. That particular day was extremely windy, and as a result everything he etched into the grains of the beach was quickly obliterated by the elements. He had decided he would take his solace in the Port-o-Potty and draw away to his heart’s content.
David began pulling the fat, Sharpie Magnum that he carried with him constantly out of his pocket when he looked up and saw something that made him stop. By now, he had closed the door of the portable bathroom, and what was on the back of the door made his face contort into a mask of disbelief. There, on the blue, soft plastic was the drawing of a potato. However, this was not just any sort of potato drawing. It was the same kind of potato that David drew. David could not believe this, and he stepped back (as far as he could without falling into the abyss) and saw every infinitesimal detail that resonated within him, resonated with familiarity. The perfect shape, the lumpiness captured in all of its glory, and the three sprouts placed meticulously around the body of the potato.
Needless to say, David began freaking out, so to speak. Perhaps it was a mixture of the fumes and the sheer surprise of seeing something comparable to a doppelganger. “I have to find out who did this,” David thought to himself. His eyes zoomed over the potato once again, and that was when he noticed something which had not caught his eye the first time. A phone number, a tiny sequence of numbers embedded into the body of the potato in between the first and second sprouts. David pulled out his phone quickly and jabbed in the numbers. His phone began ringing, ringing through the earpiece and into David’s head. Finally, somebody picked up, yet that somebody was not someone whom David had expected to hear.
The person who had picked up on the other side of the phone was his father. His father had picked up on the other side. David stood there shocked and then shouted into the receiver in disbelief. His dad only remained silent, waiting for his son’s rant to end. Then, when things were calm, his dad began to explain.
Every male in David’s family had an urge to draw potatoes everywhere since the dawn of time. The details in the drawing, the thickness of the lines and the placement of all embellishments, were all intentional. David’s father was very to the point in the explanation, being as blunt as a kitchen knife that had attempted to cut diamonds.
David listened intently, yet something still bothered him. Why had his father left his phone number in this particular drawing? David asked his dad, and his dad nonchalantly replied that it was destiny. Every male of their family leaves their number in one particular drawing, and when their offspring stumbles upon their drawing it is their duty to explain the family heritage.
It all made sense to David now, or at least most of it for that matter. “What about the woman of our family?” David wondered. “Ah,” his dad said. His dad explained that there was not much difference between the traditions of the women and the men and their family. The women just chose to draw radishes.

Online Synthesizer

2009-04-19T15:18:00.000-07:00

"Simple sinewave synthesizer triggered by an ordinary 16step sequencer. Each triggered step causes a force on the underlaying wave-map, which makes it more cute.

Based on the AudioTool engine thus no sources, I am sorry.

Press SPACE key to clear. Right-Click for Copy&Paste.

More info on my blog."

Make something cool and share it as a comment. After you input your sequence, just ctrl+C or right-click "Copy" it and ctrl+P or right-click "Paste" it into the Comment field.

The link to the site.

Some sequences I made:

5478,16,66080,16,34060,32,8720,32,33872,8,66832,8,4612,16,65800,16

8254,8258,5030,2124,16008,17584,59488,17584,16008,1036,3046,4674,9406,8770,5102,2056

2009-04-17T23:14:00.000-07:00

Did you know that the United States is conducting a census right now? Supposedly they do one every ten years (or over set period of time "x"). Most people probably think this is pretty insignificant and perhaps even irritating, yet a census is important. For one thing it determines the number seats or something that a state is granted in Congress. And.. yeah..

I just discovered programs can use profane language on cable television thanks to hotel TV. Is this the future??

______________________________

Visiting my potential art school today was a combination of things. It was terrifying, daunting, encouraging, boring, annoying, exciting, the list goes on.
BY THE WAY, whenever I hear the phrase "the [insert word here] goes on" I think of the Whispers! Click on the link and listen to the song. If you don't like any aspect of it you have no soul. Literally and figuratively.. That was not intended to be a pun, honestly.
Anyways, if I do go to California College of the Arts, I met my competition today. She has a business card, website, and skills that kills my own. IT'S ALL GOOD THOUGH. Maybe we can collaborate on something and I can secretly leech all of her powers and make them my own. Except I don't want to be vindictive, and that is just messed up.

And OH YEAH. If I do go to the Bay Area for school...
- NO I will not cheer for the Giants.
- YES I will cheer for the 49ers AND the Raiders.
- NO I will not cheer for the Fremont Athletics.
- YES I will bike EVERYWHERE.

sketch wall.

2009-04-15T23:09:00.000-07:00

Micro-Detail: Neighbor

2009-04-10T09:45:00.000-07:00

Murray has lived next to my house for the past seventeen years, and to this day I am convinced that he has just about as much integrity as the Golden Gate Bridge if it were constructed out of flimsy Popsicle sticks instead of massive steel girders. His hair is gray, the kind of gray that you just cannot put a finger on. There are those people with the gray hair that makes them look ridiculously old, and there are the other people who have the gray hair that makes them look ridiculously young (on account of them expiring at such an early age). But then there are those other people, that small minority, who have something you just cannot identify. For all I knew Murray could be anything from twenty-nine years old to sixty-four years old.

Come to think of it, Murray is obscure not only because of his hair – he has an accent as well. But again, I just cannot properly identify what sort of an accent is. Something tells me it’s Russian but then I remember I have never talked to an actual Russian person. My only experience with their language comes from movies.

When you see Murray around the neighborhood, questions will most likely pop into your head naturally. For instance, why does he constantly walk with a limp when out in public, yet when in his own house stride with the confidence of a gazelle? Something smells odd concerning his whole character.

“Hey neighbor, what are you writing about right now?”

“What the hell. Oh, hey Murray. What are you doing in my house?”

“Oh, you know, just looking around.”

Cathy and the Farm

2009-04-03T09:14:00.000-07:00

Dust flew up from behind the roaring automobile as Cathy made her way to her newly acquired piece of property. Her entire life, Cathy had lived in the city, and she had hated it. The noise, the smells, the people, everything about it, every aspect, just got on her nerves. When she finally became an adult and acquired a fairly decent amount of money, she made moving out her first and highest priority. Eight months and several boyfriends later, she had acquired the Sunshine estate in Lakersfield. Driving there now, she was ecstatic. Cathy looked forward to her new life in the country, working the land and being rugged.

The car slowed down to a roll as she made her way up the drive way to her new life. She didn’t spend long gazing from her car, opting to escape its metallic confines and take in her new home in all its natural, organic glory. However, the first thing she noticed wasn’t anything her eyes detected. The first thing Cathy noticed was the smell! Everything around her seemed to reek of cow feces, even her city-born car. She stopped for a moment, tripping over her own feet as this new smell bombarded her, and her hands fell upon the car. The dust that was on her car, the dirt that she standing on, she realized something: it was all cow feces!

Panic began to rise within Cathy; she had to get out of here. Her hands fumbled with the door of her car and she sped inside it once the door was upon. But her eyes welled up in horror when they fell upon the gas meter. The dial was on “E”! Cathy screamed at the top of her lungs, falling out of her car’s seat and landing on the dirt outside. Her head began spinning, a sensory overload overwhelming her brain!

Then there was a snap.

People out in the country say Cathy still lives there on the Sunshine estate in Lakersfield, harvesting her annual imaginary crop of cow feces, feasting upon it every season and using the surplus to prepare for the next harvest and make clothing.

People in the city always knew Cathy never had the greatest sensory perception. And that just about concludes things.

THE END

_________________________________________________________________

So I have decided to free myself when I write. Just in case that was not already obvious.

the Local Swimming Pool

2009-04-01T09:17:00.000-07:00

Gnats swarmed overhead in giant, festering clouds, and made me reluctant to breathe. The public pool had not gotten any better since the last time I had been, but there was something endearing about its qualities now. The stagnant, brackish water that was always a little too warm and the lecherous life-guards who only cared about your welfare if you lacked a penis – this all contributed to what had become an annual summer get-away.
In the changing room, surrounded by restricting walls that made me feel claustrophobic with their monolithic faces scrawled with graffiti, I changed hastily into my bathing suit, looking forward to jumping into the water and escaping from the hundred-and-fifteen degree heat. I hadn’t worn my bathing suit, and I was fairly surprised when I discovered that it had actually grown bigger. No matter, I simply tightened the string with an extra knot and walked out into the blazing sun.
The concrete beneath my feet was like a stove, crisping the soles of my feet and forcing me into a dance, hopping from one foot to the next. In this fashion, I rushed to the water and slid my way in. The first time you enter the water at the local pool you’re naturally fairly hesitant. How can you not be? The water is far from pristine, and when you come within feet of the pool you begin to notice a strange smell that I’ve never been quite been able to put a finger on. But once you get past this and dull most of your sensory perceptions (by the way, the water doesn’t actually feel like water. The consistency is closer to something like thin oil) it’s just like any other body of water that can be enjoyed in the summer.
Lazily I floated around the pool, when suddenly it became apparent to me that things were very calm – too calm. Just then I realized that I was only person in the pool, not even a life-guard was present, and looking around I noticed a canvas sign on the chain-link fence surrounding the pool. The sun shone through it, rendering it transparent, and I could make out the letters “G-N-I-N-A-E-L-C R-O-F D-E-S-O-L-C”. That’s when I noticed something else floating by me as well, something the size of a grande burrito from Taco Bell. Something that was brown.
THE END

2009-03-29T00:56:00.000-07:00

In the spirit of lists... (by the way, http://www.listography.com/)

Currently listening to:

[All images pulled from http://www.flickr.com/. Select photographers, is it really necessary to blatantly sign all of your images with computer-generated type? In almost all cases it just seems to detract so much from the photograph.]

College Scorecard

2009-03-29T00:17:00.000-07:00

Accepted:
- Cal State Long Beach
- Cal Poly Pomona
- Cal Poly San Luis Opisbo
- UC Santa Cruz
- Northern Arizona University
- Parsons The New School for Design
- School of Visual Arts
- San Francisco Art Institute
- California College of the Arts

Rejected:
- UC Los Angeles
- UC Santa Barbara
- UC Davis

re. from Posterchild

2009-02-16T21:44:00.000-08:00

Hey!

Thanks for the kind words! I'm glad my work has helped inspire you to
make yours. If you have any pics I could check out, how about throwing
them up on the forum?

Take it easy,

Post

On Fri, Feb 13, 2009 at 2:02 PM, Canker Bane  wrote:

> Dear Posterchild,
>
> I am a fellow artist who sees the streets as a canvas, a place to display
> and create, not necessarily destroy. I want to thank you for updating your
> blog so regularly, for every time I visit I find myself inspired. The
> tutorials especially were very useful, not so much for how they explained
> but for what they explained. Inside I feel there is always this compulsion
> to create things, but as people we don't always obey these drive.
> Your work helps to catalyze these urges into something tangible, and again I
> would like to say I am grateful.
>
> Best regards,
> Canker Bane
>



My initial reaction regarding this reply?


Street artists are people too!

2009-02-15T22:57:00.000-08:00

Within myself I find a compulsion to create, a compulsion that is both a feeling and a desire simultaneously. It has been present for as long as I can remember, and to this day I love how when fed, it continues to manifest itself in new, tangible ways.
Printmaking is currently my favorite form of expression. I love the stage of preparation, whether it be exposing a silk-screen or carving a linoleum block. It is relaxing and soothing, and offers me an opportunity to escape from the craziness of the world for a short period of time. When the preparation is complete, there is an always an overwhelming sense of satisfaction that swells after the first print is made, a sense of satisfaction that only grows after every print.
Recently I have fallen in love with Typography, which propels my love for Printmaking and has piqued my interest in the field of Graphic Design. Typography appeals to me because of its infinite possibilities with seemingly set resources – the letters and numbers of language. With these twenty-six letters and ten numbers you can create art and designs that evoke fear, sorrow, and joy – every emotion within the human spectrum.
Artists who are prolific and create things on massive scales inspire me. Viewing the works of Richard Serra, Posterchild, Robert Smithson, Rone, Barry McGee, and many other artists drives me to better myself and my art. How far I wish to go with my art, I am not yet sure. But I truly believe that it is always better to do something in and with life rather than nothing at all. There is nothing wrong with seeking the best.
The purpose of my finished art is to serve others. I take the time to indulge in it and be selfish as I plan and create it, but once I feel that I am finished the art is no longer mine – it is the worlds. With my art I seek to inspire, to instigate, and to catalyze those who experience it. I wish for my art to help people feel things they have never felt before, to make them think things their paradigm would not have normally allowed, and to spark action within their hearts. If my art achieves nothing and if the audience walks away with little more than exposure to something nice, I have failed. For then my art is useless, as good as wallpaper, and I and the world have no need for useless art.

randumb.

2009-02-13T11:02:00.000-08:00

So I sent an email recently to Posterchild, thanking him for inspiring me. Let's see what happens

Today will be a fun fact Friday.
FUN FACT:
Whenever I sit in front of a computer, there are always specific sites I go to regularly just to download pictures. First, it was 4chan. I would go to the /hr/ board and download what appealed to me. The pro of 4chan was that things are created in threads, so if I see a thread I like I get lots of pictures around the same topic. The con of 4chan was that it was the cancer of the internetand possibly society and was destroying me.
Werd.
So now I use Ffffound. (Thanks C_ _ _ _ _ _.) And I am very very very satisfied. Very.
Why?
Because I actually like pretty much ALL the images. Sure, they're mostly art & design related. But I think that's super super cool.
(in case it wasn't already obvious, when I can't think of an appropriate adjective I just repeat basic ones.)

Something I found recently that I really like:

Yeeaahh!

Maybe one day Ffffound will link to here. That is a hope.

Parson's Challenge.

2009-02-01T23:52:00.000-08:00

Morning.
Every morning I wake up and I have to do the exact same thing. I'm tired of doing this, every morning of every day of every week of every year.
I feel like I've lost myself in this flow that is life, and that the feeling is absent and now I'm not sure what is present.
My thoughts are fluid but they never remain on any one thing, especially I. It’s hard to believe that right now is the now, and everything happens.
Why do I find it so hard to find everything real?

Noon.
You sit there staring at yourself in the mirror but when you look away the moment is gone, and the reality fades away.
Your head turns back and your eyes lock once again, and this time things are different. Some thing seems to be clicking.
You take a moment to ponder but the enormity of the thoughts you touch upon overwhelms you completely.
You are satisfied though, that at least you’re getting somewhere.
You look forward to comprehension.

Evening.
He walked out of the room with a smile on his face.
Someone who wasn't familiar with him might have thought him crazy.
But that was not the case.
The smile on his face was one of satisfaction.

Casually he took a pen and drew a line on the wall, called his grandfather over and soaked in his reaction.
He sighed with a smile.
This was life.

Portfolio.

2009-02-01T23:51:00.000-08:00

Austin
24x10 in., silk-screen on paper, 06/2008

Canker Sore
14x17 in., linoleum block on paper, 10/2008

Glasses
5x8 in., watercolor/ink on paper, 12/2009

Bing Bing
5x8 in., acylic/ink on paper, 01/2009

Spartan Legacy Shirt
10x15 in., bleach on cloth sewed on t-shirt, 07/2008

Blonde Redhead Love T-Shirt w/close-up of design
8x10 in., spray-paint/stencil on t-shirt, 11/2008

Cpt. Emo T-Shirt w/ close-up of design
10x15 in., spray-paint/stencil on t-shirt, 09/2008

Cliffs
11x15inc., collage on paper, 08/2008

Explosion
11x15 in., collage on paper, 08/2008

Waterfall
10x10 in., collage on paper, 08/2008

Wave
10x10 in., collage on paper, 08/2008

Whirlpool
10x10 in., collage on paper, 08/2008

Love story.

2009-01-24T13:39:00.000-08:00

It all started six years ago, that morning still etched vividly into my memory. The rain poured heavily that day as it combated with the blanket of mist for control of the ground. The streets everywhere were empty as people sought shelter from the elements, and alone I walked through the gray city and strode through the curtains of water.
That’s when I saw her.
The dress she wore was a bright, rich red and shone in sharp contrast against the surrounding landscape. She sheltered herself with a bamboo umbrella and on her back carried a bundle swathed in burlap. She carried herself elegantly and cleanly, the only expression of life that dull morning.
You captivated me the instant I saw you.
But what you looked like, that is not important anymore. Only who you were matters.
I stood where I was in the street, unable to take my eyes off of her. She continued to walk and, without the slightest show of hesitation or interest, walked by as if I didn’t exist. Her umbrella shielded her eyes, but beneath it I could see her mouth and the faintest sign of a grin. Holding her umbrella steadily she walked through and left the town.
The next morning it rained as it had the previous day, and I walked the same route, my thoughts not on any one thing.
That’s when I saw her again.
The same actions were enacted out as if it were the same morning. She walked and shielded herself from the elements with her umbrella, and on her back was the same bundle. Again she just strode by, but this time I saw her eyes and together our gazes locked for a slight second.
These mornings continued for what seemed like eternity, but finally the rain let up and she disappeared along with it. Never had the two of us spoken a single word, yet I felt decimated by this loss. Those countless sightings of silent presence had become so much -- just the two of us in the world, aware of nothing else but each other.
When the rain stopped, people flooded out of their houses and buildings and the world came back into color. But I did not care. I only wanted to see her.
Years passed, and every morning when it rained I thought about her. I would walk into the empty street, and would look for her and her red dress, her dress that could never be missed in this drear, drenched landscape.
After enough time, any hope of seeing her again vanished from my soul, and walking out those rainy, empty mornings became just a habit – nothing more, nothing less.
Then one morning it rained particularly hard, and every drop on my face felt like a slap of admonition.
And that’s when I saw her.

Waves crashed against the small island, generating a roar that only intensified the current atmosphere. As rain poured down in torrential sheets and lightning cracked in the distance, two figures stood silhouetted against the chaos. They paid little heed to the elements threatening to overpower them, but saw only each other. The man had facial features like those of a hawk, and his very persona radiated the intensity of a born predator. His hair was short and his stance natural, despite the strength of the wind that constantly whipped against him and his coat, his calmness frightening. Both of his claw-like hands were empty, yet on his back he carried an unmarked, hard black case, which looked as if it could hold nothing other than one broomstick.
The woman stood opposite the man on the island, and from her stance and expression one gathered an aura of confidence and elegance. She stood clothed in a dress which flowed around her slim, athletic body. On her face, she wore a smirk but that was the only prominent facial feature which betrayed any emotion, as her eyes were covered by the bangs of her hair. As for the rest of her hair, it was tied up tautly in a bun and meticulously placed on the top of her head.
“We know each other well, don’t we?” the man said.
“After being married for over 15 years, I would imagine so,” the woman replied. “But you know why we have to do this.”
“I won’t give you the case. You know that’s not possible.”
The woman’s smirk grew into a grin, and she said, “Well I suppose I’ll just have to take it then, won’t I?”
From seemingly nowhere they both drew forth weapons with seconds and began immediately. The combat was intense, and they both felt the pressure of the situation. Only one of them would be able to leave this island and alive, and both were intent making sure that one wasn’t the other. The man had been concealing three revolvers in his coat, and began firing at a rapid pace. He would juggle the pistols, firing two at a time while a third was suspended in the air waiting for its moment. His technique was excellent, yet so was the woman’s.
From her dress she had withdrawn a long, steely sword which bore little emotion compared to her. She was clearly enjoying herself as she leapt forward and deflected the man’s bullets, cutting through them as if they were cotton candy. The woman approached and closed ground quickly, and within seconds she was in front of the man. She let out a grin, feeling victory close at hand.
The man had not dropped his composure this entire time, and this was no exception. Coolly, he blocked the woman’s overhead swing with the guns in his two hands, and as the woman’s delight melted away, he craned his neck and caught the third gun with his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered.
And with that, he jerked his mouth forward, emptying the contents of the revolver in the woman’s face. Her body twitched for a moment, and then slumped down slowly onto the man’s. The man caught her with his arms, and gently lifted her up. The woman’s face was the still the epitome of beauty, and displayed no shock or sadness whatsoever. With the woman in his arms, the man turned towards the sea and began to walk. When he encountered the water, he kept moving forward, and as the water moved up his body, he continued to walk. Soon, only his head was visible, and then, he was gone.

I just realized it's like "Mr. and Mrs. Smith" but the woman dies.
Oh well.

2009-01-15T13:48:00.000-08:00

Ordering 2000 stickers online was one of the best things I've ever done for myself.
You don't have to know who the girl on the sticker is. Just know that at one time she was significant in my life and now she's gone (and I've never felt better).

Do you see the new "Followers" module on the right hand side? If you have a Blogspot you should follow this blog, then we could be the bestest internet friends ever. And if you don't have a Blogspot you should RSS this site. And if you don't know how to do that you should just press "ctrl+D" and bookmark this site and check it regularly.
CANKERBANE: Shamelessly advertising itself on itself since 15 January 2008.

2009-01-06T09:31:00.000-08:00

Urban fighter seeks to combat the absence of free space one tag at a time until society destroys him.

People have this misconception that graffiti is all about the "what", the "where", and occasionally the "why". What the writer is putting up, where the piece is placed, and why the writer commits such actions.
But graffiti is more than this. A large element of the form is the "how". Not how the actual, physical process is executed on the street, but how the writer executes their work in entirety, from the depths of their mind to the expanses of the wall.

(Being opinionated scares me.)

2008-12-09T09:50:00.000-08:00

The food is consumed
Down into my being
And the drink is swallowed
To become part of me

My stomach still open
I am not yet full
Yet cautious now
I resist the pull

For the rice pot I check
And to my horrors I find
It is mostly empty
Now this rice is not mine

For if take the last rice
Straight from the pot
I must take a new batch
And that I want not

So I close the lid
And grab some chips
Then retreat to my room
And eat it with dip

2008-12-08T09:23:00.000-08:00

The end.

2008-12-04T11:34:00.000-08:00

The clouds look like vomit, but I kind of like that.
One of my dreams is to fly and generate paint instantaneously. It would be fun to soar through the clouds and paint them. Then when it rains, the paint would wash out of the clouds and color the ground.

...

Now that I think about it, my power would be nicer if I could make my paint disappear on will. People probably wouldn't appreciate waking up and seeing everything around them colored red.

2008-12-01T20:40:00.000-08:00

12Jesus entered the temple area and drove out all who were buying and selling there. He overturned the tables of the money changers and the benches of those selling doves. 13"It is written," he said to them, " 'My house will be called a house of prayer,' but you are making it a 'den of robbers.'"

: : :

For Kim-sama.
I have this nasty habit where I promise people things but push aside these promises for months. When I finally get around to fulfilling them (which never takes too long) the others excitement and eagerness is pretty much gone. Whoops.
Time to learn from my mistakes.

_____

I forgot how much fun it was to go and put up with other people. Thanks dear.

Beautiful Things

2008-11-20T09:18:00.000-08:00

One is walking one's dog down the street when one notices a man working on his front yard. It is apparent that the man owns the house by his dress and manner of work and the man is carry heavy cinder blocks up a flight of stairs to build a wall. When one stops walking and ties their dog to a post to go and help this man carry up the blocks, it is a beautiful thing.

The deaths of trees during the autumn are spectacular, the colors vibrant and radiant as the trees slowly fade away. They are dying yet as they exit they are splendid and one forgets to feel sadness. In the spring, the rebirth of the trees is breathtaking, flowers springing forth to signal a new beginning and life. The flowers on the tree offer pleasant aromas and are pleasing to one's sight. The death and life of trees is a beautiful thing.

One is lying on one's couch after a long day of work, relaxing before the television. Drowsiness is inevitable and as one begins to doze off, one notices their dog. The dog crawls onto the couch and curls up on one's legs, intent on joining one in their rest. The weight of the dog is heavy, but the warmth is welcome. This show of affection from dog to owner is a beautiful thing.

When people are talking with one another and are laughing because they find joy in the others presence, that is a beautiful thing.

One is away from the city, perhaps in the middle of a desert or a forest, looking up at the night sky. The plethora of stars one observes is magnificent and takes one's breath way. This natural show of grandeur is beautiful thing.

.UOY SEVOL OME NIATPAC

2008-11-12T10:38:00.000-08:00

Linoleum blocks are expensive!
When I made this, my mind flip-flopped a couple of times and I accidentally drew on all the text backwards. For whatever reason, it did not occur to me to just re-write everything so that the print would be all neat and proper.

Oh well.
That's why the giant "wHOOPS" is there.

_ _ _ _ _

haha

2008-11-08T17:02:00.000-08:00

It's a Selected-Sayings-Saturday!

"If there is no check on the freedom of your words, then let your hearts be open to the freedom of our actions."

"Do you go to church because you love God?"

t************ (12:08:00 AM): Why does it have to have a meaning?

t************ (12:08:11 AM): Maybe its just how you feel

t************ (12:08:17 AM): Or emotion

...

t************ (12:08:29 AM): It doesn't have to have a meaning

2008-11-07T09:39:00.000-08:00

The majority of the movies I watch are viewed using my computer. When I watch a movie and the movie fails to pique my interest, my fingers get restless. So what I do is I open up a Word document and I type as I'm watching the movie.

Recently I saw a movie called Kairo (Pulse). I had very high expectations for it due to all this hype I read about it on the internet, but believing the hype was a mistake. Something to keep in mind for the future: Don't believe the hype!

This movie was genuinely scary momentarily, but it was frustrating as hell and all the scary scenes amounted to nothing. It's like going up a roller coaster and finding out that once you're on top the ride's been designed to coast down at a leisurely walking pace and you feel cheated.

Consider what's below a movie review of sorts: a very personal, intimate, and sincere movie review.

Kairo (Pulse):

She forgot to give him her number. That's the girl from the Last Samurai. The Last Samurai, apparently, didn't too well in the United States, in terms of box office success, but it was supposedly a huge hit overseas. They see that kid? And they aren't freaked out? This music really adds to the atmosphere.

Have a go?

That's what the guy is saying. Have a go at what? Wow. That's just a little creepy. Whoever composed the music for this movie is amazing. It's really scary. Wow, that word is so shit. He disappeared. I see. He must be a student. I don't know him. Maybe you're right. Sorry I encouraged you. See you. Wait a minute. Just what was that? I'm cold.

Tagachi?

That tea sounds good. Maybe I'll get some for myself right now. The spirit it turns out the realm they live in is finite. Once it's filled to the brim, it's got to overflow somewhere. But where? The souls have no choice.

Maybe at first it started with something really simple.

You saw one yourself. I don't believe your stories. It's all hypothetical.

Michi what do you think going's on? Mike only asked me that so he could brag about how he can type more than 100 words a minute. Maybe. Maybe not. When I say something like that I sound like Brandon. Is our boss with you there by any chance. Thank you, and excuse me. I'll go look for him. Junco, wait. Yabe. Are you Yabe?

Okay. What the fuck is going on? I'm so confused. This movie makes no sense now. Don't cry. Aww. How sweet. The first and last time I typed on a real typewriter was at Uncle Gang-oon's house. You want to go back? To what's left of Harue? That make you feel better? Why did she shoot herself? I don't understand. No, let's go. As far as we can go. Are you sure about that? Yeah. I'm positive. Ghosts have entered the physical realm? What the flying fuck. So I guess the ghosts have weakened him.

Oh look, how convenient. There's a boat right there. Why do they keep on doing that "Wait here." shit. And how is that plane crashing. I don't understand what's going on. The ghosts are taking over everything?

The ghosts can just randomly kill people?

What the fucking shit. I'm going to have to look this movie up on Wikipedia later. Death comes to us all. But we chose to keep going, into the future. Killing yourself is easy. Living is hard. We'll head for Latin America. We're still getting signals form there. We've got to give it a try, no matter what we find. If anyone's survived, we can head out again and go as far as we can. Come on. Be strong. I don't like making my finger jump up like that. Now, alone with my last friend in the world, I have found happiness.

What the hell. What the fuck. What the shit just happened. I don't get that movie at all. To me, it seriously makes no fucking sense. So he's a ghost now too?

Beneficiary Squirrels

2008-11-05T14:17:00.000-08:00

"Beneficiary Squirrels" is a collaborative installation piece installed on campus at a school. The installation consists of three sculptures and two separate phases. The squirrels, which are constructed out of cardboard and decorated with paint, function as recycle receptacles. They were originally located at key areas throughout the school where students congregate during recess and lunch. They were intended to invade space and comfort zones, intriguing the viewer in the process, and lead to an ultimately helpful outcome.
It rained heavily the night following initial installation, thus some drastic changes had to be made, not only physically and structurally but conceptually as well. It was decided to return the squirrels back to their homes, the trees on campus. Their functionality as recycle bins was not demeaned by the addition of trees, but I feel supplemented. By adding something we try to protect through the process of recycling, it is in a way a form of instant gratification. Direct results abound.

Pre-Rain Installation:

E*****'s Pollock inspired squirrel.

W**-J**'s Pikachu inspired squirrel.

My squirrel lacked inspiration, so I did what I usually do when my inspiration runs dry: I put my face on it (along with the teams' faces).

Post-Rain Installation (after the elements raped our squirrels):

Team Squirrel:

2008-10-28T14:09:00.000-07:00

"QUIT STALIN, TAKE ACTION"

Free periodicals like X-press and LA Weekly are great for making stupid, nonsensical posters in massive quantities. The paste saturates the posters well and results in a very nice stick.

BONUS BONUS BONUS: If you make them using publications such as X-press and/or the back pages of LA Weekly, you can do the world a favor and put those pages to much better use. I'm sure the paper itself is much happier with an inane picture of Stalin adorning it than "1-800 DIAL A WHORE" printed.

These posters may be "stupid, nonsensical posters" yet in their stupidness and nonsensicalness they mean something to me.