September 23, 2008 by Thomas Traum
Post 1:
PARTY PHOTOGS: DON’T COME TO PRIVATE PARTIES. IF PEOPLE IN CHICAGO WANT THEIR PICTURES TAKEN BY STRANGERS THEY’LL GO TO DEBONAIR THE SOCIAL CLUB OR THE EVIL OLIVES OR CROBAR OR SOMETHING. EXISTING IN A SPACE IS DIFFERENT FROM EXPERIENCING OR INTERACTING WITHIN THAT SPACE, AND PHOTOGRAPHY DOESN’T GIVE YOU SOCIAL IMMUNITY. IF YOU RUN SOME KIND OF BLOG THAT SHOWS PICTURES FROM ALL THE COOL PARTIES YOU GO TO WITH PEOPLE YOU DON’T KNOW AND THE PEOPLE EVENTUALLY FEEL AS THOUGH YOU’RE A MANIPULATIVE ASSHOLE BENT ON EQUATING YOUR DEPICTION OF OTHER HUMANS WITH THEIR APPROVAL OF YOU, DON’T BE SURPRISED IF THEY EVENTUALLY TIRE OF YOUR INTRUSIVE ACTIONS AND SHOW DISAPPROVAL. I GO TO PRIVATE PARTIES BECAUSE I WANT JUST THAT- PRIVACY. YOUR INVITATION TO A PRIVATE PARTY IS NOT AN INVITATION TO TREAT IT AS A PUBLIC SPACE- YOU ARE INVITED AS A PERSON ALONE, NOT A PERSON WHO’S PAID TO PHOTOGRAPH.
PARTY PHOTOGS: NOT EVERY SKATE SESSION NEEDS A FILMER. NOT EVERY PARTY NEEDS A PHOTOGRAPHER. I’M HAPPY WITH MY MEMORIES. I’M HAPPY WITH PEOPLE I KNOW TAKING MY PICTURE. I’M JUST AS HAPPY WITH STORIES AS I AM WITH PICTURES. I DON’T NEED STRANGERS TO TELL ME HOW MY NIGHT WAS. LEAVE ME ALONE.
http://bradtroemel.blogspot.com/2008/09/re-saturday-night-party-photog-incident.html
Post 2:
Some interesting quotes:
http://bradtroemel.blogspot.com/2008/09/in-case-you-didnt-read-adbusters-this.html
June 7, 2008 by Thomas Traum
A rainy day layed up thinkin
Sitting gettin bent
Watchin old seventy flicks
Minds on the slouch
Back on the couch
Heard the phone ring
It was a shorty from uptown I met back day.
Long time no hear from
No doubt long time no see
I heard you had a seed a baby girl and now she 3.
Whats up wit that cat
You know who your baby pops
Slung rocks up top then heard he got knocked
He home
Fuck dat nigga I’m on my own
Matter fact got my own crib
Plus Im all alone
Word?
The bitch is bad
Chill son she got me tempted
Reminiscing the fatty
Jumped in the ride I rented
rest Tims
Mecca dice well presented
Sippin E & J straight
Was bent when I entered
Gave her a hug
Stared her straight into her mug
She aint shes a bithch back then and now its bugged
Turned the VCR on
Friday, my favorite flick
Its hard for me to drink Alize I take a sip
Got into convo, How you been over the years?
Neglected, stressed out, and living in fear
Whatchu mean, I thought you left that cat which was true
Im not talkin about him
Another dude
Been wit him for a year and had a baby by him — Word?
Matter fact you saw him, downstairs you walked by him
Now thinks its a setup
Could it be or maybe not.
She said dont sweat it he dont got the top lock
Tried to play it cool. But in my head shorties wildin
Using me to get the next nigga jealous called up the fellas.
Ty Nitty line was busy so I beeped Gotti, Gotti was
with Trip and two other grimees, The Twinz
Let me begin then explain
Im at this bitch crib and I think she got me framed
Stuck without a gat
Now prepare for combat,
Gave the address, told my son theres more cats be here in a second
Big gats no half steppin
They flippin on me talkin bout I never learn my lesson
I laughed an additional hit them with the math
Hung up the jack, While shorty soaked in the bath.
Played the living room.
Dozed off for a second.
When I woke up shorty was standing ass naked.
Make moves stepped to the room.
All this bullshit pussy better be good
Through off my champion hood
Slow motion
All arm bent off the potion
Shorty went down and had a nigga wide open
It was over Laid up in the cut
I heard a thump
Jumped up threw on my boxers
Yo, What the fuck?
All of a sudden
I saw this black motherfucker with this big ass gat and two other
motherfuckers
Black masks, Clutching duct tape no escape
Tied me up, smacked me all in my face
Shorty wasnt even screamin
Looked up saw ‘em schemin
“Yeah, yeah, we got this nigga now, we got this”
All bloodied up, shook the fuck up
Held for ransom, they yelled, smiled and started dancin
Let them know they had me hostage
Threw me on the phone said son
Dont worry son we got this
Regardless of the outcome
All this bullshit
Take a nigga word
Dont never go see a bitch, word
May 17, 2008 by Thomas Traum
“To own the means of production is the only way for a designer/workman to gain back pleasure in work, and this, in return, is considered as a prerequisite for the production of (applied) art and beauty.”
(I guess this is somewhat a manifesto encouraging coding your own tools)
April 17, 2008 by Thomas Traum
Lynx looks so good… I want to do a wp theme for it. Would be ace for a twitter skin too.
March 15, 2008 by Thomas Traum
“There are times, however, and this is one of them, when even being right feels wrong. What do you say, for instance, about a generation that has been taught that rain is poison and sex is death? If making love might be fatal and if a cool spring breeze on any summer afternoon can turn a crystal blue lake into a puddle of black poison right in front of your eyes, there is not much left except TV and relentless masturbation. It’s a strange world. Some people get rich and others eat shit and die.”
—Gonzo Papers, Vol. 2: Generation of Swine: Tales of Shame and Degradation in the ’80s, 1988
March 3, 2008 by Thomas Traum
Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.
- Arthur C. Clarke
December 13, 2007 by thomastraum
Word of the day: Sugar Rush
October 6, 2007 by thomastraum
I’m gettin the ahh, I’m gettin the ahh from the
weak shit that I hear no lyrical styles come near
to the one who boasts like Buck
On the mic truck, cuz I never gave a fuck
I hate the weak shit, man it be fuckin with my soul
I peeped how radio be trying to take control
Tellin me to get a little lighter on my lyrics
But if it ain’t real on the mic I can’t feel it
Straight from my bloodstream, I pump finesse
Nevertheless, hold it in your chest like stress
Rhythm and blues style is not in my environment
And when I “slowww dowwwn” it’s time to take a hit
But until I fall off, call off your set
and if you never knew me, then you never knew wreck
Look inside of the mind and see
Cause you might be trapped with a nigga like me
I feel like I’m trapped in the motherfuckin cave
To the rhythm I’m a slave, lookin in my grave
Jugulur vein bustin out my neck, you see the rage
I move when I groove cuz I’m into, the stage
of the Buckshot, black, I’m bringin it back
to the roots, like Timberland boots, home on my rack
And I don’t give a FUCK what you say
Commercial rap, get the gun clap, day after day
Niggaz don’t play on the d low, kid you know my steelo
I roll on more niggaz than cee-lo
We might just bumrush your set
Me AND my niggaz on the real mic check
Like my nigga Smif gettin swift on the gift
Then I toss another lesson to my nigga Wessun
And my nigga Five from the tribe of Moon
Pass the Crooked I, bitch yo pass the boom
Whenever you’re ready I’ma take you into the stage
Deep in the mind of a slave
