i like to network with creative musicians and performance artists who are into industrial and experimental electronic music, classical music deconstructionists. fetish performers, rubber/vinyl fashion designers, sculpters, painters, photographers and dark poets.
filmmakers. i like to collaborate on interesting independent film projects as actor, writer or director. don't be shy about contacting me, i'm very open to new ideas.
women wearing tight rubber catsuits who like to discuss the metaphysical implications of my aesthetic perspectives on music.
occultists of all persuasions. my main area of interest is the qabalah and that dynamic reference point and fertile map of the psycho-spriritual structure of the universe, the tree of life. students of the golden dawn and the o.t.o.
magickians who would like to take part in public performance rituals.
'the khabs is in the khu, not the khu in the khabs'. mega therion
'good is what you like. evil is what you don't like'. anton lavey
artists. i like to support artists and i dig live shows so if you are performing or have an art or photo exhibition or eclectic fashion show or are showing your movie or video at a festival or gallery please let me know.
smart, funny, abstract thinkers. people who think they are god. god's who think they're people.i love a contrary and provocative point of view, especially my own, be sure to send me yours.
visit nicodemus at the brilliant blitz kids uk site at http://www.theblitzkids.com/site_archive/dawndavenport1/nico
1.html - go to 'index' to sample a goldmine of truly fanatic pages of the greatest underground stars, cult heroes, glam divas and club creatures from all over the world brought together by brazilian make-up artist danilo monzillo.
bands who wish to be added should click on the 'men smash atoms' logo at my friends list below.
'every man and every woman is a star' - therion
enjoy more propaganda atwww.nicodemusweb.com
smiling buddha, sleeping yogi says
a good friend of mine who lives in another country said 'being famous is being what you are'. he was talking about being in the moment, being here now. that's what i strive for, nothing more. well, there's a lot more...but nothing less. sometimes you can sense one of the others looking for, or maybe being in, a similar space and you look at each other, you want to initiate contact, you want to hug them and they want to hug you but you're afraid to open up ancient emotions and you both look away.
i receive thousands of emails from people i've never heard of, hawking products i'll never need but when i walked out on lincoln road i couldn't park (i don't have a car so i rented a bicycle that could be towed) i couldn't smoke (i don't but i coughed a lot) i couldn't have sex on the sidewalk with a goat (i bought her dinner but i didn't want her to feel obligated) she said 'you're not handsome and you're not ugly but you do have a korean boatload of charisma and i'd like to smoke it'. so i was immediately addicted to goat cheese.
there was no free speech (just the expensive packaged kind that spews out of the tv) and a ban on kites (even thou an angry stranger told me to go fly one) no walking on the grass (so a group of rastafarian gentlemen from the head shop on the corner rolled it instead) and no enjoying my lunch at pinateca without three homeless people asking me for money. the first one got it all because he told me my tattoos were 'cool man, you've got style' i gave him five dollars and he confessed 'i never get dollars in this town, i make way more money back in portland'. i suppressed the urge to tell him to immediately piss off back there (and anyway, he had a cool tattoo too).
i want to be like arthur stace, the guy who used to write eternity on the sidewalks in sydney, but I can't think of an interesting word. 'pomposity' might be good. he was probably the first graffiti artist (except for what michelangelo did to the vatican). he even used chalk, no spray paint. socrates said 'no harm can come to a good man' but even socrates from his greek sky eyes could not turn a hemlock into a banana milkshake. poor socrates.
einstein said 'e equals mc hammer' or something, i think. anyway, he had a way with words (and numbers). mona lisa didn't smile much but she laughed at my dirty jokes. yin is the opposite of yang except when yang wants to be on top and chi is not available. kundalini often calls but i am usually partying with samadhi. what did zen say to swami (oh shut up you sack of shit, this is getting silly. no zen did not say that, i am saying that). i am going off to meditate with good karma, just to make bad karma jealous.
i was just watching ken loachs terrific film 'hidden agenda' where a british cop, investigating the death of an american civil rights activist, told an mi6 operative that he suspected a political conspiracy. the agent replied 'my dear man, all politics is a conspiracy'. a quote on screen from peter wright regarding mi6: 'it is like peeling an onion, the more layers you peel, the more lies you expose, the more you want to weep'. hullo! bang a gong.
smiling buddha, sleeping yogi says euthanasia is big in amsterdam, they have walk in facilities. imagine getting shit-faced at a club and walking in by accident, you thought it was a strip joint and the neon sign said 'youth-in-asia'. you could'nt wake up the next day and say you did't mean it, you want to live, it's all a big mistake. i wonder what it's like, being dead. is it all worms and stuff or do our splendidly beautific souls float through all eternity singing ebtide by the righteous brothers or the chorus of mozarts requiem mass.
i once owned a faux monkey hair jacket so when i saw a similar one in the goodwill store on alton road i thought this is so cool my eyes are bleeding. i tried it on and realized it was the top half of a gorilla suit meant for halloween. without any effort at all i started screaming and hanging from the rafters and crawling across the ceiling. the owners called the aspca and now i'm in a zoo, writing this on a wall with spider dung. if you're reading this please send me some more spiders.
did you know that the air and water protection act only protects air and water, not people. i'm lucky because i am in good with air. water, well… i'm not so close, we have our differences…
when i'm hobnobbing with the glitterati and committing a little surreptitious anti-genre art enforcement, i always wear the highest standards in personal protection, a full body hydraulic rubber catsuit with a lightweight ergonomic design. this assists me in completing my mission safely by reducing intellectual stress and psychic fatigue. lined with shock absorbing foam optimized to withstand 100 caliber dada trauma to the head, it has been tested successfully on subjects exposed to the avant-garde, satanism and broadway musicals.
every state of the art fragment defeating material has been employed in the suit, underlining my goal to prevent the number one threat faced by artists and performers alike, a blast situation with discordant sound collages and surrealistic image fragments of different shapes and sizes tearing into the human psyche at supersonic velocities, sometimes emanating from the repetitive pulse and thud of industrial music or the operatic incantations of a black mass or a film by kenneth anger.
or hitler’s 1937 ‘degenerate art’ exhibition (entartete kunst) which included the most talented artists of the early twentieth century, who he wanted to expose to public ridicule. it totally backfired on der fuhrer and became the first blockbuster traveling art show. hail marc chagall, hail max ernst, kurt schwitters, otto dix, george gross, oskar schlemmer, kandinsky…et al. i saw an amazing recreation of this exhibition at the los angeles county museum of art and no, i wasn’t wearing the rubber suit but i did have an elegant gas mask handy just in case.
i'm attempting a radical departure from the unusual and striving to be ordinary but my magnificence is getting in the way, it's a real burden carrying around all this charm and charisma so said lord oblong. i created lord oblong as a square who played the triangle for the rectangular misfits at the hole in the wall pyramid club which rounded out the evening just nicely i'm sure. for my next gig i want klaus nomi, yma sumac and tiny tim as back-up singers. oh, and hermann goering on bass if he’s not too busy.
all monies generated will be put towards my campaign for peace through nudism and I intend to declare myself a candidate for god. if elected will personally clone the dna of my alleged son christ, time permitting of course. most of my friends tell me that i have a brilliant future behind me…and most of my enemies too.
the source of all earthly life is certainly a great mystery and whether we evolved from a mass of protoplasmic slime or were intelligently designed previously remained unanswered for me. but I am now convinced, after studying the exhilarating data, that the universe was created by none other than the fabulous flying spaghetti monster.(see link below). i predict that the fsm will become the new mass religion…er, science, or whatever.
i am no master of linguistic paradox but I hope to play one on television. i’m all for alien abduction, especially of christians, perish the catholic guilt thought.
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hail strange artworks from fringe dwelling galleries. hail occult tattoos, underground comics and post graffiti street art and pop surrealist oil paintings and pop surrealist crayon drawings and pop surrealist music or surrealist music with no pop. hail deconstructionist noise paintings and dada noise and just noise like the drilling in the street outside your house. hail dada drilling. hail the end of ‘pop’. i’ve just completed a dada-pop-surrealist-musical-oil-painting and it’s available on e-bay for pennies on the deutsche mark. pop goes the weasal.
the weather got very cold down here, i even wore my leather jacket to run the beach, i kid you not. it didn’t stop hordes of wide eyed tourists swarming in, getting sloppy all over the art deco furniture. i avoid the amateur hordes at any time of the year and especially new year. hey, i’m a professional partier, i vomit elegant like samuel beckett, fall down in poetry like dylan thomas, i ‘do not go gentle into that good night’.
aleister crowley recorded an album of magickal chants way back when that was all the rage. on the cover he had photos of some of the beatles and kenneth anger and other way too cool esoteric types like gurdieff and nietzsche. in fact he would often employ an esoteric typist who was also a minimalist who told nietzsche jokes, like: 'believe me, the secret of the greatest fruitfulness and the greatest enjoyment of existence is: to live dangerously!' and 'god is dead!' guffaw all round mister n.
everyone seems to be talking on their cell phones, all the time and all at once. today the guy behind me in the health food store was shouting ‘no, serve him the papers, evict the bastard’. used to be i would walk around yabbering to myself and some unkind folks called me crazy, now i just hold a phone to my head and it all looks normal. when i pass guys wearing suits i say ‘buy’ and ‘sell’ in my best radio voice. they always smile and give me the thumbs up.
everyone seems to be chattering on the computer, all the time and all at once. i hardly spoke to anyone in person today but i talked to 800 people on the cell phone, sent 14 million emails and spent six days in a chat room - and i wasn’t even chatting, just napping under the metaphors.
i just walked into the hexagon gallery bathroom but the comfort station was upside down. this inverted white porcelain urinal was a copy of marcel duchamp’s 'fountain' so I stood on my head and went anyway. when you’ve gotta go…
i’m busy writing a tell-nothing book. i really want to reveal absolutely nothing about my life. i will not fail to leave out anything, every sordid detail won’t be covered. it’s going to be in black and white of course, especially the color photographs. nothing will not be omitted. zen equals zen.
it will be full of instant memorabilia that includes a pop-up steel corset, one size fits all. my identity will be forged, as if written by someone else, possibly a nomad gypsy midget of my acquaintance who’s eager to get a foothold on the lecture circuit. it’ll have an x rating, x for crossed out, missing, not here, fill in the blanks. the working title is ‘i was not a friend of mahatma ghandi’.
death to celebrity, life to charisma. what cult value does my post-industrial art have?
i don’t stand on principle, but i will stand on you. i will stand for what is right or what is write. i will stand for the write to be right. write on! i don’t stand on tradition but i will step on your face. all over the place. hey mister, turn me on.
henry miller. miller: henry. did I mention henry miller? shakespeare is my first love but henry miller is my hot bitch on the side. entering miller is to enter a world where words are obscene and beautiful, where fucking is a rite, where unknown doors are opening and darkness is always falling. where are we now, paris, brooklyn or berlin? somehow it doesn’t matter. when i read his stream of consciousness i didn’t know it was banned for 25 years, seemed real relevant to me.
but hey, i don’t get out much.
jesus called, said he prays to me. i told him i don’t want to make his father angry. later god called, pissed off and using that baritone gregory peck voice he appropriated, said please discourage j from wearing the inverted pentagram at christian revivalist meetings, makes him look like a hypocrite.
….to be continued
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