The sound of one man's last two brain cells rubbing together to stay warm.
Author: john ingram
This iteration of John Ingram was created in response to increased demand in global John Ingramness. Previous incarnations were less suited to fulfill this need.
I’ve been collecting pictures that I really have meant to share, but keep getting distracted by my inherent laziness.
Is that… a lynx?
I don’t know what’s going on here, but I like the way it sounds. Let’s test this hypothesis!
FLYING SQUIRREL!
Two new DESTROY stickers. The first is definitely new, and evidence that the movement still has its champions. The second looked older, and is in a neighborhood I never visit, so it may be a relic of past endeavors.
The following were sent to me from the Bay Area.
I’m conjuring up all the good juju I can manage and sending out waves of positive vibes to make all your dreams come true. Bask in their glory and know that my word is law. All that is meant to be shall come to pass. Nil desperandum, dearest.
I received the first submission tonight for the Dead Voices; White Noise project, so I wanted to take this opportunity to remind my darling readers of the fast-approaching deadline. As with all such things, this deadline can be flexible if need is established. If you’re currently working on something and think you may need a few extra days to finish, feel free to email me and let me know. Otherwise, if you have intentions to contribute, I look forward to receiving your correspondence within the next two weeks.
There are things that are false, and then there are things that ring so clearly with all that is true that their tone can be described only as clarion. Piercing the din of white noise that defines our daily lives with a shrillness and clarity that is simultaneously horrifying and mesmerizing. Truth, like brown-flecked blue orbs, stares me in the eye and makes its intentions known. I shiver as it grazes my soft underbelly.
Since the progenitors of humanity first began clinging to one another, forming social bonds and establishing the basis for the clan behavior that defines our species, one simple directive has held true, and this deceptively innocuous sticker sums it up with the succinctness that only the Twitter Generation™ could manage. Truer words have never been spoken; a truer ideal has never been more difficult to attain. Why? Is it because we rarely know what it is that we truly need? Or is it because what we truly need is rare to us? And how often do we realize, too late, that what we truly need is what has just slipped through our fingers? Are we too busy or distracted with those aspects of our lives that we have endowed with an unworthy importance, and thus miss those things truly are important; or was Cinderella right and you really Don’t Know What You’ve Got (Till It’s Gone)?
I am all of the above. Sometimes all at once. It is during those moments, when the stars have aligned and imbued me with the unstoppable power of a juggernaut, that feel the most dangerous. Fortunately those moments are few enough and far enough apart to prevent me from wreaking any significant havoc.*
Sent to me from Philly by my favorite classy sassy lady. This is my kind of incidental art. Not only does it make no sense, whatsoever, it reflects the kind of graffiti I would create if I could be arsed to sneak around the city in the middle of the night with a bag of spray paint cans. Viva la (business casual) revolution!
Taken in a scrap yard during my recent trip to Virginia. I think it pretty much speaks for itself, and its awesomeness is self-evident. Humbly, I bow to thee, graffiti skull…
The link to this from Google had been clicked before, so I hope I’m not repeating myself (heaven forbid!), but this should be required listening. For that reason alone, I forgive myself any transgressions or faux pas committed by repeating content.
Until then, etc. etc.
*I swear the X-Men character references in this paragraph were completely unintentional. (dirty) Pinky swear.
I really needn’t belabor this subject, but that it seems to upset the anarchists when “yuppies” such as myself* blog about their activities. I can’t, in good faith, ignore the opportunity to sprinkle sand in their collective vagina.
Burn it ALL down. Starting with this person’s house. The wise revolutionary will tell you not to riot in your own neighborhood, but when you lack any manner of discrimination, as this tag would suggest, then why not start at home. You’ll prove your point that way. At least, I won’t doubt your resolve…
Hrm. This sounds less like anarchy and more like moral nihilism. Or lyrics from a Black Flag song.
Alright. Enough is enough. I feel like this one might be the flyer that most supports my theory that this movement is perpetuated by disaffected teenagers. “Fuck the high schools”? I mean, sure, most people hate high school, but is it really worth angry graffiti? “Snuff your landlord”? Then who’s going to replace your stove when it goes out, or fix the toilet? “You wonder why we burn the cities down” Actually… Wait. What? Which cities did you burn down? Are you O’Leary’s cow? The least you could do, if you’re going to espouse such boldness, is not hide behind turtlenecks and bandannas. Anonymous anger is impotent anger.
The most ridiculous thing I saw all day. Part of me is pretty jealous of how this instrument is awesome to the max.
Caveat emptor, revolutionary motherfuckers.
* Yes, I laughed pretty hard when I read the comment that alludes to my being a yuppie. If only…
