Monday, March 28, 2005

a dyc fu 111: if you were to do a film, would you be 50% aesthetics, 50% dialogue OR would it be more of one and less or the other?
booce boogie: i think i'm more of an aesthetics kinda guy, but i guess that's just because a) i'm still immature and b) i can't write good dialogue
la dyc fu 111: mroe aesthetics doesn't mean you are immature!
booce boogie: i think architecture has permanently changed the way i see things
la dyc fu 111: b is understandable
la dyc fu 111: but at least you know there's room to get better at writing good dialogue
la dyc fu 111: what you mean by that
booce boogie: haha yeah
booce boogie: i just have an urge... to PHOTOSHOP everything i see
booce boogie: even things in real life
booce boogie: i see something that i think could be different
booce boogie: i wish life had an adobe photoshop command
booce boogie: we could come in and sweep things
booce boogie: color adjust, contrast control, copy, paste
booce boogie: hide things
booce boogie: filter things up
la dyc fu 111: welll...
la dyc fu 111: is that what stenciling, graffiti, stickering is for...
la dyc fu 111: isn't that what architecture is for?
la dyc fu 111: planting ?
la dyc fu 111: signage?
la dyc fu 111: store front windows?
la dyc fu 111: etc
la dyc fu 111: you could have the control
la dyc fu 111: of shaping it
la dyc fu 111: "photoshopping it"
la dyc fu 111: video projections...
la dyc fu 111: projecting onto the city
la dyc fu 111: onto the layers
la dyc fu 111: manipulating it
la dyc fu 111: makeing it into something else
la dyc fu 111: something new
la dyc fu 111: or something to be remembered
la dyc fu 111: of the past
la dyc fu 111: or such
la dyc fu 111: all i'm saying is, you can photoshop reality as well
la dyc fu 111: 3d and not just 2d
la dyc fu 111: just gotta think of the ways
la dyc fu 111: the possibilities
booce boogie: haha
la dyc fu 111: it's easy to say "i'm more aesthetic cause i'm immature and not good with writing good dialogue"
la dyc fu 111: it's harder to say "i'm more aesthetic"
la dyc fu 111: and to leave it at that

Friday, March 25, 2005

may 13 is the short film deadline for resfest 2005. mmmmmm...

for a wee bit, 12 monkeys was my favorite movie of all time. doesn't terry gilliam sort of looks like a cheshire cat? i like the production sketches of his next film (over here!!) ... am i the only one who really really wants to watch a rococo horror film?

Thursday, March 24, 2005


in france, keyboards aren't "qwerty," but "azerty." i find this nice - the arch-enemies A and Z are forced to sit side-by-side, sulking, with arms crossed and lips pouted. sometimes i wonder if the letters A and Z are former ex-lovers who can't remember each other, like characters from murakami's 100% perfect girl, and the 24 letters between them are the 55%, 75%, 95% perfect people they meet in search of each other. maybe they will run into each other one april morning, somewhere across a skyline made out of alphabets, they're trying to find each other with each word said out loud.
the "indie hipster" asian

is sooo the new "model minority" asian stereotype. you watch. we'll be breaking it down in asian am r2b fifteen years from now.

(photo blatantly stolen from bayarealove. swipe!)

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

oh, dope: banksy sneaks his artwork into 4 new york museums. in trenchcoat and glasses no less. (see the whole deal at wooster.)

i pulled a similar prank once. the kroeber art building was hosting an honors thesis show. i printed out my name on a slip of paper and tagged it next to the air-con control switch (the switches looked lonely in the corner, so i named them "disenchanted doves") and watched a few art kids/teachers muse at it in wonder.
andinh and i most likely broke our old record. 60+ hours together. non-stop. our binary star only broken when i fell asleep in the lobby of the hilton and he got kidnapped by his sister. added punishment: lili and calvin made me do jumping jacks when i woke up.

Friday, March 18, 2005

digital postcards

snapshots of the caltrans building in los angeles, by morphosis. this place is the matrix and aphex twins music videos, 80s video arcade games (think ms. pacman, think contra), a philip k dick shortstory, every single quasimoto record ever produced. it's structurally engineered breakdancing. i guess: it's home. i’d be a copy boy for this business in a heartbeat, just to be able to sneak through its lungs, leap across its curves and tangents. it’s jagged and joyful, arrogant and goofy, shrapnel in the eyes, fingerprints on every inch, maybe it’s architecture with a pulse, or love trying to manifest itself in steel.

mmm… i like.

Thursday, March 17, 2005

eddy zheng's hearing

this isn’t LA Law or Law and Order or the Rainmaker, this is just a courtroom, musky and brown, three rows of benches, the slow hum of a fan, the grey sky flirting through a window, and men handcuffed to each other, draped in dusty red outfits, each with a different set of wrinkles on their face, one looks like my high school math teacher, with a moustache that swings across his lip and hair that doesn’t seem to grow, but rather trips out of his scalp, falling lazily to the side; another has shy eyes and short hair and a nose that sticks gently out. the man i came to see sits next to him. i can’t breathe for a second when we make eye-contact – it’s strange to face an imprisoned man, slightly stranger to also see that he is asian, the slow curl of his frown looking like mine.

we stand in the back, we’re around 50 heads strong in number, all there to support eddy and his deportation case. the wait is unnerving – i watch quietly as the judge sentences several defendants to be deported back to Mexico. they are non-US citizens, and they are to be deported after serving their sentence for a felony. you can almost see them gutted as the judge sentences to be taken away within 24 hours – they waive their rights to a fair trial, to an attorney… what’s left seems to be a skin standing where a man/woman/youth/mother/father/son used to be, light, and ready to be taken with the wind.

and this is me, as always, trying to make things sound like a poem. but it’s isn’t – it’s just a stamp on a paper and a move on to the next person, another man, perhaps my age, my height, my eyes, but perhaps not, who might fight for his right to stay in the country, or might not. and i don’t know, i don't know.

eddy zheng’s case will continue for several weeks. i will update more as i get updates.

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

quasimoto - am i confused?
(astronaut ep, antidote, 2002)


kunt, dik, jixzan, ogr, panty, azn, vquoloh, gats, teeoohed, culo, tan, me, lib.

pams and missan, however, were not acceptable.

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

eddy zheng, friend and poet, will have his deportation hearing tomorrow morning. he was serving 7-to-life sentence in san quentin but recently got his parole approved. now he faces deporation because he is not a US citizen. please, please, please, join me tomorrow morning (9 am) at 630 Sansome in downtown SF on the 4th Floor.

from anmol:

It is crucial that people attend this hearing and fill the courtroom.


Deportation hearings and decisions are *very* political decisions and immigration officials are very influenced by community pressure. Eddy does have a very strong legal basis to win his deportation case, but community pressure will play an even bigger role in his deportation case than it did in winning his parole.

eddy zheng was one of the organizers of san quentin's first poetry slam. he was also one of the organizers who fought hard to get ethnic studies implemented in prison.

i'll be leaving SF by BART around 8:30 am - call my cell (310) 698 2187 or drop me an AIM (booceboogie) if you wanna roll with me. we'll be done by 11 am. call me/AIM me if you have any questions.

come, stranger, please come.
alias -unseen sights
(anticon, 2004)

unseen sights – maybe this is a song about you, or maybe it's about me, a soundtrack for some dream where i (or you) was a pencil and you (or i) were just scribbles and scratches, coming to life with the shy curve of a "p," the lonely "o," the frustrated slices of a "k," the nostalgic curl of an "e."

c'mon, c'mere. do me a favor: grab my cheeks and flap them open like a parachute, make a ripcord out of my nose n neck hair, tear me apart, dig me open, carve a hole in my head the way you’d scoop out melted ice-cream, BOK! BOK! BOK! into my ear, scream (a la garden state), mash a mosh-pit out of my neckline, please, with extra sugar on top. i'm restless, restless, restless.

this is what i miss: limber hearts and agile words, scratch and sniff alphabets, conversations that can be unpeeled from the ceiling. i like how you sing, how you talk. you have confidence, but you don't too, and it's the self-doubt that makes me wonder.

Monday, March 14, 2005

notes from this weekend:

the mountain was suspenseful to the 9th power, but i felt like a ballerina on rollerblades. the kind of day you can only end with korean bbq. EXTREME!!! shizzler has been activated.

cats i feasted snow with: we know how to time travel.

Friday, March 11, 2005

still on a james baldwin binge. i love this passage from his sonny's blues:

And, while Creole listened, Sonny moved, deep within, exactly like someone in torment. I had never before thought of how awful the relationship must be between the musician and his instrument. He has to fill it, this instrument, with the breath of life, his own. He has to make it do what he wants it to do. And a piano is just a piano. It's made out of so much wood and wires and little hammers and big ones, and ivory. While there's only so much you can do with it, the only way to find this out is to try; to try and make it do everything.

And Sonny hadn't been near a piano for over a year. And he wasn't on much better terms with his life, not the life that stretched before him now. He and the piano stammered, started one way, got scared, stopped; started another way, panicked, marked time, started again; then seemed to have found a direction, panicked again, got stuck. And the face I saw on Sonny I'd never seen before. Everything had been burned out of it, and, at the same time, things usually hidden were being burned in, by the fire and fury of the battle which was occurring in him up there.

freshman year, i was such a wanna-be jazzhead. two songs that creepy-crawly'd out of my dorm room after a 2 am run to yokohama station (tenshindon chicken and soy milk... untouchable.)

atmosphere - god's bathroom floor
(rhyme sayers, 1998)

handsome boy modeling school (w/ roisin murphy and j live) - the truth
( so... how's your girl?, tommy boy, 1999)
i finished reading the vintage james baldwin in a chinese restaurant on durant and telegraph. the book came just in time, i was raging after catching some angry from from angryasianman about the murder of a chinese delivery man in queens, new york.

city councilman john liu calls it out as it is: "People worry about a perception that we are not real people, that we really aren't Americans. It's like killing a dog. The notion that an Asian person is not human is what permits two or three 16-year-olds to commit a crime of such brutality."

i was at a loss for words, but james baldwin's my dungeon shook snuck into my mouth and slammed the sentences together for me. read it, really, you gotta.

Thursday, March 10, 2005

oh, hullo, a cool bedtime video. from spike and karen o.
come support trill hip hop in Oakland!:
Trick n Treat Productions and Oaklandish present:
Oakland's Second Saturday Speakeasy
DJs Treat U Nice and DJ Phatrick
hosted by
MC DoDAT (The Attik)

Mar. 12 9pm-2am
411 2nd St. @ Broadway
(next to Everett & Jones BBQ)

co-sponsored by UC Berkeley Students for Hip Hop,
B-Side Records, and Royal Crownz

for more information, email

now you know where the party's at.

smokey and miho - blue glasses
from two eps (os afro sambas, 2003)

been talking a lot about moving lately – moving to another city, someplace far, someplace close, not so sure. but i think cities are songs, dancers we fall in love with when we strap headphones on, weezer’s “el scorcho” always pulls me back to a living room in hong kong, crouched by my dad’s old mile high speakers, volume inched down low so he wouldn’t wake up (i don’t know why we didn’t have headphones.) and this song, this song takes me to that bus stop on shattuck, berkeley sculpting itself out of raindrops, the 51 heaving as she tiptoes on.

(why do i sound so emo - must be late again.)

(oh, to the cats not crushing on her yet: this is miho hatori, the one and only, from cibo matto, gorillaz, handsome boy modeling school, butter08, and that is smokey hornel, who jams with tom waits and beck. they’re just two kids who love brazilian 60s music.)

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

augie march - addle brains
from strange bird (bmg australia, 2002)

is a strange song from a strange album that does strange things to me, it puts me underwater, makes me into a goldfish, drifting and mindlessly opening and pouting my mouth, eating my own poo, seeing things in pastels and blurs (fish metaphors? it must be late.) these songs are water, i fell asleep listening to this album once and when i woke up my fingertips were all wrinkled.

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

what would you do if this day was given to you? handed to you on a silver plate with a note card that just read, “here, take it. the world is pausing for you. go.”
issues? yeah we got issues.

mirror mirror on the wall who's the fairest one of all?

just the coffee, the donuts, the vietnamese sandwiches, the plastic chairs, the dj tent, the asphalt, the reunions, the water fountain, the steps in the shade, the business cards, the phone numbers ball-point penned onto your hand, the avocado sushi, the red and white wine, the flash photography, and the talk, a lot of the talk, dialogue with no beginnings or ends, just go on, anywhere, with anyone... are the kind of conferences i like.

twas a fuggin' cool time to see all the cats again. the long distance kids came to town, friends from apature, poetry for the people, theatre rice, and sasc in the shade. denizen kane kills it a hundred fold (if you're still sleeping on the typical cats... HOW COULD YOU!). apasd kids, don't you dare tuck your pride in. i need a transcript of junichi's keynote speech. dj phatrick and the sfhh gang knows i owe them a life debt. a toast to professor um. oh, john cho says he likes my shoes... was i hit on by john cho?

Friday, March 04, 2005

we sweet kids have been sweatshopping for months to put this together. come out! i'm talking to you, yeaah you, camilo, come out! this saturday (today.)

junichi asked me to come play in his workshop. i said, cool, yeah, then i found out dima hilal is gonna be there too. DIMA HILAL!!!!

oh, and i might be john cho's bodyguard. fanboys, step off.
life is like a music video

is what i'm thinking when i'm walking towards time square at midnight in a field of a thousand hasidic jews (no embellishment, they just got out of a big conference, and we just got out of koreatown.)

new york...

this city is made out of words and colors, no need for microphones. we got nerves taut so tight you can thump bass lines off our skin, it’s def poetry jam, and mos def sounds like a cup of black coffee (he’ll wake you with the sip of a syllable), beau sia, rafael, denizen kane come strong, but jimmy tran kills the crowd, ends eve ensler, lays kanye west to rest, dislodges 77 bullets chambers into the audience outta his magnum heart and buries us with some posthumous love poems.

"this planet is made out of matter, but this world is made out of words." - sekou sundiata

i like how fragile i feel here – i am forged by new sentences and torn down by new syllables every moment. i leave a piece of myself on each street corner, with each step, a molecule slips out of my skin and leaves me for a 212 area code (and, shucks, they didn’t even leave a forwarding address.) if you see my dandruff selling nuts in soho tell him to write me more often.

i like snow – how it makes a seafloor out of every street, snowflakes are goldfish, and this city is an aquarium, like we’re just floating, falling in love with blurs of color but never solid things... and me, i want to cut open the sky and pour – all this that makes the world blue – into everywhere and nowhere at all.