stay another season.

i'm flying down to rio just to meet my girl cleo and then
go to venezuela and there be no better bitches. from the
beaches of the gaudiest and most fun party city in the
world comes this sparkling gem of tropical pop because
it's sunday, and we know you just need that extra pull
to get out of bed and into the sun. etienne de crecy amps
up the salsa-infused keyboards that backdrop the original,
throws in a few carnival samples and whips it all into
shape with sparkling, clean, tropical production. the result
is the perfect soundtrack for some girl-on-girl holiday fun.
as if you needed the extra incentive...

bumblebeez - rio (etienne dub remix)

the importance of being dada

the large turf: image by flickr user christophotography

"nothing is greater than anything" else states dada, and
this is the first sign of hope that the artist can discover
the meaningless importance that has been invested in
the term ART. dada is irritated by those who write "art,
beauty, truth" with capital letters, and who make them
entities superior to humankind. dada scoffs at capital
letters, atrociously. dada scrapes from us the thick layers
of filth deposited by the previous centuries. you have for
once the invitation to make merry in our new and
unprecendented experience of art, with it's now reduced
front letter. at last! art and life are now the same thing,
resembling each other so closely in reality that it is never
a question if it should be set down on paper or canvas, or
given any greater degree of expression that we give a
morning walk, a good cup of tea or a rest in the sunshine.

cbc: inflatable dog turd sculpture escapes museum, wreaks havoc.
bbc: inflatable feces raises a stink (with image!)
bbc: two killed as artwork 'lifts off'
bbc: art lovers fall into the tate's crack

time travel is possible.

international realism: image by elise castrodale.

international realism rose to prominence with the
technological possibilities of the late 1990s, combining
real life with an imagined reality to create a style that
could be from any era and all places. the marks of this
style are: a fluid sense of data, dignified elegance, and
flowing timelines that are neither synchronistic nor
linear. the style was created as a means to bring mystery
and graphic potency back into the international imagination
by transporting the viewer back to a time more innocent
of the normalization of the exotic.

international realism is set apart from other realism styles
by its revivalist use of perspective in international settings,
giving it the ability to hint at secrets of the past that never
actually reveal themselves. with the rapid advancement of
digital photography techniques and accessibility to photo-
manipulation software in the later part of the last century,
international realism developed into diverse and somewhat
abstract components combining identity and travel, each
representing a micro-style relating to either local history or
national vernacular.

it's philosophy is both simple and profound: eventually,
things will get to where we want them to be.

field guide to style & colour

deutsche liebe

started in 1988, japanese company Delfonics creates
a variety of minimal, functional, and intelligent paper
products. their philosophy is simple (albeit slightly lost
in translation):

the stationery opens up your idea

of particular note are the Rollbahn series of notebooks,
(lined, grid, or sketchbook) that comes with several
pages of pouches at the back, and elastic to hold closed.
the notebooks also come in convenient and cute japanese
mini size. these products demonstrate the immense
popularity of the current trend in japanese design for all
things "german designed" -- even if not authentic. Delfonics
manages to meld a sense of german cleanliness of design
with japanese aesthetics, and for this we love.

delfonics/smith

everything old is new again

image: elise castrodale

heartbeast:
i had a dream about a storm. it washed through
italy and took away all the old.

wolfgang:
so the new could finally be seen?

heartbeast:
but the best part was the rain.

wolfgang:
the best part is always the rain.

italy: art in the private sector
papesse

make make

heartbeast:
you always had a way with words.

wolfgang:
you always had a way with design.

nostalgia+saturdays=youth.

photos: sandra croft

is it august already? soon the leaves will fall in the
park, and the whole thing will look like a M83 album
cover. oh, which one? you tell us. let's go, xo.

5am in a perfect world.

words: burial, photo: sandra croft

"i would sit around waiting for night to fall, wait for
summer to end. or i would go out, wait for it to get
dark, and then i'd go back and work on it, sort of
hypnotise myself. i love that feeling when you know
that almost everyone in your city is asleep, or you
go out and listen to your tunes in someone's car at
night. it's like hibernating. when i'm awake all night,
sometimes i see the people and the city waking up
around me. i feel a little bit moody at them for
stepping into my night-time. what i want is that
feeling when you're in the rain, or a storm. it's a
shiver at the edge of your mind, an atmosphere
of hearing a sad, distant sound, but it seems closer -
like it's just for you."

burial - near dark

it's wasted in the night.

words: david castrodale, photo: sandra croft

my first fight was a couple of summers ago, and it was
pointless and unsatisfying. it never amounted to more
than a bunch of strangers blindly clawing at each other
on a street dried up of traffic and excitement. we tussled
outside the club while everybody watched slack-jawed
until the bouncers put a merciful end to it. you expect it
to be high drama - bodies pummeled, then restrained,
sweat-covered, shouting, veins throbbing, blood flowing -
but it wasn't that at all.

he came at me and i was confused more than anything;
if i were wearing a jacket he would have dragged me by
the lapels, but it was a t-shirt and he just dragged me by
the fabric while i calmly waited for somebody to step in
and stop it. nobody did, though. the specatators were as
calm, curious and confused as i was - we were all just
watching a situation develop.

finally, i got an arm free and hit him on the side of the
head. it probably didn't hurt, but he was drunk and it
knocked him off balance and i went with the momentum,
leaning forward while he reeled back, and we both went
down. he hit his head on the concrete and i bounced
back up while he stayed down and rolled over on his
side. i lunged forward to kick him and then instinctively
looked over at the gathering crowd to make sure i was
doing it right, that this was the correct way to act, but
nobody seemed to know whether i was supposed to kick
him or not. it was probably the right thing to do, but
neither me nor anyone else seemed certain about it either
way. I stood poised and bewildered, utterly motionless,
petrified, while he slowly pulled himself up. we looked at
each other and waited to see what was going to happen
next. finally, a bouncer came in and reasoned with the guy.

"look" the bouncer said. "he could have kicked you while
you were down, but he didn't. what does that say about
him, huh? what does that say about him?"

i couldn't say what it said about me. anyway, that was
the end of the fight.

the fight happened because he had offered me $10 for
a cigarette and i told him to just go buy a pack. and then
somehow in a way i couldn't quite comprehend, one thing
led to another. i was with my friend joelle, and all she had
to say afterwards was "well, he had a cool shirt on." and
he did, it was true.

anyway, i guess he had given me the $10 at some point in
the fight's preamble, and we went into the club, upstairs,
to the deserted dance floor, and shuffled around to ironic
new wave music while a cheap lighting show crashed
around us. i spent his money on beer, and all of a sudden,
my nerves caught up with me and it all hit at once, like i
had crashed into a wall. and, still, compulsively, i kept
dancing, jerking spasmodically around the dance floor
to the jangle of the cure like a broken automaton in a cage.

junior boys - teach me how to fight

nobody lost, nobody found.

photos: sandra croft

burning in the face of love, staring at a silver sun.
i can see you almost in my town. nothing but a sea
of blue separates the seasons, and i think of you.
black out, keep your colours dim so nobody can see
you. leave me heading to the ground, always from
the same height, always falling down.