The Night of the Purple Moon

Rocksichord tune next to a giant bass tree and a shadow-net horn on the sun... what words can describe the total migration, the direct capitulation of morals. Anything is possible and death is near. By the time this music reaches you it must have travelled a very long distance, and because of that it sounds distant and thin, like fm radio jazz, yet its so overwhelming in content, something you'd wish to hear on a soccer field played by a big band. And right then and there the melody grows out and escapes its intentions, seeping under your thoughts and resting in remote pools that you'll only notice later. Climbing a stairway you stumble upon doors with numbers and you simply turn the buttons and the electric sounds start merging. Electricity flows through your blood. The sun also rises. If you've listened to organ music you'll know how the liquid flows, its a moog dream, a Muaddib soldier under lunar slopes awaiting the slow ascension of the purple star. Like when you go drinking on your own and on the way home you drunkenly stumble upon a secret and sad society of tax collectors. Quiet solitary men with the midnight burden of reminding you about your taxes. They only come out on a full moon because then its so bright and thick nobody can actually hear them. There aren't many of them but you wouldn't mistake one when you saw him, whispering while chewing on a cigar, invisible notes, semantic hiss of sorts. You hear the message yet it never physically arrives anywhere.

These lunar soldiers occupy a certain time and place, surrounded just like we are, by the immensely rich organism of our universe. Instead of snake handlers and shamans they have the purple night of the dying moon when visions arise before them. And in these visions they see a green planet, with a strange name - Earth. And on this planet live Earth people that do the Sun-Earth Rock, the All of Everything. Its interesting to them, to know this.

learn, son

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Originally uploaded by joehangir

Here's a campaign to promote higher/better education at schools and universities. Straightforward, loud, and simple - Learn, son!

Searching: Hunter

ISO hunter. Seeking real hunter to hunt my food for me. Will pay top dollar for use of bow & arrows, knife, or fishing pole. Fresh Roadkill ok, but NO supermarket food. Will do my own skinning.

This bold CL Ad has inspired me to make a short film. In this film a couple of city dwellers start a hunters club, undergo profound changes, and rise up in arms against the establishment. Roadkill OK, Asian babies fine, goats, cats, whatever isn't fast enough to run away from us. Pictures taken as proof of good successful endeavors, videos on youtube with anonymous smiles. New hunting styles will evolve quickly - off road jeep rodeo, lawnmower donkey chase, fb cyber sprawl, moghul tactics + google maps, nomadic techies. Soon everyone will go back to hunting because its healthy, cheaper, and green. Slender fit healthy hunter chicks will take over and kill the couch potato.

R.I.P. John Updike

I have only read two of his novels, Brazil and The Witches of Eastwick, and I know only a little about his biography, but i don't need much else to accept him as one of the True Greats of the 21st Century. John Updike's stories are direct commentaries about us - the people, witty reminders of who we really are - sex-obsessed, troubled, vulnerable, charming, decaying beings. His novels are full of magic and surrealism, they communicate on many levels, but most importantly, they are honest. Unthinkable transformations of character and flesh take place in Brazil, yet they are so real that I can't find any strength to dismiss their possibility - love prevails in the most unusual way at the end. In The Witches of Eastwick, Darryl Van Horne's sermon alone is worthy of highest praise and absolute admiration, its genius! Updike's style of writing is elegant and erotic, its seducing and bewildering, it will make you tremble and ask yourself some serious questions. Its a pity we lost this great man, but I am happy that I have yet to discover so many of his works.

Smile

Today i went by starbucks (ugh) to get a black eye (i just learned it means a dopio in a tall coffee) and as i was pulling out I had a woman from another car smile at me... It was the kind of a smile that remains for a while in your memory, sincere and beautiful. She was laughing at the ugly hat on my big head, but in a loving way, like it was ok. Kind of like if you mix Christmas and high school romance, or your first kiss gone awkward. She was gorgeous, European-like, probably a mother of some pretty kids and a loving husband, a member of some yoga club, organic shopper, etc. But what fascinated me most was that while smiling at me she belonged to me only, yes, that's the way it felt. You know, like she loved me... And then it all ended and the rain and winter cold took over.

Tokyo April 2008

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Originally uploaded by joehangir

Finally getting to some of those old pics. Pet em!

One-hand clap

Tokyo - April 18, 2008

On a train to interview an expert on Hildegar. Some top-notch philosophy guru will talk about his books and ideas. I won't understand anything but i'll get something out of it. Pretty lady sitting across the isle from me. We keep looking at each other. I like her eyes - Asian clarity, like two ripe pears split open. Her legs are slightly crooked and her toes facing each other. Straight black hair like long sewing needles... She just left. Been raining hard last night and this morning. Screen door fell off and did a little wet dance across balcony floor. Trees shook and rippled and rain drops found their way into everything. Udon lomein soup with dried tofu bits for breakfast, delicious! I feel like a vegetable - a Japanese pickle. Bodily fluids renaissance. Soon I'll start growing sprouts from my knees and elbows. Salty. Squeeze me, please. Life in Japan is hard because people are not encouraged to dream and to go after whatever they want. Its not that they can't get what they want, its more about them not knowing how to want it. I wonder if they'd appreciate a good slap across their face. I know i would, if someone slapped me in earnest. The kind of a slap that rings in your ears and allows you to escape, even if for an instant, from a prison of illusions. Hmm, what's that sound of the one-hand clap?... My stop.

Modern Day Virgin

When Musashi, the double-handed swordsman sired his woman, he thought of the earth, the sword, and the bloody battle. Just as one should think of a mother, a whore, and a muse when choosing a Modern Day Virgin.

So, who's this Modern Day Virgin? She's every guy's secret ideal. A woman that loves you unconditionally, gives you the best lay each time, and can keep your intellect in an excited state for the hottest mindfuck ecstasy. She has conquered the vice of this century. A digital wiz, and a frequent blogger, she is a lioness mother teaching her cubs the art of lonewolf war. She is a lion's mate, a victorious madam. In bed she's like Serge Gainsbourg's daughter knowing which goes where and how to count backwards. She is somebody you stole first and then let free immediately after, into the wilderness of love. I'm trying to find her.

Fashion for Umi

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Originally uploaded by joehangir

Carla.

We were doing a shoot for Umi and met Carla at the farmers market in Dallas. We approached Carla by the taco stand and asked if she'd model for us, and without any hesitation she agreed. I think some really nice images came out.

Umi is a fashion designer from Uzbekistan (my homeland). Check her website: www.umicollection.com

Gran Torino review

Walt Kowaltski (Clint Eastwood) is a grumpy old man whose life isn't going so well. Walt is not exactly a family man, he doesn't understand his two sons and their demanding wives and kids, he is probably repulsed in general with the idea of a family. A Korean War vet, Walt lives in a neighborhood that went from being a cozy white community to a buzzing nest of asian invaders with their strange traditions and comic street gangs. Walt gets to meet one of them, a troubled adolescent who tries to steal Walt's prized Gran Torino, and is clearly in need of some guidance. But Walt doesn't care - he as openly despises his sons as he does his neighbors, the kid, his barber, and Father Janovich - the new minister. The heavily racist and culturally derogatory language adds another dimension of conflict to the film. And then something happens that changes all of this...

Clint Eastwood delivers another good western, different, but a western nevertheless. Just as with the spaghetti westerns, there is a play of masks - all of the characters are hyper real as if etched on paper in cartoons on wanted stickers... these are archetypes we are so used to: vagabond, wandering nomad, criminal, intruder, law enforcer, love interest, the good guy vs. bad guy, etc. Clint Eastwood's is the most interesting mask - changing under light and shadow, sculpted from mountains and granite, both revealing and blank. All of the elements of the genre are there: honor, gunfight, "confiscation of the territorial rights of the original inhabitants of the frontier", justice. And as with all good westerns we are presented at the end with the final stand down battle... See it!

8/10

Older

When do you start feeling like you've grown older? I think it happens when you suddenly realize that certain things don't matter the way they used to. You are not alarmed by the realization that there's nothing to do, you don't mistreat people like you used to because it was a sad fun thing to do, you forgive the moments of awkwardness introduced by somebody younger. When you find yourself in a certain dangerous or risky situation you handle it with ease and complete mastery and actually savor any sign of possible defeat, because you'll laugh at it. You observe weather differently too, it all makes sense. The moon cycles, migrations of bees and pollen, corn harvest time, the shifts in blues and font types, concentration foci points allowing for more ambiguity and less sharpness, some things stop being interesting all of a sudden. There are more interesting things now, but even they will soon submerge into a hallow abyss of not caring. Like when you read too many tweets at once and you know that there are so many more to read and you're so excited at heart but in reality you only want to read your own and why would that be happening? In growing older you notice the secret passageways that lead to the original source of happiness - not knowing, not caring. The good thing is that there are always things remaining that you haven't learned yet, so don't fret or regret anything, just go out there and learn. Get older, son.

Fashion for Umi

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Originally uploaded by joehangir

Shahnoza

home, tx

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Originally uploaded by joehangir

dad

twitter, etc

Whooa, so this thing called twitter just stepped into my life! If I keep at this rate I'll have to visit those Chinese rehabs for people addicted to the internet. Seriously people (I doubt anyone reads this), why can't I tear myself away from the screen?

When you follow someone, don't find it hard to follow. Follow with ease and a detached attitude, like a sailor would follow the waveline, like a rabbit that follows his shadow. People come calling at you from various parts of the world, some offering pieces of wisdom, dirty jokes, steaming news, others bombard you with questions about homepaid jobs and ways to shorten your fuse. Just remember, the less you follow the more you'll discover.