The Shreditorial – Nashville's Dead

THE SHREDITORIAL: ROUND 17

Forever Young — Wed, 16 Feb 2011 21:14:59 +0000

Oh man, it’s for real been a while since we got a little shreddy, know what I mean? Pretty understandable though, Mr. Pujol is a pretttty busy guy. But, in light of some recent events going down in Murfreesboro, he’s decided to grace us yet again with another edition of THE SHREDITORIAL. It’s a good read and has us stoked about this new movie called Myopia. Catch it at MTSU real soooooon…

SHREDITORIAL 17
MYOPIA

Life is like a video game right? I mean, Iâ€m an individual, Iâ€m a unique snowflake, and Iâ€m completely alienated from all other human beings as the solipsistic protagonist of my own credit-less movie, complete with the Western story arch and all. Ya know how it is?

Looks like there is this sweet two-part student film running at MTSU this week called MYOPIA (a play on the words Distopia and Utopia). Iâ€ve been reading rave reviews about it on my Spacebook and Critters. Iâ€m pretty sure the plot is about the aftermath of this sort of consumer culture-y, Brave New World meets A Clockwork Orange the movie; not the book. We at the Shred can really appreciate a narrative that emphasizes the feverish alienation of being held in a Weberian Godâ€s amoralized spotlight while riding the wave of a ten-year trend within an overarching Culture of Death, which of course, is the prequel to MYOPIA.

Now, I could sit here and try to ironically, or humorously, muse upon the filmâ€s surreal double-debut at a distance of abstraction, but hey, itâ€s only 45-minutes away now, I mean, my little sister can throw an email that far. So since itâ€s The Shred, I want to cat-fist its rabbit-hole with my Kruger-glove: this flick made me think about how once consumerism and secularization of society made a harlequin baby on one end, and radicalized fundamental spirituality dominated all vocabulary relating to the non-touchables on the other; the qualitative understanding of human interaction in America has been marked down to a polarized zilch that is expressed as a long, empty silence, occupied by the sound of fluorescent bulbery.

There seems to be no tangible argument for or against the value of human relationships within the film, which seemed to be the overall thematic specter throughout the work. There was a disproportionate focus on the artificial barrier between individuals, and the crux of proving oneself in order to justify oneself through the eyes of others as a vessel upon the self and have your picture taken in the biggest place: to be the Bat Signal within the Star of Bethlehem. The film also touched on culture not affording the individual with the freedom of empathy, in the Chapter â€œAn I for an Iâ€. I thought that was a pretty cool point, but I didnâ€t know how to feel about it, and I donâ€t have the time to think about it due to my busy schedule.

The film exhibits the newest market: the psychic frontier being pioneered by sociopolitics and the private sector in the 21st Century: the space between individuals. Littered with billboards and pop-ups shops of associative meaning upon its Elysian Fields, its souls know of nowhere to go aside from away from one another, into unique-snowflake obscurity. The noble savages of this frontier, devoid of all proto-post human experience, writhe in meticulously regulated pain as guinea pigs of the birth pangs of the death of the social animal known as the human-bean.

*SPOILER ALERT. The climax of the movie escalates until the protagonist, initially shot out of a cannon at the beginning of the film, spirals into a final impact with his/her emotional wall as a bolus of over-stimulated nerves, and explodes into one final moment of Thelma and Louise-esque glory, diving Thunderbird-first into the axis of the YOUniverse, and spends the remainder of his/her life waiting for the credits to roll, wondering who will come to their funeral.

MYOPIA is now playing, projected upon a giant mirror, in the KUC Theatre 24/7,

The Puj

LeLoup — Sun, 01 Aug 2010 17:40:47 +0000

It’s the first shred we’ve done in a little bit, but it’s a killer. Reminds us of this idea for a movie Natural Child had the other day for The Godfather 3D featuring Eddie Murphy as the Corleone family and DL Hughley, Usher, Martin Lawrence, Forest Whittaker and Oliver Stone are all involved somehow too. Look for it in theaters soon!

SHREDITORIAL 16
TINY GODS: SEASON 1

Ok. So obviously, we havenâ€t shredded in a while. However, this is only because we here at the Shred have been working up the next wave of reality television. We are confident that we have created the best television show ever that is the worst for humanity ever. It combines all different mediums and sensory receptors to make sure you are not merely entertained, but also completely overwhelmed. Macabre.
Ok. So the show is called TINY GODS. Essentially, auditions are held in the all the junior cities close to major cities like: Murfreesboro to Nashville, or Roanoke to Richmond. These auditions will be held in strip malls, churches, public schools, dance halls, shooting ranges, and all other avenues of amoebic insanity. The auditions will be advertised as a, â€œChance for you to speak your mind on national television about whatâ€s wrong with the world in hopes of making it a better place.â€ So itâ€s like a mission, and we get the most crazy, vocal, articulate, and militant people ever. We want post-human Krang Baby Babylons.
After we go through our endless youtubes of the auditions, we pick out the 9 most ideologically incompatible and send them to their luxurious glass-walled compound with a mirror-walled bed and public bathroom and have them get to know each other. Why do they need to know each other? Because they have to co-exist? HELL NO! To fulfill youâ€re entitled right to entertainment as the consumer!
Why the glass walls you ask? Because we give them an almost unlimited supply of cash to purchase whatever garb and commodities they need to feel well-represented in the glass-walled compound, because if we know who THEY are, WE know who WE are, ya know? So now, weâ€ve got all the Strangeloveâ€s in the glass-walled compound secured in their externally acquired identities and getting to know each other. Now, itâ€s time for the T.V. voodoo magic to take hold.
Essentially, every week, each member in the glass-compound has to write a derogatory cartoon about one of the housemates, showcasing how their ideological leanings are false and contribute to negativity within the world. Pixar will animate these cartoons and attempt to pepper them with as much cartoon realism as possible. But where is the competition you ask?
Well, the member who HAS NOT been caricatured in a polemic cartoon each week, will be voted off, because they arenâ€t causing any problems hence they are not entertaining. Eventually, it boils down to two people, and they have to make a polemic against themselves, and the one the judges like the most wins, and he or she is the TINY GOD, and they get to keep the glass-walled compound and all the stuff, and their life is subject to 24 hour webcam coverage so now they are equally omniscient as the rest of the world.

I donâ€t think I REALLY know how to vote in local elections, wait, does anyone my age? College?,
Pujol

Forever Young — Tue, 15 Jun 2010 22:42:48 +0000

We’re forreally trying to get back on the ball with the SHREDITORIALs, know what I mean? So back on the ball that bad boy Pujol has already got another one ready for you. Check it out….

SHREDITORIAL 14
GOOD IS THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT I HATE

So, you know what just completely shreds my sheets as I gnash my teeth in the sack cuz Iâ€m dreaming about assassinating the ghost that haunts my room and stalks my dreams? I donâ€t know, probably the laundering of â€œbadness listsâ€ as esoteric knowledge in American narrative voice. On an even danker note, lets launder this laundered laundry through the Dad Cycle and make that little detergent bear squeal like a piggy.

Turning on the internet radios, hearing Teddy Ruxpin with the robot voice, telling me like it is for $.99 a song like â€œthe emperor has no clothes for babies.â€ The Cool Rocking Daddy (CRD) just shoots that screen like Elvis cuz heâ€s tired of watching the clusterfucks through the eyeholes in his one million Mona Lisas. The CRD has grown weary of the long lists of all the terrible exposed secrets touched on like rosary beads but dignified as esoteric. He is well aware that there are bad things, secrets, conspiracies, people who give it in the ear, fast food is bad for you, prescription medicine in the water supply, racism is bad, hating homosexuals is bad, violence is bad, etc. However, the CRD recognizes this list as superficial exposure once having broken through into societal consciousness, expressions of what a problem looks like, but not why it is there, or not even an accurate description of the root cause of a problem, but a mere negation of a particular symptom of a greater social ill.

We all know about negation, weâ€ve all heard music made from 1979 to now. We all know that its approaching evolution into aesthetic and narrative superstition, so does the CRD. The CRD sits watching the bebes, writhing in the lappy cluthes of the Santa Claws, whispering into their ears tales of corruption, oppression, and repression, a long Weapon Xmas list of all the battles in an impossible war that will vainly be fought upon the imagined premise of some â€œGreen Day with eyeliner onâ€ fantasy catharsis where all government, religion, and corporate hegemony are exposed for what they truly are: uhhhh, the way people organize themselves?

Oh SHIT. So, the CRD must view all of these entities as value neutral frameworks that materially shape reality, and probably exist because the serve some human utility. As opposed to wishing their existence were negated, he sees them as different expressions of the human experience, and therefore, their negation is not a precursor to human freedom, their occupation is. Sort of the same way that Lenin dude controlled the â€œmeans of communication,â€ but not in a batshit crazy violent way. So, the CRD recognizes that when you negate everything, some asshole just ends up running it, and that asshole will shape human material reality, until one day, you really do get oppressed, but youâ€re not allowed to wear the T-Shirt about you being oppressed because youâ€ll get shot for dissent.

You know, cuz we live in like, a postmodern, pluralistic society and shit where we are recognized as individuals? The biggest revolution would be to â€œnot be an asshole.â€ As opposed to determining the AMOUNT of hipness based off of what institution or aesthetic they connect with, and using that as the gauge for measuring awareness is the same logical phal-lacy as your â€œsubjects.â€ The CRD has moved past â€œthem and usâ€ to â€œguys and gals trying to be happy.â€ He fights against no monolith, because anyone clinging to some external oppressor is just a scared baby who canâ€t fuck without a condom on. The CRD would rather celebrate the sanctity of the human experience, recognizing he is himself for one lifetime on earth, than try to make a legacy of destroying INSTEAD of augmenting. Cuz he lives in a place where he can.

BAM! Now youâ€ve disenfranchised all systems of oppression into â€œdude, donâ€t be a dick.â€ BAM! But there is no such thing as an answer and someday the CRD will be absorbed, synthesized, and usurped by the Fat Cat, and he will have to be overthrown and tossed into the annals as â€œa mere particular expression of the essence of rocking.â€

He will go to New York and impregnate the Statue of Liberty on top of the Empire State Building. This will make a copper baby that bleeds red. He will smoke a bong with King Kong and grab all the girls from every window,

Pujol

LeLoup — Thu, 10 Jun 2010 03:23:29 +0000

Baybee baby bebe, we love gettin’ shreddy. We especially love gettin’ shreddy when it has to do with cool rockin’ daddys. You a cool rockin’ daddy? Eh, I don’t know. We a cool rockin’ daddys? Duh.

SHREDITORIAL 13
COOL ROCKING DADDIES

Man, you know what really, really shreds? The fact that I havenâ€t done one of these in like two months/the fact that my quarter is finally over? Yes. Yes, that does, but on the real-real, but what about this fresh ass colby-jack hitting the streets: Dad. What is Dad? Itâ€s this crazy-ass aesthetic concept that involves a re-conceptualization of the individualâ€s transition into adulthood in America. On top of that, it pays special attention to the tension between the individual ego and its contrast with objective reality, like when your Dad is being a Cool Rocking Daddy, and for some reason he doesnâ€t give a shit what the bebes think.
Perhaps, in America, all this crap about being an individual with feelings in need of expression just alienated everyone from everyone through self-critical conditioning and all interpersonal relationships where laundered through selective consumption of commodities alluding to individual cases of emotional hedonism; so now debutants drink PBR & wear leather jackets on their Bad Boy Weekend til they is busted like The Shining bathtub lady. Thatâ€s a fact, Jack?
And maybe, the power of association laundered through the social meanings ascribed to commodities such as music, clothes, trends, personalities, word-views, beers, and attitudes become the framework for JamesDean2010@endlesshighsCOOl.com . But everyone is so bad on Daddyâ€s dime, that the Dad perspective needs to be investigated. How can Daddy be rocking so cool when we all feel the pain of his refusal to concede to the social monolith ascribed to his surroundings?
Ben Steineâ€s Money sheds light on the Dad aesthetic perspective: â€œ You see me on the street, you want a piece of my money, you try to tell me what to do, but weâ€re the proud and the few, itâ€s my money.â€ It is my money Ben Steine, and Iâ€m not scared to constructively use it however the fuck I see fit, and for the most part, it canâ€t be taken away. Perhaps, a social setting grounded in consumption of power by association has taken for granted the value of production, or in the case of the individual: creation? Like a Tiny God? Just like a Tiny God, not to be confused with a Little Hilter. Cuz we were all told how special we were right? Or how we werenâ€t? Take that weird ass social dichotomy into the individualized 21st century, now thatâ€s entertainment. Now destroy that dichotomy through detournment! Now drop the bougie ass monocle of negation, and youâ€re a Dad, a Cool Rocking Daddy, embarrassing the hell out of all your bebes.
We all know the Bad Man eats McDonalds, but we have trouble communicating it with dignity. We all know that songs can be a list of everything bad in America like it was a secret. We all know you get what you pay for. To the Cool Rocking Daddy, dignity is found in the absurd contrast between desire and an objective reality trying to reflexively capitalize off of as well as create avenues of consumption to make our weenies tingle like a pool jet. The Cool Rocking Daddy switched out the transition into the â€œhuman garbage disposableâ€ socially ascribed meaning of adulthood in America for the human-love-Muzzy-caveman punching his head cuz it canâ€t understand the Monolith from 2001: Space Odyssey. The Cool Rocking Daddy caters to no social club because he built his clubhouse called a cave, and itâ€s not the bad Plato one, itâ€s the primordial one, the one with glowing eyes in it mouth.

â€œYOU THINK WE GOT SOMETHING TO PROVE, WELL LET ME HIT YOU WITH THIS GROOVE,â€
Pujol

LeLoup — Fri, 26 Mar 2010 23:22:35 +0000

Time to get shreddy. Have at it, Puj.

Shreditorial 10
Tao Jones’ Endless Weekend

Man, you know what really shreds my sheets? All the Boogiemen I have sex with? Naw, dawg: the key to your endless weekend: the manipulation of space-time. I picked up some sweet tips from a sexclusive interview with millionaire bachelor Tao Jones, this guyâ€s like Lao Tzu on XBOX live forever.
He was picking off some headshots, raging across Call of Duality IV, killing heathens and dropping some heady metal thunders at me. He was saying, â€œ I wrote the principal DOWist text but all it is is watching Endless Summer and Back to the Future at the same time, times forever, on repeat.â€

â€œDo you want to party like my XBOX?â€
â€œYes, I like to party too good.â€
â€œIf you had the wishes, would you make this weekend last forever, as long as you wanted?â€
â€œYes, I would do that for you, Dr. Jones.â€
â€œOkay, I like your attitudes. Well, alls you gots to do is switch your feeler and your thinker.â€
â€œHow you do that, Dr. Jones?â€

Then it got like Baloo singing â€œBear Necessities,â€ except about manipulating space-time to party forever. Essentially, Dr. Jones argues that your rational mind and your emotional awareness warrant a degree of discrimination between one another, as opposed to a cavemanesque dichotomy. He said that time moves much faster when you use your thinker-projector-number-cruncher. He even said that projecting meaning and confusing it with rationalizing speeds up time because it blasts you through a gauntlet of answers? Whatever that means!
He said it usually hurts to bust through the wall, and you can use your emotional awareness for so much more than pain, or pleasure soaked in the absinthe of pain. He said, he sits still, and feels what heâ€s feeling with his awareness anywhere he wants, no matter whoâ€s watching, even Gawdâ€s Toilet Angels. THEN he uses his number-cruncher. He says time moves at the same speed anyway probably, but it feels like you have more time this way: â€œI like to ramble more than scramble.â€

Plus, you figure out how you feel before you think, instead of projector-thinking and having to deal with it via what you feel, like itâ€s a dice game in Tin Man Alley. Apparently, we arenâ€t tin men, robots, or even cyborgs, and we have hearts to tend too, even though weâ€re told weâ€d rather be the Scarecrow from Oz or Batman.

He kept saying, â€œItâ€s not what it means, itâ€s why it happened.â€ Whatever that means?

So, he says he slows his weekends down to forever just by putting his feeler before his thinker. Then he thinks what he felt, and acts on it instead of just Reactive Mind Math, so heâ€s always chasing Psychic Summer like in Endless Summer and Doc Browning it at the same time, and all heâ€s got to do is sit around and be quiet before 5pm on Friday. I tried it out, and it works, I donâ€t know what day you are on, but its Last Saturday AD here! Itâ€s like really getting to decide where you are all the time.
See you guys next week whenever that is. Shortround is blasting his Endless Mix of â€œSpill the Wineâ€ 100 times and DVD menu jams for passing out, AND we peeled Mowgli off a vinyl couch with our minds. Now weâ€re fucking with the space in between each other cuz we can do whatever we want with it.

Tao of Boo,
Pujol

Forever Young — Mon, 22 Feb 2010 21:00:43 +0000

We’ve got a reeeeeal special edition of THE SHREDITORIAL for you this week. It’s a two-parter. One part shred in text, another part shred in free download. For serious. Daniel is one of our number one pals in Nashville and we think he’s doing some of the most remarkable things in this city. If you’ve been to one of his shows or listened to some of his music, then you probably know what we’re talking about. His song-writing capabilities blow just about everyone else out of the water, and he does it effortlessly. No one’s continually putting out solid releases in such a short period of time like Daniel is [Maybe Deluxin’, and Natural Child’s close on his tail, but you know what we’re saying.] So, with that, we couldn’t be more stoked than to present you with this collection of tunes for free download. Some are old, some are new, but they’re all gold. Download it and enjoy it!

FRANKENSTEIN SUPERMAN

“I’M NOT LIKE HIM: TOO DEAD TO DIE!”

Shreditoral 8

Man, you know what really shreds my soul? The confusion with the whole mind/body dichotomy thing. I was talking to the Frankenstein Superman on my GodPod and he said the wildest thing: heâ€s been building a Haunted Mansion that can collapse in on itself into a light twinkle. He called it a â€œMonument to Achievement.â€ His Frankentone was strange though. Ominously different.

He was hanging round in his tattered-ass Frankensupersuit playing with the tab on a beer can. Frankly, I found his aloof nature haunting, but I sat beside him clicky-scrolling until he spoke again.

He said he ran out of materials. The oneâ€s he canâ€t touch. His Monument to Achievement is half-complete. He said his Ghosts left the worksite after confronting him: One from behind and one from within his noggin.

He said:

â€œI was standing in the Endless Corridor section facing the completed ends. From behind, I heard the Phantom Foreman, â€˜we cannot build any longer. This is no longer what we want. This is no longer what you need.”

It made my brain smoke and my body burn trying to grasp the purpose of a half-built Ghost-Free-Self-Imploding-Haunted-Mansion. The other Ghost inside my Frankenmind started a fire inside my stomach too. I think heâ€s a friend of the Foreman. Iâ€ve always been sort of cold, but it still burns horribly. If my ghosts behind my brain are telling me to change, why should my body resist? How are they connected? Is they the same and not so separate?â€

I slowed my scroll and looked at his Black-And-Red-Marble-Lazy-Eyes and told him that no one knows. No one knows why you get pulled from behind your mind but your body tries to not fall over. Your body tries to understand. Your brain tries to understand whatever speaks from behind and pulls you forward, and that it can be a total drag.

He said:

â€œI am made by man. But I am not a man. I am merely made of man. â€œ

I said: â€œYeah, me too. But I guess we got to cowboy up and be humans, batteries included. We both have the right parts.â€

Then I woke up,

Pujol

Daniel has a 7″ coming out soon with Infinity Cat Records. Once the 7″ comes out, we will be disabling the free download. If you’d like to get in touch with Daniel, you can contact him through his myspace or email him at danielluccapujol@gmail.com . And if you still haven’t caught him live, he’s playing in Murfreesboro this Friday. Tracklist for the online release below….

SEXSEXSEXSEX////////////

Frankenstein Superman

1. Too Safe

2. Deathmask

3. May Day

4. State of Mind

5. Jimmie Rogers

6. Jodye

7. Johno

8. Over the Counter Culture Jam

#’s 1,3,4,5,6,7 recorded by Daniel Pujol. #’s 2 & 3 recorded by Jake Orrall.

All songs by Daniel Pujol & courtesy of Infinity Cat Recordings & Daniel Pujol C&P 2010.

plus: Kyle Hunter (guitar #4) Joey Scala (bass #2,3) Reid Barber (Blue Box #4) Josh Bright (drums #7) Jake Orrall (Keys #4) Wez Traylor (Symbol Crash #4)

All songs off tapes or a 7″ available at infinitycat.com

“Space Alien Drag Queen & Frankenstein Superman starring in Went to Wonderland: a feature film written and directed by Zack Martin & Natural Child. “~Infotainment Weakly, 4/20/12

Forever Young — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 18:32:21 +0000

It has been a busy day, ladies. It’s not even 12:30 as I type this and we’ve already made 3 posts and a Twitter account today. Seriously, there’s vomit and stuff and it’s probably gonna get weird over there. Follow us? Anyways, it’s time for another Shreditorial. We caught Daniel’s show on Saturday at McGill Hall and are seriously pretty amazed with him. Some of the best songs. On a world level. Get downnnnn with it…

Shreditorial 7

Hey. You know whatâ€s crazy? That life is pretty much only as real as you make it. Since we all know there are no gods, or kings, and everyone is equal, I suppose it is up to us to â€œfill the void.â€ I mean, sometimes I look at stuff and go, â€œMan, that is totally Christianity sans God,â€ or â€œMan, that is totally flagellation without a whip, or anyone really paying attention.â€ Thatâ€s pretty wild cuz anyone could just end up lost inside their own head forever, trying to know people but always punching their mirror. Or writing characters for a lifelong movie that only one lonely person ever sees. As I watch Mad Max on the big screen inside my mind I can sometimes see whatâ€s going on outside my eyes through the screen. Only then do I realize that perhaps I am madder than Mad Max or Dr. Frankenstein combined.

So, I got to the part where Mad Max is running through Antarctica and Frankenstein is chasing him like Terminator and goes, â€œHey, youâ€re totally a camera-mirror, but Iâ€m dead, like twice, so Iâ€m jealous.â€ Then, it all hit me like a bag of bricks: this man-made dead body is chasing this post-apocalyptic dude like a robot from the future straight through the Arctic Zone to the center of nowhere. Damn, dude. Sup with that?

I almost drank a cigarette butt out of a big gulp of room temp cola. I almost went elbow deep in an ashtray. I almost ate a roach of my kitchen floor. I almost lost my mind. But then I realized itâ€s just a movie and I made it as real as I want it to be.

But what about as real as I need it to be? What if its like levels, and Iâ€m on like â€œ7â€ and I have to journeyquest for â€œ7â€sâ€ or watch Mad Max forever. And who really wants to catch the same worn-out flick until their brain powers down forever?

So then I pulled out this sick Bowie knife and I ran it from the top of the screen to the bottom of the screen and itâ€s guts ran down my face and the room got real quiet. Mad Max was blasting out my head onto the wall with its guts on my face. No one knew what to do, so we all took knifes out and cut the screen from the top to the bottom and the guts busted on All Our Face. All Our Face blasted Mad Max onto whatever All Our Face the Dude lives inside. Then we watched all the dice in the world roll from every side.

So, I guess the world is as real as you want it to be, but what do you with that? Know each other?

FTFW,

Pujol
Myspace

Daniel’s playing this Wednesday at The End with JtB and Scremales. Hit it.

Forever Young — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 17:41:52 +0000

Man, we’re still reeling from the MLK Edition Shreditorial, but it’s time for another post from our buddy Daniel Pujol. This one’s about punk rockers…. Enjoy!

Shreditorial 5

Man, you know what is completely omniscient and rules my world and

watches me pee?: Punk rocks. Punk rocks are so engraved into American

culture now, that they fizzle in your Coca-Cola. Even rich white

people love it! It’s been condensed from a means of economic survival

and a different way of living besides the empty and naive rational

materialism that we mistake as creature comforts to Green Day hating

the president while their make-up runs on VH1. It really is just the

irresponsible opposite, like radical atheism or abstinence!

The best thing about punk rocks in America is “fuck you” means

“hello.” This way, we can say whatever we want and always make the

upper to upper middle class uncomfortable. BUTT, the best part is that

now it is okay to do that because it makes money. The whole idea of

being bad has been completely absorbed by the American bourgeoisie and

now its an excuse to feel oppressed by something that doesn’t exist

instead of an unfortunate temporary solution or an artistic expression

of our repressed humanity! It’s even “normal” to have pink streaks in

my hair like your 15 forever in college and beyond (FINALLY!) but the

jocks still hate you. It’s like packaging, domesticating, propagating,

and selling My Pocket Class Conflict! Genus!

It’s like the government figured out if they let people buy and say

whatever they want they will never have to worry about them doing

anything! On top of that, the commodification of punk rocks’ symbol

set means that you’re materially speaking corporate vocabulary, and

since people “understand” its domesticated leather studs, its not even

a threat and maybe even the village idiot!

Just like the Beatles, maybe 20th century authority figures learned

that its easier to control people by letting them say, eat, fuck,

shit, dress, but not believe, live, or marry whatever they want

instead of using violence. Then they don’t look bad and the citizens

can feel like heroes who stick it to a man missionary style in the

dark! All you need is love, and the money to buy the things to

communicate that you think that thought to other people who “get it?”

So here I am, to give it up to punk rocks in front of god and

Everybody: Punk rocks, you totally shred. Sorry corporate America had

sex with James Dean’s corpse who stuck its dick in the apple pie and

pulled out a way to be bad, but still good enough to go home. You’ve

been a real sport about being a caricature of yourself. Do you have a

new name now or are we supposed to make it up?

Aristotelian particulars and the essence of forms?,

Perennial philosophy?,

Daniel Pujol

http://www.myspace.com/danielluccapujol

Hey we are punk rockers and fuck your money! Thanks, Daniel. You’re best.

Forever Young — Thu, 10 Dec 2009 18:06:33 +0000

Time for another SHREDITORIAL!! This one is about high fructose corn syrup. We’re not totally convinced it’s all that bad for you. At least, we like to tell ourselves that because we are downing sodas on the reg.

Shreditorial #3

Dare Gawd,

You know what is totally awesome? High fructose corn syrup. Why is that awesome? Because you can make Family Value Fruit Snacks with it. You know, those gray+any fruit flavor color circles on wax paper that all the marginalized lower middle class kids had in elementary school. The coolest thing about high fructose corn syrup is that it is a sugar replacement that is actually an enzyme and no one really knows what it does to the human body, but Americans use it in everything! It could make us obese, or maybe do something really crazy that we find out about when we’re all 50 and weird Frankensteins. Who knows, the future is completely unregulated.

It’s probably metaphysically cheaper than sugar because we can make it in a lab without helping feed 20th century “communists”. If there is one thing Americans need more than high fructose corn syrup it is complete cognitive consistency, because history is biography and no one likes a flip-flopper or a “mind-changer.” America is the only country in the galaxy where we have overweight fat people and underweight rich people. It’s like when a fat king used to be sexy but the opposite. Even all the Caesars drank from a lead goblet, and now that we are all equal we should all be taking the same poisons, especially if the reflect your caste of consumption. So, now we have the freedom to construct unattainable image standards that are ruthlessly chased by the bourgeoisie that help pay to keep our society from eating itself alive. It’s like that snake that eats itself but it never has to die unless it is weak.

Sometimes I think that being healthy and green will be the next bougie fad. Eventually, that will permeate as a value to the dominant class and our understanding of ourselves will be reactive against or in agreement to the dominant moral hierarchy. Like contemporary liberals will actually become crazy conservatives in the future who hate fat people instead of gays. Like when young progressive Republicans thought they could stop at racism being bad and then save the leftovers to divide and conquer America. Like every time you make a solution it creates a problem when people take it too seriously. Really, no one knows what high fructose corn syrup does to the body. So maybe it is a business ethics thing: like, no one gets funded to do conclusive research on the effects of high fructose corn syrup because it probably does mess with the human body but it pays someone. I think tricking poor people to be fat is even laissez faire than calling the homeless and mentally ill lazy!

Also, I’m sure it acts as a sort of a deterrent for achievement or feeling good about yourself because maybe it changes the way your body processes sugar so you feel good for a while then you crash like drugs. I don’t know, but I love this crazy American emotional roller coaster called consumption. It is like an extension of democracy without all the reading or news. It is good to know that you can materially prove who you are via representing your lifestyle through your symbolically constructed association with images and goods. That is freedom: Freedom to construct any assemblage of sticky images out of a cultural $5 DVD bin at the Walmart of the world, and don’t forget about that popsicle in your pocket! Thanks for shredding your way into my disposable lifestyle Mrs. High Fructose Corn Syrup, you’re making me and Nathan do the icky shuffle.

What?,

Daniel Pujol

Tune in next week for more!

Forever Young — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 19:42:02 +0000

I guess we’re gonna try and go weekly with this one. Here’s a new Shreditorial from our buddy, Daniel, about the Internets and Gods and deaths.

Shreditorial #2

Exclusive Gods Online:

So, with all this access to information, we have a lot more problems than establishing a metaphysical class system based on access to information! All the Gods are sick! They are on their death beds, tombs, paupers graves, and sarcophagi. No one knows what to do because there is no beginning or end to Information Superhighway 61, and we keep moving forward forever, even if it’s not a direction.

Ages ago, people used to be isolated and be able to create whatever crazy phantasy they wanted and try to force it on reality through violence. Now, the internet is blowing the cover of demagogues worldwide, while killing innocent Gods. Now, individuals each have their own crazy bourgeoisie ego phantasy, but they think outwardly or aggressively forcing it on other people is “wrong”. Maybe Animal Planet should make a show called God Cops.

People either need to not be aware that they impose their models on the lives of others, or do it ruthlessly and demand respect for it. That is what a hero is. If we are trapped in our individual worlds of isolated illusion we need something that is real outside of ourselves to bring us together. It cannot come from inside because that is where your isolated sea of neurotic insanity traps you in headphones. And that is too subjective, and its objective if you didn’t make it up.

The internet makes charisma a sham because everyone knows they can make a Google. So no one is impressed by spectating each other anymore, even if your a Gods. Now everyone is bored watching, but doesn’t want to do anything because they are trapped in their land of illusion without some Gods to say, “Hey, you’re right about everything.”

On that note, I just want to say Gods, “You totally shred and have never told me I was wrong, or if I was, I learned a lesson that ultimately made me right as usual.” I’m sorry the internet is making you die like Tinkerbell. Gods, you are strong like a sick child and I am proud of you.

Get off the cross,

Daniel Pujol

Stay tuned for next week’s. It’s a real doozy. THE SHREDITORIAL!