Hinna's Semantics

Three More Little Pics (These Three Are Puny...Promise)

2008-07-01T22:21:00.001-07:00

Continuation of art project...
will update with what I'll be doing with them. Apologize about lack of order to the pictures stylistically and conceptually.

Little Pics

2008-07-01T22:16:00.001-07:00

A little something. Will be doing a little art project. Very soon. Very little.

Chat, Chat, Chat

2008-07-01T21:22:00.001-07:00

For the sake of simplicity and laziness, the latter in regards to most people's lack of intelligence, which may or may not be a result of their lack of education, and well...ignorance, lets categorize Us into two. Well, yes, my need to point this out may equate with my own thinking; ...admittance to stereotyping? Maybe... The dichotomy of dancers versus talkers, lovers versus scene-sters...

Scene-sters generally guzzle beer and converse...a whole lot. Think any bar on Bedford... And this philosophizing is characteristic of those culture whores (hipsters) who generally don't dance unless intoxicated via musical cuts by Cut Copy.

The dancer generally has a more difficult time in convincing themselves to simply go out for the enjoyment of drinking...and just talking amongst friends and associates and fellow bar rats where, in the case of scene-sters, conversations take heed of Harmony Korine's latest invention and/or Devandra Banhart's anorexia, or basic commiserating over nothing presumably worthwhile. If there's so no dancing involved, then there's no heading out...period. The thinking goes that talking can be done at one's abode. Why spend money to do it outside?

And so this Photoshop plaster shit image (I do apologise about the quality.) I made describes a scene in which so-called hipsters, entranced in over-analyzing, seemingly neglect to notice their friend falling to the masses of sewage via East River beneath the Williamsburg bridge to his ultimate death, but apparently not to his demise as he keeps chattering whilst in mid-air. They all have the same mouth; they all converse about the same thing; and they look the same; smell the same...

There's No Fairness in Explosions...?

2008-05-30T07:00:00.000-07:00

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/30/world/middleeast/30gaza.html?hp

What do you think?

Money-People's Paradise

2008-05-29T11:54:00.000-07:00

...So, isn't the poor man just another character in the rich man's world. My mind's referencing The Diving Bell and the Butterfly when Jean-Dominique Bauby drives around in his red car taking in the Paa-ree..

...Having this opportunity to see the world, blessed by different experiences and interactions with various peoples; and that's what makes a life interesting. It(globetrotting) gives lives character, and gives thoughts the basis for development into tangible ideas. But unfortunately, unless you have money, traveling the globe endlessly is probably not an option. ...So, the poor man, with his colored shirt and vintage suspenders walks down 2nd avenue...only a character to John Simon who slowly rides in his Jaguar taking mental photographs of each person for his own mental pleasure. Poor Man is just another animal in Mr. Simon's safari.

In 3 days, he'll be in South Africa for lunch and in Kenya prancing amongst hyenas. Poor Man walks down 2nd avenue every day...he's just part of the Le Gens du Peuple.

TOKION-new issue!

2008-05-29T11:51:00.001-07:00

Please buy it...it's actually great. I don't say that about many things. It's all pretty and collage-y this time around. Check out the blog in the meantime:
http://tokion.com/html/index.html

My Bike Sucks

2008-05-29T11:45:00.000-07:00

Summer has begun. I ride this completely impractical, hefty ass bike. It's a 1970s Schwinn...red. Whatever...the handles are way too high, and if feels like I'm on the JFK runway ready for take off on a 700 pound Indonesian elephant. What I really need and really want is a smooth, blue colored, black-lined road bike where the tires cut the wind and I chill in bike-racing position (you know... like when they crouch forward and the handles are nice and low...think Tour de France...) ready for take off. A bit more practical, I would say...

sex me

2008-03-19T13:15:00.000-07:00

the new amerykah album is blazing fire...fire fire.

every track is sexy. just listen to it. the laureate of sexy albums. setting: a blunt, some incense, chardonay...and call it a night...

bore me

2008-01-17T10:55:00.001-08:00

all this editing and layout and editing and layout. every magazine seems to be an array of art deco copied and pasted multiple times over. it's like one of those cheezy ass neon signs you find along I-95. how subtle. i'm bored with colors...color me gray.

funny, it seems whenever one thinks art's climaxed, reached it's top top...something comes along and pops you in the nuts...i'm waiting. ouch.

'Jimmy' Come or Cum?

2007-08-24T08:53:00.000-07:00

'Jimmy', by M.I.A. (yes, my third post in all...and second post devoted to M.I.A.) has this clip that uses the voice of a female saying 'aaja', which in Hindi/Urdu means 'come'...

Now, dirty is, dirty does...but is M.I.A. being dirtae dirtae?

Bullet!

Peace,
Hinna

50 and Kanye Finally Confess Undying Devotion For Each Other.

2007-08-23T15:57:00.001-07:00

Point being...they're homosexuals.

http://www.killedthat.com/2007/08/23/a-historic-moment-in-hip-hop-50-cent-throws-up-the-roc-sign-at-nyc-concert

...jokes aside, good lookin' hip hop. But one wonders, how long does serenity really last for?

I'll give it about 2 weeks...then it's all back to life, liberty, and bullets. I know 50 can definitely handle a barrage of bullets...but Kanye? Eh...

Note to Kanye: Louis Vutton bullet proof vests.

Kala is Out

2007-08-21T23:17:00.001-07:00

Kala is out! (...M.I.A.'s latest album for all those ill-informed) I have yet to go and make my purchase. Every synchronized beat, every drum hit, every tooting horn ...the amalgamation of sounds that seem to color each and every M.I.A. song is so-damn-sexy. Sexy. Keep it pious.

She's an acquired taste...like cajun food or something. The sexiest feast I ever will have had.

Peace and Love,

Hinna