05/30/2015

That guy in the photograph above—his name is Dave—is someone who I have never met but I spent a portion of my day with him, five nights a week, for about thirty years. He's older than me me by a good bit but in a way we sorta growed up together. It's interesting how much you can come to feel that you know someone that you've never actually met. It seems likely that this notion—a popular one—is a complete fantasy, for how often does one find out that one doesn't even really know the people that one has met, like the people one is related to or romantically involved with? On the other hand, I have long been intrigued with the notion that perhaps one can, in fact, get a more accurate impression of a person through their work than you might be able to obtain through direct contact. Perhaps the public expression of the private person can offer the more precise insight into the nature of the individual than we might expect. Is it possible that listening to the music of John Lennon or studying the paintings of Mark Rothko or reading the works of Thomas Bernhard might give us a more accurate portrait of who they really were than one would be able to get if one actually met the person and their personality got in the way? Or is the opposite more likely to be true? I mean, in the end, who the hell really knows anybody?? Tis an conundrum, Gentle Reader(s), an conundrum indeed.
05/21/2015

Gentle Reader(s), up until this point in the game InkyInkInc.com has been exclusively a one-man show. It's been both challenging and fulfilling to keep the ideas and the playlists flowing for the past year and a half, but I am more than thrilled to present to you InkyInkInc's first guest blogger—my friend and fellow Matador DJ (No Pants), Lily Jones.   PUNKER, TABLE OF ONE: One Girl’s Ramblings on an Evening of Dichotomies   ​Before last Thursday, my knowledge of Pussy Riot was limited. Neon dresses, balaclavas, and prison came to mind. Limited may be an overstatement. However, when I heard that Nadezhda Tolokonnikova (Nadya) and Maria Alyokhina (Masha) were going to be in my little niche in the desert, and a friend of mine wanted to fund my ticket to see them speak, I got educated. What struck me more than anything was their adoption of true intersectional feminism. Instead of confining their activism to Russian women or just women in general, they wanted to and were continuing to, fight for everyone.   ​These are the women who visited New York in December during the onslaught of police brutality towards the black population and responded with their first music video in English. “I Can’t Breathe” is a song that acts in memoriam of Eric Garner. Nadya and Masha wrote a song about the dual nature of the phrase “I Can’t Breathe” as both the literal statement and the metaphorical ideal of living within this climate of police brutality. The chorus repeats “It’s getting dark in New York City/I need to catch my breath” and concludes with Richard Hell repeating Garner’s plea to be left alone and allowed to breathe. Where others would see wage, color, and nationality gaps, Masha and Nadya see commonality. When these women say that you can be Pussy Riot, they are also extending a fist towards your oppressor. Through their influence in multiple spheres, including their NGO Zona Prava, their news service MediaZona, and their work to free imprisoned activists these women will fight with those who are greatly marginalized with a camaraderie that states your success is our victory as well.
05/13/2015

In the movie, the murder takes place at the corner of Bush and Stockton and Miles Archer falls through a wooden railing and down a steep rocky slope after he is shot. The book specifies that the fatal shot was fired in Burritt Alley, just down the block from the intersection of Bush and Stockton. There is no longer a rocky slope for the body of a murdered private detective to tumble down—the terrain of Burritt Alley has changed in the 85 years since the book was published and an eight-story building housing a mini-mart, Taqueria Mana and the Boba Guys now stands between the alley and Stockton Street below. The southern end of the Stockton Street Tunnel, from where Sam Spade first observed the scene of his partner’s murder, is across the street from the alley. Dashiell Hammett Street is just to the west, between Pine and Bush. The book and the film are both The Maltese Falcon and the city is, of course, San Francisco.