Photographer Unknown

It really is a dog eat dog world out there!

Fucking end of November means we’re full onto the Xmas season and all the materialistic crap that gets thrown in our faces with it. Holiday seasons just suck overall. They suck the joy out of me, they try to suck the money from our wallets, the phony ass people acting nice for a few days suck.

No matter what they throw at ya, remember this picture speaks volumes about our modern world, which of course, sucks!




Illustration by @exotic.cancer

Caitlin is a stripper who’s taken to Instagram under the the name @exotic.cancer to vent about life in her profession. She tackles all facets of the job, though the most hard hitting stuff to me are the illustrations of male customers she simply calls “shit men say”. The men are drawn like aliens almost and all quotes are from real conversations. Having spent time in strip clubs in my younger days it seems not much has changed. The creepier guys in those places make the experience depressing for a dude, let alone imagining what the women who put up with them nightly must go through. Caitlin gives us an idea, and while not pretty, you can sense the cathartic nature of her artwork. I suggest checking out her account. Read more at VICE here.




There’s a guy who plays Delta style blues slide guitar, wears a motorcycle helmet with a mic inside, wears a slick sort of one piece jumpsuit and plays a kick drum with one foot. That would be BOB LOG III, a mystery, a legend, one man band who tours relentlessly. You either dig it or you don’t I think. I’ve seen him several times back in the day when I lived the U.S. and it’s an awesome experience. Very punk rock, funny, kind of awe inspiring and a good ol time. I like his records too but I think you have to see him live to fully appreciate what he’s all about.





Bam! Another right to my mouth. Blood flew to the left in one large ball that, like a formation of men suddenly under attack, spilt into smaller groups spreading out in disjointed directions. As it landed with an audible splat, it mixed with various other bodily fluids that unwillingly left my body during the beating. The cumulative effect was forming interesting patterns which I convinced myself were rather beautiful. Again I was asked for information I honestly didn’t have. If I did know something, I wouldn’t have been able to say anything comprehensible at that point anyway as I’m pretty sure my jaw was broken. Plus, during one blow I wasn’t prepared for earlier, I nearly bit off the first centimeter or two of my tongue. I felt it’s separation in my mouth and couldn’t help but try to push it against the sides of my teeth to keep it from separating. Blood flowed from both sides of the hole on my face that was ostensibly my mouth. Still they persisted with questions they were certain I had answers for. Although I was a close to leadership, my role was strictly to provide conceptual advice, mainly on matters of morality. They never gave me details, only describing broad hypothetical scenarios, which were no secret to my interrogators. From the corner of my eye, I saw one of them approaching me holding a sizable rubber hose. I looked at the floor again searching for the divine patterns I was positive existed there a few minutes ago.

Fred Vee



Photographer: Jamel Shabazz (?)

A couple of super fresh brothers reminding me how lucky I am to have seen all the wild changes over the years. Those boom boxes were the shit back in the day, whether you were a b-boy or a metal head. A vital piece of equipment for hanging out. Now you walk around with the world in your pocket. Which is fine, but I’m telling ya, if ya weren’t alive in those days, the whole vibe was different. Electric. Fresh. People weren’t so jaded. Not that things were great but you had to get out of the house and hit the streets. Interact with all types of folks. You had to wait to get back with your friends if you saw something crazy out there. Ah, I’m a middle aged fart stinking up the room with all this memory lane shit.





Man, I hope this news about Tumblr being blacklisted from the Apple App Store isn’t a sign the end is near. I hate nearly every social media site but Tumblr is still a place I roam, connect with a few people and I keep it all to myself. No friends IRL there.

I still find some really good art blogs, weird shit and lots of retro blogs that I like a lot. It’d be a god damn shame if it all just disappeared. I understand if there are some problems with content involving minors that there’s no room for that. I’ve never seen anything like that there, even accidentally (though that doesn’t mean anything). Hopefully it gets resolved hasta pronto.

I still have the app on my phone and nothing seems to have changed as far as changing any settings or anything. Guess I’ll just keep my fingers crossed and hope the thing survives. Gonna keep on top of this story for sure.




I was lucky to grow up with a lot of family around me, cousins and what not. Being the youngest growing up I had pretty much no say in what went on the record player when everyone was hanging out. It wasn’t much of a problem as I really didn’t have much of an opinion about music at eight or nine years old. So I’d listen to what my brother or my cousins or anyone older for that matter and soak it all in. It was great to listen to a really wide variety of styles and sounds.

My cousins were big on Santana and this album especially. I remember I was just learning how to play guitar when they played this for me. Blew me away at 10 years old. Still does. Santana’s style is so pure and distinctive and all the rhythms going on are really magical. I was real happy years later to take one of those cousins to see the band in New York City at Pier 84. At least I think I paid! Was a loooong time ago…1988 I think. I saw him again at the Fillmore in San Francisco sometime in the early 90’s as well. Very good band to see live.

If you’ve never dug on Santana this is a great album to start with. I’m not a superfan and don’t know the whole catalog but this one never gets old.




David Hockney, Portrait of an Artist (Pool with Two Figures) (1972)

This painting by the British artist sold for $90.2 million in New York City, making it the priciest piece of art by a living artist. The brief description of the sale is nothing less than vomit inducing. As are the sales by other artists at the auction.

This isn’t a critique of the artists themselves but of the soul sucking process of the high end art acquisition world. At this time of crisis the world faces, very little comes close to giving the human race a giant middle finger than these exercises of vanity and excess. I’d just as gladly eat a high velocity bullet for breakfast then spend an hour with someone wealthy who would spend this amount of money on a piece of art.

The days are racing away to the point of humanity being on the brink of extinction with a large swath of people unsure of what it all means and with the super wealthy just not giving a shit. Look, I dig art as much as anyone but spending this type of money on a painting is not only gut wrenching for the reason mentioned earlier, but if you are unable to anything more creative than spend money, use that 90 million wisely. Like to commission a shit ton of artists worldwide to get the message across to the people who don’t have time to keep up with news or are just blind to how close we are to committing mass suicide due to…ah, never mind…it’s greedy, self serving, vane, psychopaths with all the money driving us off the cliff and buying stupidly priced art we’re talking about. What a coincidence. Well, enjoy your art psychopaths. Don’t hang it that Malibu summer house though as it it’d be a shame to see all that money go up in flames.





They come to pick up the bodies twice a week. Unfortunately, our days are Friday and Monday which sucks. They’re too close together and by Thursday the whole fucking block smells so bad it makes you wanna puke. To add insult to injury, the collection spot is right below our bedroom window. Thursday nights are obviously the worst. People start stacking the bodies out there once it gets dark, which you’re not supposed to do, but I can’t say much since I’ve done it myself plenty of times. 

The absolute worst is if you forget to take the bodies out on time, because they come early, seven or eight in the morning. You know, maybe you were drinking the night before and didn’t set the alarm or whatever. Then those carcasses just sit around all weekend stinking up the area. Of course, it happens on the regular since most people around here are shit faced 24-7. Hell, you’ve even got the ones that miss Friday and Monday. No use complaining about it though. Nothing you can do but wait. It’s a big ass city and the unlucky dolts who do the job are busy buzzing around the maze of wards that make up our section, picking up the remains day and night. 

There’s no shortage of bodies. One week there’ll be 20, 25 rotting away outside the window. They got city workers that come do counts and some way or another figure out where the bodies were staying. Before you know it, a bus comes with 20 or so people and they get led to different buildings. Sure enough, the next week there’ll be another 20 or more bodies outside. Like I said, there’s nothing you can do about it. You know, as much as you hate it, you actually do get used to the smell. It’s not that bad really.

Fred Vee



The great Stan Lee passed away after 95 years on planet earth. The creator of the Marvel Comics universe was a legend in my book and I know I’m not alone. Marvel characters were always more interesting to me as a kid than DC (which I do also enjoy) and Stan Lee was the force behind that. He gave the characters a lot of humanity by showing flaws in the good guys and not just the bad guys.

It’s remarkable the amount of characters he created that I loved. Spider Man was huge for me as a kid. I also loved Daredevil, The Hulk and was mesmerized by Silver Surfer. I couldn’t get enough Sgt. Fury and his Howling Commandos and The Fantastic Four were great as well. Of course, Stan had Jack Kirby as partner and they created many of the characters together.

As a kid, my brother and a couple of cousins of mine who may as well of been our brothers, spent hours passing those comics around to each other, arguing who was better or dissecting the stories. That was like 45 years ago. Now in 2018 Marvel is stronger than ever with all the movies and what not. It’s mind boggling to think of so many millions of kids throughout the years who were entertained, inspired, taught a bit about the human condition and bonded as friends through the work of Stan Lee.

In the grand scheme of things 95 years is a good run on this spinning rock. To have created what Stan Lee, Jack Kirby and all the others did must have been damn satisfying for him. A real iconic figure with a great imagination. Like millions of others around the world, I want to say thanks Stan.




The legends from Japan who were at the vanguard of the “noise” music scene in the late 80’s - early 90’s. I played the hell out of this CD when it came out along with John Zorn’s “Naked City” project which featured Boredoms vocalist Eye.

All incredibly out there stuff back then (still is) but there is always method in the madness the more you listen. Boredoms have other classic albums such as “Pop Tatari”, “Super æ” and “Vision Creation Newsun”, all of which I love. Not everything is as chaotic as “Chocolate Synthesizer” but it’s all usually stuff you gotta ease into.

As for the other band members it’s been a lot of rotating people who come and go, do side projects or guest on an album. Eye seems to be the anchor of it all. In any case, Boredoms are must have for your collection if you have a wide taste in music.





Martin opened the window leaning about half his body outside. He twisted and turned his back, neck and head until he could see a jagged sliver of sky. No rain yet but the sky was washed in dark grey hues. He worked his way back inside, sat at the primitive table he’d built long ago and stared at the clock on the wall. The actual time was of no matter to him or to anyone really, except the scientists or the militia. Martin wasn’t a member of either group but he enjoyed watching the second hand move its way from one number to the next. He counted seconds to keep his mind active. With a good deal of concentration he could make it to one thousand most days. Today though, he couldn’t get past three hundred or so and gave up after several tries. Earlier in the day when the walking siren wailed, he was designated Path D when he went outside. During the walk, he caught a glimpse of a cat squeezing its way under a gate into a colorless alley. Since then he couldn’t take his mind off the animal. He thought it was brownish or gray but it moved with determination and was out of sight before he had a good look. He wondered if it was young or old, sick or healthy, happy or sad. One thing he was sure of was that like him, like most everyone, it was alone. So as he sat at the table and got to around 200 while counting the seconds, the cat appeared in his mind and he imagined details about the cat that he didn’t know. When he’d finally lost count he was immersed in a world where the cat lived in his room with him. All the details were filled in, the most important being that the cat was friendly, and in his mind for the rest of the day, he lived a life where he had a friend.

Fred Vee