Childish Gambino and Innovation

I was reading pitchfork's review of Childish Gambino's Camp on Pitchfork. They gave it a 1.6. When I read the article, I realized I got the end of it and had no idea what they were talking about. I couldn't recall a simple reason why they didn't like it. There was no point to the article. They mostly said he copied Kanye West. OK. They sound similar, I give you that. So he's going with a style of art that is proven to be good. He puts his own spin on it, and takes it to new places. Furthermore, what else is he going to do? Should he go with a failed model? Maybe he should come up with something new? But I do want to point out, that most of the things that we consider "high art", such as painting, classical music, plays, novels, poetry, opera, sculpting and cinema, are very infrequently the first of their respective "genre"s. They all copy pieces that come before them, and put a spin on it. That eventually leads to further inovation. "People don't write from the moon" as my professor would say. Meaning, you don't create something masterful without influences. So don't criticize Glover for not being crazy innovative. 

Some people complain that shit talking on the internet is annoying. That it's unnecessary and pointless.  But the literary community has been writing contrary pieces for ages. In fact some of the most influential essays on critical theory have been responses to essays that were published in journals, Henry James' The Art of Fiction to be specific. It was a response to and essay that no one reads anymore. We feel a need to criticize what others do. The difference now with the internet is that all of it is recorded and saved. We can go and look at it all now. Before it was just word of mouth between commoners. Not until recently did the average person know how to read and write.

Reading and writing is power, I guess.

Turning Stains Into Stories

Thief - Hotel - Camera

He had always hated that camera anyway. He was glad it was gone. The Five Seasons hotel wasn't proving to be any help anyway. They said they couldn't do anything to cover lost valuables and their security footage was useless, at best.

So maybe he should just move on then? When he had gone to sleep, the Nikon had been sitting on the counter next to the TV as he went to sleep. When he woke up, it was gone. But the door wasn't broken into and hadn't been opened. He was sure of it.

That meant - it had to be the window. The thief must have entered through the window and taken only the camera. That's what didn't make sense. Who only takes a camera? Was the thief a photographer? Did he happen to know how un-valuable that camera that was? He had had it for 10 years and everytime he tried to use the flash, it would take at least 3 or 4 times before it would go off. This was very hard to explain to people he was trying to candidly take pictures of. "Please, can you just go back and not notice me? I was trying to take a picture. I swear, it'll work this time."

Maybe the thief had seen him taking pictures of the empty alcohol bottles next to the pool. Maybe the thief had thought he was doing something else and was suspicious and wanted the film taken out of the camera. Who knows? He didn't think he had been taking any pictures of any consequence, merely having "fun" with this instrument he had grown to loathe.

The short, squat hotel with it's two stories had made it easy for the thief to get in. It was just an easy hop from the gate that surrounded the premises to his balcony. Ironic that the thing trying to keep people out just made it easier to get in. And who would have guessed that the security cameras had been pointing towards the alley way, conveniently facing the external wall of a Chili's. Lots of wrong doers on that wall.

At least now he had an excuse to get a new camera. He was too cheap to ever replace something that wasn't broken or stolen and the camera had been walking the former line for quite a while. Good to know it had jumped off. He wanted to see where it would land...but oh well. Digital's are pretty cheap now a days, right?

Too Fond of Backstory

He couldn't remember if he had set his alarm or not. He couldn't remember if he had set the alarm to wake him up in the morning so that he wouldn't be late for work. He wondered what time is it was he groped for his alarm but seemed unable to find it. He reluctantly opened his eyes to a bright world and realized that it was about mid morning. But what he didn't realize was that had forgotten his name!

Twist!

He also had forgotten where he was or how he had gotten there! Did he have a job? What would it have been? Where would it be? What college did he attend? Did he even go to college? Who was this strange woman lying next to him? Who's apartment was this? Where was it? What was the mortgage? Where there leaks in the bathroom? Was the pool gate closed?

All these questions raced through his mind. He needed to know the answer. He dashed out of the room wearing nothing but a half pulled over Barenaked Ladies Band T and his gym shorts. His gym shorts! Maybe that would hold the clue to his identity! He stopped abruptly in the hall and looked down at his shorts.


"Prop of Lair of the Bear"

Was he a slave? Did he wake up in a world where the bears ran the world and issued out commands for their fortified lairs? How had they won? Was is a spontaneous mass take over or a gradual winning of public favor? Oh God these were dire times!

No. This was foolish. It must be a place, he thought. He dashed around the house, finding answers to questions he didn't know. A television he didn't recognize. An answering machine that he didn't know the password to. Two small sheep gently "baww"ing around his ankels, asking for milk politely.

"Marvin, what are you on about?" The woman spoke! She sleepily walked out of the room he came out, which he then surmised was the master bedroom.

"Who are you?"


"I am you!" and then he pulled off his mask he was darth vader all along.

Tradition

The sidewalk wasn’t quite straight.  It listed a little to the right. His feet carried him along it as he thought about how the builders who made this sidewalk planned it to do this. Everything that was built was planned. One way or another. All those people who planned all these buildings were children once. They had been little kids too. They had had birthday parties, proms, girlfriends, houses, TV shows, favorite cereals. They all had first grade, second grade, sixth grade, gym. They all had people they liked. People who they didn’t like. People who didn’t listen to them. People who they thought had been for them. They had went to college. They had had a hard time concentrating. He had a hard time concentrating. His mind wandered. So he matched his brain and his feet. His hands plunged into his pockets; the cold couldn’t get to them there.

The sky had been clouded for sometime. It made the grass greener, he thought. If only there was some other way to really appreciate it. The sand was darker though. Maybe that’s why it seemed greener. Iceberg plants always looked like green potato wedges.  His feet stopped. Too much sand to walk in his shoes. He looked back. There never was a line where the concrete stopped and the sand began. There was always some sand on the concrete. Even on the stairs. No place was pure.

His toes dug into the flesh like sand. He had been here before. He’d seen this ocean. The white tips of waves had always peaked out at him. The blue water had always had a cold look to it. He dwelt over his life. This ocean had been here when he was child. When he had gone to kindergarten, the waves had lapped against this beach. When he was in junior year of high school, these rocks had been here. Those plants had been there last year. He knew that as he looked out at the horizon, that the sun would set every day. The light would always make a fan shape on the water, right as the sun kissed the water and would illuminate the clouds with brillant pink and yellow highlights. It had done that since the dawn of time. It would continue to do that. Nothing that he did, big or small changed that. The problem was, everyone already knew that. He wasn’t special. He had been here before, but so had everyone else. This sand had erased all other footprints with the waves. The waves continued to wash everything away...

You should get on with it.
Put on your shoes.
Go back up the stairs.
Go home.

Live.