Rants

Oasis Band

We all know who the band Oasis is. And we all know the generation of this name for this website, as though everyone apart of this watering hole must be a fan of the band Oasis. But I would like to take some time, not too much, and rewrite history. I don't want to substitute a lie for a the truth, the history of events was never the truth, and what I want to say isn't a lie as much it is a desire to open up a new the possibility of a new future through a rendering of the past.

Oasisband is then a frequency of an oasis. I will later address these two terms separately, but I want to create an image, an image of two almost contradictory ideas existing both at this specific url but also as a point that exists outside of technology a point that exists inside and within communities and individuals. A frequency, an electronic, technological point, position, or flux that brings together the various creatures of the desert into one community.

And yes, community is the word that I am looking for. An oasisband is nothing more, and at its best is a community. A community that is not simply based on geographic closeness or physical/mental necessity, it is a community that can cross a limitless number of boundaries—it can connect concentric and eccentric lines of flight, or it can be nothing more than a beautiful vista, amongst an unfathomable sea of sand.

An oasis is essentially a micro climate, a different climate, full of life and possibility amongst a desert which grows larger every moment. It is a climate that is not simply created by chance nor by design. It can be created by a roaming boar who creates an indent in the sand, a bird who comes to eat the life found in the feces of the boar, a seed brought on the foot or the feces of the bird, and the rain which accumulates in this indent. This can become an oasis, or it can stay the exact same. Whatever happens is always understandable in reverse, looking back at the action, but the possibilities are always open...there is limitlessness in every moment and in every being.

Much has been said about frequencies, about technologies, and much has been said to exclaim and much has been said to defame these frequencies. But in actuality a frequency is a medium, and yes it is a medium to transfer new thoughts, rapidly changing views of the world, create new communities and foster a fledgling oasis, but yes, it is also a medium to transfer images that increasingly lack connection to the soil, create mediocre relationships, and entertain and distract.

What we have then on this site is a possibility for individuals to come together and create images and personifications of themselves and their bodies of work. Through this site and this frequency individuals will be able to come to a common watering hole. A place/a frequency that supports individuals and through that support creates interdependent communities. To share a common resource, whether that be physical or electronic is the basis for community.

So here is the vision for a revitalized Oasis Band. Individuals would use the space to host their own content, i.e. my academic writing, jeff's comics and music, jesse's artwork (and anything else anyone of us wanted to post) on their own portion of the website. We would all share a common homepage, and would be able to find every one's own space through a page similar to the current about us page.

Why O Band? Oasis Band is a beautifully designed website that already has the functionality necessary to be converted into a watering hole. And in the era of social networking where everyone has a page on facebook, twitter, has their photos and so on, there is a complete lack of content and to a greater degree community.

Gaps, openings and possibilities are being opened and left opened in this modern world. Community, which builds on technology, provides a powerful voice in an unsettled, postmodern world, and an Oasis Band can provide that voice if it commands the proper tone, compels the proper audience, and chooses to speak beautifully and softly even in the context of former belches and the constant noise of the current age.


Peter Schiff on Obama Economics

I don't like to use Oasisband just to post things, but this is worth a listen


Fifth Letter to Jesse

We are really not all that different, we are both people who really don't meet people. This is probably because of our own faults. These things need to be corrected in my opinion but we are both stubborn or maybe passive is a better word (well is it for you). I've been trying to change or at least adapt these last few years and really I have no idea how. People seem resistant and I count you among them but frankly you should have the time. You can be almost impossible to draw out and I hope you can see that I have tried/am trying. Even you have to think its a bit odd that I have to wait until your completely sleep deprived to talk about anything. Why lie and say you haven't read my letters? Why not just say you have nothing to say? I feel that this is all coming off as too aggressive but its hard. I've been trying to get to know everyone I knew in high school. I see you falling for all the girls I had crushes on in high school and you know what I think to myself? Thats incest. Its the lack of people we know and really they all are beautiful and it's almost a pity as it keep me complacent. Well then what advice do I have for you? Well its not a lot and I'm not sure how useful it will be. Get your drivers license and get out a bit and act when ever possible. I'd rather regret doing something then regret doing nothing and I always regret doing nothing. (actually this might conflict with advice I've given in the past and I think my error was there and not here). I'm surprised you had such a good time in Japan actually. I mostly find that things are mostly the same everywhere and that there is immeasurable beauty where I am. . . but then again I don't get out much ether. I like to talk big, I like to play the sage and it all works out when I'm questioned constantly, when nothing I say is taken as solid. I don't know how much more I have to say at the moment and I feel that this letter was rather weak. . . Well I'll respond to every question and every response as soon as I can.


The Fifth Letter to Jeff Forshee

Let me begin this by stating that I have in fact read every letter you have ever posted to Oasisband and have claimed otherwise because frankly, I've had no idea how to respond to them, with that in mind, I hope we can spark the conversation back up, because I need it. How about you?

I am beginning to realize just how poor a medium the Internet is for human emotion, and beginning to question my attachment to it. Questioning if it made me this way, or if I was this way all along. I honestly cannot remember. I am severely detached. I remember events with precision. I remember in exacting detail a look someone gave me at a party, body movements, the feel of a touch, but rarely dialog. More often than not memories are just symbols of the deep meaning I take from the completely meaningless. If I do recall dialog its usually just the general sense of the conversation, although under certain occasions I remember in exacting detail the tone, the pattern of breath, every last detail of what was said. These are the moments on which I base my life.

Lately there are days where I put serious thought into becoming an Alaskan fisherman. Its completely senseless, I would be lucky to survive a day, but the harsh work in the minimalist environment provokes some kind of primeval need deep within me, something sitting in a desk typing for eight hours a day just isn't doing for me.

Well my father is having heart surgery tomorrow, and I am majorly stressed at the moment. Times I feel like this I used to draw, and it was what I consider some of my best. More and more I find my self heading to bed rather than embracing the anxiety for what its worth, and doing something with it.

This is going to sound completely insane, but I miss the depression of unemployment. I miss the creativity it caused. Now that I am gainfully employed, and am not in complete desperation for social contact, I have dulled.

I'm heading to Japan in about a week and a half, I get mixed signals from you on Paul taking the hint. I hope though it will mean huge growth for me as a person, as it will in fact be the not just the furthest, but the longest I've been away from home. I'm homesick already.

Your Friend Always,
Jesse Gordon Donat


Excommunicated

** This is a letter I wrote to Brittany a few days ago and I am posting it here with her blessing. This is an old story told here with far too much poetry and far too little truth but I do hope somebody gets something out of my rambling style.**

"I seem to be addicted to something that doesn't really exist.
I have embarked upon withdrawal
and I am very fearful of what the withdrawal symptoms will be."

This has been the mantra since I left high school. Religion is a powerful thing and a powerful thing to be with out. Religion is a natural absence a void. Religion ushers creation into being. This is why I am the way I am here. I lack nothing. I, precisely and there is no over stating this, lack nothing. I lack this void, this view that there holes that need filling, or at least I have lost most of the things that used to remind me. Now I have the ideal that we should all be able to know each other (or at least a few of us could know each other). I seem to have lost hope in it, maybe not completely but the meat of it is gone and the bones are brittle. I falsely remember what was. I remember studying film and books and the night. I remember actually being forced a few times a day to be social, though I'm not sure I remember it fondly. And I remember talking, really talking, frequently. That frequency is no longer frequent, it is some static value and, as such, holds no value. I seem to be drawn towards what was (or what I convince my self what was). I'm too obsessive about such things and I fear how these obsessions make me look. I often fear you'll be jealous because she is in my dreams more often. Though I've known you to be stronger and more understanding then that, I still fear it to be true. It's a real shock being here now. Gross's mom said once that all I have ever done was talk and I guess thats strange but thats how I lived for years. Then after grade school I didn't get enough so I turned to books, movies and Andrew to fill the void. . . the Religion I had been all but excommunicated from. Of course this is after being gloriously depressed and starting the cultivation of my (self-reliant/anti-social) tendencies. I learned to wait in jr. high. I found that I could destroy my self with thought, that enough of it would make me ill and that I still preferred it to some people. . . they made me ill too. And after high school it all happened again. It was her again the high-priestess herself excommunicated me this time by handgun and by bloodshed was I excommunicated. Despite my will I could no longer pray in that church. I had no time to, and no willing brothers and sisters. And I can't look back for fear of losing what little of me is normal and turning completely to salt. Not to say I don't dream of it, half (and only half) unwillingly. But that is how we got to talking it was her again. It's always her that knocks me so fantastically off guard and who has convinced me to drop my guard entirely. . . Not that I've managed to implement that conviction. And all my work has done me so little good. It allows me to be wounded by those would-be brothers and sisters who I would give everything for and who seem to have no more then a passing interest in me. And so be it! 'So be it!' I chant again and again. Excommunicated and shattered what else is there to chant? Somewhere I have a brother and I have you. But I still lack that void, I need to be reminded of my Religion and those reminders are few. Sex is one and I hope that doesn't sound crass. But like all too many things there is more in it then there seems to be for other people. The future it rolled up into it and there is something tantric in it. A slightly false religion to be sure but not completely without merit. So forgive me my masculine transgressions because they are few to begin with. Most people have a hard time thinking of me as anything but sexless. Sex is nothing, precisely nothing, and conveys want almost without target for me. So forgive me if I seem depressed or distant. I am void-less and drifting and without Religion. But I am OK I have you, my love who will read my rantings and hopefully understand the sentiment among all the misleading words.


Two Letters

In the interest of posting something here are two of my recent letters demonstrating how completely bi-polar I’ve become in my isolation up here. Notice that they are only hours apart. Though this is nothing new. Comments more then appreciated.

6/10/2007 Jeff Forshée
“The Dark Broadcaster.”

I never feel like walking around at night here. I always used to back home. Why am I such a failure as a person? Other people can get along to some degree. From the vary begging though I’ve only been kin to people who turn to drugs, who are just generally unknowable, who are cold, or who (in my mind) have committed acts of horrible violence. The few I’m left with are not enough though I am truly thankful. . . For both of you. . . The night sky seems to hold only sorrow for me. . . Maybe it would be different if it weren’t framed by my window. I won’t find out for awhile its hard to drag myself out side. . . No one interests me out here, they seem hollow. . . Maybe I make them hollow. They don’t seem to think like me. I’m sick of always being the only one of me in a room and I wish this didn’t cause me to think I’m better then these people. How many words do you speak a day? You know I said something to the TV today and then felt horribly depressed. . . It was the third best conversation I would have that day. If it weren’t for Brittany I wouldn’t speak at all. I might through my voice out giving a four minuet speech next week. Even the few people remind me of people I’ve already failed with. I’m not even sure I’ll leave the apartment this weekend. I miss real summers until I think about how it was never really all that much better. People always left me alone never asked me to do anything. . . But I guess that’s my fault. Everything I learned I learned too late. Catholics have it easy you know? I’ve been stumbling around for years and haven’t found anyone new to confess to. If I come down will you have time for me? Or will we push things off like always? God I miss the discovery and the night. Up here all the alternative seem worse then the loneliness I have now. I can’t even cry up here. What’s the point. My emotion has no affect on anyone up here. . . I’m just broadcasting into the darkness. . . As I was born to do. . .

Miserably yours,
The Dark Broadcaster.

6/10/2007 Jeff Forshée
“Someone is receiving.”

Dearest brother,
Someone is receiving. Even when we think we are playing to the night sky, broadcasting into the darkness, someone is receiving. What a glorious revelation, dearest brother. My frequency is much higher here. The highs and lows move quickly. Here I do not dwell, even if I am grief-stricken and joyous in turn I dwell on neither. Maybe some day I will learn to be so perfectly alone, but when I see you next we should raise a glass and hope that skill will be of little use. And raise another to our silent brothers and sisters, both known and unknown, whom we wait for and whom we hope for. Know that someone is receiving, dearest brother. All this force of hope has to go somewhere. Last night I was crushed. My morbid fantasies got the best of me. In my mind I had lost her. . . She was gone. I saw my self at her funeral, dearest brother. I asked “Do you even know who you lost?” not understanding why the world hadn’t stopped. I cried last night in a fit of psychosomatic sorrow. I felt all 150 square feet of my apartment close in on me. I didn’t know what to do I couldn’t weep and I was still unhinged by this imagined grief. At one thirty in the morning I stared at the ceiling with that pain you get in your chest when you cant quite cry and the phone rang. It was her. She couldn’t sleep. Life is the greatest parable, dearest brother. I heard her voice and for a moment night was night again. I talked to her and the sound of each other made us both feel at ease. Even alone as I am, in this plastic night, someone is receiving.

Your brother,
Who Sees Perfection In Coincidence.


Update: Police Shoot 92 Year Old Woman. Here's my take, what is yours?

http://www.mpp.org/site/apps/nl/content2.asp?c=glKZLeMQIsG&b=1847069&ct=3829713

Man am I happy I checked digg today. Not only are thoes pigs in all senses of the words going to jail, but two of the three are charged with no less than:

"felony murder, violation of oath by a public officer, criminal solicitation, burglary, aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, and making false statements"

Man this makes me smile. Not only did they plant marajuana there, but they murdered a 92 year old woman, and they're going away for a long time. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Paul. Straight from the article:

"I'm sorry," the 35-year-old said, his voice barely audible. He pleaded guilty to manslaughter, violation of oath, criminal solicitation, making false statements and perjury, which was based on claims in a warrant.

So one of the three gets manslaughter, other two are looking at murder. Awesome! For once, some good news to put on atimes.


Hmmmmm

Do you ever dislike the fact that your hard to know? I mean I think that in relation to all the other people we know we must be fairly close. But I don’t know that much about you and I don’t know that you know that much about me. We are both plagued by nostalgia well maybe you aren’t 'plagued' or don’t realize that you are yet. I think your really in a good position. You lack little and understand your needs. If now is a time of opulence so be it. Now is the time to move though, slowly at first, towards what ever it is that you want. I actually wish you would ramble about your self more often. I think you are one of the most egoless people I know. . . Well just thought I should write something and was spurred on by a bad day.


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