Party for Babylon Falling

Who is Babylon ?

{and why we should support its' continued growth}

no matter how the blog-o-razzi quip chittingly about the eminent demise of culture & its' monuments...

Babylon is alive and well. An amorphous entity,Babylon continues to thrive & grow. Whether they sell t-shirt @ market price for festival or festival price for market or crowd up on the captured image/sound/motion, forget about it...

NOTE: a monochromatic photograph

'Jimmy Cliff Revisited, Trenchtown' google it and notice the spelling> in particular 'A UMIMUM' & 'ACCETYLENE'...

Twitters says 'Oh, man! That is so lame. I thought you were going to dish the cake on the Babylon Falling 1 (one) Year Anniversary party & impromptu sidewalk beer bash with all those fabulouso peeps from all those exotic places. Oh, WAHHH! Now i'm gonna have to navigate further down the googly search page to find what i'm looking for.'

Cool your high octane jets, Twit.

I received the invite to this party in e-mail blast format from Babylon Falling dot com blog. As did my loverly Spanish fiancee over yonder in Madrid (The 'almost' Capital City & World HQ of all the world's dragon population) say hi, honey... 'Holaaa, desde Madrid!'

Entering the party I was able to check out the Apocalyptic Ballerina & her lo-tech DJ. Refreshing!

This an excerpt from their site description:

Babylon Falling is a concept driven independent bookstore, located in Lower Nob Hill San Francisco, with a focus on the spirit of Revolution. In addition to new books we also carry similarly themed collectible toys, clothing, posters (original vintage stock, and silk screen re-prints from Ospaaal), artwork, and DVDs.

Revolution surrounds us. On one side of the store the shelves are dedicated to the history, theory, and politics of Revolution. The other wall of shelves is focused on aesthetic and stylistic Revolution and features sections devoted to literature, graphic novels, art, and music. The toys, artwork, clothing, and DVDs compliment and supplement the collection of over 3,000 titles. NO FILLER.

We also host regular events that have included performance art, book signings, and art exhibitions. You can see pictures of our past events here

As the good doctor was fond of saying, "Res ipsa loquitor" - The thing speaks for itself.

Some wackiness over the name Yuske and we're off to the races! Sean, owner of this shoppe nestled snuggly on Bush between Leavenworth & Jones, seemed in high spirits as i entered about 7-7:30. Being that i am the sort who always acknowledges the host I salutated him and grabbed a cup of red...

The thing that impressed me was the fact that the majority of the people, artist {mainly} of various disciplines, were super approachable and willing to chat, even with post-apocalyptic creatures of my style. There's hope, eh?

Babylon Falling stocks books and artworks left of the mainstream circle. If you'd like to get the skinny on the local vibrancy of local literary & artistic culture around SF Proper definitely do yourself the kindness of stopping in and saying hi to Sean and tell him you heard about Babylon Falling.

Experiments in Truth - from the notebooks of Doctor Hedskrǖ

It's a small way to be tortured when you come right down to it.
Stainless steel syringe pushes through the foreskin.
Generic brand Korean black market Sodium Pentothal slides through a pulsing bloodstream.

Nazi war criminals introduced Sodium Pentothal through the southwestern college towns of Texas early in the late eighties. The students took to banging it 'recreational' by the mid-nineties. Everyone and their mother caught its' effects on drunken frat boy reality video.
We've all seen what 'truth serum' does to egotistical drifters and desperadoes when they wise off to giants working the nightclub doors. It is a very small torture in the grand scheme of mortality.

She had planned that there would be a slip up in his story when it came right down to it. She believed so strongly in her feminine intuition of sociological dream interpretation, she could feel her venom rise as the syringe squeezed out the final cc. of truth juice.

- It doesn't mind. - she whispers tying off the rubber hose.

He willingly submitted for two basic reasons. The first and best played on the fact that he had nothing to hide. He hadn't slept with any other creature since he met her five years ago. He knew her mind to be clouded with the steady diet of ornately tapestried fictions.

Her mind a-blaze with images of young cosmopolite bodies lacking inhibition. She watched and read way too much. She imagined truths which would never come to past. This is a common problem among word people, especially writers of fiction.

Besides this reason he submitted quietly because, at least, she hadn't mentioned anything about the 'Stripper'. It wasn't the idea of the 'Stripper' being rubbed along his scrotum which concerned him. There is a hyper-pleasure associated with having your sack completely and professionally drained. He had it on first hand authority from the guys in Retail Division.

- She could suck the data off my silicon…any day. -

If you think the 'Stripper' is 'top-of-the-line…' at sucking large clusters of data off corporate governmental HDs and DVDs consider the electronic thrill of having your own polarity consumed by this marvelous device.

T'is the major problem, you see? He has been diagnosed as VoltPhobic. It's not like he started out with a fear of touching electrical appliances. He quite liked the idea as a youth. His earliest childhood electrical memory, after grabbing a toaster and stainless steel faucet, was that of a nine volt battery logo representing black lightning bolt cats each chasing the others tail up his arms, along his spine and finally, playfully patting his brain with sharp little paper thin claws.

He hadn't figured it for a problem until a talk show host brought it to his attention. Then making light of it to the company medical office had really proved he was a phobie. As sure as stink on Sunday morning this fear would ruin his life if he kept it hidden in denial.

Doctor Hedskrǖ filed many psych- grants to research and treat his unique phobic reaction of laughing and ejaculating at the point of contact. Luckily, his sweet Tormentress knew nothing of his condition.

the act of taking in raw data and taking an action based on the category of the data

At my job they never tell me anything. Literally. I step to the cube and everything gets eerily silent. My fellow workers refuse to acknowledge my presence. Weird, huh? Maybe they've read my new poem over @ SomaLit Maybe they've heard me ranting about the expensive dentistry in Amerka where it's easier to start a war than get your teeth fixed. Maybe the heard about Gavin and his crew of hepcats starting to roll out a grassroots wi-fi project (Gosh! I'm sure nobody ever thought of Citywide-WiFi before) Maybe they heard that I got an autographed copy of Pattern Recognition Needless to say I have been busy lately,...

NuevaDrid said...

Maybe your fellow workers are only set to feel some sort of sympathy for television celebrities.

Needless to say I miss you.

1:08 PM