This House Is No Home

No anesthesia.
Just open me up.
Heart full of tar.
Lead lined guts.
I want to feel the pain as I slowly bleed out.
Biting at my tongue as they're sowing up my mouth.
Sometimes the my thoughts drown out the city.
Sometimes the city drowns my thoughts.
Sometimes the streets pulse through my veins.
Sometimes sitting on my stoop I am lost.
Kamikazing my worth with the stain of my deeds.
I dig moats around my prisons despite burning to be freed.
Screams silenced by sirens.
Yearning met by begging hands.
Bloody shoes and perspiring walls
impede the fallen's efforts to stand.
Hungry and broken.
No one hearing the calls.
We must take from this house.
All that gives are the walls.

Luke Judd 3.15.2010

Christmas Thoughts of a Reagan Baby on the Twilight of the 00's

The dollar is the weakest it’s been in a generations. Arguably the weakest it’s ever been. Two wars aren’t even saving our economy. Its purchasing power is decreasing as it inflates but we don’t see it reflected in the wages. Most of us make less money and buy more and more expensive items and gadgets. We decide things like cable TV, I phones, drugs (legal or illegal), fashionable clothes, ECT are necessary goods and not wants and desires.

So we shackle ourselves with debt. Imaginary money to buy things we don’t need and, this time of year, other’s things they don’t need. Credit, made from thin air, manipulated by a few that hold huge power over the masses. Yeah you can have it today but you’ll pay for it every month for 5 years.

Meanwhile we approach the anniversary of the unfathomable sized gift, we, the taxpayers gave the banking industry. The same men and women that will tighten their grip around the throat of the world. Endorsed and sold by the marketed face of hope.

Santa Claus belongs on the dollar bill. It’s the lie that continues because we willfully pass it along. There is no gold to backing your cash. There hasn’t been for nearly 100 years. It is just paper. Paper that increases or decreases value at the will of the gate holders at the Federal Reserve. And distributed as the bankers see fit.

None of this is an accident. And nether will be the giant economic collapse that is coming. It will be planned and it will be profitable. All the fingers will be pulled from the cracked dam at the same moment. Most likely by the same company that gets the contract to clean up the aftermath.

Rather than thinking about what it really means that both the paper and plastic in our pockets don’t correspond to anything, we dress up in red suits and white beards to swipe our cards as fast as we can. Cause I bet my Aunt doesn’t have an ipod shuffle in purple yet.

All that said enjoy your family and friends and your time. They are all you really have and what you can hopefully count on.

New The Aimless Never Miss Ep out soon

The Aimless Never Miss' - Trans E.P. promo, originally uploaded by Rumspringa.

Busy Start to December

Hello my people. Here's a little update on what I've got going on in this the last month of the first decade of this millennium.

This friday I will be doing some video mixing on the streets of Oakland for Art Murmur. 23rd and Telegraph ave.
My friends' band Careerers will be performing on John Benson's bus. I will be projecting on the bus.

On the 13th, my new short film Achievement will be premiered at We Artspace in Oakland with some other films I have not seen but I'm sure will be stellar.


Also going on this month at We Artspace as part of their Stocking Stuffers show, I have seven prints for sale. As well as very reasonable art for tons of talented local artists. If you are going to give gifts this season, make them awesome and not factory produced.

Finally, here's some of the results of a photo shoot I did with Silian Rail last month. Happy Winter!

Three Judgement Days

Over the last two months I've made three music videos for the awesome bay area string metal band, Judgement Day. Anton had asked me to make a video for a song on their album Dark Opus, which is in its 5th year of release. They are doing a show on Nov 19th show at Annie's Social Club in SF to celebrate, where they will be projecting videos for each song while they play. Come out if you're in the area!

I also made a couple live videos out of the footage Andrew Wilson shot at a show I did with them at the Rickshaw Stop in SF in October. They are a bad ass band and if you like to know more about them, check out http://www.stringmetal.com/judgementday/

942 Channels of Static

The Joneses cry behind closed doors.
They are tired of setting the pace.
Shotgun retirements come to them
without a break in the race.
No pause for the disgraced.

The house on the hill is a sink hole.
A bottomless well
that begs to be full.
Poisonous picket fences.
Heads on spikes.
There are no paper routes anymore,
just red rusted bikes.

Hiccups *' #'
in the machine.
Displayed as static on screens.
Cracks
snaking towards each other,
like sisters and brothers
embracing
over decaying dams.
Outsourced shepherds
drive lemmings over water
to crash below into
.
.
.
.
the land.

No protection against the surge can be assured.
No power can remain unbroken.
No truth can be spoken.

Honesty found in browning lawns,
and electric shocks from rugs.

Luke Judd 10/8/09

Why? "Fatalist Palmistry"

i sleep on my back cause it's good for the spine
and coffin rehersal
i know a psychic who reads her own palms
and the findings are personal
she keeps her fists shut tight and she sleeps on her side,
well maybe she knows something i don't know

but i am still alive and loving
wide eyed in my time
not a mummy shrinking in its cloths
your cat clawed out my eyes while i's
distracted by your smile
and now my sockets sit like empty catcher's mitts waiting
and you ask me if there's anybody else that i'm dating



what's your painted pony is fading
walks like a snakeskin in high grass
and out to thrashing like a pet bird caught in a jet stream, that's me
you count them blessings cause your net worth
oughta be less cream in your best dreams
but god put a song on my palm
that you can't read

i'm lucky to be under
this same sky that held
the exhale from your first breath
like a
i knew my tongue may stutter
but my gift heart screams clear and swells
to burst between your red lengths
of its own bone briden self

but i am still alive and loving
wide eyed in my time
not a mummy shinking in its cloths
there's a moth caught in my gut, groan
i tug at my groin like tides trying to
pull women towards them, i can't ignore them
and when we say your name our tongues catch flame
and you wonder why we ain't got nothing to say

what's your painted pony is fading
walks like a snakeskin in high grass
and out to thrashing like a pet bird caught in a jet stream, that's me
you count them blessings cause your net worth
oughta be less cream in your best dreams
but god put a song on my palm
that you can't read
i'll be embalmed with it long before you'll see