Scans of old reviews from Forced Exposure and similar zines from the late 80s and early 90s.
From Crookt, Crakt or Fly.
Missing these guys live in 1995 or so is an all-time regret of mine. I also missed the Dead C around the same time, both performing in my hometown. But hey, I was 15 and didn't know any better.
My first homebrew in 3 years, a rough partial-mash adaptation of a double IPA recipe that's ridiculously bitter, with Willamette, Magnum and Columbus hops and dry-hopped with Columbus, Galena and Amarillo. I have low expectations for this but it was fun to do it again. Label art by Henry Darger.
Stroomi rand, Tallinn, as the fog takes it over. (photo by Ags)
Start of round 3 (Eastern conference finals!!!)
Tallinn, yesterday early evening.
Start of round two. New tactic this year: trimming a 'neckline'. Pittsburgh is 2-0 since I shaved a neckline. (You're welcome, boys.)
...pizza dough while thunderstorms erupt overhead....
Day zero. It starts tonight.
A dogged attempt to cover the universe with mud.
I was simultaneously watching and starring in a documentary film (or a reconstructed biopic) about the development of the original 8-bit Nintendo Entertainment System. It was the early 80s, and I was working closely with a Japanese engineer, in a small office in America, to design the plastic casing and product logo. We both wore button down white shirts and ties. A representative from the main Nintendo HQ in Japan came to visit, and we were nervous. I tried to bow in the Japanese style but screwed it up and offended him.
What time the orioles came flying
Back to the homes, over the silvery dikes and seas,
The sad spring melted at a leap,
The shining clouds came over the hills to meet them.
The old house guards its memories, the birds
Stream over colored snow in summer
Or back into the magic rising sun in winter.
They cluster at the feeding station, and rags of song
Greet the neighbors. "Was that your voice?"
And in spring the mad caroling continues long after daylight
As each builds his hanging nest
Of pliant twigs and the softest moss and grasses.
But one morning you get up and the vermillion-colored
Messenger is there, bigger than life at the window.
"I take my leave of you; now I fly away
To the sunny reeds and marshes of my winter home."
And that night you gaze moodily
At the moonlit apple-blossoms, for of course
Horror and repulsion do exist! They do! And you wonder,
How long will the perfumed dung, the sunlit clouds cover my heart?
And the some morning when the snow is flying
Or it lines the black-fir trees, the light cries,
The excited songs start up in the yard!
The feeding station is glad to receive its guests,
But how long can the stopover last?
The cold begins when the last song retires,
And even when they fly against the trees in bright formation
You know the peace they brought was long overdue.
Runway of Nida Airport, Neringa, Lithuania, now abandoned (or at least, no longer in use).
You have to know what your personal struggle is, and then get to the other side of it. Pouring unexamined personal rage or whatever into social action is going to foul things up somewhere along the line.
He went on to say that he liked the idea of metamorphosis because change is the law of life, whereas permanence suggests spiritual as well as physical death, both of which are also strongly suggested by the idea of closeness with another person.
Hard to know what to say here - at this point I've had so many different IPAs by Mikkeller that it's hard to keep them straight. This one has a fantastic aroma, a slightly darkier and maltier, body, and a really nice bitter kick that isn't overdoing it (like their '1000 IBU' line) but is really really nice.
Anonymous, from Journal of the American Institute of Planners, 1969.