Snapshots n Broomsticks

Social anthropology is best expressed in journalese. A cardboard and spit model by Hirschhorn casually captures the compartmentalized cubical mindset of our time in the information swamp.

Our national pastime of brutality and teamwork is no stranger to South Florida. A solitary American Modern cast concrete sculpture guards a playing field at a local public school near Kendall.

Winning Wynwood. Another excellent street art mural (formerly known as graffiti) adorns an otherwise blighted wall. Go Heat! is an ironic mantra for summer in the swamp.

Elevator Going Sideways. Lovable droid Dr. Milagros Bello is looking for curators to embellish another polished arts institution dedicated to contemporary art. Whatever that is.

Yes ! In Their Front Yard. A very swampy display of bronzed individuality on a private residence in North Beach. Kinda Dali meets Harry Potter.

Arrested Development. An unfinished condominium tower construction stands empty 3 years and counting, most likely from bankruptcy.

Shade is for Quitters. A newly installed retro design shelter-free bus bench sits blasted by August microwaves in Bal Harbor. The new 2 seater replaced a common urban rider-friendly s bench and shade structure but alas that modern design proved fatal. The town's persistent quest for street beautification has become a cycle of tax n spend. For what?

Good Day of Fishing. 8:00 AM The boys and their toys set up to for the daily entrapment of unsuspecting, though certainly neurotic, motorists on Sunny Isles. At $250. bucks per sucker, their quota is complete by 10 AM, just in time to load up at the donut shop, lay low till 3:00PM when the extortion racket begins anew.

Potential Pedal Power. A rack of pricy euro generic gps bikes sit idle on South Beach, rusting faster than you can say Critical Mass.

SOBE is truly underwater. Yet it is a comfort for old-timers to see the Off-season return to what it was before the boom, a place for locals. For tourists who come here in the middle of summer there are places like Prime One or Delano for them to crowd together get fleeced and pretend resort-town is hoppin' hip worth it.

The naked truth is, Miami the city has grown exponentially flat yet the beaches remain indisputably the best thing about the swamp.

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Chicken Little

The 14 karat gold plated corporate media has decided we can not get enough of the economic pornography they have packaged so irresistibly for general consumption.

Propaganda mogul sports common man look. Literally millions of viewers weened on cable news can't seem to decide which story is most disturbingly stupid; the Debt Ceiling question looming overhead or Rupert Murdock loosing his grip as a media empire crumbles to the ground.

A clever expression of modern sensual British banality by wonder-guy Ron English.

Where is Waldo ! and where is our Dubya, the decider of war and debt. Where are those who got us into this trillion dollar mess. Bush is toast, Pelosi is out to pasture, and Boehner is hanging on by his lavender ascot. Notice the listless hands barely raised as if to suggest a hidden grudging contempt.

Take the millions and run. Clever graffiti focuses on the monopoly of insecurity as the wealthy and affluent scramble for cover from the guarantee of uncertainty that disaster capitalism delivers in the age of global shock doctrine.

Success is not an option. Republican Speaker is just talk as the Bonernator and the rest of his obstructionist party give us the finger.

Eighteen holes and a bottle of bubbly. Civility and refinement are at the core of the camaraderie among the elite political and media class. No matter their price of 'freedom', the multitude of manipulable folk will pay in blood and treasure.

While the militarization of the world mounts...

... the supple hands of the business class begrudgingly prepare for the worst.

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Swampy? Not.

With the second tropical depression of the storm season garnering local attention, there is another storm looming that aught to set off alarms in the swamp, but few seem to bother or make needed preparation.

Today, people have grown accustomed to endless war and that very consequential mindset translates from the most profound to the most mundane.

Our love/hate relationship with automobiles and roads makes for a constant state turmoil. We vacillate from lust for luxury to road-rage wrecks. We are so dependent on this mode of mobility that it would be easier to kick a heroin habit than it is to withdraw from driving.

On the lighter side, one has to laugh at the ever increasing traffic calming devices that seem to pop up overnight. The baffling bump-outs, curious curbs and senseless sidewalk alterations are the gift of a confederacy of dunces at FDOT.

No shit Sherlock, which way do we go.

OK whatever. No one pays too much attention to these things, until you slam your wheels up on them. No one seems care one way or the other and that is why these stupid things are multiplying faster than parking meters.

On the serious side, another two red-light cameras are installed at locations near you. In time every intersection that promises the most return of revenue for those who benefit from legalized extortion will be outfitted with these scameras. Drive and Text all you want for now, just don't make rolling rights on red.

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Barefoot Goddess

The Ambassador of Cool know simply as Sade brought the house up last night at the AArena Downtown Miami. It's been ten years since her last show in South Florida and, boy has she most def still Got It. Why does she return to the swamp? Because we desperately need a dose of true cool. Her hot benevolence is our refreshment.

Some say that 'black don't crack' and like a Benin Bronze, the British Nigerian remains unchanged through the years. Her unique brand of smoothy R&B and melancholy lyrics continue to sooth the savage beast and comfort weary hearts with deep world vibes unrivaled in todays stage of musical devolution.

Sade and her core band members have remained in tact where scores of other popular groups slip down the drain of mass culture. Her growing fan base is sophisticated and unwavering in the understanding that this soulful music is just the right medicine for modern distractions and afflictions of heartache.

The tears shed are real. The eyes of this goddess are the wellspring of our redemption. The voice is the sound of ancient sirens here to bless our senses with comfort and hope.

Sade will bring the house down only to raise it up high with bonafide genuine cool. The production is top notch, a 360 from the garishness of Spears and U2 type pyro-jazz that proliferates todays concertscape.

A solitary figure, she stands alone with such royal presence as if to say, 'fear not, i will vanish your pain now'.

The roots of the sound are etched on the hides of time. The remarkable tats of Paul Denman.

Saxy as ever, Stuart Matthewmman surrounded by fans after the show.

Mrs. Swampthing with that other man, Maxwell.

Grooving on these freckles is like gazing at a brilliant night sky shimmering with a constellation of heavenly bodies that anchor us to the universe with reliabliability for eternity.

Long Live Sade Adu.

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dull as a drone

Someday things will not what they used to be. Buildings will be made of composites and styrofoam and our food as well will be mostly composites and styrofoam with a bit of flavor...

The year 2047 is the target date for the Air Force’s Holy Grail, the capstone for its long-term plan to turn the skies over to war-fighting drones.

The trees of the forest will be made of recycled newspaper ...

... and Murdoch the magnificent will still be assplainin' to his dumpling missis what happened to his media empire.

No matter, with key players like big media, secret government and war profiteers, the chess game played on our world stage is already a cat and mouse game as the banner of belligerence flies high in the sky.

Simulation Situation.

The faces in the war room on the eve of binLaden's fateful final curtain call tell a tale of shocked executives void of serendipity over the clandestine calculating dominating dreams of the secret establishment.

Personal Pet Drone.

Fresh on the heels of a looming technological singularity, the advent of unmanned war is a logical next game-changer our congress is considering... can they not call it WAR if there are no boots on the ground just swarms of innocuous obnoxious drones in the sky?

For the sordid details of what we can expect more of from the war machine:

Rarely do wonder weapons or wonder technologies disappoint enough to disappear. And those latest wonders, missile- and bomb-armed drones, are now multiplying like so many electronic rabbits.

Minsk, Belarus. Where the glorification of gore-lust is unvarnished.

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Tropical Antifreeze

Opa-Locka Runway

Looming storms aside, the business of the establishment presses on into summer... until August vacation time when employed people arrange for some distance from the permanent nausea of modern life madness. Some will come to South Florida to recharge their batteries.

Paving the winding Indian Creek approach to SoBe.

Beneath the shimmering ebony pavement lies a boiling swampy core of substrate moon-rock and primordial sludge. Asphalt and concrete can only stay off natural form temporarily.

A mature Gardenia bush blooms in Surfside.

Given the opportunity and the trigger of abundant sun light, the swamp quickly demonstrates the result of its nutritious slurry base with displays of diversity that defy limits of sensuality.

Ficus, the leaf-maker. A privacy hedge towers on LaGorce Island.

De La Cruz Radio

Sculptor Nicholas Lobo prepares to broadcast radio signal transmission using a 64 foot vessel filled with... something very swampy at the De La Cruz Collection in the Design District.

Sushi Roll and the Drum Roll please.

It's perfectly swampy for people to stay home and entertain old and new friends with homemade beats and treats. Such is the quiet social network not virtual.

Southern Comfort, a clever message on a storefront in North Miami.

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