My friend 12manrambo and I just opened a small record store here in Oakland, CA. It is called Park Blvd Records & Tapes. The address is 2014 Park Blvd, up the street from the old Parkway Theater and around the corner from Lake Merritt which is the greatest lake. You can follow us on Instagram, Twitter, the World Wide Web and Facebook. We have a Tumblr too but there’s nothing on it yet because I’m very tired. I promise the store is cool though. It is full of rap tapes and other music across genres and formats.  If you are in the Bay Area we are open Tuesdays through Sundays from 12pm to 7pm. If you are not in the Bay Area we will be putting together a little online shop eventually and then you will be able to lie and tell people you went to the Bay Area even if you didn’t.

Goddess of the Day: June 27

Oya - Yoruban Goddess of Weather. Oya is the personification of wind and storms, ranging from gentle breezes to hurricanes depending on Her temper. She vehemently protects women from conflict and poverty.  She is the power of change and transformation, and is often depicted carrying a sword or machete to cut away the past and make way for the future. Oya is also a goddess of commerce, supplying marketplaces and retail business with wealth and success.  

(text from Brandi Auset, The Goddess Guide)

(со страницы

Success Has Come (Royalty free music)

You can Buy this track without watermark(voice)+Pack here:…6333283?ref=Baszz
Genre- Motivational, business, corporate, upbeat
BPM- 124
length- 0:00-2:07
Instruments: Strings, drums, percussion, acoustic guitars, bass, piano, keys, electric guitar, delay guitar,
Optimistic background music for infomercials,promotional video, podcasts or for any other uses.

Alexis de Tocqueville believed commerce leads people “to seek to conduct their own affairs” and to teach them “how to conduct them well,” thus preparing them for freedom.

For more:

A simple sign hangs over the bare entrance. The restaurant teeters on the edge of Buti’s piazza, before the road turns up into the monte and the olive trees that grow in twists. Sophisticates come from miles around to dine, the shine of their mustard Ferraris and Lamborghinis dull in the shadow of the castelo, a hulking ruin of the Medici days. Ask a local what the restaurant’s like and they’ll turn their lips down at the edges and shrug. We don’t go there they say. They like La Grotta, built around a giant and ancient stone, or Tormento, where the food is rustic. They smear raw pork sausage on soft bread and the wild boar in the tagliatelle tastes of iron and old blood. The locals have great contempt for the foams and post-modernism they hear happens in the restaurant they don’t go to. But there’s a secret: they do go. Sometimes. They admit it grudgingly, collars turned up to the chill from the rush of mountain water moving under the piazza, sloshing through tarnished metal grates. Thursdays, they say. That’s when the chef, a local himself, turns the kitchen over to his aging mama, a Nonna. A grandmother. She cooks the traditional food that sustained the hills for twenty generations. There’s no rainbow of luxury autos in the lot on Thursdays. No foams on the plate. Locals walk the crooked roads to eat the food they know, the food that makes them feel immortal. It’s the food we like, one said, plumes of smoke rising from his mouth like myth.

{I won’t often write about restaurants. The kind of hunger that matters to me isn’t the kind that’s satisfied by chefs and waiters and commerce. This post is an exception, and inspired by an episode of Chef’s Table about chef Massimo Bottura, available on Netflix}

Scene in Regent Street. –Philanthropic Divine: ‘May I beg you to accept this good little book. Take it home and read it attentively. I am sure it will benefit you.’ –Lady: ‘Bless me, Sir, you’re mistaken. I am not a social evil, I am only waiting for a bus.’

[C.J. Culliford, coloured lithograph, c.1865 – in Lynda Nead, Victorian Babylon (2005): p.63.]

Writes historian Judy Walkowitz,

The polarization of womanhood into two categories, the fallen and the virtuous, observes Lynda Nead, ideologically depended on sustaining clear, visible differences between them. Faded looks, painted faces, gaudy, seedy clothes supposedly marked off the streetwalkers from respectable ladies, dressed in muted colors, tailor-made jackers and waistcoats. Nonetheless, in the mid- and late-Victorian period, even as police cleared the streets and theaters of prostitutes to make room for respectable women, these two categories constantly overlapped and intersected at the juncture of [public] commerce and femininity. Although Victorians expected to see the vices and vitures of femininity “written on the body,” confusions over identity frequently occurred. In the elegant shopping districts around Regent Street, prostitutes, dressed in “meretricious finery,” could and did pass as respectable, while virtuous ladies wandering through the streets, “window gazing at their leisure,” often found themselves accosted as streetwalkers. [City of Dreadful Delight, p.50]
‘Sentence First, Verdict Afterwards’: The ‘Alice in Wonderland’ World of Secret Trade Agreements
The terms of the Trans-Pacific Partnership and the Trade in Services Agreement are so secret that drafts of the negotiations are to remain classified for four years and five years after the deals become law. How can laws be enforced against people and governments who are not allowed to know what was negotiated? - 2015/06/24
most important number on the planet

most important number on the planet

According to Buddha

On a trail atop White-Crane’s green cliffs,
My recluse friend’s home in solitude,
Step and courtyard empty; water and rock,
Forest and creek free of axe and fish trap.
Months and years perfect old pines here.
Wind and frost keep bitter bamboo sparse.
Gazing deep, ancestral ways my own again…

 give it time and we wonder why do what we can laugh and we cry
and we sleep in…

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Why collect art? — FFDG

This is part of an ongoing conversation that I feel like I have had with a lot of my artist friends in and around the Bay Area, including last week with Rachel herself in my studio. What she has to say definitely applies to this region, but I think it could apply to a lot of other arts scenes around the US and abroad.
Rachel Ralph is the owner and director at Fecal Face Dot Gallery in San Francisco’s Mission district.