The Godlove Museum

"The Godlove Museum" is a series of video game art pieces based on sections of the Bible. I actual didn't know that when I was freaking out about this, so feel free to ignore that part. I was impressed by how they played on the psychology of a gamer. It had me thinking about the experience of playing video games and the mechanisms of the game. It also gives an interesting perspective on violence, addictive/compulsive behavior patterns, and advertising. I was struck by a lot of really weird deep emotions while playing. Overall, I liked "Numbers" and "Deuteronomy" most, but it should definitely be played start to finish. Good luck ( :

Heres the link:  * g * e * n * e * s * i * s *  








 

For Any Type of Artist:

Moby on LA Architecture

Moby Los Angeles Architecture Blog

 

This is pretty cool!  Not only is this good photography of cool architecture, its awesome to just hear Moby think on random tangents: 
 l.a has a lot of generic, cheap, and seemingly uninspired/uninspiring apartment houses. they’re generally pretty ugly ‘(pretty ugly’ is a funny expression, like ‘civil war’, or ‘soluble fish’. not that anyone every says/uses the expression ‘soluble fish’. except for maybe man ray or andre breton or frances picabia or antonin artaud. my dead surrealist friends.)

One Year Old Poems

1.

In my dreams I’m running red lights

After nights of sex telepathic fights

I’m shunning mostly; intermingled, fingering

New heights in masturbatory thinking

Awake I’m rubbing against the substance

Its different from the

Metaphysical intermingling of

The laugh track men who hold me

Into sleep. It pivots on that one word just

I keep on missing exits

The street nexus, just a real trance

I’m coming back to the thing you lost

Coming hard

We just wanted to dance

 2.

The echos of my self

Cast shadows on the roof.
Drawn into a homily,
They drop softly on the doors

Even I begin to sigh

And rub my eyes for rest.

If I could just lie

And say here in my chest
 

That time beats slow,

And forget in sleep what's left;

But the murder of my soul

Reaches back to bother me.

It mumbles without sign.

My heart resigns in anger

And again I harden and enshrine

The clutter in my chest.