Tomaxopolis

Tomaxopolis is a pop-culture blog that's interested in the intersection of sports, technology, art/design, music/film/television/literature, comic books/graphic novels, '60s/'70s/'80s/'90s nostalgia, the Dark Arts, sex/religion/politics, Internet culture, etc.

It’s one-stop-shopping for all things topical and random. You’ll find words, pictures, sounds and vids, from the cool to the thoughtful, the contemporary and the retro, the amazing and the ludicrous, to the fun and the humorous. It's all here. You'll also come across arbitrary ramblings/musings and the occasional essay. And it’s unabashedly Portland and Los Angeles-centric.

Just think of it as a stream-of-consciousness blog without the conscience.

pitchfork:

Odd Future/MellowHype sparkplug Hodgy Beats talks to us about the coolness of Marilyn Manson, his desire to work with the Black Keys, and the whereabouts of Earl Sweatshirt.

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mtv:

ODD FUTURE TRADING CARDS: COLLECT THEM ALL! [MTV CLUTCH]

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Earl Sweatshirt in The New Yorker
This was a really good piece. I just wonder about the credibility of the responses from Earl Sweatshirt via his mother. The writer never even spoke directly with Thebe (Earl). Tyler has been on record as saying that it was not Earl.

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Look at this ‘tard w/ the bloody nose. He just got kicked in the face by Tyler and he’s happy about it. Kids.

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julianxberman:

Tyler The Creator.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/juelz/5778925733/in/photostream

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bbook:

A few Saturdays ago, on a cool, spring night, I watched a nineteen-year-old hang from a noose inside the Los Angeles Linda Vista Community Hospital. Moments before, he had kicked a wooden box from under him, and as he dropped down, his lean, brown body thinned and his feet went limp. Every now and again they twitched and jerked. He had on Vans and striped athletic socks that went almost to his knees. The green in the stripes matched his green baseball cap. Green, he’d said once, was his favorite color, because so far he’d been lucky.
The Linda Vista is an abandoned hospital that sits atop a palm tree-lined hill in the gang-pocked neighborhood of Boyle Heights. All of us—me, the teenager, roughly fifteen of his friends—were there to shoot a video. After the last patients left the building in 1991, neighbors said they saw flashes and other paranormal light-works going whirly-gig in the windows. As the boy dangled, his movements slowed and his legs went stiff. Then he exhaled a sharp breath. It was finished. Nobody said a word.
Then, suddenly laughing, he pulled himself up into a curl against the rope, which he was hanging from with his arms. “Can somebody get the goddamn box? Fuck! This is not a joke. You think this hanging shit is easy!”
Gang of Forty: Odd Future’s Los Angeles Riot

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The New Inquiry: It Gets Worse

thenewinquiry:

By Malcolm Harris

The dissonance between the two poles, between puppy and wolf, altar boy and Rosemary’s baby, is the heart of Odd Future’s sound

Since Roland Barthes published his landmark 1967 essay “The Death of The Author,” critics have been loathe to drag writers themselves…

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