here’s a little low-res jewel thrown together by our designer friend edwin roses
…it’s stosh & james, the Cap Gun Hold-Ups doin a tune called ’soul sister’ in the laundry room,
(yeah, really) at The Brewery art colony in L.A
…sure, this was shot on a “flip”, but i think you’ll agree it’s a stylish little package
& we extend our heartfelt gratitude to mr. edwin for his support

*disinclined toward
gratitude blues*
cartoon angels all around,
fire & brimstone under ground
…how do I love life& not be afraid to die?
…i know i ought to be thankful
but i can’t remember why

…mardi gras devil under my bed,
dalai lama melody stuck in my head
…how do I love life & not believe the lie?
…i know i’m supposed to be grateful,
& just go along for the ride

…all these good people all over the scene,
they’re all pretty sure they know what it means,
but is it a cold dark nothing, or a castle in the sky?
…well, i know i ought to be grateful,
but i’m damned if i know why

*why ‘nice’ is noise*
seeking forwarding options for communication?
…think: ‘eschew obfuscation’
because an organization will develop a culture of its own whether it is purposefully shaped or not,
it’s worth while to consciously craft a culture
that reflects the organization’s intents & endeavors
…an important part of culture crafting is a discerning approach to language
…because language shapes perception in overt & subtle ways, care must be taken that conceptual framing & word choice consistently reflect, define, & reinforce organizational (& individual) core values
…to this end we at INos have come up w/ a, (constantly expanding), list of what we call ‘watch-it words’; that is, words that require a special degree of care in their use
(stay tuned for more about this list of words in later blogs)
…one of the words that has recently made our watch-it list is the seemingly innocuous; ‘nice’
…’nice’ is a word most of us use nearly every day, but did you know that the Latin root of the word is; ‘nescius’ meaning ignorant, literally; ‘not-knowing’? (ne = ‘not’ & scire = ‘to know’)
…the development of the meaning of the word ‘nice’ has been described by linguists as; ‘extraordinary, even for an adjective’
…some history then;
pre-1300 the word ‘nyce’ in English was used to mean; ‘foolish’ or ‘ignorant’, (the word was most probably borrowed from the old French; ‘nice’, meaning; ‘silly’), although several other meanings, including; ‘timid’, are found in Middle English for this time period
…over time it’s meaning evolved further;
to ‘fussy, fastidious’ in the late 14th century
to ‘dainty, delicate’ circa1400
to ‘precise, careful’ in 1500s,
(it is still used as such, think; ‘nice & early’, or; ‘a nice, even spoonful’ & its cousin the noun; ‘nicety’ also designates a kind of distinction)
…by the 16th & 17th century it was often difficult to determine exactly what was meant when a writer used word ‘nice’ …the overuse that would eventually wring most of the word’s meaning out of it had begun
…by 1769 nice had come to mean ‘agreeable, delightful’
by 1830; ‘kind, thoughtful’
…by 1926, it was pronounced by linguist & English language style guide author H.W. Fowler as; “too great a favorite with the ladies, who have charmed out of it all its individuality and converted it into a mere diffuser of vague and mild agreeableness”
…setting Fowler’s chauvinism aside, we get the point, the word nice comes to us now in the early part of the 21st century, gently spiraling out in multiple directions, each w/ no ultimate destination of meaning
…at best we can say that the word indicates a sort of measured & agreeable distinction, although of exactly what sort,
it is difficult to be entirely certain
…nice is an unnecessary obfuscation, in a word, it is; ‘noise’
…still, is that too harsh? …well, let’s talk about noise for a minute;
-noise is that which blocks, distorts, changes or interferes w/ the meaning of a message in communication
…the word noise is generally taken to mean an unwanted sound, though it is also used to refer to other unwanted phenomenon
…in electronics, noise is perturbation to a signal; like the noise heard in a weak radio transmission
…in computing terms, it is data without meaning;
data not being used to transmit a signal, produced as a by-product of other activities
…’signal-to-noise ratio’ is the ratio of useful information to false or irrelevant data in a conversation or exchange, such as off-topic posts or spam in online forums & communities
…while it is probably safe to say that most words go thru an evolution of meanings, when a word has been tumbled down a path that brings it to a place more ambiguous than precise, it has become noise
…the use of pleasant ambiguities like ‘nice’ skews the signal to noise ratio in our lives away from clarity & authenticity, towards polite but vacuous non-conclusions
…& thus; ‘nice’ ends up on the INos ‘watch-it list’
…please note that the words on this list are not banned or even discouraged exactly, but we believe that they require a certain degree of mindfulness in their use
…we at INos invite you to consider all the ways in your life that language shapes perception, the obvious & the subtle associations words develop as they are shaped by human society & our animal natures
…consider the meanings & senses, as well as the dictionary definitions, etymologies & origins of the words you speak every day; do they help define, & reinforce your core values? …monitoring the signal to noise ratio of seemingly innocuous or mundane language choices plays an important part in purposefully shaping & consciously crafting the culture of organizations & relationships so that they consistently reflect our inspiration, intention & vision

*went looking for ink alley*
went looking for ‘ink alley’,
in los angeles under the midday sun,
on the corner of 1st & broadway,
squinting at a digital snap shot laser paper print-out of a map from 1910
…looking for ink alley,
& realizing that after 100yrs,
some streets had grown longer, or gotten shorter,
or wider or thinner, or moved uptown,
or disappeared completely,
re-shaped or swallowed up by time,
& notions of progress
…here in the city of angels,
so much of the past cannot be visited;
only exhumed,
& then sometimes,
only at the library
…looking for ink alley,
& conjured up from the research & intent
a vague apparition;
in ink stained coveralls & a square hat
made of folded paper,
ashen & covered in brick dust,
it’s mouth falls open
& the sound of roiling war drums
& a building collapsing in an inferno
issues forth
…the message is clear:
ink alley is beyond reach
…nothing on this corner now but a fenced-in empty lot;
an overgrown foundation on the inside,
w/ a ramp leading to an underground parking facility
built many years after the ‘old chief’, ‘general’ otis’s,
open shop blew up & burned down
…rebar now welded in a grid over the car park entrance,
all bombed out w/ graffiti,
the mouth of a man made cave,
leading to some indistinct hades
…on the outside of the fence,
set at an incline off the sidewalk;
some low-maintenance desert landscaping
…behind the trespass warnings,
in the meager shade of low brick walls,
sickly stray cats nap in the cool breeze
wafting from a vent of the underground car park
…passing thru the fence like smoke,
the phantom linotype press operator pauses,
scratches the belly of a cat,
it wakes & stretches
…press operator surveys the corner lot,
the years passed erode away in his steady, sad gaze
…one can’t comb the ground here for arrowheads,
spent brass, or belt buckles,
the way one can when visiting other battlefields
of north america
…no evidence here of the struggle,
no marker, no sign, no plaque
…the current news paper building across the way,
an architectural patchwork of decades between disasters,
faces the empty space once occupied by its ancestor;
says nothing
…100yrs ago, somewhere behind the fence off broadway,
a narrow passageway once crooked
round the bindery & storage bldg;
this was ink alley,
where barrels of the liquid ammunition waited to be pressed to service
…make no mistake;
the Times bldg. was a fortress in a warzone
from which salvos were fired at the enemy,
& here at the end of Ink Alley was it’s munitions dump
…a war being fought
in this town for ½ a century by 1910,
in the newspapers, in the back rooms,
in the meeting halls,
on the sidewalks ’round the factories
…a war fought
w/police truncheons, picket sign sticks & axe handles
…a war fought
w/ sleazy injunctions & firm resolve,
righteous anger & desperation,
mere pawns & battling belligerents,
freedom fighters & terrorists,
hired goons & crusading lawyers
…the press operator comes to the end of the alley,
stares inward at the magic lantern flicker
unfolding forever in his brain,
dull eyes weary w/ his100yr old sorrow,
he watches the interloper’s entrance
…into the fortress sneaks the sapper,
the saboteur, an ironworker, a laborer, a union man,
an agent behind the lines
…& when he leaves again, unnoticed,
16 sweating sticks of 80% are resting in a suitcase
among the barrels of ink,
whose usual inflammatory intention
would be subverted to a new & terrible purpose
in ‘direct action’,
when the alarm clock accidently goes off at 1am,
instead of 4 in the morning,
when the crew & the paper
would’ve been put to bed
…barrels of ink, vaporized into flame,
borne on gas fumes from the broken basement main,
roar throughout the shattered building
…half a dozen explosions,
& the firelight dances on the cobblestones,
& the south wall collapses,
the 2^nd floor falls down to the 1^st,
all of it crashes into the basement,
trapped souls scream from the roof top
…back out on broadway,
the press operator points
across the last century to the place
where the bodies piled on the sidewalk,
after making their last desperate decision,
between flame & blunt trauma,
between slim & none
…the sort of choice oft made necessary
for soldiers & civilians backed into a corner of hell
by the tactic of terrorism
& the rule of fear
…then the specter vanishes
like embers swept up into a night sky
in the heat above a blaze
…now ink alley is unreachable,
buried by the slow avalanche of time
…now, a searing breeze cuts thru the sunshine
& animates the weeds that break thru the cement
of the crumbling foundation,
in the otherwise vacant corner lot
…they wave in the heat
like the arms of those buried so long ago,
reaching skyward thru the rubble
for answers to questions;
champion of labor? or cowardly murderer?
working class hero? or midnight assassin?
good soldier? or anarchist scum?
…& does the whole damn world
believe in dynamite?

just today got hipped to this video that was podCast & recorded back in March of 2010 (about 10lbs ago)
…it’s a good example of the kind of thing that i contribute most tuesday nites at the ‘church of art’ in the brewery
…for more on these amusing amazements check out this subtle juxtapositions blog entry
…enjoy!

…the pain will let you know
how alive you are
…it will let you know how
alive you want to be

dreams aside, where we
will not stumble over them;
-it’s better this way