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Thursday, 12 March, 2015 04:34 am

The Old Ones Featuring: VAZ

 

 

The Old Ones is a collection of live performances I shot in the nightclubs around Minneapolis and Saint Paul from 1993-2001.  The shows have been broken down into one song segments with no particular order for a quick and easy view. The master tapes have traveled great distances so embrace the quality and charm. I will attempt to give some information and will welcome all relevant comments.

 

                    VAZ

BANDCAMP

 

Wednesday, 14 January, 2015 03:29 am

Sparta App Featured

All prices reflect the unframed stretched piece on canvas. Please contact Bill at 808-292-6778 for purchasing and framing options. You may take advantage of prints and cards by following the linked options.

 

Monday, 24 November, 2014 01:59 pm

The Old Ones Featured

 

 

The Old Ones are a collection of live performances I shot in the nightclubs around Minneapolis and Saint Paul from 1993-2001.  The shows have been broken down into one song segments with no particular order for a quick and easy view. The master tapes have traveled great distances so embrace the quality and charm. I will attempt to give some information and will welcome all relevant comments.

Saturday, 22 November, 2014 03:01 pm

Greetings From the Wasteland Featured

NOVEMBER 21, 2014 · 8:42 AM

 

Bill Draheim became familiar with Rachel Gardner after reading her comment on William Gosline’s Spectictulive Fiction piece, The Ship, which included his photography as an integral part of the story.

Rachel then challenged Bill to come up with six photos that best exemplified her story, The Machine’s God. Bill used the surreal photos he composed on his Samsung Convoy flip phone to create a haunting abutment of words to images.

 

The Machine’s God

1bill
How it started:
I went to bed with a fever once and didn’t wake up for nine days. They told me I was incomprehensible, delirious, what came out of my mouth was like a traffic jam of words and animal noises. I woke on the tenth day feeling hungry. I made myself a fried egg sandwich and then I went to my workbench and built the first one.

2bill

The first:
It came to me in my fever dream. I dreamt of fire, of warm, liquid metal. There was no struggle, I simply held the material in my hands and it seemed to shape itself. I didn’t truly know what I had made until I turned it on. My sister came in the door when I had it in my hand. She lost half the hair on her head. She’s forgiven me since then, but I don’t know if I ever will.

3bill

The next:
I locked my first creation away under my floorboards. For all I know, it’s still there, under the rotting remains of our old house. The next I tried to manufacture with caution, but the work leapt ahead of my hands before my brain could object. This one scuttled away under the armoire. We didn’t find it for weeks, only its leavings. All the jam in the house missing, teacups broken, and the cat found stark raving mad in the closet. The search ended when I was putting on my greatcoat to go out one day and heard a crunch under my left shoe. I felt bad, despite myself.

 

4bill
The apex:
This was the one I came to regret the most. It seemed so innocuous when I finished it, made of old pig iron scraps and watch springs. I remember how it fit to the curve of my palm. But then it disappeared for a month. By this time we were used to the machines disappearing for a time after their birth, usually they turned up none the worse for wear. I began to worry when I heard the new mayoral candidate use words I myself had coined, a trip to town hall confirmed my fears. It had grown…and with growth had come a thirst for power. Before I could consign it to the dust, half the town was uninhabitable. Forgive me.

5bill
The demiurge:
By now they became as pets, or children. Small in my affections. I had created what seemed the entire gamut of terrestrial life, the insect, the dray horse, the worker bee. It was inevitable that I create something of a deity for them. It wasn’t a bother at first. It merely floated around the rafters, sermonizing the others in a series of squeaks and clicks. The others were quiet when it did that, so I let them be. Later that week I discovered a small shrine on the highest gable of my new house. The others were sacrificing themselves, hurling their tiny bodies to the ground below. Well, there was nothing else for it. I got my wrenches and went to disassemble it. The task nearly got the better of me, but in the end I trapped the thing in the furnace. The flame was violet for weeks after that.
6bill
The reaper:

I am old now, my hands have lost their surety, and I get lost in conversations I held decades ago. Like any proper machine, I am winding down for the day. A few of them, my machines, my children, pile at my feet, watching. Even if I knew how to talk to them, I would have nothing to say. They are all of them self-sufficient, and seem to take care of themselves. Yet they seem to look to me for…something. No matter. I am busy with my very last creation. It is not black, nor does it contain skeletal parts, but the function should be obvious to all who lay eyes on it. I start it up and hold my arms out for final judgment. One slice and I am machine undone.

 

 

Read More...  GRRYO and at Greetings From the Wasteland 

Saturday, 22 November, 2014 02:05 pm

The Ship

The Ship – Part 1-12

thus did immortal jealousy
quell divine generosity,
thus reason vanquished instinct and
matter became the slave of mind;
thus virtue triumphed over vice
and beauty bowed to ugliness
and logic thwarted life:and thus—
but look around you,friends and foes
 
my tragic tale concludes herewith:
soldier,beware of mrs smith

e.e.cummings poem 27

Read More: The Ship

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