Alan Fletcher, “Architecture is optimism”, the last cover he designed for Domus, No. 778, January 1996.
September 21, 2014
“To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.” When I think of my past, I immediately get an erection. The only thing I care to remember is my series of sexual conquests. Everything else is not important. I used to know the names of my conquests, but now, all I can remember are their bodies, face, and intelligence. I was never a big fan of names, because I have a hard time connecting something verbally to a face. It’s uncommon for a writer to admit this, but the visual image is far more important to me than the vocabulary. I think back to countless women I have touched, both in the literal and spiritual sense, and every one of them offered me great pleasure, that can’t be really recorded by words on a page.
When I close my eyes it is like being in H. G. Wells’ Time Machine, where I set the dials to a specific time and place, and go there. I can visit ancient civilization or the pre-war Paris years, by just imagining what it would be just like. I don’t need to be actually there, but just knowing a few names, for instance Boris Vian, Juliette Gréco and of that sort, I already have a place and time in mind. So my time machine is really me closing my eyes and transporting myself to that world. My sexual time-traveling sort of works the same. Some are real memories of actual fuck sessions, and others are “imagined” get-togethers where I focus on a beauty of my choice.
There is a secret club, only for men of a certain age, that I belong to called “Gas, Grass, & Ass, ” where we discuss our sexual conquests among ourselves. It’s rude to discuss these things in an open forum or even in public, but within this club we can freely discuss in detail our sexual adventures. The one rule is the fact that we never mention the name of the woman, or give any personal background on her, except what she is like in bed, and after all, we are gentlemen of a certain age and time.
One of the things we really like to talk about is if we were in, or had the use of a Time Machine, who would we revisit again for carnal pleasure. The irony is that this club only focuses on the past, so in a sense I’m in a room full of men who live in or for the past. Some say one cannot live in the past, but I think we all know that is not exactly true. The present only exists, because there is a past, and how we perceive that “past” is how we see our present. The future we never knows.
“Think like a man of action, act like a man of thought.” The one thing we all agree with is that each woman has her own particular scent. I commented that I had a fantasy of sitting in a room blindfolded and the women that I share intimacy with comes in. I identify each one by their natural sexual scent. To be wrong, would be fatal! Nevertheless, it is interesting that all of us men at the club have a highly sense of smell, and that it’s a big part of our sexuality or desire. When I get home from our weekly meetings, I feel exhausted. Drained even. The only thing that makes any sense to me is that “the pure present is an ungraspable advance of the past devouring the future. In truth, all sensation is already memory.”
Hey y’all! I wanted to share a “Flower Spirit” sequence from my film Orisha’s Journey. In African lore, it is believed that spirits dwell within all things and so all nature should be respected. Being of West African descent (Ghana) I grew up hearing tales of this sort which captured my imagination.(shout out to my boy Iker Maidagan on bkg colors!)
I can’t wait to see this film “Orisha’s Journey”!
If a page filled with Tinder users wasn’t enough, Botinder also comes equipped with the terrifyingly named “Booster!” function. Select “Like automatically” and Botinder will begin liking every single Tinder user near you. The “Booster!” speed likes multiple people a second, transforming your screen into a blur of smiling selfies. After a couple of minutes of Booster mode, I’d gained 50 new matches. To put that in context, it can take weeks of furious Tinder app usage to get that many matches, but Botinder had accomplished it in minutes.
Black Market Takes Over the iPhone 6 Lines
In a meta-analysis of sixty-six studies tracking interests over time (the average study followed subjects for seven years), psychologists from the University of Illinois at Urbana–Champaign found that our interests in adolescence had only a point-five correlation with our interests later in life. This means that if a subject filled out a questionnaire about her interests at the age of, say, thirteen, and again at the age of twenty-one, only half of her answers remained consistent on both.
I think it’s totally OK to not say precisely what correlation means. It’s sort of subtle! It would be fine to say the correlation was “moderate,” or something like that.
But I don’t think it’s OK to say “This means that…” and then say something which isn’t what it means. If the questionnaire was a series of yes-or-no questions, and if exactly half the answers stayed the same between age 13 and 21, the correlation would be zero. As it should be — 50% agreement is what you’d expect if the two questionnaires had nothing to do with each other. If the questionnaire was of a different kind, say, “rate your interest in the following subjects on a scale of 1 to 5,” then agreement on 50% of the answers would be more suggestive of a positive relationship; but it wouldn’t in any sense be the same thing as 0.5 correlation. What does the number 0.5 add to the meaning of the piece? What does the explanation add? I think nothing, and I think both should have been taken out.
Credit, though — the piece does include a link to the original study, a practice that is sadly not universal! But demerit — the piece is behind a paywall, leaving most readers just as unable as before to figure out what the study actually measured. If you’re a journal, is the cost of depaywalling one article really so great that it’s worth forgoing thousands of New Yorker readers actually looking at your science?
September 20, 2014
There’s a hotel in Echo Park that I go to, and it is called “The Hotel for Lost Men.” This hotel is basically made for middle-aged men, to dwell in a passion where no one is watching or making demands on them. It is based on a series of ‘love’ hotels in Osaka, Japan, but this one has a twist. What you get is a room, but also a sex doll. And this is not just any sex doll, but one that if you touch it, you swear it’s human skin, and even the eyes look real. A unique blend of high quality silicone has been applied to create the doll. Each doll is made with a skeletal structure. Their skin is “soft to the touch, and the dolls breasts have been modified to enable a more softer, more realistic touch and feel."
I go to this hotel because by nature, I’m a shy man. Also I really don’t have a need for a relationship, because I find them boring. If I wish to relate to another person or girl, I can do that easily with my post office clerk, or the young girl behind the counter at Starbucks. Human communication or one-on-one of course, is important for some, but for me, all my inner-thoughts are enough for me. I never feel lonely. I don’t desire companionship. I don’t desire heart-to-heart conversation; I desire to stick my penis in a doll.
With that in mind, “The Hotel for Lost Men” is on a side-street, in the hills of Echo Park. The structure looks like housing from Walt Disney’s “Snow White and the 7 Drawfs, in fact it is suspected that Disney built these structures for his workers, due that his studio was close by. Once you walk in, you are in the lobby, where you can see the various dolls. For instance there is a doll who dresses like a hotel receptionist, and you can actually go up to her and order a doll and room. There is a giant menu which lists all the girl dolls, with photographs of course, and a picture of the room as well. Prices are clearly listed as well as if you want to rest (two to three hours) or spend the night. There are various types of rooms one can order. Some are over-the-top, like “Sade’s bedroom, ” or “Mustang Ranch Fantasy, ” and so forth. I chose “Nightporter” room and requested Sarina, a doll that reminds me of an early girlfriend I had in Taft High School. It takes them about ten minutes to secure the doll as well as the room. I never see a live worker on the premise. Every transaction is done through the hotel receptionist, whom I mention being a sex doll as well.
The Nightporter room is based on the film, and is a large room with six or seven hospital beds. Sarina was on one of the beds dressed in a black sweater and an off-white dress with a shirt collar. My high school sweetheart used to wear the same dress, and one of the wonderful things about this hotel is that you can custom made your dolls to whatever specific clothing or hair or eye color. The girls look real, and I never have seen a dead girl before, but I imagine that this is the closest one can get to a dead girl.
When you touch Sarina, she feels real, but no sign of life. Intellectually it is hard for me to penetrate a doll, but once I get in a mind-set, I’m fine. I’m obsessed with my aging, and it is interesting that this hotel caters to men in my age bracket, and I’m not sure why? But what is interesting is that I physically age, but the dolls look exactly the same. Of course they do not age, and they remind one of time being stopped, or perhaps a memory that one freezes, so one can observe over and over again. After each encounter, one is responsible for cleaning up the doll, and in the drawer, they have assorted cleaning tools. One would think, since I’m a paying customer, would just leave the dolls dirty, but I personally can’t do that. Not thinking about the next guy, but more out of respect for the doll, and the pleasure she gave me, or is it more about the pleasure I give myself?
ooh kill 'em.
ooh kill 'em vol. 2.
i leveled up, that’s why it’s glowing.
September 19, 2014
“I am determined to go through the horror of this world.” I don’t throw the dice, and I pretty much map out the plans on a massive desk in my office. I have four men in my office at this moment, and they are wearing leather jackets with button up Levis, and motorcycle boots. I don’t know if I should french-kiss each one, or dress them up for a party. Nevertheless art-making and doing business is very well the same thing. John and George are without a doubt the hottest here, and both are sort of emotionally damaged. Not sure why, more likely due to the lost of a family member, or just not fitting in the world. This is something that I totally understand, not fitting in the world. I have been an outcast for my whole life, and I live in a world that hates me. So, I either drown in self-pity, or make my own world. I have four young men here that will make a new world, for you, and without a doubt for me as well.
When I look back, I must have been dreaming. I was led into a cave, somewhere in Damn Liverpool, and I came upon a vision that hit me right away. I usually have doubts or have to re-think it, but here, was something that came upon me in a technicolor fashion, but clearly in a black and white world. It reminded me when I first went to London by myself, and I picked up on a beautiful man, who was rough on the edges, and eventually punched me out, and took all my cash as well as my watch, that my father gave me, for being such a good salesperson in our family business. Yet, it wasn’t a downer for me, it made me feel alive, and I was placed in a dangerous world, that I secretly have been craving for a long time.
I remember going into the cave, and realizing that there was not any exit. I immediately felt the change in my life as soon as I enter the entrance opening. The heat was the first sensual overload, and it was like if I was going back to the womb, but not my mothers, but someone else’s uterus. A male version if there is such a thing. It wasn’t the audience that appealed to my senses, but seeing four drunken musicians on the stage, that sort of reminded me of the chap who punched me out and took my dole.
Before that, I just wanted to study acting, but my father was against that plan. He wanted me to work in the family business, and with half a heart I did so. I eventually went to drama school, but I realize I hated school life. At the time, it was bad as my world, but much smaller, and therefore I felt I couldn’t breathe in that environment. I then realize that I can be a performer, but I needed the right medium to work with. What I really wanted to do was re-shape the horrible world and somehow make it into a better place I was ill in my stomach thinking of all the lies that I had to put up with. Here in front of me, is one way out, a new honesty at work, that will change mine as well as your life. John, George, Paul and….. Pete. That last name doesn’t fit well with the others. I must make a note to change that in the very near future.
I know very little about music, even though I work in the record store department of the family store, but I know it's important to others. I recall a young man, or boy, who came in and asks for a song “My Bonnie, ” and I remember his face being so disappointed when we didn’t have that record in stock. I almost wanted to come up to him and put my arms around him. It wasn’t eros, but more of a feeling or remembrance of my past disappointments. I feel if I could supply people a certain amount of happiness, and not deal with bitter disappointments, then I have contributed something to “this” world. Alas, there are for two worlds. I’m going to change one world and make it into my idealistic world. I have the tools or instruments right in front of me. I just need to fine-tuned or get rid of the Pete issue.
Quickly look away if you are suffering from tooth ache at the moment. This image from an 18th-century Arabic manuscript shows you what’s going on. There are worms inside - and particularly nasty ones for that matter. What’s more, they are nibbling away at tiny bearded men, who are screaming for help and try to fight back. Battleground tooth: I feel sorry for the individual in ancient times who was given such a graphic explanation for the pain in his tooth.
Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Arab d 256 (18th century). More here (click menu > more information).
"In just six hours, the world’s deserts receive more energy from the sun than humankind consumes in a year. (x)
Yeah, cause when’s it ever been a problem to extract resources from Africa”
From You’d Be Surprised (1926).
September 18, 2014
“I never said, 'I want to be alone. ' I only said 'I want to be let alone! ' There is all the difference.” One should be able to choose who you want to be with, or who you want to work with. This is my desire. This is my right. I was from Sweden, and came to America to become part of the motion picture business. Well, I ended up in the business, and I didn’t like it. Not one bit. To improve my English dictation, I studied tapes made by Lord Haw-Haw, a British citizen who made broadcasts for the Nazis during the war. He at times used an upper-class British accent, while making statements over the radio, and I found it hypnotic. I just try to imagine that it’s P.G. Wodehouse’s Jeeves whispering in my ear, but what he said sounded so beautiful, but the ugliness of the content was something I had to move aside. “The people of England will curse themselves for having preferred ruin from Churchill to peace from Hitler.” I played it over and over again, till I got his accent just perfectly correct. I didn't do this for a film role but to be part of a new world, and with that I needed a new identity. By no means was I erasing my other identity, because I wanted to have the ability to switch roles or positions in life.
I’m going to do one more job in the film business, and then I’m going to spend the rest of my life drifting. As I approached my 60th birthday, “in a few days, it will be the anniversary of the sorrow that never leaves me, that will never leave me for the rest of my life.” One can mark success in different ways, for me, it is to be alone with my heart and some close friends. I always believed that there were two sides to me. One being a recluse and the other, a social person. But I cannot be treated like a performing monkey anymore. I really resent my directors telling me to smile, not a smile, say my lines, not to say my lines, and so forth. I don’t feel like I have a strong sense of self, and therefore acting is sort of a way of communicating with the public or the individual. People think I’m beautiful, but what does that exactly mean?
My last role will be playing twins that are conjoined by the head, to be exact by the eye. I’m playing both roles, so it will be tricky for me to convey two separate identities, yet one body. To be honest, the script is not that great, but I think it will be an interesting role, or two roles (they should pay me twice!) and then say goodbye to my so-called public life. What I have to imagine is having a part of me that is always there. What I have done is practice my lines in front of the mirror and pretending that the image is another character, or my twin sister. For one of the sisters, I chose the Lord Haw-Haw accent ("Jairmany calling, Jairmany calling”) but for the other sister, who is a country singer - I try to go for a soft southern accent. It is sometimes difficult, because I feel like I’m separating my soul in doing this part.
“There are many things in your heart you can never tell to another person. They are you, your private joys and sorrows, and you can never tell them. You cheapen yourself, the inside of yourself, when you tell them.” So how does one sister keep her distance from the other, when physically they are together for always. One of the sisters is able-bodied, but the other one has spine bifid, which causes a height difference. So one has to carry the other around, but she made a bar stool, because it is the exact height, and just added wheels to the bottom of the stool. The able-body sister serves as the manager as well as holding the microphone when the other sings. The script is loosely based on a real set of twins, but of course, this being a film, there are many things that are made-up. Once I finish that film, I will focus on nothing. I won’t disappear, but I will decline to participate in the film world, or any other world that is out there. It will just be me, and the private world of the other. I walk alone, but there is always another angel inside me that guides me through the murky waters that are known as life.
A new video purportedly released by supporters of the group to Arabic language news media appears to show Islamic State, or ISIS, propaganda mocked up in the style of the popular “Grand Theft Auto” franchise. The video shows footage of explosions, sniper rifle attacks and drive-by shootings all rendered in the style of the GTA series. Arabic commentary included as subtitles contain quotes along the lines of targeting U.S. forces and “the Safavid Army”, a reference to Iranian or pro-Iranian forces. They also show images of an assault rifle riddling a police car full of bullet holes — a scene that would not be altogether unfamiliar to Grand Theft Auto players.
The sculptures and paintings of this fifty-nine-year-old artist are so meticulously, mechanically polished and groomed that they rebuff any attempt to look at them, much less feel anything about them.
But four paragraphs later:
Koons knows how to capitalize on the guilty pleasure that the museumgoing public takes in all his mixed messages. He knows how to leave people feeling simultaneously ironical, erudite, silly, sophisticated, and bemused.
Does Koons make people feel things, or does he not? Or are irony, erudition, silliness, sophistication, and bemusement feelings that don’t count as feelings?
Jed Perl writes well but I find his judgment strange. About Jeff Koons I have no opinion. But I remember his name because of the piece he wrote about Francis Bacon, which seems to suggest that people like Bacon not because of anything in the paintings, but because the artist sports a biography and attitude that appeals to mushy-minded would-be avant-gardists. “The Bacon mystique,” Perl writes, “is not grounded in his paintings so much as in a glamorous list of extenuating circumstances.”
To me this makes no sense. I went to a small museum which was showing some of Bacon’s paintings and I was knocked over by them. Whoa, what is that? I had no idea who he was, or whether he was glamorous, or whether it was cool to like him.
I think it’s OK to say (as Perl also does, later in that piece) that Bacon is a stupid painter and only people who are stupid about painting like his paintings. But it’s crazy to deny that people actually do like Bacon’s paintings, as such, not just the idea of Bacon’s paintings, or the idea of being the kind of person who likes Bacon’s paintings.
I barely exist. Well, perhaps to you I barely exist, but for me, I am the star of my own world. I just don’t have the resources to make a proper appearance, or become the person you think I should be. I’m a songwriter as well as a writer, and yet, I don’t have a record deal nor a relationship with a publisher. Still, I can create something, make something that can be admired if you allow me that pleasure. I have the tendency, or some say the talent to choose the wrong type of woman. The one’s that make me purr, are usually married, and married to powerful men. I guess I want a taste of that power by being with their women. To taste what they have tasted, even though it’s a by-product of their power, their position, it is still a high for me to get close to it. There is something in my DNA, that makes me want to throw a punch before thinking it through. I don’t consider myself a vicious man, but once I taste their blood, it is like wine to my senses. I once read that there are no accidents or coincidences, that every gesture or thought is pre-planned. If I was meant to be rich, successful, and I guess happy, then it would happen.
I have been told that “You’ve got a million-dollar talent son, but a ten-cent brain.” The problem is that I need the attention before anything else. I can’t stand being ignored, or not to be the focus of attention. It’s always a shock to me, when people don’t respond to me right away. Everything I do or see is an extension of me. I take a walk down Waverly Drive, and I see the architecture, the road signs, and even the trees as objects that should have a relationship with me. I find it odd that a thing can exist without me thinking about that thing. As I try to finish my memoir “I Am Not Ashamed, ” I find myself in a deep sea of doubt, and that, to be honest with you, leave me scared. I wrote a song called “Angel of Death, ” which confronts my fear of not being around. “Can you truthfully say/With your dying breath/That you’re ready to meet/The Angel of Death. ”
My taste for married women came from the feeling that I’m alive and here at the moment. I don’t like to think about the next day, or even the next minute. When you get to it, I just want to be famous and admired - and the love or lust from a married woman brings that intensity in life. My girlfriend’s husband Franchot, threw a punch at me the other night, he missed, and I broke his cheek bone. It felt good to do that. On the other hand, I won the battle, but I may have lost the war. It felt right at that moment, but now people are beginning to doubt me or even worse, not caring at all. There is only so much pain to go around, and I can’t be seen as the pain giver, because people will be tired of me. And then what? “Just a deck of cards and a jug of wine/And a woman’s lies makes a life like mine/Oh the day we met, I went astray/I started rolling down that lost highway. ”
Wordsworth and Coleridge, Lyrical Ballads (1802): “Preface” (95-115), “The Thorn” (and Wordsworth’s note on 199-200), “We Are Seven,” “The Idiot Boy,” “Lines Written a few miles above Tintern Abbey,” “Hart-Leap Well,” “‘Strange fits of passion,’” “‘She dwelt among th’ untrodden ways,’” “‘A slumber did my spirit seal,” “Lucy Gray,” “‘Three years she grew in sun and shower’”
Geoffrey H. Hartman, Wordsworth’s Poetry, 1787-1814 (1964; Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Press, 1987), 141-162
Paul De Man, “Time and History in Wordsworth,” Diacritics 17:4 (1987): 4-17
Here is the first assignment, due in seminar this week:
1. Choose a favorite stanza of “The Thorn” and type it up in your assignment. Then read it out loud and mark in boldface where you think the stresses fall in each line.
We will talk about this in lecture Tuesday, and I’ll give you a supplementary handout, but a good deal of English poetry doesn’t fall into clear and easy feet: you don’t need to identify a specific meter or mark iambs and trochees and spondees as per our Virgil/Milton discussion last week, just start to get the feel for the rhythm of the lines.
2. How many lines are in the stanza, and what is the pattern of the rhyme scheme?
Use letters A, B, etc.: a Shakespearean sonnet in this system would be ABAB CDCD EFEF GG, while a Petrarchan sonnet would be ABBA ABBA with the last six lines – the “sestet” following the “octave” – generally following the pattern either CDECDE or CDCCDC.
3. How would you describe the diction of the poem (vocabulary, turns of phrase, habits of speech and style)? How would you describe the voice of the poem’s speaker?
4. In Wordsworth’s own note to “The Thorn,” he gives a detailed description of the character who speaks the poem. How does this affect your reading of the poem? Would the poem stand more effectively on its own without it, or does the note augment and amplify aspects of the poem as we have it? What does Hartman say about this narrator, and do you agree with his assessment? If not, why not?
5. One stanza that provoked mirth in some readers is XVII (ll. 177-187). What is inappropriate or embarrassing about the language here? Why does Wordworth court the risk of becoming ludicrous here and elsewhere in the poem? How does this relate to the defense of repetition he offers in his note to the poem?
6. Why might Hartman call “The Thorn” “Wordsworth’s most experimental poem” (140) and “one of the strangest poems in Lyrical Ballads” (146)? You can give a few quotations from his discussion or offer your own thoughts and speculations; it will be valuable if you can step outside his terminology and argument and offer your own account of why this should be so.
7. Write three to five separate assertions about “The Thorn” that you are willing to stand by. They can range from description (the kind of thing you wrote in answer to the first question above) to argument (making a case about the effects or meaning of some choice Wordsworth has made, as Hartman and De Man often do). Mark each with an A or a D depending on where you see it falling – you can mark it D/A if you feel that it falls equally under the two headings.
Japanese Advertising: Tokyo Tower Aquarium. Shiro Shita Saori. 2011
Love this film. it’s my life story. so sexy
table, scotch tape
September 16, 2014
I was obsessing over Korla Pandit, both the man and his music, when walking towards the Central Library in Los Angeles. I looked up at the Standard Hotel to hopefully get a glance of someone up there. Usually when I’m on the street level, I don’t see a thing. But I saw a sole man, looking at the view of downtown from the roof. I immediately thought if he was going to jump. When I went into the library and began working on my memoir, I read on Facebook that a man jumped from the pool/roof area of the Standard Hotel just now. I felt bad, because I thought maybe that guy up there picked up on my thoughts about jumping. But to be honest, I often think about that, while walking around downtown, due to the tall buildings, one is always aware that someone can topple over the roof or their window, and hit you while you’re strolling along the boulevard. When I read the responses to that post, regarding the unfortunate soul who jumped, most didn't comment on his suicide, but more to the fact that it is unsafe to walk around the downtown area. One person mentioned that a bowling ball almost hit him while he walked past a ten story building. Whoever had that bowling ball, used it to keep their window open, for air I guess.
Nevertheless, I went back to my writing, and thinking about Korla Pandit. I find him fascinating, because one, I love the sound of the organ. Pandit was an incredible musician, and myself being attracted to visually stimulating people, found him magnificent. He used to have a show called “Korla Pandit’s Adventures in Music” that was broadcasted every week day on the Los Angeles TV station KTLA. He never spoke, but looked dreamily into the camera while performing his music. Each episode was 15 minutes long. He looked like he came from somewhere exotic, such as India. He had a white turbine and usually wore a tuxedo. One story I heard was that he was born in New Delhi to a Brahmin priest and a French opera singer who traveled from England to India. Eventually the family made it to the United States.
At the time he was doing his weekday TV series, he also did the music for the radio drama series “Chandu the Magician.” The main character Frank Chandler (“Chandu”) had the ability to teleport, astral project, mesmerize, as well as project illusions. He learned the secrets of the occult from the Yogis in India. In many ways, Korla looked like Chandu the Magician. Chandler after learning the secrets of the occult was told by his Yogi teacher to “Go forth in the youth and strength and conquer the evil that threatens Mankind.”
From the book Sündiges Berlin: Di zwanziger Jahre: Sex, Raush, Untergang, available here on Amazon. [Sinful Berlin. The Twenties: Sex, noise, doom.]
“It took more than one man to change my name to Shanghai Lily.”
Iain Raynor, Laser-cut Ucello, detail, 2014
Frank Hurley (1885-1962)
Unidentified Landscape, Antarctic, circa 1910
I’ll be a guest at Rose City Comic Con September 20-21st, mostly at booth #1217/1233, signing at the Dark Horse booth #701 on Sunday at 1 pm. Come say hi!
If you get a copy of Bad Houses I will draw an owl in it. Unless you tell me not to.
no sleep: Solar corona, photographed by SOHO, March 1999.
Slice of the solar corona containing a solar flare, photographed 29 times. Each successive image is rotated about 12 degrees around the centre of the Sun. This was supposed to demonstrate something which I can no longer recall.
Image credit: NASA/SOHO. Animation: AgeOfDestruction.
Case of the Mondays [via hilariousgifs.com]
140914 diversity, freedom - objects of illusion
some things hurt more much more than dust and moths
It’s the last fortnight of Basic.fm & the last episode of ｌｏｏｓｅ＿ｃｏｎｎｅｃｔｉｏｎｓ - thirty minutes of rumble and fuss, cheap audio vérité and inexpert processing.
This episode includes the recreational recitation of numbers, curious things made out of aimless loops and washing machine cycles, the time it takes to wait for the delivery of a coffee, cheap thumping, generous and woozy pieces of a hit, traffic & crowds [inevitably] but surprisingly no birdsong to speak of.
/ // / / // / // / // / / // / / // / / // / / // / / / / / / / // // // / // / / // // / / / / / / / / / / /
ｌｏｏｓｅ＿ｃｏｎｎｅｃｔｉｏｎｓ is a half hour content solution cut and pasted into something-like existence by Jimmy Kipple Sound for the soon-to-cease Basic.fm; goodnight sweet Prince.
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TRANSMISSION DATES : Wednesday 17/09 & 24/09 @ 12:00 BST / Saturday 20/09 & 27/09 @ 08:30 BST
»american psycho« by mimi cabell and jason huff
this book was made by sending the entire text of bret easton ellis’ american psycho between two gmail accounts page by page. we saved the relational ads for each page and added them back into the text as footnotes. in total, we collected over 800 relevant ads for the book. the constellations of footnoted ads throughout these pages retell the story of american psycho in absence of the original text. this retelling reveals gmail’s unpredictable insensitivity to violence, racism, and sex. it serves as a blurry portrait of an algorithm that exists in our everyday communication simultaneously forming a new portrait of the lead character, patrick bateman.
jason huff/mimi cabell nyc 2012
Not to admire Miss Fenton was impossible--to find a fault in her person or sentiments was equally impossible--and yet to love her, was very unlikely.Also up: Terry Castle's chapter “Masquerade and Utopia II: Inchbald’s ‘A Simple Story,’” from Masquerade and Civilization: The Carnivalesque in Eighteenth-Century English Culture and Fiction (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1986), 290-330; and Marcie Frank's essay “Melodrama and the Politics of Literary Form in Elizabeth Inchbald,” forthcoming in Eighteenth-Century Fiction.
That serenity of mind which kept her features in a continual placid form, though enchanting at the first glance, upon a second, or third, fatigued the sight for a want of variety; and to have seen her distorted with rage, convulsed with mirth, or in deep dejection had been to her advantage.