Subnostalgia

For some reason I was thinking about pieces of culture that have departed from the world but which somehow didn’t “stick” well enough to persist even in the sphere of nostalgia.  Like when people think about the early 1990s, the years when I was in college, they might well say “oh yeah, grunge” or “oh yeah, wearing used gas station T-shirts with a name stitched on” or “oh yeah, Twin Peaks” or “oh yeah, OK Soda” or whatever.

But no one says “oh yeah, Fido Dido.”  So here I am doing it.

It is inherently hard to try to list things you’ve forgotten about.  My list right now consists of

  • Fido Dido
  • Saying “bite me”
  • Smartfood
  • Devil sticks (from Jason Starr)

That’s it.  What have you got?


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July 27, 2014



July 27, 2014

I write.  I publish.  I don’t do anything else.  I make a separate identity, in which I have a paying job.  I work at a bookstore, where I talk about books, but never talk about my writing.  In conjunction with my work at the store, I also publish, but that, like my writing, never brings in any money in.   Two or three times, I have been asked to participate in an awards ceremony in the hopes that I would win such an award.  I refuse to do so. On the grounds that I write, and I refuse to participate in the games where one is competing against another writer.  In essence, it is putting a group of people (writers) in a cage and seeing which one will win out in the end.   That, as a writer, I find disgusting.   The only prize I would accept is the Nobel.  For the sole reason it is the most ludicrous prize, that it is almost meaningless.  To quote the eminent (ha) Alfred Nobel "in the field of literature the most outstanding work in an ideal direction.” The key word for me here is “ideal.” My whole life is spent to avoid the “ideal” To satisfy one’s conception of what is perfect, is simply absurd.



The problem with Dash Snow is that he didn’t have a day job.  I’ve been studying him and his work for a writing project, and his sad death conveys an artist who chooses to participate in the art game, by pretending not to be part of it.  The freedom he had was one within the borders that were set up by others.  Like me, Kafka, Julien Grecq, we can fuck with the structure by actually not participating in the game.  Even being questioned for the media is taking part where one is exploited, and where in fact, your writing and work should speak for you.  What is there to know about me, except what I write.



As a publisher, I focus on writers who denounced the powers-to-be in their specific culture.  To re-define yourself is the right of an artist, and the path I follow is one of my own making.  I’m always suspicious of reading articles on an artist that talks more about his life, than his art.   This is not always the artist’s fault, but the painful results of dealing in a world that pretends to be interested in you or one’s work.  Our (or my) culture has replaced all reality and meaning with symbols and signs.  We live in a world of mass-reproducible copies of items, turning them into commodities.  In other words, a product to consume.  Whatever it’s war, a toy, a piece of music or art - it becomes meaningless.  To engage in such a world is clearly pointless.



One of my favorite pieces of art (and I use that word for all the disciplines of its practices) is “Café Müller” by Pina Bausch in which the dancers crash into the furniture on the stage.  The dancers are told to close their eyes, which cause a sense of tension in the audience.   Or at least for me, because I imagine it is the same when one writes on a blank paper, and you let the spirit enter you.  It’s the only moment where I feel that I’m not part of a machinery that’s single purpose is to sell you to an audience or readers.  To consume is surely a paradise of sorts, but to roll the dice, and see if you come up, is surely the dynamic of being successful.  But that type of outcome is consistently being ‘framed’ in a fashion by the media and our culture.  If I can wipe out what is out there and start from the beginning, I feel I can just do what I do best.  Which is to write, publish and to dream.
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terraced: Didcot Demolition, 27/07/2014







terraced:

Didcot Demolition, 27/07/2014

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kiameku: Tonico Lemos Auad Quatro Ventos 2008 graphite pigeons…



kiameku:

Tonico Lemos Auad
Quatro Ventos
2008
graphite pigeons and burned bread in 20 parts

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Photo



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icancauseaconstellation: Santa Monica Pier, Santa Monica, CA,…



icancauseaconstellation:

Santa Monica Pier, Santa Monica, CA, 1988 — Roger Minick

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icancauseaconstellation: Robert Mangold, Imperfect Circle #2,…



icancauseaconstellation:

Robert Mangold, Imperfect Circle #2, 1973.

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Jesse Marsh

t__1_481_coversmc6050His violent Tarzan comics were as cool and still as a bas relief.
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Cool song, bro

I was in Barriques and “Bra,” by Cymande came on, and I was like, cool song, cool of Barriques to be playing this song that I’m cool for knowing about, maybe I should go say something to show everyone that I already know this cool song, and then I thought, why do I know about this song anyway? and I remembered that it was because sometime last year it was playing in Barriques and I was like, what is this song, it’s cool? and I Shazammed it.

So I guess what I’m saying is, I’m probably going to the right coffee shop.  Also, this song is cool.  I’m sort of fascinated by the long instrumental break that starts around 2:50.  It doesn’t seem like very much is happening; why is it so captivating?  I think my confusion on this point has something to do with my lack of understanding of drums.


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TamTam Books: “The Death Instinct” by Jacques Mesrine

The Death Instinct

Published by TamTam Books
By Jacques Mesrine. Introduction by Robert Greene. Translation by Robert Greene, Catherine Texier.

France's Public Enemy Number One from the late 1960s to the end of the 1970s--when he was killed by police in a sensational traffic shootout--Jacques Mesrine (1936–1979) is the best-known criminal in French history. Mesrine was notorious both for his violent exploits and for the media attention he attracted, and he remains very much a public media figure in France and Europe. In 2008 there were two feature-length films based on his life, one of them starring Vincent Cassel in the lead role. Mesrine wrote The Death Instinctwhile serving time in the high-security prison La Santé; the manuscript was smuggled out of the prison and was later published by Guy Debord's publisher Gérard Lebovici (who briefly adopted Mesrine's daughter, Sabrina, before being assassinated, a few years after Mesrine). The Death Instinct deals with the early years of Mesrine's criminal life, including a horrifically graphic description of a murder he committed early on in his career and a highly detailed account of the workings of the French criminal underworld--making this book perhaps one of the most intriguing and detailed anthropological studies of a criminal culture ever written.



PUBLISHER
TAMTAM BOOKS

BOOK FORMAT
PAPERBACK, 6.75 X 9 IN. / 325 PGS.
PUBLISHING STATUS
PUB DATE 11/30/2014
FORTHCOMING
DISTRIBUTION
D.A.P. EXCLUSIVE
CATALOG: FALL 2014 P. 77   
PRODUCT DETAILS
ISBN 9780966234688 TRADE
LIST PRICE: $16.95 CDN $16.95
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TamTam Books: Lun*na Menoh’s “A Ring Around The Collar”




Lun*na Menoh: A Ring Around The Collar

Published by TamTam Books
Introduction by Leslie Dick.

For 14 years, Los Angeles–based artist, fashion designer and musician Lun*na Menoh has been exploring the many unexpected possibilities of the dirty shirt collar, producing paintings, sculptures, music, DVDs, performance art and fashion shows inspired by this lowly, ubiquitous aspect of clothing. The collar is a fashion boundary--the dividing line between what is hidden by clothing and the body that emerges from the cloth--and the stains commonly found there often confound sartorial panache, a fact which Menoh takes as the mischievous starting point for her work. Lun*na Menoh: A Ring Around the Collardocuments the paintings included in this series, as well as Menoh’s performance art and fashion shows. Included with this book is a flexi-disc with two songs by the artist’s band, Les Sewing Sisters, and an introduction by acclaimed author Leslie Dick.


PUBLISHER
TAMTAM BOOKS

BOOK FORMAT
HARDCOVER, 8.5 X 11 IN. / 48 PGS / 40 COLOR / FLEXI DISC.
PUBLISHING STATUS
PUB DATE 11/30/2014
FORTHCOMING
DISTRIBUTION
D.A.P. EXCLUSIVE
CATALOG: FALL 2014 P. 138   
PRODUCT DETAILS
ISBN 9780985272418 TRADE
LIST PRICE: $59.95 CDN $59.95
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July 26, 2014



July 26, 2016

Ever since I was a child, I was drawn into the nighttime world, which the Blake Edwards’ show “Peter Gunn” expressed my need for shadows and cool jazz.    As a teenager, I imagine my life as Gunn, where I had a beautiful mid-century apartment, with a gorgeous fuckable girlfriend who seems to visit him in the middle of the night.  Gunn seems to be only active in the night, where he frequents a jazz nightclub called “Mothers” in a city that is not defined, but it appears to be a dock town.  The surroundings strike me as being unnatural, even fake-like, which made me love the TV series even more.  Throughout my life I tried to find a jazz club like “Mothers, ” but realized that’s impossible, because here, the imagination rules, and I follow the rules of dream logic than the waking man’s reality.



I love the idea of a contained environment, for instance the Korova Milk Bar, where one goes to get loaded on milk laced with drugs, where one can drink the milk with knives in it.  It will sharpen you up.  I went there to take mescaline, and as I sat on a couch that resembled a woman’s ass-cheeks and back, I let my mind wander into a shapeless world, and just waiting for my ego to break down. That, will never happen. Nevertheless I left Korova and went to the Owl Drug store on Beverly and La Cienega to look at the displays of shampoo, hair creams, combs, and all sorts of beauty products.  I couldn’t believe my eyes, and I felt I was really seeing these objects in a new ‘enlightened’ light.  “If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite.  For man has closed himself up.  Till he sees all things through narrow chinks of his cavern.” The essence of moving among the buildings in the night, clearly I was looking for happiness, but one knows that “happiness would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness.”



Around 3:30 in the morning I arrived at my home, which over time, I tried to design it as Peter Gunn’s apartment, but I neither have the money or the shopping skill to make this work.  Yet, my attempt to reproduce what I saw on television, it became a new interior.  Not even influenced by, but more of a tribute that only I can see.  I put on the song “Sonny” on the turntable which was written and performed by Bobby Hebb, but I much prefer the Manfred Mann instrumental version.  Hebb wrote it as a reaction to the John F. Kennedy assassination but also to his brother who was killed a few days after the Kennedy death.  He was inspired to write something that was ‘light’ and uplifting when his world (and others) went to hell.  I admire the beauty of someone changing their perception of the world, because if there is going to be a real change, one needs to start with themselves.   Or, we flow with the crowd, but that I don’t recommend whatsoever.



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retrogasm: Pretty Polly



retrogasm:

Pretty Polly

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Radium Age: Context (1)

camel thumb1930s Olympic skater — cool headgear
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The Lost Prince (30)

lost-princeThe Game is at an End
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Eidolon, eiderdown

Via Dave Lull, Wayne Koestenbaum's Trance Notebook #14:
in a station wagon

parked on Union

I puzzled over “eidólons”

and rejected it

as if “Eire” or “dreidel”

or “eiderdown”

were buried

in that awkward

noun—
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“read Caleb Williams—a strange book—”

Julie Park on Jane Porter's pocket diary.
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Beach best practices

Bring lots of books, but remember that you’ll also want to watch beach TV. Reliable channels include Waves, Clouds, Dogs, and Children. Sometimes you can get Horses or Storms; occasionally Sparklers.

IMG_3856

Someone’s going to be Beach-Fire-Building Alpha. If that’s not you, assist them by gathering kindling, carrying foodstuffs to be carbonized, and not complaining when smoke drifts your way. If you’re the Beach-Fire-Building Alpha, rule benevolently, and gracefully accept all praise of your skills.

IMG_3887

Consider not taking sunset photos because geez, aren’t there enough of them in the world already?

IMG_3879

Reconsider.

IMG_3883

Feel grateful.

 

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How do you share your New York Times?

My op/ed about math teaching and Little League coaching is the most emailed article in the New York Times today.  Very cool!

But here’s something interesting; it’s only the 14th most viewed article, the 6th most tweeted, and the 6th most shared on Facebook.  On the other hand, this article about child refugees from Honduras is

#14 most emailed

#1 most viewed

#1 most shared on Facebook

#1 most tweeted

while Paul Krugman’s column about California is

#4 most emailed

#3 most viewed

#4 most shared on Facebook

#7 most tweeted.

Why are some articles, like mine, much more emailed than tweeted, while others, like the one about refugees, much more tweeted than emailed, and others still, like Krugman’s, come out about even?  Is it always the case that views track tweets, not emails?  Not necessarily; an article about the commercial success and legal woes of conservative poo-stirrer Dinesh D’Souza is #3 most viewed, but only #13 in tweets (and #9 in emails.)  Today’s Gaza story has lots of tweets and views but not so many emails, like the Honduras piece, so maybe this is a pattern for international news?  Presumably people inside newspapers actually study stuff like this; is any of that research public?  Now I’m curious.

 

 


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July 25, 2014



July 25, 2014

Throughout my early career as an illustrator for various companies like Colgate, Fisk Tires, and numerous publications, I resolved to quit doing commercial work, and devote the rest of my time doing paintings.   I would hire young women who I have met through various social circles to be my models.  Occasionally I would use myself as a model, because I have been informed that I’m quite beautiful in my own fashion.  Nevertheless I have used various models on a regular basis for some years now.    In my work, I have a definite idea of the perfect landscape, and the coloring of that world is extremely important to me.  For my paintings, I would build landscape models on a large table, and use different lighting effects to capture the right combination of the mountains, the lake, and if there are any actual structures, I would also make an exact replica of that building.  Mostly my work is neoclassical, and the nude bodies that are in my work (including yours truly) are usually androgynous, but placed in these fantastical settings. 



Susan Lewin worked for me not only as a model, but also as my assistant. There is the cliché about the artist and his model, and I have to say in this case, it is perfectly true.  For about five years, I painted her in various positions of her, but mostly when she’s in the nude.  When I used myself as a nude model, I have her photographed me so I can distance myself so I can be added to the painting.   The distance between us became less and less, as I demanded her attention as her employer.  For years now, I would pay her in cash on a weekly basis, usually on Fridays, by placing the money on the side table by the entrance of my studio.  There is not anything else on this table except for the money.  Over time, this table has become almost an erotic object between me and her.  Even when I have other models here, I paid them differently, usually by check.  A check is very non-personal, but cash has an intimate effect, and when she leaves for the day, and picks it up before she exits, it gives me an erotic jolt. 




I have determined that I have to redefine our relationship where I’m basically the leader, and she’s the follower.   What I would do is bring up the idea that the outside world of my studio is a hostile environment, and what I do here is paint beautiful landscapes, and therefore not only are we making our own paradise here, but also supplying the outside world a place of imagination where they can escape to.  The thing is, I want to be able to focus on my work, but I want her to do the same, on my work of course.  There is still a nagging fear that she will leave me for another occupation or a need to share her life with someone else.  I never ask her what she does when she is not working with me, nor do I know about her relationships with other people. For the eight-hours per day that she is with me, she is mine and that is all I care about.  Over time, I realized that my idealized world is not only in the imagination, but is actually based on our relationship.  What looks decorative in my paintings is actually the way I want the world to be, and therefore, I rarely participate in the outside world.  There is a moment, usually before she leaves, that we look at the work that was done that day, and with only the music by Johnny Hodges in the background, I almost want to tell her that I love her, but that can never compare or compete with a finished work of art. 

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Photo



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juergent: Portrait of Paris, Audrey Marney for US Vogue April…



juergent:

Portrait of Paris, Audrey Marney for US Vogue April 1998, shot by Steven Meisel

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Josephine Tey

Josephine_TeyThere is no such thing as "a Josephine Tey."
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Fourth World (5)

Knockout HiLobrowIn which we come full-circle to Kirby's source.
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“Facebook profile information that is publicly visible by…



"Facebook profile information that is publicly visible by default, for the first five years of the service" via What Is Public? — The Message — Medium

Programmers and engineers who create software with controls for privacy have moved in recent years to an on/off model where content is either viewable to the entire world or only to a list of people whom a user identifies as “friends”. Obviously, reducing public status to a binary consideration is convenient for a medium where everything must ultimately be represented in binary code. But we can’t let society’s norms be defined by which features are least expensive for storing on a database server in the cloud.
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(via Twitter / jimfenton: Internet password notebooks…



(via Twitter / jimfenton: Internet password notebooks …)

Password journals

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wrdsmthinla: shine bright #DoingTimeInHollywood…



wrdsmthinla:

shine bright

#DoingTimeInHollywood
#DoingTimeAnywhere


Hollywood Walk of Fame

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nbchannibal: Tiny Hannibal has packed his bags and is ready to…



nbchannibal:

Tiny Hannibal has packed his bags and is ready to #EatTheCon!

Want to win one of these little guys? Tiny Hannibal will be holding tiny signs (like the one above) around San Diego with portions of a code phrase. He’ll share one piece of that three-part code each day (Thursday - Saturday).

On Saturday, when he releases the final piece of the code, the first FOUR people to get to the Funko Booth at Comic-Con and tell them the full code will get their bloody paws on one of the new Hannibal Funko dolls that won’t even be released until November! There may or may not be consolation prizes for a few more people that aren’t quite as quick to the booth. 

HINT: There are.

For those of you at home, don’t fret! Once you see tiny Hannibal share the final piece of the code on Saturday, tweet us @nbchannibal with the full code AND the #EatTheCon hashtag to be entered for a chance to win an SDCC exclusive Hannibal dolls of your very own.

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July 24, 2014



July 24, 2014

Hopefully by the end of December 31, 2014, I will write myself out.  By January 1, 2015, I’ll be empty.   The question is can I fill this emptiness with something?   Or better yet, just stay empty?  Being empty can’t be that bad right?  On my first trip to Japan, I found this fantastic book by Junichirō Tanizaki called “In Praise of Shadows” which is about Japanese aesthetic in how one looks at food, architecture and even a woman in a house of prostitution.  The underlining theme of the book is change, and also the influence of the West on Japanese traditional aesthetic.  Here I’m not talking about the tea ceremony, but more about the lighting of the rooms, and how food looks in such a lighting.  Tanizaki writes about the luring beauty of a woman in darkness or by candle light. The reader gets the impression that one is losing an aesthetic over time. Which I consider to be very much true even here in the West.  One thing I noticed in Tokyo and other places is that people have a tendency to eat in bright lights now. It is like darkness is not permitted in a modern home or restaurant.  Personally I like to eat with a woman almost In darkness. I like the lighting at dusk and just seeing the traces of my dinner companion and food… just barely.



The world is ugly.  It is not surprising that I’m attracted to characters like Sherlock Holmes, who lives in a world of their making, but often goes into the brighter world due to financial reasons, or perhaps a curiosity in seeing just how bad things are.  If I can live in Holmes flat on Baker Street, that would be the perfect environment for me.  I imagine his apartment is on the dark side, with very little lighting, maybe just a tiny area to use for reading.  Not surprising, my house is dark in the nighttime, because I don’t have reading lamps or even lighting to see one room to the other.  In the daytime, it is quite bright, but I let the night take over the house’s lighting system, where the brightness turns into darkness.  I rarely read in the evening owing to the natural cycle of the sun going down, and the moon arising.


To embrace oneself in a womb of darkness, and not using one’s sight, but to depend on sounds that echo through room to room, is quite a nice aesthetic, where I occasionally play a recording by Mick Karn, whose fretless bass playing conveys a sense of one slipping into the blackness that is clearly my soul.   Over time, I realize that my writing is in a manner, the ability to edit out things in my life, then adding more that just becomes inventory after awhile.  Is it enough, just to focus on the blankness of an empty page, and perhaps leaving that space vacant.  To disappear between the shadows, and noticing the various shades of blackness or darkness that one confronts on a regular basis, is not depressing, but more of an enlightenment.



Zelda Fitzgerald has always been fascinating to me, because she seems to be not a noun, but a verb.  I think of her as pure light, that is avoiding the darkness.  If she stands still, then the darkness takes over.  The 8-hour ballet lessons, her manic need for attention, but in a sense, she had a genius for living.  The natural instinct which is always at war with the logic, is a human trait to admire.  Often I feel my back is to the wall, but due to my natural ability to see the many shades of blackness that is in front of me, I move.  And I move fairly well.
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pettry: A little painting between work while watching Batman…



pettry:

A little painting between work while watching Batman from Netflix. :D

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Notes on Gone Girl

It reminds me of Martin Amis’s The Information, in that it is a really well-made thing, but one which I think probably shouldn’t have been made, and which I’m probably sorry I read, because it’s sick in its heart.

Everything else I can say is a spoiler so I’ll put it below a tab.

1.  I think the right way to read the book is that, by the end, nothing has changed for the two protagonists.  Their relationship at the end of the book — in which the man is a hateful worm, and the woman a murderer, and they are bound together by hatred, fear, and common lies — is meant to be the same relationship they had in their courtship.  Just with everything a little more out in the open.  Indeed I think this is what Flynn suggests marriage just, naturally, is.  That people, in general, are sick brutes who need to hurt each other in order to gain satisfaction and who can only be kept superficially in line by the threat of being hurt or killed themselves.  I don’t actually think this is true and so I don’t like novels which, by virtue of being well-made, make a compelling case that it’s true.

2.  Money is important here.  The structure of the story is that the couple starts rich.  Then for most of the book they’re not rich.  Then at the end they’re rich again, which is what enables them to go back to their normal life.  Gone Girl suggests that what being rich means is that people pay attention to you, people believe what you say, and also that you might need to leave some broken or dead people behind in order to maintain your position.  So Desi Collings is cognate to the Blue Book Boys.

3.  The book is lazy in placing a lot of weight on “the psycho woman who claims to have been raped but is making it up.”   The problem with misogynistic stereotypes in novels is not just that misogynistic sterotypes are bad — and they are, they are really bad — but that they’re a fundamentally cheap way of constructing characters.  They are easy to believe in because we are weak people, driven by heuristics, who believe stereotypes without thinking too hard about them.

The book would have been better if it had let Nick beat up his girlfriend.  In other words, if the world of the novel contains women who lie about getting beaten up by men, it ought to contain men who beat women up.  And this would be truer to the moral world of the novel, where a woman falsely accusing a man of abuse is both lying and not lying, because all men abuse somebody, whether or not the accuser and the victim happen to be the same person.

And I think it would have helped prohibit the reading — which I can see from online sources is not rare — that Nick is the hero of the story, who readers are supposed to root for.  No!  Gross!  Nick is a sick brute, Amy is a sick brute, all four of their parents are sick brutes, with the possible exception of Nick’s mother, who’s kind of a cipher.

4.  It was a bad idea to name a character “Go.”  Confusing in dialogue.

5.  In connection with the upcoming movie, you can buy T-shirts labeled “Team Nick” or “Team Amy.”  That is messed up and wrong.

 


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Son Finds His Late Dad’s ‘Ghost’ In A Racing Video Game This is…



Son Finds His Late Dad’s ‘Ghost’ In A Racing Video Game

This is lovely, strange, and wrenching all at the same time. A teenager whose father passed away when he was just six had pulled out an old Xbox game that he and his dad used to play together, only to discover a part of his father lived on in the game, as a ghost car.

This is less supernatural than that sentence sounds. In racing video games, a ghost car is a representation of a previous player’s inputs and actions as they drove the track previously. Usually, the fastest laps are stored as ghost cars and then used by players to help them find the best line around a track, or have a way to compete with another player in a time-shifted way.

Via Jake H.

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Code-X (22)

BENADRYLDare to Dream
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Fourth World (4)

Mister Miracle 1977The Fourth World's undiscovered testaments
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abject-reptile: Aero travelers = Die Luftschwärmer : waltz…



abject-reptile:

Aero travelers = Die Luftschwärmer : waltz (1909)

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icancauseaconstellation: Julio Cortázar, Carta a una señorita…



icancauseaconstellation:

Julio Cortázar, Carta a una señorita en París

«No es culpa mía si de cuando en cuando vomito un conejito»

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Photo



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July 23, 2014



July 23, 2014

I may not really remember the plot of a book, but I always remember the character as well as where I read the book.   Raymond Chandler’s “Farewell My Lovely” was read in Taos New Mexico sometime in 1974.  Which means I was somewhere between the age of 19 and 20.  I remember reading this book because it was the book I took for this trip to Dennis Hopper’s ranch in Taos, for a family vacation.  At the time, Dennis wasn’t around, I think he was on location making a film, but what I do remember was the hostility between Dennis’ camp and the citizens of Taos.  At the time, it felt like to me that I was placed on the border of the West Bank and Israel.  I can’t remember their names, or the main host or person taking care of Dennis’ home, but what I do clearly remember is our first night in Taos, and trying to locate a restaurant for our first dinner in Taos with the Dennis camp.  It seemed when we went into a restaurant, it became closed.  It was on the fourth try that we found a place that would serve us.  I think it was Fonda hotel that served us dinner that night.  After dinner, we all got in a van and drove around the town.  The citizens of Taos who were on the street sort of gave a dirty look to the van whenever we passed them.   We even went past the neighborhood movie theater, which ironically enough belonged to Dennis.  It seems like he booked Bunuel films for the theater.   What was really noticeable was the gunshots and holes throughout the building, including the lighted marquee.  Dennis' friends didn't seem to notice or cared about this fact, but I thought for sure this couldn't be a good sign.



When we got to the house later that night, and prepare for sleeping, I became aware that everyone living there was armed.  It seemed that there have been gunshots towards the house over the last few months, and luckly no one was hurt, but the feeling was that there was consistent danger of someone coming into the household and killing everyone.  At least that was my thought as I tried to enter a world of sleep that night.   A few days before I left for Taos, I purchased a used copy of "Farewell My Lovely" from a used bookstore in Santa Monica.   It was a cool mass market paper back from the UK and according to the copyright page it was published sometime in the late 1950s.  The edition and author were perfect for the car trip as well as something to read at the Hopper compound.  Well, that was the first thought, the truth is I held on to that book as something that may either save me from being shot to death, or better yet, an escape route from this hellish family vacation.



Dennis’ home used to be owned by Mabel Dodge, who was a wealthy patron of the arts, and eventually moved to Taos to start an arts colony.  She died in 1962, at her home.   One of her famous guests was D.H. Lawrence, and they had a fraught relationship.  She wrote a memoir about her years with Lawrence called “Loreno in Taos.” So one could feel the vibrations of the house but it was in total conflict with the outside world.  My mother mentioned that she saw an old woman standing by the drive-way one day while we left to pick up breakfast.  She later recognizes her as Mabel Dodge, due to a photograph of her that was in the household.  There is something very spiritual about the Taos landscape that I personally find terrifying.



I picked up one other book that I found in the Hopper residence, and that was "The Rosicrucian Cosmo-Conception" by the Christian occultist, astrologer and mystic, Max Heindel.  I was drawn to this book because I found it in my bedroom, and it was obviously ancient.  When I was looking at the copyright page, it was dated 1909.   I read bits and piece of it, but it wasn’t Raymond Chandler, that’s for sure.  The most interesting part of the book is when he wrote about the “invisible plans, ” which there are many.  There is our life on this planet (i.e. Taos) and then there're different forms of consciousness that transcends the known physical universe. Nevertheless it did seem to me at the time to be the perfect book to have in Taos.  I gained the impression that I was living among a cult or worst yet, several cults.  The only place that I felt safe was the Fonda Hotel, just because it appears to attract people from outside the state and they seemed (to me) perfectly normal.



I counted the moments and seconds till we left the area.  I never felt more secure and alive when we headed back towards Los Angeles, a city of dreams, and a city that Max Heindel spent a great deal of time as well.
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“I did not know I was on a search for passionate aliveness; I only knew I was lonely and lost and…”

“I did not know I was on a search for passionate aliveness; I only knew I was lonely and lost and that something was drawing me deeper beneath the surface of my life in search of something. There is a hunger in people to go to those deep depths; to know that our lives are sacred, that our hearts are truly capable of love. It is a yearning to be all that we can be. A longing for what is real.”

- Anne Hillman, The Dancing Animal Woman: A Celebration of Life (via stardust-seedling)
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fastcompany: Chimp Chic: “Planet of the Apes” Ringleader Caesar…



fastcompany:

Chimp Chic: “Planet of the Apes” Ringleader Caesar Models High-End Menswear

It’s hard to call someone a damn, dirty ape—as Charlton Heston once famously did—when they’re decked out head to toe in Armani.

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King Goshawk (30)

cuchulain thumbWhat Cuanduine saw in Westminster Abbey
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Fourth World (3)

hungerdogs_zpse7bb1c09Kirby comes home again.
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Photo



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July 22, 2014



July 22, 2014

I couldn’t sleep last night so I just got dressed and went to my diner on Greenwich Avenue, to have a cup of herbal tea. In case, I can go back to sleep later.  I was worried by yesterday’s meeting I had with Doctor Menninger, my psychiatrist for the past three years.  I suffer from depression that just doesn’t stop.  In the middle of the night, while I’m in bed, I often started crying for no reason, at least in my mind I can’t find the source of this misery.  He has given me a prescription and I have been taking it on a strict basis, but still, I can’t remove the darkness that seems to be tattooed on my brain.  Being a rather vain man, people, especially girls, have commented that I have developed bags under my eyes, which are a pretty new visual for me.  The utensils at this diner are very shiny, and I can see my reflection on the back of the spoon, and the first thing I notice are the bags.   My face is very pale, and the darkness under my eyes disturbs me.  Doctor Menninger, thinks I should think of other things besides yours truly.



The situation is I only know myself, and I don’t know that much about anything else. When I feel anything, emotionally speaking, it is always a bad feeling.  If I had one philosopher or writer that I followed, it’s Amy Vanderbilt.  Her “Complete Book of Etiquette” is as close to the Bible for me as possible.  In the book, I found this quote that rings true to me: “Good manners have much to do with the emotions.  To make them ring true, one must feel them, not merely exhibit them.” That and “do not speak of repulsive matters at the table” pretty much rules my thoughts on how one should interact with the world today.   The problem with me is how far can I go with my emotions in a public space?  My awkwardness just gets in the way, when I wish to express myself in a certain fashion, and usually I have to re-think how I should say or convey my feelings, so it won’t disturb or put people off.



When I want to communicate, that is the time or moment when I fail to do so.  Which of course, triggers off my anxiety which leads to the crippling depression.   The Vanderbilt book is an excellent guide for me to follow and also I can obtain information in the book in bite-size portions. Nonetheless, sometimes reading is very difficult, and I tend to read words off a computer or page, and I tend to wander into some abstract zone, where I find myself trapped with (again) the anxiety that seems to rule my conscience.   Going to the cinema helps me in that I don’t have to think, it is just sitting there in front of a large screen and focusing on the images, and if I want, I can hear and digest the words coming from the actor’s words. “Taxi Driver” is a film that I have seen at least 25 times.  I of course have the DVD, but when it originally came out in 1976, I would sit in a theater and watch that film over and over again.  The first viewing I wasn’t practically paying any attention to it, the images off the screen were just background noise, so I can sit in the darkness and think or let my mind wander.   Over time, and repeated screenings I started to pick up the anxiety of the main character, and that, oddly enough, helped me through the day.



The only other film besides “Taxi Driver” that had a huge effect on me was the “The Invisible Man” starring Claude Rains, directed by James Whale, and even the great Preston Struges had a hand in writing the script.  I think what appealed to me was Rains’ interpretation of the invisible man and how one can be there, but not there.  In other words, I often felt invisible to my peers, or in a crowd, and it’s moments like these, where I realize it doesn’t matter if I’m here or not.    I often wonder if I should just enter the world, and totally subject myself to a cause or even a position in life, but the truth in the manner, is that I wouldn’t be in it for the purpose of that cause, but more to fill myself with a duty to prove that I’m alive and somehow I can make a difference out there.  Then again, perhaps it is appropriate enough that I sit here and look at my reflection off the back of a spoon.
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itscolossal: An Architectural Canvas of Shipping Containers…







itscolossal:

An Architectural Canvas of Shipping Containers Painted With Greek Gods by Pichi & Avo

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hetaremozu: 日本の空から“電柱”をなくそう—民間による「無電柱化プロジェクト」設立 -…



hetaremozu:

日本の空から“電柱”をなくそう—民間による「無電柱化プロジェクト」設立 - インターネットコム

[Link: Efforts to eliminate utility poles in Japan.]

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jellyfishtimes: by Luminokaya



jellyfishtimes:

by Luminokaya

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The Unconquerable (4)

macinnesThe Old Square
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“She might scruple to make use of the words”

A passage that has always fascinated me in Mansfield Park:
Of her two sisters, Mrs. Price very much more resembled Lady Bertram than Mrs. Norris. She was a manager by necessity, without any of Mrs. Norris’s inclination for it, or any of her activity. Her disposition was naturally easy and indolent, like Lady Bertram’s; and a situation of similar affluence and do-nothing-ness would have been much more suited to her capacity, than the exertions and self-denials of the one, which her imprudent marriage had placed her in. She might have made just as good a woman of consequence as Lady Bertram, but Mrs. Norris would have been a more respectable mother of nine children, on a small income.

Much of all this, Fanny could not but be sensible of. She might scruple to make use of the words, but she must and did feel that her mother was a partial, ill-judging parent, a dawdle, a slattern, who neither taught nor restrained her children, whose house was the scene of mismanagement and discomfort from the beginning to end, and who had no talent, no conversation, no affection towards herself; no curiosity to know her better, no desire of her friendship, and no inclination for her company that could lessen her sense of such feelings.
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Fourth World (2)

Forever_People_1_1971Kirby makes love, not intergalactic war.
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