The Bounce is Back

Thank you, thank you. Yes, the Internet: I have returned to your ambivalent, binary hug.

When Justin Timberlake said he was bringing sexy back, he surely did not mean to the meta-space of the Internet. Porn did that. So hopefully you wouldn't have to go through that [via Jay Z].

David Foster Wallace was right without saying it: Everything in the world will become/need it's footnote. As we jest infinitely, give me your sources and footnotes; the superscript of your day, the subtext of your sense of loss.

"Is it true?" I thought. So many miles away is where she was supposed to be. And yet, swaying her hair and tapping her foot on the gummy floor of an old theatre to the tumbling out of notes and beats I was hearing, had also heard.
I must have been staring. Or I should have been. Why wouldn't I?
"Is this the way it will always be?" seasons reason's jealous faculty.
The air smells something like found-used Kleenex and beer and her arms raise and she screams silently into the din; in a quasi-unison with all the other loosely strung moments of 'now'; these always-a-miscarriage moments of 'now'.

We were better off as animals, right?

"Ch-ch-ch-changes..." was so appropriate.

There: a "life" (not 'life' via bio processes) to excuse myself from and a fire long-neglected beckoning for the burn. But anticipatory, thumping breast-plate-beats of a long waltz away and the quivering anxiety: a trans-substantiation of the grade: eager to know the variables; to arrive at the solutions: to be found, and not to be sought.

Mornin, yall

I am haunted by that borrowed house in the comfy part of town with oak shade and warbled drive-ways: crumbling blankets for grumbling roots. Bare feet on wooded floors, a night about the town still chopping at my head. Appliances, ceramic plumbing fixtures, drapes, Japanese cutlery: Tiny attempts at circumventing life's bureaucracies. The light of a day off laying blame to all of this that always never was mine. At all times alone together, yet smiling.

DTs and Coffee Help to Start the Day

I've always been fond of that little bond bred between those forced into a place or job; imagine a wind-challenged cigarette shared on a sidewalk. Though it's sad to feel trapped, commiseration is a tiny relief; the frieze above the day's door

Spring is Sneaking Into Our Bones

It's been a "No Myth," Michael Penn day. (by the week...btw this is about to get tangential and ungate-kept as fucK: is the earth's rotation speeding up? The weeks are going by TOO fast! I had no idea it was already late-Feb. Just getting used to 2009 and then all of a sudden the Spring Break.)

"There are some things in life you can not measure by degrees...and looking for some parallel
can be an endless game...I'm between the poles and the equator...what if I were Romeo in black jeans?...."

Today was exhausting and fruitless.

Watched a pirated copy of Gran Torino. I thought it was aight. White wine and cynicism = the name of my animated morning show where me and a psychedelic robot dinosaur on a skateboard listen to disco music on a hollowed-out school bus. Of course with a premise like that, it will only air in Germany which will make the weather report on the precipitous goings-on of North America all the less relevant. In the future irrelevance will = relevance. In fact, we're already there.

Also, Rubies: "Everything is falling down around me; and I can't see that it's got to be up to me. Come tomorrow when everything is new: I feel electric"

What I said remains true, Fierce. And I would agree if you said you suspected you haven't held your writing efforts up to your own high standard of talent. But I especially haven't lately either. Like my tattoo says: "One Day at a Time"...well I don't have any tattoos. But if I did it might say that because it's the best advice for someone who is honestly on their way up or out or on, but of his or her own volition.

(I am going to figure out how to actually have the songs for stream or download on my blog, but for now bare with me when I say): This Blog has The Rosebuds "Get Up Get Out" that I think is fitting.

Dan Graham

Museums make me feel like I am experiencing art in a vacuum. I usually feel overly self-conscious about my experience as an audience member: that the chore of arranging materials in this space was undertaken for a collective, evocative response.

I don’t get it up on demand.

So when I saw Dan Graham: Beyond, my response to the critical question of "so what?" was "oh yeah--I'm a voyeur!" But not with the tone of voice of one who is experiencing a revelation: More so with the timbre of appropriate facetiousness that should coat such an exclamation uttered by anyone alive right now.

Not to be down on Dan Graham though. I just was not feeling his art. And that's a personal (state's rights) issue in Art, right?

Some of his work:



In addition to this semi-creeptastic, audience-involved installation, there was a video of a naked man and a naked woman who passed two cameras between each other, the results projected on opposite walls in a small square room:



I can not find a picture of my favorite of his work. But involves a naked man and naked woman. A camera, focused on the woman is fed into a tv which she studies and describes herself as she sees herself. The man stands on a chair and describes aloud what he sees when he looks at the woman. The scenario is played out in front of an audience.
I like this because it is a means of shifting the gender roles a little bit: the woman describes her self according to what is on the screen, but the man, in describing what he thinks about the woman has his subjective mind on display for everyone to judge: he is on the pedestal. The woman is a part of the whole, a part of the crowd, a part of the majority, the ruling class. The man is singled out and feels the burden of judgment on his naked body and his naked recitation of his thoughts about woman. Again, this is not a total switch of gender roles as such a thing does not exist, but it definitely changes one's existence for the time being....but then again, only if you are the naked man or naked woman. "...And that brings us back to do": we're only voyeurs as audience members.

thank you