March 11, 2012

allthewayartfuck:

Fuck, I … don’t know why I made this song.

But it is quicker to make bad songs than good ones.

If you don’t think it’s funny, listen to: FLYING THRU THE AIR INNA AIRPLANE by Kool A.D.

oh

March 11, 2012
"Of what is lost, irretrievably lost, all I wish to recover is the daily availability of my writing, lines capable of grasping me by the hair and lifting me up when I’m at the end of my strength."

— Roberto Bolano (1953-2003)

or, words I want to have tattooed on my forehead.

March 11, 2012
I had a weird dream and some thought-fragments about language as a virus

So I had a dream about malevolent spirits and it made me think some thoughts about a tattoo I have Maybe it had to do with not going to sleep until 5am, or eating spice pumpkin muffins and dumpster-chili right beforehand, or maybe because Spring seems to have arrived and I feel like a human being for the first time in a long while. This morning I had a dream and actually remembered most of it for the first time in many weeks (Come to think of it I had two dreams, but the sci-fi dystopian dream where I’d been injected with an alien virus by a government agency that gave me super powers and was forced to jump Donkey Kong-style over wave after wave of enormous rats & eventually fight giant robots in a Dyson sphere(1), well, that dream doesn’t seem relevant.)

In the dream, I was attending a party or show at Alltheway, and this high school Wiccan unleashed some sort of malevolent spirit that could jump into someone’s body, make them murder someone else, and then quickly possess the victim’s corpse, ad naus ad inf. I’m sure I’ve seen lousy horror films with the same premise. The dream-killer was even less subtle than its counterpart from movies, jumping from corpse to corpse every couple of minutes in the middle of a packed party, and this lack of grace harmed its effectiveness as a supernatural mass murderer. By the end of the dream everyone had figured out what was going on and were able to prevent it from moving on to another body by hurling logical paradoxes(2) at it while other party-goers consulted the phone book for an affordable, reliable witch-doctor who’d be able to help us out in the small hours and on short notice to exorcize the party.

As I was drifting out of this dream, I began thinking about the idea of language being an alien virus that has invaded homo sapiens sapiens, which is a line of thought I’ve always been very interested in. I found this quote online from VIRUS ADAPTABILITY AND HOST RESISTANCE by G. Belyavin-

"Taking the virus eye view, the ideal situation would appear to be one in which the virus replicates in cells without in any way disturbing their normal metabolism.’ This has been suggested as the ideal biological situation toward which all viruses are slowly evolving…"

-The ghosty-spirity-murder-machine in my dream functions like a virus, albeit a lousy one, burning through hosts overtly as hell & bringing the heat. The language virus though, that enables the sort of organized, hierarchical, technological societies where it becomes possible to extend the hosts’ lifespans to what would otherwise be possible.

-It seems to me that the English strain of the language virus is particularly virulent, with it’s comparatively flexible grammatical structure and tendency to assimilate tonnes of words-ideas from other languages, (eg, the huge influx of words and neologisms that came into the language from ancient Greek and Latin during the Renaissance) while at the same time destroying other languages.

(1) Dyson spheres are one of the coolest sci-fi concepts. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dyson_sphere .

A Dyson Sphere



(2) I wonder what it says about me as a person that, the proper method to render a supernatural force powerless in my dreams is to batter it down with rational thought?

March 11, 2012

petrushkab:

digitaldenial:

Some photos I took of my friend RJ at a party in HFX. Years later, my friend Rowan took these ones of the same fellow.

I think he’s found his calling as a model for the ubiquitous 40oz.

I fucking miss this kid.

There are old pictures of me, in the internet.

March 10, 2012
"I am part of that power which eternally wills evil and eternally works good."

— Mephistopheles dot tumblr dot com

March 10, 2012
kiskex:

Distinguished sociologist Erving Goffman noted that women in photographs are often portrayed in compromising or submissive situations such as having the head turned upwards to expose the neck or in a contorted stances often with light self-touching. Such poses invite the gaze of the viewer and make the subject of the photograph seem vulnerable and exposed to sexualization. 

Interesting. The first things I thought of when I saw the picture on the right were (some) of Egon Schiele’s self-portraits.

kiskex:

Distinguished sociologist Erving Goffman noted that women in photographs are often portrayed in compromising or submissive situations such as having the head turned upwards to expose the neck or in a contorted stances often with light self-touching. Such poses invite the gaze of the viewer and make the subject of the photograph seem vulnerable and exposed to sexualization. 

Interesting. The first things I thought of when I saw the picture on the right were (some) of Egon Schiele’s self-portraits.

(via saschaeatsteeth-deactivated2012)

March 10, 2012
pussytooth:

yamino:

emmyc:

pikman:

ianjq:

corpius:

caiterhe:

SIR.
SIR.
GIVE ME THAT AIRBRUSH.
SIR.

Oh god that guy lives in my state.
I AM ASHAMED.

*gasps* oh my god. i have to draw you


Hey @sw_inku @e1n

amazing

Oh, I get it! That must be a woman he ran over with his truck.

oh dear god

The only thing that could make this better would be if she had unhinged her jaw and was swallowing a line of trucks.

pussytooth:

yamino:

emmyc:

pikman:

ianjq:

corpius:

caiterhe:

SIR.

SIR.

GIVE ME THAT AIRBRUSH.

SIR.

Oh god that guy lives in my state.

I AM ASHAMED.

*gasps* oh my god. i have to draw you

Hey @sw_inku @e1n

amazing

Oh, I get it! That must be a woman he ran over with his truck.

oh dear god

The only thing that could make this better would be if she had unhinged her jaw and was swallowing a line of trucks.

(Source: kaelio, via saschaeatsteeth-deactivated2012)

March 9, 2012
So I was readin’ a book

So, if I have a blog, and am to use it, I may as well try writing again. I haven’t really written anything other than letters in the last few years, and my writing style has likely suffered for it. A letter can move fluidly from one thing to the next without losing coherence; presumed or actual, the intimacy of a letter makes up for any incoherence.



I’m about 2/3rds through The Ark Sakura, by Kobo Abe. It’s not very good, and is making me reconsider if any of his other novels I’ve read in the past are worthwhile.

Kobo Abe - Fantastic hair. Misogyny?

I ran into a friend at the Winnipeg Science Fair last weekend who had read Woman in the Dunes. She really disliked it, and said that it was gross how it equated the titular woman’s body with the imprisonment of the man. When I had read it (two years ago, so my memory might be sketchy), I had taken the book for an allegory about how capitalism-patriarchy-etc. insinuates and enforces itself onto day-to-day relations between individuals. The book, I thought at the time, had misogynism in it, but wasn’t misogynistic. I’m not so sure now though, reviewing what I remember of other books I’ve read by Kobo Abe.



It was in early 2007 that I read my first Kobo Abe novel, Inter Ice Age 4, and was incredibly good speculative fiction that I’d still recommend to anyone. It was originally published in serialized form in the late 1950’s, and is very much of that time and place. In the novel, the Soviets and Americans have both built super-computers whose calculation power gives them the prescience to predict future events. The Japanese government, not wanting to be left out of the super-computer race, builds one of their own, but want to use it to predict the lives of individuals rather than geo-political/economic events. The protagonist is scientist commissioned to find a suitable test subject to have their future predicted. However when he has found his perfect subject, that subject is mysteriously murdered, and the novel turns into a mind-fuck whodunnit from there.



I read The Face of Another a couple months after that. A scientist, left horribly disfigured by liquid nitrogen, crafts a lifelike mask so that his wife won’t be disgusted by him. His personality splits and there’s a fight between the personality of his actual face and that of the mask, with his wife being the prize. I didn’t really have anything resembling a big-feminist-words-analysis when I read this, but it was uncomfortable to read all the same, as well as being a plodding and uninteresting book. I gave up on it about halfway through.

Talk about damning with faint praise...

So that brings me back to The Ark Sakura. It’s narrated in the first-person by an obese recluse named “Mole” who has turned an abandoned quarry into a fallout shelter, large enough for thousands of people. He occasionally goes into town to look for the right kind of people to give “tickets to survival” on his “ark.”  Unfortunately for him, he attracts a shady trio of con-artists who are interested in his ark for, well, shady reasons. Again, with the misogyny/women as property or prizes in this one. The narrator is, again, an alienated, socially stunted man, creeping on ladies.

Also, the cover is really ugly.

I guess why I’m writing all this is it feels weird to stick up for a ‘good book/author’ when there’s also fucked up stuff in their book/oeuvre. Can a book that’s propagating a lousy, oppressive worldview about women (or any oppressed group) still be a good book? I’d like to think so, but I’m also coming from a position of privilege where I can sort of overlook Abe’s misogyny (which at this point I kind of think is just there because he’s a misogynist, and not to make some sort of point) b/c it isn’t directly impacting me (though it is), it’s just really gross. I’ll probably just soldier on reading The Ark Sakura, hope it gets better (the book is pretty good, at least conceptually), and just recommend Inter Ice Age 4 & Woman In The Dunes with the caveat that some of it is p. fucked up and triggering.

March 9, 2012
"Only now do I realize what price was paid for building the ancient civilizations. The Egyptian pyramids, the temples, and Greek statues - what a hideous crime they were! How much blood must have poured on the Roman roads, the bulwarks, and the city walls. Antiquity - the tremendous concentration camp where the slave was branded on the forehead by his master, and crucified for trying to escape! Antiquity - the conspiracy of free men against slaves!
You know how much I used to like Plato. Today I realized he lied. For the things of this world are not a reflection of the ideal, but a product of human sweat, blood and hard labour. It is we who built the pyramids, hewed the marble for the temples and the rocks for the imperial roads, we who pulled the oars in the galleys and dragged wooden ploughs, while they wrote dialogues and dramas, rationalized their intrigues by appeals in the name of the Fatherland, made wars over boundaries and democracies. We were filthy and died real deaths. The were ‘aesthetic’ and carried on subtle debates.
There can be no beauty if it is paid for by human injustice, nor truth that passes over injustice in silence, nor moral virtue that condones it.
What does ancient history say about us? It knows the crafty slave from Terence and Plautus, it knows the people’s tribunes, the brothers Gracchi, and the name of one slave - Spartacus.
They are the ones who have made history, yet the murderer - Scipio - the lawmakers - Cicero or Demosthenes - are the men remembered today. We rave over the extermination of the Etruscans, the destruction of Carthage, over treason, deceit, plunder. Roman law! Yes, today too there is a law!"

— Tadeusz Borowski (1922-1951)

March 9, 2012
Rowan was kind enough to take some pictures of me the last time I was in Montreal. This is the image of I have chosen to represent me on the internet. It is already a month old at this point. I am reading translations of mediocre Parisian poetry from the 1940’s and 50’s. I am drinking my beer by the 40 oz. My knuckles are tattooed. This picture may outlast my living body. It may become the definition of my life, of the meaning of the time I spent breathing.

Rowan was kind enough to take some pictures of me the last time I was in Montreal. This is the image of I have chosen to represent me on the internet. It is already a month old at this point. I am reading translations of mediocre Parisian poetry from the 1940’s and 50’s. I am drinking my beer by the 40 oz. My knuckles are tattooed. This picture may outlast my living body. It may become the definition of my life, of the meaning of the time I spent breathing.

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