----
beelzebozo: i am the world's biggest fan of chewing gum, but sometimes when i stop to think about this little rubbery substance that we put in our mouths to chew for fun, it blows my mind


Apharmd: does anyone else like orbit's mint mojito flavor? i mean i do like it but it doesn't really last long. anyone know the brand that lasts the longest?




Jody Anthony: all i know is Stride is the shortest lasting gum i have ever had. their commercials are pure bullshit. maybe people dont buy your gum because it tastes like chewing on old metal for about 10 seconds, then like an old eraser.


newsguy:






Let's keep it real baby
Boogie9IGN: I love Mint Mojito, it tastes just like the mojitos my dad makes in the summer. But you're right, the taste doesn't last very long.

The shortest-lasting gum flavors tend to be the Hello Kitty/Sanrio gum brands, stay away from them

GoutPatrol: Orbit used to last forever when it first came out. Now it lasts less than an hour. Sure, that's more than most gum, but it used to last for days. And Orbit White lasts as long as Juicy Fruit.
p.s. Hey. I've got a little time this morning, so I'll do the p.s., although I will be moving along more quickly than usual given the pile-up of comments and my need to get back to work in a bit. Long story very short, the trip is going fantastically well. Basically, we're hold up here working on both our own and our collaborative projects in a very kooky loft in St. Etienne that looks kind of like a cross between an old-school hippie's loft and a greenhouse. When we get too burnt out to go on, we go do stuff. Like yesterday we spent the day at Vulcania, a volcano-themed amusement park, which was, you know, fun. So, all is great here, and I hope with you guys too. Now, too swiftly (apologies), ... ** Saturday ** Un Cœur Blanc, Hi! How was your weekend journey? And the nap? Thank you for the words on James' work and for the clarification on the Blanchot. Be well, my friend. ** Scunnard, Great on the video. How is it at this stage? And big ditto on the secret writing project. Yeah, getting away to work is pretty swell, I must say. Recommended. ** Pilgarlic, Hi buddy, thanks. Yeah, it's good here, and something good is flowing, so we'll see. And with you? ** MANCY, Thanks a lot, man. ** Stephen, Thank you for being here, S. How's stuff? ** Bitter69uk, Howdy! ** Misanthrope, Really? Mine are like tiny, horrible fun house mirror reflections. High five on the greatness of Shaq. Big up on your future busyness plus fleet of foot. ** David Ehrenstein, Hi, D. Yeah, I'm so skeptical that he's going to go through with the 'Cleo' musical, but I suppose he' Mr. Unpredictability. Oh, yeah, the religious right people did a big anti-gay marriage protest. Business as usual. Not the giant news/thing that it sounds like in the States where you almost never get six-figures' worth of people in the streets protesting anything. Nothing to worry about. ** S., I used to get wasted on screwdrivers. That was my go-to wasting liquid. I went to look at 'Snake' and your blog didn't exist. Wha?! ** L@rstonovich, I kind of figured you guys would be right as rain by now. Good. I want to see CLM. Maybe they're coming here. Nice Thurst story. RIP: Quine. And I kind of really dig the idea of you going back on the airwaves, man. But, yeah, let the novel take precedence always. ** Bollo, Great re: the studio visit! Very sweet news, that. I'll pass on the Alex Rose news. How is that genius? Everyone, If you're going to be in Cork, Ireland between now-ish and July, you really must go see this show, which has work by the incredibly great artist and d.l. Alex Rose in it. Worth the flight, trust me. Thanks, big J! ** Thomas Moronic, Hi, T. Yeah, things are pretty great/exciting these days, knock on wood, thanks, yeah. How about you? What precisely is going on in your life, head, fingertips-plus-keyboard? ** _Black_Acrylic, Hi, Ben! Yeah, I got the JM Day and the update. Thank you so much! I'll put it together and place it, and I will let you know. ** Cobaltfram, Hi, John. Oh, seeing Feldman live was very cool. He mostly conducted people performing his work, and said some stuff about his work. It was stellar, of course. 'MB' is a beauty. That Flaubert knew his way around the novel. And the great leap went like ... ? ** Steevee, That's why they're called stereotypes, but you have to remember that getting big crowds in the streets isn't the big whoop over here that it is in the US. But, yeah, France has its small share of religious looneys just like anywhere else. ** James, Thank you so much and now belatedly for giving the blog such incredible work! Japan will be in June. We haven't started planning it out in detail yet. We're locking down the Scandinavian trip this week, and then Japan's itinerary will be next. ** Bill, Hi, Bill. Virgin Prunes, yeah, a fan, but not a gigantic one, and yet I haven't listened to them in years, so I'll find go out where I stand with them. You're a fan, I take it? The Specials du jour, wow, weird. All goes great here, thank you. ** Monday ** Ashtrays are the beast? Nice whether that 'a' was intended or not. I'm taking some photos here, and Zac's taking most of them, but we're sitting in this weird loft 80% of the time, so ... I'll do some kind of photo essay. ** David Ehrenstein, Morning. ** Sypha, Thank you, I am. I liked 'You Bright and Risen Angels' a lot. You probably know that it's really different from his other works. It was when he was into doing meta-fiction. It's very good though, as I recall. Haven't read 'The Kindly Ones'. ** xTx, Hi! I kind of am in amazingville, even if most of it is happening while sitting and wandering in a loft. Thank you for sporting 'Billie' to Joel. I'll alert him. You great? ** Steevee, Well, truth be told, that scenery in the photo is about an hour away from where we're staying, but we were there yesterday, and we will be again. ** _Black_Acrylic, I think I saw in your later comment that you did get to switch your shift, so congrats, and have the expected blast, and pray tell. ** Cap'm, Ha ha, nice one, man. Really nice to see you, great sir! ** Tuesday ** Misanthrope, It's working. So far. Should continue. Busy, mostly stationary bees. ** Wolf, Hi, Wolf! It's good here, buddy. Well, we saw a bunch of cows on the drive to Vulcania yesterday, and I waved to them, but ... And we also saw a bunch of cgi cows in the 3D video components of Vulcania's rides and attractions, but most the 'lava' got most of them. It's more trees than heather so far, I think. We haven't gotten out yet all that much, though. Food's good, Brought a bunch of veggie stuff, and there's a BioCoop down the road. The big Z has cooked, and marvelously, and, yeah. All is wonderful, truly. Much love to you too, friendo, ha ha, 'friendo', nice. ** David Ehrenstein, She rules. ** Steevee, Cool, I will go read that post-haste. Everyone, none other than Steevee who goes by the IRL alias Steve Erickson has written on the 'Shining' conspiracy theory doc 'Room 237' over at the Village Voice and your next move is clicking this. ** Bill, It's pretty down here, yep. And my/our projects go very well, thank you. The Seidlinger is a blast, isn't it? What's the latest on your projects, eh? ** S., And the 'Metal Gods' are nowhere to be seen. Dang. ** Grant maierhofer, Hi, Grant! Really good to see you, man! Whoa and whoo-hoo on the novel news! Yeah, bring the news and specifics on that when you have some to bring, and, for now, that's such awesome news, my friend! Love back to you from me! ** Wednesday ** David Saä V. Estornell, Thank you so very much, David! How are you? ** David Ehrenstein, Greetings! ** S., Well, happy to have occasioned the return of said memories. Cool, more skinnies for the rest of us! And I have no doubt you've put melancholy smiles at the very least on those tragic little faces with your kind attentiveness to their speculations. ** Steevee, ... because you think they look 14 years old. ... because you think that would make them sad. Can't agree with you, and most certainly not with the 'self-parody' accusers -- that's completely ridiculous -- re: 'To the Wonder', but c'est la vie and all that. ** Thomas Moronic, So beautiful, thank you, Thomas. You fulfilled the post's wildest dreams. ** _Black_Acrylic, As I said up above, excellent news! Shake every booty, man, and I know you will. ** Grant Scicluna, Hi there, Grant! Thank you so very, very much! About the post, and for your poignant, stoic memories, and about my novel. Something's happening, and we will see. I saw your email, and I'll get to it asap, and I will write to you. Have a most lovely Thursday. ** Okay. We're caught up, albeit at too high a speed on my end, sorry again. What's up for you today, post-wise, I forgot. Hold on. Oh, Chewing Gum Day! What's not to like, surely, and yet that judgement call is always yours. I will see you in p.s. form again soon, and the blog will see you tomorrow.

____________________

passive-or-what, 19
I'm young! Take my ass and pound it. Im young so enjoy this tight ass i have. I was formerly owned by a mistress(and her boyfriend). I moved on after my second black eye, from her not the bf. I don't want to argue i'm simple and easy to be with.

Alright, here's the thing: I do believe that there is that special someone for each one of us. What I have found out over the years, MY SPECIAL SOMEONE DIED AT BIRTH OR SOMETHING?







_________________

Deletingthissoon, 24
#1, get participants confirmed.

#2 - Show up here, start getting wasted, high, you name it. Til everyone has no conscience at all, and would carry out anything.

#3 - Tied up, suspended w/ rope, etc.

‎#4 - Participants can all try and snuff me, or piss on me, cum on me, verbal shit. Even take practice runs on suffocating me with a bag. Everyone can fasten it tight around my neck and sit there with their bellies hanging out, cocks in their hand, and wait til I'm almost gone, then take it off........or not.

#5 - This can involve the highest/drunkest of the participants and how involved THEY want to get. I can be held down by all participants while they cheer the guys synching a bag on my head, or going the manual route and complete #4.






___________________

P.U., 19
I am FILTHY. I am UNSHOWERED. I SPIT on myself. I piss on myself. I want men who are seeking a true disugusting smelly pigboi.

There are three sides of me. 1. The normal shy boy. Then as the horniness kicks in I turn into 2. the boy wondering into a deep dark place…. And then it hits me…. 3. I turn into the slave pig.

Don't let there be another bottom. Please.





___________________

ForgivemeFather, 20
I Looking for a sadist, the addition of torture has fun with it as realistic as possible to crucify me and for so long as possible. I want at the crucifixion necessarily need to feel the cramps in arms and legs, and the increasingly violent shortness of breath, so I always pull up with my arms and push up with my legs try to get better air. The footrests steeply sloped downward, so I cannot really stand on their feet. Before I’m powerless, I get a bucket of water in my face and so come back to me and still more suffering must on the cross. A stop word I do not need this because it has no meaning in a crucifixion. I want so long as possible to suffer on the cross, no matter how long, brutal take the cramps, shortness of breath and my total exhaustion. The Over kick is the crucifixion is not complete until I passed out due to the extreme difficulty in breathing will.






___________________

ohOHohOHohOH, 21
Emo-ish guy from Newcastle.
I'll upload recent photographs soon. Those photos are from just over a year ago and I look rank! I have blue hair now.
I'm very shy, still live with my parents. However, soon I will be getting my own Imac, in my own bedroom hopefully in July, as I'm using my dads old laptop that I only can describe as something from Noah Arc. Yeah, its old, and still in our front room, sat on a table, over looking the tv so sometimes I can escape here and there.
I love sleeping. Its the only time I float in nothingness. No sadness to consume me. No happiness to overwhelm me. A place where time is but a concept and reality is bent and will is just waiting to happen.
Curious about what can become of me.






_________________

SLAVE4YEAH, 25
I give you access to porn sites. If you want access to any paid porn site on the internet, give me the www-adress and I will pay for it and give you the username/password.






__________________

forrealexecutioner, 21
slave total for butcher executioner real
im just 21 old
slave for real live of slave victim, no play at all,
no friend , just , dongeon, torture, et enjoy for master without merci for the slave , but for long times please
i want drugged and suffer long time for my master
but i dont want stay alive long time
HAIL SATAN, lets worship HIM together






_________________

shitdrain, 24
Alrite guys I'm a sub lad that loves gettin tied up and forced to shit myself in my jeans. Love wearin expensive clothes, get tied into a chair and kept there for days forced to dump in my jeans and be left sitting in it bound and gagged. Into the pain and torture of being kept tied in that chair for days on end aching and sore, shit bulging and piling up in my denims day after day. If you don't want me stinkin up your house you can keep me tied in a chair in your garden shed, garage, even at your workplace if you work alone. Gag only removed to keep me fed. Unzip my dirty denims to have access to my cock whenever you want it.
*All of the above is compulsory if you wanna meet.*
Don't just skim past the things on my profile you don't like and then start reeling off other things you wanna do to me, if you don't like the idea of tying me to a chair and making me shit myself then jog on.





________________

HepCKid, 22
Hiv poz & Hep C poz but will not Tell

Love you foot Fuck me






__________________

hungover, 19
Please my God. Please use me my black god. I do anything to make u happy. I have not much money, but you can own my life. I don't wanna touch my wothless cock ever again. Torture me front of yur frieds, family, it don't matter. You can make money if u abuse me front of others, if you want my Master. Please Please Please. I'll sign a contract.






__________________

BagBoy, 23
Put on some boxing gloves and punch the fuck out of me, while I have no choice but to stand there and cry. You can leave me visibly bruised, bloody my face etc, and break my bones, you can beat me as much as you want then walk away and leave me there before starting again later. I don't mind one or more guys doing this, and I don't mind being kept like that for several days. I just don't want to be used sexually in any way, nor do I want to be naked.






_______________

Deth, 21
Hi am deth

I love swords






________________

paint-box, 26
i m a 26year old french boy who grew up in Geneva (switzerland). I spent the last 3 years in paris to finish my master degree in art at La Sorbonne. and for now im getting back to basics. I paint asses. i am very interested in having someone sit on my face.





_________________

tiedpermanently, 24
(Deep breath). Where do I start. So, this is what I am looking for:
A man (or men) who are willing to keep me tied up permanently. I would move in with you, cut all ties (ahem) to my previous life and become your captive. I would stay tied up 24/7, left in solitary confinement and my only human contact would be to keep me fed, alter my bondage occasionally to prevent serious cramps and make sure I'm kept in reasonable cleanliness and shape to avoid medical problems. I would never be let go, I'd be kept gagged at all times aside from fed and watering, other than that I'd be left alone in a lifetime of constant bondage.
There are things that I am unwilling to endure and you must agree to these. I have absolutely no intention of being a slave, not for sex or s&m or anything else. I prefer to be kept bound in a permanent uniform such as a suit, head to toe in leather or denim, or a boilersuit. I would prefer permanent chastity too but I will give and receive oral if you really want it.
I really, really want this, please. I know what I want. Please only contact me if you're able to give me the life I'm looking for.
Thank you for reading my ad.






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john, 18
pervers, domination, verbal, trash, déprave, larvage, batard, tabou, pisse, scat, humiliation, exhibition SM, Bareback Pervy slave no taboo no moral, pervy, piss, sleazy, fist, shit, bastard, FFist, 666, hard, BDSM, CP, playroom, sling, medieval torture, hanging, garrotting, bagging, beheading, drawing & quartering, gun play, fire play, extreme anal torture, impalement with red hot pokers, dismember, organ transplant, Islamic beheading... English






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wasonce, 22
this is bottom
for feet sex
lick,licked,suck,sucked,
smell heavy or light after you
for fisting
im hole
hands inside me with gloves or not after you
deep sniffing of the brown bottle
totally gooned





_________________

lifesucks, 22
looking for smooth / shaved good looking fit boys with big cocks to face fuck me and make me swallow your spunk, other things considered, upper age limit Varies, you do get super fit 30's and ugly as shit 20's so im sure you know what you are

Ive just joined, please be nice to me

Im not into message after message you either want to fuck my mouth or you dont, you dont need more pics and neither do I, we just meet have a beer or coffee and we do it ok!

Obviously I like my cock sucked too but you dont have to swallow if its not your thing, I will happily lick up my own spunk as well

Dan







_________________

ihavegreatlegs, 19
I was 19 years old. and I'm still the new kid in the world. I do not consider my "front" genitals to be my sex organ. I have kept them tucked away in a jockstrap for years. My arousal doesn't even manifest in me getting hard anymore, just wet. Daddy's cock is everything!






*

p.s. Hey. Nice talking with you yesterday. Today, let's see ... Zac and I will be up early do to some work then we're exploring an old coal mine that has been turned into an explorable attraction and mining museum, and then we're driving south through a national park to an albino alligator preserve, and then ... I don't know what. You, however, get a brand new slaves post to temporarily break the monotony of the reruns. The blog will see you tomorrow. I aka the p.s. see you sometime soon.

----


... undermines the old chestnut that no one is interested in listening to someone else tell their dreams. It’s been a hot site since it started a few weeks back, and I think the main reason is that everyone’s interested in Clinton, Obama, and McCain, but not really in anything they actually do or say. So it’s much easier to get caught up in what they get up to in people’s dreams. It’s like imaginary gossip. An example:

I found out about this website through a story in the New Yorker’s“Talk of the Town” section, so I wrote in, mentioning how I’m a big honking dream expert and maybe I should do a little commentary on some dreams. Hell, yeah, they said. As a result, I‘m their Dream Expert #3.

An interesting piece by Scott Cheshire appeared on the dreams-of-candidates blog appeared in The Huffington Post under the title, “I Dream of Jesus--As Barack and Hillary Join the Collective Unconscious,” citing my dreamwork BFF Jason Tougaw. Jason is a writer you will hear more of someday.

“The Metaphysical Poll” (as it’s also called) is the brainchild of Toronto writer Sheila Heti, who is as her website says “the author of the story collection The Middle Stories and the novel Ticknor. Her writing has appeared in various places—The Believer, The New York Times Magazine, Esquire, Brick . . . . She is also the creator of the Trampoline Hall lecture series, at which people speak on subjects outside their areas of expertise.”

Sheila is a very good writer and regulars here who do not already know her work will take to it, I think.




I teach a course on dreams in which students keep a dream journal and discuss their dreams—along with academic study of Freud, Jung, and the other 20th-century dream theorists; cross-cultural perspectives on dreaming from around the world; the historical relation of ideas and observations about dreaming to prevailing theories of imagination, creativity, and the nature of mind. I learned pretty early on that anyone can recall dreams if they’re willing to experiment with their sleep schedule and arrangements, their intake of intoxicants, and their attitude—including a little auto-suggestion. Here’s how:


Keeping a dream journal





Prepare yourself to recall dreams:

Always keep pen and paper readily accessible beside your bed. Use a small flashlight or pen with light if you're recalling dreams in the night and have trouble writing in the dark. A tape recorder works well for some people, but remember that it can make transcription of dreams more difficult.

Find a format for your dream journal. Many people use a spiral notebook or loose-leaf paper on a clip¬board to record dreams, then transcribe them in a journal kept on computer. If you use a bound journal, be sure to leave yourself room to add further notes and comments later.

Date your paper in advance. Not only will you want an accurate record; you'll find that writing the date enhances your commitment to recalling your dreams.

Try auto-suggestion to encourage dream recall. You can simply say to yourself, "I will recall my dreams tonight." Develop a ritual if it appeals to you. Remind yourself that you want to write down your dreams as well as recall them. If you want to try planning a topic or question for a dream, write about it in your dream journal before retiring.

Wake up 15 to 30 minutes early to give yourself time to recall and record dreams. (Soon you will need less time than this.) Go to bed earlier or cut down on another activity so you don't feel you're cheating yourself of sleep.

Read material on dreaming or review your dream journal before going to bed. Quiet study of material on any interesting topic at bedtime may increase dream recall.

If you wish, start your dream journal by writing an assessment of your major concerns in life. You might also want to write about the major concerns of each day before retiring. This can aid you in discovering the themes of dreams and dream series, and give personal focus to the experiment of keeping a dream journal.





To record your dreams:

Awaken gently. Record your dreams lying in bed, without shifting position suddenly. If you find your alarm jarring, you might replace it with a clock radio. If you awake in the night with a dream, use a very low-level light or a light-pen—or become accustomed to writing in the dark—so you don’t have to turn on a light.

Don't put off recording a dream. Don't mull over dreams in the shower or on the bus before recording them. Write them down immediately upon arising. If you want to get an accurate picture of your dream life, don't dismiss any dream as too trivial or fragmentary to record.

List major images first if you sometimes lose track of dreams as you write your record--for example: grandfather/fish/skeleton/wagon/clock. You may then find you can go back and reconstruct the whole dream from the outline. This is especially helpful for people who have usually had poor recall.

If you have difficulty recalling dreams:

Adjust your schedule of awaking so that you're more likely to catch a dream: awaken twenty minutes, an hour, or an hour and a half earlier than usual. It will be easier to do this on a day when you have the morning free. If this isn't working, try awakening several times during the night. (Remember that you get the best rest if you keep a regular schedule for sleeping and waking, even on weekends.)

Remember that alcohol and almost all drugs (including over-the-counter antihista¬mine sleeping aids) interfere with dreaming and dream recall.

Use auto-suggestion, at bedtime and several times during the day, to remind yourself that you want to recall and record dreams.

Discuss dreams and readings on dreaming with others; read extra material on the subject.

Write in your journal whether you recall dreams or not. Write about dreams you've had in the past. Write about common dream themes, like flying, falling, finding money, taking a test or making an artwork.





For me, going back and commenting on dreams is as important as keeping the record. For example, repeated images and themes generally aren’t remembered from night to night to night unless you review your dream journal – I once dreamed about swimming pools for about three months, and I doubt I would have known if I hadn’t been keeping track of my dreams.
If you’re interested in examining the content of your dreams, I think it’s best to stay far away from any conventional guides to dream symbolism, or established systems. This is what I suggest in class:

Transcribe your dreams in a legible format. Your original record may be sloppy and unreadable; you need a version that you can consider at length and return to in the future. Do not put off the transcription; if you're recalling dreams regularly, it's best to transcribe them every day, or at least every two or three days.

Title your dream when you transcribe it. Usually a title occurs to you without reflection—a good indication that you know the thematic core of the dream.

Identify day residue and memories when you have completed your account of the dream. Write about the connection between your dream and the day's events and concerns, or memories it has awakened.

Identify major images, characters, and settings in the dream. Describe them in detail; relax and write your associations from each. Don't dismiss your first associations as trivial, irrelevant, or silly; turn off your internal censor.

Identify puns, metaphors, dates, numbers, quotations. Puns are more common than you might think—I’ve seen dreams that made obvious use of the surnames of Bob Hope and Tyrone Power, and I had a dream myself in which Barbra Streisand was insistently referred to as “BS.”

Compile a glossary of recurring images. If you find that the same image, character or setting comes up in several dreams, set aside some time to consider it in detail.

Most dream images (including actions) seem to yield most when considered for associations and metaphors. Freud’s question, “What does this make you think of?” really does work. Dr. Gayle Delaney , who’s written several popular guides to dream-work, suggests asking yourself:
------Does the setting remind you of anything?------Who is X (each person in the dream)?------Who or what does X remind you of?------Is any part of you like X?------What is Y (each object in the dream)?------Does Y remind you of anything?------Do the major action or events in the dream remind you of anything?------Is this dream similar to other recent dreams?





There are a number of famous literary works either based on or about dreams. Col-eridge’s “The Pains of Sleep” is one of the best at capturing the emotionally intense and uncanny feeling of an anxiety dream:

The Pains of Sleep

Ere on my bed my limbs I lay,
It hath not been my use to pray
With moving lips or bended knees;
But silently, by slow degrees,
My spirit I to Love compose,
In humble trust mine eyelids close,
With reverential resignation,
No wish conceived, no thought expressed,
Only a sense of supplication;
A sense o'er all my soul impressed
That I am weak, yet not unblessed,
Since in me, round me, every where
Eternal strength and wisdom are.

But yester-night I prayed aloud
In anguish and in agony,
Up-starting from the fiendish crowd
Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me:
A lurid light, a trampling throng,
Sense of intolerable wrong,
And whom I scorned, those only strong!
Thirst of revenge, the powerless will
Still baffled, and yet burning still!
Desire with loathing strangely mixed
On wild or hateful objects fixed.
Fantastic passions! maddening brawl!
And shame and terror over all!
Deeds to be hid which were not hid,
Which all confused I could not know
Whether I suffered, or I did:
For all seemed guilt, remorse or woe,
My own or others still the same
Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame.

So two nights passed: the night's dismay
Saddened and stunned the coming day.
Sleep, the wide blessing, seemed to me
Distemper's worst calamity.
The third night, when my own loud scream
Had waked me from the fiendish dream,
O'ercome with sufferings strange and wild,
I wept as I had been a child;
And having thus by tears subdued
My anguish to a milder mood,
Such punishments, I said, were due
To natures deepliest stained with sin, -
For aye entempesting anew
The unfathomable hell within
The horror of their deeds to view,
To know and loathe, yet wish and do!
Such griefs with such men well agree,
But wherefore, wherefore fall on me?
To be beloved is all I need,
And whom I love, I love indeed.





But my all-time favorite is Walt Whitman’s “The Sleepers.”
This is the first part:

1

I wander all night in my vision,
Stepping with light feet, swiftly and noiselessly stepping and stopping,
Bending with open eyes over the shut eyes of sleepers,
Wandering and confused, lost to myself, ill-assorted, contradictory,
Pausing, gazing, bending, and stopping.

How solemn they look there, stretch'd and still,
How quiet they breathe, the little children in their cradles.

The wretched features of ennuyes, the white features of corpses, the livid faces of drunkards, the sick-gray faces of onanists,
The gash'd bodies on battle-fields, the insane in their strong-door'd rooms, the sacred idiots, the new-born emerging from gates, and the dying emerging from gates,
The night pervades them and infolds them.

The married couple sleep calmly in their bed, he with his palm on the hip of the wife, and she with her palm on the hip of the husband,
The sisters sleep lovingly side by side in their bed,
The men sleep lovingly side by side in theirs,
And the mother sleeps with her little child carefully wrapt.

The blind sleep, and the deaf and dumb sleep,
The prisoner sleeps well in the prison, the runaway son sleeps,
The murderer that is to be hung next day, how does he sleep?
And the murder'd person, how does he sleep?

The female that loves unrequited sleeps,
And the male that loves unrequited sleeps,
The head of the money-maker that plotted all day sleeps,
And the enraged and treacherous dispositions, all, all sleep.

I stand in the dark with drooping eyes by the worst-suffering and the most restless,
I pass my hands soothingly to and fro a few inches from them,
The restless sink in their beds, they fitfully sleep.

Now I pierce the darkness, new beings appear,
The earth recedes from me into the night,
I saw that it was beautiful, and I see that what is not the earth is beautiful.

I go from bedside to bedside, I sleep close with the other sleepers each in turn,
I dream in my dream all the dreams of the other dreamers,
And I become the other dreamers. . . . .


It’s a long poem in eight parts. This is how it ends:


The sleepers are very beautiful as they lie unclothed,
They flow hand in hand over the whole earth from east to west as they lie unclothed,
The Asiatic and African are hand in hand, the European and American are hand in hand,
Learn'd and unlearn'd are hand in hand, and male and female are hand in hand,
The bare arm of the girl crosses the bare breast of her lover, they press close without lust, his lips press her neck,
The father holds his grown or ungrown son in his arms with measureless love, and the son holds the father in his arms with measureless love,
The white hair of the mother shines on the white wrist of the daughter,
The breath of the boy goes with the breath of the man, friend is inarm'd by friend,
The scholar kisses the teacher and the teacher kisses the scholar, the wrong 'd made right,
The call of the slave is one with the master's call, and the master salutes the slave,
The felon steps forth from the prison, the insane becomes sane, the suffering of sick persons is reliev'd,
The sweatings and fevers stop, the throat that was unsound is sound, the lungs of the consumptive are resumed, the poor distress'd head is free,
The joints of the rheumatic move as smoothly as ever, and smoother than ever,
Stiflings and passages open, the paralyzed become supple,
The swell'd and convuls'd and congested awake to themselves in condition,
They pass the invigoration of the night and the chemistry of the night, and awake.

I too pass from the night,
I stay a while away O night, but I return to you again and love you.

Why should I be afraid to trust myself to you?
I am not afraid, I have been well brought forward by you,
I love the rich running day, but I do not desert her in whom I lay so long,
I know not how I came of you and I know not where I go with you, but
I know I came well and shall go well.

I will stop only a time with the night, and rise betimes,
I will duly pass the day O my mother, and duly return to you.

Read the whole poem

A couple of years ago I gave a paper about it at a conference session on dreams in literature, including this:

-----Writing before the outbreak of the Civil War, in an atmosphere pervaded by geographic and sectarian divisions, Whitman consciously took on a task that was eccentric at the time but has since become an essential element in how we think about poetry, and indeed all the arts: to provide a vocabulary of images and symbols that would allow a diverse audience to find common ground, transcending the intractable divisions of political life in the realm of the imagination, and thus—as has arguably been the case since his time—using art as a means to break accustomed conceptual bonds. In this respect, Whitman’s dream theory also anticipates other 20th-century theories, especially that of Mark Blechner, as discussed in The Dream Frontier (Blechner, 2001). Blechner begins by accepting the essentials of J. Allan Hobson’s activation-synthesis hypothesis of dream-formation, the first serious scientific theory of dreaming since Freud, which holds in contrast to Freud that the imagery of dreams is randomly generated, and thus that there is no “latent content,” no repressed wish which the manifest content seeks to disguise. Instead the content of dreams may lead through association, like many other randomly generated contents, to revelation of the dreamer’s preoccupations and complexes. But Blechner asserts in addition that it is precisely in their bizarre imagery, disjunctiveness, and conceptual confusion that dreams have their uniqueness and value: as daytime thought defers to the categories set by language, dreams constitute a form of extralinguistic thinking through image and metaphor that allows us to break through accustomed conceptual boundaries and, essentially, “think the unthinkable.” In The Sleepers, this appears to be Whitman’s theory, too, and he offers his poem as a way to share the advantages of breaking conceptual bonds not as a personal matter alone, but as a means of revitalizing national consciousness. In contemporary language, Blechner and Whitman share a view of the dream as not only creative but fundamentally subversive. In imagery of the erotically liberated body, of the embrace between traditional opponents, and of the capacity of the individual to integrate personal and political history in an uniquely original approach to citizenship, Whitman demonstrates that the subversive value of dreaming is precisely that of poetry as he conceives it—and indeed there is nothing he says of poetry in his critical observations that is not also true of dreaming as he envisions it in The Sleepers.




Last: Something I wrote last year. This was intended to be a short film, several male talking heads relating their dreams to the camera, but it hasn’t happened yet, and the window of George Bush’s relevance is rapidly closing.


The Dream Body of George W. Bush


I wake up—I wake up inside the dream, you understand—and I’m in my freshman dorm room, in my bed. It’s a narrow bunk bed; I couldn’t sit up without bumping my head. Sometimes when I got into it, it felt like I was climbing into my coffin. Anyway, I wake up—inside the dream—and my roommate, F---, is just standing there in the semi-dark, turned away from me, in his pajamas. My freshman roommate was a very dorky guy, who wore pajamas and picked his nose right in front of me. He turns slightly toward me and I can see he’s got a hunting knife, a big, scary-looking, slasher-movie kind of knife, like you’d gut a deer with.
-----Then he smiles down at me and he hasn’t got a knife in his hand anymore. He’s a got this unworldly big hardon tenting his jammies, like a fireplug, thicker than a guy’s dick could possibly be. He rubs it just a little, smiling. Then it’s like there’s a close-up of his face, or maybe he’s leaning in over me, and I see he’s got blood in his mouth, like his gums were bad or he bit his tongue or something, but he’s still smiling, and he’s turned into George W. Bush, like he looks in those pictures from his Texas Air National Guard service, grinning like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.


My friend M--- and I are on an assembly line, in chef’s hats and smocks, like Lucy and Ethel, and there are candies coming by, we’re trying to roll them in chocolate but of course they’re coming too fast, so instead of freaking out like Lucy and Ethel in the show we just laugh and laugh like we’re stoned, and the guy in charge comes out like he does in the TV show, only it’s George W. Bush, and he looks at us in disgust. Then he reaches over and takes my friend’s chin, but gently, into his hand, and then he suddenly spits, hard, into my friend’s face, like a cobra spitting venom. And my friend’s head explodes. And then he turns to me and says, “Now you clean this mess up,” and leaves, and I start trying to clean up, and then the assembly line starts again and a coffin comes down the line and I have to drape an American flag over it and salute it as—the assembly line is like as long as a football field now—as it disappears out of sight.



I dream I’m Colin Powell and I’m standing at attention at some kind of ceremony, in my uniform. I’m saluting and there are flags and a lot of Marines in uniform; I think it’s a funeral at a military cemetery, or maybe a memorial service; I can see Washington-type monument buildings around. And there’s this weird little buzzing noise, really bothering me. It’s a voice, saying something; I can’t hear what it’s saying. I look to my right, and there’s no one standing there. Then I look down and it’s George W. Bush, only he’s the size of a kid, like three feet tall, and he’s got a tiny, buzzy little voice and he’s talking the whole time. I try to tell him quietly to simmer down, just hang on, be quiet while what-ever it is is going on. But he starts plucking at my trouser leg, and then he’s pulling at it it, and he pulls my pants down and I get tangled on them and fall on the floor and he’s attacking me, digging into me with sharp fingernails, going for my face. And he’s still the size of a little kid and I’m still Colin Powell, by the way.


I don’t know about this, this dream really shook me up. All it is, is we’re sitting in a rowboat, me and this old friend of mine, from home. I can feel the water rocking the boat gently, I can hear the insects and the birds and the fish occasionally breaking the water; I can see the sunlight filtered through low-hanging branches. And we’re fishing, you know, with poles, out of the boat. On the bank of the river, in the sunlight, I can see some guys playing touch football. They have their shirts off, and they look like those pictures you see in an Abercrombie & Fitch store, like they’re just pretending to play football, just pretending to have a good time. And somehow, my friend turns into George W. Bush; he’s looking quiet and intense, like he’s thinking all seriously about something, and then I notice that the base of the pole he’s using is rubbing against his crotch, he’s rubbing himself off against it, and suddenly I’m really anxious, I mean I’m pretty terrified, like what’s gonna happen here. And he doesn’t feel like my friend anymore, but different, like a grownup does, when you’re a kid. And Bush grins at me, but that don’t make me feel any better, and he reaches across me, like to get at the tackle box, but his hand grazes across my crotch, and when the side of his hand brushes across it, I feel that my dick is rock-hard, and that’s when I . . . I mean, if you’d a told me I’d wake up from a dream about George W. Bush with a fresh load in my jockeys, I just don’t know what.




I wake up in a cabin in the woods, and I hear noises, like someone rattling around in the kitchen. I walk down a hall, a carpeted hall, way too long and fancy to be in any cabin, and through a doorway I see that I’m looking into the Oval Office—in the White House, you know? The President is standing, turned away from me; it’s like there’s a stove at the window, and he’s cooking eggs and bacon or something, he’s wearing an apron and humming a little tune, like a TV sitcom theme song. He turns towards me—it’s George W. Bush—waves me over, scoops breakfast onto two plates, and sets them down. I come over and look at the plates and there’s a little dead dog on one and a little boy’s head on the other. And he’s smiling, smiling, and now he looks sort of more like Alfred E. Newman from Mad magazine.


I get hired by this creepy old guy to be a male prostitute. I mean, I’ve never had a sexual experience with a guy or felt any desire to, but it makes sense in a way, because the whole scene feels like it isn’t about sex in any normal sense at all, but about a task or ordeal, something distasteful to me I have to go through to prove myself. The guy who hires me is like a parody of sophistication in a bad old movie, wearing a smoking jacket, drinking a glass of white wine, and he has this ridiculous snotty British accent. Anyway, I have to strip and get in bed and wait for him, and when he comes in, he’s a little old man now, wrinkled and bald and squinty, and he’s taken his teeth out. I lie back on the bed and he “services” me, and all I can think about is, is my dick big enough, is it hard enough, is he going to like it, and I’m disgusted, yes, but really I mostly feel like it’s a job interview and I’m anxious about how I’m coming across. Then I’m on top of him and he’s got his thin creepy white arms around me and my cock is in, I guess, his hole and I’m pumping, pumping . . . It doesn’t feel tight, it feels loose and slimy, like I’m fucking into mud, like I’m sinking into a morass. It’s scary and depressing. I stop in a kind of shock and the old guy opens his eyes and looks up at me, and now suddenly, he’s George W. Bush. And he looks up at me, like “Why d’you stop?” but smiling that weird smirk of his and he says, “You’re doin’ a heck of a job, man, a heck of a job.”


In this dream I’m running through a futuristic city. I run along some rails way up high, like the rails of an elevated tram line. I run through alleys, I run on empty desert roads, I run through crowds of Asian-looking people in some third-world type marketplace. And at some point, I realize that I’m Tom Cruise and I’m running to save the world from something, I have to get somewhere, I have to stop some catastrophe from happening, some supervillains are going to destroy our way of life. I run out on a pier, and this is the part that really looks like a movie, with edits and everything: I run towards a boat, with a huge flat deck, like a battleship, that is pulling away, and I run toward the end of the pier, and I just keep running, I fly through the air—I’m still Tom Cruise—and I land, gently as a feather on the deck. I’m surrounded by thousands of men in uniform, simple uniforms, chambray shirts and blue pants, and they’re looking toward the sky, gesturing and shouting, full of hope and expectation, transported by their excitement, and I see a form floating down through the sky. There’s no plane or anything, he’s just drifting down as if from heaven, but with a parachute, and he lands on an upper deck, men are stripping his parachute away and he stands revealed to the crowd below, holding his arms up like Rocky, and grinning, full of confidence and vigor, and I see that it’s George W. Bush, looking incredibly virile and youthful, like a guy in a ‘50s war movie. There’s a banner behind him but I can’t see what it says, and this is very frustrating for me, because I feel that, if I just knew what the banner said, I’d know how everything is going to turn out.


----




*

p.s. Hey. For the weekend, I resurrect this rich and helpful post by writer, thinker, and d.l. emeritus Bernard Welt for your delectation, and I hope you're glad that I did. Thank you again so much from years in the future, B. So, since there are only a handful of comments, and since I'm still downing my second cup of morning coffee right now, I'll go ahead and p.s. the place up. ** Cassandra Troyan, Hi, Cassandra! So awesome of you to be here and say what you did. Oh, my address, yes, I want a 'THRONE OF BLOOD' badly, thank you!  So, it's: c/o Centre International des Recollets, 150 rue du Faubourg St. Martin,75010 Paris, France. Can't wait! All respect to you. ** David Ehrenstein: RIP: Hector, et. al. ** Dom Lyne, Hi, Dom! Things with are actually really great with me at the moment, thanks, and I'm really glad to hear that you're on the return and upswing. That sounds, yeah, intense. Great about your part in the Comics Convention, especially if it has tweaked your wish to make things for the world, me heavily included. And a belated very happy b'day! Yeah, except for trips out of town and here/there, I'll be in Paris late in the year, and, for absolutely sure, let me know when you're coming and pen me into your itinerary. More greatness! Take really good care, my friend. ** Sypha, He did seem very you, or, well, his photos did at least. ** Matty B., Hi, Matty! I got your email safe and sound. I'm just more mail-impaired than usual right now due to the distractions of this trip. You can find my mailing address in the comment to Cassandra Troyen just up above. And I'll head over to that link/pdf in a sec and bookmark it eternally. Lovely to see you, pal! ** Gary gray, Hey there, Gary! Me too, unstrangely enough. You good? What's up? ** Misanthrope, I guess the slave at the top wins the session by default if nothing else. Have a swell weekend. ** Okay, read and contemplate Mr. Welt's share of expertise, please. Don't know if the p.s. will be back again on Monday or not. The blog will be. Enjoy yourselves.

----


'My mum told me when I was a baby I slept so intensive so I turned white! So she had to check me all the time if I were still alive! This is serious! That is true! Maybe the whole thing started there? And maybe it started before that? My great great grandmother was a sorceror but only white magic. I have never been into fuckin white magic! I have always hated the Christianity and all faiths who had anything to do with God, but especially the Christianity. I want to get into a cult because it is difficult to understand something from a book with alot of scripts in Sumerian, Hebrew, etc. And it is very dangerous to do something wrong ... So I need a cult. Thats another thing. But I must tell you, no one of us is normal.'-- Dead, 1990


(l. to r.) Euronymous, Dead, Necrobutcher


Per Yngve Ohlin (January 16, 1969 – April 8, 1991), better known by his stage name Dead, joined the pioneering Norwegian Death Metal band Mayhem when his down band Morbid folded in 1988. Serious illness as a child and a near death experience convinced him that he had died and was now a being from another world. His beliefs are preserved in the vampiric lyrics he wrote for the album De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas. Dead reputedly carried around the carcass of a crow in a jar and would inhale fumes from it before taking the stage so he could perform with the stench of death in his nostrils. He also took to donning a white greasepaint visage, designed to mimic the pallor of 13th-century plague victims.

Necrobutcher (ex-Mayhem): 'It wasn't anything to do with the way Kiss and Alice Cooper used makeup. Dead actually wanted to look like a corpse. He didn't do it to look cool. He wouldn't eat for weeks in order to get starving wounds. He would draw snot dripping out of his nose. He was the first black metal musician to use corpse paint.'

Bård "Faust" Eithun (Emperor): 'He (Dead) wasn't a guy you could know very well. I think even the other guys in Mayhem didn't know him very well. He was hard to get close to. I met him two weeks before he died. I'd met him maybe six to eight times, in all. He had lots of weird ideas. I remember Aarseth was talking about him and said he did not have any humour. He did, but it was very obscure. Honestly, I don't think he was enjoying living in this world.'


Dead and Hellhammer


In order to complete his corpse-like image, Ohlin would bury his clothes before a concert and dig them up again to wear on the night of the event. According to bandmate Hellhammer, 'Before the shows, Dead used to bury his clothes into the ground so that they could start to rot and get that "grave" scent. He was a "corpse" on a stage. Once he even asked us to bury him in the ground - he wanted his skin to become pale.' Whilst singing on stage, Ohlin would often cut himself with hunting knives and broken glass. He claimed to be fascinated by people's reactions to this. During one concert in Sarpsborg during February 1990, Ohlin cut himself so badly that he had to be taken to hospital due to blood loss.

When Dead first arrived in Norway, Necro Butcher took it upon himself to make sure their new singer had somewhere to live and was looked after. On the other hand, Mayhem founding member and chief songwriter Euronymous -- later to become infamous himself when he was murdered by ex-Mayhem member and future cult hero Varg Vikernes (Burzum) -- apparently did his best to make Dead feel uncomfortable. 'He tried to psych him out,' says Necro Butcher. 'He would tell Dead, "We don't like you. You should just kill yourself." Stuff like that.'

And then, one day in the spring of 1991, Dead did just that. The members of Mayhem had moved to an old house in the forest in an area called Krakstad near Oslo to write and record their next album. Hellhammer claimed that Ohlin 'just sat in his room and became more and more depressed. It would take twenty minutes to get from the house to the nearest shop, and we had to go by train to the nearest town. Teachers from the nearby schools told children: “Do not come up to this house. The house is haunted!” Everybody hated us, but we enjoyed it. One day I decided to go to Oslo with my friends. Before the departure I met Dead. He was grim: “Look, I bought a big knife. It’s very sharp.” Those were the last words I heard from him.”'


Euronymous


















One day Euronymous came back to their house to discover Ohlin's body slumped against a wall. He had slashed his wrists with a butcher's knife and blown his brains out with a shotgun. His suicide note had a morbid humour . It read, 'Excuse all the blood. Let the party begin' and included an apology for firing the weapon indoors. Instead of calling the police, Euronymous hitchhiked to the nearest town and bought a disposable camera to photograph the corpse, after re-arranging some items. Later he called his bandmate Hellhammer: '“Dead went back home,” he told me. “Back to Sweden?” I wondered. “No, he’s blown his head.”'

'He called me up the next day,' recalled Necro Butcher, 'and says, "Dead has done something really cool! He killed himself." I thought, have you lost it? What do you mean cool? He says, "Relax, I have photos of everything." I was in shock and grief. He was just thinking how to exploit it. So I told him, "OK. Don't even fucking call me before you destroy those pictures."' Several years later a lurid photo of Dead, lying in a shabby room in which the only splash of colour was provided by his blood, somehow found its way onto the cover of a Mayhem bootleg produced in South America.


'Dawn of the Black Hearts'
















Eventually, rumours surfaced that Euronymous made a stew with pieces of Ohlin's brain, and made necklaces with fragments of Ohlin's skull. The band later stated that the former rumour was false, but that the latter was true. Additionally, Euronymous claimed to have given these necklaces to musicians he deemed worthy, and it's well known that several prominent musicians in the Black Metal field are in possession of skull fragments. 'Police took Dead’s body but we lived in the house for a few more weeks,' Hellhammer explained. 'Dead’s blood and pieces of skull were all over the room. Once I looked under his bed and found two big pieces of skull. I took one piece and Euronymous took the other. We made amulets out of them. Later on we lost them somehow. Somehow others have them now. It’s strange ...'

Necrobutcher: 'The Black Metal scene was just growing and we were doing what we were doing up until 1991 when our vocalist (Dead) killed himself. After that, it all started to happen. Some people became more aware of the scene after Dead had shot himself. After that, churches started to burn and it just went crazy here. I think it was Dead's suicide that really changed the whole scene. I think (his suicide) was a very fortunate situation to happen, and I think the scene would still be around and gone in the same direction as it had, maybe just a bit later on. I don't think it would have become as extreme as fast as it had in black metal. A lot of young musicians got into this scene because it was the most aggressive and violent scene out there at the time.'

Note: This text is collaged from numerous writers and sources: Chris Campion, The True Mayhem, Morbid Death Magazine, Sounds of Death Magazine, various interviews, a.o.







Dead walking outside the house in Krakstad (3:10)


Mayhem rehearsing w/ Dead and Euronymous (6:11)


Mayhem 'Deathcrush', live in 1990 (2:28)


Tribute to Dead (4:57)



----




*

p.s. Hey. I thought I would do this. ** David Ehrenstein, Good Monday morning. Oh, my sincere condolences about the loss of your friends. I'm so sorry to hear that, David. ** Cobaltfram, Yeah, I didn't see the whooshed out comment. Excellent attitude and situation with your X-people and the proposal prelims. Cool. You have something new and newly up at Tin House. Awesome, congrats! I'll read it post-p.s., of course. Everyone, writer supreme John Fram aka Cobaltfram has a new piece just up at/on Tin House entitled 'Train, Library, Hotel', and it's yours for a mere click. Thanks, man. ** JoeM, Re: your questions about 'Matt' and Inthemostpeculiarway, no. As for your other questions ... First, I find it hard to believe that 'everybody else' is asking them 'privately but not saying [so] publicly.' But I've been naive before.  If that's true, then I'm very disappointed in 'everybody else'. That you would ask such ridiculous, intrusive questions doesn't surprise me one bit. If you had actually paid attention to what I've said and shown my words the respect of belief, and if you weren't infecting what I've said with titillating gossipy bullshit speculation, you would already know the answers to those questions. Clearly, if people here are subjecting my sincere reportage and ramblings re: my personal life to that kind of distortion and reductiveness, I'm not going to talk about my personal life here anymore, and so I won't, starting today. ** Sypha, I'll have to go read the old comments then. Welling-up is always interesting. I don't know that Delaney book. I'll check it out. ** Matty B., Hey! Next couple of weeks once I get back to Paris on Tuesday should be pretty free-ish, so no prob. Feel free to nudge me if I'm running slow, 'cos that happens, although I hope it won't, and nudging helps. Take care. ** S., Those are some curious tattoos you got there. The peeps are a nice touch. Maybe you should superglue them in place. And, naturally, very nice new stack. Everyone, S. has a doubleheader of new stuff over on his blog. If you click this word, you'll get to see his new tattoos and one of his inimitable Emo stacks. Need I even encourage you? ** Dom Lyne, Hi, Dom! Fantastic: that burst of muse commingling and focus and love of being focused by the muse. Great! I just 'liked' your FB page, and ... Everyone, the great Dom Lyne, spinner of masterful words and sounds and imagery, has instituted an author page over at Facebook that I obviously recommend 'like' post-haste. Here's the short cut. Yes, do give me the 'whens' and 'wheres' on your Paris visit when you know them, and I really look forward to that! ** Misanthrope, I can see that. His 12 year-old-like surface made him more of an interesting text producer for me than a magnet. I hope that clusterfuck headache is history by now. Shit, sucks. Yeah, I hope you got all the rest you needed. ** Steevee, That is a truly nerve-wracking dream you had right there, maybe because something almost identical that happened to me in real once, sans Kiss and with, hm, Uriah Heep instead maybe? . ** Bill, Hi, Bill. A 'touch-sensitive installation'? Wow, that sounds really exciting. I'm kind of drooling with happy feet over here. I hope you get that sorted, and I know you will. Sweet, B! ** Okay. I'm not sure if I'll have time to do the p.s. tomorrow or not. In any case, there'll be one last rerun post tomorrow and then a new post and p.s. on Wednesday. For today, be with Dead, won't you. See you in some form tomorrow.

----



There is no antidote against the opium of time. The winter sun shows how soon the light fades from the ash, how soon night enfolds us. Hour upon hour is added to the sum. Time itself grows old. Pyramids, arches and obelisks are melting pillars of snow. Not even those who have found a place amidst the heavenly constellations have perpetuated their names: Nimrod is lost in Orion, and Osiris in the Dog Star. Indeed, old families last not three oaks. To set ones name to a work gives no one a title to be remembered, for who knows how many of the best of men have gone without a trace? The iniquity of oblivion blindly scatters her poppyseed and when wretchedness falls upon us one summer’s day like snow, all we wish for is to be forgotten. -- W.G. Sebald, The Rings of Saturn


*

p.s. Hey. I'm leaving very early to head back to Paris today, so no p.s., but I'll see you along with a new post tomorrow, and I'll catch up with the comments then. Until that time, please enjoy reading and thinking about WG Sebald.

(Initially I’d written several paragraphs trying to sum up my introduction to and feelings towards the Minneapolis/St. Paul-based hardcore outfit Condominium. Deciding this wasn’t exactly necessary in the end, I’m going to list a few key points and proceed to a bunch of images/sounds/videos for your pleasure/consideration. That is all. Thanks)

1. Condominium is a contemporary hardcore/punk rock band pushing the envelope as far as can be pushed within the confines of that genre; often transcending and moving far outside of it with strange repetitive works steeped in themes of modern malaise.
2. I was fifteen or so when I saw this band Formaldehyde Junkies play their first show in a Minneapolis basement; their guitar player is now the guitar player/singer/bassist for Condominium and even then I could tell the guy was onto something far beyond anything happening before.
3. Their releases are many and they don’t seem to be close to stopping with an upcoming record from Sub Pop and a handful of brilliant live recordings making the rounds on the internet.
4. Fuck I love this band.
5. Their music seems the perfect fit for the twenty first century, with bands like Ceremony, White Lung, Hoax, Night Birds, and their ilk putting out brilliant new punk sounds I’m still hard-pressed to find anyone creating music that has such a handle on today’s condition.

That’s enough, here’s the rest. (In no particular order cos who cares)

(necessary preamble)







(lol, you can see me looking like a shithead in a blaze orange trucker hat, fifteen years old and drunk off my face)










































some images and shit









some links and shit

Condominium @ Fashionable Activism

Condominium Blogspot

Fashionable Idiots


T H A N K Y O U F U C K E R S ☺




*

p.s. Hey. We're back live or 'live' with mega-writer and d.l. Grant Maierhofer as the blog's refresher courtesy of this very convincing intro to and set by the band Condominium. All ears today, people, thank you. And all gratitude to you, Grant. ** Monday ** Thomas Moronic, Hi, T. Thanks a lot. Yeah, the B. Stosuy book is terrific. I just got to it recently. I guess I don't need to ask how Xiu Xiu was. When I saw that you were seeing the Swans/XX super-combo, I checked to see if either of them or that crazy bill was coming to Paris, but alas. Hope the poems finished up to your complete satisfaction. ** Scunnard, What better greeter than Dead could there possibly be? Very glad to hear that my work concentration trip had some infective qualities. Good, good. Yeah, same with writing. It's kind of good to always be working on something or at least fooling around and sketching something, even if the things-in-progress seem like paltry self-indulgences. ** David Ehrenstein, Don't tell them that you ever run into them in a dark alley, ha ha. ** Katalyze, Hi, Kat! So really, really nice to see you! Well, thank you about liking the personal stuff I write here. I don't know. For now, I think I'm going to pull back for a while. I've tended to write about personal stuff without thinking about how it will be received, or I guess about how inaccurately it could conceivably be received, and I think I need to think about that now before I just spill or something. Oh, yeah, I like A$AP Rocky. I don't know a ton of that work, which is why it would be super awesome if you want to make a related post. Yeah, that would be great! Tangentially, I was just listening to Clams Casino on the drive back yesterday. Anyway, it's truly sweet to see you, my friend. ** Cobaltfram, Hi, John. No, I haven't had a chance to read it yet what with last work trip stuff and the return drive, but I'll get to it today. The work retreat was fantastic, thank you. I know Harvest Moon, and I dabbled in it, but I never played it. Closest was Animal Kingdom, which has the same kind of engine and basic structure, but was superficially different. Never have played Bioshock. Not sure if it's on Nintendo. I feel like I need to be really careful when writing about personal stuff here, at least for a while. I think I told you that I don't like gossip. And I really don't like being gossiped about, especially re: things and people in my life who are important and sacred to me. I know a lot of people like to gossip, and there's nothing wrong with that, but I just don't want my life to get caught up in that tangent if possible, and it seems like keeping the personal personal is the only way to protect its accuracy or something, I guess. ** Sypha, Hi, James. Dazai and Rampo are great. I really like Kawabata too. So, yeah, that 'some people from the blog' have been turning my enthusiasms and reportage about a friendship that is very important to me into evidence that there's some unspoken dramatic and lascivious and conventional something else going on is exactly why I'm going to keep certain things to myself in the future, I think. I understand that people find it sexy and exciting to do that kind of gossiping, and I even get that it's totally natural and fine, and I know there's nothing I can do about it, but I just personally don't want to accidentally feed that distorting and reductive activity if I can help it. Actually, I've hardly ever put my personal life into my novels. 'Guide' is the only one, and, even there, it's heavily transformed. ** Steevee, Hey. Well, I'm going to think twice at least before I write about my personal life now. I'm the kind of person who wears my heart on my sleeve, as they say, and, between that and the casual rambling nature of the p.s., I think I just need to be more cautious. Anyway, thank you a lot, man. Ha ha, true about Uriah Heep. I actually saw them live back in the day. Twice! ** Ar, Alex! Hey, man! Wowzer! So really nice to see you. I so wish I could see the Cork show. The promo photos look beautiful. Aw, thanks, A., I love you too. Loop! Now, listening to them again is a very interesting idea. Yeah, so good to see you, my genius friend. ** MANCY, Thanks a lot, man. It's really good to know that it came through loud and clear to you. ** _Black_Acrylic, Hi, Ben. Awesome about the success of the zine fair! Everyone, go over here, if you will, and see visual evidence of the recent Yuck 'n Yum Zine Fair, and wish you'd been there 'cos I sure do, and I'm betting you'll be like me. Got your little changes to the Day and instituted them. No problem whatsoever, man. ** Misanthrope, Hey. I know Joe is a good guy, but I do think those questions, and that he asked them here, and threw in that 'everybody else' thing, were collectively disrespectful to everyone involved, but what's done is done, and Joe and I are old friends, and I think we should do a 'lesson learned' thing and just move on. No, actually, I think that, under the circumstances, not talking about the friendship here is doing both the friendship and the blog a service. Sucks that it has to be that way, but obviously it does. I'm glad your headache is gone. ** S., Hey. I can't imagine that Satan was anything but honored by your daisy chain. Two days ... that means now, right? Is your dick still in its rightful place? ** Chilly Jay Chill, Hi, Jeff. Real good to see you. No, I was going to see 'Spring Breakers' on the trip, but it never happened. I think it's still in theaters here in Paris, so I will asap. The work trip was very productive and great all the way around. I'm still in the process of trying to crack the novel into something new, but I'm much closer now. Thanks for saying that about my personal life talk. I just need to rethink doing that or how to do that, you know? We'll see. ** Lord_s, The mighty Lord-s! How the heck are you? Yeah, I think Attila should just be the Sunn0))) singer and do his experimental solo stuff 'cos he's so right at home there. I was having fun, yes. Maybe I still am. Are you having fun? ** Tuesday ** Misanthrope, I'm back safe and sound, so your wish came true. Thanks!  ** David Ehrenstein, He certainly is. ** Cobaltfram, Right, I remember when you read 'The Emigrants'. Knife stream. Everyone, Cobaltfram directs us to a streaming edition of the new album by The Knife if you didn't know that was available and/or are into The Knife or potentially interested in being so. Here. ** _Black_Acrylic, I definitely recommend reading Sebald. Okay, that strap sounds less intense/ cumbersome than the brace I had imagined. Yeah, obviously, I hope you give it a try. If it helps, that would be sweet. Ooh, the new Y'nY is almost here. Exciting! ** Steevee, No, I don't know Jerusalem In My Heart at all. Sounds really interesting. I'll try to hear some today, if I can. Thank you! I heard so-so to less than so-so word about Cronenberg's kid's movie, yeah. So weird that he would ape his dad's tropes. ** Chilly Jay Chill, Hi, Jeff. Yeah, real nice Handke quote. Man, there's somebody -- Handke -- whom I haven't read recent work by in many, many years now. I wonder what it's like. Oh, gosh, I don't think 'Vertigo' is lesser either. I don't even understand that opinion. 'Old Masters' is so great, right? Totally. I loved it. It's in the upper echelons of my fave Bernhards. Sublime quote from it. Thank you, Jeff. ** James, Hi, James. The travels were wonderful, thank you for asking. The novel is very slowly rewarming up to me, I think. It's not really a George novel anymore, but it might be partly that, we'll see. Love to you too! ** Thomas Moronic, Hi! Cool about the coincidence or mystical blog connection. Sebald is very worth your time, if you ask me. I heard that Deerhunter song. It sounds great. Obviously, I'm very excited for the new album too. And I'm very glad but not surprised that Xiu Xiu was so good. Sounds like a fascinating approach by him. I'll go look for iPhone/youtube videos. Take care, man. ** Right. Check out Condominium and talk to Grant about what your checking out inspired, please, and I'll see you tomorrow.

__________________




'Have you ever been in a long distance relationship? You probably have. It probably was rough. The two of you were in different cities, states, or countries. All sorts of substitutes for pure love were used: texting, sexting, masturbating on cam for a loved one, etc. Most likely the two of you were in the same time zone. Or maybe you were a time zone or two apart. Imagine a couple so united by love for one another they travel across the world, to places days ahead or days behind.

'I want to introduce Carolyn DeCarlo & Jackson Nieuwland the alt lit couple of 2012. No one even comes close to this level of beauty. People look up to Carolyn Decarlo because she’s a wonderful, joyful spirit. People look up to Jackson Nieuwland because he’s seven feet tall. Jackson doesn’t have anybody to look up to due to his extreme height. Each one found the other through a love of fantastical alt lit.

'Carolyn traveled to New Zealand to be with the alt lit giant with a heart of gold. The romance was pulled out of the internet and into real life. Other New Zealanders pulled themselves out of their hobbit holes to rejoice. Jackson is currently in the United States. Everything is fantastic to Jackson. Now the United States gets a shot of his fantastic presence, during an election year, when we need it most.

'You want to know romance? Look at Carolyn and Jackson. They endured at least a 21 hour (or longer) flight to see one another. When they came to AWP crowds went wild. Crowds hugged Jackson and Carolyn. Around the world both are known for their extreme hug-worthiness. Everyone adored their IRL presence, not just their virtual presence. They ‘made it’. Other writers were pushed aside as Carolyn and Jackson were carried on covered litters and fed peeled grapes.' -- Beach Sloth








Carolyn DeCarlo & Jackson Nieuwland Twilight Zone
NAP

'What are your favourite types of social situations? Do you spend much time with your family? Is your family close? Are you particularly close to a certain family member? What do you talk about with your family? Do you feel comfortable telling your parents about your life? Which do you hang out with more: boys or girls? Does any of this say anything about you? Does anything, apart from saying something about you, say anything about you?' -- JN



Excerpts













a poem from Twilight Zone an ebook by Carolyn DeCarlo & Jackson Nieuwland


Blake Butler on 'Twilight Zone'


Ana Carrette, Carolyn DeCarlo, Mike Bushnell & Jackson Nieuwland swag out




_____________________




'When I was 16 I was a sad teen who worked at Subway. One day after working at Subway for three months the manager made me clean out the refrigerator so I quit and went home and watched the super bowl. During my Subway tenure, I worked with a dwarf named Steve who had some sort of congenital defect that made him hold one of his hands against his body like a t-rex. I also worked with an overweight middle-aged ex-con who couldn’t grow sideburns named Doug. He was very charming and nice to me. Doug was hired at Subway through a work release program and would often brag about gambling on riverboat casinos and buying whores with his winnings.

'It wasn’t long before Doug got Steve into whores. After work he would ask Steve if he wanted to go get some whores with him and Steve would look around sheepishly and say yes and then they’d go get some whores, I guess.

'Steve, Doug, and I used to gamble with the quarters from the register during the night shift. We would play Texas Hold ’Em.

'“Do you know Texas Hold ’Em?” Doug asked the first time we snuck a game.

'“No,” I said.

'“Hottest game in poker right now,” Doug said, dealing with authority.

'Doug would get very angry when he lost. Sometimes he would punch the table really hard and say, “fuck” and glare at me while I took his quarters. It was frightening but I took the money anyway. I wanted those quarters.

'I drove him home once because he asked me to. He looked like he lived where whores live. He said it was his mom’s apartment. One time when I was working at Subway a girl who also worked at Subway named Stephanie brought a guy in back while the manager wasn’t there. The guy got really angry with me for looking sad. He walked up to me and told me that this job obviously “sucked” but I needed to “cheer the fuck up.” I remember feeling like it was unfair that me being upset should bother him. This made me feel sad.' (cont.)








Heiko Julién There Is No Reason for Tigers to Be Beautiful, They Just Are
Pop Serial

'thought ‘Heiko is a wise human being’ a few times while reading this / thought ‘whoah he shifts around a lot from paragraph to paragraph’ / thought ‘he likes to end his pieces similarly - usually with existentially optimistic messages’ / thought ‘thank you Heiko for ending your pieces like that – they make me feel nice’ / thought ‘Heiko is a strange dude’ a few times while reading this / thought ‘dammit he’s honest’ / thought ‘if Heiko is considered “alt lit” then “alt lit” must be pretty cool’' -- iamaltlit



Excerpt

The secret to my Decent Quality of Life?

I spend every moment I’m not eating thinking about the next time I will eat. Creates and maintains tension. This is how I have cultivated bliss within, and yet my greatest strengths are alternately my biggest weaknesses. For instance, I died in a house fire in 2004. Tried to make four toasts in a two-toast toaster.

You need to know: You are in the fight of your life. If you don’t Grow, this fucked up hellscape of a reality we inhabit will ravage your mind/body/soul.

No pressure.

It is no wonder I’ve been a Bad Person and so have you. We’d like to think that’s all in the past now. We are getting older and wiser and less terrified but the stimulus that scares us is getting stronger.

So let’s talk about Bad People: Bad People betray their friends and themselves for no good reason because they have too much fear they’ve chosen to ignore rather than confront. On a seemingly related but unrelated note, this world has betrayed me, so I am commenting on youtube vids, lamenting the death of Good Music. Forsaken by a world that has abandoned me, I wander into my bathtub and drown. It was already filled from a previous bath. (Cold and gross.)

The fact remains that the majority of my youth is gone and I spent a lot of it being upset. Considering suicide as a means of avoiding future work and general discomfort, yet I look at you in your cargo shorts and think, “you are not going to make it, probably.” I think this because I am a survivor and am also into men’s fashion.

Animals are doing all kinds of crazy things to survive and so are you. You bought your daughter a Justin Biebre CD and listened to it to try to feel Good. Incidentally, I still cannot get over the fact that there are animals that live underwater.

You aren’t allowed to commit suicide until your mom has died. These are the rules. I don’t make them. Living is better than not living, even though it’s painful a lot of the time. Just make plans for the future. You don’t even have to do them.

When you are having a serious problem and there’s no one you can talk to about it because they wouldn’t understand, that’s when you’re You.




Heiko Julien live after the screening of Shoplifting from American Apparel at the Logan Theatre in Chicago, IL


I Am Ready To Die A Violent Death | Part 1 of 2


Spooky Cheddar




______________________




Tell me about your book, what’s the story?

Laura Ellen Joyce: It’s about the last 24 hours in the life of murdered six-year-old beauty queen. The setting is a snowed-in valley in permanent darkness. The time is Christmas day. Radioactive foxes, a sex-doll repairman, a strip club and a beauty pageant all take the attention away from the little girl.

Who is the protagonist?

LEJ: Ava Wilde, the six-year-old girl.

Where did you find the inspiration for the story?

LEJ: It is a retelling of the Jonbenet Ramsey murder in Boulder, 1996, on Christmas day.

How did you write it?

LEJ: I wrote it in a month during Nanowrimo 2010.

How did you find the time fitting it in around life?

LEJ: By writing for a couple of hours a day no matter what.

What makes a good story in your eyes? What do you look for?

LEJ: The unexpected, the violent, the bizarre. Excess, hyperbole and vision.

Any advice for budding writers/any thoughts on the current publishing industry?

LEJ: The current industry is so exciting because as it collapses it also transmutes. Reject traditional models and find spaces to creep in.









Laura Ellen Joyce The Museum of Atheism
Salt Publishing

'It is Christmas Eve in a mountainous, isolated prison community, the day of the baby beauty pageant. Ava is the star attraction. She's six years old. Ava’s older brother Jonny hears strange noises in the attic and sees his father go out late at night with a gun with their lodger, prison warden Leo. Daniel, a man who repairs sex dolls for a living, has just moved into the area and he is Ava’s biggest fan. There are rabid, wild foxes roaming the area, terrorising the community. The action culminates in a bizarre fetish party at the local strip club, a fox cull and the death of Ava. Finally, the secrets of her life are revealed.' -- Salt Publishing


Excerpt

24 December 0800

Rose Cap
Appearance: Milky pink caps, thin stem.
Effects: Induces hallucinations.
Environment: Near water.

Jed Wilde was bone tired. He’d been out in the valley hunting foxes all night, and his shirt was spattered with their blood. He was drenched in sweat from the struggle and he knew it would turn to ice on his skin if he didn’t get back in the truck and drive home soon. The needle on the thermometer in the cab was busted, but he didn’t think it was going to creep much above freezing that day.

Leo, Leo, come on we’ve got to get home. Jed called to his boarder, who was sitting hunched on his hind legs, smoking a cigarette. Leo didn’t reply at all.

What’s wrong with you? Jed asked, D’you want to stay here like this all day? We should get back to the house. Come on.

Leo threw the cigarette end into the new drift of snow that covered the forest floor. It hissed and went out. He stood up, legs shaking, and followed Jed to the truck. They had trouble starting the engine and Leo grabbed their coats and some blankets from the back under the tarp while Jed gave it some juice.

The truck started after a couple of good hard revs. They began the journey back to the house. Leo reached out for the radio dial until he found a sports bulletin amongst all the Christmas carols and adverts.

Would you turn that off? Jed asked him. I need to concentrate on driving. I’m not getting much traction in this snow.

Alright pussy. Want me to drive?

Yeah, I don’t think that’s a good idea.

Leo didn’t argue. He shivered, as though catching a chill. He turned off the radio and wrapped the blankets more tightly around his body; then started snoring loudly. Jed turned the radio off. It was difficult to get the truck up the steep curve of the valley. Slicks of black ice layered the highway, fresh snow covering the grit laid earlier. Jed had to concentrate on the ascent and he was thankful that Leo’s presence was muted by sleep. The valley had been drained, years ago, and there was no water at the bottom any longer, just flat lands with a few small houses. The main heart of Rosewood was on the north side of the valley; that was where the Fantasy Bar was, and the strip of stores and most of the housing clustered round the town hall. But Jed liked the south side. He could see all the way over, see everything that was happening, and if he saw a car making its way across he could be gone before they arrived. Usually, the trip from the base of the valley to his house took less than ten minutes in the car, but this fucking ice was a nightmare, the street lighting at the bottom of the valley was out, and he was sick of seeing nothing in front of him but his headlights day and night.

A scream rang out across the valley and Jed jumped in his seat, letting the stick shift slip out of his control.

Fuck was that? Leo muttered, not opening his eyes.

Fox, Jed said, concentrating on getting the car under control.

Jed went in to his daughter’s bedroom as soon as he got home. He wondered what Ava might have heard in the night.

Ava, darling? Jed called to her softly to check if she was awake. He couldn’t stop shaking and thought she would notice something was wrong. He realised that he might frighten her, dressed as he was, so he went down to the basement to take off his bloody clothes and change them for fresh ones. Leo had already dumped his clothes and the dirty blankets in the washing basket. Jed took off his boots and laid them on a sheet of newspaper. Then he went up to the kitchen and made Ava’s favourite oatmeal.

Upstairs, in his daughter’s room, Jed got in beside her and tickled her on the chin to wake her up.

Daddy! She said in surprise. He offered her the oatmeal and she said she didn’t like the taste this morning. Jed played a game with her where he breathed hot steam from his coffee right into her mouth and she gulped it down like a magic potion. Jed looked at the sky outside lit by the northern lights; it was a weird colour, like raw pigs’ liver.

Ava was in her pajamas and still half-asleep. Jed smoothed her hair where it curled and brushed it away from her face. He had a lot to do but he couldn’t resist her asking for just one story. As he unplugged her star nightlight, the fading gleam lit his hand red for just a second. She waited for the story to begin.

Tell me one about the foxes Daddy, Ava said. She was scared of the foxes but she liked to hear about how her daddy fought them and kept her safe.

Jed wondered how much she knew. He told her the safe story, the one he had told her before.

One day an airplane came over the valley. The pilot had never flown a plane before and he had a dangerous cargo. Remember what a cargo is sweetie?

Ava told him she remembered. It was the stuff he was carrying. She wasn’t a baby, she told him, she knew this story already. Jed laughed at her seriousness.

Well this cargo was kind of dangerous. It was absolutely full to the brim of chemicals. Chemicals which did strange things to the foxes.

Ava pretended to shiver in fear and crept closer to her Daddy. He dropped his voice low.

The plane began to get into trouble and the pilot wanted to save himself so he let the cargo fall out of the bottom of his plane. A terrible green slime came out of the sky like rain and began to drip down into the valley. All of the trees in the forest were covered and the birds perching in the branches were stuck fast. The other animals took shelter until the terrible storm was over, all except the foxes. Do you know why?

Ava knew why, she said, because they wanted to eat the birds and they were too greedy.

That’s right. They wanted to eat the birds and they were too greedy so they shook the trees until the slime-covered birds fell down in front of them. They ate every last bird.




Trailer





Jon Benet Ramsey, Satanism and Twin Peaks




*

p.s. Hey. ** Thomas Moronic, Hi, T. I got your email. Thank you a lot, man. I'll write to you. I was mostly in front of my laptop yesterday too, writing and trying to give the blog a post-filled near-future since I've gotten way, way, behind. I hope you liked 'To the Wonder'. Take care, buddy. ** Misanthrope, Well, I'm not going to do a black out on what's going on with me here, but I'm going to think about and probably filter things before I type more than I have been doing. Very cool about the cubicle and computer of your own. And that you getting over here is more concrete. You can get solid, very doable cameras these days for more than a pittance, but not so much more. And the world definitely needs to see Rigby doing crazy shit. Dude, your hand! What's the prognosis? ** Paradigm, Hi, Scott! Thank you, man. Yeah, I don't know, I just need to re-accustom myself to the context, and I'm sure it'll be fine. That music you're hearing sounds really beautiful. Recommend any albums or anything to start with? I hope you get back to the writing too, obviously. If the desire is there, the ideas will pop in. They always do, albeit on their random schedule. Really good to see you! ** Wolf, I had some chocolate Easter eggs. They were in the chocolate top hat of a chocolate Easter bunny. How about you? Did you have any egg-shaped things? Interesting, yeah, about 'the extensions of those privacy issues and how much of our basic constructs and limits are changing and being redefined by technology'. It's true, and finding the place between mediating and gushing unreservedly like one would to a trusted someone else is tricky. Like with the p.s., when I'm writing back to someone's comment, I always feel or try to feel like I'm writing directly and only to them, but of course the whole p.s. is an open field. But if I think about that, and that every conversation is potentially being overheard by who knows how many people whom I know and don't know, it makes me feel self-conscious, so, yeah, finding the right spot to speak from is an odd thing. Very cool about that course you started. It's like a classroom course or an online thing or ... ? Mm, tomato juice with tabasco, yum. Blogger just changed 'tabasco' into 'tobacco'. It knows me so well. Yes, I read that about Iain Banks. That very sad. I know I read 'The Wasp Factory' ages ago, and I can't remember if I read other of his books. I think so. All wishes to him. Love to you! ** David Ehrenstein, Morning, sir. ** Sypha, Hey. No, there's nothing autobiographical in 'Frisk' whatsoever. It's fiction from tip to stern. Wow, 'Bright Lights Big City'. I read that back then. Didn't do much for me, nor has any of his writing. But maybe it would have this cool retro, time period thing now that would help. ** Grant maierhofer, Hi, Grant! Thank you so, so much! Awesome about the contract. Yeah, that must feel exhilarating. So sweet about the poetry book. Congrats to the press and to you and to us. Everyone, you can preorder the new poetry chapbook 'Ode to Vincent Gallo Nightingale' by Mr. Grant Maierhofer, writer and yesterday's guest-host, by clicking this link to its page at Black Coffee Press, and of course I highly suggest that you do. ** S., Sexy looking writing is a rare and precious thing. It takes a lot to get text to look like it's in the mood. Oh, a pile of birthday presents! Everyone, here are the presents that S. gave himself on his birthday. Intrigued? ** Steevee, I like the Invisible Hands album too. Just heard it not two days ago. Fingers crossed that the Sight and Sound big dog got back to you. No, I've only read about the Tyler album so far. I'll get it at some point, though. You heard/like it? ** Flit, Hi there, Flit! Thanks. Wow, I wish I could write the novel like that. Maybe I will. Maybe that's been the missing ingredient. If I could pass all the gossipers onto you, I would in a heartbeat. Maybe I can figure out a way to do that. Hm. Return hugs and return stuff! ** Chris Dankland, Hey, Chris! Really, really nice to see you! The work vacation was really great, thanks. I mostly did some prelim work on the novel and some experimenting towards the novel more than actually digging into the thing itself. I used to make these analog, paste and scissors-based collage-type scrapbooks for every novel I wrote, and I made one of those while I was on the trip for the first in forever, and I think that helped clarify a lot of things for me. Oh, the readings you did! I'm so glad you enjoyed doing them and that they went so well. Reading with Roggenbuck must be quite a trip in and of itself. Does he have a following where you are? I'm curious how far and wide his reach is. I feel like it's really hard to tell. I haven't read the Megan Boyle liveblog yet, no. But I definitely will 'cos it sounds quite interesting. Reading-wise, well, the books up above, obviously. I'm kind of slowly reading a bunch of stuff: the forthcoming Matt Bell and Matty Byloos novels. Other stuff I'm spacing on. Someone sent me a pdf of 'Taipei', so of course I'm excited to read that. What are you reading? Oh, cool, about the Neato Mosquito thing. Everyone, Chris Dankland has put some stuff from Megan Boyle's 'Actual Daily Activities' Liveblog on his amazing Neato Mosquito Fireworks Show site, and I recommend that you go delve. Take care, man. ** Bill, Oh, ha ha, I was in Auvergnes but didn't hear anything about that story, which makes perfect sense somehow, I guess. Tomorrow ... wait, today? These time change things really confuse me sometimes. In any case, I hope minds are blown from wherever to wherever, and I hope I'll get to touch it someday. Big time. ** Okay. There are three books I've loved of late up there, and two of them can be read/seen gratis with mere clicks upon the appropriate links, and the other one is very well worth buying. Check them out. See you tomorrow.

_______________
MetaspliceChurn
'Metasplice is the tandem of that guy from hair_loss and Dave Smolen. Both were great on their own, but as a team, they tend to tag a little harder, dig a little deeper, and down a lot more space-dance donuts. The easy way to explain the appeal of Topographical Interference is to invoke kindred spirits like Demdike Stare and Ensemble Economique. Yet these two lay it on a lot thicker, “it” being a strange aural substance known as digi-spray that cropdusts the arrangements with a layer of spice that more minimalist dark-dance folk lack. If it feels like Metasplice are rambling at times, it’s because they are. That said, they’re one of the few groups mining this sound with any semblance of bravado, laying down tracks a more enterprising chap might even be able to dance to.'-- Tiny Mix Tapes






__________________
ShedI Come By Night (50 Weapons)
'I have to explain that Shedding the Past is not like I wanted to shed something or to do something new or to leave something behind. It’s more to explain where the name Shed came from. That’s all. It’s a bit ridiculous I know, “Shed” the name — I know! [laughs] It was more to explain the name, where it came from. When I started with my label in 2003, this was the first sentence on my web page — “shedding the past” — but in that time, I thought I had to shed something. And actually the album name came in order to explain “Shed” — I’m not a garden shed or whatever! [all laugh] That’s it. There was a big idea behind it, but not on it, not while I made this album.'-- Shed






_____________________
MoonfaceHeaded for the Door
'Moonface is singer, songwriter, keyboardist, Spencer Krug, known previously by his former bands Sunset Rubdown, Wolf Parade, Frog Eyes and Swan Lake. The name originated in 2009 with the Sunset Rubdown limited 7-inch "Introducing Moonface." It was a mere two songs that Krug wrote and recorded alone in his Montreal home, which was never intended to make any big waves, but which resurrected in Krug a love for home-recording, and planted the idea that he would use the name "Moonface" for all future solo work. Moonface is now Krug's main focus and primary creative outlet. He is currently working on the next album with the above mentioned Michael Bigelow. The album is, as of yet, a pop-percussion experiment, the title and release date of which are both yet to be determined.'-- JAGJAGUAR






__________________
Clams CasinoAll I Need
'Mike Volpe. more commonly known as Clams Casino or Clammy Clams, is an Italian-American electronic musician and hip hop producer from Nutley, New Jersey. He started gaining recognition after contacting Lil B and sending him a variety of instrumentals. His production often samples spacey female voices—such as Björk, Janelle Monáe, Adele, or Imogen Heap. He is currently studying to be a physical therapist. He received acclaim from The Needle Drop and Pitchfork, the latter of which ranked his first mixtape, Instrumentals, as one of the top-50 records of 2011. He gained futher recognition due to his work on A$AP Rocky's mixtape and album Live. Love. A$AP.' -- collaged






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Burial & Four TetWolf Cub
'British "super producers" Four Tet and Burial are known for collaborating, bringing in super-super types like Thom Yorke on occasion. Now they've quietly revealed a new joint effort minus the Yorke. Meet "Wolf Cub," a track Four Tet tweeted early last night with little fanfare or explanation. So far the best guess for the chilled-out track's future is Pitchfork's theory that it'll be the 13th release on Four Tet's Text Records label, since Four Tet included the phrase "TEXT013" in his 140 characters.' -- collaged






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PrurientI Understand You
'Another one-man band out of Madison, WI, Dominick Fernow basically makes up Prurient with a theme of anti-technology and anti-electricity -- with the exception of his microphones and four-track recorder. Backing Fernow's stance up is his unconventional use of banging objects together to create music; playing with live wire, pennies, frying pans, toolboxes, scrap metal, and used shotgun shells are an example of some of his instruments. Through his many hours of recording in is home studio, Prurient recorded and released a split EP with PCDS in 1998 and a full-length the next year entitled Blades Steam Red Sweat, Inside the Things I Dread on his own Hospital Records.'-- collaged






___________________
Atom TMWellen Und Felder
'Uwe Schmidt, aka Atom TM, modern laptop legend and king of the pseudonym has been lost in the Chilean wilderness for the last eight years. We coaxed him out of hiding to come and talk about the science of living and breathing Latin American music, finally getting to a place where you can re-interpret Kraftwerk, the deep science of the cover version, his Japanese approach to collaboration, the rapid process of electronic music definition and the subsequent and irritating result of classification.' -- RBMA






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The Haxan CloakMiste
'I’ve been making music for more than 10 years now, and all I can really do is strive to achieve the most honest thing possible. This is what The Haxan Cloak represents to me - a desire for honesty - a clean channel between the conception and fruition of ideas. There isn’t really a concept as, personally, I’m uncomfortable with trying to consciously mask the music with a pre-determined idea of what it should be or say. I find this very counter-productive. The music does end up being quite melancholy in tone. Of course, there is the question of why record under ‘The Haxan Cloak’ and not just my own name. I am sort of obsessed with pre-1900s imagery and text . I was heavily into reading about the Salem witch trials for a time. Haxan is an old German word for witch, which I always found sounded and looked intriguing and somehow beautiful.'-- THC






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Laurel HaloThaw
'When an artist "finds her voice," it's meant as a figure of speech and signifies a certain kind of greedy perspective from our end that values neat narrative arcs and easily identifiable resolutions. It's typically reserved for someone like Laurel Halo, who's darted and dashed rather than having followed a simple trajectory over the past couple of years, recording a vast and diverse amount of material under her own name and as King Felix for six record labels (and counting). Halo finds her voice in a literal sense. She foregrounds vocals to a far greater extent than on her previous material, and while Quarantine veers from claustrophobic sci-fi dioramas to meditative synth drones to nakedly expressive confessionals, it's unified by an underlying perspective and personality that commands attention yet still leaves plenty to the imagination.'-- Pitchfork






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Locust Strobes
'Mark Van Hoen, who made a string of influential releases as Locust on R&S records in the 1990’s, all but retired the alias at the end of that decade. In May 2012, Van Hoen was invited to perform a live set on WFMU radio. In order to make the set more spontanious and add a further dimension, he asked friend and fellow musician Louis Sherman to collaborate. While improvising new material in Sherman’s Brooklyn rehearsal studio, It swiftly became obvious that the material sounded like Locust. Inspired by joint explorations with found sound sources and ambient textures, and sharing a pan-dimensional immersion in the length and breadth of analogue and digital recording, the duo performed a series of tracks live. This material, combined with previously recorded tape tracks dating back to 2006 form the bulk of their new album.'-- Editions Mego






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Bee MaskLive @ Enemy, Chicago
'Bee Mask is the abstract and drone music project of the Cleveland, Ohio, United States native Chris Benedetto Madak. Madak's approach is difficult to pin down. While he frequently composes long-form explorations in excess of fifteen minutes, he also breaks his pieces into movements short enough to have already released a greatest hits-style compilation, last year's Elegy for Beach Friday. This tension between slow-burning builds and sudden fissures is magnified on When We Were Eating Unripe Pears, a short album of terse, disparate tracks that nevertheless flows as a whole. The record starts as granular squeaks and chirps flit above a molten synthesizer drone, gradually dissolving into it until they resemble bubbling water. As the drone morphs into a sluggish thudding pulse, Manak deploys an assortment of sounds—chief among them a wafer-thin, super-fast arpeggio and clanging tones—that give the feel of a mechanized gamelan session.'-- collaged






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Demdike Stare Violetta
'Demdike Stare is the occult project of Miles Whittaker and Sean Canty. Miles is also known as Modern Love’s DJ MLZ or as one half of Pendle Coven. Sean Canty is the dedicated digger behind the Haxan events and a member of the respected Finders Keepers crew of vinyl vultures. The duo’s collaborative project tracks the sonic ley lines of cult soundtracks, Arabesque dubs and psychotomimetic ephemera with a proper Lancastrian twist. Their releases, notable for their beautiful cover design by Andy Votel, have included Symbiosis, Liberation Through Hearing, Voices of Dust and Forest of Evil. In 2011 the latter three were compiled as Tryptych.'-- last.fm







*

p.s. Hey. ** Scunnard, Hi, Jared. Yeah, the weather here is really schizo. It's like the days are montages of what feels like spring and then this cold, rainy drear that seems so two months ago. Glad things are good there, man. I saw your email, and I'll get to it pronto. Thanks! ** Thomas Moronic, I agree with you about 'To the Wonder'. Nice. Cool you liked the Julien and the Joyce. Yeah, really good stuff, right? Oh, and, wow, thank you a lot for sending me that you-know-what! It's going to pop up here next Wednesday. Really a big help, man. I really appreciate it. And it's awesomeness incarnate, of course! ** Misanthrope, Well, hopefully the hand is just freaking out and overcompensating and throwing some brief melodrama your way. Ouch. I don't know the Neph, of course, but, yeah, it doesn't seem like he's ready to be a rolling-in-the-overseas-clover-style UK- or Francophile. ** Bollo, Hi, J! What's the show that opens ... tomorrow, or, hm, today? Give us a peek via photos, if that's no problem. I had a decently chocolate Easter, even though I completely forgot that Easter was the reason the chocolate was bunny-shaped and was also why I was gorging in the first place. Good luck with the show/opening tonight, man. ** David Ehrenstein, That was some kind of definitive 'Call Me Maybe' right there. Thank you. ** Sypha, Gaddis liked 'Bright Lights Big City'? Now, that is something I would never have imagined. I wonder why. Maybe google will tell me. I love Beckett's novels, so I have to second Lee and Ligotti. Yeah, I got your email, and I'll try to write back to you today. I'm just way behind on so many things due to the recent trip, exactly. But I will. ** S., Sounds like your story has a solid destiny. Limp Bizkit, like, a new LB video? I guess they're still around. I guess I read that that guitarist with the 'spooky' contact lens rejoined them or something. ** _Black_Acrylic, Hi, Ben. Oh, wow. It's here! Everyone, it is a momentous occasion because the new issue of the super-great zine among zines Yuck 'n Yum is just now out, online, and available to all. You can find and read it here, and you simply must! Among the contents this month is a piece by our very own _B-A aka Ben Robinson about the Mike Kelley retrospective at the Stedlijk Museum in Amsterdam, and it includes an interview with yours truly. So, yeah. Go get your eyes on that zine! I'm excited to read your piece, and thank you so much for including me in it. It's a real honor. I'm going to finish up here and go right over there and dig in. ** Steevee, Cool, the review. Everyone, Steevee has reviewed the much discussed and much liked film 'Upstream Color' over on the Gay City News site, and, as always with Steevee's criticism, the rewards of reading are as plain as the noses on your faces. The review is here. Wonderful about the wisdom of the 'Sight and Sound' editor! ** James, Hey. Yeah, RIP Roger Ebert. That was a very poignant news. Ugh. Well, you're welcome about the book recommendations. Wow, cool that the editing is close to being finished. I envy you, man, if you don't mind my saying so. Oh, chapter titles. I keep changing my mind about them. I guess most of me thinks there's a kind trope/ gimmick thing about chapter titles. and I really don't why I feel that way exactly. But then I think they can be really beautiful and useful and be kind of like the titles of the poems in a poetry book. So, I go back and forth. Actually, 'God Jr.' does have chapter titles, as did 'The Sluts', so I haven't really moved away from using them. I just think carefully in each case about whether they need to be there, if they add anything, if the chapters are enhanced or twisted or made more complicated or something if they're titled. Not such a great answer to your question, I'm sorry. Trust your instincts? ** Chris Dankland, Hi, Chris. Very cool and awesome that the post's prop of LEK lead you to put her work on NMFS. So pleased by that. The last novel I made a physical scrapbook for was 'Period'. The scrapbook method was specific to the George Miles Cycle books. After that, I just made kind of online scrapbooks sometimes that weren't really scrapbooks at all. So, it's been quite a long time since I made one. It felt good, and it seems like it might help in the way that the scrapbooks used to help. Thanks a lot for filling me in on the readings. I guess it makes sense that there would be a bigger crowd in Austin. I guess I think of Austin as the Texas' center of what's happening, even though I guess a lot of the writers from your state who interest me the most don't actually live there. Hm.  Yeah, I really like that Roggenbuck is a rallying point too. It's one of his real virtues. I'd really like to meet him sometime. Maybe his reach will reach to France once his work gets translated. Wow, even at Joakim's university. That's interesting. They do speak incredibly good English up there. I hope you have a good morning too, my friend. ** Right. I have a gig for you today. Especially if you're driving somewhere and can somehow get the gig into your car's sound system. But even if not. Even if you just daydream about roads today. Or even if you don't. See you tomorrow.

Welcome to a Day dedicated to the visionary record producer Joe Meek. I could barely hope to scratch the surface of his prolific output, but here's hoping it serves as a useful primer.

Robert George "Joe" Meek (5 April 1929 – 3 February 1967) was a pioneering English record producer and songwriter.

His best-remembered hit is the Tornados' "Telstar" (1962), which became the first record by a British group to reach No.1 in the US Hot 100. It also spent five weeks atop the UK singles chart, with Meek receiving an Ivor Novello Award for this production as the "Best-Selling A-Side" of 1962.

Meek's other hits include "Don't You Rock Me Daddy-O" and "Cumberland Gap" by Lonnie Donegan (as engineer), "Johnny Remember Me" by John Leyton, "Just Like Eddie" by Heinz, "Angela Jones" by Michael Cox, "Have I the Right?" by the Honeycombs, and "Tribute to Buddy Holly" by Mike Berry. Meek's concept album I Hear a New World is regarded as a watershed in modern music for its innovative use of electronic sounds.

His commercial success as a producer was short-lived and Meek gradually sank into debt and depression. On 3 February 1967, using a shotgun owned by musician Heinz Burt, Meek killed his landlady and then himself.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joe_Meek







A classic story of rise and fall: This is the life of music producer and pop composer Robert George "Joe" Meek (born April 5, 1929 in Newent, Gloucestershire; died February 3, 1967 in London) - a short life somewhere on the fine line between vision and lunacy, always floating forth and back from the one to the other; oversped, funny, sad, euphoric, depressed; a rollercoaster trip with a dramatic showdown.

It's not only the singer or the song that makes a hit, it's the sound as well. Meek was the first European music producer who completely got that. He saw his sound recording studio as his musical instrument, and he was a virtuoso in playing it. As an extra-ordinary sound tinkerer he can be named in the same breath as Phil Spector, George Martin, Lee Hazlewood, Tom Wilson or the "Motown" or "Stax" studio crews; a Meek production is easy to identify. Although Meek didn't like to stand in the spotlight himself, his influence on the pop music scene is still noticeable.

Jan Reetze
http://www.joemeekpage.info/essay_E.htm







THE STORIES, near unbelievable, are strange but true. In a flat on the Holloway Road, four people bang their feet on the stairs, stomping their way to a '60s pop-defining number one. The microphones that record the din are attached to the banisters with bicycle clips. There are singers in the toilet and string sections in the kitchen. In the bedroom, his feet lost in a carpet of reel to reel tape and tangled wires held together with chewing gum, a thick-set man in a suit sets the controls for the heart of British popular music.

These stories would be fantastic enough without rumours of black magic, gangland threats and a pill-popping climax of paranoia, rapidly declining fortunes and murder. The Joe Meek story is a B-movie script without a home.

From his home, a dank flat with famously rickety stairs above a leather goods shop at 304 Holloway Road, London, Joe Meek created some of the strangest and most wonderful sonic experiments ever to attempt to gatecrash the hit parade. Known to the crazed few as the British Phil Spector, Meek a misguided auteur who single-handedly invented the idea of independence in pop by selling his finished products to the major labels, is seldom credited as the creator of some of the best known '60s records ever.

John McCready
http://www.rocksbackpages.com/Library/Article/hearing-a-new-world-the-joe-meek-story







Meek's musical innovations are still to achieve the recognition they deserve. These include his pioneering use of overdubbing, compression, sound separation, and distortion; his use of his bathroom as an echo chamber; the launch of his own indie label, Triumph; and, in his final years, his recording of some of the most aggressive and essential Mod and psyche acts. In fact, if Meek hadn't pushed the envelope to ridiculous lengths, would British music ever have come out of its tepid doldrums and rocked America and the world?

Owen Gibson
http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/musicblog/2007/oct/17/blessedwasthemeek







I Hear a New World: an outer space music fantasy is a concept album devised and composed by Joe Meek and recorded by the Blue Men in 1959. It was released in part in 1960 and in full in 1991 by RPM Records. It was later analyzed by Barry Cleveland in his book, Creative Music Production: Joe Meek's Bold Techniques.

The album was Meek's pet project. He was fascinated by the space programme, and believed that life existed elsewhere in the solar system. This album was his attempt "to create a picture in music of what could be up there in outer space", he explained. "At first I was going to record it with music that was completely out of this world but realized that it would have very little entertainment value so I kept the construction of the music down to earth". He achieved this as a sound engineer by blending the Blue Men's skiffle/rock-and-roll style with a range of sound effects created by such kitchen-sink methods as blowing bubbles in water with a straw, draining water out of a sink, shorting out an electrical circuit and banging partly filled milk bottles with spoons; however, one must listen carefully to detect these prosaic origins in the finished product. Another feature of the recordings is the early use of stereophonic sound.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Hear_a_New_World







Drummer Dave Golding played on the sessions for New World: "At the time it we didn’t know what he was trying to achieve. He wasn’t talking about space when we recorded some of those tracks. He was going on about lighthouses and lights across the sea, which makes some sense when you hear the record and forget about the titles". Dave recalls the sessions as fraught late night affairs, either at the flat or Lansdowne with Joe attaching knives and forks to his bass drum pedal and insisting he played his drums with pennies spread across the skins. On hearing this record 40 years later you can only comment that Joe is the other lost Aphex Twin, born an age before his time. Charles Ward, whose Thunderbolts record ‘Lost Planet’ is another example of Meek’s outer space obsession, believes Joe was really a child of the times.

"Destination Moon was the film of the ‘50s. In Hollywood they were throwing dustbins up in the air at night and filming them as UFOs. There was plenty of that stuff around, and Joe was listening to as much of it as anyone else". Now feted by electronic cultists like Orbital and Andrew Weatherall, ‘I Hear A New World’s genius is tempered by comic tunes and further warped by Meek’s twisted sense of pop. Aside from the heavily layered effects, these made up the bulk of the record’s musical substance. The sleeve notes, apparently written by Meek, show a man innocently obsessed with aliens, The Space Race, and Sputnik flights into the beyond. Joe dribbles on about the ‘Dribcots Space Boat’. "Owned and built by the Dribcots, it is shaped like an egg," he informs us with barely contained enthusiasm. ‘The Entry Of The Globbots’ is "the sound of, happy jolly little beings. As they parade before us you can almost see their cheeky blue faces."

It’s believed that only 100 of the records were originally pressed. There wasn’t much call for fledgling electronica in 1960. With I Hear A New World Joe had revealed the template for his way of thinking, a personal Space Race. This was his particular way of hearing things, with all his secret sounds out on display. It was statement of intent, often underlined in the next seven years.

"Looking back at it now, it’s clear that Joe did have a plan for the record", says Dave Golding. "It was only when ‘Telstar’ came out three years later that it all began to make sense to me."

John McCready
http://www.rocksbackpages.com/Library/Article/hearing-a-new-world-the-joe-meek-story







Joe Meek would have a hand in creating some of the biggest hits of the time – and worked with well known artists such as Lonnie Donegan, Petula Clark, Shirley Bassey, Gene Vincent, Frankie Vaughan, Acker Bilk, Anne Shelton and Tom Jones.

His most famous song "Telstar" which was recorded with The Tornados earned him both an Ivor Novello Award and the title of becoming the first ever single recorded by a British group to hit #1 in the US Billboard chart. The single also spent five weeks at the top of the UK charts.

Other hits Joe had a hand in included John Leyton's "Johnny Remember Me" and The Honeycombs' "Have I the Right?" which was another #1 in the UK charts and entered the US charts at #5.

However "Have I the Right?" would be Joe's last big hit. Joe had gained a reputation as being difficult to work with, he was very controlling and would often become angry and violent if musicians didn't do as he told them to.

Joe's fascination with the unknown would take a darker turn when he would experiment with the occult. He would engage in séances and leave recording equipment in graveyards to try and contact his hero Buddy Holly.

It was thanks to Joe Meek's experimentation that techniques such as echo and reverb would be introduced into popular music, a technique used by virtually every artist or band ever since.

John McArdle
http://www.bbc.co.uk/gloucestershire/content/articles/2007/01/05/joe_meek_feature.shtml







Technically, the Joe Meek sound is relatively easy to describe: Its typical trademarks are strong reverb and echo effects (his main reverb unit Meek had custom-built from the spiral springs of an old fan heater; nobody ever was allowed to touch this device) as well as massive overdriving, especially the vocals. Besides this, Meek used to speed up the vocals (sometimes to a grade not far from the absurd, sometimes beyond that), often he added a slapback echo to the vocals (as best known from several Sun Records productions), and usually he backed them up with a two- or three-voice female harmony choir (the legendary "heavenly choir"). Reverbs as well as echo effects were usually made artificially. Besides this, Meek provided his records with a massive bass and an amount of compression that makes the music literally jumping out of the speaker.

Jan Reetze
http://www.joemeekpage.info/essay_03_E.htm







Finally, a recent '60s favourite is JOE MEEK, the first successful, fully independent record producer in the U.K. He was barely known in this country, but was an unseen hand in ruling and shaping pop music pre-Beatles in England on a scale the size of Phil Spector ‚ except that his taste was wierder. As a producer, not only did he not play any instruments, but apparently he couldn't sing very well either...yet he was very exacting in getting the sounds he wanted out of musicians. He not only sang the notes to a keyboard person, but was very specific as to how he wanted the keyboard to sound. He was fascinated with Outer Space, and one of his songs which is best-known in the U.S. was the TORNADOS' "Telstar" instrumental; it has an organ sound like no other. And as soon as he found a skiffle band with Hawaiian guitar, there was no stopping him. Remember, "Exotica" was an America-only phenomenon. The only English Martin Denny release I've seen had a generic ocean photo, probably xeroxed off a Mantovani album. Yet here was someone persuing the same outer reaches, but from a completely different angle!

His fascination with sci-fi and ethereal sounds and other-worldly female voices and Outer Space is so unique ‚ you can tell a Joe Meek record a mile away. He recorded the instruments way into the red so that even drums distorted; he used all kinds of wild echo and reverb. I read that not only did he use everything but the kitchen sink ‚ he even recorded in the kitchen sink the sound of running water, blowing bubbles, drinking straws, and half filled milk bottles played by spoons! He also used the teeth of a comb across an ashtray, electrical circuits shorted together, etc. He had problems getting along with mainstream music industrial powers, but eventually got his own studio together above a leather store. It was on three floors, so some instrumentalists would literally be playing on different floors, with the console on the third floor.

Jello Biafra
http://www3.sympatico.ca/rorytate/joemeek/







An instrumental with space sound effects, this is about the Telstar communications satellite, which was launched shortly before this song was written.

This was the best-selling British single of 1962. It was also the first song by a British group to hit #1 in the US. This did not happen again until The Beatles “I Want To Hold Your Hand” in 1964.

Producer Joe Meek was intrigued by the sound of the organ on Dave "Baby" Cortez' #1 hit, "The Happy Organ" - so entrapped by it that he tried to duplicate it with the Clavioline keyboard on "Telstar," which was played by a studio musician named Geoff Goddard, who also supplied the "humming" vocal you hear at the end of the song.

Joe Meek idolized Buddy Holly and claimed he could make contact with Holly's spirit. Meek committed suicide on February 3, 1967, the eighth anniversary of “The day the music died.” (thanks, Brad Wind - Miami, FL)

After the Tornadoes had laid down track for this song, Meek wanted to give it more, so after the band left the studio at the end of the day, he played around with effects to get it just right. Latter when he played the demo to the lads, they were not sure. The beginning was just Joe being his creative self, however, the "Ah Ah" voiceover in the final part was a bit much and they expressed some dismay. This mixture of music and voice was usual and had not been done in a Pop tune, yet this track exploded on the music scene. (thanks, Geoff - Sydney, Australia)

The Tornados - a journeyman club band - disliked the song, but Meek added his own distinctive magic at his home-cooked studio above a leather shop in northern London. An overdubbed Clavioline keyboard provoked spooked space effects, while a backwards tape of a flushing toilet evoked all the majesty of a spacebound rocket. (from The Observer Music Monthly)

http://www.songfacts.com/detail.php?id=11







Thanks to Telstar, Joe Meek is seen as British pop's first great futurist, but the vibe of this Meek production reaches back into our fog-struck, ghost-ridden past. It's an urgent Gothic romance, with John Leyton's vocal clutching at your sleeve, desperate to tell a story of loss and madness. Meek turns the drums into phantom horsemen and fills the record's dark spaces with melodrama – a keening female voice on the chorus rounds the effect off. Pure corn, perhaps, but sold with a dread conviction, which makes this the weirdest and most gripping British record to hit the top yet.

Tom Ewing
http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2012/may/31/john-leyton-johnny-remember-me







"Jack the Ripper" is a song by English musician Screaming Lord Sutch, released as a 7" single in the UK and Germany in 1963 on Decca. It was produced by Joe Meek and recorded in his Holloway Road studio in Islington, England. The song was banned by the BBC upon its release.

The song begins with the sound of footsteps and a woman screaming, followed by a rendition of the "Danger Ahead" motif by the guitar and drum kit, accompanied by a ghoulish moan from Screaming Lord Sutch. The song itself is a three-chord song, with a vamp played by guitar and bass, with accompaniment by piano and drum kit, which is repeated throughout.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jack_the_Ripper_(song)







he Cryin' Shames were a six piece band formed from a previous band called The Bumblies.
They changed their name to The Cryin' Shames in 1965. Their first single 'Please Stay' was released on the Decca label produced by Joe Meek in early 1966. It reached no 27 in the charts and was to be his last hit record before his suicide in 1967.

http://www.therealmerseysound59-64.co.uk/cryinshames.html







'Do You Come Here Often?' begins as a flouncy organ-drenched instrumental and stays that way for over two minutes. By that time, most people - had they even bothered to even turn the record over - would have switched off. Had they remained they would have heard two sibilant, obviously homosexual voices bitching, well, just like two queens will.

Nearly four decades on, 'Do You Come Here Often?' remains sad, eerie, funny, and true: you can still hear its vivid vituperation in the gay hardcore dance records of the 21st century. By the same token, it is time-locked, a bulletin from a pivotal point in homosexual history: that moment when an oppressed minority began to claim its rightful place in society. However, that struggle was not without its sacrifices. Like Orton and Epstein, Meek would not live to see the sun, and his August 1966 single remains testament to the lethal power of the homophobia that, once rampant in Western society, is still virulent. Guilty pleasures can kill.

Jon Savage
http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2006/nov/12/popandrock28







Joe was now broke, with the ‘Telstar’ case still unresolved. He was hiding from his creditors and the hits had all but dried up. John Repsch’s The Legendary Joe Meek talks of him only eating when assistant Patrick Pink brought food he'd’ stolen from his own family’s cupboard. His new recordings were still being turned down. Séance calls to Rameses The Great and, it’s said, Aleister Crowley for advice, did nothing to help him. Some believe he developed an obsession with Crowley, and say his interest in the black arts had now taken him much further than using an upturned tumbler to ask his beloved Buddy Holly about chart positions.

Among the last dozen recordings that made it to release, among the increasing rejections, was The Cryin’ Shames’ poignant ‘Nobody Waved Goodbye’. At a funeral in his home town of Newent, maybe 200 people turned up.

Joe Meek was largely forgotten until his records began to fester in the minds of a few obsessives in the mid-‘70s. It is only in the last ten years, with the publication of John Repsch’s book, the BBC Arena documentary, and the contemporary appreciation of Joe’s sonic vision, together with the appeal of an irresistibly absurd and tragicomic story, that Joe has become an icon for those able to laugh as they a marvel at his garden Wall Of Sound.

"He turned the British record industry on its head and though they may not have bugged his flat, there were some people who hated him for that, for showing them up. They were having to buy hits from Joe when there were people being paid good money to bring the new groups in house before the likes of Joe got a look in", says Tornado Clem Cattini.

John McCready
http://www.rocksbackpages.com/Library/Article/hearing-a-new-world-the-joe-meek-story







Joe Meek died at the age of only 37 years. Tornados' drummer Clem Cattini stated: "It was dreadful, but without wishing to sound morbid, I couldn’t see Joe dying any other way. He was never going to die a natural death. I don’t think his success brought him any happiness …" - Screaming Lord Sutch, who's career would have been different without Joe Meek, had this to say: "I was amazed as well as shocked and sad when I heard all this, as I had always thought of him as a fabulously successful producer, and it never occurred to me he had no money and only rented his flat. He was a great man and is much missed."

Meek, who described himself as "fairly rich man", had absolutely no money left at the time of his death. His remains were six hundred pairs of shoes and a lorry, besides this he left tax and royalty debts, chaotic bookkeeping and around 100 Winston Churchill commemorative coins, the latter probably giveaways for important customers.

Jan Reetze
http://www.joemeekpage.info/essay_12_E.htm











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p.s. Hey. This weekend we get this incredible treat from the honorable _Black_Acrylic re: the innovative and influential and under-sung producer/ pioneer Joe Meek. He was quite the genius, if you don't know, and _B_A has filled in the blanks in a most masterful fashion. Explore and enjoy and speak to your guest-host between now and Monday, thank you. And major thanks to you, Ben! ** Thomas Moronic, Hi, T. Oh, a Day on Oscar Tuazon would be amazing. I think you know that I'm both a fan and a friend of his, so, yeah, that would incredible, if you don't mind. Thank you so much! I didn't notice that tag on the Prurient album, huh, nice. Yes, Wolf Eyes plus *car crash* sounds quite like fate or something, ha ha. Have a most lovely weekend, sir. ** Misanthrope, Cradle that hand, man, and don't ask too, too much of it. I send you telepathic balm. He wants a watch? Does he think you're going to Switzerland or something? Still, can be done. ** Wolf, Hi, pal. No, ha ha, Locust without the 'The'. I thought you might get a kick from the Four Tet/Burial track title, and I must say your potential glee did influence my selection. Laura Ellen Joyce is awesome. Well, I don't know her personally, but her stuff is, for sure. A vegan chocolate Easter egg, yes, that does sound like a real rarity. Slurp. Online course, right, of course, so awesome. Report on the learning if you feel like it. I'm interested. Chipotle Tabasco? No. Chipotle like the American Mexican fast food restaurant chain? I'll see if Paris stocks it anywhere. Bon weekend, big W. ** David Ehrenstein, You think? Something has to explain it, and that seems as good an explanation as any other. ** Bollo, I'll go look at your corner of FB then. Cool. And at your site, natch. Thanks about the mix-tape. Hope you liked some of the unknowns. ** Cobaltfram, Hi, John! 'Animal Crossing', yes, that's it. Evil game. My addiction to it got a little wacky. I've stayed away from the sequel and all other games like it ever since. Life's hard and rich enough. Well, try scrapbooking maybe. Problem is, I don't think publishers will necessarily buy a novel based on a scrapbook-shaped proposal. But, jeez, who knows? Maybe the novelty would be a calling card. Oh, I liked your Tin House piece a lot. It was swell. I enjoyed every second. ** Matty B, Hi, Matty! Awesome that you're onto a new novel. I don't know, visual mapping always helps me a lot. I almost always do that in some shape or form. But, yes, having a physical scrapbook to work with/on was like night and day compared to the computer-based 'scrapbooks' that I've done for my more recent novels. Huge difference. I think I'm going to go back to doing them again if I keep writing novels. Obviously, I recommend giving the method a shot. ** Alan, Hi, Alan! Really nice to see you, man! Um, on the novel, I'm not sure yet. At the moment, mm, I think maybe a third of what I had written for the George novel is still in play. But I really can't tell how much of it if any I can keep yet. There's a real connection between what that novel was going to be and what the one I'm thinking of/working towards writing will be, but ... Yeah, I can't tell yet. Right now, that material seems useful, at least as a place to start to build around. How are you? What's going on? ** _Black_Acrylic, Hi, Ben! Thank you so much! Such a great post, I'm thrilled to have it here. You're the best, man. Nice about the McKenzie show at the Stedlijk. Yeah, the head curator/boss there, Ann Goldstein, is an old pal of mine, and she's great. ** Scunnard, Hi, J. The inversion ... nice, yes. Or at least of the LA I used to know. I hear their weather patterns are fairly crazed too these days. I think walking would work with that mix. Or maybe running. Or at least trotting. At least occasionally. ** Ar, Hi, Alex! 'Fade Out', awesome record. My vinyl of it is in LA where my turntable resides. In Belgium? I might even get to see that. Please do tell me the when and where once you know. Cool. Great, great weekend to you, master. ** S., Stack! Everyone, the latest Emo-centric macro stack by the stack maestro S. is up and ripe for you. It's here, and it's called 'GET MONEY'. Fair enough. Flesh him out how? Externally or consciousness-wise or ... ? Train? Sex with girls is cool. Confusion is cool. Listening to the new Wire album. ** MANCY, Hey! 'Fade Out', right? Koban and Lie ... yeah, I don't think I know them. Link me up, if it's easy, or I can try to go find them. Thanks! ** Steevee, I need to see it for the first time. Got to do that. ** Sypha, Hi, James. Prurient is very cool. I think you'd like his stuff, actually. I can't remember Kafka's novels very well. I do think I thought they were better than his stories. Franzen is the one who attributed Gaddis's liking to the McInerney novel? So much for that. ** Lee Vincent, Hello, Lee! Welcome! I'm really glad you decided to join in. Thank you a lot! Respect and congrats on PYSSM?!? 3. It was a real beauty. Well, if you're a 'gay stoner with a taste for Black Metal and French literature', or any semblance of that, I'm sure we'll get along just fine, yeah. Thanks about my music tastes, obviously. I can't wait to get to know yours more thoroughly. That was my favorite track on 'Worship is the Cleansing of the Imagination' too. And, to continue the continuity, I agree with you about JK Flesh's tracks. Nice. I loved 'Through the Window'. Wow, you've written on it. I always have to wait to finish the p.s. before I can read anything, or otherwise I'll be sitting here all day, but I'll go over there as soon as I finish this. Great, thank you! Everyone, how about greeting new d.l. Lee Vincent by clicking this and reading his thoughts/ writing on Prurient's 'Through the Window' album? Would be nice and, I'm pretty sure, a boon for you. Is that your blog, or are you a contributor to it? It looks incredibly rich. I know I'll be scouring it thoroughly this weekend. I've only listened to the new Demdike Stare once all the way through so far. Peculiar is a good word. I'm still at 'peculiar', which is, I guess, basically an upbeat assessment, but, yeah, I need a couple of more listens to get a grip on it, I think. So, I'm so glad you're here. Thank you once again, and I look forward to talking a lot more, and you have an excellent weekend! ** Kyler, Hi, Kyler! It has been a while! Great to see you! Ah, the agent is your ex- now. Surely for the best. Sorry you were feeling depressed. I hope the morning's light and having WSP on your radar will have dispelled any internal darkness by now. Fingers very crossed re: the publisher and the agents. Let me know what happens. Nice pic of you! Everyone, go read a little thing about d.l. Kyler plus a cool pic of him. Here. Take care, my friend. ** Chilly Jay Chill, Hi, Jeff. So exciting about the copyediting and layout stuff on your book! Man oh man, I can not wait for that arrival! Oh, the mix tape: So, yeah, I was just on that road trip or kind of road trip, and we, especially I, had not nearly enough stuff to play in the car via our iPhones, so the gig was kind of a combo of tracks by artists we listened to and tracks that I wish that we had had available to listen to, I guess. I don't have the Criterion DVD of 'A Man Escaped'. I was going to get it, of course, but those extras are pulling me in really fast now. Cool, thank you, man. ** Flit, Hi, Flit. We mind-melded musically again? Cool. The new Shed, yeah, I get that, but it grew on me. Ooh, thank you for the links! Those'll get hit by me in just a few minutes. I almost put Container in the gig. In fact, I think I only didn't 'cos I got spaced out or something. Yeah, thank you, buddy. ** Bill, Hi, B. Wow, it took a while for 'Amour' to get there, didn't it? Strange. A major metropolis like SF. Yeah, that Atom TM guy is still on the ball. It's weird, it's cool. Great that the installation/ event went well. I'm sure the piece felt sparkling new and amazing to everyone assembled. Nice weekend to you, Billster. ** I think that's that. Joe Meek plus _B_A are awaiting you or your return, so go do that, please.  Thank you.  I'll go have a weekend to remember now, or I'll try. See you afterwards. On Monday.

'The lone assassin protagonist of Melville’s most celebrated film, Le Samouraï (1967), both enacts his crimes and observes the patterned compositions he creates through his meticulous movements and steely actions. There is another moment in Bob le flambeur where Bob looks, as many of Melville’s characters do, at his unshaven face in the mirror. Though this provokes a momentary shock of existential awareness – the notation of age and a concomitant world-weariness – it is also a moment of pure contemplation; the character simultaneously sees both from within and outside himself. Typical of Melville’s aesthetic style (and his ethical perspective), we are shown these moments and events through a mixture of seeming point-of-view shots and a vast array of detached perspectives (which rarely repeat camera set-ups). Thus, while the characters are both ‘interior’ and ‘exterior’ to the situation, we are also both inside and outside their view of it, engaged in the film’s action while also observing it. It is this combination of direct engagement and distanced contemplation, of feeling character and observing actor, as well as the joining of real-time observation – which Colin McArthur describes as a “cinema of process” – and aesthetic abstraction (heightened or drained colours, self-consciously staged compositions) that defines Melville’s cinema.

'The precise detail of action and composition is important to both Melville’s rendition of popular genres (most often the gangster film) and to the peculiar way in which he treats time and space. As a result, the atmosphere, locales, places and actions of Melville’s films can seem both actual and totally imagined. For example, the lovingly sketched Montmartre of Bob le flambeur is both a realistic geographic environment and a cartoon of the milieu of two-bit criminal Paris. His films often create a dream-like, almost clandestine sense of geography, place and period which sits alongside equally evocative but austere observations of the realistic minutiae of a particular historical moment or generic situation: the conditions of occupation in war-time France (Léon Morin, Prêtre, 1961); the slate-coloured, damp feeling world and meticulously repeated actions of a lone wolf assassin (Le Samouraï); the meticulous build-up and execution of a daring jewel robbery (Le Cercle rouge, 1970). It is often this sense of a particular place, space or physical sensation that stays with you after experiencing a Melville film. For example, when reviewing Les Enfants terribles (1950) François Truffaut felt that the places and situations created by Melville were as much sensorial as physical: “one of the few olfactory films in the history of cinema (its odor is of children’s sickrooms).” Even such lesser films as Deux Hommes dans Manhattan (1959) and Un Flic (1972) build a concrete but moodily sparse world from a collection of sounds, shades and colours observed from multiple perspectives and angles.

'Melville himself has been careful to place his work within the context of a composed or synthetic tradition of filmmaking: “I am careful never to be realistic.… What I do is false. Always.” But this statement encapsulates only ‘half’ the story, as John Flaus suggests: “He [Melville] does not seek to simulate the world but to create anew from the materials of the world. The severe form, the precise detail, the delicate effect are part of a style which shows rather than refers to its subject.” Essentially, Melville’s cinema is a highly complex and regulated thing within which nothing, not an edit, a gesture, a sound or a camera movement, is wasted (though it is also a cinema that is often also stylistically adventurous). His films present a collection of minute observations and actions played out in what seems to be real time, while also reveling in self-conscious displays of what could pass for pure style. Melville combines this with an overwhelming sense of lived experience. His films are often, all at once, highly personal, non-naturalistic (full of attenuated shades and colours or self-consciously fake back projections), dream-like fictions, and documentary-like narratives. His style often also revolves around the meticulous placement and withdrawal of certain cinematic techniques. For example, despite the head of the character of the niece being consistently framed in Le Silence de la mer (1949), she is never given a close-up until the penultimate point of the film.

'Jean-Pierre Melville made a total of 13 features during his 25 year career. Though never exactly in or out of critical fashion, Melville’s gangster films can be seen as a major influence on many of the crime films from the 1960s onwards, while Le Silence de la mer, Les Enfants terribles, and Bob le flambeur can be regarded as fairly direct antecedents to the nouvelle vague. Nevertheless, Melville was always a reticent, fringe-dwelling and independent figure within French cinema who routinely rejected claims of his complicity in or membership of any such movement: “If… I have consented to pass for their [the nouvelle vague's] adopted father for a while, I do not wish to anymore, and I have put some distance between us.” It is probably more accurate to suggest that he belongs to no particular time or any one cinematic tradition – though the ‘sensibility’ of his work can be traced through the formative influences of existentialism, surrealism, classical American cinema, French poetic realism, Herman Melville, his war-time experience as a Resistance fighter in France, amongst other things. For all his Americanophile affectations, extraordinary knowledge of 1930s Hollywood minutiae (including his own Bazinian pantheon), and much-cited fascination with the gangster genre he should still be regarded as a quintessentially French filmmaker. Thus, at heart, Melville’s career and films are movingly paradoxical; romantic in effect and example his films and broader career are defined by a pragmatic, austere and rigorous approach.' -- Adrian Danks



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Stills




























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Further

Jean-Pierre Melville @ IMDb
The films of Jean-Pierre Melville @ The Hauntological Society
Jean-Pierre Melville @ The Criterion Collection
John-Pierre Melville @ mubi
'Army of Shadows and the Unforgiving Code of Jean-Pierre Melville'
'In Praise of Jean-Pierre Melville'
'Jean-Pierre Melville—a minor but intriguing figure'
'Jean-Pierre Melville: Notes on the French Auteur's Career'
'Jean-Pierre Melville - Film Noir 2.0'
'No. 1 With a Bullet'
'Perfectly Executed'
Book: 'Melville On Melville' by Jean-Pierre Melville



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Extras


Jean-Pierre Melville - interview (1970)


Alain Delon, Jean-Pierre Melville, a.o. on 'Le Samourai'


Jean-Pierre Melville's cameo in 'Breathless'


Cinéma Cinémas - Jean Pierre Melville - 1989



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Interview
(in French)




On vous a souvent présenté comme le parrain de la Nouvelle Vague. Flatté?

Jean-Pierre Melville: Je ne me suis jamais senti de la Nouvelle Vague, j'étais déjà un vieux monsieur quand elle a vu le jour, en 1959. Mais j'avais une immense sympathie pour ces jeunes garçons. J'ai fait un bout de chemin avec eux en acceptant d'être le grand frère, qui pouvait, à l'extrême rigueur, leur donner des conseils. Qu'ils ne suivaient pas, car les conseils ne sont pas faits pour être suivis.

Après avoir tourné Bob le flambeur dans les rues de Montmartre, en 1955, vous faites l'acquisition des studios Jenner, dans le 13e... Pourquoi posséder vos propres studios?

J-PM: Pour faire comme Pagnol et Chaplin. Il faut être fou pour avoir ses propres studios. C'était un cauchemar et, en même temps, merveilleux parce que j'habitais au-dessus et qu'à 3 heures du matin, je descendais sur le plateau pour caler les lumières pour le lendemain. Mes studios sont partis en fumée en juin 1967.

Vous ne seriez pas ce qu'on appelle un "control freak"?

J-PM: N'être que metteur en scène ne me suffisait pas. J'avais envie de tout faire. J'aurais adoré tourner un film dont j'aurais été... l'auteur des décors, de la musique, de la photo. Parmi tous les metteurs en scène français, j'étais le plus technicien. J'étais sans doute le seul à savoir me servir d'une caméra, mis à part, bien entendu, les chefs opérateurs devenus metteurs en scène.

Quelle étape de la réalisation d'un film préférez-vous?

JP-M: L'écriture et le montage, l'inspiration et la finition. Par contre, le tournage est une chose abominable. J'appelais ça la formalité fastidieuse. Le seul répit que je pouvais trouver dans cette pénible affaire, c'est d'avoir, à un moment, la chance de diriger les comédiens.

Et cette fascination pour les gangsters...

J-PM: Les gangsters sont des pauvres types, des minables. J'en ai connu pas mal. Ils ne sont pas du tout comme ceux de mes films. Pour moi, le film de gangsters était un fourre-tout, un canevas facile pour me permettre de raconter des histoires qui me tenaient à cœur sur la liberté individuelle, l'amitié, les rapports entre les hommes, la trahison.

A la question « Que désirez-vous ? », l'écrivain que vous jouiez dans A bout de souffle répondait: "Devenir immortel et mourir." On dirait que la mort ne vous a jamais fait peur...

JP-M: Elle m'indiffère complètement. Je la connais très bien. De mon vivant, je partais du principe que la mort, c'était pour tout de suite, dans une minute, dans deux heures, dans six mois. Et que ça n'avait vraiment aucune espèce d'importance.



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10 of Jean-Pierre Melville's 13 films

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Les Enfants Terrible (1950)
'Writer Jean Cocteau and director Jean-Pierre Melville joined forces for this elegant adaptation of Cocteau’s immensely popular, wicked novel about the wholly unholy relationship between a brother and sister. Elisabeth (a remarkable Nicole Stéphane) and Paul (Edouard Dermithe) close themselves off from the world by playing an increasingly intense series of mind games with the people who dare enter their lair—until romance and jealousy intrude. Melville’s operatic camera movements and Cocteau’s perverse, poetic approach to character merge in Les enfants terribles to create one of French cinema’s greatest, and most surprising, meetings of the minds.'-- The Criterion Collection



Chapter 1 "Condorcet"


Chapter 5 "Theatre"



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Bob le Flambeur(1956)
'The movie, while impeccably hard-boiled, is a valentine to a romantic Paris now two or three times removed from our own purview. It all takes place at night, and mostly in Montmartre and Pigalle. The former—the age-old bohemian district on the heights at the top of the city—can be seen to its best advantage framed by the huge window of Bob’s studio apartment. The latter, the hub of strip-tease and whoredom and back rooms and dark alleys, appears here as gallant and swashbuckling a neighborhood as it once perhaps was. The context allows Melville to retail a story that might derive from the troubadour songs of the Middle Ages—a last joust by an aging knight. Even if you allow for the Frenchness of the enterprise, what you have here is an underworld bearing about the same relation to historical reality as the settings of most Westerns—a place that came into fully-imagined being only in retrospective view. And as with the top rank of Westerns, you’d be a fool to quibble.'-- Luc Sante



Trailer


Excerpt



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Léon Morin, Priest(1961)
'If Léon Morin itself does not seem so far from the New Wave, Melville’s statements about it at the time do—for instance, “I made it for the producer and the mass audience. I’ve had enough of being an auteur maudit, a maverick who can’t be trusted.” Melville’s mainstreaming of his film practice put him in bad odor with the avant-garde for many years, but it won him the popularity he wanted, and his films were eventually embraced by those earlier critics as well. Léon Morin, Priest is not the big, variegated canvas of the Resistance that Melville first imagined; that came later, in 1969, with Army of Shadows. It is an exquisitely circumscribed and powerful picture of how people cope in a world devoid of certainty.'-- Gary Indiana



Trailer


Excerpt



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Le Doulos(1962)
'This 1962 film, Melville’s seventh feature, was his first true foray into the post–film noir, so-called Série noire crime genre in which he would subsequently forge some of his most celebrated works: Le samouraï, Le cercle rouge, and Le deuxième souffle. Yes, Melville’s 1956 Bob le flambeur told the tale (eventually!) of a casino heist, and his 1959 Deux hommes dans Manhattan has its eponymous two men undertake a missing-persons case. But both films are discursive, rambling affairs, often concentrating on the charms of their respective settings (the fairy-tale sleaze of Bob’s Montmartre/Pigalle, the Broadway bright lights of Deux hommes), and ending things reasonably well for their heroes (Bob le flambeur, in particular, is one of the greatest shaggy-dog stories ever put on film). In Le doulos, Melville makes his genre move with a vengeance; for all its atmospheric touches, it has a relentless forward movement unprecedented in any of his prior films.' -- Glenn Kenny



Trailer


Excerpt



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Magnet of Doom (1963)
'Even though there's a crime element to it, Magnet of Doom is mostly a road movie with existentialist underpinnings. Even if the film isn't completely successful, its thematically fascinating journey. In fact, its second only to "Le Samourai" as Melville's most interesting film. Its also rather similar to that later film, despite a seemingly completely different storyline. Off the bat, I noticed similarities between the minimalist style, the color schemes, and the stark undercurrent of helplessness throughout. The ending in particular is memorably nihilistic. The direction by Melville is much more slowly paced than his more well known films, but that suits the meditative nature of the film perfectly. The acting by both Jean-Paul Belmondo and Charles Vanel is good as usual for both of them. It's a shame this is as overlooked as it is (only one other IMDb review as I write this), because its a really interesting film. With the recent revival of Army of Shadows, maybe there's hope for this.' -- Timothy Farrell



Excerpt


Excerpt



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Le deuxième souffle(1966)
'Le deuxième souffle, Jean-Pierre Melville’s ninth and to that point most commercially successful feature in France, was an important watershed in the director’s career. It points back to the somewhat abstract, elemental, and iconographically precise hypermasculine gangster milieu of Bob le flambeur (1956) and Le doulos (1962) and forward to the more expansive, rarefied, and philosophically circumspect works—such as Le samouraï (1967) and Le cercle rouge (1970)—that followed. It was also Melville’s last film to be shot in black and white, pushing the tonal qualities and gray scale of the image to new levels. Despite its troubled production history—it was shot in two stages in Melville’s studio and various Marseille and Paris locations—it is a masterful work that ultimately brought to a close what Melville himself described as a period of several years “in the wilderness.” Still, despite the importance of Le deuxième souffle to understanding Melville’s career, it has remained one of his most underrated, and least examined, films.'-- Adrian Danks



Trailer


Excerpt



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Le Samouraï(1967)
'Tone and style are everything with Le samouraï. Poised on the brink of absurdity, or a kind of attitudinizing male arrogance, Jean-Pierre Melville’s great film flirts with that macho extremism and slips over into dream and poetry just as we grow most alarmed. So the implacably grave coolness of Alain Delon’s Jef Costello is audaciously mannered, as he puts on white gloves for a killing and announces that for him “principle” is merely “habit.” (The film deserves one moment, one shot, of him alone in his room, when the impassive noirist suddenly collapses in unexplained laughter.) Whereas, as we see him stretched out on his bed, the source of a silent spiral of cigarette smoke, like a patient, tidy corpse-in-waiting, he is not just Delon, or some against-type Costello minus Abbott. He is the distilled essence of cinema’s solitary guns for hire, suspended between the somnambulant calm of Lee Marvin in Point Blank and the self-destructive dedication that guides Robert Bresson’s priest in Diary of a Country Priest.'-- David Thomson



Trailer


Excerpt


Excerpt



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Army of Shadows(1969)
'Army of Shadows was the third and final film in which Melville dealt directly with the German occupation of France—Le silence de la mer (1949), his first feature, and Léon Morin, prêtre (1961) were also set during that time—and his only film devoted to the Resistance. But it was made in the middle of his stunning late run of gangster films, preceded by Le deuxième souffle (1966) and Le samouraï (1967) and followed by Le cercle rouge (1970) and Un flic (1972), and it has more in common with them, formally, narratively, and philosophically, than with the earlier war films. Even if you do not conclude, as so many now do, that Army of Shadows is Melville’s most significant film—his signature work—and certainly one of the greatest films of the sixties, it will at least change the ways in which you make meaning of his surrounding work.'-- Amy Taubin



Trailer


Excerpt


Excerpt



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Le Cercle rouge (1970)
'Le cercle rouge carries a Buddhist epigraph basically stating that people who are meant to meet will do so “in the red circle,” no matter what crazy routes they take to it. To illustrate his own aphorism (we are told), Buddha took a piece of red chalk and drew a circle. In the movie proper, Corey is the only one we see wielding red chalk and tracing a circle—on the tip of his cue in a billiard hall. The men in this film make their own fates. True, the red circle refers to their common, bloody destiny. But it also conjures a bullet through the heart. If bourgeois viewers of Le cercle rouge find themselves alarmingly sympathetic to these bandits, it’s because they navigate ethically compromised waters that register as a true, if bleak, projection of a polluted social mainstream. Amoral is a term often used to describe the Melvillean universe. Le cercle rouge, however, proves rigorously moral in its dramatic evaluation of five men and their responses to a heist and its aftermath.'-- Michael Sragow



Trailer


Excerpt



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Un flic(1972)
'Plenty hold that master French crime filmmaker Jean-Pierre Melville had reached his pinnacle long before this, his last film, and he definitely did. But Un Flic plays exquisitely with all his signature muteness, austere faces and bleak colors. Cinematographer Walter Wottitz eschews gloomy soliloquies and melodramatic dialogue for his steely color treatment. What few colors that do breeze in appear to exhale from the poignant grays. The characters barely speak, most conspicuously during the movie's twenty-minute intrepid train robbery sequence in which the robber is dropped onto a moving train via helicopter, performs the robbery and gets back on. The film spotlights two strikingly constructed heists, the other one in a bank. The first is the hold-up of an isolated Riviera small-town seacoast bank. Melville painstakingly films the unlawful act, and how it goes awry when a ballsy teller declines to be robbed without a fight.'-- collaged



Trailer


Excerpt




*

p.s. Hey. ** Thomas Moronic, Hi, T! Man, thank you so much for sending the OT post. This week is going to be a TM-as-guest-host twofer, which I think is a first time ever thing on the blog, but that's how far behind I am on post construction for one thing, ha ha.  The EIF3 post on Wednesday and the OT post on Saturday. You're a sweetheart, my friend. ** Wolf, Yeah, Chipotle is one of the kind of lower rung 'classy' Mexican fast food chains. So, now I know where they got their name. Sounds familiar. Yeah, it was probably in what I ate, and I had no clue. Your binary coding explanation sounds yum to me, but you know my love of being confused in a non-threatening way. Report back asap and aoayw! ** Lstnr, Hi, man! ** Tosh, I thought you might be pleased by the post, and I'm so glad you were. ** David Ehrenstein, I heard that new Petula Clark single the other day by accident. It's not horrible. Both trippy and scary that she's 80 years-old. Jesus. ** Sypha, Awesome that you liked the post. Oh, 'very funny', ha ha. That could mean anything. Okay, that makes more sense. That's awesome that you met up with Lee and got out and about. Yeah, obviously, getting out and refreshing your life and input with other people and places is a pretty important thing for all kinds of variations on your health -- physical, mental, emotional, etc. I like your plan, in other words. ** Misanthrope, Good, the hand was just throwing a tantrum. I don't think one can control the sleeping on the neck the wrong way thing no matter how long one has practiced. Eek, I hope you get that money back, obviously. I'm sure you will, but I hope it doesn't take yonks. The Neph has a funny idea of Europe and about what's valuable and European. Bring him a snowglobe. ** Cobaltfram, My 'Animal Crossing' days were post my drugging days, so, no. It takes a lot, and I mean a lot, to make me stay up all night doing anything. Well, nix on the scrapbook making suggestion then. Mm, good question about whether that TH piece's style/voice could sustain a novel. It would be a very interesting challenge. I think you would have to rupture it and refurnish its insides and strain it purposefully, but it might be possible. I don't nap, except in cases of jet lag and illness, because I can't turn my brain off when it's light. It just won't turn off. It wants to keep doing things, and it always wins. ** S., Sounds real good. Everyone, see S.'s latest stack construction, titled 'Fairy Glamortis', now with new editing software! Mm, I can't tell precisely what the new software did. They look cleaner? Formally only, I mean. ** Postitbreakup, Hi, Josh. Really good to see you, pal. Work's still going on? That's definitely good, un-heaven-like though it might be for you. Yeah, sounds like moving out and being poor might lose the battle, no? Ha ha, I charge for therapy on a sliding scale. In your case, my fee is that you just have to be you. ** Steevee, Hi. I'm finally seeing 'Spring Breakers' tonight. That's tough about your friend. At least he's warring with himself in an atmosphere and culture that's as welcoming as it's ever been. Maybe small comfort there, but still. On the Stom Sogo thing, wow, no, I had no idea. That's amazing! Well, now I have to try to see that short film somehow. Jeez, that's really quite an honor. Thank you so much for telling me that, man! ** Bollo, Hi, J. My weekend was real good. I hope yours was, at least. Great about the opening! Nice stuff to dig into. 'House' is crazy fun. ** _Black_Acrylic, Hi, Ben! Thank you again so, so much! No problem whatsoever on the amendments. Cool about the booked tickets! Oh, I should say here what I said on FB. Everyone, if any chance you're planning to see a performance of 'The Pyre', my new theater/dance piece with Gisele, Stephen O'Malley, and Peter Rehberg, at the Pompidou in late May, the good news is that we've added a 4th show on June 1st, and the sort of bad news is that it looks all the shows will be sold out in the next week or two at the latest. So, you should reserve/buy tickets asap. Hooray for your brother! Well, and for the whole Robinson clan! ** Scunnard, As I look out my window, it seems as though the sun is still making up its mind about today. 'Animal Crossing' almost made me go literally insane. I think I might have mentioned this before, but when I finally erected the statue of myself in front of the train station and the game was over, I kept 'playing' for months out of pure guilt that the other residents would freak out and the place would go to hell. Scary. ** Flit, Hey, buddy. ** James, Hi, James. Yeah, wait until you're finished with the edit before you decide. That makes sense. Oh, I don't think publishers have any kind of pre-set idea about chapter titles. I can't imagine. If they don't like them, they'll probably just propose cutting them. That's not a make or break thing. Happy Monday to you! ** Mark Doten, Hi, Mark! Awesomeness itself to have you here, maestro! How's things? ** Lee Vincent, Hi, Lee! Welcome back! Cool. Yes, I read a bunch of things on the site over the weekend, and I saw that there was another contributor. Really fantastic writing of yours on there. I just downloaded a bunch of stuff I didn't know based on your reviews. Big thanks! I think Guyotat will be up your alley, based on what I know of your interests, yes. I would start with 'Eden Eden Eden'. It's the most intense and characteristic of the books of his that have been translated. Let me know what you think. I'm very interested to know. Have a swell, swell day. ** Chilly Jay Chill, Oh, man, I'm ordering the 'AME' DVD today. Say no more. Barring the unforeseen, I'm seeing 'Spring Breakers' tonight at last. Listening? The new Wire, which I really love. A bunch of the artists who were in that last 'Road Trip' gig. The new The Knife, which I'm not yet sure about. Mm, I can't remember what else. You? ** Matty B, Hi, Matty! Personally, I like the scrapbook form because of its physical resemblance to 'the book', the novel. That it seems to be asked to be read front to back, and can/should be depending on how you construct it, but it allows a more random, anarchic way of reading, unlike a novel. I find that helps me think about the space of a narrative and its relentlessly forward-moving trajectory in a more, I don't know, open and thorough way? I'm not sure I can explain why I find it so useful, and it could easily be that using a book form to make the scrapbook/collages is specifically useful to my stuff, but I do like building the preliminary, experimenting stuff inside the same form in which the novel itself will exist. Let me know what you end up doing and how it works/helps, if it does. ** Okay. The blog does an overview thing on Jean-Pierre Melville today, duh, and please see if you find it interesting or useful or anything, won't you? See you tomorrow.

* all photos by Zac except where indicated


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Musee de la Mine, St. Etienne

'This old mine shaft rehabilitated into a museum provides a very good insight into the miners and their working conditions. Through the visit, you can discover the room of the “hung”, then the sink, the lamp before descending to the “bottom of the hole.” The first rooms trace the lives of miners on the surface, while the descent into the well (about 7 meters) highlights the daily work of workers, tools used and the dangers of the mine. This old Couriot shaft is a beautiful museum that pays tribute to all these “black faces” that worked hard towards the modernisation of our country’s industry, to their profession and to this region marked forever by these dirty men!' -- Vally26, qype.co.ok
















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Vulcania, near Clermont-Ferrand

'Vulcania offers you the chance to share unique experiences in a spectacular natural setting: the Volcanoes of Auvergne. Become an explorer for a day and unravel the mysteries of the Earth, feel the power of volcanoes and the forces of nature. Discover the beauty and fragility of our planet. Rides, interactive platforms, 5D films and high-tech innovations will allow you to experience the Earth through amazing attractions and activities. At Vulcania, learning is exciting too... We strongly recommend planning to spend an entire day at the park inorder to take advantage of all the exciting attractions and activities it has to offer.' -- Vulcania

















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La Ferme aux crocodiles, Pierrelatte

'The Crocodile Farm draws over 300,000 visitors each year and is the biggest attraction in the Drôme. The Crocodile farm is unique in Europe, and is housed in an 8000m² greenhouse in which there are over 400 animals: 9 species of crocodiles, giant tortoises from the Seychelles and the Galápagos, and tropical birds. The greenhouse has over 600 tropical plants species and is a very interesting horticultural and botanical garden.' -- ot.avignon.fr














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La Grotte de la Cocaliere, Ardeche

'The famous cave that you’re about to visit was hollowed out of the limestone rock at the height of the Jurassic period (Kimmeridgian, Tithonian - between 146 and 135 million years ago), and is only one branch of a huge underground network covering thirty kilometres or so. Its history began 35 million years ago (Eocene, Tertiary period) and is still continuing today, for La Cocalière is a living cave, i.e. still in formation.' -- grotto-cocaliere.com











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Les grottes de Saint Marcel d'Ardèche

'The cave of Saint Marcel d'Ardèche contains a vast network of underground galleries, amazing basins, eccentric formations, immense rooms with evocative names such as "the Fontain of the Virgin", "the hall of Kings", the "Painters Gallery". The natural entrance to the cave was discovered in 1838 by a hunter Aiguèze in pursuit of his game, using the technique of ferrets. It would take 50 years for a first thorough study, done by Edouard-Alfred Martel, considered the founder of modern caving. He devoted an entire chapter to the cave of Saint-Marcel in his book "The Abyss" published in 1894, where he provided a complete and detailed description of the known parts of the cavity.' -- collaged













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Haribo Bon Bon Museum, Uzès

'In May 1996 HARIBO opened the Musée du Bonbon at its Uzès production site. Since then, more than 100 000 visitors, both large and small, have visited the small town in the South of France to find out about the history of liquorice, fruit gum and sweet manufacturing. With its hundreds of old exhibits and documents, the Musée du Bonbon is unique of its kind. Admirers of old promotional items dating from the period around the turn of the century can enjoy a wide variety of historical posters and packaging of all types. Old machines and workshops are used to provide the visitor with a vivid depiction of the history of sweets. These machines and workshops have been rebuilt in a manner faithful to the original. It goes without saying that HARIBO is also an important part of this history.' -- collaged













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Miscellaneous *
* found photos




Clermont Ferrand's Black Gothic Cathedral








Gorges de l'Ardèche




Tricastin Nuclear Plant, Pierrelatte







The Margeride region







St. Etienne



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"Les Verres" Loft, St. Etienne *
* found photos

Where we stayed and worked.










*

p.s. RIP: Les Blank. Hey. There's a distinct possibility that there won't be a p.s. tomorrow. Basically, if it's pouring rain when I wake up in the morning, as it so often is here in Paris, you might well get a p.s., but, if it's not raining, and non-rain is what my weather widget is currently predicting, I'll be heading off early on an adventure sort of a la the ones in the post today, in which case I'll catch up with the comments from today and tomorrow on Thursday. ** Thomas Moronic, Hi. Your birthday is Saturday? Nice. How are you celebrating IRL? ** Misanthrope, Little dude needs to break that consumerist and capitalist bent before it's too late. Although an Xbox is an awfully nice gift. Undertaker won! Yes! Man, so so many veterans are still in the ring. Never could stand Cena myself. Ha ha, that dream sounds totally plausible to me. I don't even know why exactly. ** Scunnard, Oh, shit, you're bringing that game back to me in all of its ... whatever. Exactly my experience. When I go back to LA, and when I notice that game lying there on its shelf, I always want to plug it in and see how hellish and arid the town has become after eight, nine years without a sign of me, but I'm too terrified. I thought the guilt-tripping thing was kind of innovative or something. A lot of room to move there for developers. ** David Ehrenstein, High five on Melville, and thanks for all the Ehrensteinian scoop and insight. I'll check around for that Nogueira book. I don't know it. Yeah, wow, Margaret Thatcher, how about that? That is not the most flattering picture of God I've ever seen. You might be the only other person I know who's read 'Pierre, or The Ambiguities', if you have. ** Alan, Hi, man! Oh, cool, exciting, about that mysterious good news. I'll await. I've never seen Melville's 'Enfant Terrible' film either. I read the Cocteau novel way back when. I loved it a lot at the time. I wonder how it holds up? You know/like it? Yeah, I finally saw 'Spring Breakers' last night. I loved it, of course, and it's so interesting that you mention Malick in relationship to it because I did have these moments of thinking 'That's so Malick', and I wondered if I was crazy. Huh. ** Wolf, Yeah, she dead. I haven't read around too much this morning, but I have seen an unusual amount of criticism and slamming of her, relatively speaking vis-a-vis newly dead 'giants'. Enjoy! ** Cobaltfram, Hi, John. Oh, did I seem upset? I wasn't at all. Must have been some accidental tone problem in that sentence's construction or something. The only midnight-ish activity I remember in 'AC' was when the town gathered around the lake for a New Years Fireworks show. If I can go to bed when I most want to, it's at 11 pm. That seems to be my body's favored falling asleep time. Thanks about the scrapbook. I think it helped a lot. I want to try to do in the novel what I did in the scrapbook, which is kind of an ideal result. I think I might have figured out the novel's purpose and way of getting there. We'll see. I'm working on it, and we'll see. A super-surreal novel, interesting. I hear you about the main character and the overarching trajectory. Anyway, sounds fruitful if that idea stays interesting. Me? I'm doing really, really good, thank you. ** Steevee, Hi, S. Man, well, if it's no trouble, that would be really kind and great of you. Thank you so much for wanting to do that! ** Tosh, Hi, T. Cool, I managed to sync into your passions again, awesome. What were the odds? Thanks a lot for the tip on the Vincendeau book. I'll look for it too. ** Sypha, Hi, James. Well, soon you'll have legs like a long distance bicyclist maybe. And of course it's great to hear that you're in a good mood. ** Bill, Thanks about the post/stills. You might try 'Army of Shadows' next, if you want a Melville recommendation. I don't think I've seen 'Flocons d'Or', unless I'm forgetting. It's a good one, eh? You as a proto-Goth teen ... now that's something I wish I had seen. Any photos? ** Un Cœur Blanc, Hi! Really nice to see you! I'm very happy to hear that you're surviving and happily. Thank you or your subconscious for dreaming such a curious, nice dream about me. What's weird is that I did get confused about my romantic bent at just about that age, and I did date a girl for about a year, although she only had a classically gorgeous body if a girl having a body like a skinny boy is classical. Anyway, nice. Blanchot and Barthes are a cool couple. Hm, maybe Barthes happened during Blanchot's barely writing phase? I don't know the timeline well at all, though. You sound good! That's so good to know! ** Okay. There's some of the stuff that went on during my friend Zac's and my recent work trip/ vacation for those of you who are interested. If you are, enjoy, and, if not, uh ... I don't know. The blog will see you tomorrow, and I might or might not see you as well.

*

p.s. Hey. Mr. Thomas Moronic is back today with the latest installment in his thrill ride- and mindfuck-shaped and consciousness-scouring post sequence, and so all is both right and fucked with the world, basically. Let it have you, thanks. Hugs and bows to Thomas. As for me, it sure looks like it might rain, but it's not raining as of now, so I'm off on the aforementioned if possibly goose-chasing adventure this morning, and, hence, the lack of a proper p.s. that you see before you. I will, however, be giving you a double p.s. tomorrow, and I will see you then.

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Phantom Theater, Kings Island, Ohio

'Phantom Theater was an Omnimover dark ride located at Kings Island in Mason, Ohio. Originally opened in 1972 as a dark boat ride called Enchanted Voyage, the ride was later converted to an Omnimover system in 1992 by D. H. Morgan Manufacturing and renamed Phantom Theater At the end of the 1991 season, the building housing the attraction was gutted and the water transportation system was removed. Installed in its place was an Omnimover-type dark ride similar in style to The Haunted Mansion at various Disney parks across the globe. The original boat loading area was converted into the queue area for the Scooby Zoom ride. The entrance to the new ride was moved to the opposite corner of the building. A section of the building was converted into a children's theater called "Enchanted Theater". The theater was used for several years, but now only hosts the Halloween attraction, CarnEVIL. Phantom Theater was themed to a behind-the-scenes tour of a theater haunted by the dead. The exterior of the building was stylized as a dilapidated and crumbling opera theater. The ride itself featured seventeen separate scenes which the Omnimover vehicles slowly traversed through. The ride notably featured a Pepper's ghost trick, a famous and widely-used dark ride trick, for its stage production scene.' -- collaged














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Magical Powder, Lagunasia, Japan

'I'm still bummed over missing the Magical Powder ride, but now I have something to look forward to if I ever go again. I think Adam and I just kinda forgot about it after we wandered over to the funky market place by the Ferris wheel with all the less than appetizing looking meat products for sale. Blechhh! I think one of them was actually cow brains. Maybe that's what the meat cow toy was for or something. We got our sushi with tuna, which was totally amazing by the way, and then walked back to the park, ate, and alas it was time to go. No Magical Powder for us.' -- thrillerman1














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Challenge of Tutankhamon, Walibi, Belgium

'Challenge of Tutankhamon takes its riders on a journey into the unexplored passageways of King TUTANKHAMON’s tomb which are guarded by the Egyptian god Seth, lord of Disaster and chaos. Designed by Sally Corporation in the US, this 17,200-square-foot interior dark ride features 54 animatronic characters, creatures and props including monstrous animatronic cobras, eight-foot scorpions and massive statues which come to life, all seemingly attacking the riders. Six-seat, battery operated vehicles are equipped with laser blasters and digital target systems featuring not only individual onboard scoring system displays (by onboard consoles), but also tactile and audio feedback. To add intensity to this unique ride experience, a variety of endings have been foreseen depending on the guests' scores: low scores will exit the ride, but those adventurers who defeat Seth get to move on to the chamber of treasures.' -- Theme Park Vision















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Hex, Alton Towers, UK

'The ride takes place in the south wing of the Towers. Your journey begins on foot, with a walk through some of the ancient galleries, at the end of the Picture gallery a group of about 80 people are allowed to go into the briefing room. In the briefing room you are told of the legend and the wicked curse placed on the Earl is re-created on screen before you. Next you enter the Octagon, before the actual ride was built this was just a roofless room, not used for hundreds of years, but now after much restoration work it is part of the ride- the lights go off and you are told about the secret vault where the branch was hidden by the Earl. Next you are asked to enter the secret vault hidden behind the bookcase. As you enter the room, you can feel that something is about to happen to you, which will change your life, you are told to sit down and the safety bar lowers and locks tightly. Something goes wrong, the fallen branch in front of you seems to be giving off some sort of power, charging the room. Slowly you begin to tilt and sway from one side to the other almost like a 'pirate ship ride', the look one the rest of the groups faces makes you shiver, is this really happening to me? The room suddenly spins a full 360 degrees, not just once, but many times. The loud music and mysterious smells add to the experience. Then you are held upside down looking down at the floor which was once below you, you are actually upside down, or are you?' -- Towers Times














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Dreamflight, Efteling, Netherlands

'In Dreamflight, the visitors fly through a dream world of forests, castles, fairies, trolls and other fairy-tale-like creatures and scenes. The visitors are seated in small open cabins hanging from the ceiling. The ride takes them past five different scenes in about six minutes: the Castle Realm, the Wondrous Forest, the Fairy Garden, Heavenly Strongholds and the Squelch Forest. The speed and height of the individual cabins vary throughout the ride, with a climax in the troll marshes at the end, where the cabins come to a seeming free-fall in a spiral downwards from 13 meters of height. Efteling wanted to present Dreamflight in 1992, for the 40-year anniversary of the park, which coincided with the opening of Disneyland Paris. However, due to problems with the seating cabins it was not ready until 1993. Due to this problem, the ride cost €4.5 million more than was estimated, bringing the total costs up to €12.5 million, the most expensive attraction at Efteling.' -- collaged
















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Haunted House, Knoebels, Germany

'What makes Knoebels dark ride so good? I was thinking about that after riding it last week and it has kept me thinking ever since. And that can be a very dangerous thing! I'm relatively new to the genius of Knoebels. I made my first visit in 2001 and remember my first ride through the Haunted House as being one where I jumped off the seat several times. I rode again in 2002 and the same thing happened. To this day, I still jump at several of the stunts inside. So why is that? Why do I grip the safety bar with everything I have inside Knoebels dark ride but not in ones like Waldameer's Whacky Shack or the defunct Erieview Fright Zone? Both of those had unexpected gags, music and sound effects and stretches of darkness. Yet only Knoebels really gets under my skin and creeps me out. So, since I apparently have too much free time on my hands even after getting a new job, here are a few of my reasons as to why Knoebels dark ride reigns supreme.' -- ultimaterollercoaster.com















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Monster Plantation, Six Flags Over Georgia

'Last year, Six Flags management gave some very serious thought to shutting down that theme park’s much-beloved Monster Plantation attraction. Worse yet, they considered chasing all of the monsters out of the marsh and then replacing them with static figures of DC superheroes. There was only one problem with this plan. Six Flags Over Georgia fans just love Monster Plantation. They consider this animatronic-filled attraction to be that theme park’s equivalent to “Pirates of the Caribbean” or “The Haunted Mansion.” The attraction closed its doors in November of 2008 for an extensive overhaul. Gary Goddard and his crew went then top to bottom through this 25,000 square-foot show building. They added a brand-new lighting and sound system. Not to mention incorporating some new 4D effects that will allow you to actually smell the cinnamon & apples in Monster Plantation’s pie eating sequence. As well as nearly get dosed with water by some playful monsters in the picnic area. But for the most part, what Goddard and his crew were out to do here was preserve & improve. They went through and redid all of the painting inside on Monster Plantation so that the colors & the detail work now pop. They also refurred the 100 animatronic figures that make appearances along the twisty waterway that winds through this attraction.' -- jimhillmedia.com
















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Dark Castle, Nasu Highland Park, Japan

Things don't just go bump in the night at Dark Castle, a dark ride at Nasu Highland Park in Nasu, Japan. They also snarl, grab, and lunge, ensuring a blood-curdling trip through terror for visitors foolhardy enough to pay admission. But while Japan has a taste for the macabre, the country does not have the technicians to add it to their amusement parks. Wanting to throw a few monsters into the mix of attractions at the Fantasy Pointe section of Nasu, park owner Towa Nasu Resort Co. Ltd. decided to go Hollywood, and picked Valencia, CA-based Technifex Inc. for the job. "You would never see anything like Dark Castle at Disneyland or any of the mainstream theme parks," says Technifex principal Monty Lunde. "The owner kept wanting it to be scarier. There's certainly a higher level of gore in Dark Castle than at a similar US-based attraction." The grisly spectacle includes a fountain with water that cascades blood-red, a wrecked horse-drawn carriage with bodies strewn around it, and a fearsome monster that plays hide-and-seek with passengers through the duration of the ride. Sets and scenic elements, created by Sun Valley, CA-based Lexington Scenery & Props, include a dungeon decorated with skeletal remains, a sharp guillotine that lops off a poor unfortunate's head, flying bats and corpses flown from the ceiling, and a graveyard where the animatronic monster finally bursts forth from the shadows. Other effects packed into Dark Castle include pop-up gargoyles and skeletons, statuary with "beating" fiber-optic hearts, and "living" portraits that reach out and throttle you.' -- Live Design















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Challenge of Mondor, Enchanted Forest, Oregon

'Just by reading its name, you can tell that the Enchanted Forest is a pretty enchanted place. And just so we're clear on what that means: Pretty much everything in Enchanted Forest is 10 times better than anything anywhere else on the planet. So I hope you understand my meaning when I tell you that Enchanted Forest's Challenge of Mondor ride makes everything else in the whole place look pale in comparison! In the Challenge of Mondor, you meet the kindly wizard Mondor, who tasks you with ridding his magical, fantastic realm of evil! You do this by getting into a little buggy that drives around on a track, and then, whenever you pass by animatronic spiders and gnomes and trolls and monsters and dragons, YOU SHOOT THEM WITH LASERS. What's more, the buggies you ride in keep score of how many magical creatures you murder, so you can tell everybody what a badass dragonslayer you are!' -- Portland Mercury















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Horror House, Jinjiang Action Park, China

Horror House looks like it might have been brought to Jin Jiang from a Dutch fairground. Waiting in line was a noisy experience. “Bam! Bam! Bam!” went the metal walls. Cackle. Scream. For some reason, there were many nude female mannequins inside, some intact and some partly dismembered, perhaps to cover both “horror house” meanings. If you want to see THAT, you have to ride Horror House.' -- collaged















*

p.s. Hey. ** Tuesday ** Thomas Moronic, Hi, T. I'll thank you for yesterday when I get to Wednesday. Yes, curious Thatcher coincidence. You're most welcome for the trip show. I agree about keeping birthdays confined to a dinner, or my birthday anyway. Cool, you reviewed 'Spring Breakers'! I'll go read that pronto, of course. Everyone, Thomas Moronic has given the world his zillion cents vis-a-vis 'Spring Breakers' over on the always crucial Fanzine site, and that alert is your cue to click this and get the wisdom. ** Scunnard, Dude, you're killing me softly with your song about 'Animal Crossing'. KK Slider, oh my God. Weird about your 'IASW' experience, both in and of itself and because I just read this news squib the other day where someone who was stuck on a broken down 'IASW' successfully sued Disney for emotional distress-related damages caused by having to listen to that song for ... I think it was three hours straight. Soul chilling indeed. Yum? ** White tiger, Hi, Math! Cool. Wait, what's this song you're making with Michael Cameron? That's exciting. My mood is really good these days. Life's very good. Thanks, pal. ** Misanthrope, France has some sweet other spots for sure. Strange about the lack of remarkable new talent or new lovable/hatable new characters in the WWE. Hm, why, do you reckon? ** Cobaltfram, Hi, John. I'm not into writing articles or reviews, etc., these days, but writing about video games is tempting. Or almost tempting. I liked 'Spring Breakers' a lot. Proust doesn't appeal to me basically because, one, it's a lonnnnng novel, and that's a deterrent for me, and, two, because all the 'greatest thing ever', 'you can't die without reading Proust', etc. talk and hype that I've had forced on me almost my whole life just makes it seem more exciting to me to never read him. Something tells me I'll be fine and have a perfectly rich life if I don't. I haven't found an 'ideal' form for the novel. I've found its ideal purpose and reason for existing. I know what I want it to do with it ideally. The form is still a big question mark, but I'm starting to write things that I think will be in it rather than just experimenting to try to get someplace where I can start writing it, and that's cool. Nice McC talk there. ** Wolf, Hi, Wolfy. Yep, yep, yep, the trip was very great, and our mission was accomplished. Dude, that is so, so cool about you being offered that place! Yes! So happy! Oh, we went to Versailles. Not a hugely surprising little trip. We're on a compare and contrast castles and chateaux mission for reasons that I will explain someday. ** Bill, Hi, Bill. It was a very nice week, yeah. Ah, but if there were photos and I saw them, I could see the Goth in your eyes, the only place where it really counts. Congrats about the South Korean gig. Wow, yeah, I don't know. Isn't it all just saber rattling stuff? Is that what they're saying? Maybe not. Hm. What does your collaborator want to do? ** Tosh, Hi, Tosh. So true. ** Paul Curran, Paul, hey! Yes, we should Skype. When are you free? The Japan trip is getting organized. We have our start and stop dates and a tentative travel schedule -- Tokyo to Hakone to Kyoto/Nara/Himeji/Osaka to Hiroshima/Miyajima to Tokyo. And we're looking for and gathering the actual things to do. Seems like we'll spend quite a lot of the time in Tokyo. When do you get there? Yeah, let's talk very soon. Let me know what's good. ** David Ehrenstein, Hi, D. We didn't spend much actual time on the ground in Clemont-Ferrrand, but it did seem quite interesting. And, of very course, thank you a ton for the email/Day. I'll let you know when it'll launch very soon. Thank you! ** _Black_Acrylic, We bought massive amounts of Haribo stuff at the museum because they sold industrial-sized bags of things for incredible cheap prices, and luckily that stuff lasts forever because it'll take years to eat it all. Yes, I did already know that about 'The Museum of Atheism'. Glad you're liking it. ** Steevee, Hi, Steve. I got your email. Thank you so, so much! ** Omar, Hi, Omar! Wow, how are you doing? It's really good to see you! Really nice work on your blog, man. Crocodiles are kind of creepy. But those albino ones seemed very sweet. They're little-ish, though. Yeah, what going on with you, man? ** Sypha, We didn't get inside the Black Gothic Cathedral. It's crazy looking. It's made of lava rock, which is why it's so incredibly black. Amazing looking thing. ** Lee Vincent, Hi, Lee! I'm actually going to dig into the albums today. I've been running around too much to listen with due respect the last few days. Yeah, you should come to France. I adore Paris. Brussels, not so much at all, but it's a lot cheaper to be/live there. Yeah, come. If you don't know the city, I'll happily show you around. ** Wednesday ** Squeaky, Darrell! Holy shit! You're here! Thank you, man. How are you? I've been so wishing that I could have seen your film that Kevin added words to. Catch me up on you and yours, at least a little, if you don't mind. How totally sweet to see you! ** L@rstonovich, Hi, L! I still haven't watched 'Room 237' yet. But I think it's online and easy as pie to see, right? ** Thomas Moronic, Thank you, thank you, thank you! ** Misanthrope, I did, and the sky did kind of misty-rain at times, but I never had to open it. Friendly. ** David Ehrenstein, Morning, Mr. E. ** Oscar B., Oscar! This is a rare pleasure indeed. Yes, bowling, tomorrow, at long last! ** Unknown, Hi, Pascal! I'm doing excellently, thanks. Oh, I don't know that novel, and it sounds fascinating and like the potential owner of the upper part of my alley. Thank you for the recommendation. You good, even really good, I hope? ** MANCY, Hi, man! ** Cobaltfram, I should read that final Ebert review. I've read about it. Okay, thanks, buddy. ** Dynomoose, Hi, Adrienne, my pal! Yes, I see that she did pop in. No prob on the lack of science or tech stuff. You've been so generous. How are things? ** xTx, Extie! Hi! What's up, pal of pals? How's the novel doing? How is everything else going? ** Chilly Jay Chill, Thank, Jeff. That is really weird about Criterion losing the Melville films. Uh, why, do you know? Wish I could flip some Haribo goodies over the ocean and into your poor, beleaguered mouth, which I hope is non-beleaguered now. No, the place we stayed in was a rental. An airbnb.com find. Interesting that you thought of Malick re: 'Spring Breakers' too. I guess it must be there. Normally, I don't like James Franco much at all, but I actually thought he was really good in it, and I was surprised. I thought he was really funny and also quite poignant. Yeah, I was good with his performance. What did you think? ** _Black_Acrylic, Hi, Ben. ** Paul Curran, Hi, Paul. ** Tender prey, Hey, Marc. Oh, I missed your message, I guess, sucks. Yes, I actually made my scrapbook in a very small, palm-sized blank book, and it worked really well. I wanted to be able to make the whole scrapbook during the time we were there. Usually, the scrapbooks take months and sometimes many, many months. I'd never made a small-sized one before, but it turned to be totally appropriate. I think I might swing by the Palais de Tokyo when we go see this rather amazing looking show at the Grand Palais tomorrow. Interesting about the blog title. My first response to 'Vertex' was that I wasn't sure what it was or what it meant exactly, which might be a really good response. Talk to me about it or about that choice, if you don't mind and feel like it. I guess I like it but with a certain amount of uncertainty or something? Everyone, the amazing artist Marc Hulson aka d.l. tender prey has ... I'll let him tell you: 'I'm trying out a re-title of the series of drawings I show on my blog - it's a bit of a momentuous decision because it had the working title 'untitled sequence' since 98, but that became a bit burdonsome because it over inscribes the idea of an absent narrtive order. I'm a bit tentative about the new title though and there are a couple of other ideas for it so I'm curious to know what you or anyone else here thinks.' Thoughts? ** Misanthrope, Harry talk! ** DOVEY, Hi, Dovey! It's so incredibly nice to see you here! I think it's just amazing that you're looking to write a book about Antonio. He was one of the most genius, fascinating, wonderful people I've ever known, even though I only ever knew him through the internet, and I think about him all the time. Well, I would be happy to help. I wonder how to proceed. I mean, personally, I will do anything I can. How would be best? Shall we talk on the phone? (I have Skype, so it's very cheap for me to call you, if you like). Or by email, or ... ? There are a lot of people around here who loved and admired Antonio, and whom I think would be happy and honored to communicate with you and help you out. Maybe you could tell me your email address, and I could pass it along to people either/both here on the blog or privately? Would that be easiest? Please let me know, and thank you so much, and I send you so much respect and love. ** Steevee, I'm still on the fence about the Knife album. Something bugs me about it, but I don't yet know what it is or if I'm listening to the record wrongly. ** S., Radioactive indeed. Everyone, new S.-made Emo stack titled 'THE FIRE IS LIFE', right here. Go there, no? That Black Gothic Cathedral was like a hallucination. They should build everything out of lava. Very cool about your writing. Yes! ** Bill, Uh, hm, probably not what you had in mind, although since I can't make my imagination crystalize what your imagination made, I'm not entirely sure. No geese were harmed during the trip, in any case. I want to see 'Upstream Color' too. I hope I haven't missed it. ** Dynomoose, Hey, Dyno! ** James, Hi, James! ** Sypha, Lady Gaga being on my blog feels like a sign of the apocalypse. ** Okay. We're caught up. Time for you to consider the 10 dark rides illustrated above, or perhaps contemplate dark rides that you've known and loved, and then give me some reports and tips? I don't know. See you tomorrow.

*

p.s. Hey. ** Squeaky, You're back! Oh, man, thank for that link. The dark ride video is amazing, and so is the homemade roller coaster video at the top. You're a major dude for sharing that with me. Yeah, I was thinking you've been busy in a really good way from following your FB Newsfeed stuff. Awesome. The film with Kevin isn't complete yet? Well, then I'll twiddle my thumbs until next year and hope that I'll get to coincide with the showing in LA. Anyway, it's just really cool to have you back for however long, Darrell, and all the ultra-best to you, man. ** Misanthrope, Hm, mysterious about the WWE power drain. I wish I could watch it at least semi-rgularly so I could try to analyze the problem. It's on a pay-for channel here thatI don't have and probably wouldn't swing for. Kyler Moss: The Dark Ride. I'd wait in line for that. Maybe even a very long line. ** Unknown, Cool, I already have feelers out for that novel, and that quoted sentence was proof positive. New novel-in-progress, excellent news! My George novel isn't a George novel anymore, or not entirely, and it is picking itself up off the killing floor where it lay for quite a while, which is nice. Best to you, Pascal! ** David Ehrenstein, Ha ha, no, I've made up my mind. No Proust ever. I feel so free! Great that you got to see the Resnais, and that it was a goodie! ** Wolf, Hey! Oh, yeah, I had been there before, but it had a lovely newness to it due to the circumstances. Hm, maybe Chambord is my favorite. Overall. Its insides are kind of disappointingly hollow, but the possibilities therein are incredible. I'm going to get to ride Magical Powder! How fucking exciting is that? And apparently you can buy the Magical Powder itself at the end of the ride. No, never been to Efteling, the Dutch park, but Z. and I have gradually cementing plans to make it at least one of the centerpieces of one of our upcoming adventures. Yes, way cool way beyond cool about MSc. Exciting and pretty mad: can one exist without the other? And, uh, ha ha, your Proust dialogue, yes! ** Sypha, Thanks a lot for the link to that dark ride. That stuff is total catnip to me. ** James, Oh, I see. Yeah, obviously, amusements parks are the opposite for me. Growing up in close reach of Disneyland and going there multiple times a year ever since I was a blob shaped me thoroughly and permanently. I'm so happy that I'm never going to have to get in an argument about Proust. I'm so happy that I will forever be able to shrug and say, 'I don't know.' I think we'll be spending quite a chunk of our Japan trip in Tokyo. It seems to be sort infinitely full of things we want to do. ** Gary gray, I won't burden you with kind words, but I am really sorry about your mom, man. The dating thing sounds complicated and ultimately very nice. It's doing cool things to your words. I did ride the Sturtevant ride at her retro here. It was sweet. Mm, I think I've seen some Roller Coaster Tycoon dark rides randomly, but I will make a concentrated study of them today. Thank you. And for your Proust input. Yesterday's comments were kind of the icing on the cake of my 'No Proust ever' decision. Take care. ** xTx, x-ty! Good, good, good about the fineness of your life and, yes, about the completion of the novel section and its transference to a pair of trusted eyes. Lucky whoever. Very exciting, my pal! I'm getting my inspiration back, so I'll vibe you a big wad of it. ** Steevee, I totally know what you mean about those FB threads. I won't name names, but, yeah, ugh, people should get a life and all that. ** Un Cœur Blanc, Hi! It does, doesn't it? I think I want to go there if/when I ever get back to Oregon, which logic says I will do. I thank your depths for dreaming about me. I feel cuddled or something. I've gotten really into traveling lately, yeah. There have definitely been times when I wasn't into that, but, with the right companion, it's incredibly inspiring. Interesting about your turn-around on Proust. Maybe I'm just being a scamp, but I'm excited that I'll never read him and will never know. Funny. Maybe I'll just read things on Proust by Barthes and the rest of them. Yeah, maybe that. ** DOVEY, Hi, Dovey! Okay, I'll write to you and maybe we can talk/Skype thereafter. Your book about Antonio is such a beautiful thing. I've kept waiting and waiting for that ... was it a DVD (?) that someone was supposed to be putting together of Antonio's work, but I haven't seen any results so far. Oh, thank you so very much for sharing that video. Everyone, DOVEY, who is the mother of the late, incredibly missed Antonio Urdiales, a former d.l. here and one of the most brilliant, genius people I have ever encountered in my life, has shared a video of Antonio, and it's here, and he is always so much more than worth all of time itself, so go watch. I'll try to figure out a way to try to organize people for your book project here on the blog. Let me think about how best and most efficiently to do that. I think from the beauty of what you're writing about him in your comments, you don't need to worry about 'not being a writer'. Love is the greatest creator of talent there ever was. Much and great love to you! ** Dynomoose, Hi, A! You went to Kings Island? Ooh, envy. Hello Kitty glasses, nice choice! I have the Hello Kitty Amusement Park in Tokyo at the forefront of my Japan agenda. Sounds like a fun weekend down your way, for sure. Sweet. ** S., Stack! Everyone, S. continues on his mighty, high-speed roll of Emo stacks, and they're getting richer by the entry. Check it out. That Smell. Yeah, of lava. It's right next to the volcano region of France, or the dead volcano region. I have zero interest in cathedrals, but that one is a total stand-out, at least if you never actually go inside and see all the pews and gold crosses and shit, which I never intend to do. Nice about the boy. You sound suitably disoriented by him. Sounds like an upper. Hope and magic? That's all there is. Seriously, that's it. So, cool! ** Omar, Hi, man! That's really, really great that your art residencies idea, which I remember you wishing for a while back, is starting to happen. I kind of admire how I do the blog too, but I mostly shake my head at myself and think I'm insane-ish. I'm kind of dying to go to Efteling. Soon, I think. Take care, pal. ** Bill, I hear you about Korea. Do you have some time before you have to decide? I have never been on any of those dark rides in the post. They were wish choices. I'll probably go on the two Japanese ones when I get down there. The Efteling one, for sure. Quite possibly the Belgian one. Hex, I don't know. I never seem to want to spend much time in the UK for some reason. Harsh, yes, good word for it. ** Let's see ... oh, fogs. Lots of them and a certain amount of lots of different kinds of fog. For your delectation or indifference or anything in between. See you tomorrow.

I like Oscar Tuazon’s work because it feels like it’s taking over the room that’s holding it.





I like it because it feels like it’s trying to do an impression of the room it’s in and getting it wrong.





I like it because it doesn’t really need the room that’s containing it at all.





I like it because it contains itself.





I like Oscar Tuazon’s work because it looks strong.





Because it looks like you could break it.





Because it looks like someone already tried to break it and failed.





Because it’s already damaged.





I like it because it reminds me of things.





I like it because it doesn’t look like anything else.





I like it because it reminds me of Black Metal music.





I like it because it’s totally unmusical.





I like it because it doesn’t need anything else.





I like the work because it feels horny.





I like it because it looks useful.





I like it because it has no function.





I like it because it’s independent.





I like it because it needs you.





I like it because it doesn’t solve any problems.





I like it because I don’t always like myself.





I like it because it's limited.





I like it because it feels infinite.





I like it because it’s precise.





I like it because it’s clumsy.





I like it because it’s intimate.





I like it because it’s private.





I like it because I can’t stop sleeping with strangers.





I like it because I’m lonely.





I like it because I’m happy on my own.





I like it because I stopped drinking.





I like it because the work can’t answer questions.





I like it because the work doesn’t need to justify itself.





I like it because I feel like it's seen things that I haven’t.





I like it because I’ve touched it with my own hands.





I like it because it feels like it feels anarchic.





I like it because it follows rules.





I like it because sometimes I feel like a failure.





I like it because I’ve done too many things that I can’t take back.







*

p.s. Hey. Thomas Moronic is back, and on his birthday no less, to fill the weekend with his personal paean to the very fine American, Paris-based artist Oscar Tuazon. Please explore what his fuss is all about, not to mention the fuss itself, and if you feel like passing your own words back to TM, that would be swell. Thank you so much, Thomas! ** White tiger, Thanks, pal. 111 is a magic number?Cool. Wow, that video/track you made with Michael Cameron is so awesome! Why didn't I know about it before? Exciting that you guys will be working further. Super score there, wow. Everyone, click this link and go watch and hear a great music track created by masterful artist and singer and lyricist and d.l. White tiger aka Math tinder and LA-based music master Michael Cameron, central force behind the superb LA band/project Los Angeles, courtesy of a video directed by Josh Winter. You'll be so glad. What a complete treat! And, if I read my FB newsfeed correctly, huge congrats on the successful name change! Yes, forever yes! ** Scunnard, Yes, I did. Oh, I like the video in progress a lot. I haven't watched it all yet, but I'll slip back over there and let it play today, hopefully before you retrieve it into the ether. I don't know whether to send people over there or not given its temporality and unfinished body. Hm, okay, I'll play it safe and keep to myself, I guess? Versailles was cool. It's so gigantic. The grounds, I mean. Well, the building is too, but the grounds are practically major city-sized. A good thing to do when you're in Paris and if you need a fix of the overly ornate past. Then again, I would personally recommend taking another hour-long train ride in a different direction and looking at the chateaux in the Loire Valley because you get a bunch in one shot, and they're kind of even better, actually. ** Misanthrope, 'Reliable rumors', ha ha, whatever. Reliable how? I wouldn't believe that scuttlebutt unless I saw it in the whites of his eyes or something. ** Wolf, No, I must admit that the fog/dog thing hadn't occurred to me. It had occurred to me that if you reverse the world and slip in an 'l' it spells golf. Ha ha. Yeah, we almost never ever get fog in Paris, as you probably know, which is very sad. Even LA has more fog than Paris, which is weird. Hurple is a word I've never heard before, and Blogger spellcheck says it isn't a word, but I don't think Blogger spellcheck has been updated since about 1996. How were the maths? ** Cobaltfram, I thought you might see and appreciate the 'SH' frame. Well, see, I have no opinion on Proust. That's what's so exciting. I am a Proust ignoramus. I'm kind of really into that status. Did you get the proofs off to Ross before you split? How was the split itself? I'm so very sorry to hear that about your co-worker. That's a very sad story. And how weird that fellow d.l. James lost a co-worker tragically on the very same day. Weird, bad. Hugs to you, man. ** David Ehrenstein, Ha ha, you won't convince me. I am a no Proust zone until future notice. I'm into it. I'm excited. Orders schmorders, ha ha. I haven't seen that Ozon. I will though. I find him extremely uneven. Most of his films I feel kind of meh about, but I've liked a couple or few of them pretty well. That one sounds quite promising. Thanks! Oh, and your wunderbar post will appear here next Saturday. Thank you so much again for it! ** James, Hi, James. Well, we're going to be hitting a lot of amusements parks in Japan, so I'm not sure our suitcase would be the best fit for you, ha ha. You definitely wouldn't want to tag along on our imminent Scandinavian trip, where everything but the driving and hotel sleeping parts will be spent inside almost nothing but amusement parks. Yeah, I'm so very sorry to hear of your loss. And, like I said to Cobaltfram, so very strange that you and he suffered the very same kind of loss at the same time. So sad. Many hugs to you, James. Much love to you too, and you have a great weekend whether I end up having one or not! ** Robert-nyc, Hi, Robert! I am taking a trip to Japan. It's basically set in stone. I'm very excited. I think there was a frame or two of the Carpenter film in that stack. Or at least there was in the rough cut. The 'Evil Dead' remake hasn't opened here yet. I haven't even seen forthcoming posters for it. But I will see it, I'm pretty sure. I got your email safe and sound. No worries, and thank you muchly for it! ** Thomas Moronic, Thank you to your face for the amazing weekend. Well, to 'your face', which I think I know well enough to imagine. And happy birthday! Exciting about your poetry book! Yeah, I went bowling last night with Kiddiepunk, Oscar B, and my dear friend Zac, and Kp said that he has the mss., and that it's super great! 30 is good, man, no worries. Life gets even shinier from 30 onwards. Or, well, at least for a while. Mine's as shiny as it's ever been, and 30 is way back there. ** Lee, Hey, Lee! Awesomeness to see you, man! Oh, shit, I don't know if I got your messages or not. My email box can be a wasteland sometimes. Shit. Well, I'm glad the cryptic stuff got resolved. Even though the cryptic can rule in some circumstances. Yeah, well, just let me know when you're getting back here so I can make sure I'll be in town. I have a bunch of traveling in my future, so, yeah. Things are great, thanks, and I hope they are with you too! ** Casey Hannan, Hi, Casey! It's really good to see you! I know so many people who've read your book and loved the living hell out of it, no surprise. Misplaced immensity, spooky, nice. I should do a post about that, not to freak you out. But I might. Yeah, that might be really good. I'm glad that you're always enjoying. The feeling is mutual, man. ** Sypha, Thanks. Nice reading there. I don't know why, but Japanese literary severe misanthropy appeals to me even though I don't generally go for that in Western lit. Interesting. ** Dynomoose, Fun summer times, indeed! And it's almost summer yet again. That Hello Kitty Park in Japan is almost always listed in the many lists of 10 weirdest amusements parks in the world that you find lots of if you search for such things like I do. Here's its website, if you're curious. Should be very cool. Fog, yes, so nice, as is -- or at least was -- LSD. Have a really nice weekend, pal. ** Steevee, Looking forward to your Ozon interview! That's the new Linklater? I heard about that. Not much about it, but something. ** Paul Curran, Hi, Paul! Oh, you'll be there when we're there, great! Where will you be? I think we arrive in Tokyo on June 6th or 7th, I forget? Maybe Monday morning for Skypeing. That sounds really good. Or some of the weeknights are good for me too. Mm, I'll email you tomorrow when I know about my Monday for sure. Can't wait! ** Sanatorium, Hey there! I'm glad you delurked. Very awesome. Sure, ideas sharing. When are you going? My friend/traveling companion and I have been researching the shit out of Tokyo as best we can. What kind of stuff are you interested in seeing? Yeah, let's figure it out. ** DOVEY, Hi, Dovey! Oh, phew, I'm so glad you were able to save Antonio's things. Wow, that was scary. Your plans for the book sounds amazing, and I don't have the slightest doubt that he will/would be thrilled to bits that you're in charge. I guess starting with the toddler days is good, at least to help you start writing the book. I feel like you should write from your love and own personal interest in him, and, you know, you can always edit it later. The thing is to not be intimidated by the task or by the act of writing itself. I think following your passion and telling the story as you feel it should be told is the way to start and the way to go. And you can worry, if you ever do, about how it will read to strangers later on. That would be my advice. Much love to you! ** Gary gray, I'm so glad you were energized by 'To the Wonder'. Yeah, I loved that film a lot. I want to see it again very soon. I looked at some of those RCT videos, and, yeah, the exciting ones are few and far between, but the sweetness and ridiculousness of people having made them makes them inherently pretty charming. I've been really good, thanks. New music, mm ... I'm kind of addicted to the new Wire album. Just got an advance of the Var album, and I'm excited about that. I want to hear the Nails album, yeah. I'll get that today, I think. Thanks, man. Have a great couple of S-days. ** Grant maierhofer, I know that Sunn0))) playing in the church video. It's great. Yeah, they rule. I'm sure you know that Stephen O'Malley and I collaborate on theater works and are great pals. Mm, I don't think I have any WWII tips for you. It's not an interest of mine, per say, and I'm blanking on books that are set in it that I might have read. Everyone, any tips for Grant Maierhofer re: books to do with or set during WWII? Thanks if you can help. I miss fog. Paris is basically a no-fog zone. I can't think of any literary sex tapes. Hunh, nope, not a one. Everyone, before I let you go, can you think of any literary sex tapes? GM is wondering. ** S., Dude, you're on fire in the center of museville. Nice stack. Complex. More complex. I don't know. Everyone, S.'s latest Emo stack is called 'Ghost', and it arrived late last night, Paris time, and you can visit it. Yes, I think it's safe to say that you are into them. I thought I was into them, but I realize now that I'm more of a marginal adherer than I thought. I don't know how you can know something like that. I've known it too. I know it right now, in fact. Strange stuff. ** Un Cœur Blanc, Intuitive conversations are the best. So, yeah, thank you. Maybe you mean Fujiko Nakaya, the great fog artist. She's a genius. I got to work with her on one of Gisele's pieces. And she has a new fog piece/installation here right now in the fountain in front of the Grand Palais. Have the loveliest weekend.  **  Right.  You guys go do the Thomas Moronic/ Oscar Tuazon thing now, please, okay?  I'll see you on Monday.

__________________





xNicolasx, 22
Prague

Life is good, and good, but should be able to!
I am a 22 year old guy, I'm in good things.
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Everything I need is your money in my pocket, sad.
Let's have an unforgettable time with me in bed!

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Rate hour 50 Euros
Rate night 200 Euros



__________________




TheHotelBoy, 20
Indianapolis

Hi, im gud boy, like drug, sex, party, sex :)
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_________________






YourHoleX88, 22
Dallas

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Client age Users younger than 62
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__________________



SpermMan, 19
Mannheim

I am an extremly unique person, not even a library could hold all the thoughts and ideas that float through my mind. I have a big curiosity in drugs, and will try just about anything phycedelic or empathonegeic chemical or natural once. I do my drugs for the experience and the fun, and most of all I do it for my sex life, especially DXM/MDMA (my trusted Ecstasy). I am well educated when it comes to it and i do it purely for enjoyment. It allows me to get deeper into sex, and "feel" it more. But enough about drugs. *clears throat* Fuck me hard and then let me go. Oh right, I don't like very hard sex, I like romantic sex. Wow. Figure me out.

Dicksize XL, Uncut
Position Versatile
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Client age No restrictions
Rate hour 20 Euros
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_________________




IneeDMoney, 24
Beograd, Serbia

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__________________



U-Like-Me, 21
Belgrade

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_________________





fifanek.rys, 22
Prague

Somebody who will pay me ticket from Prague to Dubai and give me chance of doing this in Dubai?

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____________________



callmeandfuckme, 18
Maribor, Slovenia

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__________________




allyoulleverneed, 23
Stockholm

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__________________





LETMEBEYOU, 19
Munich

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___________________



Gianni, 20
Frankfurt

There are so many superlatives and for Gianni it would be worthwhile to use them all. On the other hand it has got around quickly that he is a sweethearts. And if you don't know already, it is hereby made ​​known again.

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__________________




drunkbottom, 22
Lille

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__________________



Iffy, 25
London

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_________________



Myrealnameis...,19
Istanbul

Love is irrational, I reminded myself. The more you loved someone the less sense anything made. To a degree. The Man who cant be Moved? hahahahaa. Are you ready to get a very Naughty Boy with y

Dicksize S, Cut
Position More bottom
Kissing Yes
Fucking Bottom only
Oral Bottom
Dirty WS only
Fisting Active / passive
S&M No entry
Fetish Leather, Skater, Rubber, Underwear, Boots, Uniform, Formal dress, Techno & Raver, Sneakers & Socks, Jeans, Drag, Worker
Client age No restrictions
Rate hour ask
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__________________





Loveofdeath2, 22
San Diego

Hello, I am Jose
22 Years of age
Unemployed Android Developer
I'm extremely pessimistic
I suffer from Chronic Depression, Anxiety, & Paranoia
People like to stay away from me
I have difficulty making friends
I just thought you should know

Dicksize M, Cut
Position No entry
Kissing No
Fucking Versatile
Oral Versatile
Dirty No entry
Fisting No entry
S&M No entry
Client age No restrictions
Rate hour ask
Rate night ask




*

p.s. Hey. ** David Ehrenstein, Top of the LA morning to you. Cool about the Ozon. I'll see it at the first opportunity for sure. That double Van Dyke Parks news is very exciting news indeed! Thank you! ** Alan, Hi, Alan. ** Sanatorium, Hi! Well, we're looking to scour the place basically. It's such a mystery at this point. We're way into amusement parks, so we'll hit a bunch of those, as there are, I think, 20 of them in and around Tokyo. I can give you our must-see list of those if you want. Want to check out the high tech and anime/manga district. Weird restaurants. There's this island nearby -- Shikinejima -- with a bunch of amazing natural hot springs. Suicide Forest. I don't know. A lot. Tell me your specific interests, and I can pass on tips in those areas that we've found, I guess. ** MANCY, Hey, man! ** Squeaky, Hi, Darrell. Oh, that's so sweet and great about Dovey's contact and gift. And thanks for the link to those videos by that German art collective. Their haunted house was amazing, and they also built a heck of a handmade roller coaster. ** Grant maierhofer, Howdy, Grant! ** Misanthrope, Ha ha, yeah, that sounds very reliable, NOT. I don't know, my eyebrow always raises when there are generalizations, i.e. some porn performer's bad experiences and what he knows equalling a picture of the experiences of people in porn in general. I know some guys who were and/or are in porn who think it's a blast. Anyway, you know and acknowledged my antipathy to hand-me-down rumors and blah blah. Weird, I went bowling the other night for the first time in years. Did you win? I won one game and lost the other. ** S., It should be a town if it isn't. 'A Softer World' looks curious at a glance. I'll investigate, thanks! Someone wrote somewhere that there are more Emos per capita in Russia than in any other country, which makes total sense somehow. Well, you're on quite the interpersonal roll of sorts, man. Very cool assuming it's very cool. New writing! Very nice. I'll endeavor to read that today, everything else willing. Exciting! ** Paradigm, Hi, Scott! Oh, right, duh, about LA and the ocean and the very inland Paris. Thank you a lot for those tips on Malian music. I've noted the names, and I will go find what they make later today. Obviously, a post would be super swell, if you feel like it. Great, thank you! My weekend was quiet but good. It finally got sunny and warm here, at least for a day. Wrote, and that constitutes good. How was your weekend? The secret tunnel investigation is ongoing, but it's on hold at the moment because, long story short, the Recollets is about to have its 10 year anniversary, and, as part of that, some architect is investigating the history of the place, including the whereabouts of the secret tunnel, and we're waiting for him to report back to the boss with what he's found. ** Rewritedept, Hey, Chris! Really good to see you, man! Ace and lucky you, obviously, re: the Spiritualized gig. I haven't seen them in ages. I'll check my local listings. Oh, I saw the FB thing and the email, I'm just random and undisciplined and rather hopeless when it comes to correspondence outside of the p.s. Yes, I was on a trip recently. A work trip during which attractions were also visited, including a defunct mine/museum. It was cool. It wasn't scary. 'Marabou Stork Nightmares' was the last great book Irvine wrote in my opinion. Primavera? No. I would have maybe gone to Coachella to see The Three O'Clock reunion gig, but I'm getting the feeling that they're going to stick around, so no big, I guess. Iceage was incredible, yeah. Don't know what to say about it really. Elias is as charismatic and fascinating an onstage singer/star as I think I've ever seen maybe, for one thing. Lee 'Scratch' Perry, sweet. Well, you sound really good and busy and productive in the best ways, man, and that's very good to hear. And, yeah, reasonable goal, I reckon so. Welcome back, and later. ** Scunnard, I watched the whole thing. It was dreamy. The pacing was very up my alley, for one thing. Loire Valley chateaux are way worth a check out. I'm really good, thanks. ** Thomas Moronic, Hi, T. Thank you ever so much and once again as well as eternally for the weekend. Its beauty seems to have been justly rewarded. Oscar T. used to read the blog daily, but I'm not sure if he still does, so I'll tip him off. Nice sounding birthday, yeah. Best of Monday's everything to you! ** Pilgarlic, Hi, buddy. Thanks much for helping Grant out and thinking aloud re: his queries. Ghost towns, ooh, yum. I'm going to google that handful. Beautifully written and alluring descriptions too, man. Love the way you write. I think you know that, but, ... yeah. ** Tender prey, Hi, Marc. 'Dynamo' was really interesting. Huge show. Maybe six to eight amazing pieces in it. A lot of historically important stuff that was very good to see. A bit flabby with too much samey op/illusion wall-based work maybe. The last fourth of it is the weakest part. But a strong show overall and a real pleasure to wander through. Yes, that light artists show at the Hayward. I was actually looking that over yesterday and wishing I could see it. I actually made an upcoming light artists post inspired by Dynamo and checking the Hayward show online evidence out. On the title, I see, re: the word's existence, and I like what it means in relationship to your work. I think maybe it's the thing you mentioned -- the hard sounding-ness of the word, and maybe the way its meaning is so deliberately impacted and not easily available, at least to me, if my not knowing of the word is common at all. I think that's where I'm having some trouble connecting your work, and the way your work works, to it. To me, the word is not pleasurable or mysterious in the way your work is. It feels a bit calculatedly attached maybe? I don't know. I actually kind of quite like 'Reader'. Its complicated, but it's more giving or something? I don't know. I'm not hard against Vertex or anything, but, to my ear/eye and sensibility, I'm not sure that I love the relationship, at least not without further contemplation. What's your current thought? ** White tiger, Hey, buddy! ** Steevee, Who knows? I don't know, I don't care. I have no fondness for Bieber, but the media making a federal case out of every self-involved, not very bright thing he does these days is just making me sympathetic to him. I guess he has no choice but to do the apology and donation thing, but it just feels like the media has turned into his obsessed stalker seeking come-uppance from him for behavior and a cavalier attitude that the media is at least partly responsible for creating, and I think that's gross. ** _Black_Acrylic, Hi, Ben. ** James, 60 pages, whoa, sweet. Go, go, go. Much love from me. ** Robert-nyc, Hi, Robert. Oh, the penis festival, cool. Always wanted to see that. The Japan trip is a pleasure trip with some maybe work involved, and I'm going with a friend. Will do on the 'Evil Dead' movie. Thank you, big R. ** Dynomoose, Hi, Adrienne. Oh, we'll have fun, I'm totally sure. And, yes, I'll try to get some particularly weird Hello Kitty merch. You want anything? ** Bill, Hi, B. Okay, yeah, re: Korea. I can imagine how difficult it is to decide. A lot of smoke and mirrors there. No, haven't seen 'Primer'. Not sure I even knew of its existence until now. Have you? ** So, that's that. It's the middle of the month, which always belongs to the escorts, and, voila, there they are. See you tomorrow.

'Jacques Roubaud is a playful, puzzling, erudite, at times obscure, yet at other times thoroughly moving "composer" (as he puts it) of poetry and prose. An algebraist by trade (he long professed mathematics at the University of Paris X-Nanterre and now directs research at the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales), Roubaud has surpassed all other French writers (with the possible exceptions of his mentor, Raymond Queneau, and his late sidekick, the ingenious Georges Perec) in entwining these two disparate manifestations of human mind: on the one hand writing, which try as it might can hardly avoid dealing with experienced feelings, memory, perceived reality; and on the other hand mathematics, which involves not only numbers and calculations (Roubaud likens himself to a "counter"), but also vertiginous logical constructs. Like the East and West of Kipling, can the twain ever really meet?

'In Roubaud they do, impressively and instructively. From his first book, Mathematics (1967), of which the mathematical symbol for "belonging" entitles a volume of multiform "sonnets" arranged according to the moves in a masters match of the Japanese game of go, Roubaud emerged as an original voice. Not surprisingly, the author of subsequent collections such as Mono no aware (1970), Trente et un au cube (1973) and Autobiographie, chapitre dix (1977) is not only a resourceful connoisseur of the history of poetic forms, but also a member of Oulipo, the French "Workshop of Potential Literature," a group of writers and mathematicians which was founded in 1960 by Queneau and François Le Lionnais and still remains active today. As Roubaud explains in his provocative collection of theoretical dialogues about poetry and fiction, Poesie, etcetera: menage (1995), never has a literary movement lasted so long in the history of French writing.

'Oulipians use self-imposed formal "constraints" when writing, the most renowned example being Perec’s "e"-less novel La Disparition (1969; translated as A Void). Sometimes Oulipian constraints are geometric, algebraic or numerological; the plot of Perec’s opus magnum, La Vie mode d’emploi (1978; translated as Life A User’s Manual), is engendered by means of calculations based on a "10×10 magic square." Other constraints may be "thematic," such as Jacques Jouet’s recent exploit of penning a poem per day about a turnip, an experiment that lasted four years; or "chronological," such as Roubaud’s writing of a certain recurrent type of passage in his innovatively autobiographical La Grande Incendie de Londres (1989; translated as The Great Fire of London) only in the wee hours of the morning, accompanied—in a striking image of inner desolation—by a lukewarm bowl of instant coffee. Some Oulipians give a spin to an entire literary genre. Roubaud’s witty "Hortense series" (La Belle Hortense, 1985, translated as Our Beautiful Heroine; L’Enlèvement d’Hortense, 1987, translated as Hortense Is Abducted; L’Exil d’Hortense, 1990, translated as Hortense in Exile), for example, concocts a wacky pastiche of the English detective novel—if "pastiche" is a word indeed wild enough to embrace the perpetually disarming "distancing effects" sustained by the author in this trilogy. The reader is made so aware that he is holding a "detective novel" that the "enigma" becomes less a "plot" than a series of evolving narrative structures. The genuine contents are at several removes from the "suspenseful action." ...

'The harrowing force of Some Thing Black, of parts of The Great Fire of London and its sequel La Boucle (1993; the title refers to a "loop," as in the language of computer sciences), indeed derives from remittent failures to get beyond the brute facts of death, to surpass the painful recurrences of memory, to attain consolation, to enter into some sort of communion with his beloved. Nor can any tangible hope long be placed in some other "possible world," a topic explored in the poetry collection La Pluralite des mondes de Lewis (1991; translated as The Plurality of Worlds of Lewis), a philosophically far-reaching sequel to Some Thing Black. "Each time I think of you," he laments in The Plurality of Worlds of Lewis, "you cease to be." The paradox is typically haunting. Roubaud is left alone with "all you never anymore are," a phrase which, in both the original and Rosmarie Waldrop’s version, gives out a melodious Beckett-like sigh.

'It is in this confrontation between emotion and constraining form, between a pre-planned literary-mathematical structure and the painful vicissitudes of personal history, that Roubaud’s writings raise so many essential questions. Most of the books written since his wife’s death revolve around phenomena of memory, and in this respect he forges a different model of remembering than that underlying the unavoidable landmark for French (and other) writers in this domain: Marcel Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past. In contrast to Proust’s notion of memory as expanding from some small, insignificant detail (like a madeleine cookie, of which the author of The Great Fire of London must surely be thinking when he in turn brilliantly describes a fresh croissant), Roubaud conceives recollecting as a sort of "forest" in which branches and twigs of clustered trees overlap and intertwine.' -- John Taylor, Context


_____
Extras


Jacques Roubaud on NPR's 'Bookworm'


Jacques Roubaud: 'THE STEAMLINER'


Jacques Roubaud reads his poetry (in French)


Les dinosaures de Jacques Roubaud


Boris Crack 'LES ANIMAUX' (textes de Jacques Roubaud)



_____
Further

Jacques Roubaud's Wikipedia page
Some Jacques Roubaud resources
Jacques Roubaud page @ the Oulipo Resource
Jacques Roubaud @ goodreads
'E' by Jacques Roubaud
Excerpt from JR's 'Exchanges on Light'
M. Kitchell on JR's 'Mathematics' @ HTMLGIANT
Ryan Ruby on JR's 'Mathematics' @ Bookforum
Molly Gaudry on JR's 'Some Thing Black' @ Big Other
Video: Lecture de Poète, filmed by François Sarhan, Paris, 2012
Audio: 'Dialogue inédit entre Jacques Roubaud et Raymond Queneau'
'Jacques Roubaud, un poète parisien amoureux de la ligne de bus 29'
'Qui a peur de Jacques Roubaud?'
JR's 'The Great Fire of London' @ The Complete Review
Book: 'Jacques Roubaud and the Invention of Memory'
Buy 'The Loop' @ Dalkey Archive Press



_______
Interview
from Bomb Magazine




What does the title of The Loop mean in terms of the structure of the book, its bifurcations and branches?

Jacques Roubaud: I write every night. I never correct, I never go back—I just go on and on. Everything I speak about is, in a way, linked to the old abandoned project. I want to say something about it, but I digress as soon as I start saying something, because I remember something else that I then begin to explain, and so on. So the structure is a bit meandering. I begin The Loop with a very old childhood image of snow in Carcassonne, where snow is very rare. I’m in my room and it’s very cold outside. At night there’s frost on the windowpane—I write and make pictures on it. So that’s the image: there’s an outer and an inner space, memory and the present. That’s the first image of the book, which at the end, returns to it.

I also thought of this book as extending the invitation in The Great Fire of London that the reader trust that events are true as they unfold in your writing.

JR: And if they’re not true (I make mistakes), at least the events are told truthfully, as I remember them.

There you talk about renku, an endless sequence of haikus—a perpetual form.

JR: The difference between The Loop and the haiku and the renku forms in the The Great Fire of London is that there the writing goes on and on, but it never goes back. In The Loop, my memory changes all the time, but from time to time it also goes back. But when I return to a memory, I do not come back to the same point—the memory has changed.

But the act of writing makes it true, no? You almost establish the past as a continuous present.

JR: Yes, it’s a kind of continuous present, but what’s important is that I speak about things I remember, essentially. However, as I go along, my memory gets worse. Now it’s getting worse very quickly—I don’t know how I’m going to go on. When I started, in 1985, I had forgotten many things, but I had a really good memory of the chronological framework. And for the last three or four years, I’ve been losing that. I phone old friends of mine and ask, for instance, “When were we working in Dijon?” And my friend will answer, “I have completely forgotten and I don’t care to remember at all!” But to know the dates is important because I’m moving chronologically and I have to be sure I’m not remembering things ten years off.

And what have you discovered about memory as you’ve written through it?

JR: When I was trying to write my big project, I read a lot about memory. I studied the school of scientists doing “ecological memory” and also . . . of course, I’ve forgotten the name . . . Ulric Neisser. These people were not interested in neuroscience or in introspection. Instead, they asked a lot of practical questions like, “What is your first memory?” They reflect on the answer and sometimes discover that it’s impossible to have such an early first memory. One scientist, Marjorie Linton, made an experiment that inspired me. She tried to transcribe all the different memories she had, which came to about 8,000. After that, she said, “When I tried to add another one, I found that it would be one I had already written down and remembered a bit differently. That’s when I stopped.”

What did you discover about your own memory?

JR: I tried to recover some very important memories of my childhood. When I found an isolated and condensed memory in my mind, I wrote it down—I discovered very quickly that as soon as I did that, I lost it. I didn’t lose it exactly, but when I tried to find it again, what I found was what I had written. You see, it’s exactly like when you are on the beach and you take a very pretty pebble that’s been in the water and it’s brilliant and then it dries up and there’s a film of salt over it and it’s not beautiful anymore—it’s finished. The gleam of it, the light of it, is gone! As for memories, it’s exactly the same. By working like this I destroy my memory.

So were there any memories you didn’t write down because you were afraid that—

JR: I wanted to destroy my memory, because of some sadness in it. I’m very different from Mr. Marcel Proust, because he wants to recover the past, but the past cannot be recovered.



___
Book

Jacques Roubaud The Loop
Dalkey Archive Press

'Seventeen years after the publication of the first volume of Jacques Roubaud's epic and moving The Great Fire of London, Dalkey Archive Press is proud to publish the first English translation of The Loop, the second novel in Roubaud's Proustian series, which has in its capacity to astonish been compared to the compositions of Messiaen and the buildings of Antonio Gaudi. Devastated after the death of his young wife, Alix, the author conceives of a project that will allow him not only to continue writing, but continue living—writing a book that leads him to confront his terrible loss as well as examine the lonely world in which he now seems, more and more, to exist: that of Memory. The Loop finds Roubaud returning to his earliest recollections, as well as considering the nature of memory itself, and the process—both merciful and terrible—of forgetting. Neither memoir nor novel, by turns playful and despairing, The Loop is a masterpiece of contemporary prose.' -- Dalkey Archive


______
Excerpt

During the night, the mist on the window had turned to ice. I see that it was still night, six-thirty, seven o'clock; wintertime, then, and dark outside; no details, only darkness; the windowpane covered with the patterns of the frozen mist; on the lowest pane, on the lefthand side of the window, at eye level, in the light; this light from an electric bulb, yellow against the intense darkness outside, opaque and wintry, clouded by the mist; not a uniform mist, as when it rains, rather an almost transparent frost, forming patterns; a web of translucent patterns, with a certain thickness, the slight thickness of frost, but with variations, and because of these miniscule variations in thickness, the frost formed patterns on the glass, like a vegetal network, an entire system of nerves, a surface vegetation, a cluster of flat ferns; or a flower.

I scratched a fingernail against this snow, this fake snow: neither white nor powdery; nor melting snow, but a kind of fading snow, the dirty snow of springtime lingering on the sidewalks under the boxwood trees; or rather crushed snow, worn down, dusty and colorless, ephemeral; with my fingernail I traced a path on the glass, and the crystallized mist accumulated against my finger, turning to water from the warmth of my finger, quickly disappearing in tiny rivulets and evaporating into a damp coldness on my numb finger; or else I held my palm flat on the glass, and under its pressure the clump of frost became a sheet of glassy ice, so that suddenly the night showed through, almost watchful in its proximity; the whole vegetation of frozen traces, with its imaginary petals, stamens, and corollas, was erased; now it was smooth, like glass on glass: the map of the hand, the sensitive network of its lines, left no imprint. [--> I § 51]

Still using my fingernail, very carefully, I was able to slide these blades of ice over the surface of the glass, toward the bottom, placing them next to one another in polygonal figures, fractured rectangles; the upper half of the windowpane then seemed to be bare for a moment, immediately adjacent to the night, contiguous with this still impenetrable mass, blue and somber; but only for a moment, for it was soon covered in mist: a fine mist, impartial and isolating, this same mist that floated through the air in a cloud, born from respiration; at every moment this breath-turned-mist held the nocturnal exterior at bay; if I rubbed it with my elbow, with my pyjama sleeve, it reappeared immediately. From this thicket of images one could deduce that it was also cold inside the room, perhaps a little less cold than outside, so that the mist would stick to the window, but cold enough for the air to condense these frozen vocables (I see them), as though they had fallen from a silent voice.

But this would mean indulging in a superfluous exercise of deduction, since at the very moment of saying it, before saying it, I know it; my memory knows it, and it does not lie. I do not mean that a memory is, or is not, sincere, but only that, like a dog, it cannot lie (no doubt a lie is only an act of saying, an act of speech, turned outward). It really does appear this way, in this image; and every image is undeniable. Memory, my memory, knows that it was so: It was nighttime, and it was winter; it was cold; cold outside, cold inside the room; I scratched with my fingernail, I let accumulate against my nail the granite of foggy crystals from the mist, I lay my hand against the pane, I pressed it with my face, with my breath. And yet, every line in the story of this memory contains a great many implicit conclusions. And it is here that error, if there is any error, lies in wait for me at every turn. For in memory, in my memory (I am speaking only for myself), there is only seeing. Even touch is "colorless," anesthetized. I have no other adjectives to identify this apprehension of material things by thought alone, without form or sensuous qualities, as they arise in their grey and pasty conceptual clay (as certain early theories from Antiquity pictured it). In the process of remembering, I do not feel that my finger is cold, nor do I feel the mild and already fading sharpness of the scraped and frozen dust. I know--because it is commonly and universally known that frost exists and that this mode of the physical existence of water is cold--I know, therefore, that the night was cold, and everything that follows from this. And I recall this knowledge based on experience, as one says. But the image that I reconstitute at this moment is numb to this knowledge, it is indifferent.

Writing on glass is like writing on water: regardless of what one tries to inscribe on these surfaces, such writing is also a metaphor for the ephemeral nature of everything. A mythifying fiction has sometimes tried to convert this into its opposite, by inventing a message engraved on eternal glaciers and in the deep polar snow, uniformly protected by its whiteness, a kind of immense graffiti--indeed, preferrably of colossal proportions--and preferrably in an incomprehensible and therefore immortal language, presenting a truth at once indispensible and indecipherable. From the moment one masters the gestures of writing, and probably for some people up until the hand ceases its movement, there is a desire, mixed with anguish, to write words and signs that can be immediately erased: in sand by a wave, in dust by footsteps, under the eraser with a pencil, or from water, rain, time, or tears smudging the ink.

It was winter, most likely a wartime winter: 1938-1939, at the earliest, 1944-1945 at the latest. I could not have been in this room before that, or after. It was toward the end of night, since the mist had frozen. A very cold night, which was a rare phenomenon. It doesn't freeze much in the Aude region. I try to think of a very cold winter: 1940? 1942? There was at least one very cold winter during that war. It long remained in everyone's memory, including my own, and was all the more memorable because people did not heat their houses, at least we didn't. Our bedroom was not heated. If this image is correct, and pure, if it is not distorted or mixed with others, through resemblance, confusion, or mere repetition, if it is indeed the lower pane of the window that I see, then it must be the earliest, the first possible winter. But as soon as one breathes on any image, any memory, it is covered with mist, and reveals itself to be thoroughly imbued with imprecision. Around it is the past which, like the dark night of that winter, is impenetrable.

To the left of the window, I see my bed: this is another image, another moment, or the same? I don't know. I feel the cube of the room around me, the bed square in the corner against two walls, lengthwise in relation to me, behind my head; a little farther, the door opens, is open (this "around" belongs to vision which, like light, is sometimes able to "turn corners"). Of certain bedrooms, certain beds, I can evoke only a single image that always remains the same, and everything that is not in this image remains hermetically sealed to me. But of this old room I have a multiple but unified vision, assembled like a collage, through the superimposition and then the fusion of numerous separate visions that have since become indiscernible, beginning from a particular point, the one from which "this" is seen, a central point, at the top of the bed, almost in the corner. There is a "top" and a "bottom" of the bed, as if while lying in it one imagined oneself as vertical, the "point" of vision being at the top of the "page." It is there that, in a letter, one puts the address of the sender. No colors, no, there are no colors. To see gathered together in this way all the other images from this same place, the fingernail on the frost-covered window, the nighttime windowpanes, what the daylight will make visible through the window, all this assumes multiple eyes, innumerable hands. Whoever remembers is at once an Argos, a creature with a hundred eyes, and an octopus, a creature with a hundred arms.

In the cold, my bed was divided into different regions, warm and cold; the intense cold bordered sharply on the warmth; it pinched my ears, my nose. Here, then, is something truly "inevitable," the very banality of temperature. In the evening one conquers as many territories of the cold as possible, waging battles analogous to a Russian campaign, which provided a strategic model for this game of conquest, renewed night after night (I'm not speaking of the historic one, the disastrous Napoleonic campaign, but of the one that unfolded at the time, and contemporaneously, in the immense bed of the Ukraine, which was unveiled for us every evening on the radio from London, with the "allied" victories confirmed, after a delay, when the radio from occupied Paris announced the new "elastic retreats" of the Germans). The Siberian regions of the three edges, bounded by the vertical sides of the mattress and the covers that were tucked in well underneath it, always remained impervious to comfort; in the morning, the diffuse warmth of the sleeping body had reduced the pockets of resistance, that Stalingrad with its armies of ice.

In that room there were two other beds that I see; on the other side of the window, my sister Denise's; at the far end (still looking from the same point) my brother Pierre's, to the left of the door; seen from the door, on the contrary, this layout, which was of parental origin (I mean it was decided by our parents), organized the space of the bedroom according to the age of its occupants (that is, if one grasps this space in the movement of sight, as I am in the habit of doing, and as if the flat surface of the world, and not only that of the bed, had become vertical, it too like a page: from left to right, and from top to bottom). It seems to me that the spartan light did indeed come from a naked bulb on the ceiling; just about all the rest has disappeared.




*

p.s. Hey. Unless something very unexpected happens, there won't be a p.s. tomorrow, or, rather, the p.s. will be a brief hello and post intro, because I'll be spending the morning until evening at Parc Asterix. So, chances are I will be catching up with your comments from today and tomorrow on Thursday, but don't let that stop you. ** Misanthrope, Oh, man, hugs on not winning, but fuck winning. It's overrated. Shit, about your headaches. What's with that noggin of yours? It's better today, one hopes? ** Billy Lloyd, Hey, Billy! How awesome to see you! I've missed you, man! Understood about the internet exile. That sounds pleasant. That's really fantastic news about the song being released and of course, about the interest in more! Congrats! Do let me/us know when that happens because I definitely want/have to snag one. Weather's definitely on an upward spiral here too. I haven't needed a coat in, like, three days now. I'm doing very well. What did you miss? Hm, I took a longish trip/ vacation, and that was cool. Seen some stuff, working on stuff, planning adventures, having a pretty great time. Perfume is coming to Paris? I'll check out the concert schedule for sure. I'm excited because that crazy holographic Japanese pop star Hatsune Miku is playing in Paris this September at this manga/ anime/ etc. event called Tokyo Crazy Kawaii Paris. Yeah, so it sounds like things are quite good with you, yeah? And you're enjoying Leeds? Really great to have you back! ** Wolf, Hi, W! Really, the grant thing is kind of hopeless? Shit. I've never gotten a grant in my life, if that makes you feel even slightly better. Rejected every time. So, I'm not sure I would be a very good pimp for you, given the apparent poisonousness of my name amongst money mongerers, but I will pimp you anyway. I think I feel maybe kind of like the way you feel when I'm writing a novel? Maybe sort of? ** David Ehrenstein, Yeah, but you get to see their ribcages. Maybe it's just me, but ... Yeah, I think it's just me probably. People outside of France are making the 'battle' here over gay marriage seem so much bigger and rowdier than it actually is. It's business as usual in French politics/protests. Very interesting and revealing, but the battle itself is over. I don't know who DuCamp is. I've never seen that name before. ** Scunnard, I did like the pacing. That's my kind of pacing, man. That was Lotringer? Weird, never would have guessed. Interesting. Denser yet paced similarly sounds quite intriguing. Yeah, I point at that idea and say 'yes' while smiling and with an excited tremble in my finger. ** Colbaltfram, Hi, John. Not sure about your Proust theory 'cos, other than Mr. Ehrenstein, memory tells me that virtually all of the people in recent years who said 'You have to read Proust!' were in the twenties and early thirties. I don't know. Whatev'. Glad you're liking the Genji tome so much. I've heard of Dominion. Don't think I've played it. Well, hm, no, I don't think so. Nice sounding trip, of course. And Ross' positive response gets a fist pump from me. Well, I couldn't possibly disagree with you more on every point about 'TtW', and Malick is one of my gods, and I'm thin-skinned when it comes to my gods, so let's leave this disagreement behind quickly with a 'c'est la vie', yeah? Can't remember where I found the Dallas escort. I should take notes. ** Steevee, Hey. Well, as I think you know, it's the texts in the escort and slave posts that really interest me. For me, the images are mostly just interactive illustrations and contexts. I am drawn to the 'bad English ones' because I think they're very beautiful. They can have the properties and powers of experimental writing without the deliberate and calculating part. They also can be very revealing and emotional, and they probably are my favorites when I can manage to find really effective ones. Yeah, precisely, about the Bieber incident and fuss. ** S., So, you're a man who knows he likes when it comes to boys apparently. Stopping drinking is good, right? I'm thinking it usually is, I guess? I didn't get to read your thing yesterday because I ended up having a long meeting with the French translator of 'The Marbled Swarm', and doing that did my powers of concentration in, but my head feels open today, so ... More Emo stacking! You're on fire somewhere inside. Let me look. I like it. I think it's the most emotional one so far maybe. Kudos. Everyone, here's your almost daily alert to go look at S.'s latest Emo stack, which is either untitled or is called 'Ohh Nooo', I'm not sure. Ah, so you're kind of a hardcore, hardass escort, it turns out. Very interesting. Escort ads are so revealing. If I ever do another Self-Portrait Day, I should ask everyone to devise an escort ad for themselves maybe. ** Sypha, Oy! Uh, yeah, that really and obviously sucks, James. I'm sorry. Feel much better by now or immediately afterwards. ** _Black_Acrylic, 'Trash Humpers' on the big screen? Wow, I wonder how many times that has happened. Report back on how that works. Seems like it would work splendidly, but ... Thanks for the Korine/Frieze tip, man. ** Tender prey, Hi, Marc. Are they less talkative this month? Maybe, yeah. I'm not sure. Quite probably. I know that 'I think you should find it.' was my favorite text. My pleasure and honor on the title advice. Yeah, you should take your time and make sure the title you pick is right. I think 'Untitled' has been working just fine and doing its job so far, so you can't lose, I guess. 'Reader' would be nice for something of yours. I liked it immediately. The Sonnier piece was really good. I think my favorite was the Carsten Holler light room, strangely, and it definitely would not work in representation form. We'd intended to get to the Palais de Tokyo the same day, but we ran out of time pre a planned session of bowling. Might be best seen separately anyway, like you said. Really glad you liked the Sebald. His prose is really something, I think. Dense and complex but kind of relaxed a very strange way or something. Happy Tuesday! ** Bill, Hi! Right, there were a bunch of Balkan ones. Luck of the draw, though. Really, where would you go in the Balkans and why? The Boston thing is intense. Wtf?! ** Okay. Like I said, there'll pretty assuredly be no full-on p.s. tomorrow, but a new post? Yep, that you'll get. So, if I don't see you live and in person tomorrow, I will on Thursday. In the meantime, why don't you cast your attention spans on/into a very fine book by the great Jacques Roubaud, okay?

'Owen Land, formerly known as George Landow, was a really really great filmmaker. His films are like no others. I first saw Landow's early standard-8mm films (which may be no longer extant -- is that right?) such as Are Era and Not a Case of Lateral Displacement at an open screening in New York in the summer of 1964 or 1965. Open screenings, even back then, tended to have many films that weren't so interesting. Landow's not only engaged me, but seemed both great, and unlike anything I had seen before. One seemed to be long takes of a wound. Are Era was shot off TV, very rapidly cut (in camera I assume), showing a TV head both right side up and upside down. Still in my teens, I had only recently discovered cinema, and had never heard of Landow before that screening. "Structural film" had not yet been so named, so the statement from the gallery that Land's "debut" was a "critique of structural film" is not right, as a "genre" that has not yet been named is not exactly ready for its "critique."

'It's true that Land was not the most sociably adept of people. But one would not expect that from his films. If you understand his films, you understand that communication in them is always paradoxical. His fascination with palindromes (and he and I exchanged a few ordinal palindromes at times) was only a bare surface indication of his films' profound inwardness, an inwardness that was not one of psychological interiority, as in Brakhage, but of irreconcilable paradox. Land was fascinated with cinema's artificiality, and his use of film imagery was profoundly hermetic; it always feels as if his film images are spiraling inward, collapsing in on themselves.

'He was not necessarily the friendliest instructor for young filmmakers interested in "self-expression." He wasn't very patient with long, self-indulgent, emotionally-laden "personal" films. I once saw him advise a student, correctly in my view, that the student did not have the distance needed to deal with the family footage he was trying to fashion into a film. But those who so easily make personal voiceover pieces today (in which a voiceover narrates autobiographical details on the sound track which the images illustrate) might have something to learn from really studying Landow's deeply hermetic art, an art I find true in some deep way to the truths of images either on film or seen with the eye: Do we really know what any image might mean, or how it might "feel"?

'There is much humor in Land's work, and one genuine belly-laugh for those who had had their fill of the academic use of Hollis Frampton's (admittedly wonderful) (nostalgia) to illustrate "structural" film: The film within Land's Wide Angle Saxon titled Regrettable Redding Condescension, credited to someone named "Al Rutcurts" (remember Land's love of palindromes), which was indeed a "critique" of "structural film."

'I wish "experimental" cinema had more true originals such as Land, filmmakers who find a new and original use for cinema, a new type of film grammar, which, of course, can also lead to a new type of thinking. In my view, the "project" of "experimental" film at its best has always been that of forging new types of consciousness, new was of conceiving of the world, new ways of being in the world.' -- Fred Camper



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Stills

































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Further

Owen Land @ IMDb
'Owen Land (1944-2011)' @ LUX
The Films of Owen Land @ Harvard Film Archive
Owen Land @ Office Baroque Gallery
Book: Mark Webber 'Two Films by Owen Land'
Owen Land @ mubi
'Avant-gardist Owen Land Comes Out of the Shadows'



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Documentary





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Interview 2009









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Obituary




'A question that one should never ask an experimental film-maker is: "What is your film about?" George Landow, who has died unexpectedly aged 67, would probably have responded: "It's about eight minutes." Along with many other "structural" American film directors in the 1960s and 1970s, Landow – who changed his name to the semi-anagram Owen Land in 1977 – rejected linear narrative, giving primacy to the shape and essence of film. "I didn't want to make films that were narrative. I found the whole traditional narrative approach was really non-visual," he commented.

'Landow trained to be a painter. This is demonstrated in the self-explanatory title of Landow's Film in Which There Appear Edge Lettering, Sprocket Holes, Dirt Particles, Etc (1966). What he called "the dirtiest film ever made" consists of four identical images of a blinking woman, off-centre, made to appear as a loop without a beginning and end, giving prominence to the sprocket holes and edge lettering on the 16mm film, components that audiences do not normally see. Landow used "found footage", in this case a Kodak colour test, throughout his oeuvre, where film itself is the subject matter.

'Landow later parodied his early experimental films and those of his mentors, Stan Brakhage and Gregory Markopoulos, with jokey titles such as On the Marriage Broker Joke As Cited By Sigmund Freud in Wit and Its Relation to the Unconscious Or Can the Avant-Garde Artist Be Wholed? (1977–79). This features two actors dressed as pandas who discuss film in a false-perspective room patterned with checks and polka dots. "What is a 'structural film'?" asks one. "That's easy, everybody knows what a structural film is," comes the reply. "It's when engineers design an aeroplane, or a bridge, and they build a model to find out if it will soon fall apart. The film shows where all the stresses are." The pandas then suggest strategies for marketing Japanese salted plums illustrated by a Japanese publicity film created to look like found footage.

'Remedial Reading Comprehension (1970), in the form of an educational film that is part of a woman's dreams, uses colour footage of an auditorium of people who are about to watch a film, a mock television commercial about rice, text from a speed-reading manual, and the director himself running, with the superimposed words, "This is a film about you … not about its maker." In New Improved Institutional Quality: In the Environment of Liquids and Nasals a Parasitic Vowel Sometimes Develops (1976), a middle-aged man attempts to carry out a test full of seemingly meaningless instructions before entering transcendence through a woman's shoe.

'Dialogues, his valedictory film, was based on his own bizarre and comic sexual encounters with women and his relationship with his contemporaries, including a mocking portrait of Maya Deren, the avant-garde film-maker. He was given a retrospective at the Rotterdam film festival in 2005. This programme then moved to the Tate Modern in London, the Whitney Museum of American Art in New York and the Pompidou Centre in Paris. In 2009, his work was presented at the Kunsthalle in Bern and the Kunst-Werke, Berlin.

'This was the last film Landow made before becoming Owen Land and leaving the underground film scene for more than three decades. He reappeared with his last film, Dialogues (2009). Little is known of his movements in between. He spent a year in Japan and taught film at US universities throughout the 1970s, and settled in Los Angeles in 2006. Landow died as mysteriously as he had lived. His death was announced a month after his body was found in his Los Angeles apartment.' -- Ronald Bergan, The Guardian


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3 films

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Film In Which There Appear Edge Lettering, Sprocket Holes, Dirt Particles, Etc (1965-66)






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Remedial Reading Comprehension (1970)






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New Improved Institutional Quality: In the Environment of Liquids and Nasals a Parasitic Vowel Sometimes Develops (1976)







*

p.s. Hey. As you can tell by the brevity of the p.s., I am in fact either at Parc Asterix or in transit to or fro, depending on when you see this. I'll be back in the form of a full-fledged p.s. tomorrow. In the meantime, why not investigate some works and so on by/about the late and very unique experimental filmmaker Owen Land. See you soon.

*

p.s. RIP: Scott Miller. Hey. ** Tuesday ** Misanthrope, I see. Yeah, I have this weird maybe non-competitiveness streak in general, and the 'wanting to win' stuff going on seemed sort of just showy and for fun and because it seemed appropriate, I guess, I don't know. Allergies makes sense. I don't know about where you are, but it suddenly turned into warm spring here a few days ago, and I guess the pollen is flying around feeling its yearly spate of newfound freedom or whatever, and I'm a bit zonked by it. Hope that's all it is, on your end. Glad this mysterious whatever to do with your 'big mouth' is dust in the wind of your memory banks by now or something like that. I need more coffee. ** David Ehrenstein, Hi, David. Well, the protests are a big deal in context because they reveal an ugly fervor on the right that is surprising a lot of people here, and also a shortsightedness on the part of the UMP aka the French Republican party who have pretty much come down against gay marriage as a whole, and that is kind of a head scratcher, but the protests are not being read as any kind of game changer or anything. A curiosity, more like. Michel Legrand is still doing stuff, that's interesting. I had no idea. I don't think I realized that he's still alive even. ** Joshua nilles, Hey, man! How's it going? Good to see you. Cool about your concentration and progress on the novel. Mm, I can't remember if you told me about the book of poetry. It's cool news, in any case. The Amazon wipe is interesting too. I'll go check out your blog when I get done here. I haven't been over there in a while. Nice! Yeah, it's a cool thing to have you back. ** Tosh, Hi, T. Oh, yeah, I'll go see the Demy retrospective show. It's already on the agenda. Really beautiful posters for it all over the metro here featuring these gorgeous, huge, blown up film stills. ** Cobaltfram, Hi, John. A Malick discussion sometime, yeah, maybe, let's see. We seem pretty far apart, and I don't know how that twain could meet, but, yeah, sometime, why not? I don't think my interest is moving towards memory. Maybe without conscious thought about it. I'm working with my real life in this 'former George novel' novel, so perhaps there's been a gravitational pull toward memory books, I don't know, interesting. Well, I hope the student art show surprised you. I've seen some pretty great stuff at student art shows at times. ** Billy Lloyd, Hi, Billy! Digital release is A-okay with me. Cool! Can't wait! And that's super exciting about your inspiration and productivity of late. Twenty minutes of new songs by you is ... what it's called ... a watershed. I don't even know what a 'watershed' is. Strange term for treasure. Oh, on the recent trip, well, there was a post. We were here. Off to Scandinavia for about two and a half weeks in early May. That's next. Then to Japan for a few weeks. Traveling madness/bliss in my world these days. Shit, I hope the Perfume gig isn't sold out here. I'll check. It could easily be. I've only heard Hatsune Miku's music on the videos, and it seems like, I don't know, typical sounding watered down Japanese pop, but it's all about the hologram and its fascinating usage ultimately, right? You haven't planned for your summer yet? No clues at all? ** S., Given your specific boy needs, and their total concentration on the surface of the boy, maybe coin operated is the way to go. Or one of those increasingly sophisticated, spookily almost but not quite real looking Japanese robots. Plus, they won't give you STDS. Just rug burn or something. ** Scunnard, It worked for me, for sure. Awesome, more, etc. ** Sypha, Good, very glad you're on the upswing. Abe is cool. Very cool, in fact. I quite liked 'The Sea Fertility' when I read it, but it was ages ago, so I don't feel like I can have any decent opinion on it now. ** Wednesday ** David Ehrenstein, Oh, wow, I really have to read your book. I don't know why I haven't. Is it in print? Wait, I can go find out on my own, and I will, pronto. ** Grant maierhofer, Hi, Grant. Thank you a lot for that, man. Let me pass on your ... Everyone, here's Grant Maierhofer with a request. Hear him out. Help him out. Here he is: ' if anyone on here's bored and feels like sharing some shit that has helped them in the past in predicaments like this (be it art, pornography, literature, whatever) by all means send me an email (maierhofer dot grant at gmail dot com).' He doesn't say so, but I'm assuming you could make your recommendations here in the comments arena too, if you like. Thanks! I should see 'Repo Man' again. Originally, on release, I liked it a bunch. Then I saw it on DVD years later and thought it was silly and dated. But maybe the film or my powers of perception were going through an awkward growing phase at the time. New CP Cavafy book? You mean a new translation, or did they somehow find work by him that was previously unknown or something? Love back to you, man. ** White tiger, Thank you, Mathster! ** Steevee, That does sound potentially very mediocre, I must say. Was it? ** Chilly Jay Chill, Hi, Jeff. Thanks a lot re: the Owen Land post. Yeah, I read 'The Loop' not long ago. It's very, very good, and quite different formally than the 'London' book. Lengthy dialogue problem ... Well, is it really a problem? Lengthy dialogues can be quite interesting. When you say the novel seems to call for lengthy dialogues, what do you mean? Call for that why? I don't know, I guess you can give them the usual (?) tests: test-read them as a casual bystander, test-read them as the novel's private investigator, really try to localize each character and do a test-read from his or her perspective, like, what does the character really want/need to hear, and what would he/she skim, ... Those kinds of exercises maybe? ** Okay, wow, that's it. A shorty. I have this weird feeling deep down inside that today's post is one of the best I've ever made, but maybe I'm crazy or not quite awake yet. It's in your court, in any case. See you tomorrow.

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'Throne of Blood makes me believe Cassandra Troyan chews razorblades and has freezing skin and needles for fingers, but for some reason, I don’t feel like shying away as she comes closer. Maybe it’s because I sense a sort of hidden warmth she has for her demons. They’re like dozens of hands reaching out that scare you, but don’t mean to.

'When I first started reading fiction as a method of learning about writing, I was obsessed with the grotesque, but it feels like Troyan has leveled up the concept here. For roughly a third of the book, I read the speakers as being inhuman simply because they seemed so far removed from humanity that I refused to believe they could be like me (which sounds like a pretty fine accomplishment to me).

'Those that are human are twisted with desires to lash out, to be scrubbed clean or wholly disfigured, or to be filled to burst, all in hopes of finding some connection to the real. Sex, one of the only avenues of release available to the people of ToB, is so vital that other icons and symbols of vitality become commingled with it into a form of life slurry that fascinates the speaker.

'The disgusting people of ToB, all wounded in the head but still hard to pity, build their world around you as you read, and eventually force you into their frame of mind, as is the result of the best grotesque literature. The building anxiety becomes more concrete until transforming into a nightmare where any similarities to reality only heighten the terror.

'When you have the darkness, you have to play with it in some constructive way or it’ll come out how you don’t want it to. Plenty of this play is in action in ToB as people both fearfully obsess over and fulfill their most primal fantasies. Cassandra, you wild, loving mother to these fucked-up babies, I hope you can bear more, because I could read this forever.' -- Shaun Gannon, HTMLGIANT








Cassandra Troyan Throne of Blood
Solar Luxuriance

'Cassandra Troyan goes for the throat, and once she's in the throat she goes for the gonads, then the brain. No sex is safe, as is no being. Let her re-teach you how to cower.' -- Blake Butler

'Troyan's is a voracious language that gurgles itself, spits back up and swallows again only to become a new hungry hole, always phoenixing, always being born, never finished filling. In her 10000 rebirths we can finally see our own wants clearly: stained, wetdreamt, slit and sticky, but innocent in never having been informed why we are alive. This book is very dirty and very, very pure.' -- Melissa Broder

'This book will disturb you to the same degree that you should have been disturbed before you read it. Cassandra Troyan's aphoristic poems reminded me that things are grimmer and life is sadder and filthier than I have will to believe, no matter how often I hear about Jersey Shore. Troyan fills her cup with blood and mucous and says "take, drink." She says, "The body is meat. The meat has feels." Her narratives form a feedback loop with the sound a human brain makes as she squishes it under her boot. She can be as abject as Bataille or as sick as Cèline, but through it all, maybe best of all, she is also funny.' -- Adam Robinson


Excerpt

Every year just about spring the drained lake muds with the girls of winter bloated and tangled at the bottom in the wreckage of tree artifacts.

Gnarled, mangled.

No one knows who they are no one knows enough to care about anything actually. Tumbled and slashed, their decaying muscles blooming to match the foliage.

1: It’s a shame they’re still not put together right
2: Seems so

But that doesn’t defer him, he’s quite persistent about the occasion.

1: This leg bone is about the right size

He’s sucking the marrow out of a girl’s femur so there’s enough space to fuck it. It’s really too hot for it to be spring.

2: I’m a little dry

I slur and start to move towards the house as I can still hear a wet shucking sound. I haven’t been here for three weeks too bad I left the door open. I don’t even know why I went in, all I needed was the wheelbarrow. Good thing I did. It was in my bedroom. I dump out the broken mirrors, and push it through the front door. Almost gets caught in the under brush but I see him now standing on the ridge.

1: These are some choice cuts

He holds a girl’s split sternum in his left hand. He throws it into the wheelbar- row and there is a dull thud followed by a thin metallic clink. The arm and hand are still attached to the breastplate and she is wearing a ring.

1: She cut pretty clean
2: Novice at best

He frowns we load up then move out and I’m so fucking pissed I got a splinter in my hand somehow and that it is all I can think about. We walk through the still open door for the kitchen and add to the already heaping mound suffocat- ing in a kiddie pool. He steps over the edge and starts kneading the bodies with his feet like a good Sicilian. A thick gravy escapes from his toes and oozes down the sides onto the kitchen floor. The kitchen floor is curling and cracked by the slowly widening pool of fluid now being lapped up by a cat. I don’t have a cat, or at least I didn’t three weeks ago.
Onto the living room. He’s roped a picked-clean ribcage to the rusted chandelier, and strings up dislocated limbs by their joints with twine. Actually it’s beautiful. Almost reminds me of my childhood mobiles hanging over a crib those drifting bobbing shadows. Except for the smell of dead meat. I’ve grown accustomed, it’s just like living in a very hot meat locker with the stench its own skin that I molt with each indifferent chill.

1: OH MOTHERFUCKINGSONOFABITCH

He says. He gets overzealous and the ribcage cracks, dropping to the floor with a wet smack while adding a third leg.

1: Look, it’s how god made cunts

He is holding a rib shard and snickering violently to the point where he can barely stand.

He falls to the carpet in a breathless fit leaving bloody handprints proudly smeared on the wall. I have a sudden urge to finger paint and know how cavemen felt. Everything seems like preschool so elementary.

1: Well I’ve got someone waiting

He could never resist a pretty naked girl in his bed, only this time she wouldn’t leave. Alone and bored I see there’s a scalp near my feet. I pick it up to smell. Through the hard thick clumps of brown I think I smell lavender and throw it away from me.

I start to go down to the basement as someone steps through the back door. I hear the clicking of nails and look up at the dog now staring at me eye to eye, frozen with shock.

He had thought the place was abandoned.

So had I.

He looks real thin and sick and wild with matted haunches almost slightly mad all delirious from the heat. He’s really afraid of me but can’t turn away from the miniature pool of carcasses. I suddenly want to touch him or give him water feed him.

But for some reason instead I get up to kick him out the door in the ribs, a little too hard and swift.




'Throne of Blood' trailer


Richard Chiem reads two works by Cassandra Troyan


'This Is The Fight Of Day And Night, I See Black Light (Pressure Apparatus)'




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'Matt Bell’s visionary debut novel In the House Upon the Dirt Between the Lake and Woods is one of the most singularly strange and beautiful and wondrous books to come along in a long time. I picked it up one afternoon just to read the opening paragraph —

'“Before our first encounter with the bear I had already finished building the house, or nearly so.”

'— and finished the book before going to sleep that night. It took over my life for any number of hours and it’s one I continue to go back to from time to time, surfing the pages for the many passages I underlined. I drew checkmarks and more checkmarks in the margins. Consider yourself warned: do not pick up this novel if you have other commitments that day.

'In the House is impossible to categorize. It’s impossible that anyone else could have written such a thing. It’s a novel that—as Borges wrote of Kafka—invents its own precursors. Of course, there’s a tremendous amount of fabulist fiction in our midst these days; in fact, there’s so much of it right now that fabulism is beginning to taste a bit like the flavor of the month, a fad resulting from a natural and reasonable distrust of realism and a desire to return to pre-commercial methods of telling stories. But what Bell accomplishes here is something that doesn’t happen very often: he has invented an entirely new rhetoric of fiction and marked unique territory of his own.

'No plot summary can do this novel justice, so please let it suffice to say that a man and woman build a remote house where they plan to raise a family. Their efforts are complicated by a series of biological occurrences that make even the noisiest scenes in Eraserhead feel like an episode of Sesame Street. There’s also a bear that talks, sort of, and something menacing in the lake. You just have to read it.' -- Andrew Ervin, Tin House









Matt Bell In the House upon the Dirt between the Lake and the Woods
Soho Press

'In this epic, mythical debut novel, a newly-wed couple escapes the busy confusion of their homeland for a distant and almost-uninhabited lakeshore. They plan to live there simply, to fish the lake, to trap the nearby woods, and build a house upon the dirt between where they can raise a family. But as their every pregnancy fails, the child-obsessed husband begins to rage at this new world: the song-spun objects somehow created by his wife’s beautiful singing voice, the giant and sentient bear that rules the beasts of the woods, the second moon weighing down the fabric of their starless sky, and the labyrinth of memory dug into the earth beneath their house.

'This novel, from one of our most exciting young writers, is a powerful exploration of the limits of parenthood and marriage—and of what happens when a marriage’s success is measured solely by the children it produces, or else the sorrow that marks their absence.' -- Soho Press



Excerpt

On the day of our wedding, on some now-distant beach, my wife had sworn herself to me with ease and in faith, and I did likewise for her: Together we made the longest promises, vowed them tight, and it was so easy to do this then, to speak the provided words, when we did not know what other harder choices would necessarily follow as we made our first life together in a new city, and then again after we left that country and journeyed to the dirt, this plot stationed so far from the other side of the lake, from the mountains beyond the lake, on whose distant slopes we had once dwelled in the land of our parents, where perhaps there still perches that platform where we stood to speak our vows.

How terrible we must have seemed that day, when together we were made to believe our marriage would then and always be celebrated, by ceremony and by feasting, by the right applause of a hundred kith and kin. And then later how we were terrible again, upon this far lonelier shore, where when we came we came alone.

* * *


When we first arrived upon the dirt between the lake and the woods, then there was still sun and moon, only one moon, and stars too, all the intricacies of their intersections circumscribing the sky, their paths a tale to last every night, a waking dream to fill the hours of every day, and despite that bounty my wife was often flush with tears, because what world we had found was not enough for her, not enough for me, not without the children we desired, that I desired and that she desired for me, and despite her doubts she said that she would try, if that was what I assured her I wished.

In those days, there was no house, and until there was we required some place to sleep, to store the many objects we had been gifted at our wedding, the others we had carried forward from other years, those lived beneath the auspices of our mothers and fathers. And so we went into the woods to seek a cave, and in a cave we laid out our blankets and stacked our luggage, and there my wife waited amid that piled potential while each day I went out onto the dirt, while I raised a house with just my shovel and axe, my hammer and saw, my hands hardened by the same.

In that cave I did not leave her alone, though I had meant to do so—and all this happened long ago, when I still thought meaning to do something was the same as doing it—and I too was lonely as I built the house, and then the first rough shapes inside. I built the table and chairs, fashioned the stove and the sink, crafted the bed where I would lay my wife the first night I brought her across the threshold: where as I watched the ink of her hair wrote one future after another across the pillows and sheets, and in that splay of black on white I smiled to see all the many possibilities of our family, formed out of her body, drawn into my arms.

* * *


But first another memory, the day before I carried my wife into our house, the other reason she was in my arms, the first time I spied the bear watching me from within its woods: And when I saw it I stilled my work upon the dirt, moved slowly to set down the tools with which I had not quite completed the house. At the tree line that marked the edge of the woods the giant bear’s back hackled, increased its size again, and the wedge of its head swayed huge and square from its massive shoulders, its mouth spilling yellowed teeth and lolling tongue, exhalations steaming the morning chill. In the face of its stare, I stared back, and the bear slavered in response, shook its thick fur as welcome or warning, and when it saw it had my attention it stood on its huge hind legs, its stamping body a dark tower opening, opening to push a roar up toward the heavens, toward the sun that in those days still ran full circle.

I froze, afraid the bear would charge, and in my fear I for a breath forgot my wife; and in the next breath I remembered, flushed with the shame of that forgetting.

The bear growled and raked the ground and paced the tree line. From my remove I noted the strangeness of its rankled movement and also how it was not exactly whole: where brown fur should have covered the expanse of its back that fur was in places ripped, and the skin below was torn so that an armor of bone poked through the wound, yellowed and slickly wet. Still the bear seemed hardly to know its hurt, its movements easy, unslowed, perhaps untinged with pain. It roared, roared again, then abruptly it returned to the pathless woods, its bounding passage wide but somehow also impossible to track, the bear tearing no new way, breaking no brambles despite the bulk of its body.

And then I too was running into and through the woods by my own path, across the avenues of pine straw, back to where I had left her, the cave where all our possessions were stored.

I arrived to find our crates and cargo shattered upon the cave’s floor, our clothes shredded, our clock broken, our wedding albums ripped from their bindings. With the passing of those photos went some memories of the old world across the lake, a place perhaps already doomed to fade soon after our arrival in this new one, but now lost before I had erected the structures necessary to withstand that loss, and still some more terrible fear welled large within me, because despite my many cries my wife did not make herself known, and so for some time I did not know if she was alive or dead.

* * *


When I finally found her, sequestered in the entranceway of some lower passage of the cave I had never before seen, then as I shook her awake I saw there was no recognition in her dazed eyes, not of who I was to her or who she was to me. She did not know even the single syllable of her name, nor the two of mine, not until I repeated those sounds for her—and then I made her to say them back, to name me her husband, herself again my wife.




Matt Bell reads from 'Cataclysm Baby'


Mike Young 'Your Forever Shake and You' (for Matt Bell)


Mel Bosworth reads Matt Bell




____________________




'Hell arrived in New York the day after Christmas, 1966, worked the usual assortment of odd jobs—stock boy, magazine-subscription salesman, taxi driver, mail sorter—wrote poetry, started a small magazine, and got published by New Directions. He plotted his artistic career methodically: Even the tattered, safety-pinned clothes and ragged hairstyles he and Verlaine sported onstage were the result of thorough calculation. “I arrived at the haircut by analysis,” Hell writes, in a typical aside, before going on to riff on the Elvis ducktail, the Beatles bowl cut, and his own shaggy childhood crew cut.

'He attracted the right people: Patty Oldenburg, wife of the sculptor Claes, at whose refined hands Hell gained an early sentimental education; a young poet and bookstore owner named Andrew Wylie (Hell dated his sister); Patti Smith, Nicholas Ray, and Malcolm McLaren; Susan Seidelman, who directed Hell in 1982’s Smithereens; Dee Dee Ramone, who became a junk buddy; and Susan Sontag, who did not. He did the right drugs, too—mushrooms, THC, acid, codeine, beer, wine, and whiskey—until he didn’t: Heroin pretty much halts this memoir somewhere in the early ’80s. “The center from which all other paths radiated like a world-sized cobweb,” Hell writes, “was my opiated solitude.”

'The gossip here is good, if cruel—Hell, who has himself been a professional writer for more than four decades, still sees fit to settle old scores with fellow musicians, like Verlaine and Smith, and journalists, even dead ones like Lester Bangs. He is frequently unkind. One sentence begins: “Some years later when Kathy Acker wanted me to slap her while I fucked her in the ass . . .”

'Mostly, though, you read I Dreamed I Was a Very Clean Tramp for Hell’s mind, which is weird and singular and superbly self-aware. He’s a scumbag with an intimate, articulate understanding of scumbag psychology. “Being a rock and roll musician was like being a pimp,” he writes. “It was about making young girls want to pay money to be near you.”

'This isn’t nice, but it’s true—something you could say about most of this memoir. Hell is insatiable and insightful, an evil sensualist. “I do love hair,” he confesses, apropos of very little. “Because it’s dead but personal and because I’m moved by the futility of its attempts to warm and protect the places where it grows.” Hell’s gift, then and now, is for finding a redemptive kind of ugly in otherwise blank, beautiful things, himself very much included.' -- Zach Baron, Bookforum









Richard Hell I Dreamed I Was a Very Clean Tramp
Ecco

'The sharp, lyrical, and no-holds-barred autobiography of the iconoclastic writer and musician Richard Hell, charting the childhood, coming of age, and misadventures of an artist in an indelible era of rock and roll...

'From an early age, Richard Hell dreamed of running away. His father died when he was seven, and at seventeen he left his mother and sister behind and headed for New York City, place of limitless possibilities. He arrived penniless with the idea of becoming a poet; ten years later he was a pivotal voice of the age of punk, starting such seminal bands as Television, the Heartbreakers, and Richard Hell and the Voidoids—whose song "Blank Generation" remains the defining anthem of the era. Hell was significantly responsible for creating CBGB as punk ground zero; his Voidoids toured notoriously with the Clash, and Malcolm McLaren would credit Hell as inspiration for the Sex Pistols. There were kinetic nights in New York's club demi-monde, descent into drug addiction, and an ever-present yearning for redemption through poetry, music, and art.

'"We lived in the suburbs in America in the fifties," Hell writes. "My roots are shallow. I'm a little jealous of people with strong ethnic and cultural roots. Lucky Martin Scorsese or Art Spiegelman or Dave Chappelle. I came from Hopalong Cassidy and Bugs Bunny and first grade at ordinary Maxwell Elementary." How this legendary downtown artist went from a prosaic childhood in the idyllic Kentucky foothills to igniting a movement that would take over New York's and London's restless youth cultures—and spawn the careers of not only Hell himself, but a cohort of friends such as Tom Verlaine, Patti Smith, the Ramones, and Debbie Harry—is just part of the fascinating story Hell tells. With stunning powers of observation, he delves into the details of both the world that shaped him and the world he shaped.

'An acutely rendered, unforgettable coming-of-age story, I Dreamed I Was a Very Clean Tramp evokes with feeling, clarity, and piercing intelligence that classic journey: the life of one who comes from the hinterlands into the city in search of art and passion.' -- Ecco



Excerpt

While I might be a little nostalgic for the innocence, the grace, that existed before my behavior became consciously calculated, my life was full of pain and fear then, and it wasn’t even really innocent either. My nice third­ grade teacher, Mrs. Monk, corrected me once because I was acting modest. She advised me not to “fish for compliments.” At first I didn’t get what she meant, but then I was amazed to realize that it was possible to misunderstand my own behavior, to believe I was doing something for the exact opposite reason I was really doing it.

My flat, vacant, smudged ten­ or­ eleven­ year ­old face. There’s a pan­orama or montage of local vistas, the empty suburban hills, shifting slowly behind it, all silent and soft and cold, with visible grain, as I glide around the quiet newly built streets on my bicycle, alone, with no one else in sight. Or I’m sitting in my backyard, suddenly self­ aware, or aware that this moment is going to happen again someday, portraying my condition and environment (this sentence on this page in this book).

I probably peaked as a human in the sixth grade. I was golden without conceit. My teacher that year, Mrs. Vicars, made a private special ar­rangement allowing me to write stories instead of doing the regular homework assignments.
    In seventh grade I fell, though, and it would take me years to climb back. The postwar baby boom had caught up with the Lexington school system and it became so overcrowded that a big old wooden jumble downtown was annexed for the exclusive use of hundreds and hundreds of seventh graders from all over the city. As one boy in a large school of unknown kids my age from all over the city, I lost any history and prestige I’d had. I was nobody, and as I wasn’t assertive, it was impossible to catch up. All I remember of school that year is my anxiety and unhappiness, mixed with pained envy of the thriving redneck hard­asses: commanding, mature Gary Leach, with his short sleeves folded up his biceps, pegged jeans nonchalantly clinging, short hair waxed in precise furrows, as he murmured consolingly, behind me on the school bus, to the lovely weeping Susan Atkinson beside him, “You can cry on my shoulder”; tough, dashing, chipped ­front ­toothed Jimmy Gill, Jerry Lee Lewis look­alike; muscular, confident farm boy Hargus Montgomery.
    There was one last ­minute redeeming experience. Because I was traumatized and couldn’t make myself do any homework, my grades had plummeted from effortless excellence to C’s and D’s and F’s. I hadn’t attached much importance to grades, but it was mortifying sud­denly to be lacking that way. But when the student body was given standardized “achievement tests” at the end of the year I got the highest scores in the whole school. They wouldn’t have revealed that to me, but the administration thought I should be talked to, considering my grades. I noticed that teachers all of a sudden acted differently towards me. I was glamorous. They’d stop and look at me as I walked by.

All those years of junior high school—seventh through ninth grade— were awful. Because of the overcrowding I attended a different school each year, with my classmates always changing and unknown. I couldn’t bring myself to do homework. I had insomnia too, because I was anxious about being unprepared and being such a failure and disliking everything. I would put off the homework, even the most im­ portant, until the night before it was due, and then stay up in misery, sweating in my new attic bed among any texts I might paraphrase to patch together and pad a fake paper. The insomnia was like being paralyzed in a spotlight, like being trapped. I knew it was my anxiety about doing badly and about losing status that kept me awake, but I still couldn’t force myself to do the stupid homework or truly figure out what was going on, and all this would amplify itself, like feedback in my head, but it was duller than that. More like crawling skin. Like there was some drug I needed that I didn’t have.
    I hated the raw oppression of being a kid once I became self ­aware. I don’t like “alpha” people as a rule, and in the random enclosed societies of schools, you have to deal with them. I didn’t like being stuck with strangers, period, either. I also didn’t like being told what to do, and of course school and childhood itself is about the authority of all grown­ ups. I knew as well as any of them what was worthwhile, but because I was a kid and they were bigger and had more power than me, I was cheated.
    I remember making some promises to my adult self when I was still a kid—or extracting some promises from my adult self. I promised not to forget how arbitrary and unfair adult rules are. I promised to remain true to the principles I grasped that adults sometimes pretended to know but hardly ever behaved in accordance with.
    I wanted to have a life of adventure. I didn’t want anybody telling me what to do. I knew this was the most important thing and that all would be lost if I pretended otherwise like grown ­ups did.
    Those monstrous, boxlike, snouted, yolk ­colored school buses, with their rotten black lettering, symbolized loneliness and humiliation. The weather they rolled through was gray and rainy and I gazed out the window hoping not to be noticed, except by a particular girl.




'Love Comes in Spurts' (live)


Richard Hell reading from 'IDIWaVCT' @ Powells


Richard Hell interview part 1




*

p.s. Hey. ** Misanthrope, Sports, right. Clearly, I've never been very sporty, although I was accidentally really good at track in high school, my tallness getting all that credit, I think. Oh, man, that's awful about your nephew being moved away. Is that for sure? Obviously, I think it's fucking awful to take him away from you who've been so good and such a positive influence on him. Shit, G., is it a done deal? I hope not. Let me know the latest. ** Paul Curran, Ah, Paul, the man with the golden eye and consummate taste. Thank you! Oh, yeah, sorry I didn't get back to you yet. This week has been weirdly busy. I'm good over at least some of the next few days. Today, even, for instance. I'll write to you as soon as I finish this. ** Wolf, Yes, yes, yes! ** Cobaltfram, Yeah, the Texas fertilizer plant explosion is big news over here too. I'm glad that you and everyone you know are okay. Well, it might be a semi-George novel, I'm still not sure about that. But, yeah, something is happening, thank you. Wow, sorry that the art show wasn't upholstered by talented art students, and that truck dragging thing makes a pretty scary mental image, so, phew, very good that you're okay and only have paperwork to deal with, not that that won't suck, I know. ** David Ehrenstein, Hi, D. A new Jerry Lewis film? That's weird and potentially quite interesting news, hunh. George Chakiris, crazy. Have fun. Yury kind of revered Hedi Slimane back in the vintage days when he was on fire. Now, like seemingly everybody, at least over here in France, he thinks the stuff HL has been doing for YSL is very tired and uninteresting, and he joins the hordes who think the ad campaign with washed-up 90s rock stars is kind of embarrassing and yet another sign that Slimane seems to have totally lost it. ** Steevee, Heavily figured that it would suck and pretty much in the way that you say it does. Yes, the Cannes line-up. I watched the announcement live on TV in fact. Off the top my head, I would say the Cannes films I'm most excited about/anticipating are the Denis, Refn, Payne (mostly because Bruce Dern is the star), Miike, Gray, and Kechiche, but I haven't scoured the program completely yet. What you most interested in? ** Joshua nilles, Hey. Oh, yeah, I like the drawings on your blog. Pretty interesting. I think it's cool that you're doing more. Northwest rain, yeah, I hear you, but I guess that's why it looks so good up there or something? More coffee needed on my end. ** Heliotrope, Mark! Markster! Been way too long, buddy! That's the spirit. Eventually they will be. It's true, you know. It's weird how that happens. Oh, right, the Feelgood doc. Sounds about right considering Temple, but, yeah, I need to go find that somewhere. The Roxy Feelgood show, for sure, and how we didn't see each other in that cramped-ish venue is an eternal mystery. Were you in the VIP section? Not me. I can't remember where I stood. Mid-crowd? That's sounds about right. I saw the pix of the mallards in your pool on FB. And the wishful cat at poolside. So cool. Pretty things. I guess the chlorine won't hurt them if you even put chlorine your pool? Par for the evil course re: your neighbor and J's original producers, but, yeah, par doesn't soften the blow of the suckage. Thanks about the post, M-ster. Nice to imagine you might be sitting outside looking at this on that laptop under the wild LA sun. Tons of love, and don't be such a stranger, dude! ** Thomas Moronic, Thanks a lot, T! ** Rewritedept, Hi! Typing on a touchscreen does really suck. Fingernails on a chalkboard-like. I don't know who True Widow are, unless I'm spacing out. Who are they? Jet Jet Jets ... not bad. Yeah, not bad. RIP: Re-write Dept? Really? That's sad, but I trust you knowing what's best. My week has been good, thanks. Novel is inching forward, I think, and it seems to be alive. Skype, sure, maybe next week if that's okay, like after Tuesday. I'm doing a lot of stuff until then. Take care, man. ** MANCY, Thanks a lot, pal. Yeah, same with me re: BM, obviously. But after a phase of noise listening mostly, in my case. ** _Black_Acrylic, Thanks, Ben. There aren't a lot of BM gifs out there, which kind of surprised me, but yeah. I grabbed almost all of them. Well, the b&w ones, which was actually most of them, thankfully. Nice receipt-oriented blog thing. That was unexpectedly exciting and satisfying. Everyone, _B_A has blogged his recent expenditures on his blog, and it's cool. Go look. Oh, yeah, you can definitely dip in and out of Sade. For sure. Works fine. ** Sypha, Hi, James. I do remember that idea you had for a book. Kind of sad it didn't warrant all the typing. I don't know if I know Maurizio Bianchi, hm. I'll go find out. Really glad you're feeling nominally better at least, and that you got out and about. ** Pilgarlic, Hey! Oh, nah, I'm pretty sure it was either my best post ever or way up there, but, then again, what do I know, you know? Seriously. Ha ha, well, yeah, but you're no old fart. BM is definitely something that you either you need in your head and body or don't or something. Bon day. ** Lee Vincent, Hi, Lee1 Great to see you! Thanks about the post. Means a lot coming from you. It's true about France as a haven for BM. It's an interesting thing I don't really understand. French music is famously often not very good, but in BM and in noise/experimental music, it's actually very strong. I think I might have to agree with you about Blut Aus Nord. Hard to think anyone better. My faves? Let's see ... I like so many, I guess. I tend to go mostly for the ones who are trying to fuck with the genre's perimeters because I just like art that does that in every genre. So, I actually really like bands like Liturgy and Deafheaven and Xathur and and so on, who seem to be quite reviled by BM purists. And, uh, and I'm not sure these qualify as strictly BM: Mutilation Rites, Inverloch, Nachtmystium, Ash Borer, Vattnet Viskar. Mm, those are the ones that spring to mind immediately, I guess. Yes, I am listening to the albums I downloaded courtesy of you. Really good stuff. Let me get my thoughts together to say more next time. Take care, Lee. ** James. Thanks! Uh, I think I've done a few Thomas Bernhard posts. I think I reran one of them not so long ago, I'm not sure. You can't have too many Bernhard posts, though, so maybe I'll do a new one. ** S. Hey. Everyone, the Emo stack du jour by S. is over here, and it's kind of a moody, experimental one in the best way. Don't know about the bass question, obviously. You are really on a mission to find a boy with as few signs of interiority as possible, aren't you? You're like the opposite of me. I can't relate to that at all, but it's interesting. Uh, it kind of does matter if you have HIV for a bunch of reasons, and having sex without condoms is one of them, so it at least matters re: knowing and alerting anyone you sleep with, in my opinion. Well, things haven't been total shit in art and writing in the slightest, again in my opinion, so that's one reason why it's possible. ** Tender prey, Hi, Marc. I think ....mm, yes, the first b&w stack. Thank you so much about it. Yeah, I'm proud of that one. Ha ha, yeah, actually, when I was putting that stack together, I found that Black Metal Vegan Chef/cookbook-making guy. Wild, right? Tell Wolf, for sure. Thanks again, Marc! ** Okay. I have three more recently loved books for you to consider examining, reading, and potentially loving today, if you feel so inclined. See you tomorrow.