Friday, September 30, 2016
The novel itself though... I mean, you could look at the synopsis on Amazon but it doesn't do the work justice.
Funny though how books and art can come into one's life randomly. I wasn't seeking this out, nor had I read a review. It was just sitting in a pile of books at work, having been submitted last year to the editorial department for review. Most of them are books on economics or finance and assorted non-fiction. This was just... there.
It is tempting to think of this form of insomnia, the inability to fall asleep, as a disease of agency and control: the inability to relinquish high self-reflexive consciousness for the vulnerable, ignorant regions of slumber in which we know not what we do. ~ Siri Hustvedt
Thursday, September 29, 2016
Alternate Title: The Graphic Novel as Imagined By Dante Alghieri.
Wednesday, September 28, 2016
I have a strange feeling about today, like the boot is about to drop. I am at once sentimental, but cranky and peevish. I had an overwhelming urge, having taken a Giza-scale crap, to leave it unflushed so the world could see. It would have only been my poor, sweet, unsuspecting roommate though but had it been a public commode...
But something is off today. I feel like I should be saying goodbyes and making peace with those around me, but simultaneously mean and fighting a case of the malevolent fuck-its.
We shall see.
There's something about the video, and the way the music synchs. It's how memory works, isn't it? Not in a smooth analog flow but by fits and starts in digital pulses.
so many videographers operate on a disconnect from the song itself but Death Grips seem to have found people who actually work with them and with the music.
Tuesday, September 27, 2016
your dark sunglasses won't make you Lou Reed
your dark sunglasses just make it hard to see
New one on me, but the carnival keyboard sound works. It feels like a wound in my skull and someone's got their finger in it, picking and poking and pulling at strings.
Monday, September 26, 2016
Half the struggle is trying to keep a lid on it, so I've found it easier to stop trying. It's less effort to just deal with it head on. It's a tired cliche to say that weekends are too short but two days just isn't enough. I'm not done thinking yet. My shit isn't sorted out yet, but I need to pack it all into the toybox in order to face the uncertainty of five straight days of life that will almost certainly be no different than any other five weekdays but what if it isn't? My shit isn't sorted out yet!
Sunday, September 25, 2016
I wonder if this might come across as redundancy or repetition. It isn't to me but maybe the camera in the phone doesn't capture it the way my eyes do. The setting might be the same, or similar but the light is always different. The surface of the lake also, is never the same as the time before. Ditto for the reflections off the water.
Saturday, September 24, 2016
Sure, why the fuck not?
I was going to copy and paste it without the video it accompanied, because it's a work of art unto itself, but then figured why not give them everything.
"This mixtape is like what its like to grow up with a below average family bond, instead of being ignored its like they let you stick around cause they love you but don't expess their love or tell you they are proud of you.. good momemnts and worse ones you wish you could forget but they made you who you are and you hate what you have become or some shit like that idfk"
I was overwhelmed by gorgeous weather and somewhat underwhelmed by Photoville. Perhaps I expected less photojournalism and more art. The former is impressive in its own right but if you follow the news you've seen it.
I also like the way art photography engages the viewer. It certainly tells a story but it's open-ended and asks the viewer to turn on his imagination and finish it. Photojournalism is just that. It tells the story beginning to end and asks nothing. It's just a case of preferences.
Hence the photo that stood out is the masked wrestler most of all.
Autumn crept in on the overnight. There was a soft rain. I could hear it spitting off the tires on the Expressway at 3 in the morning. At 4 the leaves were whispering a dry fall shhhhh. No more gentle whuff when the breeze hits the trees. No more 3 hours of sunlight when I get home from work. I will miss the sun even as I prefer the dark. You can't have it both ways.
Autumn is here though and for that I am grateful.
Friday, September 23, 2016
But this is the whole enchilada, isn't it? "The Possible" is too big. "The Possible" is also The Unknowable, or The Unforseeable, or The Uncertain. It's got to be easier to distill life, via some alchemical process or whatnot, to what can be predicted so there are no surprises. Good luck with that, but.
You figure with just enough data, not too much or too little, but just enough, there will be a formula whereby you wake up and nothing catches you off guard. There will be a rule and a rhyme and a reason for everything under the sun and everything will have a proper name and a complete definition and a menu of possible behaviors and life will be a neat fucking package and you can look around at everyone all smug like you've got them all sussed and that means you're the one in control and if they can't surprise you or shock you or get inside some chink in your armor you're some kind of superior and that means power and on and on and on and on and on and on and on.
That's not how shit works.
It can be good or bad, really but here's an example of the bad side of The Enormity of the Possible. The Third Reich got over on the idea of "the lie so big that everyone believes it." I'm sure nobody really wanted to believe it, but things had already gotten so weird that another big conspiracy didn't seem so outlandish. That's playing out in contemporary politics in The United States. That's kind of deductive though. Things seem really bad so it's not unreasonable to deduce that anything at all is possible.
There is the reductive too, by which things become invisible. White people don't really really want to believe that we live in a country where black people are being randomly brutalized by state-sanctioned thugs. It doesn't fit in. We can't explain it. We can't define it. We don't want to be tied to it in any manner. Yet all the evidence is right there under our noses. If we acknowledge culpability also, it means stepping out of the comfort zone (however you want to define that) and taking action.
But I digress... bring the above up into one's personal life and the role that uncertainty plays in day to day actions.
Thursday, September 22, 2016
SpY, via Nuart Festival
Clever bastard, this one.
Thinking this morning, of the old trope, living versus merely existing, as we spend more and more of our time squirrelled away in our homes pouring ourselves pixel by pixel into social media space. Thinking this morning of how we spend a huge amount of our time seeking validation through recording everything we do... wait... everything? Certainly we employ our own internal editor as we Snapchat and Instagram and text and Hangout and whatnot (note to self: create a social media space called Whatnot. Find a developer), and we decide what we present and what we don't present.
We each have a sort of non-visual emoji or avatar that we present as an online representation of ourselves. Maybe we feel free to engage in this because we have some sense of control when people aren't looking directly at us? I don't know. How close are you to the person you present as online? Is there a difference, or are the people that have known you the longest shaking their heads in wonder? Like, I grew up with you motherfucker! Who you trying to kid? Or do they just see what they want to see anyway thereby making what you present, whatever it may be, irrelevant. Certainly I've experienced that. It's frustrating and makes me think I can say or do anything and not sway their opinions, good or bad.
Or is there some unspoken agreement online and offline like, "Hey I won't blow up your spot as long as you keep my secrets too."
I like to think that I'm very close to the person I present as on social media. I am perhaps a lot more soft-hearted, sensitive and certainly more sentimental. I might be a little less angry, but even I'm not sure about that. I might actually be more angry than I present. I think I'm being honest but maybe everyone else does too. That's probably a mixed bag, but I don't think people are quite that un-self-aware that they don't know that they're participating in gross misrepresentation. The average person must be just insecure enough to be afraid that they'll be exposed for whatever it is they actually are when they're walking down the street.
I was reminded this morning, and I have written about this before, of how upon splitting up with someone I was involved with for a considerable period of time, I realized that my presence in her life was practically non-existent to many people that she knew. I knew her family quite well and was very present in that single offline circle, but was carefully excised, almost surgically, from the public life and public persona. There were photo albums of events I attended and trips we took but there was no evidence at all of my presence. It didn't bother me so much but I think I come back to it because I'm still processing what it means to have these separate lives that many of us do. How many living entities are we? What is the motivation of... well, that's a silly question on the verge of happening, isn't it?
So, how close are you to the persona you present in your digital life? Who is your avatar? Is it really an accurate representation of you? What is this living, breathing thing you've created, and how invested are you in it? Could you survive being exposed as being other than this digital Frankenstein, an attempt at a virtually perfect version of yourself that might go terribly bad?
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
That's all I can say. I am beyond sick.
Tuesday, September 20, 2016
Saturday, September 17, 2016
Friday, September 16, 2016
But you turn right over to the TV page...
Were it only that easy.
My body seems to be falling apart despite all my best efforts to make it better. Migraines and cluster headaches having abated for now, there is the return of the kidney stones to contend with, and now some kind of a gum infection that has me looking like Brando on the left side. I'm still a handsome motherfucker on the right side though so I'll just have to approach people sideways and shoot them profiles. Is that possible?
We shall see.
Try to catch a deluge in a paper cup.
There may just be too much going on to keep up with. If that's the case then a priority list must be established. Deal with the bullet wounds first and the scratches and bruises second. It seems I'm always dealing with bullet wounds though and that leaves little time for the rest. Things start to settle and heal and another rips into my soft bits and organs and there we go, all over again.
Now it sounds like I'm feeling sorry for myself.
Enough. This was the song that was playing at the Pack of Stanley's this morning. Is it yet another sign? Or just another ancient pop song? It's getting dark earlier and light later as summer ebbs into... why don't we just start calling autumn Pumpkin Spice? Everything is Pumpkin Spice already. Maybe we should just name all the seasons for marketing flavors now? Cool Vanilla, Mango Tango, Pumpkin Spice and Extreme Ice Mint. Does that work for everyone?
Time to make the donuts.
Thursday, September 15, 2016
Never knew whether this song was a supplication or an admonition. It really doesn't matter now anyway. It's already happened, probably karma for all the people I showed my back over the years.
It's ironic that it should happen after I've made every effort to do things differently. It's almost funny.
But I give up. Today I give up. No more.
Superstition... you can have it one way or another. You can't cherry pick where and what "signs" you want to heed, or even where and what the signs are. There's an old expression that says, "God is everywhere or God is nowhere." You can't have it both ways. Misunderstanding, by Genesis was playing when I went in for coffee this morning.
There must be some misunderstanding.
There must be some kind of mistake.
And I don't want my omens coming in the form of shitty, old pop tunes anyway. Too much irony given the time spent talking about what shit they were.
The sense of foreboding is still there though. My instinct is rarely this far off target so something is afoot. It's probably something quite obvious but that's the way that works too. It's hardest to see when it's right under one's nose.
On the brink of change again, in the next few months anyway. It's about time to be moving on but being superstitious I'm not about to jinx it by divulging the details prematurely. It's definitely time to be moving on though. This thing I'm doing here, hiding out over the expressway, is simply not sustainable. The only wrong action is inaction. It's time to play coyote and roam. More on that at another time.
"The dragonfly, in almost every part of the world symbolizes change and change in the perspective of self realization; and the kind of change that has its source in mental and emotional maturity and the understanding of the deeper meaning of life."
If you've ever tried to follow the path of a dragonfly, you see that it can hover in one spot almost interminably, and then creep forward, but then rocket off at an oblique angle unexpectedly and seemingly with no perceptible purpose. There's a lesson that somewhere, about the importance of staying in motion even as you hover in one place. It's rare to capture a photo of a still dragonfly. It takes patience, so there's a lesson there also.
My next change will be at a more oblique angle. That much is certain.