Wednesday, February 29, 2012

a handful of earth
cries aloud
i used to be hair or
i used to be bones

Rumi
The religion of orgasm: utilitarianism projected into sex life; efficiency versus indolence; coition reduced to an obstacle to be got past as quickly as possible in order to reach an ecstatic explosion, the only true goal of lovemaking and of the universe.

Milan Kundera
, Slowness
translated from the French by Linda Asher
“Ultimately, science has never stopped churning out a reassuring scenario in which the world is being progressively deciphered by the advances of reason. This was the hypothesis with which we ‘discovered’ the world, atoms, molecules, particles, viruses, and so forth. But no one has ever advanced the hypothesis that things may discover us at the same time we discover them, and that there is a dual relationship in discovery. This is because we do no see the object in its originality. We see it as passive, as waiting to be discovered - a bit like America being discovered by the Spaniards. But things are not like that. When the subject discovers the object - whether the object is viruses or primitive societies - the converse, and never innocent, discovery is also made: the discovery of the subject by the object. Today they say science no longer ‘discovers’ its object, but ‘invents’ it. We should say, then, that the object, too, does more than just ‘discover’ us; it invents us purely and simply - it thinks us. It seems that we have victoriously wrenched the object from its peaceful state, from its indifference and the secrecy which enshrouded it. But today, before our very eyes, the enigmatic nature of the world is rousing itself, resolved to struggle to retain its mystery. Knowledge is a duel. And the duel between subject and object brings with it the subject’s loss of sovereignty, making the object itself the horizon of disappearance.”

Jean Baudrillard, Impossible Exchange (1999)

When do we stop separating how we treat women from our vision of a free, equal, just world – ie how do you call yourself a socialist, an intellectual, a leader, a freedom fighter, an anti-apartheid, anti-racism, pro-earth champion, and not make honouring women a central part of that equation?
Eve Ensler in the Guardian’s Comment is free section about the serious questions raised by the DSK case and the difficulty, doubt and ridicule that women face in making rape charges. An important read. (via thepoliticalnotebook)

Monday, February 27, 2012

Sunday, February 26, 2012

"Republicans being against sex is not good. Sex is popular."

-- GOP strategist Alex Castellanos, quoted by Maureen Dowd.

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Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Tuesday, February 21, 2012




The elderly man being attacked by an Athens (Greece) cop in this photo is not a member of the black bloc or a nobody. It is Manolis Glezos, the Greek national hero who, on the 30th of May 1941 tore down the swastika flag from the Acropolis, an act for which he suffered torture and imprisonment. It was the first public act of the Resistance in Greece, only a month after the Nazi take-over.

Who would have dreamed that seventy years later, a dirty coward wearing a uniform serving the capitalists that do not even deserve to wipe the soles of his feet has the gall to touch/assault him?

XXX

Men with erections, many of them cavorting with one another; paintings of children standing on their mothers’ laps and urinating; multiple depictions of mothers breast-feeding infants; scores of Oceanic wooden sculptures that depict male figures with enormous multiple penises; RenĂ© Magritte’s painting showing only pudenda covered in a damp mat of dark pubic hair; François Boucher’s naked woman alone in bed rubbing her vulva on the bedsheets, and another holding a dog between her legs; Picasso’s woman with her anus directly at the center of the portrait; Papua New Guinean sculptures showing full-on vaginal penetration; multiple sculptures of figures in flagrant coitus in the Indian wing; Balthus’s young girl posed so that you can see her underpants, stained with red; Roman images of bestiality; a Greek vase made in the shape of a fully erect male member complete with curly pubic hair; a headdress effigy of a female with legs spread and vulva visible; Lorenzo Lotto’s painting of an ecstatic woman caressing her own breasts, squeezing flower petals between her legs, and being urinated on by a small child.

— Jerry Saltz, from Open Letter to the Republicans of the 111th Congress

Friday, February 17, 2012

Thursday, February 16, 2012

  • imagine an eye unruled by man-made laws of perspective, an eye unprejudiced by compositional logic, an eye which does not respond to the name of everything but which must know each object encountered in life through an adventure of perception. how many colors are there in a field of grass to the crawling baby unaware of “green”? how many rainbows can light create for the untutored eye? how aware of variations in heat waves can that eye be? imagine a world alive with incomprehensible objects and shimmering with an endless variety of movement and innumerable gradations of color. imagine a world before the “beginning was the word.

    stan brakhage, the opening paragraph of metaphors on vision (1963)
  • I'MWAITINGFORMYHEADACHEMEDICATIONTOWORKKILLERMIGRAINETHROWINGUPTHE WHOLETHINGGOINGONANDONCAN'TSLEEPOREATORJUSTUNTENSEBEENTHINKINGOFALLTHEMOMENTSANDPERSONSILOVEANDHAVELOVEDANDMISSANDWISHIREALLYDIDWANTHEMBACKINMYWORLDAGAINNOWOHGODITHURTSTOLOOKATTHISSCREEN

    Wednesday, February 15, 2012

    By Dan Winters
    thedarknessinlight:  By: Dan Winters
    Brilliant production



    From James Joyce to Nora Barnacle, 1909


    The king of the dirty love letter, this is only one of Joyce's many graphic missives to his wife. What can we say? The man was into flatulence.

    "My sweet little whorish Nora I did as you told me, you dirty little girl, and pulled myself off twice when I read your letter. I am delighted to see that you do like being fucked arseways. Yes, now I can remember that night when I fucked you for so long backwards. It was the dirtiest fucking I ever gave you, darling. My prick was stuck in you for hours, fucking in and out under your upturned rump. I felt your fat sweaty buttocks under my belly and saw your flushed face and mad eyes. At every fuck I gave you your shameless tongue came bursting out through your lips and if a gave you a bigger stronger fuck than usual, fat dirty farts came spluttering out of your backside. You had an arse full of farts that night, darling, and I fucked them out of you, big fat fellows, long windy ones, quick little merry cracks and a lot of tiny little naughty farties ending in a long gush from your hole. It is wonderful to fuck a farting woman when every fuck drives one out of her. I think I would know Nora's fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women. It is a rather girlish noise not like the wet windy fart which I imagine fat wives have. It is sudden and dry and dirty like what a bold girl would let off in fun in a school dormitory at night. I hope Nora will let off no end of her farts in my face so that I may know their smell also.


    You say when I go back you will suck me off and you want me to lick your cunt, you little depraved blackguard. I hope you will surprise me some time when I am asleep dressed, steal over to me with a whore's glow in your slumberous eyes, gently undo button after button in the fly of my trousers and gently take out your lover's fat mickey, lap it up in your moist mouth and suck away at it till it gets fatter and stiffer and comes off in your mouth. Sometimes too I shall surprise you asleep, lift up your skirts and open your drawers gently, then lie down gently by you and begin to lick lazily round your bush. You will begin to stir uneasily then I will lick the lips of my darling's cunt. You will begin to groan and grunt and sigh and fart with lust in your sleep. Then I will lick up faster and faster like a ravenous dog until your cunt is a mass of slime and your body wriggling wildly.


    Goodnight, my little farting Nora, my dirty little fuckbird! There is one lovely word, darling, you have underlined to make me pull myself off better. Write me more about that and yourself, sweetly, dirtier, dirtier."

    Saturday, February 11, 2012

    Tumblr_lwadw0xMAT1qjh5o0

    "The Red Wheelbarrow" by William Carlos Williams:

    so much depends
    upon

    a red wheel
    barrow

    glazed with rain
    water

    beside the white
    chickens.

    Edward Steichen






    A pedestal is as much a prison as any small, confined space.
    Gloria Steinem

    Still remember as a sophomore at Syracuse being told by Barbara Scott my first love[r] to stop putting her on a pedestal. I was so confused and so enlightened and so mystified I thought I would burst.

    Thursday, February 9, 2012

    One of the oldest human needs is having someone to wonder where you are when you don’t come home at night. Margaret Mead
    I decided to let myself drift with the tide, to make not the least resistance to fate, no matter in what form it presented itself. Nothing that had happened to me thus far had been sufficient to destroy me; nothing had been destroyed but my illusions. I myself was intact. The world was intact. Tomorrow there might be a revolution, a plague, an earthquake; tomorrow there might not be left a single soul to whom one could turn for sympathy, for aid, for faith. It seemed to me that the great calamity had already manifested itself, that I could be no more truly alone than at this very moment. I made up my mind that I would hold onto nothing, that I would expect nothing.

    — Henry Miller, The Tropic Of Cancer

    Started reading Miller as a freshman in college. He became essential to a virgin male on the cusp of artistic study. I devoured him.

    Rowdy, visceral, direct.He effortlessly displayed all that I lacked.Things I felt were basic to my becoming a man. He made passion essential.Made it OK to plunge.

    Wednesday, February 8, 2012

    You haven’t even seen my bed side yet

    In spite of everything I loved you, and will go on loving you - on my knees, with my shoulders drawn back, showing my heels to the headsman and straining my goose neck - even then. And afterwards - perhaps most of all afterwards - I shall love you, and one day we shall have a real, all-embracing explanation, and then perhaps we shall somehow fit together, you and I, and turn ourselves in such a way that we form one pattern, and solve the puzzle: draw a line from point A to point B - without looking, or, without lifting the pencil - or in some other way - we shall connect the points, draw the line, and you and I shall form that unique design for which I yearn.

    V. Nabokov

    Love Song by William Carlos Williams

    I lie here thinking of you:—

    The stain of love
    is upon the world!
    Yellow, yellow, yellow
    it eats into the leaves,
    smears with saffron
    the horned branches that lean
    heavily
    against a smooth purple sky!
    There is no light
    only a honey-thick stain
    that drips from leaf to leaf
    and limb to limb
    spoiling the colors
    of the whole world—
    you far off there, under
    the wine-red selvage of the west!

    Tuesday, February 7, 2012

    In spite of everything I loved you, and will go on loving you - on my knees, with my shoulders drawn back, showing my heels to the headsman and straining my goose neck - even then. And afterwards - perhaps most of all afterwards - I shall love you, and one day we shall have a real, all-embracing explanation, and then perhaps we shall somehow fit together, you and I, and turn ourselves in such a way that we form one pattern, and solve the puzzle: draw a line from point A to point B - without looking, or, without lifting the pencil - or in some other way - we shall connect the points, draw the line, and you and I shall form that unique design for which I yearn.

    V. Nabokov

    Clarence H. White, Nude Study-1909

    Mike Kelley, Renowned L.A. Artist, Passes Away

    kelley big black sun.jpg
    Carol Cheh
    Early works by Kelley at MOCA's "Under the Big Black Sun" exhibit

    Los Angeles is now one brilliant mind short, as legendary artist Mike Kelley has been found dead, his gallery confirmed.

    Born in 1954 in a suburb of Detroit, Kelley received his MFA from CalArts in 1978, made his work and home primarily in L.A. and grew to become an internationally renowned artist.

    Kelley wasn't just an artist -- he was a rock star, a writer, a curator and even appeared in the occasional film. He had solo shows at the Whitney, LACMA and the Hirshhorn and was represented most recently by the blue-chip Gagosian Gallery, though he continued to make work rooted outside the white cube, as in his 2010 video installation about Burning Man, A Voyage of Growth and Discovery, a collaboration with Mike Smith.

    kelley 2.jpg
    Frederik Nilsen
    A Voyage of Growth and Discovery, an installation at Kelley's Eagle Rock studio

    In addition to his sculptures, installations and other types of works, Kelley was especially known for crossing over into music, especially as a member of the band Destroy All Monsters, and the group's fresh aesthetic and unconventionality reflected much of the work Kelley would go on to do. One of the wackier moments in his career was when he played in a band backing French theorist Jean Baudrillard reciting his poetry at the Chance Festival at Whiskey Pete's Casino in Nevada.

    Roman winemakers found that boiling of unfermented grape juice created a sweeter liquid known as defrutum or sapa. Defrutum is created by boiling off half the volume of wine, while sapa is the result of a reduction to one-third the original volume of wine. ... The boiling process involved long hours and high temperatures, causing lead to seep out of the container, inadvertently artificially sweetening the sapa. ... A modern attempt to re-create the sapa using lead vessels resulted in a liquid with a lead content of 2,900 parts per billion — one thousand times the acceptable dose in most countries.