Haut or Not: Baby Butler
Blake Butler’s penchant for fascism, literary or otherwise, may have begun earlier than we thought. Is that a two volume set of Adolf Hitler, or does his mom (whose bookshelf this is) just need an extra copy to bear through Yom Kippur? Throw in Southern Baptist evangelist Billy Graham’s Angels in the mix, and the phrase ‘white power’ comes to mind — of course, I am joking; everyone knows that Blake is the blackest person here (his wicked tongue cadence actually comes from the best rap). What concerns me isn’t the Christian or Nazi fascism — it’s Your Erogenous Zones, probably stained, because, let’s remember, that is his mom’s book. God, I just had a flash of Mrs. Butler discovering Chapter 3 with a bedpost. For those who aren’t catching the allusion, it’s Freudian: we deny our birth by entering the less ‘viable’ orifice. Some people are anal and vacuum all the time. Blake is anus, so let’s not think about what’s inside that diaper.
Literary Doppelgangers: Quartet
MICHEL FOUCAULT & CHRISTOPHER LLOYD
Michel Foucault tells us of The Order of Things, which is pretty simple: Back to the Future, Back to the Future II, and Back to the Future III. Jeez, that was easy. Call me a philistine, but I’ll pick those movies any day over freakin’ semiotics. Up until this post, I thought that photo of Lloyd was a Ron Mueck sculpture. In the age of mimesis, everything is suspect.
It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I used to feel fine
R.E.M frontman Michael Stipe seems keen on auditioning as the fourth member of the Blue Man Group. Tibet is nice and all, but Michael, you’re making people suffer here. Why is it that artists so ‘mature’ in their youth can be so ‘immature’ in their elder years? I use quotes around those words because I don’t fully subscribe to such simple dichotomies, though I do often wonder — what the fuck happens? Is fame that bad?
A reader responds: Keith Nathan Brown
Frequent reader ‘keith n b’ offers a thoughtful response to a recent post quoting Proust, which induced the commentary “the explicitness of today is merely rendered before the eyes, not inside the mind.” When he encouraged me to elaborate, I asked him to do so, which he kindly did. I’ve culled the imperative/exceptional parts (My comments in brackets hereon):
Novelty and innovation, adapting to new information and technology is becoming a genetic disposition, inherited from our parents and ingrained from birth onward. As profound as the effects of electrical technology have been (e.g. the social and psychological consequences of the light bulb, the telephone, the television, etc.), the effects of digital technology stand to surpass those, veritably rewiring our mental hardware; and perhaps one small example of such an effect is the shift from primarily tactile experience to an overwhelmingly informational one.
Haut or Not: Joan Didion
We’ve been trying to do a special Joan Didion Haut or Not for the past few months, corresponding not only with her agent, but her agent’s numerous assistants. This paper-ridden FedEx-pectation process of contracts ultimately led to her New York apartment (we even hired a professional photographer), where it was precluded, indignantly, by Didion herself. She told us to thank her rheumatism, the only reason we weren’t all punched in the face. We were, however, able to sneak a quick peak at what appeared to be The Year of Magical Thinking, no doubt a signed copy.
Rating: Not (probably).
Power Quote: Marcel Proust
Marcel Proust describes a booger:
Its viscous, warm core had slipped down the linen of one, but had adhered to the cloth of the other, and held the silvery, fluent fringe that dripped from it in suspense above the void. The sun, piercing them, confused the sticky mucus with the diluted solution. One could make out just the one single succulent, quivering mass, transparent and hardening; and in the ephemeral brilliance with which it decorated [his] attire, it seemed to have fixed the prestige of a momentary diamond there, still hot, so to speak, from the oven from which it had emerged, and for which this unstable jelly, corrosive and alive as it was for one more instant, seemed at once, by its deceitful, fascinating beauty, to present both a mockery and a symbol.
From video games to porn, the explicitness of today is merely rendered before the eyes, not inside the mind. In the old days, a sickly gay french dude who lived with his mom was all there was — and it was good.
Filthy Gorgeous Things
Ryan Manning brought Filthy Gorgeous Things (nsfw) to my attention, which is not a surprise, considering his penchant for soft-core porn (it’s becoming more and more apparent that his virginity is not conceptual). From my brief perusal, FGT is a rather explicit journal about sex related stuff. From the editors:
F/lthyGorgeousTh/ngs is an online magazine about sex for artists, thinkers, sensualists, and fuckers. FGT aims to cultivate innovative content that stimulates us sexually and intellectually. Each monthly issue showcases work from both up-and-coming and established writers, photographers and filmmakers with content oriented around a featured theme.
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April 28th, 2009 / 12:41 pm
April 28th, 2009 / 12:41 pm
The ecstasy of a faint outdoor wind: A photo essay by Philip Roth
Hi, I’m Philip Roth, the author American Pastoral and other books without so much foliage. I love the smell of fresh cut grass and foreskin. But hey, enough with the Jewish jokes. Whenever the camera crew comes to do a profile on me, I say “Hey, I have an idea — it would be nice if we went outside.”
I’m thinking. I’m thinking about America and the plight of the ‘other.’ I’m thinking about a waspy girl I once wanted to make love to. I’m thinking of that protestant ass. I’m thinking of my shopping list: eggs, broccoli, extra virgin olive oil, national book award, toilet paper. God I love being outside at or around dusk.
Power Quote: Evelyn Waugh
“Women are an enigma,” said Grimes, “as far as Grimes is concerned.”
— Decline and Fall (1928)
I’m tempted to think ‘meta-fictional,’ though Waugh has excised himself from the enterprise. Referring to oneself in the third person, as Grimes has done, is not exclusively the domain of literature or the schizophrenic. Waugh is outside of the joke here, and it’s not between the reader or the words. The joke — the brilliant joke — lies between Grimes and the very syntax with which he is rendered. “Women are an enigma, as far as I’m concerned,” would be the natural and un-Waugh way to go. The objective assertion of “said Grimes” is completely undone when said Grimes (geez this is getting complicated), within that very assertion (Waugh’s), attempts to assert himself what he, Grimes, is saying. In short, a fictional character has tried to write himself in the same sentence. And no, I’m not high on caffeine; I’m low on vitamin D. I’ve been home all Saturday looking for quotes.