Decipher an ee cummings poem
Keith Nathan Brown shared this poem with me. He had some opinions on its meaning as did I. After the jump, I’ll share his and my ideas. READ MORE >
Thrash Version of Dopesmoker
This, thanks to Htmgiant reader Sasha, is(was) the band Sleep. What I would do to smoke with any one of them. Or all of them.
I have no weed. I like the video (after the jump)- the “Thrash Version of Dopesmoker”. I do like the original version of Dopesmoker better. But art that inspires art, appropriates it, smokes it, humps it, mocks it, loves it, picks its nose– maybe it doesn’t quite make it as special of a thing as the original– but it can still be of interest in its own right. (See threads on Flannery O’Connor and Tim Gautreaux and read about Salinger suing people.) Also, after the jump, are the lyrics to Dopesmoker, or some of them. (And granted, I will listen to the original waay more than the thrash version.) My husband sent the lyrics via email. I have not fact checked them. Is it possible he transcribed them himself, whilst listening to Dopesmoker, over and over again? I don’t know. (I think it could be so- I need to teach him about lyricsmania and all those other sites.) I haven’t seen him in days. Hm. READ MORE >
Philosophy Lessons from Metal Magazines: Summoning
Hi! This is a picture from Summoning’s website. They are metal. Some really nice person (here on the Giant!) told me I should write about their Tolkien fetish, in regard to literature, so I tried to get my husband to do it (I have never read Tolkien and he recites that shit in his sleep), but he told me to fuck off. Also, he hit tennis balls at me as hard as he could today after I beat him 7/6 in the third in a almost 3 hour match we played. I was embarrassed for him being a bad sport- he’s normally a good sport. But I fucking WON MOTHERFUCKA! Anyway, there is a FANTASTIC inteview with them at the wonderful anus.com. In it, is this great quote from Kant: READ MORE >
I’m Driving My Son To Camp Tomorrow
I’m a clingy mom. I’m feeling all barfy about driving my son to camp tomorrow. READ MORE >
The Removal of Souls, and More, And Misinterpreting Shit
Does Losing Crush Your Spirit?
I am watching tennis. People lose. They seem crushed. Matthew Simmons just wrote about, among other things, an article that wrote about an abortion. Which is funny, because I was thinking about the removal of things (which is different than a crushing of things, but I am super digressing here non-stop), from reading a short story called “Mirrorball” by Mary Gaitskill, (quote after the jump), where she discusses the removal of the soul. Which led me to think of “Love Removal Machine” by The Cult, (I always misheard the lyrics to say, “soul stealer” but it is actually “soul shaker”. Oops. Also, I know the 80s shit is hard to deal with unironically, but I love that song.) Which led me to think of how I also always thought that this song, “Naked Cousin” contained the lyrics, “He’s Ronny”, like that was his name, the name of PJ’s cousin, but no, it’s “He’s running”. Oops again. READ MORE >
(some of) Mark Sanford’s (old) emails to “Maria”
Not pictured: Argentine sex kitten.
[Hat tip to my friend Pete for the link.] Well kids, another day, and another Republican turns out to be a lyin’ cheatin’ AWOL SOB. But I give the presumably-soon-to-be-ex-Governor credit for one thing–he’s a pretty decent prose stylist. He’s erotic, but not too trashy, and he’s upfront about his emotions and his mixed feelings, but you never get the impression he’s at loose ends. Check out this passage, from July 8 of last year.
[…] I went out and ran the excavator with lights until the sun came up. To me, and I suspect no one else on earth, there is something wonderful about listening to country music playing in the cab, air conditioner running, the hum of a huge diesel engine in the back ground, the tranquillity that comes with being in a virtual wilderness of trees and marsh, the day breaking and vibrant pink coming alive in the morning clouds – and getting to build something with each scoop of dirt.
Fuckin’ poetry, man. As I was just saying to Jeremy Schmall in gchat, if I was sleeping with this guy, and he was writing me letters like this, I’d totes be sticking around to see how things panned out. Read all they’ve got up so far (they promise more to come) here.
RELATED (in a sense): Greta Christina’s classic essay, “Are We Having Sex Now Or What?” (via Susie & Aretha Bright at Jezebel)
Talkin’ Blood Meridian: The Harold Bloom Onion A/V Club Interview
Wonder and delight!!!! (Also: Terror and violence!!!!)
Recently The Onion chose Blood Meridian for their Wrapped Up in Books feature, and then they decided to kick things to the next level by calling up Harold Bloom to talk about it with them in an Onion A/V Club interview not to be missed. And what are the first words out of Professor Bloom’s mouth? “I read it on the recommendation of a friend, Gordon Lish, a New York book editor and a specialist in fiction”
It’s Monday morning and I love life, not just because of the above, but the above sure as damn doesn’t hurt. One more money quote (they’re all money quotes) then you need to go click through and read the whole thing.
Excerpt from “Footnote to Howl” by Allen Ginsberg
The frequent commenter and all around nice man Ryan W. Bradley once told me that his mother gave him Howl to read when he was ten. This made me go buy Howl from the great City Light Books. James Blake will play Andy Murray in the final of Queens, the lead up event to Wimbledon. I just finished reading an old One Story story ( I subscribed at one time, I no longer do, but those little stories are scattered around my house) called “Selling the Apartment” by Danit Brown. It was written in the second person. Wells Tower wrote in the second person once and I liked that story, but it was really short. READ MORE >
From Flaubert in Egypt
As dancers, imagine two rascals, quite ugly, but charming in their corruption, in their obscene leerings and the femininity of their movements, dressed as women, their eyes painted with antimony. For costumes they had wide trousers…From time to time, during the dance, the impresario, or pimp, who brought them plays around with them, kissing them on the belly, the arse, and the small of the back, amd making obscene remarks in an effort to put additional spice into a thing that is already quite clear in itself. It is too beautiful to be exciting. I doubt we shall find the women a good as the men; the ugliness of the latter adds greatly to the thing as art.
