2. Let’s gossip. Sinead lasted 16 days and that’s pretty good because if your man is on an iPad during the ceremonies you are fucked. (Then again he stalked her online to set up the matrimonies, so…) He’s a drug counselor (dork alert) and they of course went and got some crack and weed for the wedding night shenanigans. Sinead had to leave, OK? She said she was “living in a coffin.” (Actually, marriage is not a coffin, per say, but rather another walled habitat, an institution.) A few years ago a company in Massachusetts would sell you a “living coffin.” Here’s the deal: You buy your coffin but keep it in the house, like in the living room (groan at the pun, sorry). They even had shelves for books and a wine rack. The lid of the coffin was hinged to the back so you could push it up against the wall. Once you die, the lid could be attached with maple pins before burial. You sit there in your room staring at your own coffin daily and you are sure to finally recognize the macabre miracle of your daily existence as one of the living beings today on this planet. I think.

1. You have two days to enter the Frank Hinton/ xTx chapbook contest. I Vouch for it.

11. “Barefoot on the Pulpit” is a mighty fine poem for you today.

4. Here is a little pick-me-up. Dickens finds his baby daughter dead and must now write his wife about the situation (she is away). He does so, in this letter, but he fudges the truth a bit, in a very caring (maybe?) way, to prepare his wife for a situation, a concept naturally impossible, this preparation. But he tries.

7. In the UK, if you harass a badger and are caught in the act, your name will be added to the United Kingdom National DNA Database. I shit you not. For life, man! So don’t do that. Don’t harass badgers.

On Saturday November 23, 1963, a day after John F. Kennedy was assassinated, Dallas Police took a mugshot of the alleged shooter Lee Harvey Oswald, who would himself be shot a day later and die. It is odd how the verb “shoot” is used to describe the act of firing a bullet at someone, taking a photograph of them, and as a substitution for “shit” when expressing frustration or dismay. A conspiracy theorist (or, Gore Vidal’s wonderful “conspiracy analyst”) would say that the acute shadows formed by Oswald’s face in the infamous rifle holding photo are not consistent with the other native shadows, an impulse which implicates painting’s long forgotten task of matching light and shadows — that the latter’s convincibility, the black weary shape it finds across a cheek, legitimized the former’s absoluteness, emitted by a candle, in a dark brown room somewhere, if we are to still believe those dark brown rectangles, hanging by wires on walls, dusty on the side that matters. In 1953, Robert Rauschenberg erased a drawing by Willem de Kooning solicited by the former for the sole purpose of doing so. De Kooning caved in, as his mind would also years later from Alzheimer’s, his slow fingers pinching at sculptures which — without commentary — looked like shit, like actual pieces of literal shit on a pedestal. A true misogynist, he called them women. Like their ghost pencil marks, you can kind of see the erased drawing behind Rauschenberg’s right shoulder, or not. It was an asshole art move, which are always the best to write about. But while art grasps for history, a man, or boy, can change the world with a gun. That the right to bear arms is only the Second Amendment is telling of what has always been on American minds, though countries born of bloodshed tend to continue that path. In 1964, Rauschenberg assimilated Kennedy, presumably around the time of the one-year anniversary of his assassination, into “Retroactive I” and “Retroactive II,” two near-identical paintings only distinguishable after some amount of concentration — the light variances of the silkscreens, the purposefully similar yet inextricably unique dabs of paint — visual signs depletive of meaning, an orgy of detached signifiers, the commentary of no commentary, which might have been his entire point, so sharp, silent, and unseen, like the tip of something shiny in the air, pulled to its target over time.

I keep getting these emails from people run by bots or corporate whoevers trying to “place” an article here, I have no idea how these things get shat into the world, why there is a world at all for it to be shitted into, can you look at this email and think about it for me and think about it for me, who writes this, why they write this and sends it out hoping for what, why people are alive, what could come of this in any fashion anywhere and online, how this is different from any other kind of writing:

 

	from	Ginny Grimsley newsandexperts2@newsandexperts.com
reply-to		ginny@newsandexperts.com
to		blake@htmlgiant.com
date		Wed, Jan 18, 2012 at 7:27 PM
subject		Article: Romance of Traveling Gone

Hi –

If you would like to run the below article, please feel free to do so. I am able to provide images if you would like some to accompany it.

If you’re interested in interviewing Henry Biernacki for a feature/Q&A or having him write an exclusive article for you, let me know and I’ll gladly work out details.

Thanks,
Ginny

Ginny Grimsley
National Print Campaign Manager
News and Experts
3748 Turman Loop #101
Wesley Chapel, FL 33544
Tel: 727-443-7115, Extension 207
www.newsandexperts.com

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