Last Saturday night Katie and I went to a Flux Factory art-show opening in Astoria, Queens on the invitation of our friend Jen. The show is called "Down the Street and Around the Corner." All the artwork is outside, on the street corners and sidewalks of Astoria. Most of it was made by people associated with the Queens Blackout Division.
Katie, Jen, and I spent about an hour and a half wandering around Astoria on foot, looking at the artwork. We spent half the time looking for the artwork, actually. Flux Factory gave us a useful but not-so-accurate map to the art pieces on display. Sometimes we found art on the street that wasn't on the map. Sometimes we found the art a block or two from where the map said it would be. Sometimes we couldn't find the art at all. Once, as we were searching for a painting that was supposed to be attached to a STOP sign, two people rode up on bikes and installed the painting right in front of our eyes. This happened at 11 pm.
Here's one of three short videos I shot that evening. It's a video of Katie singing to herself while interacting with a rubberband installation.
Katie knew I had a camera pointed at her but she didn't realize I was shooting a video. She was waiting for me to take a snapshot. The song she's singing in the video is the "If I Only Had a Brain" song from The Wizard of Oz. What is the actual title of that song?
META: rubberband sculpture = lazy-flavored artificial Goldsworthy, OfficeMax Goldsworthy, Staples Goldsworthy, trash goldsworthy, Andy PyritesWorthy Pyriteworthy, a pocketful of pyrite, "halfass-style" art (not being critical), postPerfectionist "lazyslack-style" art (no judgment value + not being critical), tousled touslehair art, bedhead art, the tousle-haired version of art, hair art, slacker enjoyment for children by children, spraypaint muralist, accidental muralist, accidental morals, moral accident, Jen picked us up in Brooklyn and drove us to Queens in her car. Nice. Funtimes "but it's no Basquiat", Bisquick Basquiat, Minute-Rice Basquiat, TV Dinner version of Basquiat, the rigor of Basquiat, the rigor of the past, making the past look rigorous, makin', sssssSips, poems on matchbooks written for matchbooks, matchbook sentiments, matchbook poetry template, matchbook chapbook flashpoint fan-slash-flashfiction, vinyl sticker phrases: the phrases seen on vinyl stickers, the tattooed arms of a silkscreener, the lungs of a silkscreener, the bank statement of a silkscreener, an artist's dogs, the bike-selection process of a young artist, the artist as bike-owner, tempura tempurity, belgium 2002–2006, yale graphic design department, "js foer" visits yale graphic design department to provide inspiration, "someone famous", famous guest, tuition guarantees 3 famous guests, question-and-answer sessions with the guest speakers, homework blog, let loose, freeform homework assignment, "do the opposite of what seems correct" aesthetic homework assignment, barcade experiences, broken Punch-Out machine "body blow" button isn't working, Rolling Thunder arcade barcade game, pinball-less BarCade, Walking into Williamsburg is like walking into MySpace, Bedford-Lorimer MySpace stop, L train to MySpace, Friendster is owned by MySpace?, granulated sand vs powdered sand, "chunky yarn" + sale, "shoes are chunky", "chunky mary-jane soles", chunky chunky, I never ate a chunky (or a BUN), new "chunky candybar" ad campaign + "taking advantage of" + fading currency of "chunky", hair art, chunky hair, having sex with hair with chunks missing, bedhead hegemony + shitliteration + shiz-lliteration, hedgeMoney, proliferating shit, Gleaming the Crude, Gleaning the Crude, Twix, is it in you?, sweat Gatorade Powerade, sweat, "roentgen-jen-jen-jen" + "ra-cha-cha-cha" + Hoberlin, Hamberlin, Amber Tamblyn Rusty-pix, "the fader" + "aziz i'm sorry", amsorry ansorry aziz ansarri ansari "BALZAC BAAL" ball, Frank Peretti novel, Frank Perreti novel, Frank Perretti novel, Garry Winogrand, Gary Hobogrand, Tod Papageorge portraits, photocopies of Todd Papageorge photos, 35mm vs 35-mm vs 35 mm, "Kamran Ahmed", Z. Kay Van Gunten + "little heroes" + "heartbreak" + "2003 withdrawal of friendship" + 13 o'clock, unbenownst, unbeknownst, unbeknown street, Gregory Blackstock + "garde rail", retired potwasher Gregory L Blackstock, "Is it okay to buy art made by an autistic person?", Is it okay to call an autistic "artistic"?, would the autistic man be an artist if he weren't autistic?, does an autistic person experience free will the same way I experience "free will"?, Do I experience "free will"?, Can I trust my feelings?, Can I believe in myself?, Can I become an employer?, easy admissions of guilt, admitting guilt is easy, feeling bad is easy, taking off clothes is easy, "putting on clothes — I call it donning — is less fun than taking off clothes", I don't care about Dick Cheney, I super don't care about Karl Rove, I'd like to visit China, I don't care about George Bush, both George Bushes are extremely smart or they wouldn't be presidents, George Bush is a convenient scapegoat, John Kerry would have been a convenient scapegoat, "I will still love yours" + John Kerry, enjoyed looking at PICK ME UP, neverending Park Slope Food Co-op shifts, I hate the food co-op, I hate doing nothing, I almost always hate going to bed early, I miss the Cabinet atmosphere sometimes, I almost always hate answering the phone, I hate taking antihistamines, I "almost always love" eating at restaurants, I love unscented candles on restaurant tables, I love entering my parents' house for the first time in a long time, I love blogging (sometimes), I hate when my upper back hurts which is why I usually read books laying down, I hate slow-running font-management software, The Irish Joys vs Our Own Great Irish Joys, I love getting up in the morning, I love listening to Good Morning America for a few minutes on the radio in the morning, I hate when I give writing or art to someone and they change it without my consent before they publish it; does that make me "an asshole"?, I dislike the new Justin Timberlake song, I like and love going on trips with my wife, I usuallly dislike cats, I dislike my cat allergy, I like drinking good beer, "did you see that Jessica Stockholder show?", I dislike the idea of putting Budweiser into my body, "I love beer but if you handed me a Budweiser I probably wouldn't drink it", I don't think shitty beer is charming, I don't think shitty anything is charming, sometimes I want to buy a tailored suit and wear it to work, sometimes I want to wear extremely professional-looking clothing to work, "short-sleeve suit", short-sleeved suit suitcoat, "suit shorts," suitshorts, Tom Sawyer, Tom Herdyer, Tom Smelldyer, Tom Sawmine, Tom Tastedmine, Thom McCann, Thom McCannot, "Peretti's violent descriptions of exorcisms are especially vivid: There were fifteen [demons], packed into Carmen's body like crawling, superimposed maggots, boiling, writhing, a tangle of hideous arms, legs, talons, and heads. This book is not for the squeamish.", fictional logging town... blogs = "fictional logging towns", clabberNet of curiosities, I Simultaneously Could and Could Not Care Less by Hoog Ivzafuk, novel about a monster that "is real", door in the dragon's throat, throatdoors in general, any kind of door in a bodypart, "sanctified Stephen King", Robbie Rob Gallery, Camille Rose Garcia vs Camille Paglia, Jack Scalia, The Eyes of Jack Scalia, "Scalia Sans" eyes, Sham Serif, Shamrock Sham Sheriff, Faux Serif, Critter-cal Thinking: A Critter's Thoughts, foam vs foment: a foment's foam, a yarn's yarns, a field's fields, all the king's chefs, all the king's pens, All The King's Deal-Hungry Secretaries Are "Bic Curious", all the king's hair, all the king's site-specific territories, all the kings' craft projects, BUN testimonials
I am going to make the Kale dinner from Steev's post's comments next week. I worked from home part of today, and due to fake exigencies I chainsmoked through a lot of it in self-indulgent moments of shamestreaked tra la la grownups on the internet RESISTING COHERENCE. I finally read DFW "Good Old Neon" which I'd heard a lot about it getting sucked up its own asshole at the end and people being excited and it was brilliant but I was a bit... deferred feeeling by the end even though the story was so interesting and well done. The little fucking encrypted bracketed baseball stats at the end, I mean come on??? Great descriptions of the indescribability of experience and the speed of thoughts. After that story and dinner and 120234 cigarettes I'm totally manic and picked up and put down the book, then David Lehman's Signs of the Times (reaading it because it was a gift) and then James Salter A Sport and a Pasttime didn't give it a chance, didn't want to be immaculate American abroad. Phone call was nice and gave me poise to read the tiny introduction to Michael Hoffmann's TWENTIETH-CENTURY GERMAN POETRY. My favorite kind of title. An anthology. I am going to rewrite a textbook of Hungarian history in the style of the Upanishads: just kidding. McMuller's recent occluded porncollage is a triumph natch. An emaciated Fraggle dangles from scaffolding in my esophagus, fag dangling from his lips while he scrapes away with his fiberglass pick. Hey, Dozers. Jeff Manson in fifteen minutes free show at Adobe Books. Was almost convinced to throw it all away and move East last night but then I woke up different. Rereading your notes about the stuff you reread makes me want to stab my English Language comprehension in the eyes and start over from scratch, blind & languageless, in Hungarian. I've never been to Hungary, I know nothing about Hungary in 1951. I put a piece of bread, slathered in duck fat, in my mouth. My shirt is buttoned all the way up. An emaciated fraggle, standing defiant on the table, points accusingly (so many other ways to point, right, so it's important to specify accusingly He's shouting trilly). "Your responsibilities!" he shouts. "Your responsibility to be politically engaged! The moral obligation to be intelligent! You're shirking it! All you do is eat duck fat and bread and feel satisfied that your shirt is buttoned all the way up! Even your stoned friends have reveries re revolution! What occupies your reveries? How did Janet Jackson lose all that weight? Why did the Germans add a scene to the Mozart opera that included a beheaded Allah? Why is diseased cowshit being smeared onto our spinach?" Leaving my pruning gloves on, I lift the hectoring Fraggle and press him into a bed of duckfat. Squirming atop the bread, I EAT HIM ETC
alright good practice team a couple lists and you can go home:
Emoticons: :) ;) ;>)
Silly friends: a fake carnation, the Moral Obligation to be Friendly!
I have a lot of business to attend to in the comentarios but I'm going to postpone that for now, because first I have some bad, unedited, instant internet "flash" fiction to write.
THE ROAD TRIP WITH FRIENDS ENDED
She went for a walk away from the group.
A man followed her as she skulked away from the gas station. She was drunk, overfed, in a lot of trouble. She stumbled down the road, the corner of a five-dollar bill poking out of her breast pocket. In her boozy confusion she decided she hated her friends and needed to leave. She didn't know where she was or which direction she was lurching.
Influences hovered around her. A miasma.
A truck drove by. Her heart broke out in skittering beats, like awesome electronica.
She vomited into a trashcan at an abandoned gas station.
She vomited onto a patch of grass.
She lay down. Some leaves, a flattened fast-food cup. She wanted soda. She blacked out.
She vomited so much it lost its meaning. Vomited onto the idea of a fern. Vomited towards a new feeling of rowdy. In other words, it didn't mean anything anymore, if it ever meant anything, she vomited so much. Mr Rochester had blasphemed his own purse-money, and no one was there to recoup
A tupperware container full of drugs. A grief.
She unsheathed herself. "What do you mean?" I mean she took off her clothes. "How?" She unhappily shucked them, moisture everywhere. TVs flickering in the danger-encased one-story houses. The lawns populated like minefields. she was alone among lawn furniture, toys, sporting equipment, sprinklers and hoses.
She was in a lot of trouble. No one touched her. A dog growled and touched its nose to her ear, and her heart was awesome electronica again.
The nausea was unbelievable. She was the most unhappy she'd ever been. Though it wasn't pain in the acute, injurous sense she'd known, it was still acutely painful. She was suffering. This was the worst kind of drunken confusion, with the worst physiognomic consequences.
A creative-writing professor, God, looked down from behind sunglasses made of stars. He hid a perfect, eternally-uneaten burger. He represented a different sensation for her, one she might someday attain. She checked back in with the present moment; that uneaten beyondburger was a long way away. She was still in hell for the moment. "How long can this last?" she asked herself somewhere. "I want, I want to die."
i should have gone to a party lastnite but didn't. in the evening, while i was preparing okra for the 1st time ever, my super-friendly landlady/downstairs neighbor rang me up, asked if i was around, then delivered warm, napkin-wrapped, freshly-made DOUGHY DOUGH NUTS!!! it was also the 1st time i'd ever had homemade donuts. whadda nite. anywaze, this is a recipe i invented this morning that i'd like to share with you.
invert measuring spoons containing ingredients oneBYone into a lil' dish, jam jar, old juice glass. i really hope you didn't touch the bread yet. blend spice-infused ghee with knife into smooth, flavourful paste. spread paste on breads. TOAST DEM. who cares, let the ghee bubble and get all primordial, you'll have a crispy post-strudel topping, bhai.
FARM-FRESH EGGS ROLLING DOWN WOODEN CHUTES THAT RESEMBLE THE ONES THAT GALILEO BUILT FOR HIS INERTIA EXPERIMENTS OR WHATEVER
THAT WAS AN IMAGE
DUDE IF UPS MADE ACTUAL CANDYSIZED LOZENGES OF THEIR LOZENGE LOGO, WHAT WOULD THEY TASTE LIKE
CHERRY VANILLA CREME
CARAMEL MARZIPAN SEX - ABSTINENCE FROM ABSTINENCE - SEX-DEATH-YOUNG PEOPLE'S INTEREST IN PSYCHOLOGY -- PLEASE SEE ME
A MEDIEVAL FUTURE-SEER SEES ME, AND IS ASKED BY OTHER MEDIEVAL FRIENDS OF HIS TO TALK ABOUT WHAT HE SAW. HIS COMMENTS SOUND LIKE ALL THE COMMENTS I GOT ON HIGH-SCHOOL HISTORY PAPERS: "WELL-WRITTEN BUT ABOUT AS DEEP AS A GOURMET PIZZA CRUST. GET ME OUTTA HERE!!!"
CUTE BOYS PEE ON COUCHES AT THE PARTY! CUTE GIRLS PEE ON "COUCHES" OF "LIFE"'S PARTY. YOUNG CHILDREN READ THE WRONG THING AND THEIR CHILDHOOD DIES. GENIUSES IN COFFEEBARS QUICKLY DISMISS THE THINGS THEY READ ON THE INTERNET, THEN BREAK ALL KINDS OF ETHICAL RULES WITH ZERO RAMMEKINS I MEAN RAMMIFICATIONS
Two things I wrote for Crude Futures but never posted because they were too boring. I may have even posted them and forgotten. It wouldn't matter.
Important food preference update:
I now like cucumbers.
I might try quitting coffee again soon. I just need to find the best week during which I can be a complete no-mind. Maybe Friday-Monday will be enough time?? I don't know.
I think I like Abbey Rd more than the White Album, despite myself. I like the Clash better than the Rolling Stones. I like Emilio Oliveira better than Richard Linklater. I like Canned Heat more than The Black Keys. Last one is false
Last night I recreated the second chapter from Infinite Jest in my bedroom. Why??? Nobody knows. I peered mistily out from my shroud at this funny essay midway through it, good times. I watched a few episodes of the Sopranos and ate a chocolate bar. I cooked a huge amount of zucchini and read some of The Russian Debutante's Handbook. I checked my email a bunch of times, and revisited the ghosts of Crude Futures' Past. I was extremely stoned! I also drank red wine. Confessional Internets.
At any rate that's my update. Had lunch with my dad. Went shopping. Cleaned my room. Avoiding work at all costs. Pretty soon I am going to start dressing really sharply. Maybe not super preppy, but at least... sharper. Stay tuned for high-res jpegs.
Nice to get that off my chest. I'm writing this right now. Dudes incl. scowcroft had a li'l darshan with the head of Iran, who spent 40 min. denying the holocaust, despite a first-person account of the liberation of Dachau by a guy in the audience. He [mr. iran] was smug, smirky, irreverent. I am going to liveblog the shit out of this next month. I ate quantities of hummus and baba ghanouj for lunch. I am not thirsty.
I stumbled across this book about the SF Zen Center yesterday, and last night fairly gobbled it up, Jenny D style. It's packaged like a ripping expose of the "scandal that rocked the Zen Center" in 1983, and that it is, but it's not nearly as Vanity Fairy as the cover/jacket/introduction would lead you to believe. when I bought it I was anticipating reviling the zen center in a disillusioned moment of anti-Satori (from now on this blog is my food diary and experiential mediation journal. I'm giving my Dad my login) but that hasn't happened. The other day I was vaguely wondering about this page's description of Richard Baker ("Although the circumstances leading to his resignation as abbot in 1984 were difficult and complex, in recent years, there has been increased contact; a renewal of friendship and dharma relations") and I'm glad to know more of the story (he spent too much of the center's money and had lots of affairs with students, mostly vulnerable women, ultimately & downfall-inducingly Anna Hawken, wife of the Smith & Hawken guy) .
Zero focus at work today. Bush is trying to make it so the US doesn't have to abide by the Geneva conventions. The house passed a bill where in 2008 all voters would need to show ID, which will mean that more republicans will get votes. Neil Young builds model railroads and likes realism. So a dude records the sounds of the subway and they play while your model subway goes around the track. The sounds, according to Neil Young, make the little car seem heavy. The E. Coli spinach contamination could have been curbed if we fed hay and grass to cattle instead of grain.
Earlier this morning I came across this photo for the first time in months. I shot this photo on 4th Avenue in Brooklyn in November '04:
One of the reasons I thought it would be fun to post this photo (besides the fact that I like it) is that it reminds me of Crude Futures: there are three figures in the photo and there are three bloggers who produce this blog. I thought it would be fun for us to look at the photo and consider the three Crude Futures bloggers in relationship to the rottweilers and the hand holding the telephone receiver.
But wait: I definitely don't want to hurt the feelings of nos personnél. In case you don't know (and maybe we didn't ever say), nos personnél is the Crude Futures blogging identity we have reserved for occasional posts by outside parties. ("Outside parties" meaning anyone who is not me, Steev, or Shower Feelings.) In the entire history of Crude Futures (just over 2 years now), there have probably been 5 or 6 "nos personnél" posts. (Here is one and here is another one. These two posts were written by two different people.)
So anyway, I hereby share the above photograph and declare that its "three-ness" does not intend to marginalize "nos personnél." On the contrary: Crude Futures needs more posts by people who aren't ffffsdfdsfreewrwererwwrs.