This is how my mind works.
Contact me: email@example.com
...And:Ask me anything
"…Why is it interesting for artists and poets to mechanically operate words and signs in a time when we carry computers in our pockets to do this for us? What’s more interesting is how that constant proximity to machines generates a visceral flow of language in and out of them all the time. Our material engagement with the world and with other people is mediated by networked computers, and yet it’s not fully determined by them. Our modes of engagement aren’t exactly equal to the computer’s. The constant proximity of machines reminds us that we’re not machines - that we’re weird and hungry and messy and queer and lonely and gross in ways that they (the machines) can’t be.
This is why self-design is less interesting than the selfie. Self-design makes a big, legible version of the self, while the selfie is its diminutive. It is the abject residue of personhood’s digital molting, images shed in square, flat flakes like bits of a snake’s skin. With the selfie, social media sites facilitate a naked openness of the self as it changes and grows. The personal brand flounders and drowns in the swampy reality of personhood…”
— Brian Droitcour, from “The Poet’s Materials”
Roland Hayes: Schubert, “Du Bist Die Ruh” (by Edmund StAustell)
…More on Pepper’s Ghost from the well named Phantasmechanics.
A Hill with a Hole : A. Brodsky & I. Utkin
More drawings in Brodsky and Utkin: The Complete Works.
woodcut by Howard Simon for ‘The Cherry Orchard’ by Chekhov
From Scalia’s dissent in LAWRENCE V. TEXAS back in 2003.
At least I know he’s having a terrible day. It makes me smile.
*Human Theremin with painted-on conductive ink.
Click through to Field & Stream for the full story and lots more pictures, but be warned, some of them are grisly:
The best way to untangle the pileup, Burke and Shields decided, was to sever the heads of two of the deer and remove their bodies; then the third deer would be removed intact, with the racks of the first two bucks still locked in its antlers.
(Hat tip to Radiolab listener Mercedes!)
This is now my house sigil.
Boards of Canada - Tomorrow’s Harvest Transmission.
Refractions of tomorrows youth.
…We’re all on the same page, here.
We walked several blocks to a massive metal building and took a rumbling elevator up five floors. Triggered by movement, the florescent lights above traced our progress through a maze of long sterile-white corridors, so bright it made my eyes ache. Nate found his unit. It was packed with repurposed boxes covered by images of fruit flies and fruit fly breeding equipment. Nate’s day job is to raise the insects for a cancer research laboratory.
“Oh God,” he cried, “I hope your manuscript is in there! Oh, Shit! There’s Death Bear stuff I know I wouldn’t have thrown out…”
“Like what?” I asked.
“A soldier,” Nate answered slowly, “gave me a bullet once… and implied that his girlfriend might have been killed in wartime. We met in a playground. I remember I started crying after I left him.”
Nate handed me a giant cartoon panda head and a chest protector. That was from the artist’s Punch Me Panda project where he invited angry strangers to pummel him. One by one, he passed armfuls of his half-wanted possessions to me - things not valuable enough to keep at hand and not worthless enough to throw away. I made a line with them, all the way down the corridor. Luckily, we were the only ones in the place. Every now and then, the lights cut out and we had to jump and wave our hands to turn them back on.