Archive for July, 2009

The Reason for the “Silence”

July 27, 2009

Hungover, in Baltimore at writing camp, eating nasty honey mustard and onion pretzels. There was a centipede in my room when I got here. I forgot Infinite Jest, and my pillow, but only the first is devastating. I want to write because my brain is buzzing but I still feel nauseated and so most likely will end up just watching Intervention until I pass out.

Sweet dreams, kiddos…

Is This Funny?

July 24, 2009

Isn’t it funny when technology tries to tell you what you like?

Right now, according to my Netflix, I ought to seriously considering renting…

Crime dramas from the 70s

Movies Starring Audrey Hepburn

Critically-acclaimed Visually-striking Cerebral movies (Is this a genre?!)

Dark movies based on real life

Suspenseful cult movies

chinatownOkay, so maybe I’ve seen (and enjoyed) half the movies on this list, but I still think my iPod has this conspiracy where it makes happy songs come on my shuffle when I am in NO MOOD to be cheered up.

As Promised, Ladies and Gentlemen…Jim Jones!

July 24, 2009

Okay, so, long story short, I found the Jim Jones death speech online. Some of you may think my morbidity knows no bounds.

But I think it’s just fascinating.

“…A thing which has not been understood inevitably reappears; like an unlaid ghost, it cannot rest until the mystery has been solved and the spell broken.”

(Sigmund Freud)

Image Craving

July 23, 2009
Petah Coyne's Little Ed and Margaret

Petah Coyne's Little Ed and Margaret

Petah Coyne is a sculptor who works with flowers, birds, and wax, and deals with issues of femininity and death.  Okay, sure.  At least it’s not mockumentary.

Jesting, Infinitely, Part…I Mentioned Infinite, Right?

July 23, 2009

Mario Incandenza, the multiply-challenged middle Incandenza bro, is my new guru.

“[Mario’s] prayers take almost an hour and sometimes more and are not a chore.  He doesn’t kneel.  It’s more like a conversation.  And he’s not crazy, it’s not like he hears anybody or anything conversing back with him, Hal’s established.

Hal had asked him when he’ll start coming back to their room to sleep, which made Mario feel good.

He keeps trying to imagine Madame Psychosis — whom he imagines as being very tall — lying in an XL beach chair on a beach smiling and not saying anything for days, resting.  But it doesn’t work very well.

He can’t tell is Hal is sad.  He is having a harder and harer time reading Hal’s state of mind or whether he’s in good spirits.  This worries him.  He used to be able to sort of preverbally know in his stomach generally where Hal was and what he was doing, even if Hal was far away and playing or if Mario was away, and now he can’t anymore.  Feel it.  THis worries him and feels like when you’ve lost something important in a dream and you can’t even remember what it was but it’s important.  Mario loves Hal so much it makes his heart beat hard.  He doesn’t have to wonder if the difference now is him or his brother because Mario never changes.

He hadn’t told the Moms he was going to walk around after he left her office after their interface: Avril usually tries in a nonintrusive way to discourage Mario from taking walks at night, because he doesn’t see well at night, and the areas around the E.T.A. hill are not the best neighborhood, and there’s no skirting the fact that Mario would be easy prey for just about anybody, physically.  And though one perk of Familial Dysautonomia [inability to feel pain very well] is a relative physical fearlessness, Mario keeps to a pretty limited area during insomniacal strolls, out of deference to Avril’s worry.  He’ll sometimes walk around the grounds of the Enfield Marine P.H.H. at the bottom of the hill’s east side because they’re pretty much enclosed, the gruonds are, and he knows a couple of the E.M. Security officers from when his father got them to portray Boston police in his whimsical Dial C for Concupiscence; and he likes the E.M. grounds at night because the different brick houses’ window-light is yellow lamplight and he can see people on the ground floors all together playing cards or talking or watching TP.  He also likes whitewashed brick regardless of its state of upkeep.  And a lot of the people in the different brick houses are damaged or askew and lean hard to one side or are twisted into themselves, through the windows, and he can feel his heart going out into the world through them, which is good for insomnia.  A woman’s voice, calling for help without any real urgency — the Moms laughing or screaming at night — sounds from a darkened upper window.  And across the little street that’s crammed with cars everybody has to move at 0000h. is Ennet’s House, where the Headmistress has a disability and had had a wheelchair ramp installed and has twice invited Mario in during the day for a Caffeine-Free Millenial Fizzy, and Mario likes the place: it’s crowded and noisy and none of the furniture has protective plastic wrap, but nobody notices anybody else or comments on a disability and the Headmistress is kind to the people and the people cry in front of each other.  The inside of it smells like an ashtray, but Mario’s felt good both times in Ennet’s House because it’s very real; people are crying and making noise and getting less unhappy, and once he heard somebody say God with a straight face and nobody looked at them or looked down or smiled in any sort of way where you could tell they were worried inside.”

I think I’ve reached the “exhaustive account of a tennis match” mentioned in Dave Eggers’ foreword, so don’t expect an update from DFW-land

Woah Woah WOAH!

July 23, 2009

So I’m chilling, minding my business, cleaning my room, and there’s this documentary about People’s Temple playing on the television in the background. (I much prefer television as background noise these days, things I’ve seen usually, so I don’t have to pay close attention. Music just isn’t doing it for me.) So this particular documentary…I’ve seen three-quarters of it, like, a billion times, so I’m zoning out, organizing shoes, throwing stuff away, and the moment I decide to zone in, I hear…

“The first time I met Jim Jones was Easter 1953. My mother-in-law, Edith Cordell, had a monkey and it (very brief pause) hung itself, and she wanted to replace the monkey and so she looked in the Indianapolis Star, and in that Indianapolis Star was Jim Jones’ ad that he had some monkeys to sell.”

WHAT!? Never has a more ridiculous sentence been spoken.

More Jim Jones tomorrow…sleep well!


July 22, 2009

After posting last night’s tattoo montage, I saw a freakishly beautiful girl on the subway this morning with the elephant-in-the-snake (colored in) tattooed to her right forearm!

I think it’s weird to look at which posts are viewed the most. Apparently Blake the Tom’s Shoe Guy is the most viewed. I heard he’s super Christian and only dates models. There goes that fantasy.

Goodnight, Moon

July 22, 2009

Putting on some sleeping music (see below) and pretending someone is stroking my hair. Even grown-ups want to be tucked in sometimes…

“Boots of Spanish Leather” by Bob Dylan

“Kolo Kolo” by Bobby McFerrin

“All I Need” by Air

“Julia” by The Beatles

“Tiger Mountain Peasant Song” by Fleet Foxes

“Further on Up the Road” by Johnny Cash

“River” by Joni Mitchell

“Chelsea Hotel No. 2” by Leonard Cohen

“Hey Joe” by Medeski, Martin and Wood

“Pink Moon” by Nick Drake

“Comptine D’un Autre Ete: L’Apres Midi” by Yann Tiersen

In your dream tonight, someone you love will hold your hand.

A Montage of Tattoos

July 22, 2009

…of The Little Prince.

literay-tattoo-the-little-princelittleprincetatThe little prince tattoosnaketatanotherprinceThe last one is my favorite.  Looking at pictures of tattoos makes me want another one.  Not that that should be surprising…

Scary Dispatch from Eastern Europe

July 21, 2009

My friend T lives in Lithuania (the reason for my visit there back in April) and he sent me this, to be disseminated amongst the more “aware” populations:

“OH! I was about to finish there, but realized I had an experience that I PROMISED to pass on to the civilized world. So I was talking to this Lithuanian woman, and she was criticizing the midwest – I was fine with it – she would fit right in over there. Anyway, she said something about how Americans are “racist” and I replied that it was certainly still a problem, but its easy for people like Lithuanians to make such accusations when their is absolutely no racial diversity in their country. I continued to point out that Lithuanian treatment of Jews and gays is pretty indicative of its overall low level of tolerance. She looked at me sternly and said – “well . . . I AGREE with that behavior.” I stood there dumbfounded momentarily, mostly just trying to understand how I ended up talking to someone so stupid. She continued on to tell me about how “the gays” have a secret manifesto and they plan on enslaving women and cloning only men (which means the female slaves would die off – seems like a waste – but i kept that to myself). Furthermore, according to my source, this plan was very realistic, because “everyone knows” how rich and influential “the gays” are . . . and how they have “infiltrated” the American government. I began laughing, because, well, how else do you react to something like that? But I have to say that part of me was petrified of the ignorance and self-assuredness in this woman’s speech. She clearly isn’t the only person with such views, and none of the Lithuanians standing around me shared my complete disgust (they didn’t defend her, but still seemed to be mulling over the discussion as if it were an interesting and complex debate – instead of one person spewing filth and the other trying desperately to digest what was being said without exploding). I eventually was able to control myself and told her that I can’t wait to tell my friends back home about her theory. Done and done. “