Archive for the ‘Conspiracy Theories’ Category

On Christine Quinn

July 11, 2014

Not that anyone particularly cares at this point, but there was a bit of an oh-how-brave reaction when Christine Quinn, who was then running for mayor, released a memoir about her various obstacles: homosexuality, bulimia, and alcoholism (wow, what a trio!)  But if you think carefully, it’s not brave at all, but rather incredibly safe, because it’s following the clear cultural trajectory toward an end where strife is the only worthwhile currency.  I will bet anyone who is willing that it’s not long before a disgraced Republican, who was fervently anti-marriage equality but then was caught tapping his foot in a bathroom, comes out with a memoir, goes on Oprah and cries, and uses it all to launch a new campaign.  (Oh wait… Anthony Weiner kind of did that already, minus the gay part.)

“What makes us authentic, then, as Jews, homosexuals, Hindus, or Chinese, is our sense of trauma, and thus our status as victims, which cannot be questioned.  The vulgar Freudianism of the view is remarkable in an age of debunking Freud.  In fact, Freud’s endeavors were themselves a brilliant product of late-nineteenth century identity politics.  To secular, bourgeois, assimilated German and Austrian Jews, psychoanalysis was a logical route to self discovery.  What Freud did for his Viennese patients is in a way what Edmund White and other identity politicians are now doing for their various ‘communities,’ and real politicians are borrowing their language.”

~Ian Buruma, “The Joys and Perils of Victimhood,” from the New York Review of Books

For KRS

July 10, 2014

“On February 14, I received a telegram from Buenos Aires telling me to return immediately, for my father was ‘in no way well.’  God forgive me, but the prestige of being the recipient of an urgent telegram, the desire to point out to all of Fray Bentos the contradiction between the negative form of the news and the positive adverb, the temptations to dramatize my sorrow as a feigned a virile stoicism, all distracted me from the possibility of anguish.”  ~Jorge Luis Borges, “Funes the Memorius”

YOU GUYS

July 7, 2014

I cannot believe I forgot to blog about my genius art project with my crafty friend LM.  It’s been on Etsy for ages and for reasons completely beyond me, did not manage to go viral.  For your consideration: Carcosan Mirror.

Its shape is that of time.

Its shape is that of time.

Hello there.

Hello there.

And here is the genius copy I wrote for it:

This mirror is 1.5” in diameter. Gazing into it, you can see a little more than one eye, in addition to the depths of your dark, depraved soul. Perfect for the anti-natalist in your life who doesn’t care about her hairdo, or the hard-drinking chain smoker who’d rather contemplate the non-linear nature of time than watch football with his buddies. Looks great on bare, slightly discolored walls.

If shipping domestically, mirror will arrive between 3-7 business days, and arrive over and over again as you eternally wander around the flat circle of time that is your life.

Questions: email Dora Lange at itinerantdaughterandson [!at] gmail.com. PLEASE NOTE that the manufacturers are on vacation in the Bayou until Sunday, March 9th, and will fill orders after they return… if they do at all.

Enjoy?

In case you want to grab one before my listing expires, here is the link.

The Gibbons Twins

July 7, 2014

It’s been a while since I spent some time with my favorite crazy twins, the Gibbons sisters.  June and Jennifer––whose ridiculously bizarre bio can be found here––were, a British correspondent of mine told me, a favorite subject of The Manic Street Preachers, whose music sounds a bit quaint now but who were, in the eighties and nineties, considered the apex of dark.  Below, MSP’s song “Tsunami,” about the Gibbons twins.  (Someone please track down a copy of Pepsi-Cola Addict for me!)

“Tsunami”

For you my dear sister
Holding onto me forever
Disco dancing with the rapists
Your only crime is silence

Can’t work at this anymore
Can’t move I want to stay at home
Tied up to all these crutches
Never far from your hands

Tsunami tsunami
Came washing over me
Tsunami tsunami
Came washing over me
Can’t speak, can’t think, won’t talk, won’t walk

Doctors tells me that I’m cynical
I tell them that it must be chemical
So what am I doing girl
Cry into my drink I disappear

Eyes for teeth grating over me
Bring down the shadows of my mind
Sleep and breathe under our sheets
Inhale the anxiety in – between, in – between, in – between, in – between

Tsunami tsunami
Came washing over me
Tsunami tsunami
Came washing over me
Tsunami tsunami
Came washing over me
Tsunami tsunami
Came washing over me

Through September under the weather

In – between, in – between, in – between, in – between

Tsunami tsunami
Came washing over me
Tsunami tsunami
Came washing over me
Tsunami tsunami
Came washing over me
Tsunami tsunami
Came washing over me

Take the GI’s I will have the spies

I Want To Read This

June 23, 2014

“My generation was obsessed with the distinction between theory and practice––I knew a man in California whose doctoral dissertation was devoted to ‘Theory and Practice in theory and practice.'” ~Tony Judt, “Girls, Girls, Girls,” Republished in The Memory Chalet

Horoscope

June 18, 2014

Apparently, the Post thinks this is what’s going on for me today:

“Even if you are the kind of Taurus who keeps your emotions under control you will be much more outgoing than usual today. There are so many good things going on in your life that you’ve got to stand up and tell the whole world.”

Have they not been outside yet?!  Nothing good can happen in this heat.

Chats With the Bro

June 17, 2014
me:  i’m going to see the fault in our stars
leaving in like 30 minutes
and i can’t wait
i would rather just leave now
part of this is because i am going to get a bagel first
it’s like the perfect afternoon
IS:  oh my god
you are about to have the best afternoon
wait is that the movie with the cancer patients?
me:  yes
IS:  oh my god
me:  it’s like dawson’s creek with cancer patients
IS:  catharsis
me:  right?

Good Company

June 17, 2014

“As later published versions make clear, she was capable of returning again and again to this primal scene of childhood, redrawing it in an almost infinite variety of colours: sometimes erotic and romantic, sometimes brutal and grotesque. Retelling the same stories; going back repeatedly to the substance that she knew was destroying her: these repetitive acts, some generative and some profoundly destructive, made the critic Edmund White wonder if Duras was not in the grips of what Freud had called the repetition compulsion. “I’m acquainted with it, the desire to be killed. I know it exists,” she once told an interviewer, and it is this intensity, this absolute and uncompromising vision, that sets her work apart. At the same time, this statement seems to shine a light on how she used alcohol: as a way of giving in to her own masochism, her suicidal ideation, while simultaneously anaesthetising herself from the savagery she saw at work everywhere, filling the world.”

~Olivia Laing, on alcoholic female writers.  Seems Duras AND Edmund White were also moved by the compulsion to repeat.  Sometimes, you have to give Freud his due.

Feeling Sick

June 16, 2014

I feel sick––like, physically unwell, although I’m also rather sure that I’m making this up in order to avoid certain writing projects that seem daunting right now.  I keep moving from room to room to see if the change of environment will make me feel better––Nabokov called this a fallacy, and so far my anecdotal evidence tells me he was correct.  I wish there was a large, clean, well-lit library around here that was open 24/7 so I could assure myself that I could stay up all night working, but alas, there are only bars.

In the meantime, I’m thinking of putting myself into the kind of treatment Paul Hammers’ mother does in Bullett Park.

“I went into my room to unpack.  The plaster wall was thin and I could hear my mother talking through the partition.  At first I thought someone had joined her after I’d left but then I could tell by the level of her voice that she was talking to herself.  I could hear her clearly.  ‘My father was a common quarry worker, often unemployed.  I had read somewhere that the trajectory of a person’s career could be plotted from their beginnings and given such humble beginnings I thought that I accepted them I would end up as a waitress in a diner or at best a small-town librarian.  I kept trying to tamper with my origins so that I would have more latitude for a career.  Having been raised in a small town I was terrified of being confined to one…’

I went down the hall and opened her door.  She had taken off her shoes and was lying on her bed, fully dressed, talking to the ceiling or the air.

‘What are you doing, Mother?’

‘Oh, I’m analyzing myself,’ she said cheerfully.  ‘I thought I might benefit from psychoanalysis.  I went to a doctor in the village.  He charged a hundred schillings an hour.  I simply couldn’t afford this and when I said so he suggested that I get rid of my car and cut down on my meals.  Imagine.  Then I decided to analyze myself.  Now, three times a week, I lie down on my bed and talk to myself for an hour.  I’m very frank.  I don’t spare myself any unpleasantness.  The therapy seems to be quite effective and, of course, it doesn’t cost me a cent.  I still have three quarter of an hour to go and if you don’t mind leaving me alone…’  I went out and closed the door but I stood in the hall long enough to hear her say: ‘When I sleep flat on my back my dreams are very linear, composed and seemly.  I often dream, on my back, of a Palladian villa.  I mean an English house built along the lines of Palladio.  When I sleep in a prenatal position my dreams are orotund, unsavory and sometimes erotic.  When I sleep on my abdomen…'”

Study for “A Found Text”

June 12, 2014

Copyright ID 20o9

Not my finest, hence the "study."

Not my finest, hence the “study.”