Orgrease Crankbait
Orgrease Crankbait: “This reminds me of a male squirrel.”
photo: der arme poet (the poor poet), by spitzweg,
Writing for Specter Literary Magazine, former fwriction : review contributor Brett Elizabeth Jenkins asks one of the most difficult questions, one I struggle with daily: how do you balance life and writing?
What sucks is that most of us, if we call ourselves writers, don’t get paid for what we love to do. Some of us enjoy teaching, and we do it. And some of us really love it. But some of us just love writing and can’t find anybody willing to dole out tons of money to us just so we can sit in a room all day without having to see other humans.
How strange and wonderful to discover a new (yet old) author & love him so much. “First Women In Love” is the first book I ever read by Lawrence. I was reminded of him through Forster’s “Aspects of the Novel” (EMF loves DHL), and found my copy (which actually is the first version of “Woman in Love”) in a Berlin bookstore yesterday &couldn’t stop reading it. Lawrence sets up an almost perfect continuous dream. The way he uses language to draw life, conflict and characters, is astonishing. The complexity of stylistic elements made me feel as if I was dancing on a high wire with my feet on fire. Listen to the first mention of Gerald Crich’s mother: …
Photo: the last traditional publisher. See also Mark’s article on Huff Post (Oct 2010) or click image to go straight slideshare presentation.
Grief is paralyzing after a break up. I don’t feel any forward momentum. The sadness is unrelenting and overwhelming. I am living in a black hole. Remember the sheet? The sheet can’t break (the sheet is a metaphor my dear). I am so fat and low and sunk that everything is attracted towards me. I am a pitcher plant. I am an emotional pitcher plant. I will lock you in with guilt and fear and guile. Oh my poor darling fly. I am rolling you out from next to my v key. I have crushed you with my finger tips. I will warm you gently back to life. I hope you are sleeping well. I hope you are eating well. I hope you are well. I wish you no harm. I will wait. You will be attracted towards me. You will speed up. Time will slow down as you fall towards me. My mass is infinite now. Your acceleration is relative to my mass. Your acceleration is infinite. Your speed is infinitely fast. Time slows down is relation to this, dear. Time is infinitely slow for you now. You are forever falling towards me. You are forever being pulled towards me and I watch you in super olympic slo-mo. The closer you get the more time we have been apart. As you get larger and I fall back in love with you are falling back out of love. I am low dear. I am low. Your first kiss after me plays out for me over about 10 hours. I watch it all. I get a comfy chair. I buy popcorn. I make popcorn once the popcorn I bought is gone. I buy the popcorn you like and realise you are not there to share it with me. I film your first kiss and keep it projected in a loop above me. I heighten the colours, so I can kid myself it matters. I watch it against the far away, Brownian motion of the Phsh who swarm around you. I chuck little bits of me up and out towards you and they pit the surface around you. I want you as whole as I can have you when you return, backwards, slipshod, poorly shod, me carrying you in impractical shoes.
secret poem
Girl in a green bikini top
fishes for the small pills
in her sugar bowl.
She gets stoned,
takes off his pants,
ties a leash around his neck,
nails him to the wall.
“You stay here,” she says,
closes the door. Through it,
she sings to him. He
ejaculates on the cowboy boots
she’s had since she was sixteen.
Then he sleeps, leans into
her mess of dresses. Girl
smears her arms in ink.
She covers her stomach in glue,
lies belly-down in the dead
garden’s dirt—a colony of ants.
She sets out cans inside the door frame,
silver and rust.
Samantha wears a white smock.
She sits down on the rug.
She is asleep.
dead. She walks through the house
with dirt-colored feet,
« Cloud Cities is Tomás Saraceno’s largest solo presentation to date. It features approximately 20 of his balloon models in various sizes. But instead of being able only to look at the installation, visitors can actually enter the two largest bubbles, that sit and float like soap bubbles in the former railway hall of the museum. Via ladders they can access the transparent balloons halfway of the structure and then walk or just lie on a flexible, transparent floor. From underneath it looks like they are walking on air. »
[exhibition at hamburger bahnhof, berlin, from sept 14, 2011]
Wunderkammer Magazine exists to provide a thoughtful examination of culture and society. It is founded on the belief that in order to fully understand what it means to be human, we must understand the era in which we live. …
Boy: «Look, Freddy, your article on Franzen, ‘Robot Writer’, appeared today!» Bot: “Click.”
via GalleyCat:
The New York Times revealed today that trade publisher Hanley Wood and sports journalism site The Big Ten Networkuse Narrative Science software to write computer-generated stories.In all, 20 customers use the software–but Narrative Science would not reveal the complete client list. Hanley Wood digital media and market intelligence unit president Andrew Reid explained in the story: “The company had long collected the data, but hiring people to write trend articles would have been too costly.”
Photo: via Jim Lindermann, dull tool dim bulb.