we exist in a world where the fear of illusion is real
I listened to The Tea Party1 a fair bit around the turn of the century. I still have a certain amount of memory-linked affection for the music, but I basically don’t listen to it anymore and my thoughts about it are generally along the lines of “oh, past self, you were wrong about things sometimes”.
So today when I saw Chris Ott describe them as “Ontario’s most successful ethno-Zeppelin Goth act”, and their early albums as “a bloated but occasionally curious carousel of rock melodrama, a watered-down God Machine with fatuous stadium hooks to rival Collective Soul”…
…I enjoyed it quite a lot.
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The band, not the far-right political activists who didn’t exist yet. ↩
Being @FakeJaronLanier is consistently perplexing.
Arlen: I love the way they expect the fake one to be more aware.
Arlen: But if the real Jaron lanier WERE to have an account, what would he twett
insomnius: “this is stupid”
insomnius: “all of you are stupid for even using this thing”
Arlen: Omg, missed this: https://twitter.com/annasternoff/status/331442202934910976
insomnius: “I hate dril”
To the credit of the twitter user pictured above, at least they aren’t assuming that @FakeJaronLanier is the real Jaron Lanier being coy. A great many of them do. Why? We just don’t know.
Not that I have The Religion, but … god help me.
It’s been quite some time since I shared sleeping accommodations with any light sleepers. Judging by the unearthly noises I sometimes wake myself with in the middle of the night, I think that’s just as well.
Last night’s example, coming fifteen minutes at most after I’d fallen asleep,1 was a diabolical mashup of Bargeld (from 0:27, if the link doesn’t work right) and the Lemongrab impression at the top of this post, which resonated in all the bones of my face. My mouth wasn’t even open, which is probably symbolic or a metaphor or something.
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i.e. after just enough unconsciousness for my body and brain to feel like they’d just had a great power nap and it was time to be completely awake again. ↩
"The photographer chooses oddity, chases it, frames it, develops it, titles it."
— Susan Sontag, On Photography.
Just read a sentence starting with “Alongside the predicable cult [desert island] books (Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, The Dice Man, A Confederacy of Dunces)…” and had an internal HA, because all three were strongly recommended to me by people who really wanted me to like them (the books, although really it extended to themselves as well).
I did not like any of the books.
It’s fair to say that all three people disappointed me as well.
"The persona in a nonfiction narrative is an unsurrogated one. Here the writer must identify openly with those very same defenses and embarrassments that the novelist or the poet is once removed from."
— Vivian Gornick, “The art of personal narrative”
