December 2010
1 post
Typing email addresses into the login page for a blog whose name I don’t even remember. But this is me, now, here, in Los Angeles, in 2010. Not then, there, in college in Chicago five years ago. Sense of self temporarily rendered weirdly contiguous.
I’m not constantly measuring my surroundings to myself now; I’m elsewhere. Either I live my life so far into the future I’m...
September 2007
4 posts
“shana tova umetukah”
July 2007
5 posts
This morning I found something irresistible on the beach. Not a commercial for an amusement park ride, that carried one passenger past a rapid sequence of Dali and Deitch images; or a Carter-era one-liner. (Like, what is it but crotch?) Or a beautifully lit Arthurian romance or its pink “other side.” (Pirates.) * The ultimate fantasy is to write about a fantasy, because fantasy is...
Having a service job is the bones. K introduced me to one of her friends, a frigid little apple from Vermont, over the holiday. “My name is Alex,” I said. “How can I help you?” I wanted to continue.
“I see her picture. I want to be able to weep like a child.”
Andy Lau: most wanted sperm in China →
What is the story of Rand’s The Fountainhead? It is not the story of politics.
The allegation that politics are politics is a fantasy. Politics are love, sexual love, unto stone. The authority to allocate the love and hopes of men and women into a regulated quantum.
Politics are not the practices of governance. These practices are, in all societies, a clever minority’s malign...
June 2007
4 posts
I had been accumulating and studying women all my life. Once, long. Until the delusion of love lost its power over me. And each casual conversation magnified my sense of the hollowness of the pursuit to which I had dedicated my adolescence. Caught, to pass time in the company of other people. There were the remaining hours of the week to think about. And a handful of mechanical distractions to...
Matthäuspassion
And then I watched her humiliate herself each day, each night, each morning, over each coffee, at each movie, when we slept in the same bed, in the same room, with the faces she made during love, by a man’s cheapest and most contemptible controls. I watched each smile, frown, tear, laugh; the conclusions of incomplete information. The young woman my lies betrayed was subjected to a growing...
We could bring any argument beyond the brink of reason, since we truly believed in the infiniteness of our love. Turning twenty, we looked into the interior of the parasol and I thought I saw the entire galaxy.
in service
Devices for disrupting the conventions of a closed fictional story intent on the creation of its own reality: How to corral the herd. Take Une Femme, specifically the lovemaking minuet between A Karina and Brialy, her lover: How to reproduce a touch so light. To construct from a bare apartment a night club, never-never land: How to adore objects with a camera. “Man dies in service of...
April 2007
8 posts
serial series gain in weepies
My nostalgia for the short story outputs into the circuit of nostalgia for the film. That output is fed into my nostalgia for C., who Audry reminds me of. The total forms a feedback loop when inputted into nostalgia for the film itself again, oscillating in gain dynamically scene to scene.
nerd as evolutionary program in the derivation of...
Word: formal system. Derivation: rules in logic applied.
Man’s World is: puzzle stated in such a way as to encourage exploration within a system— deriving theorems. But it is also stated in such a way as not to imply that working inside the system will necessarily yield fruit. Therefore it encourages oscillation between two modes of work, inside and outside.
For example: I...
“I’ve got a job to do. Where I’m going, you can’t follow. What...”
He’s running so far and so fast, and his heart is pumping so proud, that his thumbs spontaneously bleed. To pose a question Kundera might have: where is he running to? Of course he is a politician of the future, and he is late to a silicon rally.
Future Me →
“The essence of plot is a man, determined to scale a giant mountain, ultimately...”
Used to smoke a joint, carefully fix a drink, and watch children’s movies in the den. That particular state allowed me to fixate autistically on the most basic details of image language, shot construction, and cut flow; the effect was to make me, as an adolescent, yearn to express myself in drafting.
March 2007
7 posts
“To Venus, young men— to its great methanous bars … ! It is...”
GNU UEs: 1
A simple mobile phone app for pulling movie summaries off warwalk.
RING RING
Ru: Yo. You know what "Premonition" is about?
Da: That's the ah . . . movie with . . . ah, you know. She was in . . .
Ru: What about "Wild Hogs"
Da: I heard it's stupid. Dunno, tho.
Ru: I'm at the Loewes Michigan but I have no idea what movie to see.
The most basic summaries would save me hundreds of irritating calls to Da.
Ain't It Strange? Op-ed by Patti Smith →
SCI FI
Everyone is free to play the game of utopian poetics with different rules and different results: Working with tech jogs extropian thought experiments, like living in LA—with long summers, huge hills, open desert moments away— aroused luddite primitavist fantasies. When something like Baricco’s City tugs my dick in both directions, I get the feeling that the two impulses are...
“If you can hear a voice within you shouting, ‘You are not a...”
– Vincent Van Gogh, letter to Theo 1883
