Tuesday, November 04, 2003

fenomenum. i'm gonna think about john donne and cy twombly. and maybe i'm gonna paint on these canvasses i found. s. horworof it looks like the signature on one is, but maybe 'howard' sort of over-exuberantly expressed (messed-up). definitely and charmingly skool of gunky. some things quin doesn't like: cars grades spellcheck programs electric guitar tuners the geo-political implications of protestant theology as it is dangerously manifesting itself in the middle east articualated as it is to other blood-lusting institutions of religion all spawn of insane Father Abraham who had not the gumption to say: 'hey fuck you'. even for his baby boy. things quin likes: uh.. recreation cute girls cy twombly paintings (especially when someone actually says 'i could do this' or 'why is this art?' while quin is standing there though he has learned not to say anything because nobody ever believes he might know.) (but even though he sort of likes cy twombly paintings he notes twombly's been showing his stuff at gagosian's place and it's gonna hurt him in the end... get all those nasty damien hirst cooties on it. yucky...) from: we begin to look at cy twombly.... 3:43:08 PM  [Macro error: The file "E:\www\#itemTemplate.txt" wasn't found.]   comment []

X. it would be your contention that the current political malaise has been created, or allowed to happen, by a craven, know-nothing, spineless ART WORLD who have pushed voodoo totems of quite obviously useless potency upon rich children who have had their conceptual minds then so withered that paying attention to something else apparently they let in a muderous party of self and flesh hating thugs to rule this country to our maybe everlasting disaster now and certainly shame forever? q. yes. from: we begin to look at cy twombly..... 3:02:49 PM  [Macro error: The file "" wasn't found.]   comment []

i' m gonna have coins struck and on one side it's gonna be billy clinton and on the other side george bush. out of some poisonous mineral like lead. i'm going to sell them as "nasty charms of past horror to be put places where children cannot get them". no i'm not... i'm gonna do something else... but anyway it's gonna commemorate the fact that when i was coming up i learned that you can't trust either of those kinds of men.... poor wannabee play by the rule suitboys and rich preppy kids, both kinds are dangerous and faithless and apt to rat you out and beat on you if they see an opportunity... you want to hang in the high school of life hang with the losers and the drug dealers. we have become the world of warlords poor veblen fatalized (i think - finding anything of veblen besides 'the theory of the leisure class' is hard... i got some stuff on order -- i know, i know, i could go down the fucking library like i am apt to preach... but i'm old... all this is work is hard. money is working's grease. and i'm a wizened asshole that needs it -- note how howells' support turned veblen into a kind of social theory novelist -- easily re-printed {of course never taken very seriously...}) (SOMETIME I SHALL GET MORE VEBLEN UP AND SISSA WILL PUT UP MY COLORING OF A LION/PORTRAIT OF LEO CASTELLI... ALL THIS COMES MAYBE BEFORE I DIE... dying being the ultimate sales gimmick in the science of memory... y'all want to get your bets in before my ball falls down.) i have noted before that roman catholics and jews make me sick. this is because it has been my experience that you give a roman catholic or a jew any money - no matter how hip they pretend to be - they want to move someplace like washington, connecticut and pretend that they're episcopalians. it is a phenonemum too weird to be believed like something out of quantum mechanics but you, child, do the research and see if it don't hold. it's too fucking weak especially because the shit the episcopalians push these days is cut to nothing. watery doodoo. i should be embarrased to settle for such. you want to catch yourself an episcopalian buzz you should slide by the life and words of mr. john donne. get yourself something you can get high on. get some of that high culture. bits of which my good wife is in the process of packaging up in my country punk settings... in easy to swallow capsulations, if you will... Roman Catholick and Jew Muslim and Hindoo All you Buddhists too! Silly believers with brains of doo doo. Put your conceptual minds Around the sound that winds Through all your world and chimes: "Hey, Kids it's Texas Time!" That's the game we gon' play now You best study the way how. 2:35:56 PM  [Macro error: The file "" wasn't found.]   comment []

the trick to being a godless hipster intellectual is living with your poor damned wife. that's a formal philosophical statement, children, which i would be known for if i were known for anything. think of the terrible histories (burroughs, althusser, etc.). but baby has done me proud this week producing a recording of my settings of mr. john donne (in the style of my mythological koo kowlick) and while the phone might be disconnected and bleak penury our chief characteristic domestic harmony is momentarilly descended. "you always quiet down if I can hand you something tangible," observes beth. "then hand me more tangibilities bitch," rail i. now those of you who have followed me at all will know i'm egotistical, consumed with preening vanity, manic, bitter, incredibly fucked up etc., etc. i would not have you, any of you, cut yourself to my pattern - oh i'm hoping, truly, you are not weaved so as it to be possible - but listen: what i yell at baby i would scream at the world, even though the world is not half my flesh in the eyes of the law: "beth, bitch, sugar: judith aaron (who is dead now but was director of carnegie hall) max anderson (fired now but once director of the whitney), those suit motherfuckers are going to stand by you never. they owe their loyalty to a class you ain't gonna be. purge your heart of the habit of looking to any institution extant of knowlege and culture for support or love for they are only interested in your slavery. teachers and ministers, curators and professors, they are just the smiling janus face of policemen and soldiers. pigs and thugs. i have read their paper. i have heard their speech. their public speech and their private speech. (i have picked up their crying children. i have carried their parents to the toilet.) you want something to sell, baby, sell me. i'm more likely to pay back." i have surely written this story before but i like it so i'll do it again: morton feldman was sleeping in the back seat of the car and he and john cage and maybe merce were driving back from something they had done and for all i know they were in the model a ford that cage drove over rauschenberg's empty paper and feldman snorts and wakens dreamily and announces: "now that it's all so easy, there's so much to do." and then he goes back to sleep. 12:12:09 PM  [Macro error: The file "" wasn't found.]   comment []