from fearsome

Which Founding Father Are You?

i bought a book at chapters today. it wasnt at any of the indepedents,i need to read it by tomorrow. i felt sick with guilt, the company destroying orlandos ,2nd fiddle, athabasca etc. here. conveinece over commuinty-im just as bad as the next guys.

a good teacher, uses proper material to teach children how not to hate, gets in shit

He draws all the time, when he isn't smoking and talking, which he also does a lot. He has a shrewd sense of what his drawing is worth to a greedy world: these notebooks include plenty of sketches across two pages, and are done on both sides, so "they can't tear them up" and mount them for selling one day.

Todays Gaurdian on Hockney. Andrew Morrow

it goes on to discuss how conserative he has become, not reactionary, but how calm and wonderful his images seem, and how he no longer needs to take the photos or make things bigger or more erotic or more about class and money or geography.
the image seems enough, which can be connected to his return to england from socal, originally to pose for lucien freud, he has a big well lit studio near hackney, and walks thru the park and he seems happy to be an old man coming home. this is not a bad thing.

im in the middle of a pop star crush.

You're the burning heat of a bridal suite in use
Youre the breasts of Venus
Youre King Kongs Penis
Youre Self Abuse
Censored Verse from Anything Goes
Cole Porter

thoughts:
Cole really wasnt as sophistacated about fucking as he pretended.
Is King Kong about the latent fears of Miscegantion
Breasts of Venus/King Kongs Penis- gender switch quick and fast, brilliant.

dinner good, drinks post dinner good, cake at ashleys apt. good.

Sesame Street isn't just there to make adolescent indie kids feel fuzzily nostalgic, you know - it does have an actual educational purpose!
-- Tom
on the hiv postitive muppet-ilxor.

What thou lovest well remains,
the rest is dross
What thou lov'st well shall not be reft from thee
What thou lov'st well is thy true heritage
Whose world, or mine or theirs
or is it of none?
First came the seen, then thus the palpable
from Canto LXXXI

Pounds last Cantos are heartbreaking because he recognizes the evil he committed and begs forgiveness :
That I lost my center
fighting the world.
The dreams clash
and are shattered—
and that I tried to make a paradiso
terrestre.
(notes for canto CXX)

when i talk to fr stephen he has the most tender way of dealing with me, and i do not become angry, i find myself calmed. i dont think its an obligation for him, i think he likes my company. he calls me ee cummings, and he calls dickens light reading. im meeting him next week, i think i need to say confession.

To be a conseartive christian and to be queer is impossible, i cannot change my queerness and cannot leave christ.

also the new wave aesthic was all about black and white- goddards cintemographer has said "nothing in black and white is ugly", the cinemascope pleasures of vadim were opposed to that

i am currently iming the head of the mountain goats, about poetry mostly.

i have buddies travelling all over mid america in the last month or so, and i often plug the name of their city and art musuem to look at the collections- often they have highlights instead of whole collections, but how varied and wonderful those highlights are :

Birin

thinking about the two classes i am taking and pomo in general, i wrote this to my new sci-fi prof.

I am worried that the class concentrates too much on the text, I am so used to reading under and around book, not noticing if they are "good" or "bad" but important and not important (and even then that sets up a binary)
and arguing for an exteme empriicsm in my christian scripture class (ie nothing is knowable)

email from the vv., no such luck- content not style.

cannot find the phone # for the resturant of the birthday dinner, and the adress may be for another rest. scared that this will be a fuck up- the bowling is already a kybosh, and i cant afford the treat bags, and i dont know how many people are coming b/c i havent had one rsvp- and a bunch of people are working or broke.
god this will be disaster.

walking to the bus from my sci fi class with an aqutience, i asked him what he was doing on friday, and he said "im not gay" fuck that pissed me off

got a hand knit scarf from glenys today, and its lovely and maroon

i was going to post a long entry on my dad but he might read this and its private

youve tried science/youve tried art/but you cant break a broken heart

Stephin Meritt

gateway thurs.

So, now that we’ve got a war against terrorism, Bush, Blair and company are
tying it all together. It’s not a war against an ideology or tactic but a
war against those evil people who brought the twin towers down, so it’s all
OK. Saddam Hussein has ties to al Quaeda and is a terrorist, those in
Chechnya have ties to al Quaeda and are terrorists, those who bombed Bali,
Muslim professors, drug dealers—all of them are terrorists who hate America,
who are tied with radical Islam and need to be dealt with post haste.

There’s a problem here—well, several, but the most immediate is a really
lousy definition of terror. What qualifies? The West has tied ideas of
liberation to violence. The second amendment of the US constitution calls
for the right of a population to rise up with "well formed militias." France
celebrates Bastille Day as a national holiday—the storming of the Bastille
was the start of a revolution that contained something they called the
"Reign of Terror." We still talk of this kind of violence—in a speech given
this month to a military base in Virginia, Bush talked about liberating the
Iraqi people with bombs.

Terrorism is an ideological distinction: it means "those people who use the
tools of statecraft without owning a state," and they’re often in
desperation. People talk about the suicide bombers in Palestine as
terrorists, but they commit violence because their attempts to gain land
have been suppressed. The non-violent attempts at solving this problem—the
Camp David accords under Carter and the agreements between Rabin and Arafat
under Clinton—have not been effective, but that’s mostly because peaceful
solutions rarely work.

If a peaceful solution was successful in the twentieth century it was
because they were the safer of two options for a government nervous about
insurgency- Look at Gandhi or Martin Luther King Junior or Mandela. Who was the FBI more likely to give concessions to? Martin Luther King, with his utopian vision and non violence, or Malcolm X, who gave a speech called /The Ballot Box or The Bullet/ (to reduce things to their most simple, he favored the bullet) or divided people into "House Niggers" and "Field Niggers"—those who gave in to the dominant racism and those who fought against it? Or there was the South Western Township of Johannesburg, an all black forced ghetto where those who refused to revolt were disciplined with burning tires around their neck, and Winnie Mandela was one of the perpetuators. Even Gandhi was more peaceful at his time and place, the more dangerous option were Hindu nationalists who threatened to blow up trains and mentions. This is not to suggest that violence is a positive, just that it tends to be effective because the state understands it, and perhaps it is only because there were two options made these pacifist movements effective.

The little difference between the violence of the state and the violence of those who are stateless, and the proof that combat is effective as liberation is disheartening to those who work for a peaceful solution. The only way to prevent violence is to recognize that it exists for Bush and for Arafat, for J Edgar Hoover and for Malcolm X, but to make it and us versus them, a good use of violence against an evil use of violence is absurd. What we need to do, and the only way to progress is to deny all violence. This will force a third way, between those who have and those who have not and cause genuine change.

from telford at it was 3 am, he moved me- why did i email him >

January 6, 2003
I got quite an e-mail this morning from Anthony Easton:


You don't know me, but I was surfing tonight – thinking about God, wanting to abandon him and wondering why after reading Foucault, Derrida and Lacan, after absorbing the postmodern ethos, why I still go to church – why I can't jettision my faith.


I don't have an answer, and I don't have an answer to why I am Christian in the first place. I read your essay by random (by the holy spirit?) and I wanted to tell you that it moved me to tears, I'm not sure it changed my life or my thinking-I still struggle, but maybe it was the first pebble in a landslide.

Well, I'm glad I know you now. After reading one of your posts, I have a feeling the Theological FAQ entry you read was this one of mine. In that case, it must have been the Holy Spirit, because I don't know who else could see you through reading such a rambling, rhetorically clumsy post. (Then again, if you've made it through Derrida....)


Maybe your remarkable journey has brought you to Church and refuses to leave, despite your exposure to all that continental postmodernist chaff, because in your heart you know the liturgy is more real than trendy nihilistic lit-crit, more real than atomizing and isolating modern liberalism from which those schools still drink so deeply, more real than all the fleeting capital and social power and lust that consume our attention and finally our souls, more real than the bland sentimentality that passes for spirituality in our culture, more real than all those who thunder with rants and bombs and rolled eyes against its small but insistent voice.



"Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ will come again." What else needs to be said? The finest minds of the West say nothing comparable to those three staggering claims. I think you still go to Church because God draws you there, to hear and eat and drink and live those visible words with your brothers and sisters, to give you life and purpose and patience with our world's agonies while you and all the other people of God wait and work together for creation's perfection.



Jesus loves you, Mr. Easton. No deconstructionist can take him off of that cross, or take him away from the Father's bosom, or take the taste of that eucharistic wine from your lips, or take you off his mind. Nothing can separate us from the love of Christ. Live in that love and you will truly live. Leave it and, well, you're stuck with Foucault.



Thanks so much for your e-mail. My apologies if I'm being too presumptuous or preachy. I do hope a landslide is coming. My family will be praying for it. Write any time!

My idea:
Goddard(sp) wanked over american film, bogart et al, but felt guilty and recreated it- or alluded to it subtly, or almost mocked it.
Vadim loved american film from the gut, he made films with tits and ass and with pleasure. with american actresses not as a way to analyze but as a way to say thank you.

compare how Vadim uses Fonda in Barberlla- as an english speaking sex kitten as a blonde bombshell as the authentic version ( ie only americans were blonde bombshells) of bardot ( in fact he recreated And God Created Women in 1979 with DeMornay) with how Goddard uses Seberg (as a francophone, as one who is masculinzed, as one who talks instead of fucks, who rejected hollywood)

I got the Vadim gig for senses of Cinema, hashing it out with Dave he called my idea about Fonda vs Seberg Good. i was tickled pink.

DOAs discontinuing the columns. I wish i cared more, but frankly glad to get it over with. Working on other things, sent something into the journal eds, and vv. southside call box will post something of mine next week, Toms mailing me me the moz peice back so I can rewrite it-why do i feel like shit ?

Hedieh Tehrani- a muslim and iranian, who has acted in some of the most moving films from its burgoning scene, and has become somewhat of a cult figure, goes out like she should- clad in full chador and is only on screen in full chador- that is unless she is on vaction.
When on vaction is she clad like this
This reminds me of an article i read in W or Dutch(memory shot, away from my boxes) about the new buyers of Coutre- and most of the buyers of risque or adventorus coutre (ie Galliono for Dior, JPG, LeCroix) are the wives of Saudi Princes

and also an article about the lingre counters in ridyah most expensive shops, where lace is not uncommon


what are the politics of this ?

got a discman from my ma for my birthday, and today was grey, a day i wanted to isolate myself, pretend i was the only boy in the world. it worked. the walkman did at least. house bad, one assignment done, worried about party- i had 10 last year, ill be happy with 6 this year.

and a house to look at

three assignments due really close to each other. am writing again. nice email from andy d. invites to pick up from dave, look hotter then a half fucked fox in forrest fire. felicty wants to make a calendar out of the pics of me anf bri in van.

The difference between rock and pop is that rock keeps dying and coming back, while pop goes on forever" — thus spake one of the pretty kids in Westlife, almost exactly 12 months ago.
Or was it Boyzone? Either way, I love it.

-- mark s

see bootlegs led me to cut ups, and cut ups led me to a
cut up machine

two of my blog entries randomly cut up: thanks to brian an an interview i am doing about his bootlegs

These are portals as well. They palm pilot attached to a joystick. It provide a couple of things If you moves left,right,up and down. It needs to belong to the group in question then be used with great delicacy and can they are "ways to find your own control timbre and direction of sound . Fathers" in the words of Borges. As On the right is a mini synth. a poet who considers himself a lyricist with about 16 keys that produces acoustic i found Ginsberg and Whitman important first rather then elctronic sound. Over the Shoulder steps. But without Anthologies i could not like a Cello Fret is another keyboard claim Thom Gunn or Edward Carpenter or that thru an apple program manipultes the Frank O'Hara . If you do not belong sounds and adds new ones. By direction to the group then they provide entrance. I am sorry if my blog did collect three kinds of anthologies. Maybe collect not make sense . I meant i is too precious. Accumlate . The first was heading to the University for a are the huge omnibuses put out by concert. I got in on Claireview with the major academic publishers . you can a full train. But there was a pick up ten dollar copies of the hockey game at the Cloiseum and the big ones. Freshman shed them like a train was empty for half my trip. snake shakes skin. After the english course The concert itself had 20 people while si through , they do not need across town the hockey game had 1000 them anymore. There are a few interesting times that. Sometimes how far you are things about these books. The first is away from other people is made beyond it seems to be a portal. An clear . The concert Itself was magnifcent. There easy way to find connections. You discover was a whole new instrument and a Anne Sexton in Heath because it reminds midi manipulater and a jazz master playing you of Sylvia Plath in Nortons. Then counterpoint to a tape and a disklavier you find a copy of Anne Sextons . It was an maazing hybrid a complete poems that has a forward by way to find the warmth and richness

happy new year, i want to write for a living next y ear and work on being more civilized.

the bank machine ate my card and i have no id on me, i need money for bus pass etc. have money in account. no acess.

that fight ruined my fun. dinner w. sean and taras wedding and dinner with glenys peter david and grame, a long food fueled three dats of entertainment ruined by one man yelling at how much he wanted me out of his house, and all of my rational arguements about notice and suits went out the window.

trying to gain order and power, a bellicose man yelled at me today, yelled that i was just a boarder, yelled about my sins,. this was the house that i was supposed to get room and board in, and the house where i showered at the uni, did laundry at the laundrymat and ate out to avoid her and him, this was the house i came home at 1 am to avoid them , this was the house where i borrowed the phone and the land lady left notes after every pecadiallo, this was the place where she was rude to my guests, telling them that i wasnt home when i was, this was the house where a cheque bounced under mysterious circumstances, where i broke a window and a bed, where she didnt answer my questions. this is a house where the owner kicked me out two days before christmas, this was a house where i was never sure how but always sure i fucked up. this was a house where i loved the neighbourhood, close to the mall and the library, equidstatn b/w downtown and campus. this si another house i failed at.

also taras wedding then dinner with glenys today. more later.

at home, kicked out. shame.

to make up for it, here is a picture of me holding a two foot dildo

dinner with sean from toronto, he bought me dinner, and a cd (MOMUS TIME LORD, CREATION RECORDS CA 1996, PIERRE ET GILLES COVER, FIVE BUCKS)
wandered arround whyte snapping pics, talking, gossipping. had a good time- met capri on the street. im happy.

i looked at this really nice place today, but its 359 and a share a studio, and a small studio at that. has a pool and a gym, which i will never use, and a study room, which i will never use and a movie theater which i may use.

herb ritts died today at the age of 50, from causes that may be aids related.

i forgot my cds in steves car, which means there wwith tom, which means he has to shuck them arround hells 1/2 acre. i take advantage of that boy.

O Taste and See

The world is
not with us enough.
O taste and see

the subway Bible poster said,
meaning The Lord, meaning
if anything all that lives
to the imagination's tongue,

grief, mercy, language,
tangerine, weather, to
breathe them, bite,
savor, chew, swallow, transform

into our flesh our
deaths, crossing the street, plum, quince,
living in the orchard and being

hungry, and plucking
the fruit.

Denise Levertov 1971

Steve asked me whether i would perfer heaven or a loaf of bread in the context of a larger discussion of the social gospel.
all i thot about was this poem, finally becoming clear.

i know that a quince is good, i have made jam from them
i know that a plum is good, i have written poems about them and admired there dusky glean
i know that crossing the st. to see a friend, to get to my location, to not die from traffic is a daily miracle.
i savor these, chew them and perhaps they have transformed me.

i know that tangerines are good, the blog you are reading is named for them
i know that weather, all weather and its patterns on me, and on the world and the changes they have made are not bad
and i know that grief and sorrow will have comfort, and that langauge sustains me.

i can taste all of this, the sour apple bite of quince, the succulence of plums, my boots on ashphalt, the bitter spike of citrus, the feeling of wind or rain or snow or cold or sun, the coppery stomach ache of grief, all are tangible.

what isnt tangible to me, and perhaps levertov is god
levertov the daughter of an hasid who converted to Anglicanism was caught b/w god and the world,
and so the fevour that creates a will to not only change but encourage others to change thru mass media and propghanda may be confusing.

she could taste and see that all sorts of blessings were good, but the lord was the last great intaglible.
for me too.

i had an arguement with steven on the ride down about trent lott, where i argued that he was an asshole with a long history of racism aand that racism was engrained,while steve argued that he was doing a favour for a mentor, and had not meant to be racist- doing some research i found this :
this

a bunch of people i dont know upstairs, me downstairs listening to momus. they are rich, absuredly rich, yuppies, more money spent on one gift to a cousin then i spent on all of my family. i feel like shit, i dont belong here, this is not me. im ugly and poor and tired of all of this fake jovailty. i hate christmas, i do not like my family. all i want to do is get drunk, furthering my trip to oblivion. i have had heard 5 or 6 homophobic comments in the last three days and hadnt said a word.

this is supposed to be about the birth of christ, but there is nothing religous here, a post modern christmas, done b/c it is expected. a pagan cermony to consumerism and excess. at least the booze is good and free.

drunk at uncles holiday party, havent seen him for 4 years, goods chinese from pink pearl, happy. his art collection is good to great.

in andrews room, at his machine, listening to rufus wainwright, its 4 am, im sick and tired and cold and reading christian apologetics. i need god and i dont want to need anyone.

i got evicted, a long storm brewing, came to head over laundry. im sad, b/c i failed. im angry, at myself and at lorna and at the world.

Balthus and Pierre de Kowassiki(sp) are brothers and both artists, that said the work of Balthus is v. modern-as much as he wants to avoid it- he was a bit heremetic post the surrealists, but you can pick out the dali/magritte/di chircho etc connections, and even if you couldnt, you would time it to the 20th century-its colour and its subtle phrasing, its allusions to terror, its obsession with innoncence.


Kowassiki is different- he made drawings in graphite and colored pencil, tennous delicate things filled with pervisions that seem out of place now- the aristocratic lady lording her power, the fear of clergy, certain scatology, that seems to realted to the 18th century satirists (Swift,Voltaire) and pornographers (Masoch, de Sade, Rosseu and his obsessions with flogging)rather then the 20th century terrors. In fact he illustrated gullivers travels, making it less of a childrens book and more of a piss take.



if you look at Balthus you know he is 20th century, fearful of admitting it, but there. If you look at Kowassiki (whose name ive mispelt)
he is so hermetic that seeing a drawing of barthes or the date 1990 becomes shocking. (Balthus was the better painter techincally for whats its worth, Pierre never got over his awkardness)

jason coates was my sci. teacher, i rember learning alot and forgetting it all- plate techtoncis, weather, he almost failed me. never spanked.

is qouting burton and proust and mailer and mishima, a way to avoid the wds being my own, a way to talk in code ?

after the sjsa christmas concert i met jason coates, i made a point of using his first name.

coates knew me in grade 8, he was kind and handsome in a safe. blonde way and i fell in lust with him, jacking off to his visage, my hard prick a compus, his face colmbus and the new world

he never knew, never did anything, was kind to me, and that was all i needed

seeing him again, in that same white shirt black pants way i felt differently

i dont need to prove myself, cheif fag at pr-cup, presenting a paper in la in august, making money writing, doing well in school- but seeing him- my joy almost dissapted, repalced with an eagerness- for apporval, for love, for him to hug me and tell me it was all ok

he didnt turn me on in the same way as he did when i was 14, it was a proustian memory now, and seeing his wife, with a child, proving to me that his fertility was used as fecundity was moving



i drove by the school coming home from van in nov, someone-not me- corrected my email and added my blog- maybe jason is reading this

no one else was there from my class, even the staff was rare- belton has become an anglican priest, weaver has disappeared to toronto, mcnaugtaun is in coquitlam, gebers in mexico and the man who destroyed me is back in the mideast, where he seems to go every 3 years or so, Richard Burton travelling to Arabia, w/o the anthroplogical exuse



after sjsa, a drink at new city where nirvanna and elvis and the ramones all played on the juke box. and then called daniel-where we went to whyte, she met thomas- called him sedate, which he is/nt depending on the day- old life and new life got along famously, after that sushi at toyko noodle house and books from wee book-sophocles recopmmnded by dana, swifts collected poem, more filthy then gullivers travels and a cub scout manuel which i collect

about the rant against god, i dont know wether i belive it, and really it was a rant against humanity. i am conflicted about man, cynical and angry at its evil, hoping that it will turn out to be good. im lonely and want to retreat from everyone, and this retreat never seems to work. thomas called my signatue tidal, and i feel like that, like the beach who wants to be shrouded by water permantly, to be drowned in it, but just when the drowning becomes comforting, it retreats. i go to parties, and drink so that i can be honest with my feelings w/o lying. i construct defenses, apodt personaes, mishima called his biography confession of the mask and it feels like i am barely taking of the first mask, maybe i will figure it out, maybe it will all be ok, maybe i will learn balance, not the aestic/aesthic pendulum which i swing on, but a genuine love of man and god and myself.

im listening to kristy mccoll singing fairy tale of new york, and im heading south on 12/23 and i dont want to go, i want to be alone, away from god and man, but thats this week.

next week ill be all about humanity.

thinking about the party last night in the sober light of day, i am more ocnfused. wojeck took his clothes off, and did push ups in a room with two other me, me included, i helped him get dressed later, doing his belt up, i rested b/w his knees and he rubbed my back, somewhere arround 5 am, he sober and me drunk, i got a ride home from him, there was a component of eros that surrounded him, and his interactions with me, and another woman at the party, that siad there was something else there, something that moved past eros and into primal grooming-i realized that i missed touch, the after and before of sex, not the actual fucking.

i have a crush on wojeck, a boy i met at the party i am @. he and i pissed in the same toilet bowl , except i got a hardon, and couldnt piss, and then i sat b/w his leg and we got drunk on champers and then vodka and tonnic, passing the bottle together like a drunkard, its like the old joke: "whats the difference b/w a straight boy and a gay bot, ? a 6 pack.

I met with the lds bishop on Tuesday, and then the stake president on Wednesday.
After meeting with the bishop I got loaded, and I stormed out of the meeting with the stake president, calling his religion bullshit, and telling him to fuck it.

Glenys had friends over when I called her, and she asked if they remembered me, and they replied the gay catholic in the pink shirt.

On the day of Our Lady of Guadeloupe, they prayed for “unborn children” rather then those born and hungry, and the fathers and mothers and communities that work towards feeding those who are hungry.

That quiz I took with twenty-five results and each of them not much different from the last.

I was told that I could not receive the gifts of the Holy Ghost, and I am in awe of this world.

God is cruel, and Christ was not the pleasant man we like to imagine and the dependence on both of them as opposed to any other person, as opposed to family and friends suggests he is less then confident.

I am taking a Christian scripture course in the winter, and everyone is so sure of the glories of their god, of their view of god, and me-well I am not even sure I want god around, I am not even sure god exists.

I’m over my nostalgia for the lds church.
I’m tired of the internecine fighting of protestant denominations.
I don’t want to think about catholic churches history and misery.
I don’t want to part of a world where stoning someone for adultery is a good idea, or excommunicating them, shunning them, shaming them.

I have begun to think that religion causes nothing but discord and sorrow.
I want to reject god.

I find myself angry at the cruelty and capriciousness of the lord, or those who call in the lord’s name, and what mailer said about the Shoah and God has come to my head

He told that b/c of the Shoah, b/c of the horrors of man, that there were tow options, either that god was not omnipotent or if he was, then he didn’t care.

It seems such a cliché to be an atheist b/c you cannot reconcile suffering, but I have become exhausted from seeing suffering as a good thing, as a spiritual exercise.

I want the soul to reside in the belly, and not in the head.
There are people who think that all of their blessings come from god and all there curses come from Satan, I don’t want to believe that.

I want to believe that we conquer our animal natures out of necessity
I want to believe that to be human is to conquer our desire towards hatred and anger and violence not because god thinks it’s a good idea, but b/c it is the only thing that makes us human.

I want to tell god, if he exists, if he is alive, to fuck off.
But I cannot seem to do that; he haunts me, like a bad habit, like a craving, like a compulsion,

The Holy Ghost as a specter found in English manors, the guardian angel as stalker.

Leave me alone.
My lord, my god, forsakes me.

And the followers of the lord let my lie.

i dont know what half of these are

Christian Denomations Quiz
My Results
#1 Liberal Quakerism
#2 Eastern Orthodox Church
#3 Episcopal/Anglican Church
#4 Roman Catholic Churc
#5 Unitarian Universalism
#6 Evangelical Lutheran Church
#7 Unity Church
#8 Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod
#9 Methodist/Weslyian Church
#10 Mormonism
#11 Orthodox Quakerism
#12 Mennonite Brethren
#13 Seventh-Day Adventist
#14 Church of Christ
#15 Free Will Baptist
#16 Assemblies of God
#17 International Church of Christ
#18 Jehovah's Witness
#19 Presbyterian Church USA
#20 Southern Baptist
#21 Presbyterian Church in America/Orthodox Presbyterian Church
#22 Reformed Churches
#23 United Pentecostal Church
#24 Reformed Baptist

continuing on tom my favourite list

Poussin

ruscha

thiebald

bonnard,

two blonde boys snog in the latest Xtina video.

http://www.cnn.com/2002/US/Midwest/12/15/cutest.couple.ap/index.html

maybe i needed a boy, then they wouldnt kick my ass and tell me that i needed to go to hell.

Friday
Dinner at Newman :
Turkey, cranberry sauce, taters, strained conversation, me in a tie
I escaped by nine , made it to the gateway shindig-

Took Thomas, I think I needed a babysitter, to prevent the sentimental disaters that occur with me and booze.

Gave 40 bucks and a guest list/ invite text to Dave, who told me that he read my blog- found it compulsiuve and he would give me a print for Christmas.

As the evening progessed found Adam read it off and on since the summer, and had emailed portions to skip the e-i-c.

Its odd to post with an immediacy that is neither spell checked, grammar checked, that is filled with odd abrreavations and fragments.

Its odd to be this personal, and in return this banal.

Art theory, music reviews, religion, sorting things out, public bleeding

I didn’t think people read it- or those ho did lived in England or Belgium or Australia or Toronto

Locals, gateway locals, reading it, enjoying it, worrying about me.

See I didn’t think I was cared about thre, and now I know people hold a certain kind of affection.

I want a memory and I want to havea certain formalism to memory

I had been reading a fair amount of journal and letters collections this year, and the one I feel closest to is Kenneth Tynan- he who worked on polanskis macbeth and olivers hamlet, wrote about those things and also about cocktail parties and spanking girls.

Gossip is information and information is currency, and every writer thinks that everything in his manuscripts and notebooks and journals will be published to great acclaim one day- im taking the next logical step, elimanting the one day.

I’m exhausted of writing daily but Aspergers kids thrive on ritual, I post here because I have posted here.

Its confession, its poetry, think of me as a sideshow, think of me as The Boy Lazarus.


Sunday-
Betrand is returning to Laval, so we had a sugar shack party with maple syrup, crepes, cider, ginger snaps, singing and taking to Terry about his recent completed conversion.

He stills prays like a Baptist and I still pray like a mormon, although the LDSers in this crowd would argue that there is no lirturgy and rote prayer in an LDS service, so there is no set mormon prayers- patterns emerge though.

Monday

Finished Borges on Writing, interesting politics of translation, esp. the fact that he often translated his own work, then worked with another translator- think of Beckett, who moved his own work from French to English, are they separate texts- is there something more pure if the author is involved- is purity the virtue one requires for translation ?

?