I don’t have the technical vocabulary to pin-point the details, but Ballet School’s debut album The Dew Lasts an Hour is a pretty neat intersection and summary of music I’ve grown to love in the past two to three years. It came out with perfect timing, like how these first crisip, cool days is wrapping up summer.
10:48 AM • 15 September 2014
"I knew I matured when I realized every situation doesn’t need a reaction. Sometimes you just have to leave people to continue to do the lame shit that they do."
— (via cutely-perverted)
(Source: theeducatedqueen, via cavaan)
10:31 AM • 13 September 2014
West Village Problems
Joe has cheap coffee but there is neither wifi nor seating to work.
Whynot has nice seats and wifi but the coffee is so-so.
Jack’s has good coffee and nice seats but neither outlet nor wifi.
I don’t feel like venturing to Stumptown because Whynot does sit on a breezy spot that faces an invigorating but non-distracting amount of street action.
In New York, real estate wins.
08:32 AM • 7 September 2014
’”At the time, neither Acker nor Wark saw their exchange as a potential book, or even a project, but the correspondence nevertheless unfolds as a narrative, climaxed by misunderstandings. For someone who’s slept with his addressee less than a week ago, Wark talks too much about his current and former lovers, particularly since she, at the time, had no other partners. Still, they’d made no promises to each other. Acker treads on dangerous ground, drawing him out about his other partners, only to be offended later, when he foolishly catalogs them. “First,” she writes, “you’re worried about having babies with one girl and another lover is coming out of the fistfucking closet and there’s also an old boyfriend and then, of course, desire. Lord, honey, can you have babies and keep all this going?” In some ways, Acker and Wark’s correspondence amounts to a cautionary tale against casual sex, but, in a larger sense, they’re trying to forge a brave friendship that includes sexual and intellectual intimacy aided by total disclosure. Comfort matters less to them than knowledge.
Later, he concedes: “I think the problem was me talking about various emotional ties I have with certain people in the *absence* of talking about my emotional ties to you. I was deferring something until I found the words… but one never finds the words.”’
—Chris Kraus on I’m Very Into You, collection of emails between Kathy Acker and McKenzie Wark
10:03 AM • 5 September 2014
“Harmon is a writer in a tux whom we never see writing, and Sarah is a divorcée who wants to give love, buy love, solve love. Both are marching out of step with everyone else, but toward each other. It’s that brother–sister thing. A portrait of that we’re all we’ve got sibling truth. Or, as Cassavetes said to Golan, the essence of waking up and wanting to call someone.”
—Durga Chew-Bose on John Cassavetes’s Love Streams
23:16 PM • 24 August 2014
Mamma Anderson, Time Island, 2006
Das Zimmer von meinem Traum
09:20 AM • 23 August 2014
Spent a good part of the evening looking at this and being on the verge of tears. Words like Abyssal Plain, they give me shudders, the way they can name, summarize, put something so vast and so unknown into something like a pencil case and zip.
(How can I truly, truly attach myself to any thing when there are places like the abyssal zone and hadopelagic zone that exist?)
23:47 PM • 20 August 2014
Lauren Bacall (1924-2014)
This is my favorite photo of one of my absolute favorites. You’ll be missed, LB.
10:03 AM • 18 August 2014
listening to some Tashaki Miyaki tracks by random and starting to regret not going to their gig last week. but the timing was bad anyway, and for some reason, gigs have a low priority on my list of things to pursue, and I always end up finding a reason to bail at the last minute. maybe it’s because I’ve never found going to gigs necessary for an enjoyable experience with music. I prefer music to happen like accidents; going to a gig seems to make too much of an event out of it. but I would go to classical concerts more if I can afford it because in a way, I live for the irreplaceable shudder when the instruments tune on stage; and live jazz is a vital leisure. so I guess I was referring more to rock or pop gigs—although I would love to, for once in my life, go to a collectively sappy arena show like Travis or Take That or Elton John, because I am still unreasonably moved by the the sing-along to Back for Good in the concert Prince William and Harry put on in 2007 to commemorate their mother. I was in England at the time, staying with a “muggle” family in Hereford, which at one point I had confused it with Hertfordshire—of course I would. I remember tasting a bitter, dark, and dense marmalade for the first time. I remember shopping for sandwiches at Salsbury, that universal plastic tile smell of supermarkets. I remember buying a copy of a travel magazine because that week it came with a copy of Zoe Heller’s Notes on a Scandal. if I concentrate hard enough, I can remember the feeling of stepping outside to an ambiguous, rained-out, grey chill at six or seven in the morning. and I remember it by visualizing the frontal view of the stone-walled inn. and then I laugh a little at how a few of us performed a song for the cute tour guide at the last dinner and after that we all played cards for a long time and he looked very insulted when we asked “how did you get a ring tan in England?”
23:22 PM • 17 August 2014