Let's try this again. I play as William Wolfe.
I have some music on MySpace, and I'm about to start building my own website. I'll keep updating here about my progress
19 February 2008
16 February 2008
Shameless self-promotion: Show on the 24th
Click the image for its animation. I don't know why it doesn't like to work as-is.
When I play music, I'm usually using a name that's not mine. I just feel like it, that's why.
I'm William Wolfe, and I have a show coming up on the 24th. If you're within an hour of Muncie, you should come.
More information here.
14 February 2008
...moi plus
12 February 2008
Photo 48
I'm gonna leave the library now. I'm very tired of being here, but I don't want to walk home. And I'm gonna wait for you to call again.
Eleanor Rigby: Sonic Illustration of Loneliness
note: I wrote this for a class, at the absolute last minute. Let me know if it sucks, because it probably does. But please note: I probably won't care.
The Lennon/McCartney composition, Eleanor Rigby, is apocryphally credited to just Paul McCartney, and with pretty good reason; there's not a lot there lyrically that would be identifiably Lennon's. It could be argued that instead of being a Lennon/McCartney compostion, "Eleanor Rigby" should really be considered a Paul McCartney-George Martin composition, owing largely to the centrality of Martin's string arrangement for the song.
Martin's arrangement was only ever really given its due in the Beatles' Anthology collection, released in the mid-nineties, wherein the vocals were removed, leaving the doubled string quartet (due to the fact that it was a string quartet recorded over itself, it can't really be called an 'octet') had the original tracks remixed into stereo, allowing the cellos to embrace their throaty hum and quick runs up the scale, the violas to take their quarter-note stabs, and the violins to carry the higher registers.
Martin's arrangement, in stereo, is easily among the richest sounds I've ever heard. The studio reverberations are at the absolutely correct level; they neither overpower nor distract, but they do add a necessary since of urgent distance to the mix, without which, it could not respond so movingly to the lyrics of the song. It's a shame the quartet on the Revolver version is compressed into one mono track, panned dead center.
Whoever remastered Revolver for stereo made some very odd choices. After the introductory chorus, with the choir of McCartneys surrounding the listener, the recording engineer made the odd choice of suddenly panning McCartney's vocal hard right, and doing it right in the middle of the word "Eleanor." The choice is very distracting, and it draws attention away from the song and towards the mix--which should only happen to recording engineers--of which I am not one. Another result of this hard pan is that the verses, panned all hard right (though I doubt they're mixed any quieter than Paul's solo "All the lonely people" at the end of every verse) sound quite a bit quieter than the vocals at any other point on the track, by virtue of coming out of one speaker instead of two.
This creates, I think, an unintended correlation between the mix, rather than the music, and the lyrics. While Eleanor Rigby and Father McKenzie isolate themselves in the church--which grows increasingingly irrelevant to anyone outside (which, in this case, is literally everyone but Rigby and McKenzie)--McCartney's vocal withdraws itself from the focal point of the mix.
Ah! but the universal sentiment, "Where do they all come from," fills the speakers on both sides of the listener, saying "I am the whole point of the song! Listen to me!" (As though the fact that it's the chorus wasn't enough.) But the quick pan to right in the middle of the word "Eleanor" startles the listener into paying close attention to the verses--the specifics which illustrate the general chorus.
For me, however, the most curious fact of this song is that, despite how perfectly the string arrangement locks into the lyrics, there exists a fair number of covers of the song, some of which eschew the strings altogether. I know Ray Charles has a version, which draws nothing but mixed reviews--"It's Ray Charles, so I can't hate it," a friend of mine said, "but... it just doesn't work."
There's a hard rock cover by Vanilla Fudge, too... but my copy of that record is so badly scratched as to render "Eleanor Rigby" unlistenable. But from what I heard, the insane rock organ that fills the record more than makes up for the lack of string parts. It's not a very faithful cover, and that's fine--probably preferable, if they weren't able to score George Martin to record the exact same string quartet playing the exact same way.
Jackie Wilson's soul version is perhaps the most confusing. It has its own string arrangement, and a real, swinging beat... but the orchestration is ill-advisedly busy, and the beat makes it feel less like either "Eleanor Rigby" or almost any Jackie Wilson I've ever heard, and more like a Tom Jones-type smarmy sex jam. I tap my feet with the beat, and I want to drive around in a Mini Cooper wearing an ascot, pointing and winking at every pretty girl... and maybe this works too, I guess. Even a crazy, swingin' cat like Tom Jones, who has panties thrown at him every night, has to feel lonely, too. Right?
The Aretha Franklin cover is, well, just a disappointment. It sounds like the backing band is Booker T. and the MGs, which is totally enjoyable in its own right, The soulful electric piano lines are beautiful, and again, I bounce along with the beat. This is Aretha Franklin, and she can really do hardly any wrong, but, I'm sad to report, here she does. She drops a line or two from each verse, invariably the line I feel is most central to the verse. Perhaps most ill-advisedly, she claims by saying "I'm Eleanor Rigby." Which is is just fine until the last verse about Rigby being buried.
I know Aretha sings soul, and probably believes in an eternal soul (how's that for a baseless claim?), but she doesn't sing the song like a ghost. There's too much vitality and sheer energy.
The main point I would like to make here is that "Eleanor Rigby" is a song, not a poem. The lyrics are poignant, and in the right context, moving, but the right context for these lyrics is, I feel, George Martin's delicate and reserved string arrangement. It provides the perfect setting to make sure these lines do not descend from pathos into bathos. Though it is a valid pursuit to discuss a song's lyrics separate from its music, it can be a faulty pursuit. In the case of "Eleanor Rigby," it feels plain to me that the song loses much of its meaning once lyrics are separated from music.
The Lennon/McCartney composition, Eleanor Rigby, is apocryphally credited to just Paul McCartney, and with pretty good reason; there's not a lot there lyrically that would be identifiably Lennon's. It could be argued that instead of being a Lennon/McCartney compostion, "Eleanor Rigby" should really be considered a Paul McCartney-George Martin composition, owing largely to the centrality of Martin's string arrangement for the song.
Martin's arrangement was only ever really given its due in the Beatles' Anthology collection, released in the mid-nineties, wherein the vocals were removed, leaving the doubled string quartet (due to the fact that it was a string quartet recorded over itself, it can't really be called an 'octet') had the original tracks remixed into stereo, allowing the cellos to embrace their throaty hum and quick runs up the scale, the violas to take their quarter-note stabs, and the violins to carry the higher registers.
Martin's arrangement, in stereo, is easily among the richest sounds I've ever heard. The studio reverberations are at the absolutely correct level; they neither overpower nor distract, but they do add a necessary since of urgent distance to the mix, without which, it could not respond so movingly to the lyrics of the song. It's a shame the quartet on the Revolver version is compressed into one mono track, panned dead center.
Whoever remastered Revolver for stereo made some very odd choices. After the introductory chorus, with the choir of McCartneys surrounding the listener, the recording engineer made the odd choice of suddenly panning McCartney's vocal hard right, and doing it right in the middle of the word "Eleanor." The choice is very distracting, and it draws attention away from the song and towards the mix--which should only happen to recording engineers--of which I am not one. Another result of this hard pan is that the verses, panned all hard right (though I doubt they're mixed any quieter than Paul's solo "All the lonely people" at the end of every verse) sound quite a bit quieter than the vocals at any other point on the track, by virtue of coming out of one speaker instead of two.
This creates, I think, an unintended correlation between the mix, rather than the music, and the lyrics. While Eleanor Rigby and Father McKenzie isolate themselves in the church--which grows increasingingly irrelevant to anyone outside (which, in this case, is literally everyone but Rigby and McKenzie)--McCartney's vocal withdraws itself from the focal point of the mix.
Ah! but the universal sentiment, "Where do they all come from," fills the speakers on both sides of the listener, saying "I am the whole point of the song! Listen to me!" (As though the fact that it's the chorus wasn't enough.) But the quick pan to right in the middle of the word "Eleanor" startles the listener into paying close attention to the verses--the specifics which illustrate the general chorus.
For me, however, the most curious fact of this song is that, despite how perfectly the string arrangement locks into the lyrics, there exists a fair number of covers of the song, some of which eschew the strings altogether. I know Ray Charles has a version, which draws nothing but mixed reviews--"It's Ray Charles, so I can't hate it," a friend of mine said, "but... it just doesn't work."
There's a hard rock cover by Vanilla Fudge, too... but my copy of that record is so badly scratched as to render "Eleanor Rigby" unlistenable. But from what I heard, the insane rock organ that fills the record more than makes up for the lack of string parts. It's not a very faithful cover, and that's fine--probably preferable, if they weren't able to score George Martin to record the exact same string quartet playing the exact same way.
Jackie Wilson's soul version is perhaps the most confusing. It has its own string arrangement, and a real, swinging beat... but the orchestration is ill-advisedly busy, and the beat makes it feel less like either "Eleanor Rigby" or almost any Jackie Wilson I've ever heard, and more like a Tom Jones-type smarmy sex jam. I tap my feet with the beat, and I want to drive around in a Mini Cooper wearing an ascot, pointing and winking at every pretty girl... and maybe this works too, I guess. Even a crazy, swingin' cat like Tom Jones, who has panties thrown at him every night, has to feel lonely, too. Right?
The Aretha Franklin cover is, well, just a disappointment. It sounds like the backing band is Booker T. and the MGs, which is totally enjoyable in its own right, The soulful electric piano lines are beautiful, and again, I bounce along with the beat. This is Aretha Franklin, and she can really do hardly any wrong, but, I'm sad to report, here she does. She drops a line or two from each verse, invariably the line I feel is most central to the verse. Perhaps most ill-advisedly, she claims by saying "I'm Eleanor Rigby." Which is is just fine until the last verse about Rigby being buried.
I know Aretha sings soul, and probably believes in an eternal soul (how's that for a baseless claim?), but she doesn't sing the song like a ghost. There's too much vitality and sheer energy.
The main point I would like to make here is that "Eleanor Rigby" is a song, not a poem. The lyrics are poignant, and in the right context, moving, but the right context for these lyrics is, I feel, George Martin's delicate and reserved string arrangement. It provides the perfect setting to make sure these lines do not descend from pathos into bathos. Though it is a valid pursuit to discuss a song's lyrics separate from its music, it can be a faulty pursuit. In the case of "Eleanor Rigby," it feels plain to me that the song loses much of its meaning once lyrics are separated from music.
10 February 2008
It's coming
I have still to figure out a lot of stuff regarding the site, but a placeholder homepage is up!
06 February 2008
The Hawaii Chair
Watch in awe as Erin Lee negotiates the work-free workout while maintaining composure:
The first-time user testimonial is also amazing.
The first-time user testimonial is also amazing.
05 February 2008
This Weekend
I went to a party. I had fun at the party; you probably wouldn't guess by looking.
There's a song by Two Gallants, called "Nothing to You," that just came up on my iPod. I'm liking it. It has a line, "I'm as gay as a choir boy for you."
thump thump thump, that is all.
24 January 2008
I found this on my computer.
I have no idea where I found it. But it's lovely. Sorta. Supposta animate and junk.
21 January 2008
Flip on the TV, we may pick him up on Channel Two.
I cannot pretend to have any clue what inspired this Beware of the Blog post from WFMU, but its insane detail in imagining what DJing for their station would be like--ON ANOTHER PLANET--is a real winning feature.
I admit, Saturn sounded nice, but it's the black hole that won me over.
19 January 2008
An American pineapple, of the kind the Axis finds hard to digest, is
On those photos
The Library of Congress has a Flickr account. And they've been posting the most kickass photography I've ever seen. Several thousand in each of two sets (what, nobody's bought them a Pro Account?). They're beautiful photos. It seems like they were taken with slide film--I'm not sure how else they'd get focus that sharp with such insanely sharp contrast and beautiful color.
What's more, those titles, they are (ah!) lovely.
Very writerly in their descriptions. Except maybe the girl in the glass bubble. But that's too great a picture to pass up.
Scroll down for more, or check the "LOC Photos" tag.
Women workers install fixtures and assemblies to a tail fuselage
Women workers install fixtures and assemblies to a tail fuselage section of a B-17F bomber at the Douglas Aircraft Company, Long Beach, Calif. Better known as the "Flying Fortress," the B-17F is a later model of the B-17 which distinguished itself in acti, originally uploaded by The Library of Congress.
This girl in a glass house is putting finishing touches on the
This girl in a glass house is putting finishing touches on the bombardier nose section of a B-17F navy bomber, Long Beach, Calif. She's one of many capable women workers in the Douglas Aircraft Company plant. Better known as the "Flying Fortress," the B-1, originally uploaded by The Library of Congress.
18 January 2008
14 January 2008
13 January 2008
Poetry kicks ass, but it kicks mine, too.
Mark Halliday on Mary Ruefle's "Perfect Reader," from his essay, "The Arrogance of Poetry," from The Georgia Review (but I don't know which issue):
"The satisfactions of imagining a lover's embrace, imagining 'fucked-up beauty' in a tree, imagining a man who describes a flower in comically abstract language: such satisfactions may put a swing in one's stride but cannot become the same as having a lover. The summer of imagining will subside into the winter of isolation, and the speaker will return to awareness of her own lack of a spiritual home.
[. . .]
"The poem turned out to be good, so I'm not ungrateful; indeed, my life is enriched by the poem--but now where am I? I'm on the first page of Post Meridian, a book containing more than seventy poems; and one of the many other books around my desk is Ruefle's more recent Among the Musk Ox People. How much can I respond to? What will become of me? When can I have lunch?
"Standing at the beginning of a book, "Perfect Reader" seems a warning: It is beautiful to try to be a perfect reader of poems. And you are fated to try. But your imaginative efforts will be tiring and endless, and they could bring you to a condition of overexposed vulnerability, with newspapers as your only blankets."
Every Christmas, I recieve at least five books of poetry. Every semester, I buy at least five books of poetry for class. I fully intend to read all of them. But there's no way I can adequately expose myself to the inherent meaning of all of those poems.
A poem is so short and yet demands so much scrutiny in order to be properly understood and enjoyed, that each good poem--and I stumble into so many worthwhile, if not necessarily good poems--requires at least an hour to itself. I can't do it. There is no human way to be an adequate reader of poetry.
And yet I try. And I live for the trying.
06 January 2008
Lady Tiger! On the Prowl!
The story beginning as told by the NY Times.
And then taking a hilarious headline (and a pretty good subhead) in the San Diego CityBeat.
I know, I know. Someone died. I should take this seriously. But "Lady Tiger on the Prowl" is a Hall & Oates song waiting to happen. I call Oates.
And then taking a hilarious headline (and a pretty good subhead) in the San Diego CityBeat.
I know, I know. Someone died. I should take this seriously. But "Lady Tiger on the Prowl" is a Hall & Oates song waiting to happen. I call Oates.
actually thom yorke looks mostly like an emo clapton who has something stuck perpetually in his eye.
Seriously. Check minutes, um, six on.
30 December 2007
What We Are
Major life decisions are being made at a rate and momentum incapable of being registered on any currently available scale.
All afternoon
Kerry and I have been almost completely incapable of accomplishing anything. Almost two months 500 miles apart have us sitting across the table--me trying to write, her trying to do her NY Times marathon--and just staring at each other, grinning. I occasionally have to go the bathroom for victorious powerslides and karate kicks.
She is beautiful. She is incredibly smart. She does certain things that just absolutely kill my ability to think and reason. She is my girlfriend, and I'm keeping it that way.
25 December 2007
24 December 2007
About 48 hours left.
She's pretty hot. And brainy. And I get to call her my girlfriend. And I get to see her the day after Christmas.
And, like, kiss & stuff.
Happy/Merry, Y'know.
Just trying to live in love as best I can. The kid in the middle did a better job of it than most of his American admirerers ever managed to.
Joel Osteen, I'm looking at you. I don't trust church because of you.
Rich people are to heaven as camels are to the eyes of needles. Go ahead with the Health/Wealth/Prosperity heresy, for all I care. Jesus wants room in heaven for a dance party anyway.
Thanks for the reminder, and the links, Headphonaught. I wish I could finish the article. It makes me too angry to finish.
22 December 2007
oh noes!
Wolf boy, with scary toenails on the loose in Moscow!
Run, Russian urban peasantry, run!
(story at boing boing.)
More real stuff later.
Run, Russian urban peasantry, run!
(story at boing boing.)
More real stuff later.
18 December 2007
16 December 2007
I'm probably not going to finish this book
At the beginning, it was clever and funny--and the way the author tied himself into the plot was brilliant. But once it became clear that the author-as-character wasn't completely impotent/incompetent, the charming hilarity juxtaposed with the long-winded and muscular yet carefully chosen and delicate prose of all Russian classics faded away. It's all a ploy. The middle of the book (where I am) is terrible.
Shteyengart is too entirely pleased with himself and the hilarity of his creation and his narrator. Gag.
I liked Misha for a good hundred pages. It was a bit cloying, sure, to have a 300-pound Russian Jewish immigrant to the United States living large and enjoying a life of American hiphop and his hispanic Bronx girlfriend. He's a rich gourmand. Like all good Russian protagonists. It was great! Life was good when the book felt like a tribute to Tolstoy, Turgenev, and Gogol; when the book was successfully lampooning both American hubris and Russian mobsters. Seriously, the protagonist was named Misha Vainberg. Gogol's characters all had allegorical names like that. It was great. He's a self-centered wealthy gourmand. Like all good Russian protagonists.
Yes. I've read Crime and Punishment. And I have yet to finish it, either. I know Raskolnikov was neither rich nor a gourmand. But three hundred pages into that book, I still believe the poor, scrawny, nervous Raskolnikov. One hundred forty-one pages in, and I've given up on Misha.
All of which is to say I've abandoned better books than Absurdistan. Life is too short for me read something I don't enjoy. Unless I'm being graded on reading it.
13 December 2007
Super 8 + Zombies = Freaking Sweet (but not like you think)
Two of my favorite things in the world: Super 8 films and sappy semi-psychedelic love songs.
The Zombies' "This Will Be Our Year" is way up on my list. I would argue, in certain rare moods, that it's an even better love song than "God Only Knows." But rare moods indeed.
Also, apparently, these movies were shot by the filmmaker's parents. Which is extra sweet.
via Look at This...
The Zombies' "This Will Be Our Year" is way up on my list. I would argue, in certain rare moods, that it's an even better love song than "God Only Knows." But rare moods indeed.
Also, apparently, these movies were shot by the filmmaker's parents. Which is extra sweet.
via Look at This...
12 December 2007
The Reason for Saying I've Got a Crush
The more I settle into the routine of a long-distance relationship, the more I learn to take care of myself. The more I learn to take care of myself, the more I learn to rely on myself for day-to-day needs. The more I rely on myself, the less I need anyone else for things I should take care of by myself anyway.
Which just makes me want you more.
I want to turn the things I'm learning into a crayon drawing and hang them on my refrigerator for you to see and admire.
I'm back in the fifth grade when I think about you.
Which just makes me want you more.
I want to turn the things I'm learning into a crayon drawing and hang them on my refrigerator for you to see and admire.
I'm back in the fifth grade when I think about you.
09 December 2007
Helvetica on Studio 360
This week's PRI's Studio 360 featured a segment on Helvetica...
Geeking out about typefaces should be the new national pasttime. But maybe that's me, speaking as the guy working on a book of poetry about typefaces.
Geeking out about typefaces should be the new national pasttime. But maybe that's me, speaking as the guy working on a book of poetry about typefaces.
06 December 2007
"Little Drummer Boy" by Low
A breath. A noise blast until :20. Reverb to end all reverb. Every breath a string quartet.
I think the "slowcore" label Low gets saddled with is unfair and inaccurate, but listening to their langid-but-still-somehow-incredibly-tense version of "Little Drummer Boy," I want to hit 'repeat one' and curl up under a blanket under my parents' aluminum Christmas tree and sleep until New Year's.
I think the "slowcore" label Low gets saddled with is unfair and inaccurate, but listening to their langid-but-still-somehow-incredibly-tense version of "Little Drummer Boy," I want to hit 'repeat one' and curl up under a blanket under my parents' aluminum Christmas tree and sleep until New Year's.
Edit: you can buy it from eMusic, if you've got an account. If you don't, and you want one, please let me know. We can all get free music if you do.
A live version, via Hype Machine: Low - Little Drummer Boy
A live version, via Hype Machine: Low - Little Drummer Boy
I'd rather be in Tokyo, I'd rather listen to Thin Lizzy
Or watch the Sunday gang in Harajuku:
Seriously. Weird. (via Boing Boing, at that. Purveyors of weird.) I mean, I understand the desire to take care of a pretty wounded girl (wounded pretty girl)--but post-dance party Kerry feet never really did much for me. Apparently, the, ahem, "Lawrence Nightingale" effect does work for some people.
It's cold here. Really cold. (Not the coldest I've ever seen, not by a long shot, but the snow makes it wet, too. Which is not pleasant. I track snow into my apartment. and I can't just kick my shoes off at the door either; I'm wearing my four-year old Doc Martens for marginally better snow navigation (though the lack of traction allows some INCREDIBLE ice slides), and them shoes' a pain to get off.
So yeah. I'd rather be in Tokyo. Anywhere warmer or more interesting. I'd prefer Memphis. Or even the legitmate cold of more northerly climes. But I'd take Tokyo. I'm listening to podcasts. On the Media, currently, but I'd rather listen to Thin Lizzy:
Edit: There's something wrong with me--I'm a cuckoo.
05 December 2007
Idea: Voter's Debates
I'd referenced this in my Twitter feed, but I think it would be a fantastic idea.
With the emphasis on the presidential election, it seems that the candidates (mostly) speak to a focus-grouped constituency. So why not subvert the usual debate format and have moderators ask questions of selected voters? Each response to a prompt would be broadcast as-is, unfiltered through the lens of statistical analysis, thus providing a more vital documentation of the wishes of the electorate in a specific area of the country.
The problem is, by the time Indiana' March primary rolls around, it's rendered meaningless by earlier primaries and Super Tuesday. Perhaps a Voters' 'debate could focus as much on local issues as national/international issues. It could also spark more interest among the electorate for local politics by making participation in local politics a truly visceral experience.
maybe.
03 December 2007
correction
There will be an edit to the post that mentions this (when I can be bothered to edit it), but I'd said I bought Elizabeth the Found and/or Postsecret books. She bought them herself. I just thought they'd be a good present for her sister.
Mea Culpa.
01 December 2007
Head is churning, but Alas!
My battery is almost dead, and I have a huge screenprinting project to tackle over the next two days.
(As well as other homework, which, I'm somewhat sorry to say, is on the back burner. It's possible I'll stay up tonight, and go to bed normally tomorrow, but this stuff never happens like that.)
What currently has my mind churning is a blog entry from a fellow who just added me to his Flickr contacts. He goes by the handle "Headphonaught"--which is brilliant in itself--and his "nanolog" (on which most posts are about the same length or longer than on mine).
The post, about consumerism and how it fits into his ethics, is pretty brilliant, but a little more in-depth than I have time for today. So expect a lengthy post in a few days. I'll just say for now that I'm terribly fond of the idea that "The world doesn't need more products. It needs better products."
Scott and I have had a few conversations about this. He teases me constantly that even though I'm living off of student loans and don't have a "real" job, I have nicer stuff than he and his wife have. The thing is, if he'd look, the nice stuff I have is usually the same nice stuff I've had for a long time. I buy nice stuff because it works for me and it usually lasts longer than cheap stuff. My seven-year-old iMac is still perfectly functional (even if it doesn't like playing video), it's just that I prefer using my two-and-a-half year old iBook. My 40 gig 4G iPod still functions perfectly well--though I have to tweak settings in iTunes to get as much as possible on it, and carry around my ex's iPod Mini (given back in a fit of anger, though she kept her Found books).
Also, Kerry just called to tell me that she just found McLemore Avenue by Booker T. and the MG's on vinyl. Which pretty much means I have the most awesome girlfriend ever.
29 November 2007
28 November 2007
So There's This Book of Poems I've Written, and They're Mostly For or About You
So I'd like you to have it.
Thus began my big serious high school dating relationship.
I'm gonna have some poems for sale next week. If you're in Muncie, you should drop by and try to get one of the 16 broadsides I'll have for sale as part of the Manifesto Mart, which consists of the sale of handmade projects from Dr. Rai Peterson's ENG 347/Manifesto Poets class.
Mine are not about girls, explicitly. They're collectively referred to as the Type series, and deal with the intersection, interplay, and interference between notions of text-as-visual and text-as-content.
Sound pretentious? When I put it like that, it is. But it's also about best friends, zombies, anthropodermic bibliopegy, sexualized architecture, the way birds don't get out of the way of your car until the last possible second, reanimated Roman emperors, booze, Chicago, Noblesville, fireflies from Thailand, and--yeah, okay, you're right--girls.
Looking at it now, that's a lot of things for four poems to be about. I mean, seriously. I read a lot of current surrealism, and maybe that's why. Dean Young, Tony Hoagland, Gabriel Gudding, and David Berman have all changed/are in the process of changing my life. So expect that kind of thing.
The series, as it stands right now, includes the poems "Ligature," "Futura Medium," "Times New Roman," and "A Colphon."
It's possible that something else will be swapped with "Times New Roman," because I really hate that typeface. (I hate Georgia, what this blog is set in, but it is, sadly, about the best option Blogger provides.)
Four beautiful, screenprinted broadsides of each poem will be available. Though they are a series, they'll be sold individually, at $5 a piece. Collect all four.
The picture above is from my Flickr Stream. Flickr Terms of Use require me to link to Flickr. So here you go.
27 November 2007
Somebody get Facebook to Pay Me Some Serious Money
Which isn't quite true. But it's still pretty awesome.
Can someone tell me what typeface Facebook uses? I tried all the normal web fonts, and none of them worked right. Anyway, this:
would be ADORABLE.Adorable at the Wee Spaniel level. No rush though; I'm happy with this:
EDIT: Facebook uses Lucida Grande, I've just realized. I should have recognized it. I use a Mac. It's fucking everywhere.
25 November 2007
Thomas Friedman's Op-Ed article on "Illegal Mingling"
I only scanned the rest of the article, and I'm not sure I totally side with Friedman, but the first two paragraphs?
ick.
24 November 2007
Abject Beauty in Consumer Products
EDIT: because I've received some criticism of my use of "abject beauty," here (other than the sound) is why I like it: "abject" means "unpleasant." Roughly. It's stronger than that. I can't afford most objects that I find beautiful; thus their existence is unpleasant to me. I still like them, though.
in chronological order of my discovery
1. Snuggle Up
Exactly as a comforter should be.
2. The Design Truck
Seen somewhere on I-40 between Nashville and Memphis.
3. An upholstered block headboard on a low platform bed
4. Dada Dental Cabinet
I'm not really sure what makes this Dada, or dental, but it makes me think of an Eames-style cabinet, as colored by Mondriaan. Makes me weak. via Cribcandy.
5. Talin Wall Clock
Obligatory Thanksgiving Reflection Post
Because my immediate family didn't have their main thanksgiving dinner until today (by now yesterday), and because i've got some screenprinting downtime, I will now present the requisite and hackneyed:
List-Of-Things-For-Which-I-Am-Grateful
A top 5, but in no particular order
1. New Record Player
I've had a record player for a few years. I've collected enough vinyl for me to consider vinyl-playing capability an integral part of any home stereo setup I'd be interested in. Not enough auxiliary inputs on your reciever? I regret to inform you that I will be taking my business elsewhere. The old one was on its last legs after its last fall, which shattered the dust cover, and left some gears inside unable to lock into the the teeth of their neighboring gears. The belt kept slipping, and when it didn't, it spun the record fast enough to raise any song's pitch by a full step.
The new one is direct drive, has a speed control, can play in reverse, has a tone arm I can actually balance, has the cool light with the stationary dots so I know it's actually playing at 33 1/3 or 45, has another light that pops up when I need it to show me which track I'm dropping the needle. Also, it's really big and fancy and silver. It's a beautiful piece of machinery, and it sits nicely on my beautiful bookshelf.
2. New Girlfriend
She's a stone fox. And she's mean to me in the only possible good way--we tease each other relentlessly and it's good. She digs my beard and my hair, though both are as they are only because I haven't bothered to trim them recently. She makes me blush and giggle in a way and to an extent no one else has even come close to. I can say, three weeks in, I don't want to date anyone else. As in "ever." I really hope this feeling lasts. It feels like it will.
Her name's Kerry--she has her own blog which is shown far more attention than mine ever will be--and other than the fact that she can't separate the speaker of a poem from the poem's author (and the sheer distance from my apartment to hers) the closest thing to a problem I have is that she sometimes calls me "Matt" instead of "Matthew." Not that I notice; we usually just call each other "dude," because we're best friends and usually talk about records or the news. More often than not, both. We also squeal joyfully over the Bill of Rights.
3. New Ex-Girlfriend
I don't know if Elizabeth would like to see herself on this list, but yeah. We fell apart, which made room for Kerry. Also, it means I have to stop referring to Erin simply as "My Ex." Which is good. No one deserves to be remembered only for a failed relationship. I learned a lot from Elizabeth, and even though she is currently angry at me for dating Kerry (which situation will, no doubt, be expounded upon later in a thinly veiled work of fiction), she has been--at several very needy points in my life--there for me in ways I doubt anyone could reproduce, though I hope I never have occasion to test that. I told Elizabeth shortly before we split up (and, I believe, after) that she took better care of me than my own mother. Which may be true, and speaking of her--
4. Gracious and Generous Parents
Though my mom has sided with Elizabeth in each conflict we've had this year, to a point which I find unsettling and somewhat frustrating, I know she's still there for me, and loves me. But that disagreement is part of why I think Elizabeth took better care of me--at least Elizabeth knew when I just needed someone to take my side. My dad is going through a rough spot, but he's coming out of it well; and both give and continue to take better care of me than I deserve or want, and do it more thoroughly than they should--or really can.
5. Shuffle Function of the iPod
It just just played the Beach Boys' "God Only Knows" directly after "John Allyn Smith Sails" by Okkervil River. That will make sense to some; those will agree with me that said events are not just creepy, but unabashedly awesome.
23 November 2007
Let me show you my boat.
Haven't been around these parts much lately. I've now put entirely too much time into making it look new for me not to come back every now and then. Especially once I figure out how to integrate my Twitter into this thing. Make yourself comfortable. I intend to do the same. The old stuff is all words I cut out of poems or stories or essays in revision. Also documentation of my emotional state the day my apartment flooded. What will come remains to be seen. Probably more pictures of my arms disappearing.
30 October 2006
excise taxes and chemical protrusions into Joyce's "self"
And if I try,
(when I try,)
the effect is
acids and bases
09 October 2006
no fun today. just bitching.
My apartment flooded yesterday. I had to tear out my carpet, lug it down four flights of stairs
I had planned on using the entire day yesterday for catching up with homework.
I hate this. I hate being this far behind in everything. my life is shit because I can't get my shit together without everything falling apart.
It's a wonder they've let me stay in college this long.
I had planned on using the entire day yesterday for catching up with homework.
I hate this. I hate being this far behind in everything. my life is shit because I can't get my shit together without everything falling apart.
It's a wonder they've let me stay in college this long.
11 September 2006
26 August 2006
24 August 2006
22 August 2006
13 August 2006
27 July 2006
revisions
photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/veganerotica/
was digging through my computer for stuff to revise; I found this.
I don't remember writing it, but I like it enough to work with.
working title for the revision: "Asshead"
This is just to tell you
I have objectified you.
For the purposes of this poem,
it seemed, shall we say,
convenient
to use you, use your body
and my body's reaction to your body
as a purely chemical physical
metaphor for the metaphysical
conceits of your mind
and my mind's reaction to your mind.
I'm not sure if bad poetry
about a burrito can be successfully related
to the leather bodice
that I think would be…
lovely…
with your hornrimmed glasses.
I want you, to me, to be everything
I can't have.
I want you to be
in a black satin dress,
just so,
hemmed up to here,
straps just like this,
and cut down to there.
I want to wake up
to find you reading
in the window.
Maybe Sarte,
maybe Melville.
Not Cosmo, though
(in a pinch),
I'd accept Newsweek.
I want to be single
so I can say this and feel
a little less guilt.
But it's just like I said.
I can't use your ass
to represent your head.
26 July 2006
23 July 2006
19 July 2006
Ehh, what the hell?
'cause I haven't posted anything in over 24 hours, and it seems that my iPod has a cruel sense of humor:
How does the world see me?
You're Pretty Good Looking (For a Girl) - the White Stripes
- Will I have a happy life?
At the Grassroots - Sri Darwin Gross
- What do my friends really think of me?
Steps Into Miles - Hayden
- Do people secretly lust after me?
Eleanor Rigby - The Beatles
- How can I make myself happy?
Aging Spinsters - the Magnetic Fields
- What should I do with my life?
Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt - We are Scientists
- Why must life be so full of pain?
Rainy Day Women #12 & 35 - Bob Dylan
- Will I ever have children?
Miss Being Mrs. - Loretta Lynn
-Will I die happy?
Sinnerman - Nina Simone
- What is some good advice for me?
Must You Throw Dirt in My Face? - Merle Haggard and Carl Jackson
-What is happiness?
Walk and Talk - Van Morrison
-What's my favorite fetish?
Spooky - Classics IV
- What's my love life like?
Masterplan - My Morning Jacket
- What is sex with me like?
tcp d3 12 5 dashes I say again irdial - the Conet Project
-What's my life motto?
Hand in Hand - Elvis Costello
- What do my parents think of me?
Dog Pound Hop (Ren & Stimpy Theme) - Screamin' Liederhosen
- What does my best friend think of me?
Looking for a Way Out - Uncle Tupelo
- What's my favorite hobby?
With me Tonight - the Beach Boys
- What's the worst thing about me?
Paralyzed - Bob Mould
- How does my significant other feel about me?
Stupidity Tries - Elliott Smith
- What is my wedding going to be like?
Let Down - Radiohead
- What about my honeymoon?
I Wonder Where Our Love Has Gone - the Mountain Goats
- Describe the last day of my life?
Requiem, Opus 48 (Pie Jesu) by Gabriel Faure - Oford Camerata
- Why does life suck?
Oh Boy! - Buddy Holly
- Why does life rule?
Portland, Oregon - Loretta Lynn
- What will I be famous for?
" " by Sigur Ros
How does the world see me?
You're Pretty Good Looking (For a Girl) - the White Stripes
- Will I have a happy life?
At the Grassroots - Sri Darwin Gross
- What do my friends really think of me?
Steps Into Miles - Hayden
- Do people secretly lust after me?
Eleanor Rigby - The Beatles
- How can I make myself happy?
Aging Spinsters - the Magnetic Fields
- What should I do with my life?
Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt - We are Scientists
- Why must life be so full of pain?
Rainy Day Women #12 & 35 - Bob Dylan
- Will I ever have children?
Miss Being Mrs. - Loretta Lynn
-Will I die happy?
Sinnerman - Nina Simone
- What is some good advice for me?
Must You Throw Dirt in My Face? - Merle Haggard and Carl Jackson
-What is happiness?
Walk and Talk - Van Morrison
-What's my favorite fetish?
Spooky - Classics IV
- What's my love life like?
Masterplan - My Morning Jacket
- What is sex with me like?
tcp d3 12 5 dashes I say again irdial - the Conet Project
-What's my life motto?
Hand in Hand - Elvis Costello
- What do my parents think of me?
Dog Pound Hop (Ren & Stimpy Theme) - Screamin' Liederhosen
- What does my best friend think of me?
Looking for a Way Out - Uncle Tupelo
- What's my favorite hobby?
With me Tonight - the Beach Boys
- What's the worst thing about me?
Paralyzed - Bob Mould
- How does my significant other feel about me?
Stupidity Tries - Elliott Smith
- What is my wedding going to be like?
Let Down - Radiohead
- What about my honeymoon?
I Wonder Where Our Love Has Gone - the Mountain Goats
- Describe the last day of my life?
Requiem, Opus 48 (Pie Jesu) by Gabriel Faure - Oford Camerata
- Why does life suck?
Oh Boy! - Buddy Holly
- Why does life rule?
Portland, Oregon - Loretta Lynn
- What will I be famous for?
" " by Sigur Ros
17 July 2006
16 July 2006
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