Saturday, August 02, 2003
What does the "H" stand for in Jesus H. Christ?..please let me know.
"I'm bad, I'm bad, you know it, you know it." - MJ
Do you remember when bad meant good? When Michael Jackson was at his pinnacle of success, he titled his album BAD. I would contend (academic tick) that what Jackson was saying was not, "my album is uninteresting, do not purchase it"; but, rather: "I am up with the hip terminology, and this tape is BAAAD."
And how long did this semantic deconstruction, this reverse polarization of the vernacular, last -- and where did it go?
What brings this to mind is my recent memory of the group Colour Me Bad, a musical outfit which was, perhaps, a precursor to the Backstreet Boys and N'Sync. "I want to Sex you Up," said Colour Me Bad, and I'm sure they meant it -- because they were BAD. But a good bad.
Does this reflect the upturn of sarcasm in linguistics which took hold in the early 1990's, and has, in many places (Oklahoma City, Oklahoma for example) not passed. Fuck, I don't know; but I do not know that the pertinence of that particular question had never fully been answered.
"I want the world to ask me right now: who's bad"... and they did.
Do you remember when bad meant good? When Michael Jackson was at his pinnacle of success, he titled his album BAD. I would contend (academic tick) that what Jackson was saying was not, "my album is uninteresting, do not purchase it"; but, rather: "I am up with the hip terminology, and this tape is BAAAD."
And how long did this semantic deconstruction, this reverse polarization of the vernacular, last -- and where did it go?
What brings this to mind is my recent memory of the group Colour Me Bad, a musical outfit which was, perhaps, a precursor to the Backstreet Boys and N'Sync. "I want to Sex you Up," said Colour Me Bad, and I'm sure they meant it -- because they were BAD. But a good bad.
Does this reflect the upturn of sarcasm in linguistics which took hold in the early 1990's, and has, in many places (Oklahoma City, Oklahoma for example) not passed. Fuck, I don't know; but I do not know that the pertinence of that particular question had never fully been answered.
"I want the world to ask me right now: who's bad"... and they did.
Tuesday, July 29, 2003
I think the two greatest albums of all time are Sonic Youth's "Daydream Nation" and The Beatles "White Album."
Bow down to the queen of noise.
Bow down to the queen of noise.
What's the deal with Spanish Painters?
When Salavador Dali was a child, and he was asked "what he wanted to be when he grew up?," he said: "I want to be a female chef." He was quite specific about the gender.
Later on, he said: "The only difference between a madman and I, is that I am not a madman." Word.
There is an article in the most recent New York Times Magazine about Goya's 13 "black paintings" -- supposedly the last he ever painted. According to this article, a art historian was doing research on a book about these paintings recently, and he discovered that according to a journal which described renovations to Goya' home (which took place in the early 19th century) Goya could not possibly have painted these paintings. Indeed, the part of the house where the paintings were painted did not exist until after Goya's death. It turns out, says this particular art historian, that Javier, Goya's son, probably painted them, and credited the work to his father so that the house would be worth more when he sold it. (Javier had financial problems). Word.
And Pablo Picasso was a prick. Word.
So what's the deal with Spanish painters?
When Salavador Dali was a child, and he was asked "what he wanted to be when he grew up?," he said: "I want to be a female chef." He was quite specific about the gender.
Later on, he said: "The only difference between a madman and I, is that I am not a madman." Word.
There is an article in the most recent New York Times Magazine about Goya's 13 "black paintings" -- supposedly the last he ever painted. According to this article, a art historian was doing research on a book about these paintings recently, and he discovered that according to a journal which described renovations to Goya' home (which took place in the early 19th century) Goya could not possibly have painted these paintings. Indeed, the part of the house where the paintings were painted did not exist until after Goya's death. It turns out, says this particular art historian, that Javier, Goya's son, probably painted them, and credited the work to his father so that the house would be worth more when he sold it. (Javier had financial problems). Word.
And Pablo Picasso was a prick. Word.
So what's the deal with Spanish painters?
Sunday, July 27, 2003
Thought
What if you woke one day and all your thoughts were poetic? Could you force yourself to become prosaical?
How is it that are thoughts are emitted: are they shot like metal balls from cannon; do they slide out of our brains like ooze; or, do they arrange themselves in perfect metre?
Try this: try to think for as long as you can in poetic diction? I've tried it; actually, sometimes I do this compulsively; and it can be quite alarming.
It can help to listen to music. I am listening to Interpol right now. Here it goes, free-form style:
You're so wet when the night makes you eyes
tight syntactical brag, sinister hag
and the never-ending parade of thanks
Connect the dream to the dreaming
Make the thinker think one thought thoughtlessly
impossibly, yes, but the horror of rememberance
awakens: it's a must
and this is gravity and lust
and a dance
red, and black, and tight and, oh!, tight
greet the crescendo, greet the crescendo
tear down the moon
Nothing is sick
when you're in love
with yourself
and the morning breaks without tears
praise the Lord
What if you woke one day and all your thoughts were poetic? Could you force yourself to become prosaical?
How is it that are thoughts are emitted: are they shot like metal balls from cannon; do they slide out of our brains like ooze; or, do they arrange themselves in perfect metre?
Try this: try to think for as long as you can in poetic diction? I've tried it; actually, sometimes I do this compulsively; and it can be quite alarming.
It can help to listen to music. I am listening to Interpol right now. Here it goes, free-form style:
You're so wet when the night makes you eyes
tight syntactical brag, sinister hag
and the never-ending parade of thanks
Connect the dream to the dreaming
Make the thinker think one thought thoughtlessly
impossibly, yes, but the horror of rememberance
awakens: it's a must
and this is gravity and lust
and a dance
red, and black, and tight and, oh!, tight
greet the crescendo, greet the crescendo
tear down the moon
Nothing is sick
when you're in love
with yourself
and the morning breaks without tears
praise the Lord
