go time

 

for reals.

a gnome

 

for you. Quotidian statuary from the Birch Haven RV Park.

"Art always

has to do with cosmogony, but it exposes cosmogony for what it is: necessarily plural, diffracted, discreet, a touch of color or tone, an agile turn of phrase or folded mass, a radiance, a scent, a song, or a suspended movement, exactly because it is the birth of a world (and not the construction of a system). A world is always as many worlds as it takes to make a world."
-- Jean-Luc Nancy, Being Singular Plural

the summer of salsa and strikes

 
freedom fries

 
fine form

 
infinite and free flowing condiments

 
forever.

backyard conversations

in flagrante delicto
H: "Ants are totally the proletariat of the insect world."
E: "Right! I mean, people are always going on about 'worker' bees, but all they seem to do is go out and fuck plants. They're really, like, the courtiers, the lumpen."

resistant bliss

Last night: post-marraige party, red-velvet cake and a crowded house for two equally brilliant friends, one who spends his time arguing with evolutionists, another who has recently made the decision to quit grad school, after a few degrees, to dedicate herself to writing without the deadlines and committees. This clock

presided over the ceremonies, and sheet music from the Romantics was mounted prominently on a synthesizer, and folks all around were all smiles.

Woke up this morning to a counter-London-pride zine, scanned in PDF, in my inbox, sent by a dear old friend who's there, now, rageful and right-on. Excerpted, below, at length, from the zine's introductory mock letter from Boris Johnson, Mayor of London:

"I am delighted to greet all you picaninnies, I mean LGBT’s (is that with an
apostrophe?).You are indeed my favourite weirdos, I mean minority. You shop till you drop, and you lead the pack in the partying stakes. You drink even more than Eton boys do! And our commonalities do not stop in the bunk bed. Your community displays the best of our city’s character: our capitalism, our greedy dynamism, our sick sense of humour, and our distaste of all things foreign and misshapen (unless we can buy it or eat it!).

But Pride is more than just a party – it is our opportunity to show the world how Great Britain is once again. We are an Empire of diversity, tolerance, and goodwill,
encompassing now even the perverted and the freaks. You are our beacon – we go in
your name to war in Afghanistan, Iraq and soon maybe Iran. We thank you for
helping us liberate these places and spreading the pink pound, I mean the human
rights. Soon we can go to these warm sunny places and buy more things and party
more and maybe even have a bit on the side! How hilarious, what a laugh.
Together we can bring back the myths, legends and fairytales of the Old Orient, full
of senses, spices, flavours, and colours. You can contribute to our dream your talent
in dressing up. Gay men make the sparkliest moors, and it is heartening to see
coloured people, too, integrate themselves and join in our own cultural traditions of
blackface."

And for g-d's sake, if you haven't already, please read both Lisa Duggan's The Twilight of Equality: Neoliberalism, Cultural Politics, and the Attack on Democracy, as well as the Winter 2008 edition of Radical History Review, an issue entitled Queer Futures, which takes the homonormativity bit and runs with it. Do it!

"step on the cockroach"

Pancake Mountain, where have you been all my life?



A full-on cable-access revolution, forthcoming. Or maybe we're just breeding a better hipster (get 'em young! recruit! recruit!).

All that aside, M.I.A. should be here, in the guest bedroom, right now, and I could teach her how to "sweep a floor," and "bake a cake," as well as "put it in the oven".

Move-swap 2008.