Mr. Continuum and I are hitting the road this weekend. Hope you all have a nice one too! See you next week…
Peace…
Archive for July, 2009
31
Jul
09
On the Road
30
Jul
09
Heath Ledger Graces Vanity Fair
Picked up this yesterday for the weekend trip. Happy to see some haven’t forgotten him already, especially with all the never-to-see-the-end-soon hype over MJ’s death. Here’s a younger talent whose untimely death still haunts us…
Love, love, love this shot.
Peace…
29
Jul
09
White Dress II
Like the dress, but will this girl ever look good on a red carpet?? I mean seriously, I have my doubts. At least Kristen Stewart didn’t wear some old pair of Chuck Taylor’s with it this pretty dress, which unfortunatly would have been smashing if Miss Stewart didn’t look like she’d just awakened from a hangover. She always seems to look this way to me.
However, we have some redemption here in this James White photoshoot from 2008.
27
Jul
09
A Trip of Self-Discovery
Another piece of writing I love by Michael Ondaatje: an excerpt from his sublime memoir, Running in the Family.
“Once a friend had told me that it was only when I was drunk that I seemed to know exactly what I wanted. And so, two months later, in the midst of the farewell party in my growing wildness – dancing, balancing a wine glass on my forehead and falling to the floor twisting round and getting up without letting the glass tip, a trick which seemed only possible when drunk and relaxed – I knew I was already running … I had already planned the journey back. During quiet afternoons I spread maps onto the floor and searched out possible routes to Ceylon. But it was only in the midst of this party, among my closest friends, that I realized I would be traveling back to the family I had grown from – those relations from my parents’ generation who stood in my memory like frozen opera. I wanted to touch them into words…
While all these names may give an air of authenticity, I must confess that the book is not a history but a portrait or “gesture.” And if those listed above disapprove of the fictional air I apologize and can only say that in Sri Lanka a well-told lie is worth a thousand facts. ”
24
Jul
09
7 or 8 Things
Whenever I write a new story, I take a tip from Michael Ondaatje, one of my favorites, and write out my own version of his short piece 7 or 8 Things I Know About Her as a character study. It always brings out curious, things un-thought of previously…I’m not sure why. Here’s one. This is a fiction piece.
The Father
She waited every day for her father to return. He’ll be home, probably tomorrow, her mom would lie. She didn’t know it was a lie. She’d listen for the Camaro’s engine every night until she fell asleep: it was always quite loud when it came up the drive.
The Music
She loved the rock band’s songs. When her mother took her to what everyone called the club, she thought of the tree house Sandy down the road had in her back yard and the ‘club’ the two of them created. They played music on Sandy’s tape recorder. They threw their supply of fist-sized stones at the boys who tried to climb up the ladder. They played “I Love Rock and Roll” by Joan Jett and the Black Hearts and sang at the top of their lungs.
One Dog
They adopted a dog with three legs that had been hobbling around the neighborhood. He was old and raggedy but her mother patiently gave him a bath. He slept on the rug by the kitchen door. She took him out before school. He hobbled off one day and never came back. Mr. Pierce, who owned the bakery down town, said the dog was living with him for three weeks. His name was fluffy. She had called him Scruff.
First Criticism
She is five years old and her parents are screaming at each other. She sits and watches Sesame Street with her hands over her ears. Look at that silly, stupid girl, her father yells. She doesn’t know whom he is talking about. She covers her ears tighter.
Listening In
Over hear her in the bathroom of the dorm: “You could have started over, you could have started over, you could have started over.”
Self-Criticism
“I don’t like to feel sorry for myself but I always do. Why do I always wear these same clothes? Why don’t I get the highest grade, even when it’s an A? Why do I have to wait to get picked every time? I wait patiently for my time to come, because my mother says it will. But when?
Fantasies
To be picked as the lead singer of the famous rock band. Her father says she’s got the chops. She is given the spot without even trying out. Everyone loves her. She becomes more famous than her father. He sits in the audience every night and claps for her.
Reprise
At Sandy’s old house in the neighborhood, they tore down the tree house. It had been up there for over twenty years. She imagines she can hear that old Joan Jet song again as she drives by in the custom tour bus that is painted black and silver with her name emblazoned on the side in gold. When the bus stops at the drive way a crowd of people she doesn’t know are there to greet her. Her mother and father stand on the stoop smiling.
23
Jul
09
The Man Without A Country
The late, great Kurt Vonnegut’s A Man Without A Country was a nice read that I couldn’t put down not so long ago. If you catch an extra day, give it a try. How he would have detested our little blogging community, I would think, especially after re-reading these excerpts I had copied. See what you think.
“I have been called a Luddite.
I welcome it.
Do you know what a Luddite is? A person who hates newfangled contraptions. Ned Ludd was a textile worker in England at around the start of the nineteenth century who busted up a lot of new contraptions – mechanical looms that were going to put him our of work, that were going to make it impossible for him with his particular skills to feed, clothe, and shelter his family. In 1813 the British government executed by hanging seventeen men for “machine breaking” as it was called, a capital crime.
Today we have contraptions like nuclear submarines armed with Poseidon missiles that have H-bombs in their warheads. And we have contraptions like computers that cheat you out of becoming. Bill Gates says, “Wait till you can see what your computer can become.” But it’s you who should be doing the becoming, not the damn fool computer. What you can become is the miracle you were born to be through the work that you do……..
Electronic communities build nothing. You wind up with nothing. We are dancing animals. How beautiful it is to get up and go out and do something. We are here on Earth to fart around. Don’t let anybody tell you any different.”
Well Kurt, love the words, but maybe not in total agreement am I. I do love to fart around on this Earth, and will continue to do so….online…and off.
Peace…
18
Jul
09
Mosaic Portraits
I love these incredible mosaic portaits created by S.A. Schimmel Gold, who composes the Worholesque pics with hundreds of tiny, hand-planced scraps of postcards, menus, and junk mail. An avid recycler, she even mixes the water-based, non-toxic glue by hand.
Her portraits of some famous people are fascinating (I find myself wishing I could read the works in the tiles she has pains-takingly cut and glued together to shade and enhance). She also does personalized portraits of people using photographs as references. Being an artist who is fascinated with faces, I just love these works. I’m not sure I’d be patient enought to attempt this, but these faces are inspiring me to work my own art.
Check out more at: www.schimmelart.com/
We may never know exactly what Jeremy Blake was thinking as he walked into the sea on this day two years ago, taking his life away from the world. What we know for sure is that he’d found life impossible without his love, Theresa Duncan, who had one week previous committed suicide. Her death was out of the blue, without a signal that something was wrong. A shock to Jeremy. With the courage of any tragic Greek mythological or literary hero, our own punk-drunk hero decided to join her.
An up and coming digital artist, Jeremy was making quite a name for himself when he decided to take his life. He created colorful hypnotic digital videos sequences that were shown in major museums throughout the world, including the MMOA and the Whitney Museum in New York and had one coming up in D.C.’s Corcoran Gallery. In October of that year, they presented his work. It happened without him.
Today we remember this cool artist, the possibilities of what his career and life could have been, and the never-ending controversy he created with his untimely death.
Peace Jeremy…wherever you are…
16
Jul
09
What Could Have Been…
I imagine what could have been…had John Kennedy Jr. and his wife Carolyn BessetteKennedy had not died ten years ago today. Ten years has passed…I remember this day, like my mother and father who remember the day John’s father died before I was born. And last year, with all the political landscape in turmoil, with Hillary, Obama, and McCain, I had often wondered what it would have been like had this man decided to join the foray… I think we would have been pleasantly surprised. This possibly would have been his time, or perhaps, 2012, which would make more sense. A friend of John’s on GMA this morning said that John had been privately preparing for the presidency his entire life. He never stated that he would run, but somehow we all knew…
Today I remember and honor John Kennedy Jr. and his lovely stylish wife Carolyn Bessette Kennedy. They would have been smashing in our White House…but only after, I might add, our current incredible pres and first lady had made their exit.
These were two lives cut way too short. He was only 39.
That day, that glorious-weathered Saturday, when the news channels continually ran clips and interviews of John, one stands out for me. Among all the numerous film clips of John walking down the streets of New York this one is timely: John is walking and approaches some steps, obviously talking to the too numerous photographers that hounded him daily wherever he went, and from what I’ve read he was always polite to them. Here we see John suddenly lean down, out of the camera shot. I’m thinking, what is he doing? Tying his shoe? Did he drop something? The camera finally pulls back and down at John, who is kneeling on a step, petting a cat that was sleeping there.
Got to love this man.
Peace John and Carolyn…wherever you are…
10
Jul
09
Sad Day – Remembering Theresa
Today marks the second anniversaryof the death of Theresa Duncan, the inspiration of The Wit Continuum. She was a great story writer, a film maker, and a creator of video games. Theresa became an icon in the blogging world. Her blog, The Wit of the Staircase, lives on in cyber-space, a reminder of what the truest wit can achieve in thought and writing (and interesting photo finds). It became Theresa’s final call in an esoteric, yet strangely sad, life. It was too short, Theresa. We would have liked to see more. Why you gave up, we will never know, but in some infinitesimal way, I understand. You left a haunting story behind…it will not die for a long time, if ever. Which is part of why I write here; keeping the candle burning, keeping the links alive.
What drew me first to her story was an article called Folie A Deux written for California Style shortly after Theresa’s death. (Full article is in my Pages). I’ve always been drawn stories that have me think: one could not write a fiction better than this. An inexplicable suicide of a glamorous, intelligent artist who was so young (only 40) and seemed to have a beautiful bohemian life, certainly had a beautiful love. What made this story even more haunting was that seven days after her suicide by overdose of sleeping medication and alcohol, Theresa’s lover of 12 years, digital artist Jeremy Blake, took his own life by drowning himself in the Atlantic Ocean. The deep probing question of why has been prevalent for two years now.
Theresa was an intelligent, exceptional writer, who made connections that none can fathom. Her blog shows this clearly. I enjoyed purveying it so much, she inspired me to start The Wit Continuum last September. Some of her blogging style I have adopted, as you can see, but I notice it a lot of the blogs I’ve touched upon in the past year who have also loved and written about Theresa as well. Spiraling my own thoughts and interesting stories, books, or ideas that I find, as well as writing about the fair Ms. Duncan, has been a source of joy for me, a challenge.
Paranoid delusions and scientology conspiracies aside, Her story will never die. One of my goals is to keep the speculation alive. With a film about Theresa and Jeremy in the works right now, I think we’ll have more to blog about for years to come.
Peace Theresa…wherever you are.
08
Jul
09
Moment of Surrender
At the moment of surrender / Of vision over visibility / I did not notice the passers-by / And they did not notice me / I was speeding on the subway / Through the stations of the cross / Every eye looking every other way / Counting down ’til the pain would stop / At the moment of surrender / Of vision of over visibility / I did not notice the passers-by / And they did not notice me
Lyrics by Bono
Feeling the cool summer groove today…peace…
Checked in today to see if all was well in my community here at wordpress, and found that my own home base was invaded. Another nasty comment has exposed itself to my About page, from a dear Mr. Williams who does not blog himself, but thinks mine is, ah, what a word, “gross”. Yeah, I don’t think I’ve use this word since 1983, well, maybe once or twice, but certainly not on the occasion of describing someone’s work. He goes on to say that I am “riding on the coattails of someone who left us too soon.” If you’re new here and haven’t read my blog, the coattails I’m supposedly riding are that of the late Theresa Duncan, an iconic blogger who passed away two years ago this week. If you look at my sidebar you’ll see her. If it’s her coattails I ride, so be it. It’s been an honor, an enjoyment, an obssession, I’ve learned a lot about writing and blogging, and I’ve met many interesting people from across this country, and some out of it, that have stopped by. And if so many people have stopped by, I must be doing something right. I regret nothing.
And when the infamous non-blogger Mr. Williams says I should get my own ideas, well, quite frankly he hasn’t read much of my blog. My most popular post has been hit on nearly 1000 times and it’s about my distaste for clean coal as it relates to my life personally. It’s a brief story, to the point, and I don’t think it was Theresa’s idea. If this is what my comment enthused Mr. Williams thinks.
Like I asked some time ago: Why do people bother with the nasty words? What does it do for them? Is it some need to boost their own ego, or just a love to derail someone else, thus making themselves somehow better? I can’t figure it out. He should visit that strange dude wearing the freaky masks blog. I wonder if he’d call this gross also? I wonder if it would be as gross as mine?
My first nasty comment shook me up–and Sarcastic Bastard was a sweet Georgia peach (my favorite) and told me to keep my chin up. And I took those words to heart and have grown. So SB, should I keep that nasty on my About Page, will that toughen me up, or should I deleted the eloquent user of the word “gross”?? Should I par with a witty response (I do have one) or let it hang? Input needed here. Lisa, pipe in if you get a chance. Need an opinion. Should I keep the reminder that someone hates me or not?
And if anyone has nasty comment experience, let me know, especially if you were visited my Mr. Williams and called gross.
Peace…
Another 4th of July already! The Wit and family will be spending it with uncle who hosts a big shin-dig in the coal banked reaches of northeast pa. Around 9 pm or so, after we have all heavily drunk of the wild cisterns of glee that are often called coolers, we will sit back and watch uncle don his viking helmut, hike up his pants, toss another cold one and present us with a show, something much like this. (well, actually not quite this big, but close, mainly because it is so close!). Not settling for sparklers, uncles asks the tent guy earlier this week “Have anything else?” to which he is discretly escorted to the back of the gentleman’s truck where cases of United We Stand and other such phenominally named boxes can be found, all perfectly legal, of course. There is a competition in this neighborhood…fireworks can be seen lighting the sky from all directions, leaving us dizzy and aching in the neck by the time we are on our journey home, exhausted, stuffed, and slightly drunk (except for the driver of course!) Believe me, you haven’t experienced fireworks until some sparks have fallen on you and you at least have a hair or two singed, or as one year, when Mr. Continuum was struck in the chest by a flaming falling firework shell).
All hazards aside…Hope everyone has a wonderful Independence Day! Happy Shin-digs! Let freedom ring! God bless you all!
Peace…
An excerpt from Seducing The Demonby Erica Jong. (Love this book: if you’re a woman and a writer you must read it). 
The wonderful Chicago poet Gwendolyn Brooks and I shared a double-decker sleeping compartment from Moscow to Kiev, but we didn’t sleep. We stayed up all night talking about poetry or reciting it to each other. Robert Bly wandered from compartment to compartment, playing his balalaika.
When we arrived in Kiev, we were paired up with our translators, who were clearly also reporting to some lowly apparatichik at the KBG about everything we said and did. That was also the standard in 1983.
Matrons in black guarded each floor of the hotel and impounded our keys and passports.
For most of the day we sat in meetings wearing headphones in which we could listen to endless droning speeches in Russian or English. Every hour or so we were summoned into the hallway for frozen shots of vodka, which I guzzled (not abstaining then), and gray greasy beluga in buds of butter, which we perched on toasted pumpernickel crescents or ate with spoons of abalone shell. What beluga it was! Could Marx have known that the best beluga would be reserved for Party members and their guests?
At lunchtime, there was another three-hour food orgy with more beluga caviar, borscht, mystery meat and icy vodka. For dessert, there were pastries and sweet Georgian champagne.
Susan Sontag, who was nothing if not pragmatic about her career, toasted “the kitchen staff that prepared the meal.” Clearly she had been here before and understood the full spectrum of appropriate Communist behavior.
Only at night, when the vodka flowed even more freely, did my sloe-eyed translator break down and weep.
“Soviet Union no good place for momens,” she whispered. “Men drink too much wodka, become why-o-lent.”
Studs Turkel would roam the city with his tape recorder trying to collect impressions of life under Communism, but an overenthusiastic comrade confiscated his machine.
During a performance of the opera The Bartered Bride, my translator lushly whispered to me, “Dat is fate of all Russian womens!”
The curiously strange oil paintings created by uber-creepy-story-and-movie-writer Clive Barker has got this Wit mezmerized. Bought this book a few years ago and enjoyed the jouney into another world…not so far from our own…could be at the end of that empty field at the edge of town…know what I mean. In any case, the teen Continuum members have picked up the second book, which got me thinking, and re-looking at the artworks of Mr. Barker. There is a dark place in the Wit Continuum’s brain that loves pics like these; worthy of second, third, even ten glances.
In an interview Clive said that he actually started the paintings first, then sat back and his mind soared into a story surrounding them. Clever, and quite obscure way to illustrate a book. Fascinating more so because of that I should say. There was supposed to be a movie with Disney, I think, maybe in the working stage 5 years ago or so, but nothing has hit the screen yet. Still waiting…(perhaps it was dropped–too creepily creative maybe??)
Nasty Comment follow-up…
Tags: blog comments, blogging, blogs, comments, nasty blog comments, nasty comments, writing
oooohhhh…I must say… that unprovoked attack …I LIKED IT!! Especially the word “gross”. Never heard that one before. “Unrespectful” (which isn’t even a word) was the last nasty back in January. (Guess I should expect one every six months or so). Mr. Williams actually wrote “This blog is gross. Get your own ideas instead of riding the coattails of someone who left us too soon.” Can’t thank Mr. Williams for his opinion–like assholes, everyone has one.
But, if this is what anyone thinks I’m doing, I will proudly continue to ride the coattails of the immensely missed and deeply respected Theresa Duncan.
Wonder if this guy plans on stopping by on the 10th? Not to worry…still wearing my armor.
Peace…