Transience Blues: dezembro 2016

segunda-feira, 26 de dezembro de 2016

Gore Vidal

"Style is knowing who you are, what you want to say, and not giving a damn."

"Although our notions about what constitutes correct sexual behavior are usually based on religious texts, those texts are invariably interpreted by the rulers in order to keep control over the ruled. Any sexual or intellectual or recreational or political activity that might decrease the amount of coal mined, the number of pyramids built, the quantity of junk food confected will be proscribed through laws that, in turn, are based on divine revelations handed down by whatever god or gods happen to be in fashion at the moment. Religions are manipulated in order to serve those who govern society and not the other way around. This is a brand-new thought to most Americans, whether once or twice or never bathed in the Blood of the Lamb."
Sex is Politics (1979)

quinta-feira, 22 de dezembro de 2016

Gavin Bryars

The Sinking of the Titanic (1975)

Maus Fígados

Trabalhadores, perdão, colaboradores do mundo, uni-vos!

Danny Brown

Rodney Jones

The Assault on the Fields

It was like snow, if snow could blend with air and hover,

making, at first,

A rolling boil, mottling the pine thickets behind the fields,

but then flattening

As it spread above the fenceposts and the whiteface cattle,

an enormous, luminous tablet,

A shimmering, an efflorescence, through which my father

rode on his tractor,

Masked like the Martian or a god to create the cloud where

he kept vanishing;

Though, of course, it was not a cloud or snow, but poison,

dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane,

The word like a bramble of black locust on the tongue,

and, after a while,

It would fill the entire valley, as, one night in spring,

five years earlier,

A man from Joe Wheeler Electric had touched a switch

and our houses filled with light.

Already some of the music from the radio went with me

when the radio was off.

The bass, the kiss of the snare. Some of the thereness

rubbing off on the hereness.

But home place still meant family. Misfortune was a well
of yellowish sulfur water.

The Flowerses lived next door. Coyd drove a road grader

for the county.

Martha baked, sewed, or cleaned, complaining beautifully

of the dust

Covering her new Formica counters. Martha and Coyd,

Coyd Jr., Linda, and Jenny.

How were they different from us? They owned

a television,

Knew by heart each of the couples on Dick Clark’s

American Bandstand.

At dust Junior, the terrible, would beat on a cracked

and unfrettable Silvertone guitar.

While he pitched from the top of his wayward voice

one of a dozen songs

He’d written for petulant freshman girls. ‘Little Patti,’

‘Matilda,’

‘Sweet Bonnie G.’ What did the white dust have to do

with anything?

For Junior, that year, it was rock’n’roll; if not rock’n’roll,

then abstract expressionism –

One painting comes back. Black frame. Black canvas –

‘I call it Death,’ he would say,

Then stomp out onto the front lawn to shoot his .22 rifle

straight into the sky above his head.

Surely if Joel Shapiro’s installation of barbed wire and

crumbled concrete blocks,

In a side room of the most coveted space in Manhattan,

pays homage

To the most coveted space in Manhattan, then Junior

Flowers’s Death,

Hanging on a wall dingy with soot in North Albama,

is a comment, too.

Are they the same thing? I do not know that they are not

the same thing.

And the white dust, so magical, so poisonous: how does it

differ from snow?

As it thins gradually over many nights, we don’t notice

it; once the golden

Carp have rotted from the surfaces of ponds, there is no

stench to it;

It is more of an absence of things barely apprehended,

of flies, of moths;

Until one day the hawks who patrolled the air over

the chicken coops are gone;

And when a woman, who was a girl then, finds a lump,

what does it have to do

With the green fields and the white dust boiling

and hovering?

When I think of the name Jenny Flowers, it is that

whiteness I think of.

Some bits have fallen to clump against a sheet of tin

roofing

The tornado left folded in the ditch, and the stoops there

to gather

A handful of chalk to mark the grounds for hopscotch.

domingo, 18 de dezembro de 2016

William Eggleston

Coil

Nelly Furtado

Maus Fígados

Menina stylist e blogger na TV:
É um look super fashion, sexy e cheio de glamour. O fit é esplêndido.

Moor Mother

The Birthday Party

segunda-feira, 12 de dezembro de 2016

Frank O'Hara

   AVE MARIA
   
   
   Mothers of America
                                   let your kids go to the movies!
   get them out of the house so they won't know what you're up to
   it's true that fresh air is good for the body
                                                                 but what about the soul
   that grows in darkness, embossed by silvery images
   and when you grow old as grow old you must
                                                                   they won't hate you
   they won't criticize you they won't know
                                                       they'll be in some glamorous country
   they first saw on a Saturday afternoon or playing hookey

   they may even be grateful to you
                                                     for their first sexual experience
   which only cost you a quarter
                                                 and didn't upset the peaceful home
   they will know where candy bars come from
                                                        and gratuitous bags of popcorn
   as gratuitous as leaving the movie before it's over
   with a pleasant stranger whose apartment is in the Heaven on Earth Bldg
   near the Williamsburg Bridge
                                       oh mothers you will have made the little tykes
   so happy because if nobody does pick them up in the movies
   they won't know the difference
                                                  and if somebody does it'll be sheer gravy
   and they'll have been truly entertained either way
   instead of hanging around the yard
                                                        or up in their room
                                                                                      hating you
   prematurely since you won't have done anything horribly mean yet
   except keeping them from the darker joys
                                                                   it's unforgivable the latter
   so don't blame me if you won't take this advice
                                                                          and the family breaks up
   and your children grow old and blind in front of a TV set
                                                                                         seeing
   movies you wouldn't let them see when they were young