oh, renoir

"and would the gold of their setting sun help me find the strength to say to them: here is the future, in that past that you never wanted. if i melt their gold into light, might they then open their eyes to see a new day dawning?

how to get them beyond their love of gold? to get them to see beyond gold? is life ever given in exchange for gold? and if indeed one must dig the land in order to put down roots, if a man persists in changing into gold the lode that he finds, is it not death that he worships?" --irigaray

nocturne communique/nocturnal e-mission
"i've had a bit too much tonight, but i think i'll ride my bike all right."

textual relations/e-ruptions
"when quails were trained to copulate with a piece of terry cloth, their conditioning was sustained through ongoing repetition."

the appreciation of art - both making it and looking at it - alone and with and among others - is fetishistic. probably more often than not it is at least partially and specifically erotically fetishistic. art itself is fetish. as with most objects, the specificity of fetish arises both from personal histories and equally social but more universal conditionings. controlled by both magic and manipulation.

freudian conceptions of fetish rely on efforts of compensation for the evident and apparent lack of the phallus by the mother. the fetish object is that which stands in for this lack. for if mother was castrated, then so too may be child, and this is a difficult thought to bear. the fetish object makes it digested more easily through a twofold process of denial and compensation. disavowal and avowal. this process is not to be pathologized. nor is it innately tied to a gendered and freudian conception of fetish as such, more than to a general structure of states of anxiety (emergency) and dissatisfaction. the realization is that the world does not belong to one, nor can be brought to one, nor even aligns with one's nascent vision of what the world even is. i adapt to the impact of this realization through fantasizing about the (art) object of desire. ("not be satisfied with such a love. leave it to the men of ressentiment, and try to create another world.") in this way, proust's madeleine is not a trigger for the delectableness of memory but a fetish object that rejects the solubility of the past in the present.

many fetishes have obvious relations to the body, specifically through the skin organ - rubber, leather - and through descent - piss, feet. in art, these relations are analogously the viscerality of form and content and the sadism of exhibition and voyeurism. put another way, the fetish of art is both plastic and spiritual.

in some sense, if we are to consider the history of art and its autonomy from church and state (and thus capital), then art is the object of fetish of art itself.

from the door jamb i can jus see a leg and a sneaker, but i know there's cash on top of the fridge. you and i - both left to the care of our mothers at the age of six - we seek electric fingers that will remover handkerchiefs from back pockets and dip them in our blood. the stolen tortured heart of a clown. a confession of rape. a foetus preserved in a jar of formaldehyde smashed on the floor and wounded lightly. a body moves down a hallway and blood flows black. it is collected in cups delicate as loose tea. the cups perch like birds til they topple and spill ink and hair, sounding like suitcase.

give me the curious look of someone who's interested but doesn't even know what in or why or how (yet). taurines may be bulls, but they've just as much in common with the accoutrement of the matador - the capote de paseo and that which will interpellate.

everyone keeps saying it's so clear cuz it's so cold, but i think it's the other way round. what we need is a little soft focus to get back the heat.

the space is fluroescent blue and cavernous but not clinical like hospital, no unglamorous gowns, but more like how cool can be comforting. you exhale and yr breath condenses into marbles that i accidentally swallow. i am a plate of blue and ornate china floating abreast the sea swells. caught between the tension of air and water (which is less tension than between earth and water?). surface tension creates buoyancy and i - the plate - am thinking about flux like heraclitus. the buddhist disavowal of attachment is about insatiability. when everything flows like river, there is no one thing or set of things that will keep us from hunger for eternity. don't hold on to it cuz it is likely to move and leave yr mouth empty.

LOOK!
alexander: the other side of dawn
beirut - la llorona
birdsong
boys in the band
bundesliga fashion
centerfold shock
trinie dalton - hot bitches
john kelly - blue
kjellgren kaminsky
jean-pierre leaud
ian mackaye - emocore
paperheart
yvonne rainer - trio a
save the sea kittens
ian svenonius' soft focus (calvin johnson meets patti smith at the seattle airport)
still black
nelson sullivan
twyla tharp - in the upper room
visions link to coffee intake
visura
carin wester

LISTEN!
susie asado
matteah baim
black eyes
vashti bunyan - train song
cheese on bread
crimpshrine
dark was the night
dirty projectors + david byrne - knotty pine
gun outfit
i.u.d.
lungfish
daniel martin-mccormick - crazy in love
mi ami
mirah - gone are the days
nico muhly
odawas
personal + the pizzas
stephane pompougnac - clumsy
san marinos
smiths - jeane
sparkle motion - (i heart my) train legs
thank you
weston
wet paint
wild gifts