There is a legend that illustrates this relationship well. The emperor, so it goes, has sent a message to you, one individual, a puny subject, a tiny shadow who has fled from the imperial sun into the most distant of distances, to you alone the emperor has sent a message from his deathbed. He has made the messenger kneel down beside the bed and has whispered the message to him; it mattered so much to him that he made him repeat it in his ear. He has nodded to confirm the accuracy of what was said. And in front of all the spectators at his death - all walls that might block the view are ripped down, and the great personages of the empire stand in a circle on the wide and vaulting open staircase - in front of them all he dispatched the messenger. The messenger began his journey at once; a strong man, a tireless man, a swimmer without equal; now thrusting out one arm, now the other, he makes his way through the crowd; when he encounters resistance, he points to his breast, which bears the sign of the sun; and he advances easily, like no other. But the crowd is so deep, their dwelling places are without end; if he could only reach open land, how he would fly, and soon you would be sure to hear the wonderful beat of his fists at your door. Instead, how uselessly he exhausts himself; he is still forcing his way through the chambers of the innermost palace; he will never get to the end of them; and if he succeeded, nothing would have been gained; he would have to cross the courtyards, and after the courtyards the second, outer palace, and more stairs and courtyards, and another palace, and so on through the millennia; and if he did finally crash out of the outermost gate - but that can never, never happen - the imperial capital would now lie before him, the center of the world, heaped to the top with its sediment. No one can penetrate this, let alone with the message of a dead man addressed to a nonentity. But you sit at your window and envision it as in a dream when evening comes.
Franz Kafka - The Great Wall of China (trans. Stanley Corngold)
Life After Death
Taxidermy (Leopard, Lobster, Rabbit), Pants, Blouse, Cape, Socks, Gloves, Hat, Sandals, Bronze (Rifle, Gun, Bottle), Wool Mat
"BrooklynVegan is the worst, it just becomes like a rating board for guys to have at it. They’ll be…"
I’m glad she said this. I think more people need to talk about this, to call it out, because I think there’s this assumption that the indie world is full of nice guys who have evolved beyond sexism, which is anything but true. I realized a long time ago that any indie-centric show I went to in NYC, any bar, whatever, was likely to have these very same anonymous commenters lurking around somewhere. It’s easy to pretend they’re not, that they’re part of someone else’s life or social circle, but these creeps are everywhere and need to be shamed.
Quoted for truth.
Yes. And that the people who run the blog do nothing. It’s revolting. No wait, we’re going to revolt, they are just gross.
“Welcome to the cockeyed world of artist-photographer Lori Nix, as she takes us behind the scenes at the Natural History Museum. Nix’s diminutive dioramas unfold as microcosms—where the world of science collides with an overactive imagination, with amusing results. Nix fabricates these elaborate miniature scenes in her Brooklyn studio, forgoing any kind of digital intervention. Nix: “I’m greatly enamored with the Natural History Museum, and visit it as often as I can. My series Unnatural History is a look at the inner workings of the museum. The images feature animals and situations where the science and/or facts they represent are a little confused.”
Description from Rebecca Horne’s (rather excellent) Discover magazine blog “Visual Science”
These are great! And now I want to be friends with both Lori Nix and Rebecca Horne.
I know these aren’t exactly what the blog’s about, but they’re too cool to pass up! Read the entire article over at Discover Magazine.
"It was liberating to hear someone take on those traditional expressions of masculinity, because I…"
David Combs, on Bikini Kill and rebelling against a patriarchal society
My hatred of this person as a public figure (we’ll just leave it at that) highlights my newfound disdain of “feminist” tracts by men whining about how Masculinity has damaged them so much. I guess this is the only thing that they feel they have authority on in regards to feminism, which is nice (the self-restraint, I mean), but god, I don’t care anymore, because do you know how much punk press this shitty article got even though heaps of women have relentlessly said everything that he wrote? Like, it was cool that he deferred to women’s voices in the article, but still, fuck off, I’m so sick of this person’s name everywhere as the Great Feminist Punk Man when that is such bullshit to begin with.
Loving Spoons as a public figure/songwriter (come at me) and agreeing with these sentiments are not mutually exclusive. Not talking about the latter would make me a hypocrite and a bad feminist punk and a shitty person.
I’ve joked before about how David always passes copies of this article out at shows, and how I have seen him so many times this year and he’s still handing out this same article. I think he should continue to do so, especially given the bros I knows that goes to his shows. Normally, when he says (he always does!) something like “I wrote this thing about sexism, you should read it, there are copies on the back table,” I have two immediate responses. The first is ALL THE MEN THAT ARE STANDING ON OR NEAR ME NEED TO GO DO THAT IMMEDIATELY. The second, though, is wouldn’t it be great if I sustained all the credibility and opportunities and friends and professional relationships I have as a feminist blogger with only writing one feminist tract in a year? And then reblogging it over and over again? And then getting congratulated over and over again? Yeah, that would be pretty cool. But I can’t.
It’s a joke, but it seems pretty pertinent right now, especially with all of the shit dealing with Mr. Schwyzer. We should revisit this article right now, and think about how we talk about punk dudes that aren’t-terrible-but-are-still-dudes-who-think-they-can-talk-about-stuff (I’m looking at you, ONSIND).
I’d also like to propose that we ask David Combs to do the same kind of promotion for things written by women, people of color, and trans* people. I think maybe we should all send David Combs articles by women, people of color, and trans* people that interrogate sexism in the punk scene. I think we should ask them to promote them alongside his own at shows. I imagine he would, but I imagine it wouldn’t matter much.
I don’t have any reason (so far) to think that Spoonboy is a bad ally or antifeminist. I also think he has written (some of) the best songs about gender and sexuality all year. But I also think maybe we shouldn’t congratulate him for being an alright ally.
Also, this helps me frame those lingering questions about “Leopard Print Girl,” when you think about it.
"Critics of Joan Didion—and they are legion—fall into several camps, the largest and best-organized…"
It strikes me, perhaps really for the first time, that—maybe counterintuitively, considering that women are expected to be connected to their emotions—to express deep sadness as a woman, ennui, melancholy, bitterness, in a public forum is a very feminist act. (via kels-ium
Image from ‘The Guide to Pyramid Energy’, 1975.
When we first moved to Southern California, the health-food store in my town had a pyramid in the window with a bunch of things inside—fruit that would never go bad, razors that would never go dull, etc.—and I was transfixed. With a child’s logic, I didn’t understand why “they” would not put a pyramid around the whole world, or at least around everyone’s houses.
Very excited (ahem) to see Turn Me On Dammit! tonight.