“everyone is sleeping, the potential energy is not being used: you can have more of it.”—David Barnes, on how he and Kevin call each other up at two am. so incredibly relevant to my life. [this interview]
I have this on record. well. on ‘loan’ from my father.
story goes, he had it imported from the UK when it was first released (because he was a mad hipster). a few years later, at a dinner party, it was covered with spilt wine. the friend responsible replaced the stained cover with that of a second-release Australian version. apparently this is critical to its identity
[something relevant and diverting that I wrote a while ago and that, despite grammatical inadequacies, does demonstrate correct usage of the past participle ‘spilt’.]
I’ve always believed that animals have languages. it always seemed obvious. I mean, does it make more sense that they don’t?
apparently so, according to A Person From One Of My Classes, who made a big deal about how ‘animal noises’ are only sounds that imitate meaning. and—despite my reasonable arguments to the contrary, and my having-watched-more-David-Attenborough-documentaries-than-anyone-who-hasn’t-worked-in-their-production, and my explanation that ‘sounds made to mimic meaning’ is pretty much how language is defined—they would not concede even that animals might have languages.
being that I’m the worst at pop cultures, you might be surprised to learn that I watched the newer x-men film yesterday. mostly because it was a lovely excuse to hang out with the lovely speep. but partly because it is kind of meaningful to my ~childhood and also because it is, as speep describes, ‘the epic mutant bromance’. important things:
- maybe over epic, at times (I know, that’s even possible!)
- messed up more timelines. again.
- James McAvoy’s face is kind of embarrassing to look at.
- could have done with more eighties-nineties love power ballads.
“the internet: where everyone is asexual and everyone is fucking everybody else”—
they might as well be: that’s why kids shouldn’t be allowed to use the internet. trying to explain some reality of digital distance. and how reality isn’t necessarily relevant. and meaning doesn’t necessarily mean as much, or the same things. Baudrillard would have loved it.
things, written late at night, that I did not put in my essay.
Gustav KLIMT, Judith I (1901), painting: oil and gold leaf on canvas, 84.0 x 42.0 (Österreichische Galerie Belvedere)
The portrait features a woman; displayed from her hips, to the top of her tremendous quiff. She is fixed within the frame by intricate gold-leafing that spreads inwards, to her block-like collar. The effect flattens the picture space, but its contrast with the dynamic, portrait-like figure emphasises her ethereal—spiritual—separation from its allegory.
Her gown covers half her chest (barely), leaving one breast exposed. Her right arm extends across her body. Its hand rests upon the head of Holofernes, which is just squeezed into the corner of the frame.
Nonetheless, the viewer is not captivated by the decapitated head, or the woman’s bare chest, but with her intense, defiant gaze. She is attractive and seductive, beautiful and grotesque; but she is also powerful and untouchable.
“If atheism is a faith, then not playing chess is a hobby.”—no globe in my roof, so I’m studying by the light of the rotating jesus lamp. I can’t think whether I need motivation or oblivion. one of them. or attentions.
as if Orpheus rose his hands for comfort and, finding a crook, stared dumb transfixed questioning fate a complication of what might be found in text (but wasn’t) an upset (but not of his own tragedy) confined to that reality
“… the Paris which [Toulouse-]Lautrec portrayed was both shocking and fascinating. the intoxicating mixture of high life with vice, of good times with the misery of drug-taking and absinthe drinking… the ‘naughtiness’ of Paris became a lure and a legend.”—
Gustav Klimt trained in Vienna, and is best-known for his association with its Secession movement, which encouraged artists break away from the institutionalisation of art. As Frodl describes, it brought with it, ‘an exciting confusion of mood and atmosphere which combined a sense that the world was ending with the expectations of new beginnings.’ Their motto was the battle-cry of Hevesi:
Der Zeit ihre Kunst, der Kunst ihre Freiheit
To Each Age its Art, to Art its Freedom
Klimt’s art is sentimental and impersonal, beautiful and dangerous. His work reflects his fascination with powerful, attractive women. It is dynamic textural juxtaposition, fusing intricate patterning, rough, empty space and carefully depicted portrait-like faces in a harmony of contrasting layers.
[reference: Gerbert Frodl, Klimt (1992), (Barrie and Jenkins: London)]
he wore habits. and he totally slept with his models. a lot. he had about 27 illegitimate children, and he supported them—and their mothers—financially. apparently, they all got along really well. he also had a billion pet cats. because he didn’t think it was right to spay them. and he didn’t have the heart to send away their kittens.