In Art, How to, Music on September 23, 2009 at 9:36 am
Handbook for the Woman Driver: A Must for the Woman at the Wheel – 1955
Clothes and Beauty En Route (page 173)
Stockings: Practical as American women are, they often have a phobia against wearing stockings suitable for the occasion. For everyday wear, even with walking shoes, women buy hose far more sheer than what was considered evening weight just a few years ago. Have some sheer nylons for dressy occasions, but for the trip consider a medium-weight stocking (45-15 is good), knowing it is sheer enough to flatter your legs, yet able to take strain. If stockings are too short or skimpy, their tops may cut into your thighs as you drive, and they won’t be long enough for you to garter them to your girdle without pulling uncomfortably.
In Confessional, Film, Prose on September 9, 2009 at 3:22 pm
Scorch Atlas by Black Butler has been released today from Featherproof Books. Reviews have been justifiably great– I’ve read Blake for awhile now, and know his writing to be consistently powerful, eloquent, innovative, and beautiful. Excerpts I’ve read from Scorch Atlas are no exception; here is one from one of the 14 linked stories in the book (you can read the entire story at DIAGRAM 8.3):
excerpt from The Many Forms of Rain ___ Sent Upon Us in Those Days Before the Last Days
As if the planet had learned to scratch its back. In massive columns like what we’d seen on TV during our worse storms, stretched check-pattern, warbled spatter. As well, the sound of a billion needles wheedling, tearing their tips against the grain. Sometimes I felt I could hear laugh tracks buried under the floorboards, wedged way deep down in the sod. Somewhere down there was my father. His knuckled rapped against the beams. I began to feel everything inside me at once humming. I felt my organs screech alive: the static replicated in me. When my mouth opened, it came out. The vibration cracked my mirrors. It cracked the foundations of my soft skull. It made me giggle just a bit. I couldn’t keep a hold on as through the windows I saw the wide scrim that for years had nestled me into sleep—the gray/white/black transmission from dead channels, from wavelengths no one had thought to walk.
Plus, a video/audio presentation of another excerpt from the same story:
In Film, History, Music on September 7, 2009 at 8:51 am
In Confessional, Music, Science on August 29, 2009 at 9:35 pm
Waiting for it to be unlocked. According to Charles Darwin and natural selection, a few tens of thousands of years, and I might have made it. Well, not me, my descendants, maybe, but, anyway.
In Confessional, Photography, Science on August 13, 2009 at 9:53 pm
I had never heard of these before. They look like cotton balls, or the backs of shaggy llamas.
In How to, Music, Poetry on August 12, 2009 at 12:07 am
Brandi Wells Review posted a thing of mine, which was nice to do, I think. It’s a cool place, and Brandi would love for people to send her stuff, so maybe people should.
I burned the fuck out of myself today. For those who don’t know, burning the fuck out of yourself is at least a three degree burn. I’m not sure how many degrees burns go up to. It was my finger, so I held on to frozen things until it stopped hurting. It’s better now.
In Confessional, Nutrition, Poetry on August 9, 2009 at 12:42 am
My heart is an erratic, unbeautiful thing.
In Art, Music, Poetry on August 5, 2009 at 12:48 am
Phillip Glass by Chuck Close
whatever beautiful factory
trucks forever passing
we stumble into half-attending
–Cami Park (me)
previously published in elimae