546660 post on th health benefits of storytelling
zummer's not over until we say so, Kevin Shields, and mebbe not even den. Look up anthropogenic climate change. Me, I love summer. You won't find me whingeing about its extended remix. This summer in Utah, Kristin, Rome, Shannon, and I dangled our heads off th edge of a canyon to look @ stars upside down. I successfully did not say anything out loud about deepthroating th horizon. New Orleans was so humid that we sweat underwater. Our asses froze to th floor of our tent in th desert in Arizona. Santa Fe offered us th sight of a mouse riding on top of a cat who was riding on top of a dog. You would never ride on top of a dog, Kevin Shields, and you would eat th mouse.
This summer th Outernet was king,
queen, fairy godmother, and good witch. But I guess I will always come back inside sooner or later to tell you or God or my computer all about it. "My day didn't really happen unless I tell you about it," I used to tell my first girlfriend, N.; so it was no wonder we both took it v. hard when we broke up and stopped talking to eachother. I was risking th nonexistence of my days, and she was hurt that I appeared to be choosing th absolute rupture of th fabric of reality itself over staying together w/ her. W/ subsequent girlfriends, I avoided making pronouncements that put all of creation @ stake.
Humans love storytelling, though. We couldn't live th way you do, staring out th patio door, never sharing a tale w/ anybody. How do you not go mad? We're not too good @ keeping a secret. Some of us can't do a bad thing w/o telling a priest afterwards, although no one has provided me a satisfactory theological justification for that. Isn't sin by definition between you and God alone, and priests are there just to make us feel less lonely? What if a priest ... is just like my ex-girlfriend? My sin didn't really happen unless I tell you about it. Now that I have told you about it, it's real, and we can grab it and hand it over to th Authorities. What if an Internet diary
... is just like a priest?! I'm sitting here in Th Basement w/ a partly cloudy future, a story about my Indian summer
that is partly told, and a badly sprained ankle; and th more I tell you about it, Kevin Shields, th more solid I feel, and th more my neighbourhood inches away from vapourousness,[1] that sensation of having dreamed up th whole thing--this basement, my godforsaken zebra-striped left ankle, summer, and you.
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El jay entries of th week:
Sascha speaks on freedom from personality and not knowing what to say.
Matt prefers th country to th city and makes brightly-coloured paintings and drawings what would cheer me up if I needed cheering up.
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Video game music:
From Stage 4 of Katamari Damashi, ah ain't knowed of a gayer, bouncier song than this. Useful for when you're stuck in rush hour and need something to help you metamorphose into a giant sticky ball that will roll over and collect all other cars into yr own mass until you collectively are big enough to pick up gas stations, shopping malls, skyscrapers, th highway itself, and who-knows-what after that. All you know is that everything's one, bro.
"Lonely Rolling Star" (13.4 MB)
________
1.Abstractly, what would you say the subject matter is that you're covering in all of your work?
It's just the strangeness of life. The realities underlying this one. It's this sense that I've always had that what we see is not only a tiny fraction of what's to be had, that it's illusory to boot, and that there are bigger things to be seen than are readily apparent.
So you see your own work as being less surreal than most people interpret it?
Well, surreal--that's a hard word to define. It's definitely not fantasy-based, let's put it that way. It portrays some things that exist, and which are relevant to our lives.
Where is this inspiration coming from? Do you think that you see things that most people don't?
Well, I don't know what most people see, but I certainly--the world has always been very hard for me to focus on. I've never been able to take it at face value. I know a lot of other people feel that way, and maybe most people feel that way, but for most people there's no percentage in really worrying about it that much, because they have lives to get on with, but I really don't. I've just devoted myself to recording my feelings about all of this, and that's what I do for a living.
(Interview w/ Jim Woodring)
This summer th Outernet was king,
queen, fairy godmother, and good witch. But I guess I will always come back inside sooner or later to tell you or God or my computer all about it. "My day didn't really happen unless I tell you about it," I used to tell my first girlfriend, N.; so it was no wonder we both took it v. hard when we broke up and stopped talking to eachother. I was risking th nonexistence of my days, and she was hurt that I appeared to be choosing th absolute rupture of th fabric of reality itself over staying together w/ her. W/ subsequent girlfriends, I avoided making pronouncements that put all of creation @ stake.
Humans love storytelling, though. We couldn't live th way you do, staring out th patio door, never sharing a tale w/ anybody. How do you not go mad? We're not too good @ keeping a secret. Some of us can't do a bad thing w/o telling a priest afterwards, although no one has provided me a satisfactory theological justification for that. Isn't sin by definition between you and God alone, and priests are there just to make us feel less lonely? What if a priest ... is just like my ex-girlfriend? My sin didn't really happen unless I tell you about it. Now that I have told you about it, it's real, and we can grab it and hand it over to th Authorities. What if an Internet diary
... is just like a priest?! I'm sitting here in Th Basement w/ a partly cloudy future, a story about my Indian summer
that is partly told, and a badly sprained ankle; and th more I tell you about it, Kevin Shields, th more solid I feel, and th more my neighbourhood inches away from vapourousness,[1] that sensation of having dreamed up th whole thing--this basement, my godforsaken zebra-striped left ankle, summer, and you.
+ + +
El jay entries of th week:
Sascha speaks on freedom from personality and not knowing what to say.
Matt prefers th country to th city and makes brightly-coloured paintings and drawings what would cheer me up if I needed cheering up.
+ + +
Video game music:
From Stage 4 of Katamari Damashi, ah ain't knowed of a gayer, bouncier song than this. Useful for when you're stuck in rush hour and need something to help you metamorphose into a giant sticky ball that will roll over and collect all other cars into yr own mass until you collectively are big enough to pick up gas stations, shopping malls, skyscrapers, th highway itself, and who-knows-what after that. All you know is that everything's one, bro.
"Lonely Rolling Star" (13.4 MB)
________
1.Abstractly, what would you say the subject matter is that you're covering in all of your work?
It's just the strangeness of life. The realities underlying this one. It's this sense that I've always had that what we see is not only a tiny fraction of what's to be had, that it's illusory to boot, and that there are bigger things to be seen than are readily apparent.
So you see your own work as being less surreal than most people interpret it?
Well, surreal--that's a hard word to define. It's definitely not fantasy-based, let's put it that way. It portrays some things that exist, and which are relevant to our lives.
Where is this inspiration coming from? Do you think that you see things that most people don't?
Well, I don't know what most people see, but I certainly--the world has always been very hard for me to focus on. I've never been able to take it at face value. I know a lot of other people feel that way, and maybe most people feel that way, but for most people there's no percentage in really worrying about it that much, because they have lives to get on with, but I really don't. I've just devoted myself to recording my feelings about all of this, and that's what I do for a living.
(Interview w/ Jim Woodring)