Everyone's so bundled in Winter and the weather is now not only tolerable but even occasionally rather pleasant; everyone's taking off their coats and jackets; I periodically go through phases where living moving things kind of amaze me (I'll still even stop and think about a squirrel I'm watching as a cluster of molecules that manages through some bizzare collaboration of universal interstices to, not only somehow hold itself together, but also find nuts for the Winter {"Sometimes I wonder about the Creator of the Universe." Kurt Vonnegut [I first had this variety of sensatory realization while reading that and watching squirrels in a park in Boulder, CO]}): bodies have been on my mind. It's strange that I have to try to interpret the emotion being expressed by the face automatically created by putting two or more punctuation marks in a row; the said series, located between CO & bodies directly above, is, while grammatically somewhat correct (with panache), emoting something I don't want to feel. I would text that to someone as shorthand for I'm-putting-Eraserhead-on-and-hiding-under-my-bed. Anyhow. Bodies. Muscles. I fell down the rabbithole of medieval medical illustrations and stumbled upon this curious little site. The pictures are great and the title is overloaded with punctuation marks.
As disturbing as these paintings are, I just can't get over how glamorous they are.
OK. Enough with creepy. I need a sorbet.
That's better. I really miss my friend Jamal that would come into Tracks. He was a Black Panther in Chicago in the 70s, and he would talk classic Motown and revolutionary politics. He gave me tons of old clippings from and books about a variety of underground papers. He just sort of disappeared one day; I later heard he'd died. He drove a bus and was missing a prominent front tooth.
I'm making T-Shirts that say "who told you it was propaganda".
Hmm. It seems kind of boring to talk about posters or cool old-timey sites now. I was reading a nerdy comic book blog (as opposed to the aloof and debonair incarnations) about readers' first experience of having a crush on a comic book character. I thought about it for a second (keeping in mind that all of this is very playground and puppies, why-do-I-suddenly-go-all-funny-when-I-think-about-girls kind-of-way), settled on Dart from the quasi-obscure mid-80s comic Atari Force. That was my absolute favorite title, in spite of the goofy product placement name. I've been looking around for back issues in the local shop. I wonder if it holds up: Swamp Thing did. I can't seem to find many images of my first weird parasocial crush, but there are a few.
"They say that dinosaurs are supposably descended from birds or some shit." -overheard philosophical discussion from a warehouse in my youth-.
Day Tripper - Otis Redding
Walking the Dog - Rufus Thomas
Joe - P.J. Harvey
I Can Dance With Everybody Except My Wife - Ciro's Club Coon Orchestra
Guitar Boogie - Arthur Smith
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