Fray As Tryst

I have an obsession with anagrams and I make them in head all day as a consequence (symptom). Fray As Tryst is an anagram of Artsy Fartsy, because I've been looking at lots of photographs lately. Fray As Tryst is the three word poem of the day.


I've also been searching for ART that, in collage and construction, juxtaposes components in ways that make it seem like you're re-connecting them. Generally they fall short, but some are funny.


The pursuit of a childlike quality to expression comes across as childishness, more often than not. Sometimes I like ham-handed Basquait knock-offs, but the vast majority really can't hold my attention, much less catch my eye. The ones I like are usually funny. Not that I don't like ART that comes from a sweet place.


Shit, I can even do out-and-out cute.


Then again, I need to cleanse the palate with something creepy and vice-versa.





Maybe I'm slowly growing crazier but the strength of most images that really move me of late lies in the closeness with which the images themselves skirt the banal, pennies from another dimension.

Then some people just pump everyday feelings to such a degree, emotional ants under a microscope. When I think of New York ART, two people seem to spring to mind.




The picture of Marina Abramovic leaning back from that loaded bow just sticks in my head. She had their heartbeats mic'd and played over the speakers in the gallery, faster and louder. Gives me something akin to the heebie-jeebies.




God, where to go from Anoushka Fisz? Last I heard, she was dating the guy from The Eurythmics. Ummm, woodblock prints...



I like his intaglio stuff, but this bird reminds me of a coloring contest that I won at a local McDonald's in my youth. I got a complete set of Muppet Movie collector's glasses... collectors' (?).



Let's do book ART for a minute.


I've always wanted to use zippers, but I don't have a sewing machine... I used to have a lot of zippers, though. This guy likes little bottles, too.


I wish I had high ceilings.


God's Away on Business - Hell Blues Choir

Peel - Carla Kihlstedt

Harlem Fuss - Fats Waller & his Buddies

Shawnee - The Premiers

Jumpin' Jack Flash - Ananda Shankar

Sadie Hawkins

It was a rough day in the matrix, so this should be a little more scattershot than normal. I felt like one of these machines for most of the day.



Let's do music for a bit. Here are some places I go to find music I might like. First, the Motel de Moka. Most of the posts here include great pictures and poems. It's how I found the work of Stefania Paparelli. I like looking at fashion photography, but it's rare that I feel someone has the touch. She kind of reminds me of Guy Bourdin. I'll get around to Guy one of these days, but here's one I like of hers.


This Recording is a good read. So is Moistworks.



Diddy Wah and Boogie Woogie Flu both make great mixes.



British Summertime - Long Fin Killie

Look for Me (I'll be around) - Neko Case

Copacabana remix - Barry Manilow

Is That All There Is? - Cristina

Don't Push, Don't Shove - Bill Browning.

Ada Lovelace, or The Difference Engine Unfinished

Well, apparently today is Ada Lovelace day, so this one's about and for the ladies. She was Byron's daughter, and a genius that pretty much came up with the idea of computing machines. She described herself as being and analyst and a metaphysician. I like that.


I was going to post something about great women throughout history, but, today. I'm more inclined to run full-steam into the internet and see what sticks. This could go horribly wrong, but let's go looking for women online. First up, Hats. Why don't women wear hats anymore?


Looking for Russian prison tattoos, I came across this image. Sometime a picture is worth far more that a thousand words.


Like Garry Winogrand said, Women are beautiful. This little Frenchy reminds me of him in some ways, but there was only ever just one Winogrand.


These French book covers could be called sexist, but half of them are pulp noir stories in which everybody is miserable and pushed around.


Before this devolves into a Fanny Hill post, let's switch to tacky weddings, because everyone knows that little girls all dream about that special day with the perfect fella (Fuck you again, Walt Disney).

Let's get Wonder Woman out of the way.


Shit. I'm losing steam and I've lost the thread. More soon, buckaroo.

See Line Woman - Nina Simone

When a Man loves a Woman - Karen Dalton

Devil got my Woman - Skip James

Sobbin' Woman Blues - Elizabeth Johnson

Black Widow Spider Woman - Jack Hammer

Sunday Morning Coming Up

Yesterday, I aspired to maintain, if not a cohesive thematic undercurrent, the appearance of a thread. I've still got some organizing to do, so I'll sort through my etrash and pick things for you to sort through. Who'm I kidding; that's the deal under ideal circumstances. First random thing that catches my eye on this fine Spring day.


I have a feeling it's going to be a photo-ish day on the old internerd ranch. I'll probably get around to Guy Bourdin by the end of this, but I'm digging Alison Brady.

Cindy Sherman.

Rikko Kassa... Tokyo's been on my mind lately, and his stuff doesn't help that.


I need to shift gears, because I could sit here and post pictures of women all day, cultured pig that I am... Let's go to Russian prison.

While we're on criminals, it's criminal that this hairstyle isn't more popular. Seriously. I would smile more often if more people did this.



Not to get all Silence of the Lambs, but I'd wear this...


I could read old sex and revenge stories from EC Comics until the cows come home.


As much of a bad rap as these got from parents' groups back in the day, I think they prepare little buggers for the vagaries of romantic co-existence far better than the bullshit that Walt Disney promises, the coy little minx that he is. I don't want to go too far off onto comic book tangents, because it's done far better elsewhere. The medium tends to attract completists. Still, I've got to shout out about Turok #1. I can remember this as one of the very first comics I'd come across. I couldn't have been more than 7. We were on one of those typical American family roadtrips and my Dad got me this at a Denny's somewhere. Shit blew my mind.


I'm gonna put a pot on and procrastinate dwelling on my own mortality through trips down four-color lane for a bit... more soon. As usual, the first five songs that make me think of you...

T.V. Eye - The Stooges

Fever - Dean Carter

Storia D'Amore - Mike Patton & Metropole Orchestra

Music is a Better Noise - Essential Logic

Wawa - Lizzy Mercier Descloux

Only one One-and-Only

I typed "love" into my itunes and 44 songs came up. I've been a hermit lately, and, last night, a dream saved the day. I went to where she lived, though I'd never been there before; a big cast iron gate guarded the doorway to her building, too far from the door to reach through and knock (I would and could have yelled her name to the heavens in hopes she might hear my cry, but the street was crowded and the city was so busy): I started to panic, and I kept myself from crying right right on the spot by steeling my guts and staring intently into the eyes of the passers-by. I wished I could find a place crawling with bugs so I could step on all of them. I felt this familiar cold wash realizing itself all in me. I had to look away and down to the ground, bringing my hands to my ears in order to block out the sound, all the careless rushing hustle and bustle. My innards went into a stern fist and brought me down to a knee and the fingertips of one hand, splayed out with the crystalline grace of a spider's shadow; my other hand came over my eyes to shield my view like the blinders on an Amish horse that can't know about cars. Down on the ground with my hand over my eyes like I was trying to see a great distance on a sunny day, i looked through the black iron gate: just inside and hidden by the metal was a button for a buzzer, just above it on a piece of tape, her name written in her hand was faded but visible. My own hand shook as it moved pointing towards the sliver of white plastic rectangle. It murmured as I pressed, and I lost hope as I waited the handful of seconds it took for her, thin and tinny, to say my name to me. I was so glad.


I've been remiss in not attending to this fledgling blog thing, so let's dig through the archives and get right back on that horse.


I quit eating meat about a month ago. No reason in particular; sometimes, however, I do come across something that makes me curious about possible taste sensations...



I love Yoko Ono.


Agent 355 had a great line about the blame that everyone assigns to Yoko Ono. 355 scoffs at the idea of a woman needing to be the culprit when some boys can't get along. Yoko has done so many cool things, but I do like her music too. I mean, "Woman is the Nigger of the World"? Fucking represent!



I need this bumper sticker, even though I don't have a car.


I love the insane degree to which this guy rocks.


Her nose reminds me of a woman I know.


Speaking of Spring being sprung, (paraphrasing Salt & Pepa) let's talk about sex; Who says there is no modern romance?


Significantly less peurile on my part, yet equally and symbolically apropos to the current unlocking of Winter, eggs.



I used to have a Bosch poster on my wall in college... Whatta ya want? Picasso's Blue Guitarist or Bob Marley smoking a joint? It always struck me how musical hell is.



I wish I had steadier hands.



I should be practicing right now.


I can never seem to reconcile my use of text in any ancillary context. Some people are deft and adept where I am inept.


I'm hoping I can get the ART ball rolling more quickly. I'm doing a series of impersonal personal ads. more on that later.


I love my ukulele, but I might get a guitar soon.


then again, maybe I'll just hook up the 808 to my vest: does anyone know where to get MIDI nunchucks?


The snozzberries taste like shit.



God bless you, animated Kate Bush gifs.

Xeno's paradox seems to be keeping me at home today.

I'd like to do work with sheep: what's your medium?



Lately, the internet keeps implying that I need a bigger penis.



I think I'm gonna call it a day for toady and look at ads for awhile...


Oh My Lover- P.J. Harvey

Famous Blue Raincoat- Leonard Cohen

Lovely Ugly- Carla Kihlstedt

Whole Lotta Love- BB King












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