tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63059552011-08-29T06:07:45.608-07:00Cultural DisobedienceLenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.comBlogger441100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-51796802160153846372011-02-01T19:14:00.000-08:002011-02-01T19:14:21.479-08:00

I recently found Jason Thompson's beautiful site Mockman.com. Jason is a manga editor who also creates his own comics, many of which are adaptations of H.P. Lovecraft tales. He wrapped up a 16-page adaptation of "The Strange High House in the Mist" last month. The comic is presented in its entirety on the site and is well-worth the time to drink it in. Like his other comics, each panel of "

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-45622669542481192142011-01-30T19:33:00.001-08:002011-01-30T19:38:17.569-08:00

"I'd heard about the Situationists from the radical milieu of the time," says McLaren. "You had to go up to Compendium Books. When you asked for the literature, you had to pass an eyeball test. Then you got these beautiful magazines with reflecting covers in various colours: gold, green, mauve. The text was in French: you tried to read it, but it was so difficult. Just when you were getting

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-75187158421492363572010-07-25T19:25:00.000-07:002010-07-25T19:35:36.198-07:00

Last night lightning played around the summit of Mount Beacon at midnight. I had wandered onto the back porch and glanced up at its silhouette, capped by the cell towers and their red lights, glimpsed between the trunk and giant branches of our spreading oak tree. Every few seconds, the sky lit up with bright white flashes, and then, on the southern shoulder of the mountain, the epicenter of

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-74688948704195805712009-10-24T21:06:00.000-07:002009-10-24T21:29:41.307-07:00

"Did K. ever show you the human arm he found when he was cleaning out the attic crawlspace?" The question was very nonchalant, off-the-cuff. And a week away from Halloween, I knew right off the (vampire) bat that this was some kind of gag. I wasn't for a second going to believe that my daughter's good friend's parents had a human arm knocking around their house, and that they were going to

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-80097959859505203452009-09-03T20:00:00.000-07:002009-09-03T20:19:54.502-07:00

The only way to improve the NASCAR-style, forward-leaning graphic on the sign of this upstate NY church would be to replace that rugged old cross with a giant, scythe-shaped "T"...time to harvest some souls, people! After all, aren't you tired of waiting for the apocalypse? I'm ready to see the unbelievers get their comeuppance in some sort of sanctified steel cage showdown.

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-66639198128248019602009-05-12T09:38:00.000-07:002009-05-13T21:18:54.876-07:00

Last Saturday night, The Damned played the Chance Theater in Poughkeepsie. I felt like I had won a sweepstakes or something -- The Damned were coming to my veritable backyard to play. If you don't know them, they are first wave punk heroes who have never rested on their laurels but continue to release records spanning genres from stripped-down punk to goth-tinged grandeur to the roots of rock

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-34714964528927045662009-02-28T21:54:00.000-08:002009-03-01T14:40:26.795-08:00

This afternoon I stepped back into a place I haven't visited regularly since I was a kid with newspaper delivery money burning a hole in my pocket. The outside of the building was nondescript, except for the unusual sign hanging from the second story. Inside, the light was dim, but even while my eyes were adjusting I could hear the muted sounds of roaring car engines, rifle fire, jets across

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-70108912863691338902009-02-06T19:42:00.001-08:002009-03-08T19:13:02.244-07:00

To Lux Interior (raises glass), may God bless your trash culture-loving soul. You gave us some of the sweetest psychobilly madness ever to blare from a set of stereo speakers. You shared our love for old records and stripped down rock and roll. Whose life wasn't changed by even one listening of "Goo Goo Muck?" The world is a poorer place for your passing.

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-68497020774287373392009-02-02T20:17:00.000-08:002009-02-02T20:24:33.269-08:00

The NBC New York 11 o'clock news has reported an earthquake in north-central New Jersey this evening. While they also noted that the earthquake had been confirmed by the U.S. Geologic Survey, an 'eyewitness' caller, former of California and now living in NJ, said the earthquake was like nothing he ever experienced on the west coast. The caller said that instead of the rolling shocks prevalent

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-57604257893651602072008-08-17T16:03:00.000-07:002008-08-17T16:18:25.701-07:00

Bigfoot, we need you now more than ever before. You're a model citizen with regard to sustainability -- a large biped living in families in the woods for perhaps hundreds or thousands of years without encroaching on anyone or exhausting your resources. As far as we know, you are non-violent and keep to yourself, preferring not to interact with humans (from this I conclude that you are

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-86096449785507057232008-05-06T18:12:00.000-07:002008-05-06T19:18:52.727-07:00

The N.Y. Times ran a heartbreakingly vacuous article on the subject of the May 1968 riots in Paris on April 30, 2008. Titled "Barricades of May '68 Still Divide the French," the piece suggested that the Sorbonne's occupation was touched off by a demonstration against restrictions on men visiting women's college dorms, completely failed to mention the Situationist International (S.I.), and to add

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-73502042150395576482008-04-08T18:33:00.000-07:002008-04-08T18:46:54.873-07:00

A few Saturdays ago, when the NY Times released the news that Morgan was preparing to take out Bear Stearns, Patrick and I were gingerly lifting and separating the cylinder head from our 1929 Buick Master 6 engine. Inside, everything was blissful, or so we thought. The cylinder bores were shiny and smooth. The pistons appeared unmolested. While the demon rust had been very busy elsewhere on

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-10703771646820975352008-02-20T18:30:00.000-08:002008-02-20T18:37:29.971-08:00

Listening to "No Familiar Planets Tonight" by an apparent Hawkwind off-shoot, The Melodic Energy Commission, during the total eclipse of the moon. You can find it and many other interesting auditory experiments at http://fm-shades.blogspot.com.

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-89405859772729865362008-01-14T18:15:00.000-08:002008-01-14T19:23:29.215-08:00

It's going to take a few posts to get my last 36 hours in New Orleans documented, but I want to start with Clint Maedgen. During my week in the city, I talked with cab drivers, bartenders, waiters and waitresses, shop owners, and street performers about New Orleans' recovery, and each one said that the city still hasn't regained the same magic and vitality it had before Hurricane Katrina. They

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-51930803907290583602008-01-09T21:13:00.000-08:002008-01-09T22:04:47.589-08:00

The French Quarter is wreathed in fog tonight, softening the details on the buildings, lending a silver gleam to the pavement. On Frenchmen Street, a sweet, red 1960s-vintage E-type Jaguar convertible emerges from the mist like a vision, resting easy in a gravel lot. The Jag has no plates, the rear driver's side tire is slowly going flat, redline just a bit out of round, and someone has written

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-80255620335009688402008-01-07T21:00:00.000-08:002008-01-07T21:21:06.877-08:00

Wandered through the French Quarter of New Orleans tonight. Bourbon Street shows the aftermath of this afternoon's preparation for the LSU vs. Ohio State game -- the asphalt is littered with broken strings of beads, empty plastic beer cups, and the dregs of spilled digestive systems. While the well-lubricated fans were glued to flat screens in bars or ensconced in the dome, the less-traveled

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-83042167370537670082007-12-12T19:32:00.000-08:002008-01-09T22:00:44.117-08:00

The night of Sunday, December 2nd was raw and damp. Talking on the phone with my friend Jay, I informed him that the Weather Channel's website forecast an ice storm and dangerous driving conditions, but I was merely practicing a sort of reverse hypnotic suggestion on myself. The more reasons that I gave Jay that we shouldn't go to The Chance to see Jerry Only's Misfits, the more I was talking

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1162355424461706152006-10-31T20:25:00.000-08:002007-12-16T19:58:52.354-08:00

This Halloween yielded moments of baleful beauty and wonder that need to be preserved and shared, not the least of which was the bright moon wreathed in swirls of cloud candy on a night so balmy that the very air was a ghost's caress against the skin. With a wide open third eye affixed to my forehead with spirit gum (my friend Mike made the eye in his Mattel "Thingmaker"), I accompanied my wife

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1156906234820025722006-08-29T19:23:00.000-07:002007-12-16T19:35:23.803-08:00

A list of books that I have read in the past year and recommend for your consideration:The Alchemist's Door by Lisa GoldsteinDeclare by Tim PowersThe Jaguar Hunter by Lucius ShepardJonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susanna ClarkeKafka on the Shore by Haruki MurakamiLooking for Jake: Stories by China MievillePersonal Recollections of Joan of Arc by Mark TwainThe Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1143772112695093832006-03-30T17:58:00.000-08:002007-12-16T19:59:04.098-08:00

I was playing the Swell Maps for my daughter tonight while I gave her a bath, the sparkling guitar work in "Big Empty Field" ricocheting off the tiled walls from her little Barbie boombox. I told her that a marine setting was the perfect place to listen to a band named after the ocean waves, who wrote songs like "Midget Submarines" and "Collision with a Frogman." We were celebrating the life of

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1136614967564373032006-01-06T21:44:00.000-08:002007-12-16T19:38:24.254-08:00

The week before Christmas found me a very reluctant visitor to Kansas City, Missouri, and one night after dinner, I decided to seek out some kind of experience of the city's jazz history. A helpful bartender directed me to the 18th and Vine district, which proved to contain about three very sanitized looking jazz clubs, a jazz museum, and a beautiful art deco theater built in the early 1900s

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1134191684028985582005-12-09T20:37:00.000-08:002007-12-16T19:59:30.863-08:00

What I want for Christmas this year -- something from the Damned! Here's the chain of thought that invoked this wish: 1) the neat article "The Mystery of the Green Menace" in the November issue of Wired, about a New Orleans chemist's use of a GC-MS to analyze a bottle of vintage Spanish Pernod Tarragonna absinthe and begin production of his own brand in France 2) that somehow started the

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1124853325344354282005-08-23T19:28:00.000-07:002007-12-16T19:59:52.937-08:00

For two weekends every summer, the Desmond Fish library in Garrison, New York has a fundraising book sale. In the cave-like library basement, the treasures are arrayed on tables and on metal shelves, with rare and antique books donated for the sale placed on a special dais. On the Friday night before the first day, the sale is open to "friends of the library" only, and booksellers who have

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1124366267599509302005-08-18T04:38:00.000-07:002007-12-16T19:47:43.377-08:00

Together, you are the guardians of this treasure-filled tomb, installed at either side of the entrance like caryatids. Watery New York City light, the color of asphalt and concrete, spills in from the street above and illuminates the strands of your tousled black hair. One of you has a mound of satchels and backpacks at your feet. It seems that there are many more bags than there are customers

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1109302962441400922005-02-24T18:58:00.000-08:002007-12-16T20:00:15.582-08:00

I recently recovered a strange artifact of my childhood -- a limited edition reprint of a book called I Know What I Like by music journalist and photographer Armando Gallo. The book chronicles the history of the progressive rock band Genesis through the late 1970s, documenting the band's unusual theatrics, costumes, and on-stage storytelling, much of which was spearheaded by lead singer Peter

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1104726818097373962005-01-02T20:18:00.000-08:002007-12-16T19:48:41.456-08:00

It's a brand new year and my self-imposed media blackout has ended safely. After the election, it seemed that the only way to protect my sanity was to shun NPR, banish WBAI and the Pacifica radio network, and hide my head in a sonic cave built out of only the most crystalline 80s pop music (like Echo and the Bunnymen) and any 21st century equivalents (like the Postal Service and Paco). It was

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1097901696700369102004-10-15T21:28:00.000-07:002007-12-16T19:49:00.112-08:00

Can we save America from fanatics? I shouldn't be allowed to read the news (because it makes me foam at the mouth), but I couldn't help but notice an article on today's CNN webpage (http://www.cnn.com/2004/US/10/15/halloween.sabbath.ap/index.html) about the apparent quandary being experienced across our nation's bible belt regarding the celebration of Halloween on a Sunday this year. The

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1096863227670704502004-10-03T20:11:00.000-07:002007-12-16T20:00:36.609-08:00

Misfortune, oppression and war can be counted on to catalyze the arts, so that the worst of times bring the best songs, paintings, poems. And often when the shit is hitting the fan, old heroes arise again - like the legend that King Arthur would return to defend England in a time of need. Both these ideas were sparring in my head last night while I watched Television and Patti Smith play their

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1096164852368962862004-09-25T18:52:00.000-07:002007-12-16T19:50:28.569-08:00

The struggle of living requires each of us to try to create an oasis for ourselves, where even for a few scant minutes we can find some respite. Driving home, especially on a Friday night, I am keenly aware of what seem to me to be places of solace -- puddles of light trickling out from a garage or barn, a snatch of music, a wide porch lit with candles, the red glow of a cigarette, a gang of

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1086666785908581372004-06-07T20:33:00.000-07:002007-12-16T20:00:53.063-08:00

I was thumbing through the 50th issue of Juxtapoz magazine and found a card that had been inserted to advertise a gallery show in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. One of the images on the card was a mutation of the infamous photo of the execution of a Viet Cong prisoner by General Loan during the Tet Offensive in 1968. I suspect we will soon begin to see the infiltration of the Abu Ghraib prison photos

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1084936787000839602004-05-18T19:58:00.000-07:002007-12-16T19:51:23.485-08:00

My Dad shared some stories of his childhood with me a few days ago, brief recollections of the simple pleasures of U.S. depression era fun and hijinks. Dad was born in 1920, and as a young boy would visit his cousins in Greenwood Lake, NJ during the summer. Dad's cousins were two brothers nicknamed Bud and Babe, and renowned for their mischievous plots. Their father (married to Dad's aunt

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1084469995796507882004-05-13T10:24:00.000-07:002007-12-16T19:45:31.836-08:00

The new MIT center for Computer Science and AI Studies , designed by Frank Gehry, strongly demonstrates key Situationist architectural objectives. Gehry's intent and/or the reported effect of the center on its current occupants, as reported by the NY Times article referenced above, is to foment creativity/interaction/free play and allow modification by its occupants. The following are quotes:"

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1083989557895485192004-05-07T20:29:00.000-07:002007-12-16T20:01:14.365-08:00

May 2004 is the 100th anniversary of the birth of Salvador Dali, and I've been coincidentally immersed in books written and illustrated by Dali. A few months ago, my attention was ensnared by two Dali first editions at a preview for an art and antiques auction. They were copies of The Secret Life of Salvador Dali, a Dali autobiography, and Fantastic Memories by Maurice Sandoz, an edition

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1080012845459570692004-03-22T18:43:00.000-08:002007-12-16T20:01:28.915-08:00

A few snowfalls chilled the streets of Poughkeepsie last Thursday night, curtains of flurries billowing and dissipating in the wind like the flapping sides of departing Winter's overcoat. Winter may have been fleeing the arrival of a tour bus that rumbled into the City that day, bearing some mysterious heralds of Spring. These visitors that came to entertain and edify are wired directly into

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1079324372857285352004-03-14T19:52:00.000-08:002007-12-16T20:01:46.681-08:00

A strange memory got dredged up this weekend by the sight of a t-shirt hung out (to dry? to communicate some affinity with a band or subculture? to send a coded signal?) on the front porch of a home in a relatively high-end suburban development. The anomalous event in my recollection took place in Cold Spring, NY, once a depressed Hudson River town, now an exclusive village brimming with antique

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1077667120301192492004-02-24T15:42:00.000-08:002007-12-16T20:02:01.068-08:00

Jamie turned me on to The Decemberists, a band that has apparently created the avant-folk equivalent of an Edward Gorey illustration or some long-forgotten penny dreadful. Of the two cds I've listened to, the earlier cd Castaways and Cutouts has a sparser sound, acoustic guitar and accordion rising to the surface next to Colin Meloy's mild brogue. The vocals on that cd sound so earnest, it's

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1076903507991436182004-02-15T19:42:00.000-08:002007-12-16T19:40:33.482-08:00

Finally fixed an old Seth Thomas mantle clock that had been sitting dormant on top of my bookcase. Now the house is accented by its rhythmic ticking, a single chime every half hour, and then the counting of each hour in sustained, solemn notes. It's very pleasing in a classic horror movie sort of way. The visit to the clock repair shop, a place called Watchpital, was just as much fun. The

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1075009219992035092004-01-24T21:35:00.000-08:002007-12-16T19:58:17.916-08:00

DOES BEACON NEED TO BE SAVED FROM THE ARTISTS?Your attention, please. We have just received word that Beacon, New York's renaissance has been terminated by its City government. The signal came in the form of the recent proposed law to inspect and regulate artists’ workspaces in their private residences. We feared that a proliferation of overly restrictive and unnecessary regulations might be

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1074661905270081362004-01-20T21:08:00.000-08:002007-12-16T19:39:19.249-08:00

Desolate days...cold winds, flat tires, broken wrenches, dead birds, unsettled nerves, and unpleasant news. I'm looking forward to getting through the next week in one piece. Looking forward to writing more on William Gibson to dispel the gloom.

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1074397323732189782004-01-17T19:15:00.000-08:002007-12-16T20:03:05.066-08:00

It's finally warm enough to think here in New York, but my brain is reeling from the Bush administration's recent announcements to spend liberally on a manned mission to Mars and toss another $1.5 billion into a sprawling program to promote traditional marriage. I am a giant fan of space exploration, but is there a single dollar lying around that our government can't spend? I thought we had

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1073970651602054202004-01-12T20:47:00.000-08:002007-12-16T20:03:22.616-08:00

Picking up the thread from my last post, I'm going to try to unravel the roles of several objects integral to William Gibson's recent novel, Pattern Recognition, beginning with the Curta calculator. I believe that the objects and commodities described in the book must be considered as almost minor characters since important elements of the plot are linked to marketing, trademarks, the

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1073870254245118922004-01-11T17:17:00.000-08:002007-12-16T20:04:07.259-08:00

Ice is forming around Pollepel Island and its crumbling brick castle in the Hudson River, and it has been one seriously cold weekend in New York. I learned this weekend that my house's climate control system can perform only about 62 degrees warmer than the outside temperature, which was -4 degrees F early Saturday morning. Anyway, chilly thoughts aside, I recently finished reading the novel

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1073668858341360282004-01-09T09:11:00.000-08:002007-12-16T20:04:26.390-08:00

Our leaders have lowered the terror threat level to "yellow" as reported on CNN. Considering that this goofy terror alert system probably causes at least as much agita for some as the now historic Cold War "mutually assured destruction" jitters, I move that the U.S. begin a practice of hosting a giant bacchanal every time the terror threat is lowered. We could have parades and display banners

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6305955.post-1073654657511078522004-01-09T05:23:00.000-08:002004-01-09T05:24:37.680-08:00

Test post on January 9, 2004.

Lenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08090800623698562971noreply@blogger.com0