/page/2
Thus Casablanca is not just one film. It is many films, an anthology. Made haphazardly, it probably made itself, if not actually against the will of its authors and actors, then at least beyond their control. And this is the reason it works, in spite of aesthetic theories and theories of film making. […] Two cliches make us laugh. A hundred cliches move us. For we sense dimly that the cliches are talking among themselves, and celebrating a reunion. Just as the height of pain may encounter sensual pleasure, and the height of perversion border on mystical energy, so too the height of banality allows us to catch a glimpse of the sublime. Something has spoken in place of the director. If nothing else, it is a phenomenon worthy of awe.
– “Casablanca, or The Cliches Are Having a Ball” by Umberto Eco
From Signs of Life in the USA: Readings on Popular Culture for Writers, Sonia Maasik and Jack Solomon, eds. (Boston: Bedford Books, 1994, pp. 260-264).
http://www.thinking-approach.org/download/eco_on_casablanca.pdf

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from Daniel Guebel’s “Mis Escritores Muertos”

[…] And suddenly I realize that if, instead of adjusting my rearview mirror in the correct direction, I’d pulled a stealth maneuver—like some taxi drivers do—, I could be making out the secrets of her crotch and finding something out about her, finally.
Naturally, this wasn’t merely the fulfillment of an erotic fantasy so much as the process if finding the adequate reading of the signs, something that could very well exceed even their very origin. If the message were born of an interiority, its essence would issue forth from its own abyss, the only field its sender is barred from examining. No one can observe themselves; it is not possible to split ourselves in two and function simultaneously as subject and object of consciousness. And that has a metaphorical-corporeal equivalent: women are barred from studying their own interiority of interiorities, the pussy, because, even in the case of having a mirror, if they were to strip and open their legs, what they’d be reading, their baroque scene, would be an alphabet written in an unknown language and reversed to boot… which, in any case, gives them an advantage over vampires.

[…] De pronto me doy cuenta de que si en vez de ajustar el espejo retrovisor en la dirección correcta hubiese maniobrada sigilosamente—como hacen algunos taxistas—, ahora podría estar atisbando los secretos de su entrepierna y sabiendo algo de ella, por fin.
Naturalmente, no se trata de cumplir una fantasía erótica sino de proceder a una lectura adecuada de los signos, algo que tal vez escape incluso al mismo origen de éstos. Si el mensaje es hijo de una interioridad, su esencia proviene del propio abismo, la única zona que el emisor está impedido de examinar. Nadie puede observarse a sí mismo, no existe la posibilidad de escindirnos y obrar al mismo tiempo como sujeto y objeto de conocimiento. Y eso tiene un equivalente metafórico-corpóreo: las mujeres están impedidas de estudiar la interioridad de sus interiodidades, la concha, porque, aun en el caso de contar con un espejo, si se desnudaran y abrieran de piernas, lo que estarían leyendo, su escena barroca, sería un alfabeto escrito en una lengua desconocida y además invertido…lo que de todos modos las sitúa con ventaja sobre los vampiros.
(Buenos Aires: Mansalva, 209, 35-6)

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i have a DAMN CUTE family.  intermediate generation (still wiped out from generating) not depicted for aesthetic reasons.

i have a DAMN CUTE family. intermediate generation (still wiped out from generating) not depicted for aesthetic reasons.

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blog privacy policies in the news

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boys’ night out at KING OF NOODLES, best shanghai soup-dumplings EVER.  anise-beef broth handcut noodle soup also get honorable mention— most gutbusting winter meal of all time.

boys’ night out at KING OF NOODLES, best shanghai soup-dumplings EVER. anise-beef broth handcut noodle soup also get honorable mention— most gutbusting winter meal of all time.

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counter display at dog-eared books

counter display at dog-eared books

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my good friend D-funk pretending to read my good subject R-funk reading… Chesterton?  Borges?  Bakunin?

my good friend D-funk pretending to read my good subject R-funk reading… Chesterton? Borges? Bakunin?

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stumbled across a bound journal open to this walking around in the UCB library.  i’m pretty sure that’s not fidel, and that freud would be on the floor laughing at this one.  want to get this printed on a t-shirt for my trip to france…

stumbled across a bound journal open to this walking around in the UCB library. i’m pretty sure that’s not fidel, and that freud would be on the floor laughing at this one. want to get this printed on a t-shirt for my trip to france…

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if they close dolores park for a year+ like they’re talking about doing, a substantial part of my motivation for moving to the city will be closed along with it…

if they close dolores park for a year+ like they’re talking about doing, a substantial part of my motivation for moving to the city will be closed along with it…

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Letter From Wasco

adamdeibert:

I found this letter crumpled up in a dirt parking lot outside Surfside Colony the day after Christmas.  I just got around to transcribing it.  This is exactly as it appeared:

Hi Kare                                                                                                           Dec 20

Well its Friday so I have all weekend to let you in on my world.  I’m listening to the raido and their playing bungel in the jungel and about 75 to 100 guys are singing along, yes kari I’m in a insane asilem gets kind of nutty here so one of my bigest fears is when I get out of here my bus gets hit by something and I die.  I have nightmares to “don’t get to wierd” but sometimes I talk to Heather alot she is doing alright asks Hannah and Jordan if you listen you can feel her words that’s about the best I can discribe it to you don’t want to scare you away that’s all for now hopfully I get mail today make time go by faster.  still no letter from my mom going nuts in here up then down so please hurry up and wright its saturday weekends go the slowest just thinking trying to read to keep out of the insanity how do my letters sound am I krazy sometime I wonder hopfully I have more to wright tommorrow, X-mas is close told my mom we have to have thanksgiving dinner when I get out I have to find out witch is easer to get home bus or train I’m in wasco so ask Jim or Delb to find out for me 37 days fuck yes love you so its Sunday now do you feel about this us thing let me know what you mean by knew year and knew start cause I’m threw with speed weather you are or not dose not matter I’ll still like you can’t wait to drive my El Camino you have my keys I left them in the truck talk more latter 35 days left so send me some lovings this weekend whent by pretty fast some photos would be nice ask my mom to get a card for my camera for me then take some photos then you can hand them to me by the time time

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a translation from ramon paz’ sonnet cycle, “pornosonetos”

At Rivadivia and Rojas, at quarter to one
Well-dressed at her place, she brings to the light,
that brassiery, knickery feast of the sight,
Says to me, harem-eyed, hot as a bun,
This here booty’s my pride and my strong brown lumps
Are the mounded frosting on this gourmet cake!
And true it was of her nursely rumpsteak:
They would be my death, those lively humps!
Doggystyle against the window, a pug turning soil,
Missionary for miles, like nuns at an orgy,
When a perfume unworldly did fall like a trunk,
Brought me back from God’s face to this mortal coil,
And up to my nose came a smell delivery,
A most excellent, shameless buttload of funk.

—-

En rivadavia y rojas a la una
Vestida y en su depto luminoso
Desatando el asunto corpiñoso
Bombáchica y caliente la moruna
Me dijo que su culo era su fuerte
Su orgullo y su destreza culinaria
Y es cierto que su grupa hospitalaria
Su doble poma viva fue mi muerte
En posición perrito en caballito*
Y en pose misionera y no en misiones
Su aroma a fin del mundo en ese bulo
Me hizo pasar de dios a lo finito
Subió hasta mis narices en enviones
Su franco y excelente olor a culo

* Caballito: a straight-laced neighborhood in Buenos Aires where Av Rivadavia and Calle Rojas intersect

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self-portrait in an anish kapoor!  portland art museum

self-portrait in an anish kapoor! portland art museum

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i love cracking impotence jokes with my father!  he’s the greatest.

i love cracking impotence jokes with my father! he’s the greatest.

Enlace permanente  Posted 2 months ago  View Larger Image  Filed under pdx, my lovelies,

anthropomorphic sink fixture (huffin house art compound)

anthropomorphic sink fixture (huffin house art compound)

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oakland taco truck nocturne (lake merritt truck)

oakland taco truck nocturne (lake merritt truck)

Enlace permanente  Posted 2 months ago  View Larger Image  Filed under sf, sublimity,

"Thus Casablanca is not just one film. It is many films, an anthology. Made haphazardly, it probably made itself, if not actually against the will of its authors and actors, then at least beyond their control. And this is the reason it works, in spite of aesthetic theories and theories of film making. […] Two cliches make us laugh. A hundred cliches move us. For we sense dimly that the cliches are talking among themselves, and celebrating a reunion. Just as the height of pain may encounter sensual pleasure, and the height of perversion border on mystical energy, so too the height of banality allows us to catch a glimpse of the sublime. Something has spoken in place of the director. If nothing else, it is a phenomenon worthy of awe."
from Daniel Guebel’s “Mis Escritores Muertos”
Letter From Wasco
a translation from ramon paz’ sonnet cycle, “pornosonetos”

Throwaway's Blog:

I am a latino californian who will spend the first half of 2010 bouncing nomadically between northern california, southern california, new york, and france. Contact me via email if you really must.

Artist's Statement:

Si lo que vemos es todo lo que existe, entonces el cuerpo ,la flor y las aves tropicales, serían la coronación de la vida y no lo son . Son sólo vehículos de las fuerzas que subyacen detrás de las formas ,de la fuerza interior que se conecta con algo intangible , superior o a veces inferior, demoníaca.

Todo ser humano es divino, o tiene esa capacidad en potencia ; esas fuerzas que tallan las formas , que desnudan la esencia en pos de la personalidad o le confieren carácter a una naturaleza silenciosa , son las que intento atrapar con mi cámara.

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