_{hitler performing various gesticulations commonly employed during his speeches in front of personal photographer heinrich hoffmann}

"if an illusion creates the correct reaction, does it matter how much artifice and fakery went into creating it? does any artifice and fakery automatically become genuine the moment it provokes a genuine reaction?"
- from "hamlet extreme" by molly lambert

THE GREATEST STORY EVER TOLD VIA SONG

SHE MADE US DRINKS
TO DRINK
WE DRUNK 'EM
GOT DRUNK

we fought so hard against the small things that we became small ourselves

last night i did some night-biking to barnes & noble to buy theodor adorno's aesthetic theory. i couldn't find it so instead i bought his minima moralia: reflections from damaged life (even though i found the full text of it online last week). i'm excited to start it. what i got from descriptions and some light skimming is that it's basically a debbie downer response to aristotle's nicomachean ethics, which interests me. it seems that all i read anymore is theory, philosophy, and poetry. i didn't do the whole "youthful idealism" thing in high school so i guess i'm doing that now.

speaking of idealism can we take a minute to acknowledge echo park boyz and their fucking byronic hero complexes. i see y'all.

anyway i want this coat:

all my time i spend it with you now

i've spent a lot of time feeling indifferent towards grizzly bear but this weekend i listened to this at sunrise, in my underwear, while smoking cigarettes and drinking a forty and it was the absolute best thing

a process of individual museumification

roi vaara, the artist's dilemma, 1997

"the secret story is the one we'll never know, although we're living it from day to day, thinking we're alive, thinking we've got it all under control and the stuff we overlook doesn't matter. but every damn thing matters! it's just that we don't realize. we tell ourselves that art runs on one track and life, our lives, on another, we don't even realize that's a lie."
from "dentist" in last evenings on earth by roberto bolaño

also, for those interested, i found a translation of "the first infrarealist manifesto" (infrarealism was a poetry movement started by bolaño in mexico city during the 70s). rimbaud, come home!

no more naked popcorn

"chick music"

i want everyone to know that i texted in that last post. TECHNOLOGY but also SOCIAL MEDIA REFERENCES.

one surefire way to know that i will dislike someone is when he or she (usually he) says, "i only listen to real hip-hop." often the person will go on to complain about the only good rap is old rap, how commercial and vapid hip-hop is now, and how lil b fucked their bitch, all while i'm trying not to roll my eyes and/or throw my drink in their face like i'm on a vh1 reality show. are you fucking serious? and what the fuck is "real hip-hop?" i've found that these people are either paid dudes festival-attending backpack rap enthusiasts ("i only listen to immortal technique, atmosphere, jedi mind tricks, aesop rock, etc.") or people who don't listen to hip-hop at all except for enter the wu-tang (36 chambers) and whatever biggie songs ratatat remixed. that's some deluded "return to normalcy"-type shit. i guess i just get annoyed with any kind of pining for "the way things used to be." hindsight is supposed to be 20/20 but i think the rose-colored glasses of nostalgia fuck up the acuity of vision in most instances. i'm not saying i don't get caught up in the snarls of nostalgia, because i do - often, in fact - but i always try to remember that however good things "back then" seemed, it probably wasn't all that bomb.

which brings me to my personal lexicon crisis. kurt brought up my usage of the word "bomb" the other day and now whenever i say that something is or is not "bomb" i get self-conscious. do i really say it enough to where it's noticeable? like, if someone was making fun of me would it include frequent usage of the word "bomb?" geoff says yes. i'm feeling very slang 2000 and it's a problem.

brb going to find the raver love of my life but first i'd like to tell you that daytime temperatures have once again dipped below 70 degrees and THIS BITCH is going to comfortably all-black everything the fuck out of this day

i just made a sandwich while drunk. it didn't take an hour, i'm pretty sure i put all of the condiments away, AND i'm blogging about it. #iguessthisisgrowingup

from the beretta puttin' all the holes in ya sweata

oh my god, yoga - how could i forget? i don't consider myself concerned with either fitness (i like to temper long bike rides by smoking several cigarettes and/or eating ice cream while pedaling) or spirituality (a quote from freud's civilization and its discontents - "i cannot find this 'oceanic' feeling in myself" - comes to mind whenever i ponder spirituality or religion) but i fucking love yoga. i'm a pretty tense person - never give me a massage because i've found that they're exercises in futility concerning either romance or relaxation - but yoga relaxes me more than almost any other activity. and have you ever smoked a cigarette after a yoga session? that is the closest i've come to a religious experience. i ecstasy of st. teresa all over the fucking place.

i think i'm going to start using works of art as verbs more often.

this past week: getting a phone, missed connections but not the craigslist kind, john ashbery in conversation with kenneth koch, waking up at either 3:30 or 4:30 a.m. for absolutely no reason and spending an hour trying to fall back asleep, being disappointed with the february issue of poetry magazine, root vegetable chips, jason lint, crazy people, actually wanting to see new movies (the king's speech, the rite), leaving my flask in megan's car part ii, trying to give water to random girls peeing/throwing up in the shadiest part of downtown ever at 2 in the morning but being yelled at for it, realizing that if i'm fucking someone i'm probably unhappy with their hair

the age of innocence, or, being accidentally burnt by cigarettes

it is impossibly bright outside, i low-key love "tea for two," that "bliss" excerpt is kind of my life right now (minus the being thirty part; also i never really want to "run," ever), i've been wondering about who has been "the best communist [leader]" in history thus far and maybe because of this i've also been thinking about reading das kapital (but not in public because attracting fifteen-year-olds is not a good look, and neither is marxism [ohhhhhh]), i'm not really into the whole "coachella" thing (maybe it's because i don't have any denim cut-offs?), i've discovered that i hate showering from noon-6 p.m., and i guess i like basketball but i'm not 100% ready to admit that yet

wear silk stockings with golden seams

and live (highly recommended):



i've always wondered if it was "bawl all night" or "ball all night" (the fourth entry) but given that it's about a prostitute it's probably the latter, yeah?