tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80248332011-12-14T18:40:45.528-08:00In Freud's view the Ego stands in between the Id and the Superego to balance our primitive needs and our moral beliefs and taboos. He stated that the Ego consists of our conscious sense of self and world, a highly structured set of unconscious defenses that are central in defining both individual differences in character or personality, the symptoms and inhibitions that define the neuroses, and ultimately serving as the executive branch of the mind which leads to action.Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comBlogger311100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137885488011712602004-05-17T15:14:00.000-07:002006-01-21T15:18:08.013-08:00

denoting or relating to design etc. that is thought likely to be current or fashionable at some future time.Life has an insistent inability to live up to the aspirations of the imagination: visions of the future stale quickly: the future arrives: appears just off the past: the off-white of the future: not silver: not fully automated. (The aspirations of an imagination whose only outlet was

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137885600037655182004-05-17T13:18:00.000-07:002006-01-21T15:20:00.036-08:00

Nikolaus Gunther Nakszynski eventually grows up into equal parts Oliver Kahn and Gene Simmonds: one part Klaus Kinski: he gains his big break as Werner Herzog watches a film: he steals his attention by looking up: just looking up: relieving his head from his hand's rest and looking up: a second on a screen: a glitched glance: the slight look down as his head ascends is masterful: the eyes

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137831607170223022004-05-10T00:17:00.000-07:002006-01-21T00:20:07.193-08:00

I forgot I had hairs on the back of my neck until I, until I... this music danced in my brain, just a woman’s voice and a guitar, a couple, with other stuff, between, then (recipe: half human, half japanese, some nothing-at-all, plus space, negative space, and dash upon dash after dash of happiness and excitement and joy, head up, legs apart, let’s dance!), then I start to want to know things,

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137887769150192202003-12-20T19:53:00.000-08:002006-01-21T15:56:09.153-08:00

Bubba Spar KISSKISSKISS!; Joshua Selsky’s Digital Summer; that last verse of Jus’ A Rascal, voice almost getting away from body; Philip Sherburne’s ‘Needledrops’ AGAIN, a marriage proposal to everyone who reads; Ricardo Villalobos’ ‘Easy Lee’ not nearly long enough at 8 mins+; the Blue Nile in the Junior Boys’ ‘Birthday EP’, Aspera, and Coloma’s ‘Finery’; Closer Musik, Sascha Funke, Phantom/Ghost

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137889016728518092003-12-12T16:12:00.000-08:002006-01-21T16:16:56.730-08:00

I've spent so many of the last few months' moments part angry at Katy, part solemn and dumbed, part effervescent and excited about new futures but without really talking through with any one of my friends what Katy & I meant or means to me and to be honest without talking this through with myself. It's gone so long since with so little said, vocally or silently in writing or in words, that it's

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137887987412414072003-12-12T15:56:00.000-08:002006-01-21T15:59:47.413-08:00

Lavinia Greenlaw, A World Where News Travelled SlowlyIt could take from Monday to Thursday and three horses. The ink was unstable, the characters cramped, the paper tore where it creased. Stained with the leather and sweat of its journey, the envelope absorbed each climatic shift, as well as the salt and grease of the rider who handed it over with a four-day chance that by now things were

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137889304756283712003-08-26T16:21:00.000-07:002006-01-21T16:21:44.756-08:00

No room has ever been as silent as the roomWhere hundreds of violins are hung in unison.

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137889509131845072003-08-20T09:22:00.000-07:002006-01-21T16:25:09.133-08:00

Robert Hass, Misery and SplendorSummoned by conscious recollection, she would be smiling, they might be in a kitchen talking, before or after dinner. But they are in this other room, the window has many small panes, and they are on a couch embracing. He holds her as tightly as he can, she buries herself in his body. Morning, maybe it is evening, light is flowing through the room. Outside, the day

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137889263886217462003-08-15T22:20:00.000-07:002006-01-21T16:21:03.886-08:00

All afternoon the tree shadows, accelerating, lengthened till sunset shot them black into infinity: next morning darkness returned from the other infinity and the shadows caught ground and through the morning, slowing, hardened into noon.

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137889222907216442003-08-02T16:17:00.000-07:002006-01-21T16:20:22.910-08:00

In The Asylum Dance, his work of singular liminal poetry, John Burnside lifts then quickly drops an element he all-but-calls the “weekender’s idea,” the outsider’s inaccurate map of the quayside or the skewed romance of tourist postcards that raises disdain, disgust & pity (equal measures) in locals looking on. The weekender’s idea, for Burnside, you happily project away from yourself, the local,

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137886133206084852003-07-25T15:20:00.000-07:002006-01-21T15:28:53.210-08:00

DISC 1It starts, when it starts, with Stephen Merritt's voice falling down these stairs: Don't fall in love with me yet- he's (meaning 'is', meaning 'has') a story to tell, a laugh, a joke, a song, a smoke. Emerging from the fog (haze dense cloud) of its own projection, Merritt's voice - well deep (wells are deep, try falling down one) - rolls out all the eventual revelations, elevations and

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1128823214404631802003-07-05T18:55:00.000-07:002005-10-08T19:01:02.630-07:00

Why do people always say when you move that, "Oh, yeah, we'll be best friends forever, blah blah, keep in touch," and crap like that?I mean, half the time, it's not CLOSE to true... It's really a cruel tease. I can't count how many friendships I've lost because I've lost contact with people. It really sucks if you lose the people you're close to just because of a frickin' move...Consider this:

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137888646737438142003-06-29T16:03:00.000-07:002006-01-21T16:11:50.923-08:00

New Order, Technique (Melody Maker, 1989)It begins. It thumps with glee, it swirls with lackadaisical intensity. "You're much too young to be a part of me, you're much too young to get a hold on me." And never have veterans sounded so brilliantly arrogant, masters so eager. Jesus. "Technique" is so effortlessly GREAT, so languidly heroic, so vibrant and thrilling despite itself, that one wishes

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137887483899580212003-06-22T15:48:00.000-07:002006-01-21T15:51:23.900-08:00

"Obviously I’m interested in human relationships, but I think often we stop there. Most literary art is about relationships between humans, most often about urban relationships, about marriage or romances. And prose writers don’t often address our relationship to what we call wilderness: other animals, the whole non-human world. It’s easier to write about the breakdown of a marriage, or a love

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137887584685058472003-06-03T15:51:00.000-07:002006-01-21T15:53:04.686-08:00

“When I began writing long ago, I believed — I knew — that the means and manner evolved at that time to argue about pop culture had the potential to be expanded to crack open other subjects, old or new: that unleashed on the events, acts, energies, postures, evasions and idiocies of any human activity, they would be nothing if not revelatory and galvanising...”

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137885147941851902003-05-13T15:05:00.000-07:002006-01-21T15:40:15.916-08:00

warning: overly stuffy and didactic post follows. end warning.Not sure if I agree with a long-gone post of Luke's where he's talking about how we attempt to relearn the rules of engagement when we come across new music. My experience has always been that initial encounters are a sort of twisted battle between my old rules and the music's stern and staunch seeming disavowal of those. So you try

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137884678554774002003-05-08T14:36:00.000-07:002006-01-21T15:04:38.603-08:00

"Tarmacadam's melting down on Ferdinand StreetAnd your soft heart has put me to shameYou once said that there is no line between thought and deedSo you might say, I've been thinking againHere's the hand that Bribed The SandmanSo you want the truth without tearsBut can't you see what's happening here?Or do you think that you'd feel better if I close your eyes forever, my dear?Here's the hand that

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137885236182594252003-05-02T21:12:00.000-07:002006-01-21T15:13:56.183-08:00

"It's enough to make you… enough… enough to make you watch… the SNOOKER!" - The Memory of Ian Penman's Boredom"I can't expect nobody to follow me!" - Hasil Adkins"I was not extraordinary!! I was monumental! I was epochal!" - Klaus Kinski: right again.Attendant Sidebar to Imaginary Article, "100 Cult Heroes" : The Godz, The Incredible String Band, Hasil Adkins, Electric Prunes, Billy

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137872168808926772003-04-27T11:34:00.000-07:002006-01-21T11:36:08.816-08:00

Alasdair Roberts - "The Crook of My Arm"Like a thousand other post cards of towns like this in towns like this, surrounded by hate and indifference, prejudice, ennui. In tomorrow's light, to you, revealed entire: gauche and too exact: just so: a weekender's idea of Scotland. Like that boat in seaside Scottish towns' welcoming docks: a crass word emblazoned on its side, revealing the author for

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137872288194673692003-04-24T11:36:00.000-07:002006-01-21T11:38:08.196-08:00

“Never admit anything personal, codify, and render… gen-er-al”.“But we couldn’t help feeling a weight in our air. There was another darkness coming, that was all we knew – no need to reach for it now, no need to second guess, because it was on its way.OneThickInescapableThoughtFallingHardAndNumbAndBitterSlicingDownThe MindTuggingItUnder.”- A.L. Kennedy, So I Am Glad

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137872556638306662003-04-21T11:38:00.000-07:002006-01-21T11:42:36.640-08:00

The house is snuffing out around me, I set to listen to this: light by light, rooms gestured into containment: emotions, stresses, fissures folding up and storing in the net of sleep. (To reawaken in the morning). The room: gurry, post-it notes, Revenue Law: Principles & Practice, old sweat, the furniture oriented as a cowl around the television, stray ash, Charles Portis’ Masters of Atlantis, a

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137872780565360192003-04-14T11:42:00.000-07:002006-01-21T11:46:20.566-08:00

A theory of the world where life doesn’t unfurl in linear chronicle, objects do not descend into places in time but life is a succession of moments, each conflating time and space, each thing a non-simultaneous simultaneity. ‘Occur’, then, lightly ironic, poking fun at normal narratives of time: the world doesn’t occur but ‘happens’. The large spaces between the words woman, blackbird, man: a

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137873193572882362003-04-03T11:46:00.000-08:002006-01-21T11:53:13.576-08:00

The Russian Futurists – “Let’s Get Ready To Crumble”I forgot I had hairs on the back of my neck. Not that he’d use something as crass as a pun but that he’d use it like that. I’m not ever going to talk about the album’s title, so you can stop thinking that’s the pun. No, it comes in the opening song’s first line, announced with an assassin’s quiet: “I do pop cause that’s what my heart goes.” Take

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137888207185368992003-04-01T15:59:00.000-08:002006-01-21T16:03:27.186-08:00

Arrive like this: stood behind Savinien a beautiful young man. "Marthe, this is Pierre," Savinien says. "What a freakish downpour! Just out of the Arlequin onto the Tour Montparnasse and caught in a gust of rain. Can you believe it."We are all harried by thoughts of what might be missing, arranging the room into facts:"There are three of us then." Marthe full-face to the mirror, eye-shadow,

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137833516331225662003-03-25T00:43:00.000-08:002006-01-21T00:51:56.333-08:00

The Blue Nileone) You won’t like them. A Walk Across The Rooftops contains slap bass, trite lyrics on the debris of relationships, pans from (yawn) Coppola’s One From the Heart into (yawn) Paris, Texas, sung by Springsteen impersonating Sinatra. Hats has two white reggae tracks, gated snares, repeated use of the word ‘baby’ (yes), is ‘lush’, ‘cinematic’ and MOR. Annie Lennox and Rod Stewart have

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137833892622293102003-03-21T05:53:00.000-08:002006-01-21T00:58:12.626-08:00

Tara Jane O'Neill - "In the Sun Lines""When the little kid is sitting at the table in Ratcatcher and he has the well of salt in front of him, he's just running his finger through it, round, up, left, right, in, out. All the while, his mum's flitting around him, talking to him, he's answering on auto-pilot, totally consumed by the salt on the table. His whole world, lots of little grains for him

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137832126785274602003-02-28T12:21:00.000-08:002006-01-21T00:28:46.786-08:00

“No straight thing has ever been made out of the crooked timber of humanity.” – Kant.“Surely we did not need this (to see an inscrutable sky so clearly) to consider God a base invention, a vile insinuation, an impolite proposition, an attempt-alas, successful-at overwhelming human consciences: those who persuade us otherwise are traitors or impostors. Elsewhere, nature longs for skies busy with

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137832283383320352003-02-27T00:29:00.000-08:002006-01-21T00:31:23.383-08:00

"Just as any truly accurate representation of a particular geography can only exist on a scale of 1:1 (imagine the vast, rustling map of Burgundy, say, settling over it like a freshly-starched sheet!) so it is with all our abandoned histories, those ignoble lines of succession that end in neither triumph nor disaster, but merely plunge on into deeper and deeper obscurity; only in the infinite

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137832346726050852003-02-23T00:31:00.000-08:002006-01-21T00:33:54.686-08:00

Remember what I said about Interpol?“[A] very daring hypothesis. This happy conjecture affirmed that there is only one subject, that this indivisible subject is every being in the universe and that these beings are the organs and masks of divinity. X is Y and is Z. Schopenhaur… formulates a very similar doctrine in the first volume of Parerga und Paralipomena.” – Jorge Luis Borges, “Tlon, Uqbar,

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137832714461818792003-02-22T00:35:00.000-08:002006-01-21T00:38:34.463-08:00

“We’re all dilletantes now.” – Tom Ewing, ‘Download This’."She's like [xXx] but without all the bad qualities." - Indie fan, about dilletante xXx.I think what I like about garage is its refusal to let me not be a dilettante. I’ve been extremely wary to the point of inaction about even starting listening to garage because there is so much of it and I don’t have any idea of where to enter and I’d

Sex Slutnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8024833.post-1137833016477560202003-02-14T00:38:00.000-08:002006-01-21T00:43:36.476-08:00

I never told you about the time I was in Tara Jane O’Neill’s kitchen: “It’s not the doubt that lets you know you’re alive. It’s the constant and perpetual affirmation and re-affirmation or disavowal and re-disavowalling of such doubt that lets you know that. Your eyes, ears, mouth, nose, senses, fourth fifth sixth or seventh are all in thrall to doubt but not for doubt’s sake but for the ridding

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