Marry Miss, Stake Fence, 1970.
Artists are giving themselves over and opening themselves up to those things that stick out, that linger, that give pause, that provide both evident visible pleasure and inwardly-kept satisfaction, that they can’t get out of their head, that horrify them but they come back to, that humiliate and punish, that build and nurture, that annoy and tease, that they find themselves needing more and more of. These are precisely what is so invigorating about today’s art.
Where to begin?!
Tiqqun uses works of Continental philosophy in the same way that schoolyard bullies use in-jokes: as passwords that grant access to a protected inner circle. Tiqqun assumes that readers will assume that writers so well versed in texts that have spoken truth to power could not really hate women.
Every bit is brilliant.
“I could hear everything, together with the hum of my hotel neon. I never felt sadder in my life. LA is the loneliest and most brutal of American cities; New York gets godawful cold in the winter but there’s a feeling of wacky comradeship somewhere in some streets. LA is a jungle.”
LA is still a jungle, but things have evolved here.
Los Angeles seems more like a series of islands. Subdivided by regions, industries, economics, and motives. LA is really the sum of all it’s parts - it’s a hub for Southern California. On the surface the self fulfilling prophecy of Hollywood is evident. Pretentious fluff is loud and abound. It seems to play out like a self conscious satire though. Hollywood is literally like a theme park. It’s a magnet for people who love costumes and edgy personas. The thing about this city is that it’s literally several dozen cities stitched together under the guise of being one coherent place. Sprawl is like an agar here. Parts of this town are full of shit, but it’s expanse gives room for interesting things to bloom here and sets aside places for shitheads to converge and play out their strange dreams. Under the surface there is life.
Granted the public transportation generally sucks, and as a result everyone is confined to their cars, coupled with the whole hollywood clowntown thing, and the sprawl, there’s a heavy culture of indivisualism. It seems to be an evolutionary trait. People converge around the city for the art/music scenes, and for their day jobs they flock to their industry of choice. Cuisine, Film, Stage, Comedy, Business, Hippies, Tech, Froyo, Neo-Hippies, [insert prefix here]-Punk, Indie/Avant-Garde/Neo-Surf/Raver/IDM Garage bands, Industrial Chair designers, slackers, Vegan Entrepreneurs, Obscure Cinema, ect.. i’m trailing off here.
The point is that Los Angeles is a series of island communities. To survive here doesn’t require much more then scavenging for some fair trade vintage vegan cardigans (if that’s so much to ask for), but thriving here or in any community really requires a moment of clarity away from the herd. A dive into the ocean, a hike through the woods, even just a long nomadic drive into the unexplored parts of town. Smog is hearsay, the noise of the ocean melds with the streets and the crowds here.
dive in, tread, swim, sink, whatever.