Pink Floyd: The Wall (1979)
A Certain Aesthetic
Gratuitous Josh Dallas
Nice guns Josh, but the photographer knew exactly which of your features he wanted to highlight with the lighting on that last shot. Yowsah.
I Am Incorrigible
A Question for My Readers
Amazingly Accurate
Culled from a series of tweets by the Hoarse Whisperer:
I understand narcissistic personality disorder like the back of my hand. Trump is as familiar as an old movie, so let me share some intel. People with narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) seem erratic but they're actually ultra-predictable. They are simple machines. There are only two driving impulses: 1) Avoid shame and 2) Collect adoration and esteem. That's it. There is no other priority or concern. Trump will do anything humanly possible to try to avoid being publicly shamed/diminished in others' eyes. It's an impulse he can't control. Take Russia/Putin. If Trump were to acknowledge Russia interfered, he'd be admitting he was less worthy of the presidency. Donald Trump would literally sell out his entire family and the country as well to avoid acknowledging that he didn't deserve the office. He is pathologically incapable of doing anything which admits to the world his worst internal fear: he's unworthy of being seen as special. Now, he has no choice on how he has to play this. He HAS to actually make Putin look worthy of partnership. He has to make the shameful thing, look unshameful somehow. He has to make shameful hacking and potential collusion somehow seem smart or purposeful or dignified. It cannot be done. It makes no logical sense. It will fall apart and as it does, Trump's behavior and lying will get more outlandish. But make no mistake, Donald Trump is clinically incapable of doing anything other than what he is doing: trying to avoid the shame of being discovered to be illegitimate and unworthy of public respect. He has an uncontrollable compulsion to avoid that awful truth. No matter how absurd each new action or lie sounds, he'll throw even his own family under the bus until there is no way out and then he will first explode on everyone and everything around him when he realizes there is no escape. It will be the crazy tweetstorm to end all tweetstorms and then he'll either a) implode in a miserable ball of self-loathing and flee or concoct some attempt at a face-saving exit, claiming he's too good for the job or that he's protesting the "deep state." It'll be transparent bullshit that none but the most loco Trumpers believe but he will take it to the grave, swearing it's true. The key thing to remember in watching Trump is that there are literally only two things going on in his mind at all times: 1) Fight to the death to avoid being seen as shameful or underserving of public adoration 2) Doing whatever it takes to make the people right in front of him think he's powerful, important and special. That's it. Donald Trump is an empty shell. You need do no more than ask "what shame is he trying to avoid?" and you'll understand his every move.
A Certain Aesthetic
The Pendulum Effect
Gratuitous James Wolk
Shower Thoughts
Last week someone died trying to convince a stone age tribe to believe in iron age mythology. Today we landed a spaceship on another planet.
Amazing
Angel City Choir: Africa
Released 35 Years Ago Today
Eurythmics: Touch (1983)
(Very) Late to the Party
Even though the film came out sixteen years ago, I'd never seen The Hours in full until today. I ran across the soundtrack sometime during 2005 while browsing at the public library and it became my go-to writing music for quite a while, without ever really knowing the story behind it. (I love all things Philip Glass so that point was moot.)
Several months ago I noticed it playing on IFC one day while channel surfing, but it was nearly over so I set the DVR to record the next showing. I attempted to watch thereafter but I fell asleep halfway through. (It wasn't the movie's fault; I was exhausted.)
Today I started it over and watched the whole thing. All I can say is "Wow."
I'll leave it to a review I found online that mirrors my own feelings about the film:
"…it is impossible to fault at any level: Acting, dialogue, costumes, locations, soundtrack, scenery, settings or storyline.
"Films like this don't come along too often–beautifully made in an almost understated way, it relates to no major event or cataclysm, it chronicles no turning-point in history and it poses no worrying conundrum for the future. It is simply a quietly-told story that will criss-cross between various points in time and take you deep into the characters' emotions and portray the effect that they have on their lives. When you have seen and come to understand the events that take place, by the time it concludes it will leave you feeling refreshed and perhaps a little better in touch with the emotions in your own life–just like good films should, but sadly, so rarely do…
Easily 9 out of 10–If you watch this one, you will not regret the time spent."
Unintended Consequences
For those of you who've seen the final episode of AHS: Apocalypse…
I beg to differ on the point of Cordelia not getting sick. According to AHS canon, when a new Supreme rises, the existing Supreme must die. Since we know Mallory proves herself to be the next Supreme, Cordelia will–at some point–have to die.
I'm Going to Hell
"The girls just bet me that you wouldn't suck me off to get these 50-yard-line tickets to Sunday's game. Prove 'em wrong, buddy. Right here, right now."
Gratuitous Alex Rich
I Am Incorrigible
It's the Secret Sauce!
Gratuitous Armie Hammer
Armie Hammer by Brian Bowen Smith for The Hollywood Reporter, November 2017
Fuck. Armie's. everything.
I'm Sure He's Quite Popular in the Barracks
Be Careful What You Ask For
Vintage Audio Porn
I'm Going To Hell
Body of Work
I used to paint. A lot.
My earliest recollection of putting a brush to canvas was in high school, although it wasn't until years later that I began to do it with any sort of seriousness. Like with so many other things in my life, the arrival of Star Wars is what lit the flame. A lot of my sci-fi work also served as illustration/inspiration for that never-completed always-in-progress novel I started in my 20s.
After my move to San Francisco in the mid 80s, I was surrounded by all sorts of new…ahem… "inspiration" that prompted not only new subject matter but a completely new style altogether.
My last work was the portrait of Ben from ten years ago.
For some reason the Muses have sequestered themselves out of sight after that was completed, but as I've written before I'm not too worried about their absence as I've had long dry spells before, only to have them broken with a tsunami of new work. Maybe this coming year will bring that tsunami, because I'm tired of friends saying, "You're so good! Why aren't you painting?" and I have to explain that it's not just a matter of sitting down and having inspiration magically appear.
So here, with apologies for the low quality of some of the photos (and to be honest, some of the actual paintings themselves) for the first time ever, my (nearly entire) body of work. You'll notice some common themes repeating…
There are maybe a half dozen others done over the years that I never got photographs of because they were early works and given away.
I Used to Sketch
While searching for the photo of my painting Not Even Death Shall Part Us for the previous post, I ran across a bunch of other stuff.
Okay, I know they're not fine art, but at the time (I was 20 or so) I was very happy with how they turned out; now doubly-so because I know I didn't lay anything out first. I just grabbed a pen and started drawing.
Artistic ability may indeed be a gift, but I know this much: if you don't use it, it deteriorates over time. Take this from a guy who really hasn't produced any art in over ten years and is now almost terrified at the thought of drawing anything.
Jean-Michel Jarre Does It Again
Chills upon hearing the first track. Just like 40 years ago after rushing home with the newly-released Equinoxe.
Once again I am twenty years old, skimming over a vast sea of golden dunes in my landspeeder under a double sun in a wheat-colored sky with the love of my life at my side.
In 1978 as the original Equinoxe was spinning on the turntable I called my friend and mentor Kent and after holding the receiver (yes, Virginia, it was a phone with a wire connected to the wall) up to the speaker I said, "Can you hear that? Landspeeders!" It's been a long time since a piece of music had me bouncing off the ceiling.
I won't say Infinity does this—and a lot of the same criticisms I had with Jarre's last sequel, Oxygene 3, apply here as well—but it's still a worthy followup to the original work.