Tag: Mr Rogers

Women Under the Influence: An Interface (Part 1–Julian Assange)

by on Aug.03, 2011

It’s no small matter that the word influence derives from Astrology, since Astrology’s objective, in large part, is to elucidate the interplay of mythic characters engaged in mythic narratives, and subsequently apply those insights to the revelation of psychic material (á la, for example, Archetypal Psychology; or Freud also works (less well), et al, pick your poison, but some practice of Astrology has been influencing & informing human consciousness–at the very least–since the advent of human consciousness). As a practice, Astrology is both Socratic and Mystic in its aim to expand consciousness and its exaltation of same. I think the ancient folk knew what they were doing (“considered future generations”) when they fastened the old stories to the cosmic field–an inclusively visible, celestial overmind. Astrology, perhaps, proposed and provided the original framework for managing a collective unconscious, one timelessly reflected in the vast mythic map imprinted up there in the sky.

The word “zodiac” comes from the Greek zodiacus: “little creatures.” Horoscope (“watching hour”):  a map of the planets on the sun’s orbital plane (eclipse) at the exact time and place of one’s birth. What are the little creatures up to up there. One is born beneath a vibrating mirror of sky on which the little creatures play, one takes one’s first breath, one has a face now, is influenced and influential. Enfaced enfant. A karmic event that happens well in advance of Lacan’s discombobulated mirror, linguistic utterance, alterity, standard assessments, and so forth. I’m a doula, I’ve seen this. Like seeing in the Tiresian sense such a mirror–cosmic horizons replacing, as boundary, placental ones; a primal transcendence.

If Astrology, like Art, belongs to superstition (Latin, superstitio: “standing over in amazement; surviving; religious exaltation”), then in order to accommodate, in my own conscious assessment of reality, the existence of: the stock market, corporate personhood, wildly unbalanced distribution of global resources, the weather, “products,” “democracy,” the CIA, state of the union addresses, the fucking media (bar Amy Goodman and Democracy Now!, which I wish everyone had the wherewithal to watch or hear every day), bail-outs, wars on “drugs” & “terror,” or simply the brutal fact that our government’s chief occupation is mass fucking [moral] murder, etc etc, I have to either get extremely high, or constantly and radically re-evaluate the signifiers that determine cultural convention. Or both, which has proved a winning & recommended tactic thus far. (continue reading…)

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The Messy Fascination of Repulsion: Blackie, Basquiat, The Widow Party

by on Nov.15, 2010

Some more thoughts about “messy” aesthetics (see Adam Jameson’s comments to John’s Fort Thunder post) and the 1990s…

I often get these chain-mails on Facebook asking me for the 15 most influential albums/books/paintings etc for me. One of the most influential artistic experiences for me was going to a show with the band “Blackie” at the speedboat gallery in St Paul some time in the mid 90s. Nobody’s probably heard of them except for me and my friend Tyler, who brought me to the show because he was friends with some of the band members.

But “band” is not really correct. These were like 10-15 folks in their mid-to-late 20s who played together once or twice a year. And “played together” is not exactly correct either because they hadn’t rehearsed and while some of them seemed to know how to play their instruments, some of them didn’t, and some of them were playing strange instruments (plastic whistles, stuffed birds, their arms). The result: The squirrels bled and we heard armchairs with soft hair on them.

The star of the show was the singer, a guy dressed up as college boy – polo shirt, baseball hat etc – but it seemed to be a college boy in drag. He didn’t sing but recited poems/chants while filming himself and the rest of the band with a toy-looking video-camera. One of the songs ended with the singer repeating “We’re in Spokane/We’re in Spokane/We’re in Spokane” for several minutes while writhing – excited, sweating, possibly horny – on the floor and filming himself straight into his screaming, sweaty face. Definitely: “Body possessed by media.” Sweaty with media.
(continue reading…)

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