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The Necrotic Kabuki Surface. The Dancing.
Jul. 5th, 2010 07:13 am1. MJ
One of the hippest aesthetes I know, the writer of this blog, is still, a year after his death, mourning the loss of Michael Jackson. She has set up a room in her very hip house, in Newburgh, the hip waaaaaaaay out suburb of NYC, where she works, with a temple to MJ in it. She wrote a thoughtful eulogy at the year anniversary of his death.
I was shocked by my complete lack of response to MJ's death. I thought he was a pervert, very talented, very disabled on purpose, by the monstrous Joe and the parasitic Jackson 10 or whatever the fuck they are, to perform. (See Mignon, in Goethe's Sorrows of Young Werther, I think it is, a child circus acrobat deformed to perform, who became the child icon of the 19th century, per Carolyn Steedman, Strange Dislocations) I was enlightened but kind of horrified when he made friends with Elizabeth Taylor on the basis of having been abused child stars. I was just horrified when he married Lisa Marie, which is just about the perviest thing I can think of on about 20 levels. The surgeries, the vitiligo meds, Neverland, poorly cared-for zoo animals, pedophilia, the made-to-order-purchased babies, the addict's death, the corrupt doctor, none of that surprised me because I pretty much pegged him as a monster in the early 80s. Not exactly that he had become Joe -- god, have you seen that thing's eyebrows and moustache? -- but that he had absorbed the money/business/PR corruption -- oh God, that kiss with Lisa Marie, fingers in ears, LALALALA -- just sort of put him beyond the place where I could feel for him as a human being.
But that is exactly his appeal, I think, for the true Gen X fan. The zombie-vampire-androgyne-shape-and-color shifting creature. I know people who saw the Thriller video and it changed their lives -- not least among them, the Cambodian gangsters I've been following around for 20 years. Because of them, Thriller is like one of the three videos I own. (Zumba and line-dancing aerobics are the other two.)
Here is Anna Dorfman's meditation on MJ's death. The necrotic kabuki surface. The dancing.
Mignon, as Steedman points out, was 18th century French slang for boy prostitute.
2. Robinzilla
There is a robin, who, plucked, would weigh more than a pound, who comes to the bird bath every day. He stands in the center of it and scoops up water with his wings and then flaps them to disperse it. He uses about two quarts of water every morning for his own bad ass.
It's part of my early morning routine, here in Macondo, to water the trees and shrubs before the sun starts sucking water up. I fill the bird bath, and put the hose on the two little ash trees and the gigantic bird of paradise bush, alternately, and soak them for an hour. They were almost dead when I moved in.
Watching the birds enjoy the water every morning is one of the pleasures of living in the desert. I can do this for them, and they can do this for me.
Laudato si, mi Signore, per sor'Acqua,
la quale รจ multo utile et humile et pretiosa et casta.
Be praised, My Lord, through Sister Water;
she is very useful, and humble, and precious, and pure.
3. Summer Bucket List
I am working on mine, with links and annotations. This week, a child's swimming pool for the Aceynator. And perhaps lobster rolls, and flea market with neighbor Max.
What's your list of fun, fun, fun?
One of the hippest aesthetes I know, the writer of this blog, is still, a year after his death, mourning the loss of Michael Jackson. She has set up a room in her very hip house, in Newburgh, the hip waaaaaaaay out suburb of NYC, where she works, with a temple to MJ in it. She wrote a thoughtful eulogy at the year anniversary of his death.
I was shocked by my complete lack of response to MJ's death. I thought he was a pervert, very talented, very disabled on purpose, by the monstrous Joe and the parasitic Jackson 10 or whatever the fuck they are, to perform. (See Mignon, in Goethe's Sorrows of Young Werther, I think it is, a child circus acrobat deformed to perform, who became the child icon of the 19th century, per Carolyn Steedman, Strange Dislocations) I was enlightened but kind of horrified when he made friends with Elizabeth Taylor on the basis of having been abused child stars. I was just horrified when he married Lisa Marie, which is just about the perviest thing I can think of on about 20 levels. The surgeries, the vitiligo meds, Neverland, poorly cared-for zoo animals, pedophilia, the made-to-order-purchased babies, the addict's death, the corrupt doctor, none of that surprised me because I pretty much pegged him as a monster in the early 80s. Not exactly that he had become Joe -- god, have you seen that thing's eyebrows and moustache? -- but that he had absorbed the money/business/PR corruption -- oh God, that kiss with Lisa Marie, fingers in ears, LALALALA -- just sort of put him beyond the place where I could feel for him as a human being.
But that is exactly his appeal, I think, for the true Gen X fan. The zombie-vampire-androgyne-shape-and-color shifting creature. I know people who saw the Thriller video and it changed their lives -- not least among them, the Cambodian gangsters I've been following around for 20 years. Because of them, Thriller is like one of the three videos I own. (Zumba and line-dancing aerobics are the other two.)
Here is Anna Dorfman's meditation on MJ's death. The necrotic kabuki surface. The dancing.
Mignon, as Steedman points out, was 18th century French slang for boy prostitute.
2. Robinzilla
There is a robin, who, plucked, would weigh more than a pound, who comes to the bird bath every day. He stands in the center of it and scoops up water with his wings and then flaps them to disperse it. He uses about two quarts of water every morning for his own bad ass.
It's part of my early morning routine, here in Macondo, to water the trees and shrubs before the sun starts sucking water up. I fill the bird bath, and put the hose on the two little ash trees and the gigantic bird of paradise bush, alternately, and soak them for an hour. They were almost dead when I moved in.
Watching the birds enjoy the water every morning is one of the pleasures of living in the desert. I can do this for them, and they can do this for me.
la quale รจ multo utile et humile et pretiosa et casta.
Be praised, My Lord, through Sister Water;
she is very useful, and humble, and precious, and pure.
3. Summer Bucket List
I am working on mine, with links and annotations. This week, a child's swimming pool for the Aceynator. And perhaps lobster rolls, and flea market with neighbor Max.
What's your list of fun, fun, fun?
