This Bitch Is Glitched

Glitch / Digital Art by Clint Catalyst
2014

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Wherever She Goes, There She Is

or : [ Haunted ] : an animated glitch GIF

gif, animated gif, glitch, glitch gif, glitch art, haunted

Text editors, hex editors — In my continued novice experimentations with image / file corruption, occasionally I encounter data that doesn’t seem to need any data “bending,” per se.

Wraith-like and writhing, can you / do you see the phantasm trapped inside this loop, struggling for respite . . . fighting for release?

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POX : Quit Your Screamin’ and Start Streamin’!

Listen up! ‘Cause in case you haven’t heard . . . The movie POX

Written and directed by the wildly talented, wicked creative, and impressively prolific Lisa Stockton-Wilson — perhaps better known to the masses as singer / song-writer / musician / thespian / all-around Uh-Huh, Don’t-You-Wish-You-Were-Her phenomenonicon Miss Lisa Hammer

can be obtained for the “I Mean ; I Can’t Even” section of your DVD collection.

However, for those of you more on the instant gratification tip? The film is also available for streaming, by way of the almighty TLA Video.

This already-cult classic [ as in, like: Seriously, Mary . . . Where Have You Been? ] stars the inimitable Alizarinkryz as none other than POX himself.

In addition to our fearless cult leader, a slew of other luminaries appear in this cinematic delight — including :

Who? The dude from Gregg Araki‘s ever-incandescent, Thrill Kill Kult samplin’, endless-source-of-one-liners The Doom Generation? As in : That movie with Rose McGowan so white hot in her role as Amy Blue that you either wanted to be her or be with her or what-the-fuck-ever / I-can’t-even-relate-to-you, and Parker Posey‘s best cameo appearance probably, oh, ever, and of course Margaret Cho also shows because we’ve known she’s way fucking cool since long before your newbie ass was schooled how obnoxious it is for one to refer to himself by the majestic plural “we”? And uh-huh, dark-sider with so much erudite goth damage I bet even your toilet paper and tissue is pitch-hued : even and especially I’m looking at you when I reference how cEvin Key from Skinny Puppy fractured his knee during filming?

gif, animated gif, POX, Lisa Hammer, Alizarinkryz, Kim Helms

Yes. Yes, that James Duval.

And nope, the omission of Frank the Rabbit and Donnie Darko from my truncated ramble was neither oversight nor indication aforementioned title is not also chamber-tombed to my heart [for it is! It is : and how] but rather a reminder that fucking OATH, my beloved Bloggination! There’s a topic of much greater import to which I’m attempting to tend!

So, um. That being said? The film also features . . .

Kimberly Dzwonkowski, a.k.a. Kim Helms, whose performance is so effing g-damn genius; it’s full-on intracranial hemorrhage territory.

Levi Wilson, as the suicide punch meister of your masturbatory fantasies,

Sue Fletcher, as the neurotic loyal devoteé who deems herself “Mrs. POX.” [ And rightly so! ]

Do not, however, mistake her — or rather : her character, totes and obvs — for a groupie. If the subtitled still frame hovering above this cluster of text doesn’t clarify the distinction, then honey : I don’t know what to tell you . . . [ A simple suggestion, perhaps? Two words : Life Alert. Pleazh is all mine, Bee Tee Doubs ]

Incidentally, well aware I’m giving Generous in the screen cap department, though rest assured that it’s been anything but mad cazh or madly random. Au contraire, the act is one of scrupulous selection — of painstaking deliberation — by which I attempt to illustrate the gravitas of the sitch, bitch. Said another way? This film tackles some serious territory. That’s “serious” with implied italics. You feelin’ me?

And the atmosphere? Oh, how it delivers. Yes!

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Alive, Within The Spaces Amid Love

Nice to kick off the new year with a reminder that Cottonmouth Kisses hasn’t . . . well, you know : kicked it. In this case, thanks to the blog The Spaces Amid Love for posting an excerpt from the poem “Danielle, I’ve Been Meaning To Tell You.”

And since it’s been a while since this little bugger‘s inception, here are a few Cottonmouth Kisses reviews . . . “For Your Convenience.” : Via Marcus Pan of Legends MagazineKevin Killian of Small Press TrafficAra Taylor for The Bellingham HeraldCara Bruce of The San Francisco Bay GuardianRichard Davis for The Lambda Literary Review [ previously Lambda Book Report ] † Cathi Unsworth of Bizarre Magazine

Thanks, all!

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Tonight!

Alright, folks . . . Just like the flyer says : This evening marks the official signing / release party for Incurable Disorder : The Art of Elizabeth McGrath [Last Gasp]. It’s a gorgeous book; good times are guaranteed to be had; I’m running really late, so you can either take my advice or sniffle in regret later. Not unlike me in the present tense, with the five loads of laundry I didn’t drop off. But hey! I’ve been waiting to use “soft grunge” as an excuse.

The Folly of St. Hubertus : 2012

The Hunger : Dedicated To Ivan X : 2012

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Elizabeth McGrath’s Incurable Disorder

I’m pleased to announce the release of Incurable Disorder : The Art of Elizabeth McGrath [Last Gasp], the second full-length monograph of this visionary artist’s works, including dioramas, mixed media paintings and three-dimensional sculptures produced from 2005 to 2012.

In addition to over 200 color images, the book includes introductory essays by filmmaker/producer Morgan SpurlockMcGrath’s art dealer Alix Sloan, and the artist herself.

Regarding the creative process of the “damaged anthropomorphized animals who would rather bite than be healed,” McGrath explains “The conception of these brainchildren is hard to pinpoint. They stem from the emotional encounters I have with humans, landscapes and objects, and are further shaped by the constant stream of words and images that survive my mind’s filter. Once I have the skeleton of an idea, the rest comes automatically, but staying on task through the many hours it takes to complete one of these works requires a heavy dose of news radio, stories, and audio books. For instance, the chapter titled ‘Altarwise by Owl Light’ started with a Dylan Thomas poem but grew during The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley…”

She continues, “When I see the finished pieces it takes me back to the story or vice-versa, like memories from a vacation.”

As aforementioned, the tome is divided into sections — each paired with a passage from a poem or literary work that functions as a companion piece. The chapters are as follows :

Tears of The Crocodile
[ excerpt from the poem "What All The World Is Made Of" by Robert Southey ]

Altarwise by Owl-Light
[ with an excerpt from the Dylan Thomas poem of the same name ]

Incurable Disorder
[ accompanied by my poem Dead Letters : Twenty-Six Are in its entirety ]

American Animals
[ excerpt from Gods In Alabama by Joshilyn Jackson ]

Shadowless Summer
[ excerpt from Thomas Pynchon's novella The Crying of Lot 49 ]

With Tomorrow’s Scream
[ accompanied by a quote from Redmond King ]

Elizabeth — a.k.a. Liz, a.k.a. “Bloodbath” — McGrath is the only artist whose creations I collect, and without doubt, one of my favorite people on the planet. We met through a mutual friend in 2002, when I was asked to M.C. the Broken Dolls fashion show in January of the following year.

I’ve written about her numerous times between then and now : regarding the release of her first retrospective  Everything That Creeps in January of 2006, the premiere of Cecil B Feeder‘s documentary Bloodbath : The Movie, the main subject of which is — yep, you guessed it — in 2011.

I even modeled for CREEP Clothing, Miss McGrath’s collaboration with B.F.F. Winter Rosebudd : a feat which included strutting around Echo Park with an evil-horned creature [the duo's slaughtered chupacabra stole] draped about my shoulders, the pièce de résistance complete with velvet cloven hooves and a poisoned arrow. And did I love it? Every fantastic click and tick of the clock.

In short, Liz is generous, genuine, a true talent, and a stead-fast friend. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and truly : I’m honored to be part of this chronicle of her creative outpourings.

Oh. And uh, in the event you might have been “skimming”? It’s as simple as this : Incurable Disorder = new book you need in your life. Me? New poem in book. Matter of fact, I’ll save you a click and leave a copy right here, even . . .

Cheers!

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Dead Letters ; Twenty-Six Are

A new poem, published in Incurable Disorder : The Art of Elizabeth McGrath [Last Gasp] . . .

Composed in a strict poetic form I created, the details of which can be found HERE. ⟣ Thanks!

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Perception.

Joe Rees : Belief, 1974 / re-fabricated 2009

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Oh, Yes I Am . . . And HOW

gif, animated gif, glitch, glitch gif, fan-girling, comment response

It’s an ish that’s glitched to the tits : Fully all retch, no vom!

Stolen and Forbidden: Bad Behavior, Good Times

All the rumors are true! Stolen and Forbidden — the event a particular Steven Reigns curated, and I mentioned in the not-so-distant past — is available for viewing, now : at no expense! In the comfort and privacy of your own home . . .

Crack open a fresh can of Crisco; slam-dunk those dentures in a fizz of Polident. It’s about to get real up in here — and by real, I mean really entertaining!

With . . .

Video Documentation, Featuring :

Intro by John D’Amico : 0:09

Steven Reigns : 1:31

Clint Catalyst : 14:47

Bernard Cooper : 30:07

Jonny McGovern : 40:40

Bruce Vilanch : 52:03

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Seriously: Let’s Talk About Amanda Bynes

Tragic foreshadowing . . .

Amanda Bynes, mugshot, animated gif, glitch

But I’m not here to make judgment calls. Correction : judgment calls regarding her extra-curricular activities, or — you know. Life in general. Instead, the query that’s a hot tip for me, Mary . . . A cursory glance at her courtroom attire, and I have to ask : Does she not have any queer friends? Or even white-washed WeHo GHEYS, for that matter?

‘Cause if so, whatever shady phag let her out of the house wearing that $30 Hollywood Blvd synthetic wig needs to be bound and gagged in Abercrombie & Fitch for the next decade! [The ultimate punishment : release the little shit once he's past his tweenage prime.]

Oh, but wait. I assume you guys know about The T that went down in Twitter-town?

Miss Bynes had a less-than cordial response. I’ll spare the vitriol and leave it As It Is.

Amanda Bynes, animated gif, glitch

Mmm-hrmm. I know, baby girl. I know. Oh, but just a little technical ish? Well aware you were “in character” and all that : but this don’t look nothin’ like no grin . . .

Diggin’ that low-rez, slightly glitched-out look, howevs. Very au courant, in fact!

Amanda Bynes, animated gif, make-up brush

Sheet. Just one last thing. Hon, umm . . .the make-up brush? Makes all the difference if you touch your skin. Pinky-swear and pierced cheeks, darlin’.

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Stolen and Forbidden

It’s Saturday. Whatever plans you think you had? Cancel.

In my eternal quest to keep the “litter” in literature, it’s an honor and a privilege to be part of this event :

And yes, there’s a Facebook Page, for those of you who care about that type of thing.

[ MORE ] :

“Before the Internet, pilferage and privacy breaking were common for young gay men looking for answers and others like themselves in the words of books and magazines they were denied access to by price, age, or shame. The stories that accompany these texts are just as amusing as the text themselves. Five gay men talk about and read the text that was forbidden or they stole in their youth. The act of sneak reading is a common experience. The length one goes to do it is often comical. This will be a FREE, fun literary event that offers humor, connectedness, and an informal primer for seminal gay literary works. FREE validated parking is available in the 5 story parking structure.”

Presented by Steven Reigns and the City of West Hollywood as a preview to the One City One Pride Queer Arts Festival.

Hope to see you soon!

x0x0x

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Another Haiku

For National Poetry Month, 2013
[ via ] :

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As The End Draws Near

. . . of National Poetry Month this year, that is.
Grifted from my Tumblr, here’s :

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National Poetry Month Continues : with Justin Chin

Back When I Knew Who I Was 

i was content to spend my afternoons
wondering what co-dependent meant
not realizing that those lazy
humid daylight hours was better  
spent figuring out the physics
of dependency and codeine dreams

back when i knew who i was
i was much better than i ever thought i was
i could conjugate fuck like nobody’s business
       fuck me, fuck you, fuck it, fuck him, fuck her
       fuck them, fuck yourself, holy fuck, goddamnfuckit

i could shovel dead pets off the driveway
     that my aunt ran over on her way to choir practice
     and not shed a single tear
i could choke down every family fight about money,
every caning that would come for no reason after those fights,
every time we were forced to go to my rich relatives for dinner and we’d
find ourselves in the kitchen cooking and doing the dishes.

i believed i knew the meaning of alcohol
i believed i knew how to get out of every scrap
i believed i wasn’t gonna make 25
i believed in 18 molecules of carbon
21 molecules of hydrogen
3 oxygen and one fab nitrogen
all in a sweet mixture enough to make me
feel like jennifer beals in flashdance
twirling my ass
in front of the snotty audition,
praying for a stinking place in 
the dance-a-thon of actuality

back when my balls were the size of brazil
and my ego was the size of the antarctica
and my courage was the size of phlegm
i learned to trust few people
learned to want little
and to need even less
i learned to say “FUCK IT”

with such ease and venom
the most cynical rattlesnake
would have its underbelly turn emerald
in two seconds flat.

you could wake to find yourself in some sweet danger,
in some piss-flavored version of addiction
designed to make up for lost time,
lost ideals, lost lovers, lost causes, lost saviours
but -shit- these days,
all i find is myself back when i was
back in the conga line of perpetual desire
the territory of an incessant need
i crave my one habit of a good man
and i want to secede from
the grip of addiction philosophy,
from the colony of “i should’ve known better”

fuck that 12-step thing, i say,
i like to keep my options open
and i like having the option
to get absolutely fucked up
when i feel like it,
and not feel like i fucked up, dammit.

do things change that much?
can some stupid sign from the almighty
whip you right around?
maybe i should be looking for visions of jesus
in billboards of spaghetti sauce,
visions of buddha in men’s semen,
maybe i’ll be a much better person
if i knew who i was when i knew who i was
but who the fuck do i think i am?
i can’t even piss straight into the bowl,
can’t even tell my lover that i want to cook him
breakfast for the rest of my life,
can’t even cross against the light,
     (ooh, walk to the light, walk to the light….)
can’t pay my bills on time nor balance my checkbook
can’t dance, can’t mosh,
can’t get fucked up like i used to, not that i want to anyway
can’t take it like a man, whatever that means.

all i can is kiss who i was
back when i knew who i was
goodbye, one great big tongue smooch
and wish him a good journey
as he walks to the light
and falls off the edge of the earth
and into a peaceful hell.

i’ll meet up with him later.

Justin Chin, from Bite Hard
     Manic D Press, 1997

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