clintcatalyst: Agreed, @BloodyBlack — #Permission mag, ever-ruling! My URL that looks like 1998 coughed up an HTMHellball, other hand? Waving white flag […]
clintcatalyst: Alright, @BloodyBlack ♥ You mean this pic, http://t.co/lU6clk2b correct? If so, ran in #Permission mag — anthology/book form, this fall! […]
clintcatalyst: Hey @littleepisodes, while you're hosting fundraisers? http://t.co/QN90bC5X has illegal @AmazonKindle DLs of yr books @tumblr. #SOrebellious […]
clintcatalyst: Oh, in case you didn't notice @thegrumpyowl —That last tweet of mine? #follow endorsement, ever was one. [MeaningHe'sEntertaining,Kids! FFS] […]
clintcatalyst: "So Testis it can be, the road to salvation — though some say 'taint..." @katebornstein [ Twit-image attchd, not sp@m ] http://t.co/iyvs2Y9x […]
clintcatalyst: Any rate, remember the shoot v well @BloodyBlack — also stoked, "Best Of"/book version of [that] mag comes out this fall. Good times! ♥ […]
clintcatalyst: Speaking of sly, howevs: me, w/ web-tech @BloodyBlack? Ha. Wanted to re: image you mntd, but can't get a single link, janky site gallery! […]
clintcatalyst: I know, right @MissDestructo? Why, I might even click "Fave" on this tweet. Precaution, totes/obvs...can't let you know I've seen it! #sly […]
I†† [ eye doublecross ] is not just a band;
they’re “a low-fi hypersigil, casting spells in various mediums .”
[CUE EXAGGERATED SHRUG]
Cool by me, brah.
Though when I discovered the basis for “Cø††øN”—
the latest single the duo conjured & released into the world
was [quote] “influenced by [ my book ] Cottonmouth Kisses” ?
Well, the excitement level racheted a bit Richter, not gonna lie. . .
No need to elaborate, nor to “re-visit”. . .
but we’ve all had at least one friend whose
band/stand-up comedy act/spoken word performance —
[ thought I'd keep the playing field fair ]
Y E A H .
You get it/You get it/You get it
Amidst the deafening silence & painful anecdotes that aren’t being shared at this moment,
here’s what is :
Also, two other ways in which this obstinate child of mine
continues to make its mark upon the world
[ however great or small that may be ] :
Eleven years since the effer premiered in print, yet not till this turn around the calendar—
Two Thousand Eleven A.D.—is when a song about it was inked,
so to speak. . .
If you’re not able to read the quotation obscured by my likeness?
That strand of syllables won’t be found among the pages of Cottonmouth Kisses,
but rather within the Degeneracy: A Love Letter project —
which I’m hereby placing ‘on the market’
ISO some serious match-making. . .
Said another way? Prospective publishers, literary agents, &/or
friends/kins/neighbors of the aforementioned?
To Start:
Seven Images from the Ben Trovato Blog,
in which Bielska’s editorial “Three Colors — RED” appears
“Three Colors – RED is the story of a creature that transcends to another dimension by means of an unreal space and color. The photos have been inspired by an enclosed space – the interiors of the Park Inn hotel in Cracow, Poland. I had some graphic visions in my mind prior to the shooting, a shape forming from two colors – white and black. As soon as I saw the interiors, however, I knew it was going to be a story of three colors.”
Rifling through the ridiculous four-digit number of unanswered missives clogging my In-Box like a steady diet of deep-fried dill pickles, KFC and biscuits slathered in bacon fat does the arteries, it took but a cursory glance at the last sacrilegious e-card Ugly Shyla sent starring Scooter (R.I.P.), her three-legged cat, and I was transported back to April of 2003. Convergence, an annual festival for those more shadowy in spirit, had booked me as a spoken word performer among that year’s roster. Jared, ever the trooper in terms of road trips, had joined me on this excursion to Las Vegas: convention capitol of the world, tackiest city in the country, and home of the flamingo-themed Hilton hotel where for four days it was as if a black cloud descended upon its fuchsia presence.
That’s when I first “officially” met Shyla ♥—
Why the quotation marks? A counter-culture periodical entitled Swag had premiered around this time, and both Shyla and I graced its pages. I’d read the feature on her and hence already knew about the ‘morbid fine art’ dolls she creates, her involvement with the performance art troupe (A-M-F), her wicked sense of personal style (fish-hooks through flesh used in lieu of garter belts), how her mom (known in the scene as ‘Goth Mom’) turned her on to the joys of John Waters, Satanism and transvestites. All of that was fine and fascinating, but—more than anything—I was intrigued by the knowledge that this remarkable creature hailed from a tiny town called Jennings, Louisiana.
My own history composed of 18 years in Nowheresville, Arkansas—where I grew up not on a street, but a ‘Rural Route’ consisting of dirt and gravel—I can’t help but be drawn to other southern-fried freaks. Not so much for the sake of sharing tear-stained stories of persecution, but rather because some of the most fascinating individuals I’ve ever met have sprouted from completely random spots among The Fly-Over States’ detritus. While it sucked with sharp fangs during those days of puberty and pimples, I’m grateful to have developed as an individual without a clique to inform or guide me. Said another way? There was no “Check-List of Cool,” no tables in the caf polarized by those who fit within the parameters of Punk, Goth, Mod, Ska, etc.
When there’s no need to conform among the non-conformists? That’s when the aberrant has an opportunity to define itself.
But I digress. Ugly Shyla is aberrant, if anything—and sick, sick, siiiick in the best sense of the word.
:: A Sexy Shyla Pin-Up Print :: Available Through Her Web Shop ::
We clocked each other in the (ahem) “Bizarre Bazaar”: me in a custom Liz McGrath pinstripe suit adorned with gaping wounds and open sores oozing with red glitter; she in a pristine white baby doll dress that’d been ripped apart and re-stitched with thick black thread to match her full-eye black sclera contacts.
Sure, there’s the blue hair, the fishnets: this is familiar territory for most of us.
But once we made it past the “Don’t-I-Know-You-From…” social pleasantries?
That’s when I began to learn the good stuff.
:: artwork utilizing menstrual blood as a medium ::
Don’t just take my word for it, though.
Stop by her self-proclaimed “trailer park of the internet” ( Ugly Shyla Dot Com ); peruse her on-line gallery ( Ugly Art Dot Net ); give her Etsy marketplace a gander ( Ugly Art On Etsy ) and come to your own conclusions.
Rather than a welcome mat, you’ll be greeted by an image of your hostess bound in a warm, fuzzy straightjacket. It might be hard to make out what she’s saying on account of the Hannibal Lecter-Lite safety guard that obscures her mouth…but if you look deep into those eyes eclipsed by contact lenses a ruptured shade of red, there’s an inherent sense that in Ugly Shyla’s world—complete with gauche magenta-on-pink animal-print wallpaper and the royal proclamation “Mental Illness With Style” scrawled in a gorgeous font rife with manic intensity—this is her version of an invitation to step inside.
Then, once you ease into the nascent stages of dementia via multi-sensory bombardment,
once you abandon all distinctions between what’s extreme and what’s extremely absurd,
it’s hard not to feel immediately welcomed…and at home.
Didja notice how the previous blog post (“Mark Your Calendars…”)
Began with the phrase
✷ EVENT ONE of TWO ✷ ?
Well, it just so happens that
✷ EVENT TWO of TWO ✷
is an “out-of-town”er, which I’m stoked about:
S A L T † L A K E † C I T Y
∞ ∞ ∞
Oh, SLC—you sizzling center of the DI ♡
Over the course of the last decade, I’ve descended upon you as a spoken word performer, actor,
M.C.—for Black Chandelier/Jared Gold, as well as for the Dark Arts Festival—but never,
never this:
∞ ∞ ∞
∞ ∞ ∞
(Dare we venture use so audacious a phrase as ‘performance artist’?)
Well, considering I just referred to myself by the Royal “We” (Pluralis Majestatis)—
a nosism employed by a person of high office, like a monarch, earl or pope—I figure
I’m already dallying around with dangerous territory
as it is…
Alright you guys: Apart from a few tracks on which I had some creative involvement, I’ve never utilized Ye Olde Dot Com in the context of a public music share. Never until now, that is… With this: a veritable list of my 33 favorite songs from ’09.
Though it should go without saying, if anything from this catalogue aux Catalottalisps moves your spirit, contributes to involuntary thrusts of elbows and hipbones, or just plain pleases your ear canal with good aural: give the musicians some much-deserved love and support. That’s “love” as in: the kind from your pocketbook—not Nature’s Little Pocket, and “support” that doesn’t involve an underwire or cup size. Odds are, Pamela Des Barres has that Other territory covered, anyway—unless VH1′s Next Big Hit: a competitive “reality” series entitled Groupie: Go Ho or Go Home! is still in negotiations.
So, yes…here’s my first Em Pee Three Web Log
a play list intended as a means of promoting the artists as well as the art
for the sake of art itself:
The creative spirit is contagious
and these are the the lullabies that transmit inspiration
Lily Allen and Annie’s bubblegum pop with biting, cyanide-laced lyrics that
induced an emotional imprint, capture an essence:
the interrobang I experienced upon hearing the somber vocals of Fever Ray’s Karin Andersson
collide with boody-bass, a re-mix that shatters her glacial strip-tease & throws everything
off, like the crepuscular hour in which I was first infected by Demdike Stare:
hunched over at my desk, fist gripped around a sweat-slick black Ticonderoga, that
late night/early morning’s weapon of choice for my
battle with words—though what I fought more than anything was to stay awake
floating in and out of consciousness, when
suddenly and without warning, I was surrounded by an echoing incantation
that rose up, a miasma as mysterious as voodou yet synthetic, manufactured, cold
One moment I’m in Iowa working with my comrades Dustin and Brian of Novice Industries; the next, I’m rushing to hair and make-up with my pal Aldo o’ the Vento.
Aldo volunteered his services to help me out with door duty, which proved itself much needed the moment we went from what was intended as a brief session of “helloing”–as pictured below, kicking off the evening with the lovelyJenelle Rensch, graphic design wiz (and incidentally the mastermind responsible for my CC logo in its final incarnation),Mr.Aldo VentoHimselfness, model and co-star with me in Matthew Mishory‘s film “Delphinum: A Childhood Portrait of Derek Jarman,” which is currently winding its way about the international film festival circuit(the world premiere of which was 5 September 2009, at thePortobello Film Festival in London):
and, you know, a familiar face, I suppose… shifting from Prancy, Postured, Poised–to
Any semblance of order and ‘proper’ decorum
Tossed out the window like last week’s copy of Us Weekly when
Bummer we couldn’t get her 12 year old brother past security, but…well, he’s 12.
(Even compared to my own track record, that’s 4 years before I began to hustle my way into clubs– And look how I turned out!)
A cautionary tale? (Y/Y?)
As rabid “90210″ fanatics attempted to claw their way towards the living, breathing version of “Naomi” they recognized from their living rooms, I did my best to sneak the party of pretty-pretties into the inner sanctum: a seated area complete with really good ‘Goodie Bags’–sponsored by Janome sewing machines, Fiji water, Tarina Tarantino jewelry, Amtrak, Josie Cotton, and Sebastian Hair Care Products–
as well as the precise locale where soon enough, leather metallic fabric ∞ stitching nipped and tailored ∞ silkscreened paintings ∞ tricked-out hair with neon nets ∞ make-up more surreal than real world , and the spirit of unfettered creativity and unapologetic flamboyance
RULED. (And how!)
After all, why was everyone at the Social Club?
TheMOSTCORRECT RUNWAY DEBUT of the retina-shattering, cardiac arrest-inducing, sensory-overloading atelier extraordinaire
rockin’ some ‘tude, with pop legend Josie Cotton (L) and me
(Is it obvious I’m L-O-V-I-N-G the custom jacket Jared created?)
Carelessly tossing any accusations of “obsequious” over the shoulder like the Latest!Fashion!Craze!– “Fashion is for those who have yet to understand ‘style’”– here’s what it boils down to at the carnival’s end: my first interaction with Mssr. Gold hearkens back to a bleak time in American history. We met shortly after his 2001 debut in Manhattan on September the 10th, an inauspicious moment for anyone to premiere clothing design, as it transpired mere hours before the atrocity known as 9/11.
Eight years have passed in the interim, and still: the creative outpourings of this inimitable virtuoso never cease to amaze me.
That being said, it should come as no surprise that for his collaborative effort with visual artist
Simply put, Mr.Petker’s paintings are most God, indeed. Over the span of the last few years, I’ve admired his murky-canvased beauties from afar (and might have, well, you know …”peeked in” on a certain Cahuenga Blvd gallery show)– so when the opportunity presented itself this Christmas past, I was stoked to make his acquaintance and bear witness to a bit of the brainstorms and dark-clouded creative rumblings between these two masterminds.
Hence, please allow me to present
A preview before the Gold versus Petker mash-up, for those of who might not be acquainted with the work of this inventive gentleman:
from 2008,
two images pilfered from an interview in the art-blog equivalent of masticating a corpus callosum
“[Petker's] work is like that girl you know will destroy you but somehow you just can’t resist.”
- Manuel Bello
(Entitled “Hunting For Witches,” this one SLAUGHTERS me…Slaughters me, Maing!)
(and above: from 2009, one of Petker’s most recent watercolors)
Fine art from a fine fellow…Petker has not only become one of my favorite contemporary artists, but he’s also just about one of the kindest dudes you could meet. (And I say ‘dude,’ as he is very much one, indeed—but I mean that in the absolute best sense of the sports-obsessed, beer-swilling sense of the word. I hope I’m communicating that effectively!?)
At any rate, speaking of ‘fine’—there was no shortage of squealing over Twilight‘s hunkasaurus
among the crowd at theGold versus Petker extravaganza.
Full disclosure: I’ve never seen Twilight , nor have I read any of the books. Said another way? I wasn’t aware Who He Is—but not to worry…it’s not as if frenetic whispering girls and paparazzi flashbulbs going pop! were in short supply.
Short of the long? Mr. Lutz was a complete gentleman: there was none of the “Don’t You Know Who…” routine that’s as played-out as clunky monster boots. (Seriously, kids? Just. Don’t.) Equal parts accessible any coy, Lutz maintained a genteel decorum I often refer to as From The School of ‘Leave-Them-Longing.’
A rare trait in today’s tabloid-congested society, unfortunately. With yellow journalism the norm rather than the exception, these days it’s as if the lump sum of Tinseltown’s silver lining is tinged with rust.
I mean, let’s face it: once one is inundated with images of our ‘stars’ being— well, — as flawed and human as the rest of us? There’s a natural tendency for audience members to be less willing to accept Coleridge’s “Willing Suspension of Disbelief” in terms of an implausible premise.
However, the academic vernacular? Hereby duly noted. (Apologies for the yawnage, please.&.thanks!)
Instead, a shifting of gears to that hotness known as AnnaLynne. As for The CW’s “90210,” I did, in fact, see the two-hour premiere—though can’t say I remember much about the episode other than Cory Kennedy and Mark The Cobra Snake‘s cameo appearance.
*Appearances? I’ve been staring at this blue screen far too long, I’m afraid.
Whatever the case, congrats to the duo—both of whom have graduated from their former status as ‘fixtures’ among L.A.’s nightlife to full-fledged international phenomenons quite successfully.
As for AnnaLynne, her role as Eden Lord in Nip/Tuck’s fifth season was no mere incident of (envision air quotes) scene-stealing; it nabbed the entire season. Seriously? But seriously… Upon discovery of her 2009 win as “Greatest Break-Through Talent” at the Teen Choice Awards, my opine is succinct: well-deserved.
Oh yes…and since this is a city fueled by the mythic power of Celebrity,
pictured here with the Cute-As-They-Come Kim Bruder
More images await “beneath the cut…”
However, since both the event and amount of photos collected –cough!STOLEN cough!–is of epic proportions, I’ve decided to divvy the lot up into three parts: Before The Madness (on which your gaze is fixed at this moment), Petker’s Paintings In Stiletto Pumps (the catwalk-stalking and crowd-gawking), and Dance.Music.Sweat.Romance (the after-party).
That being stated, Please! Click Away– for More Gore Gore Gorgeousness…
Feature & interview
For this show, I was interviewed about a song that has had a profound affect on my development/in my life. My choice? “Smalltown Boy” by Bronski Beat. I have quite an extended anecdote re: this piece–after all, I grew up on a gravel road in Arkansaw…
Da ALI G Show
Episode #4, “Art/Media”
I’m in this for something like a nanosecond. Seriously. Blink and you will miss me.
Femme TV
Featured interview
July 98 episode
Performed “Flouncing About” and accidentally caught show hostess Machiko Saito’s dress on fire with my cigarette! (no lie — and precisely why editors left the footage in).
Strange Universe
Interview regarding my duties hosting “Roderick’s Chamber,” modeling for Charles Gatewood, Gothy Goth Goth stuff.
Entertainment Tonight
A feature on Rob Schneider from SNL and Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo, which includes a visit to a nightclub where I was a designated host for the evening. There’s a scene in which Schneider happens upon me sitting with his mother, as she “casually” flips through a album full of his childhood photos. The location + my appearance at the time = wherein the humor lies…
The First Cut
Episode about Ye Olde ‘G’ Word, in which I’m interviewed at Roderick’s. Maing, do I ever wish I still had a VHS copy of this one; nothing about the show is listed on IMDB whatsoever.
To download from a Mac, hold down the ctrl button and hover the cursor over the name of the track; then click and scroll simultaneously to “Download File.”
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