« Posts tagged the human condition

A Muffled Beep Beside Me

Is the title of a poem that debuted in print along with the editorial brilliance [compliment directed towards the team with whom I had the good fortune of working, BTW] in Giuseppina magazine 21 : The Acceptance Issue.

And not that you asked . . . but yes : In my continued assault against the expected, this piece was composed in a form not open but rather fixed, or — despite how deliciously perverse I consider usage of the term, a myriad of connotations attached to it as stead-fast as a spiked cilice to the inner thigh of an Opus Deistrict.

By no means is it my intention to imply that free verse is inferior, but rather familiar. Hence, exploring the paradoxical freedoms of composing within a limited; i.e., formal poetic structure . . . namely, one of my own creation? Oftentimes the experience is nothing short of numinous.

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numinous (adj.) : describing an experience that makes one fearful yet fascinated, awed yet attracted — the powerful, personal feeling of being overwhelmed and inspired

It’s National Poetry Month . . . Shake The Dust.

“This is for the hard men
Who want love
But know that it won’t come
For the ones
Who are forgotten
The ones for whom the Amendments do not stand up for
For the ones who are told to speak
Only when you are spoken to
And they’re never spoken to
Speak
Everytime you stand
So you do not forget yourself…”

 

Anis Mojgani

 

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Bloodbath McGrath? Yeah, Maing: She’s The News…

Chances are, if you’re familiar with me/my work:
at one point or another you’ve either read my enthusiastic ramblings
about the phenomenonicon known as Liz McGrath
or you’ve heard me flappin’ my gums on her behalf.

Well, as it turns out?
I’m not the only effer with a keen eye, honed-ear, & impeccable sense of taste.
See, there’s this gent by the name of Cecil B Feeder—& he’s done gone & made a movie
about little Miss Thing herselfness.  Name’s Bloodbath. You know, as in: ‘Bloodbath McGrath’?

Even if you don’t: just smile, nod, & spot-check this tease of a trailer on out…

While I’ve yet to see the docu-rama drama myself, folks who reside in Nueva York—or
very least, plan on being there this eve—are in luck.

The movie premieres TONIGHT:
Saturday, February 12, 2011
7:30 p.m. at MOMA NYC
Theater 2, T2

as part of the series

“All The Wrong Art : Juxtapoz Magazine On Film”

Among the itinerary:
Legendary X Offender, Debbie Harry, is scheduled to appear—
both to provide an introduction to the film
as well as to participate in a discussion
thereafter

[ & of course, the Bloodiest of Baths will be in attendance;
ditto, director of celebrated
celluloid reliquary ]

However: provided here, now—
a smattering of retinal treats,

a modest sampling of specimen
from this local luminary’s collected body of works
that begs the question: which ‘bodies’ among The Body
were ever actually…bodies…at all?

[ if any ]

E X H I B I T . A

Black Deer sculpture

E X H I B I T . B

Deer House

E X H I B I T . C

Truth Decay diorama

E X H I B I T . D

In The Sweet

E X H I B I T . E

Death By Desire

E X H I B I T . F

Frankie Machine

Said another way: oftentimes these “taxidermied toys,” as they’re referred,
are the cause of great pause/consternation for the artist’s audience:

My assumption is that, despite the hallucinatory realm which these phantasmagories inhabit—
the harrowing “Frankie Machine” [above], for example, in which McGrath’s allegorical depiction of
The Man with the Golden ArmThe Man With The Golden Arm, Nelson Algren renders a dramatic stasis through a potent mix of personal interpretation
and consummate skill—ultimately, it’s a soulful quality about the eyes of
these mythological beings that resonates within the human condition.

A sense of psychological lockjaw.  Addicted. Creatures of habit as much as habitat.

Translation of the Latin text?
“No One Is Free Who Is Enslaved To The Body”

H O W E V E R , E N O U G H !
of my blathering

This is, after all, work that speaks for itself—& rightly so…

For that reason—among countless othersthe Managament hereby deems it imperative
that your library includes a copy of Everything That Creeps : a gorgeous compendium
of Miss McGrath’s work [ through 2005 ].  The book itself is an <i>objet d’art</i>:
with a die-cut hardcover exterior, full-color glossy pages thick as most magazine
covers [ except with sepia stains at the edges, & cute-enough-to-kill doodles
& details scattered throughout ].  Truly, the tome invokes a sense that
one has happened upon some rare, fantastic relic from last century’s
dustbowl era.

I N . W O R D S . N O T . M Y . O W N
[ excerpt of product description ]

“112 pages of full-color photos & detail shots
reveal the exquisitely complex details of [ McGrath’s ] sweetly twisted creatures,
giving a glimpse of what the City of Misfit Toys might have become had it been
saved by Satan rather than Santa.”

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