To his club-footed child said Lord Stipple,
As he poured his post-prandial tipple:
"Your mother's behaviour
Gave pain to Our Saviour
And that's why He made you a cripple."
Each night father fills me with dread
When he sits on the foot of my bed;
I don't mind that he speaks
In gibbers and squeaks
But for seventeen years he's been dead.
I am going to have pasta with tomato sauce for dinner. I called Christopher but he wasn't home. I have installed my little aloe plant in an equally little pot on my window sill and it looks fetching if I do say so myself. I have to read a tonne of stuff to be ready for my examinations on Wednesday and Thursday and it will be very difficult. I wait for posts and comments on these two blogs when I'm lonely. I want to make songs about fundamental human feelings lately. Like, wanting to be loved and being selfish and insecure; (attempts to be) honest accounts of facets of my/our personality. and songs that are simple mere quotidian communication between two people like this weird relatively recent one by adrian orange. i've been writing about the self, about one's conception of the separation of themselves and others, and how you need others and how you need people's love and attention and that's why you do a lot of things that you do, etc.
"Come on and sit by me ...
and I won't criticise you, no I won't, ... no, I sympathise
and i won't conflict with you, ... no, I will be true
And I hope you like me but I know you will
Because we've shared a lot and we share it still.
...
I love you like you love me
I love and trust you like you trust me"
I feel that contemporary art is far more concerned with being ostentatiously "clever" and innovative than pleasantly affecting the senses and making an immediate profound effect of some kind, which is what I think ought to be the primary objective of visual art, just as it is for music, poetry, etc.. It seems that contemporary art has lost touch with the senses and emotions, dismissing them as kitsch, and appeals now solely to the intellect and exists almost exclusively in a highly academic context. Visual art ought to be enjoyed immediately when viewed, like a piece of music is when listened to, not only upon extensive further analysis and retrospection. Like my high school art teacher once said, such conceptual art reaches a point when one wonders why the "artist" didn't just write an essay instead of make the "artwork".
(i posted this on a blog yesterday)
But since my current societal responsibilities are soon coming to a close, I (and Deep Madder in general) shall return with a vengeance that will render the average layman and/or laywoman speechless!
Right, Alexander? Plus, we're nearly two months behind on Deep Madder Monthly. Dare I suggest a DOUBLE OR MAYBE EVEN TRIPLE ZINE FOR MAY?!?!?
I think I am homosocial because of my socially burdensome proclivity to romancify & objectify the opposite sex. With men I am able to enjoy a "pure" friendship, unhindered by the romantic insecurities, anxiety, and considerations that inexorably arise in me with the opposite sex, despite (though the degree of which is contingent on) the attractiveness or romantic potential of the given person. Whilst solely amongst (heterosexual) men I feel like there is a greater equality in the group and less of a competitive climate; that is, we enjoy a sense of camaraderie & supportive rapport perhaps akin to that amongst members of the same sports team or cultural group. For these reasons I feel the pubescent advent of sexuality and romantic attraction presents many problems for us, contrary to the glorified status sexuality holds (at least in pop/youth/alternative culture in our society).
(I realise that this sort of thinking and said proclivities are problematic but they are merely how I feel, not how think I ought to feel [which are two very different things]. Plus, I of course do love having female friends, but this is just an idea about the difference.)
[Note: none of this applies whilst with a partner]
"I took my leave then and he gathered several of his books for me to take. I offered to pay and he waved his hand. 'I don't sell them now. I give them away.'"
-Toronto Star columnist Joe Fiorito on having recently visited poet Raymond Souster