March 22, 2006 · Wanderlust
I felt as if I were in an exiled and floating world, isolated from all necessities of life except the one of buying things. Zelda Fitzgerald, The Collected Writings of Zelda Fitzgerald Zelda knew the score. That exiled and floating world she’s talking about, it’s not some poetic metaphor, it’s the actual condition of modern […]
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December 24, 2005 · Wanderlust
You are an aperture through which the universe is looking at and exploring itself. Alan W. Watts Look at this thing. Three streams of water dripping into a pond like some cosmic punchline to a joke nobody remembers anymore. Built in 778, rebuilt in 1633, not a single nail holding it together, just wood and […]
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August 1, 2005 · Individualism
Site Specific Art at The Avignon Theatre Festival (Festival d’Avignon). I’m standing in some medieval stone square and the light’s doing that thing where it’s too golden to be real, and there’s a woman in white doing something with her body that shouldn’t be possible, and you think maybe you’ve finally lost it. Maybe that […]
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July 19, 2005 · Individualism
We’d just stumbled out of Cremaster, brains still melting from Matthew Barney’s latex and petroleum jelly fever dream, trying to articulate what the fuck we’d just witnessed, all that obsessive bodily mythology, those baroque genital landscapes, when the alley starts filling with them. White painted bodies coming at us like a slow motion avalanche of […]
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July 7, 2005 · FalseArt
July in Avignon, watching Belgian weirdo Jan Fabre, the festival’s designated madman-in-residence, make his performers roll around in their own sweat while reciting what I can only assume was poetry, though my French was drowning after the third pastis. The whole goddamn city had become one sprawling theatrical acid trip, and I was here for […]
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October 29, 2003 · Wanderlust
Look at them up there in the white nothing, those figures scattered across snow that doesn’t give a shit about their aspirations or their carefully calibrated sense of adventure. They’re having what they’ve decided to call a party, because that’s what you do when you’re off somewhere expensive, you give it a name, make it […]
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July 17, 2003 · Wanderlust
I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more Franz Kafka, The Castle (1926) Those tombstones piled on top of […]
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