15 September 2014

I was not looking for this but I found it

"There is only one story of images that I think is worth telling, and that is the story of mothers.
Layers and layers of my mother, piling up in my mind.
What is music if not a series of mothers?
By mother, I mean hearing and finding sonic shapes that punch you in the gut and seem both strange and familiar. Music has the ability to change my idea of self in a flash, as if I could suddenly change my facial features from one family's genetic features to another. Resonance.
Music is about longing and belonging. Pop music and its close miked voices was such a big part of my childhood in the 1980s (I was born in 1980) that I was constantly hearing new voices and feeling them resonate in my throat. Growing up as resonance. Like poetry rearranges language and gives words new sonic connections, growing up with so much music around me felt like the language that was being rearranged was myself, my self.
I've written a lot about these themes, especially in the vocal work of Kate Bush. But this image is something more random and personal; a rare occasion of finding a mother connection visually. My mother didn't know at the time, but there was a moment in the mid-80s when she looked very much like David Bowie in his Ziggy Stardust era. I never noticed either until a few years ago. I grrew up loving a different Bowie, Let's Dance-era Bowie, a pale, distant and definitely male hero in the Australian desert.
But then I watched The 1980 Floor Show, the 1973 film in which Bowie performs as Stardust for the last time. I watched it on video in about 2005, while away from home, on a rainy day on a small Scottish island, surrounded by water, and got this overwhelming womb feeling.
What is a concert if not a step into a womb?
I found my mother in his hair, his eyes, his cheekbones. Resonance. The similarity wasn't constant, but every moment of likeness was a wound, a body cry. Later that day I wrote a this long piece about jumping into the water and finding a home at the bottom of the sea. Lots of pearls and jellyfish. I thought this had nothing to do with my Floor Show trip.
After this experience, I found this Bowie image online—in one of my mother's signature thinking poses—and my blood was singing (Roland Barthes writes beautifully about this in Camera Lucida, and so does Suzanne Vega, actually, in "Blood Sings")/
Bowie's voice didn't mean a lot to me when I was growing up—he was just one of many artists on cable TV—but ever since seeing The 1980 Floor Show I feel like he has tampered with my memory. My memories of growing up seem like a collage of images from his career, reinterpreted, cut up and displaced: all mixed up but containing similar information. I remember being a golden blonde kid moving to Australia in 2000 (or is it the "Let's Dance" video?), feeling like a sexless alien in the Perth desert (or is it a scene from The Man Who Fell to Earth?) or lost in Vienna in 2001 (or was it Berlin in 1977?); wearing a golden costume to somebody's birthday when I was about six years old (or is it an image from The 1980 Floor Show?) A picture is, after all, flat—even this one. The spectator provides the depth. Looking back at the 80s photos of my mother is sci-fi poetic: the Ziggy hair (hers was brown with pink stripes), the cheekbones, the eyes, the mouth.
So I keep coming back to this image, thinking about us in 1986: my mother looking into a book; me looking at the TV where "Let's Dance" was playing; him looking into the camera; all of us looking like each other, none of us knowing it.
Imagine that we all look up at this moment, we're looking at you, reader, synchronised as dancers, in a short moment. Where are we now?"
—Jenny Hval, "The Wire" magazine, issue 366, p. 71.

9 September 2014

In search of censorship in the library of swastikas

Original Bellmer blurring?

The white triangle.

Instead of "bingo," we get bananas.
The hunt continues...

'The taste for collecting', suggests Maurice Rheims, 'is like a game played with utter passion'. For the child, collecting represents the most rudimentary way to exercise control over the outer world: by laying things out, grouping them, handling them. The active phase of collecting seems to occur between the ages of seven and twelve, during the period of latency prior to puberty. With the onset of puberty, the collecting impulse tends to disappear, though occasionally it resurfaces after a very short interval. Later on, it is men in their forties who seem most prone to the passion. In short, a correlation with sexuality can generally be demonstrated, so that the activity of collecting may be seen as a powerful mechanism of compensation during critical phases in a person's sexual development. Invariably it runs counter to active genital sexuality, though it should not be seen as a pure and simple substitute thereof, but rather a regression to the anal stage, manifested in such behaviour patterns as accumulation, ordering, aggressive retention and so forth. The practice of collecting is not equivalent to a sexual practice, in so far as it does not seek to still a desire (as does fetishism). None the less, it can bring about a reactive satisfaction that is every bit as intense. In which case, the object in question should undoubtedly be seen as a 'loved object'. As Rheims observes, 'The passion for an object leads to its being construed as God's special handiwork: the collector of porcelain eggs will imagine that God never made a more beautiful nor rarer form, and that He created it purely for the delight of porcelain egg collectors ...'. Such enthusiasts will insist that they are 'crazy about this object', and without exception, even in circumstances where no fetishistic perversion is involved, they will maintain about their collection an aura of the clandestine, of confinement, secrecy and dissimulation, all of which give rise to the unmistakable impression of a guilty relationship. The boundless passion invested in the game is what lends this regressive behaviour its sublimity, and reinforces the opinion that an individual who is not some sort of collector can only be a cretin or hopelessly subhuman.
—Jean Baudrillard, The System of Collecting

3 September 2014

This is someone's job

Somebody at customs is tasked with sandpapering out genitals in all printed matter that enters the country. Close your eyes: imagine the piles of filthy dust that are collected in some port warehouse.


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Posted 01 July 2014 - 12:39 AM
So I'm trying to create a good food analogy for describing the complexities of sexuality to people. Let me know how you think this works. Feel free to tell me to add on if I missed something, or correct me if i'm wrong.  ^_^ There is still plenty that I don't know and I'd love to learn  :)

Sexual orientation = specific dessert craving.
Sex = eating the dessert
Looking at it = appreciating that someone is attractive.
Making the dessert = desire to know the person romantically (dating) Romantic orientation
Hunger = sex drive/ libido

Heterosexual =  I only crave cake. Even if I’m not hungry right now I the thought of eating cake makes me happy.
            Hetero-romantic = I only want to make cake.

Homosexual = I only crave pie. Even if I’m not hungry right now I the thought of eating pie makes me happy.
            Homo-romantic = I only want to make pie

Bisexual = I like both desserts, not necessarily for the same reasons but I like them both.         

My version of bisexuality/ my attraction: I like cake, but I prefer making it and how it looks. I could eat cake, but it would probably upset my stomach. I love pie. I enjoy making, looking at, and eating pie.
Bi-romantic = I like making both cake and pie

Pansexual = I don’t have a favorite dessert, I enjoy all types of dessert.
            Pan-romantic = I enjoy making all sorts of desserts.

Asexual = I don’t get dessert cravings. I still get hungry, but I don’t have a dessert that I crave. I would rather make the dessert and look at it, than eat it.
  • Demi-sexual = I don’t get cravings for the dessert unless I’ve made it many times and know the recipe well. I only crave the individual dish not the dessert universally. ( in this sense making can be getting to know someone either romantically or platonically)
  •  Gray-asexual = I very rarely get dessert cravings, but I will once in a while when I see a (insert preferred dessert here) that looks very appetizing to me.
  • Aromantic = I’d rather not make dessert. *some may still have dessert cravings*

*disclaimer* Romantic and sexual orientations don't always line up. For example someone might enjoy making all types of desserts, but only crave and enjoy eating pie.

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#2 The Flatworm

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Posted 01 July 2014 - 12:53 AM
I use the analogy of pets.

Heterosexual: I (want to) own a dog.
Heteroromantic: I like petting/playing with other people's dogs, but I don't want one (poop).
Homosexual: I (want to) own a cat.
Homoromantic: I like cats.
Bisexual: I (want to) own both.
Biromantic: I like both.
Pansexual: I want to own both at the same time.
Asexual: I don't want to own a pet.
Aromantic: Pets may be cute, but I don't like playing with them.

But I have a dog!
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#3 Xavy

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Posted 01 July 2014 - 02:01 AM
Hummm...... Food is something you need to survive, but sex you dot need to survive, also, sexual orientation is something you are born with that last your entire life, not so with a food craving. I don't think its a good analogy, but if it helps someone to understand asexuality better then fine.
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#4 Painter394

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Posted 01 July 2014 - 02:44 AM
Would perhaps relating it to dessert be better? You don't need desert to survive, but for those who enjoy it adds happiness to their lives.

*edit* I just reworded the original post to be relating only to dessert. Not food in general.

#5 Xavy

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Posted 01 July 2014 - 02:21 PM
Ok, I like the dessert analogy better :)

#6 FancyJulia

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Posted 01 July 2014 - 07:47 PM
I just recently came up with a sports analogy to explain how I feel about sex since it's also an activity. Like, I don't have anything against baseball and I can see how some people would really like it but I don't really want to play it. If someone really wanted me to play with them, I would but I would probably get bored and tired and want to stop partway through. Sometimes it can be fun to watch a game, which is very different from participating. Also, playing baseball by myself can be fun sometimes because I can make it whatever I want it to be and can stop whenever I want. I've taken the analogy further to cover all my bases (pun intended :) ).

I also really like your desert analogy!

 This is also someone's job.