26 December 2011
Mrs. O on Yes, Virgina by The Dresden Dolls. Song inspired by the Yes, Virginia letter.
Start video at 0:26
oh mrs. o
will you tell us where the naughty children go
will you show
how the sky turned white and everybody froze
heaven knows how they got into the fireplace
but everybody's saying grace
and trying to keep a happy face
and oh mrs. o
will you teach us how to keep from getting cold
out we go and you watch us as we face the falling snow
what a show with our hairdryers aimed heavenwards
and fifty foot extension cords
you really have a way with words
the truth won't save you now
oh oh oh
the sky is falling down
oh oh oh
watch the vultures count the hours
april trains may bring strange showers
oh mrs. o
will you tell about the time they made you go
all alone to the palace where they took your only clothes
we all know
there's no hell and no hiroshima
chernobyl was a cover up
the world is really all in love
and oh mrs o
will you leave us hanging now that we are grown
up and old
will you kill me if i say i told you so
we all know
there's no hitler and no holocaust
no winter and no santa claus
and yes virginia all because
the truth won't save you now
oh oh oh
the sky is falling down
oh oh oh
everything they ever told us
shakes our faith and breaks their promise
but you can stop the truth from leaking
if you never stop believing......
25 December 2011
"Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
"Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so.'
"Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?
"115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET."
VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.
Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.
Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.
You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.
No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.
24 December 2011
And I've been fool and I've been blind
I can never leave the past behind
I can see no way, I can see no way
I'm always dragging that horse around
All of his questions, such a mournful sound
Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground
'Cause I like to keep my issues drawn
It's always darkest before the dawn
11 December 2011
“Remember there was no Palestine as a state. It was part of the Ottoman Empire. And I think that we’ve had an invented Palestinian people, who are in fact Arabs, and were historically part of the Arab community. And they had a chance to go many places.”Dear Mr. Gingrich, considering that Pakistan and Bangladesh were once a part of India and did not exist prior to 1947 and 1971 respectively, does this mean that it's okay to view the Pakistani and Bengali citizens as invented people as well? Are you really that simple minded?
06 December 2011
05 December 2011
This is suppose to be an event but for some reason they made an artist page:
During the opening night, I will be doing a performance piece: "How to Make Light of a Situation."
You are all welcome to come to the opening. Please note that it is likely I will not be free to socialize until closer to the end of the event. Please feel free to come around 7:30 - 8pm to catch the end of my performance and then maybe we can all go out to drinks afterwards!
I LIVE/I LOVE -- Opening Reception Tuesday, December 27, from 6 - 9 pm
Second Space, 568 Broadway (4th Floor)
Between Prince Street and Houston Street
Email invite to follow
27 November 2011
|McSteamy and Burke reviewing an X-ray revealing the candiru catfish lodged into the patient's urethra.|
From River Monsters: Candiru Catfish:
The Candiru is the star of an urban legend — which turns out to be true — of a man who was urinating in the Amazon River when a 6-inch Candiru swam up his urine stream into his penis. The fish remained there for days, until a surgeon was able to remove it.
During my last bathroom session, I came across "What's a Prisoner Worth?" in the October 24 Newsday edition.
1,000 Palestinian prisoners in exchange for 1 Israeli. Does anyone else find this shocking? It never occurred to me to do research on the number of prisoners on either side.
Interesting points from the Wikipedia page on Palestinian Prisoners in Israel:
- "...as of 31 August 2011, there were 5,204 Palestinians imprisoned in Israel, of them 272 in administrative detention."
- "...between the years after the Six Day War (1967) and the First Intifada (1988), more than 600,000 Palestinians were held in Israeli jails for a week or more."
- "Between October 2000 and April 2009, approximately 6,700 Palestinian children between the ages of 12 and 18 were arrested by the Israeli authorities, according to Defence for Children International's Palestine Section (DCI/PS). The number of Palestinian children held in detention and interrogation centers, as well as prisons, both in Occupied Palestinian Territory and inside of Israel, was 423 in 2009. In April 2010 the number was 280. DCI/PS reports that these detentions stand in contravention of international law."
- Read their whole section on notable Prisoner Exchanges and Releases.
Now I know that there are two sides to this story (that's your cue to opine here), and I acknowledge that some of these prisoners were incarcerated because of acts of terrorism, etc., but take one second (or several) to think about this -- ONE THOUSAND INDIVIDUALS for ONE INDIVIDUAL. How did the Israeli government choose which prisoners deserved freedom?
Wikipedia (as well as various news articles and websites) might not be the greatest or most reliable source for my information, but I find that it quenches my thirst for a discourse on this topic. I'm getting tired of friends who tell me "Politics bore me." It's not boring, people! Wake up! Where is the compassion? These events are happening and being experienced by individuals, people with families, previous careers, and aspirations of all sorts.
23 November 2011
If you ever question yourself and what the fuck you're doing, you will benefit from this video.
"The fraud police are this imaginary, terrifying force of experts and real grown-ups who don't exist and who come knocking on your door at 3am when you least expect it, saying "fraud police. we've been watching you and we have evidence that you have no idea what you are doing. and you stand accused of the crime of completely making shit up as you go along. you do not actually deserve your job and we're taking everything away. and we're telling everybody."
22 November 2011
I remember at my last birthday when I asked, oh yeah so Aileen and Vic got back together? and everyone else was like, Where have you been? I advocated a friendly "email newsletter what have you" of sorts while everyone else was like, use facebok. Dude! But its more than that. Facebook has its place. And I think this blog does too. To share whatever the fuck you like.
Anyways, you might have notice that the art changed around here. I'm hoping to change the RD imagery every once a while, changing the person every month or so.
This month, we're featuring polaroids by my friend Rita. (She doesn't contribute to this blog and she doesn't know I'm using her work.) Here is her blog: http://polarita.tumblr.com/
Happy posting y'all!
21 November 2011
And a fitting song for this entry, Youth Lagoon's "17":
" Oh when I was seventeen, my mother said to me 'don't stop imagining, the day that you do is the day that you die' "
09 September 2011
That was the only thing I could think at the time. She grabbed me by the throat and threw me against the wall. I pleaded. There was a bell and the session was over. I owed $300 for god knows what.
“Next time you should stab me with your eyes!” I yelled to her when I was 30 feet away. She motioned as if she was about to start running at me and I dodged into an alleyway. There I met a man who knew what I was all about. I told him to shut up, but he managed to grab my tongue as I was speaking and he told me that he would not shut up. I told him that was reasonable. At least I attempted to.
I woke up face down in my bed. My pillow was like a sponge soaked in spit. Did it again. Over did it again is more like it. Hah hah hah. But just then my window flew open and I noticed a sound. It was the oldest woman in the world. Or it was. She just died. Making me the oldest woman in the world.
And then I could taste it. There was chocolate on my tongue, rose petals in my nose and half a dildo shoved in my ass. It was the best of times it was the worst of times. I was the oldest woman on earth and no one could take that from me but the angel of death. Or the social security office. They were always robbing me.
Usually I stay in my room. The nurses say that I’m not really the oldest woman in the world. They tell me that I’m actually only 64 and suffering from dementia. I ask them why my tears taste like my dead husband. They tell me my husband is still alive. I tell them I never married. They tell me I’m a man. I tell them that they have the wrong genitalia for moon-talkers. They shut up at that point.
Is that my cell phone? I remember setting the ringer to a Ricky Martin song, but I forget which one.
01 July 2011
05 February 2011
“What do you want to hear?” “Jerimiah was a bullfrog!” “Haha, you know I get more requests for it by that name than its actual name, ‘Joy to the World’.” “Oh that’s right!” “Well, it’s coming up now, enjoy.” Familiar chords begin to play. “Jerimiah was a bullfrog was a good friend of mine…” The light ahead of me turns yellow and I step on the brakes. The frosted street denies me traction. The light ahead turns red. The ABS keeps skipping and my body is fully erect with my full weight pressing down on the pedal. Seeing no cars crossing, I take my foot off the brake and run the red. A deputy sheriff sits in his car facing the opposite direction and watches my unlawful slide. I continue down the road, a bit shaken. I check my rearview for flashing lights and find none. Fuck, it was stupid to go out in this weather just for cigarettes. “Joy to the world, all the boys and girls…”
Sudden loss of control tends to put things in perspective. I was angry before, but I don’t even know why. I continue downhill with a heightened sense of caution. An SUV follows closely behind me, I don’t bother to check my speed. This is why Ayn Rand is wrong, captains of industry have heart attacks, my car can’t grip ice. No one is master of their own fate. Oncoming lights feel brighter than usual and fat flakes of half-melted snow slap my windshield. I park in a gas station and sit in the car for a moment. A commercial for a wind chime emporium comes through the speakers with the sound of forced excitement. A down-clad couple waddles through my headlights, holding each other for stability. Sometimes I really hate couples. I try to imagine what they’re doing, why they’re there, but stop myself. My thoughts tend to be unrealistic about these things.
I open my door and wind and snow flood into the warm compartment. I walk through frozen mush to the doors and push my way through. “Fuck the Steelers, man.” A 45 year old man, underdressed and drunk attempts to start an argument with the cashier. “I’m just saying that they look good this year.” I try to appear impatient, but the effect is lost on the two. I stare at the familiar rack of vice, picking out Camel Blues. They’re no longer called lights, probably for preemptive legal reasons. The underdressed man notices me and steps aside. “What’ll you have?” “Camel Blues and a pack of matches.” I walk back to my car defeated by addiction but triumphant in my purchase. I light up and crack the window. More cold air, the radio is louder than I recall. I exhale burnt particles of paper and tobacco to fight the wind.