So proud to live in South Carolina

So much for the myth perpetrated by the media that South Carolinians are rational voters.

beautiful

James Turrell,
Meeting, 1986

I love being in the presence of Turrell's work.  The above piece was apparently included in PS1's show "September 9/11".  The mental gymnastics I'd have to generate to view Turrell's light pieces in light of 9/11 are beyond my "capacitors"...

The "beautiful" of my post's title refers to this:

"My own concern about this subjective approach is somewhat different; it has to do with the neat fit of “September 11” with trauma discourse, and of this discourse with a prevalent mode of art viewing today. If Kant asked, “Is the work beautiful?” and Duchamp, “Is it art?” we tend to wonder, “How does it affect me?” Where we once spoke of “quality,” as judged by comparison with great work of the past, and then about “interest” and “criticality,” which are more socially synchronic than artistically diachronic in emphasis, we now often look for pathos, which cannot really be tested objectively or, when experienced as trauma, communicated with others much at all. One person’s punctum is another’s yawn."


Hal Foster. Review "September 11" Moma PS1, New York. ArtForum January 2012: pp 210-211

online

a lot lonlier

The Naming Of Cats by T S Eliot

The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn't just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there's the name that the family use daily,
Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey—
All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter—
But all of them sensible everyday names.
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular,
A name that's peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum-
Names that never belong to more than one cat.
But above and beyond there's still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover—
But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.

Hidey, Kiwi, Queewee, Louee, Louise, Pitú, Lulu, Dindin, Doomdoom, Luzinha, Lilú (Dallas Multipass), DiDi, Weewee, Booboo, Doo, Pitúni, Lupini, Pupu, Peepu, Tutu, Tiputí, Mumu, Tupi, Pupila, Pitú, Pidi, Mimusi, Lubi...

These are some of the names I have loved and will forever love you by.  You who were my most difficult, my most stubborn, my most demanding, and my most conflicted of cats.  You who often acted as if you did not trust me completely and yet seemed to, at least once a day, worship the ground I walked on.  You who could not speak human and yet was able to make yourself perfectly clear about your needs and desires at all times.  You who understood me completely and yet often chose to ignore what I was trying to teach you.  You who did not listen to me when I told you Tomtom was no threat to you.  You who insisted on ignoring my admonitions to chill out, and decided to go out fighting for your territory as if you were ever in danger of losing it.  You who finally snapped your femur running after a cat, who unlike any other cat I have ever known, just wanted to be friends. You who looked at me after winning your imaginary fight and screamed like I had never heard you scream before.  And you who finally unconditionally trusted me to take you to the vet and try to ease your pain.  You, little cat, who I had to let go join your brother in kitty heaven.  You have left a gigantic void that is incommensurate with your small stature.  Dindin, you were my constant studio companion for 19 years.  I learned who I was as an artist in your company and am currently having a hell of a time walking in there without you to look over me.  

Rest in peace little tigress. I miss kissing your tiny body.

unfathomable lack of foresight

What is up with the Republicans in the house?!  They are most definitely cutting their noses to spite their faces.  I guess they are just comfortable with the role of looser.  Seriously, instead of extending the payroll taxes a mere two months like their semi-intelligent counterparts in the Senate agreed to, they rather remain in the limelight of a circus whose big tent is sure to collapse over their stupid heads. It is almost unbelievable.

somewhat lonelier

The world seems a little lonelier today that fellow atheist Christopher Hitchens finally lost his battle with cancer and its complications.  For months I’ve been meaning to send him a fan letter thanking him for being so outspoken on the subject of god; a welcome voice in this country so garrulous with what often sounds like meaningless blather on the subject of (a Christian) god.  I guess I lost my chance.

Today, while swimming and thinking that I would never again hear his beautifully accented eloquent English prose vehemently and humorously denouncing or praising this or that, I thought of how final, regardless of one’s legacy, death really is. 

I’ll miss his voice.

delicious irony

What was it that Marx said?  History always repeats itself, first as tragedy and then as farce...  ...something like that...  

As much as I hate to see the stock market gyrate every time Angela Merkel says something, it is actually funny, not as in "Hah hah", to think of the fate of Europe depending on Germany.  How on earth did they fuck this up?

As the dust settles, a cold new Europe with Germany in charge will emerge

not quite

Dear President Obama, 

You're no Teddy Roosevelt.  That idiot Palin wasn't when "her" media started invoking his name in conjunction with hers; and, most definitely, neither are you.  

...Ghad may this election season end soon!