Stars + Shadows
by angeliska on July 4, 2010
What is America? What is it to be an American?
It’s very complicated. It’s one of those words that used
to mean something pretty good, but now is embarrassing
to admit to, like identifying yourself as a poet, or as bisexual.
There are so many lousy ones out there – they’ve given any
of the good ones such lame reputations that you’d never
advertise it unless you were completely oblivious.
My first instinct (especially when traveling outside my
country) is to be ashamed. I feel shamed by my privilege,
by the brashness and bravado I’m expected to walk with,
the obliviousness to the rest of the world, the narrowness,
the pride and patriotism for a place that has continually
screwed over its inhabitants (and neighbors). A country
of invaders and immigrants that forgot how they got here,
forgot what it might have been like for their ancestors,
who were not born here. There is wonder here, as well:
though it is fast disappearing. Carl Sandburg’s corn fairies
are being buried by the run-off from gated developments
that no-one will ever live in. The potato farmers won’t
eat their own crop, because they know it’s all poisoned.
The little desolate towns call to me, Detroit’s hulking
shells of former grandeur groan entreaties to come visit
while they can still stand. I want to see the Gulf of Mexico
again before it all turns bloody, I want to climb the mountains
of Appalachia before they all get their tops blown off.
There’s a lot on those backroads I intend to see before
it’s gone. So much of a way of life, that for a little while
was such a treasure. It wasn’t here for very long.
Firefly season gets shorter and shorter on this side of the Rockies.
That being said, I’m still a sucker for almost any holiday.
I like the ritual celebration. I like costumes, and wish people
still made gown and crowns with crepe-paper stars. I like
summertime, and hot-dogs with sauerkraut and fireworks.
I think these four bleak black and white found photographs
from Square America say it best for me. Awkward, silly
yet darkly beautiful. Ordinary, extraordinary. So many
of the photos collected at Square America capture that.
So much of our real story is told in what remains afterwards,
the ephemera, the much-repaired feed-sack dress, the iron.
When it’s completed, the compendium from the wondrous
curator will give anyone a solid overview of who were were,
and how we came to get here. There are hard things to see
there, violent things that make you wonder how anyone could
see them and still hold a camera steady. There are beautiful
things too, sweet scenes of people and places that only exist
in now in those little frames. Just the table of contents and the
names of the chapters alone make me thrilled to see the entirety.
They read like the song titles from a Tom Waits album, or maybe
shades of Cormac McCarthy. Go and see, see where we came from:
This Is My Country: An Epic Survey, Rendered In Photographs,
Home Movies, Audio Recordings, And Other Assorted Ephemera,
Of Everyday Life In These United States And Of The Ways And
Customs Of The American People c.1900-c.1976 (A Work In Progress)
Book I: The Old World (1900-1946)
The Aeronauts Dream, How the West Should Have been Won,
Westward the Course of Empire Takes Its Way, The Frogman of Chicago,
On Grandma’s Porch, The Dance Lesson, The Girls of Summer, Dramatis
Personae, My Days at Illinois, In Aurora, The Great War, A Letter, Great
Northern, A Trip to the Shore, Lady Earl Stops for Milk, Queens of the World,
Spring, Crying Holy unto the Lord, On A Darkling Plain, The Scavengers,
A Trip to the Fair, A Bike Ride, The Kiss, G-Men, We’re in the Army
(and the Navy) Now, The Home Front, Our Lady of the Pacific,
Once More unto the Breach, The Soldier’s Dream, The Voice
of Your Man In Service, May 8th, 1945, V For Victory,
What We Brought Home from the War
Book II: On the Ways and Customs of the American People
African-American Photobooth & Small Studio Photographs,
Smoke, Fire, Drink, Drunk, A Brief Reminder of an Unpleasant Reality,
La Violence Américaine, Ambiguous Evidence: Heaven in a Shotgun Shell,
Ambiguous Evidence II: Blood, Hair on Tractor, Scrap Girls, The Cooper’s Dream,
Lift & Carry, Up in the Old Hotel, The Dispatchers, Play Ball, The Gridiron,
The Sweet Science, In the Bathroom, A Brief History of Laughter.
Book III: The Land and What We Put Upon It
The Ghosts of Vegetation, The Farmer’s Dream, The Crop Duster’s Dream,
We Cast Our Dreams in Chrome and Steel, The Grid, At the End of the Mechanical Age
Book IV: The New World (1947-1976)
Paul of Nazareth, Bakersfield by Night, To Ruben & Other Stories,
The Road Barons, The In Crowd, Race, The Also-Rans, Here Am I,
Your Special Island, Memorial Day, At the Ball, Down in the Basement,
In the Neightborhood, 51% of Everything, The Promised Land.
Epilogue: Of Being Numerous
Required reading for the holiday:
The Air-Conditioned Nightmare – By Henry Miller
Peachtree Moon
by angeliska on June 30, 2010
It’s been a strange and heavy time for me lately,
fraught with unforeseen changes, and deep transformation.
In times like these, I tend to retreat inward, and am prone to
hermiting and becoming protective of my silence, my space
to think and ponder whatever may be next. Hanging around
in my chrysalis, swaddled in silk-net shadows, paying attention
to the moon, and her behemoth attendants. This year is full of
eclipses, and this most recent one had been particularly brutal.
So far, quite a few friends I’ve talked to have experienced rough
weeks too – anyone else out there laboring under the plow of a
celestial taskmaster with a whip? It’s as if the stars and planets
were tipping fate off (or into?) balance. If I’ve ever felt skepticism
or bafflement at astrology’s verity, all that is evaporated now.
I can’t begin to explain how it’s supposed to work, but I know
that all of my horoscopes lately have been shockingly accurate.
I was similarly skeptical when I first encountered the tarot, and
the I Ching, at a very young age. My father introduced me to both
when I was around eleven. He gave me the tools to practice,
and books to read,and let me have at it. I remember being so
curious, but also scoffing slightly at the idea that these pieces
of paper could have any bearing on my life. The more I worked
with them, the more they showed me exactly how that could be
possible. There was no vagueness, no bleary affirmations or
unremarkable predictions – instead I found stories and symbols
that pertained so directly to my life, and to what I was experiencing
at that moment. I rarely do readings for myself anymore, but recent
events have left me feeling the need for guidance. I don’t think I’ve
ever done a more interestingly spot-on reading. I love the 15 card
spread, and always prefer it over the traditional celtic cross I was
taught on. Known as the Romany Spread, or the Golden Dawn
Spread, I think it allows for some of the most elegant configurations
and numerical progressions. I hadn’t used that first deck, inherited
from my mother when I was still a child, in a very long time. I still
always use the 1970’s Albano printing of the Rider Waite Pamela
Colman Smith deck for readings and teaching. I collect tarot decks,
and have scads of lovely ones – but this is the one that speaks to
me the clearest. I just love it. For me, it is totally disassociated
from the narrow and often backwards interpretations that A.E. Waite
tried to instill it with, and instead emanates perfectly the more intuitive
occult wisdom of the woman who designed it. I wish there was more
information out there about Pixie Smith! Luckily, there are a couple
of fantastic resources, namely, Mary K. Greer and John Coulthart.
Here’s what the cards had to say that day:
Curious, isn’t it? It all seems very much in order with what’s going on
with me lately, though surprisingly more positive than I might’ve
anticipated. I’m glad of it! I’d be interested in any thoughts or
interpretations anyone might have on it. It seems to be a time
of flux, not only for me, but for the world in general. Times like
these, I’ll take any oracles I can get! The trick is to not consult
them compulsively, though it’s hard when you find one that
really resonates with you. Lately, I’ve been really impressed
with the work being done by Barry Perlman, and I have always
loved good old Astrodienst. Got any recommendations for me?
I am in love with our miniature orchard. The puny little peach trees
that have never grown much, are so heavily laden, they bend nearly
to the ground beneath the weight of so much fruit! Our pear trees
and the pomegranate are also getting heavy with deliciousness –
we’re waiting anxiously for them to get ripe enough to eat. This
time we don’t plan on letting them become prey for stinkbugs
or butterflies, either! Dr. Bronner’s in a hose sprayer seems to
be doing the trick so far. We have a peach cobbler in mind!
Our garden also produces fuzzy little peaches with claws,
and lots and lots of problems! Mr. Renfield Bojangles
(pronounced in the Spanish fashion, please) Whiskerwitz,
also known as Tom Tum, was found hiding from the hounds
behind the hated Nandina bushes, skinny as a bundle of rags
and sticks, with a big wormy belly. His face had been
attacked by some vile creature (maybe a possum?),
and his lower lip and chin nearly ripped off! He also
has a terrible case of ear-mites. We cleaned him up,
and he’s been recuperating and is definitely on the
mend. Of course, we’re supposed to be getting him
in better shape so that we can find him a home, but
naturally we’ve gotten very attached to him! I only
ever seem to have orange kitties – all my life, that’s
all I’ve ever had! I also tend to live with people that
have brown tabbies. Those two always end up being
paired, over and over. Anyhow, little Bojangles has
been an incredible source of solace recently – he’s
basically a living motivation poster. He is the kitten
hanging off the branch. “Hang in there!” is his motto,
all the way. I’m a big advocate of kitten or puppy therapy.
It’s pretty hard to be miserable with a cute baby animal
around, and it’s good to have something to take care
of rather than just sitting around feeling sorry for yourself.
I’ll try and post regular photos of his progress to boost morale!
Rusty Jacknife wants to devour Bojangles. We’ve decided that Jack isn’t a cat
at all, but rather a minor demon who wears an ill-fitting cat suit and has
decided to keep us company. He doesn’t even walk like a cat! Instead,
he has the lumbering gait of a fat possum. He’s so ridiculous and adorable
though, it’s hard to resist his charms – even when he does insist on coating
the velvet loveseat in my studio with a thick pelt of orange fluff! I had to put
down a towel, because it got so grody. The copy of Lula Magazine obscured
by cat-fat was a lovely gift from my dear sweet darling Chad Merritt, who will
be here in just a matter of days! I cannot wait to frolic and watch fireworks with him!
Oh how I wish this lovely hand-tinted moth print could be mine! Alas,
a photo must suffice. I want to plant more and more night-blooming
flowers to attract giant moths to our garden. I have loads of moon-flowers
seeds that never made it into the ground – I wonder if they’re still any good?
In lieu of moonflowers, we’ve got loads of angel trumpets, oh heavenly datura!
The other evening we sat transfixed, watching the huge flowers unfurl. Who
needs television when you have a garden? We even made a video of it
happening! If you are very, very patient, you might enjoy it too:
AZZ EVERYWHERE
by angeliska on June 22, 2010
In the third buckwild installment of Azz Everywhere
we are bringing you the dirtiest mouth in the south,
hot lady rapper and New Orleans Bounce diva
The Legendary Ms. Tee! Our DJs Rusty Lazer
DJ Twerk (aka. Chicken Kiev) will be makin’
your booty go all night long. With poppin’
aerial dance performance from Miss Marion Ette
and hostessed by Miss Angeliska!
Bootylicious visual projections from RECSPEC!
The party goes from 10pm – 3am –
$7 at the door – 18 +
Friday, June 25th
at The Independent (ND) 501 Brushy & East 5th
We will also be featuring an Bounce Dance Class
with the lady, the legend – Altercation!
It’s at 9pm and sliding scale of $10-$20
Learn how to twerk like those girls on YouTube!
RSVP at bounceclass@gmail.com
My head exploded in a crystalline shower of laser chrysanthemums.
Val + Al
Dawn + Tootie
Miss Marion Ette doin’ her thing.
…and being sweet with Big Freedia.
Work it for Freedia!
I am surrounded by sweetness + fabulousness!
They are brothers, too – can you believe? So cute!
Alan had to take his boots off eventually, but can we talk about fierceness?
Penny Stark aka. DJ Lovecat
Mike Peen of The Peen Scene, an extremely useful and trusted source
for fun nightcrawling and music out and about in Austin. This guy is tireless,
or so it would seem! He and and his lovely wife Jen always do great coverage
and photos, and make me happy whenever I see them out and about. Go Peen!
Jen Peen!
Want more? Oh, there’s lots!
Check out all the photos from
AZZ EVERYWHERE!
Summer Solstice – Poppytime
by angeliska on June 21, 2010
I haven’t written about our garden in a little while, possibly because
I’ve been too busy enjoying working in it, and getting my hands dirty
to remember to photograph all the transformations. Poppytime has
passed now, and it’s a pity! I had never been able to get them going
properly until I figured out to scatter the seeds in autumn. They were
short-lived, but incredibly stunning. Perhaps next year I ought to whack
the heads instead of letting them seed out, and I’ll get them for longer.
As it stands, I’ll have a forest of poppies by the time Spring is here again!
Poppy imagery has been following me everywhere – on old postcards
and pillows, and songs and in dreams especially. I dreamt I encountered
the god Narcos – he was six storey talls, swaying gray and ancient high
above me. His arms were snakes made of fire and hundreds upon hundreds
of hands. He was challenging me in a voice made of stone and centuries
of bringing sleep, numbness, dreams and death to the countless. The
poppy priestesses spoke for me, in white robes crowned with the red
and black blooms. They told of the blood pact, the monthly sacrifices
all women must make, and our calling to honor the flower, and not
the poison. They used the nectar only for healing, for bringing succor
rather than sybaritic oblivion. A boon was granted; I had their protection
and thus Narcos was rendered powerless. It was one of the most intensely
symbolic dreams I’ve had in a while, and I feel like the spirit of the plants
were speaking to me. Interesting, too because I actually cannot ingest
opiates or opiods at all. They make me so uncomfortable and ill, which
completely negates their purpose. I do love the flowers, though and I
love the dried pods. We gathered so many seeds! Also tons of arugula
and kale seeds. If anyone wants to do a seed trade, just holler.
Oh, and I just found this article about Wolfgang Stuppy, Seed Morphologist Extraordinaire!
He’s doing amazing work, and his book Seeds: Time Capsules Of Life
is really stunning. “Stuppy works in the seed conservation department at the
Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew (or Kew Gardens) in London. Kew heads up the
Millennium Seed Bank Project, an international conservation effort to collect
and store the seeds of 24,000 plants from around the world —
and the seeds of all native flora in the United Kingdom.”
“Ooh, their breath is warm,
And they smell Iike sleep
And they say they take me home –
Like poppies, heavy with seed –
They take me deeper and deeper.”
– Kate Bush, And Dream of Sheep
Our nectarine, pear and peach trees have been thickly laden with fruit,
but we got distracted and forgot to spray the fruit with soapy water.
I was shocked to discover all the pretty golden orbs covered in
sucking beetles, who drilled holes and swarmed the trees.
The leaking nectar attracted loads of butterflies who made
little tea-parties, extending their curled tongues to lick up the juice.
Obviously, I was very transfixed by them! I couldn’t stop taking pictures.
I’m hoping all of you are having a very fruitful and delightful summer solstice!
I wish we had time for some fire-leaping or corn dances or something, but
in lieu of that, how about we all watch Wicker Man again? Mer posted a
great reminder up at Coilhouse, but if you’ve never seen the whole film,
hop to that first, eh? It’s one of my all time favorites. Avoid the remake, please!
“Sumer Is Icumen In” (Wicker Man Version)
One pink flower and one blue flower – I’ve never seen such a thing!
Borage is one of my favorite herbs to grow. I just found out that the leaves taste
like cucumber! I’m going to experiment with eating them soon. The oil is good
for lady-troubles and hormonal imbalances, among other things. It’s also known as Starflower,
and comes from Syria. The flowers apparently have a sweet honey-like
taste and are one of the few truly blue-colored edible things! I had no idea Borage
is used in companion planting – it’s something I’ve been researching for a bit, but
there’s so much to learn! It is said to improve the growth of tomatoes, and also
make them taste better, and is said to repel the tomato hornworm. Likewise,
it is thought to protect or nurse legumes, spinach and brassica, and even
strawberries. Well, I need to plant Borage everywhere now, eh?
Blue Skullcap – Scutellaria lateriflora (also known as Hoodwort or Blue Pimpernel)
It’s said this this one is powerful remedy to calm the mind and prepare for meditation,
and good for strengthening the insight. It’s a ceremonial symbol of introduction
for young girls coming into womanhood, and a well known herb for the lady troubles.
It’s also a weapon against muscle spasms caused by rabies (that’s why it’s also called
Mad-Dog Weed!) Skullcap has a long history of use against insomnia, nerve pain,
anxiety, and delirium tremens. I grow the pink kind too, but this special blue one
was a gift from a magical elf gardener-man. Its growth patterns are very psychedelic!
So, I must learn this Joanna Newsome song this week for a benefit on Saturday.
It’s not an easy one to sing at all! Wish me luck, won’t you?
Hopefully I won’t be petrified. I remember when this song
was released before Have One On Me came out, and I
listened to it over and over on repeat, huddled in blankets
and aching for the warm days when I could work in my
garden. I’ve been thinking about forgiveness a lot lately,
and welcoming everyone into my garden with an open
heart, regardless of the trouble we might have had.
It’s especially significant, because I’ll be doing this
song with my step-brother (he’s going to play it on
guitar.) We’ve never played music together, and
a year or so ago I didn’t want to be anywhere near him.
But we’re working on it, and this will be part of that process.
It’s hard, but worth it. I would rather love openly, than
protect my heart. I don’t hold grudges, as a rule,
and I tend to be loyal to a fault. I guess there are
worse things to be. I’m learning how to make it work.
I’d rather just have everyone be together, I guess.
Well, I think Joanna really says it best – I hope we
can do the song justice! I’m trying not to be scared.
“I found a little plot of land
in the garden of eden
it was dirt and dirt is all the same
I tilled it with my two hands
and I called it my very own
There was no one to dispute my claim
Well, you’d be shocked at the state of things
The whole place had just cleared right out
It was hotter than hell, so I lay me by a spring
For a spell as naked as a trout
The wandering eye that I have caught
Is as hot as a wandering sun
But I will want for nothing more, in the garden
To start again
In the hardening of every new heart but one
Meet me in the garden of Eden,
Bring a friend, we are going to have ourselves a time
We are going to have a garden party,
It’s on me, no sir-e, it’s my dime
We broke our hearts in the war between
St. George and the dragon
But both in equal parts are welcome to come along
I’m inviting everyone
Farewell, to loves that I have known
Even muddiest waters run
Tell me what is meant by sitting alone in a garden,
Seceded from the Union in the year of ’81?
The unending amends you made
Are enough for one life, be done
I believe in innocence, little darling, start again
I believe in everyone.
I believe, regardless, I believe in everyone”
– Joanna Newsom – ’81
The Pomology of Sweetness and Light
by angeliska on June 17, 2010
Fellow Austinites, these next four days are your last chance to see this incredible show!
My BFFs, the Black Forest Fancies have been staying in our garden, camped out in tents
and the trailer for two weeks, and it is testament to their sweet natures and good hearts
that we have enjoyed every minute of their stay! Not only are they adorable darlings,
but they have created a wondrous spectacle for your delectation – get yourself to the
theatre and be amazed! There’s a great review in this week’s Chronicle also, hooray!
We held a benefit for the fancies, and for the Gulf Coast Fishermen last week in our garden,
and it was so much fun, we are doing another on Friday (tomorrow!), please come if you are able!
It’s going to be a Black Forest Fancies Sweetheart Soiree + Underpants Party!
New Orleans based puppet troupe, The Black Forest Fancies are bringing their award-winning show,
“The Pomology of Sweetness and Light” to Austin’s The BLUE Theatre this June. “The Pomology of Sweetness and Light,”
follows the tale of Johnny “Appleseed” Chapman, an American folk hero whose wholesome identity is complicated by the
esoteric fact of his thwarted engagement to a ten year old girl. Legend has it Chapman ended the engagement when he
saw the girl flirt with a boy her own age. It was Chapman’s belief that every creature and action on Earth is an echo of the
realm of the ‘Spirit.’ The story is told from the child bride’s perspective. Her understanding of the world and Chapman’s
philosophy are expressed through puppet craft and acrobatics. This is a story of exceptional beings. Inspired by the
journey of the apple on the frontier, “Pomology” is an exercise in selective adaptation. Onto the backdrop of the American
Eden, The Fancies graft the figures of Dionysus and Snow White, of St. Lydwina and the Big Bad Wolf. These scenes are
interwoven with an ongoing view of the apple’s journey from precious obscurity to domestic staple on the frontier.
“Pomology” puts these fables into conversation to tell a story of misfits
seeking their place in the new world and to revive a story of forgotten love.
(This photo, and the ones below are all from Charlie Kinyon – you can see his full set from the show on Flickr.
“The Pomology of Sweetness and Light”
At Austin TX’s BLUE Theatre
916 Springdale Rd 78702
Thursday, (Tonight!) June 17
Friday, June 18
and Saturday, June 19 at 8pm
Matinee show on Sunday, June 20 at 3 pm
These last four shows are likely to sell out, so buy your advance tickets at SMART-TIX
Tickets are also available at the door.
Tickets are a suggested $15 for adults
$10 for students, children and seniors
No one will be refused for lack of funds!
Parental Advisory – Contains Adult Themes
More info here:
www.theblackforestfancies.com
www.themudlarkconfectionary.com
RSVP at the Facebook Page!
Blue Chicory Honey
by angeliska on June 16, 2010
Found from Bean (aka. riotclitshave) Wish I knew more! Isn’t it stunning?
Woman with Cross and Skull
19th c. – Qajar period, Iran
Opaque watercolor and gold on paper
Mistick Krewe of Comus float design, by Jennie Wilde — 1910
(see link below for the full set!)
(Any idea about who painted this? Tin Eye was stumped.
I traced it back toblessedwildapplegirl but the buck stopped there.)
✸ Bibiodyssey’s post on vintage Mardi Gras Designs
Mistick Krewe of Comus 1910 float designs
of float design drawings by Jennie Wilde
browse them all at the Louisiana Research Collection
I remember at French Quarter Postal Emporium they used to sell little postcard books of these.
I was always too broke to buy them, so would look at them when standing in line waiting to mail
my parcels, much to the chagrin of the fussy queens who worked there.
✸ I think I’ve mentioned my love for Shirley & Spinoza Radio before,
but it’s been awhile. I had forgotten how much I loved them. How could I?
They play the best, oddest and most obscure scraps of brilliance ever.
✸ Academy Award-nominated actress and Austin artist Susan Tyrrell loves sex, fags and gangsta rap.
Hooray for Susu Tyrrell, and hooray for my friend Chris Apollo Lynn, who interviewed her.
This article on the temptation of memory engineering is extremely absorbing:
✸ Removable Truths – A memory expert’s indestructible past.
By William Saletan
Reading it has made me fixate on our fallible and flexible memories. I recently
had an odd experience, where I realized that I had vividly remembered something
(the color, make and model of a friend’s car) that turned out to be wildly inaccurate.
It’s disturbing to think about, really. How could I remember it to be a burgundy Chevy
hoopty when it was really a white Mercedes diesel? I guess it was dark, and I was very
distracted – but really? That’s kind of a huge discrepancy. I was shocked to discover it.
Thanks to William Gibson for recommending this article, among many other things-
and speaking of, for the following recommendations as well:
✸ William Gibson’s favorite science fiction novels
I haven’t read a single one of these, though Wiley Wiggins did try to foist
Dhalgren on me years ago. Gibson says, “It won’t work unless you can allow
it to become your head for a few weeks; it helps if you’re rather young.” I think
I was too jaded by that point to really get into it. I’d discovered early on what my
bag was as far as science fiction went, from devouring my dad’s 70’s pulp paperbacks.
I tend not to dig anything where the characters are named Zorn or live on planet Xerzon.
The incredible images on the covers definitely made a huge impression on me, though.
I think I’ll need to see if my pops has any of the books on that list, and get my summer
space-sorceror escapist thing going. How about you? Got any favorite science fiction
I need to read? Lay it on me. We’re getting a new hammock tomorrow, so I need book-fuel!
✸ I just went on a bookspree and snatched up seven new books
but I absolutely must get this one next – it looks amazing:
CYCLONOPEDIA – Complicity with Anonymous Materials
By Reza Negarestani
“An American woman arrives in Istanbul to meet a pseudonymous
online acquaintance who never arrives. Discovering a strange manuscript in her hotel room,
she follows up its cryptic clues only to discover more plot-holes, and begins to wonder whether
her friend was a fictional quantity all along. Meanwhile, as the War on Terror escalates, the US
is dragged into an asymmetrical engagement with occultures whose principles are ancient, obscure,
and saturated in oil. It is as if war itself is feeding upon the warmachines, leveling cities into the desert,
seducing the aggressors into the dark heart of oil …
At once a horror fiction, a work of speculative theology, an atlas of demonology, a political samizdat
and a philosophic grimoire, Cyclonopedia is work of theory-fiction on the Middle East, where horror
is restlessly heaped upon horror. Reza Negarestani bridges the appalling vistas of contemporary world
politics and the War on Terror with the archeologies of the Middle East and the natural history of the Earth
itself. Cyclonopedia is a middle-eastern Odyssey, populated by archeologists, jihadis, oil smugglers,
Delta Force officers, heresiarchs, corpses of ancient gods and other puppets. The journey to the Underworld
begins with petroleum basins and the rotting Sun, continuing along the tentacled pipelines of oil, and at last
unfolding in the desert, where monotheism meets the Earth’s tarry dreams of insurrection against the Sun.”
✸ Burkas and Birkins –
I Watched 146 Minutes of Sex and the City 2 and All I Got Was This Religious Fundamentalism by Lindy West
This is so goddamn hilarious – and I’m so grateful to Lindy for seeing this awful bit o’ tripe
so I don’t have to! I still have never seen even one episode of that show, and an entire film
based on it sounds completely intolerable. I do love pretty frippery and all, but whoa. Scary!
✸ Pamela Colman Smith’s Russian Ballet
Pixie Smith is my number one magicienne inspiration.
She’s at the head of the invite list for my fantasy seance
dinner party, along with Joseph Cornell, Edward Gorey,
Louise Brooks, Vali Myers, and Austin Osman Spare.
Who would you invite to yours?
✸ Why are the East of Cities usually Poorer?
(via the always kick-ass from Brainpickings)
Interesting! I’d always wondered about this.
✸ Honeybee death mystery deepens
Colony collapse disorder linked to mix of fungal and viral infections.
A good article with actual information rather than hysteria. Don’t get me
wrong – I am worried about the bees every day, but having any clues as
to what is actually ailing them is the only way we can setting about changing
that. I can’t wait for the day when I can start to set up my hives. Honey magic!
✸ Post Pridematic Stress Syndrome – Shaking out Austin’s weekend of Pride
Here’s the run-down of articles, info and tantalizing tidbits from Pride,
including the entire text of Silky Shoemaker’s stunning speech at Queerbomb!
My dear friend Ooops is an amazing aerial artist who recently choreographed
and performed this piece as an homage to our friend Noah Vasilchek.
With Niki Frisky as her deer-twin, and the inimitable Chris Lane as emcee, and a bunch of
rowdies at One Eyed Jacks hootin’ and hollerin’. This is one of my favorite aerial performances, ever.
That’s what’s floatin’ around the rusty brainpan of late!
If you’ve got any suggestions for books/music/art/culture/information
that I need to know about, drop me a line on my tin can telephone.
I’ll be hanging out with the reading in my cave by the river with the
skulls of obscure saints to keep me company. Passenger pigeons
or smoke signals are accepted also, and if you travel in dreams,
come say hello. I get around most nights, more than I would’ve
guessed – but judging from how often I seem to pop up in the
dreams of friends and future friends, it seems I’m a nightly roamer.
Queerbomb Magic 2010
by angeliska on June 8, 2010
Well, I am thrilled to relate that the first ever Queerbomb was a rollicking
success! My heart was expanded to the point of bursting by the sight and
sounds of so many of our finest folks frolicking in the street. Have you ever
taken over a public space like that? There’s something incredibly powerful
and liberating in that act – it transforms the area, frees it from the ordinary
status of being solely a thoroughfare, and makes it magic. Crossing the
highway, and seeing all the cars stopped to let our procession pass
gave me chills of joy. Minor Mishap Marching band totally brought it,
and really made the parade – the music was so good, and it was so
delightful to have the chance to experience the acoustic magic of
a marching band jamming beneath an underpass! The general
feeling of elation was so intense, it brought tears to my eyes.
We were able to get a permit (in a cray-mazing turn of events),
and the Mayor of Austin made June 4th officially
QUEERBOMB DAY! Can you believe it?
I am so lucky to be surrounded by so many incredible,
hard-working, creative and beautiful people!
Here are a few of them for you to meet:
I forget this boy’s name (and his kitty’s name) but aren’t they the best?
My electric friend Penny (aka DJ Lovecat) is a magic dancer and has a
blog: The Mothership Connection – you can download or listen to her
special new Queerbomb-insprired mix “Lovecat Supreme” there!
I can tell you from direct experience that it is the perfect
soundtrack for dancing around in your underwear.
Silky gave a really beautiful speech in this incredible jeweled cloak she made.
It’s a very special garment indeed – she must have spent a million hours hot
glue-ing those suckers on. It’s geometric sparkle magic, and it makes me think
of Mardi Gras Indians and DMT gnomes.
This is one of my favorite pictures ever of Brianna. She is so beautiful!
Los Blancas Locas! I love Will and his band of naughty albino cupid go-go dancers.
Allyson Garro (of Coco Coquette!) and Tiana Hux (MC Sweet Tea) are the
hottest sugar-mama baby-dolls! They smell like candy and new dollie!
Also, if you are bad they will spank you with their candy-sticks.
Sadly, this was taken after I had lost most of my tinsel beard, but you get idea.
Kate X Messer + I = love. She has entered the pantheon of totally mind-blowing
Virgo women who I admire and adore. A great writer, and a great friend.
Caleb and Maverick. Cuteness.
I love this photo of Miss Lea. She is very lovely indeed.
Angelica + Lea sharing sisterly love. They both have such elegant, elfin
chins and jawlines, don’t you think? I’m a sucker for good bones.
Katzen, displaying her bisexually proud leg. Love it.
More photos are here, but be warned some are so NSFW!:
Queerbomb 2010!
Related posts: QUEERBOMB!
QUEERBOMB!
by angeliska on June 4, 2010
Can I tell you a little story? It’s one I’ve told a few times recently, but never written down –
until tonight. I’ve been thinking about transitional moments a lot recently. I think that in those
in-between spaces is where the magic in our lives happens. The step betwixt this and that,
the place where you levitate above the line that’s been drawn in the sand, bat-like. Gloaming.
Right, so – I’m 13 or 14 years old, and it’s summer in Butt-fuck Egypt, where I live with my family.
My mode at that time involved these tall aluminum tumblers of iced coffee, the kind that come in
jewel colors and give you Alzheimer’s, right? My dad would make a big pot in the morning and
leave it on the stove. I’d wander in at some point in the afternoon, having embarked on a possibly
life-long nocturnal mission to find peace and quiet in which to write (hey, like right now – at 4:30am).
It’s just me and the dogs breathing, frogs chirping. Remembering something. Walking through those
rooms in my mind brings it back. The sun’s turning gold and getting ready to slide down the side
of the house like an egg, and I’m just waking up with my coffee laced with cinnamon and a pop-tart
and the best channel on television: Austin Community Access! Oh man – at that time, you could see
so much weirdness on that channel. Usually super late at night, but the afternoon shows could be gems
as well. Anyone could have a television show, basically – from the Zendiks with their creepy bearded
hippie patriarch, to the punk kids who played Pain Teens and Skatenigs videos, or the granny with
her exercise show that she did mainly sitting while in a chair. On this particular afternoon, I happened
across the best thing I had ever seen, up until that point in my relatively brief life – incredible footage
from the Gay Pride Parade in San Francisco. It was glorious! I was electrified by the sight of queens,
leather-boys and dykes all prancing and dancing in the streets, undulating with boas on fabulous
floats and the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence making a scene in nun’s habits and giant schlongs!
Never had I felt such a burning desire to be instantly transported through a television set, and into
another reality. I had found my people, and my kind of action. Something very intense happens when
humans take what’s normally private or taboo and take it joyfully into the streets. It’s a very ancient
practice, and one that I feel is necessary to our society. Saturnalia, Bacchanalia, Carnival, Purim.
It’s all the same, and so very sacred to me. This was different though, and I figured out why fairly
quickly. The camera panned away from these bright and decadent visions and to a dreary studio
with ugly chairs, fake plants and a couple of beige-faced, tight-laced dudes in suits droning on and on
about “abominations” and “crimes against nature”. I was fucking incensed. How dare they? How could
they watch this same footage and see something evil? How could they not see the beauty, the power
in it? Or I suppose they did, and that’s exactly what they were condemning. My stepmom came home
from work and found me throwing pop-tarts and cursing at those geezers on TV. I was so mad, I was
spitting and ranting to her about what I had seen. Her response was to level a long gaze at me, and
ask if I was experiencing any “homosexual tendencies”. The line in the sand. I buried my head in it, shut
down, and backed off. Discussing my sexual proclivities with any adult, much less my parents was the
very last thing I wanted to do. Besides, if I did, they’d probably stop letting me having my best friend over
for sleep-overs, and I already wasn’t allowed to stay at her house (her folks were a little quicker.)
I can remember feeling that liking girls was the most dangerous thing I could ever admit about myself.
I honestly feared that I would be stoned to death at school, if ever any credence was given to the constant
taunts of “lezzie” and “witch”. I’d wake from hot dreams of white curves and black velvet, if you please
in a cold sweat. Surely people in the halls could read my naughty thoughts on my face, surely they could
smell it on me. Shame. I don’t remember anyone ever specifically telling me it was wrong, but instinctively
I knew that it wouldn’t be accepted. At some point, though – not long after the day I saw my first pride parade,
I stopped caring what they thought. I took a feather from my San Franciscan sisters’ headdresses and figured
out that if you can’t join ’em, you can’t fool ’em, and you can’t beat ’em, then you might as well dazzle them into
astonishment with glittery false eyelashes and sequins glued on my face. I was a miniature Cockette and drag devotee,
and it was the best armor I could have ever worn. Insanely flamboyant drag was how I discovered my version of femininity,
and how I made the transition from gangly, hyper-awkward sexless nerd to another kind of creature altogether.
These are my roots, and how I came to be who I am: a queer lady who loves regardless of gender, who doesn’t
buy into binary systems, or rules about who we can love, or how we can express ourselves. Who and how I love
is mine to enjoy. To be able to have that freedom, to be able to take it into the streets and dance wildly or walk proudly
in the full expression of that is not a gift: it is something that is always there, but must be claimed. I plan on claiming it,
and proclaiming it loudly with a huge congregation of fabulous freaks today. You know what else?
It will be my first Pride Parade! I just realized that. In the years since I first saw that first flickering footage,
there’s been nothing that came close to lighting the fire in my idea of what a Pride Parade ought to be.
There are parades practically every week in New Orleans, and I know how to do it up right from my years living there.
I love sharing the street with everybody on Mardi Gras morning more than anything in the world, but this will be different.
You see, it’s not that there hasn’t been a Gay Pride Parade going on every year in Austin since I moved here –
it’s just that I don’t feel that it’s a parade for me, or that I’m for it. It’s a procession built on corporate sponsorship,
greed, banality and the fear of allowing gay people to represent as anything other than clean, safe, khaki-wearing
upstanding, family-friendly, hetero-normative contributing to the rat-race members of society. I’m not interested in doing that.
Tomorrow, we have other plans. This coming Friday marks the kickoff of a historic occasion for my town, and for my community.
We have all been working hard for the past little while to carve a new path for ourselves, and claim a social ritual and celebration
that should be powerful and joyful rather than bland and lame.
It’s high time for this town to get hit right in the la-la with a big, ripe, juicy QUEERBOMB!
Austin has such an incredibly diverse, creative and all-around bad-ass population of queers,
and I cannot wait to shimmy and shout with them for the next three days and nights!
There’s a buttload of amazing stuff happening, but #1 is the big parade and after-party at The Independent!
Be there for it! There’s tons of info, so if you don’t already know – get it to it, and join us!
Saturday and Sunday there are super-fun Queerbomb parties at Cheer Up Charlie’s! Come find me there!
The Cockettes! Let them be a constant inspiration to let that flag fly, to raise it high and dance together.
I’m also thrilled about all the great thought, dialogue and writing that all this action has inspired.
There are so many kick-ass pieces in The Chronicle this week, holy moly – please do, if you have
a minute, go read them. My friend Kate wrote three of my favorites, linked below – but wow, there’s so much!
★ PRIDE Weekend 2010: I Am QueerBomb. I Am Austin Pride.
How queer is your Pride? How Austin is your bomb?
★ History’s Morgue – We choose whether to let our stories live or die
★ Preaching Beyond That Choir
Is Austin ready for Bishop Yvette Flunder’s good news of radical inclusivity?
Sinister Wisdom by Leah DeVun
★ Heads in the Sky; Feet on the Ground
Leah DeVun’s very intentional exploration of lesbian space by Andy Campbell
Coco the Sasquatch, Rebecca Havemeyer and Silky Shoemaker in Trivia Travesty!
There’s a fantastic piece on one of my heroes:
★ Pride Piper
Silky Shoemaker brings a heapin’ helpin’ of DIY to the Pride table by Cindy Widmer
“In that moment, the slight, androgynous Shoemaker is both the spunky girl
who grew up doing musical theatre in Amish country and a wicked-sly,
multilayered performance artist, sending up cornball theatricality –
performing camp, if you will – with a kind of manic weirdness
that is one part homage and two parts subversion.”
I particularly like her definition of what it is to be queer:
“‘I think of queer as being about nonheterosexuality,’ she explains. ‘I think sexuality is really important –
claiming sexual perversity and excitement and desire. I want there to be sexuality involved in homosexuality.
It’s also about being feminist and having an understanding of expanded gender categories.
I think of it as challenging a capitalist model of society and community.'”
Speakin’ of heroes! Paul Soileau (aka. Rebecca Havemeyer, aka. Christeene)
just really continues to blow me away. Wow, wow, wow. This amazing creature
has done so much work, and pulled so hard to make all this happen – by
encouraging, and organizing and speaking so powerfully and eloquently.
I have so much admiration and love for this man! Glory be!
QUEERBOMB AHOY!
There are some really fantastic posts by some of my fellow Austin bloggers
that I highly suggest you read! From Miss Tolly:
It’s Ok To Be Me (Even if I’m a Drag Queen)! – QueerBomb
and from Chris Apollo at Republic of Austin:
Will a Queer Bomb destroy Austin in 2010?
P.S. – If you are unfamiliar with the amazing phenomenon of community access television may I scar you
permanently with this exceptional example? I don’t think Austin can claim this one, but it’s pretty close:
R.I.P. Louise Bourgeois
by angeliska on June 1, 2010
This picture was taken in the Sculpture Garden at The New Orleans Museum of Art
six years ago by the man who I would discover to be the love of my life. Can you imagine?
I had no idea, then, as I walked through the garden with this tall, gentle sculptor that we would
one day be together. I had thought that you would know immediately, at first sight. A word to the
wise, love can surprise you, and can find you when you least expect it. After our mid-city adventures,
Colin and I repaired to my balcony on Mandeville St. to eat, drink and talk. I remember very clearly telling
him that “if the man of my dreams came up to me right now, I would tell him to go away and come back
later.” I was bruised and entangled at the time, and totally unprepared to fall in love again. Luckily,
he did come back later — or maybe I came to him, when Katrina pushed me back west. Fate is mysterious.
Seeing this photograph now — of me totally unaware of my future, dancing with the spider, I find myself
caught in that amber, that web. The spider’s embrace is a sacred space, a liminal threshold where the girl
that I was will dance forever. My thanks and admiration to Louise for creating that, and for all of her
powerful work. May her journey beyond be both peaceful and enlightening. Goodnight, Louise!
(l’araignée, la maîtresse et la mandarine)
Louise Bourgeois: The Spider, The Mistress and The Tangerine
“My emotions are inappropriate for my size. My emotions are my demons.” – Louise Bourgeois
“I am not what I am, I am what I do with my hands.” – Louise Bourgeois
Just Like a White Winged Dove
by angeliska on May 27, 2010
Okay, so even though it’s a little bit late, I want to wish a happy belated
birthday to Stevie Nicks. I’m a latecomer to the enchantments of the Welsh Witch,
as my parents were definitely not into soft rock of any kind. I was raised listening to
old country music like Hank Williams, Kitty Wells, Jimmie Rodgers, and The Carter
Family. My parents played traditional old-time folk music and Irish reels, and were
more likely to drag me to a Sacred Harp Shape-Note singing revival than to a concert
where people were wearing feathered roach clips in their hair. My dad plays bagpipes,
banjo and concertina (as well as a dozen other instruments), and has exposed me to
incredible music my whole life. When I was in high-school, all the rich hippie kids would
be wearing their mom’s crochet blouses and listening to all their old Fleetwood Mac and
Led Zeppelin records. I scorned them, scowling in my dog collar and ripped black rags,
listening to Skinny Puppy, Legendary Pink Dots and (oh yes) My Life With The Thrill Kill
Kult. Cokehead faux 70’s bourgeois brats could suck it, as far as I was concerned. I can
remember a few times hearing a snatch of Stevie on the radio, and being oddly captivated
by the catchy hooks and mystical allusions, but then feeling sort of guilty and embarrassed.
I managed to grow up completely innocent of almost an entire era of music featuring permed
performers, but there was something alluring and forbidden about the songs I’d hear still being
played at the dingy Playland roller-rink amid the disco lights and the constant danger of falling over.
I’ve never been able to successfully enjoy roller-skating (gasp! I know.) so maybe that’s why
I focused so hard on the music while waiting for my friends to finish their spins and join me in a heated
game of air hockey (still obsessed!) This might explain how I came to adore ABBA as well. (My thing with
Cher, I promise I’ll get into another time! I know!) I remember an afternoon shortly after I moved
to New Orleans, getting dressed to go into the French Quarter to get coffee. My sister was watching me
lace up my black platform boots and giggling. I was wearing them with a long, tattered cream lace dress
and, a gold fringed shawl. I thought I looked very magical. “What, it is too Stevie?” Uh, yeah – it was.
It looked rad though! I think I changed, but now I wish I hadn’t! I wish I’d rocked my Stevie look without
shame, man. A few years later, I had a spate of loved ones dying in quick succession, and was mired
in some of the darkest times in the Crescent City. All of the sad, bleak music I’d always relied on for years
fell short. I couldn’t listen to Death in June or whatever, because there was no music depressing enough
to resonate with where I was at, and I knew I needed not to feed it. In order to keep going, and keep my
head above water, I found the only solution to be music I had previously scoffed and cackled at.
Fleetwood Mac – Gold Dust Woman – Live in Japan 1977
(Naysayers, behold! I think this video is spectacular — surreal, dark and oh so Biba!)
Oh yes, my darlings. That spring and summer, I listened almost exclusively to the Mac, and to George Michael.
“Father Figure” was guaranteed to make me laugh instead on wanting to lay on the floor weeping, and when it
seems like everyone around you is dying, well – sometimes you just need to listen to some ridiculous shit to make
it through. What’s the word for a sense of nostalgia for a time and place you only barely experienced? I must admit,
out of all my passionate anachronisms, I’m most embarrassed by my weird thing about some of the tackiest elements
of the 1980’s. To be fair, or at least more specific, I get really excited by anachronisms of anachronisms – like 70’s does
Art Deco/Art Nouveau (swoon! My favorite!) or 80’s does the 30’s-40’s (shoulder pads, draping, killer hair, red lips) as
well as 80’s does renaissance (unicorns, flowing shifts, fluffy perms with bangs). The fluffy renaissance redux perm is
my hair fixation of late. Why can’t I have this hair? Flashdance hair! I think it’s so, so pretty and I love seeing curly-headed
girls rock it. So tired of blow-outs and silicon stick-straight mendacity. I’m ready for big hair to come back. Let’s do it, y’all.
NIGHTBIRD by Stevie Nicks and her sister in law Lori, who I think is really gorgeous. Kohl-eyed sorceress, yes!
Obviously my favorite Fleetwood Mac song. The video is absurd, and I love it.
I’d love to go to Night of a Thousand Stevies in New York one day, speaking of absurd — have you ever been?
Imagine a thousand queens, spanking each other with tambourines and twirling, twirling the night away! Too dreamy.
While I’m at it, I’m afraid you might need to go see this video of Xena, Warrior Princess playing Stevie in a SNL skit –
she actually kind of nails it, and it’s so right. We won’t go into any backstage stories or witchcraft denials (lame),
since it’s the lady’s special day (or it was earlier, anyhow). It’s all part of the magic, right? Viva la Belladonna!
“I still look up
I try hard not to look up
That girl was me
Track a ghost through the fog
A charmed hour–a haunted song
Track a ghost through the fog, baby…“
