I love this sketch Adriano Moraes did of Jeff Wengrofsky and I that night.
I remember feeling so perfectly and completely happy while standing there near the doorway, being sketched.
I could see all the guests coming down the grand stairway at Morningside Castle, all in their finest frocks and
sharpest suits. Something about people-watching with permission to be silent and still in the mad throng of that
beautiful party, all while being watched and taken in so intently by an artist making the magical transference
between eye and hand, hand and pencil, pencil and paper. The moment was captured in more ways than one.

Portrait within a portrait.

I had an amazing meeting of the minds with Gerald Busby, a brilliant composer and truly wonderful man
who lives in the Chelsea Hotel. You’ll be hearing more about him from me soon – he’s amazing.

Gerald instructed me to go up to the top floor and walk down the stairs. So glad I did.
It was such a gift to be able to wander the halls of this grand old dame who gave
shelter and succor to so many artists and heroes of mine. I could feel their shades
dancing in the halls, their footsteps echoing. I made a wish that the Chelsea will
continue, will not be robbed of her spirit – though she is being mercilessly robbed
of her art and her tenants. What spirits will be left when they are all gone?

“TO THE PURE, ALL THINGS ARE PURE”
I took a wrong turn looking for Gerald’s apartment
(I should’ve just followed the music!), but I’m glad I
did, because I happened upon room #528 and its
perfect message. It reminds me of being in Rome
with my Grandfather. We were in Madrid, on one
of the last days of what would be our last trip together.
We had gone to the Ermita San Antonio de la Florida
to see Goya’s Sistine Chapel and final resting place,
and I remember both of us were so, so happy that day.
We gazed up at the gorgeous domed cupola depicting
the miracle of Saint Anthony, and all the angels and fat
cherubim gamboling below and just drank in all that beauty,
that light. I asked him then, “How did we get to be so lucky?”
and he replied, “Because our hearts are pure.”

A detail of some as of yet unstolen art from the Chelsea Hotel.
Not sure who the artist is. Fill me in if you know…

From a mural at Petite Abeille, where I had a delightful
post-earthquake brunch with some of my favorite fancies.

Goat girl phone doodle.

I loved this gargoyle/green man who ornaments an apartment on the prettiest street in Crown Heights.

Subway serenader. He also played erhu.

This is Lola. She is one of my favorite people.

This is one of her toys, which she let me play with.

This is ostensibly the pleasant goat. But where is the big big wolf?

I finally found the intersection of Waverly Place and Waverly Place,
stumbling up it alone, by chance, late on my way to dinner one muggy
night. It would have been better if it had been snowing, and silent – like
in Veronica, but at least it exists. People had told me that it didn’t. It does!

The nothing is coming – unicorns unite!

Morning, glories.

♥ Lisa Bettany shot this amazing photo of a Double Rainbow Over Manhattan after a recent storm in NYC.

In order to counter some of the disaster-fraught gloom looming ’round these parts of late,
I’ve ordered up a double helping of moonbeams and rainbows, liberally sprinkled with
some of my favorite faces to help dispel the lingering funk. Plus, I haven’t even had a
moment to warble with joy about how wondrous my recent NY visit was – unlike my
last visit there (which was not the rosiest or easiest excursion ever, alas) it seemed that
this journey was blessed from the start by some lucky star. Despite a few really insane
travel misadventures, everything came together swimmingly, and I got to spend time
with so many dear friends who I had not seen in far too long! Speaking of…

I got to visit with Gala, whose sweet face I had missed so much!
It was so, so good to spend some time with her – I wish I could
be back in NY celebrating her birthday RIGHT NOW! It’s today!
(Well, yesterday probably, by the time I get this posted…)
Many happy returns of the day, sugarbomb!

We made an eye-dazzling superhero duo in our retina-scalding get-ups.
I covet that delicious neon coral lace skirt from ASOS, fervently!

♥ Also, muchas felicidades to her and her bridegroom: MK + GD Forever!
– this makes me soooo happy! I can’t wait to meet the lucky fellow!

We lunched with Miss Mer at Veselka on fuschia borscht & pierogies,
followed by crack pie from Momofuku, which sent us all into diabetic
comas immediately. That stuff is hardcore, y’all! There’s a reason it’s called CRACK PIE!

Me + Mer = giant ♥

I had an incident with the gorgeous almost-Yves-Klein-blue dress Tamera sent me,
getting into a taxi. My abundantly callipygous posterior split the dang thing from
here to Saskatchewan! Luckily, the ladies accompanied me to Trash + Vaudeville
for some emergency superhero underpants in metallic teal to protect my uh, modesty.

Another marvelous woman born on September 13th – Miss Molly Crabapple,
who never ceases to amaze me with her work. She just completed her Week In
Hell, during which she locked herself in a hotel room with white papered walls
that she managed to completely cover in her drawings. My motto lately has been
“Where your comfort zone ends, life begins”, and Molly really put that to the test
with this project, testing her endurance beyond its limits, beyond reason – just to see
what could happen, what could be created. The lady’s a huge inspiration to me,
and to so many artists out there. I don’t think I’ve ever encountered anyone with
such intense FOCUS. She’s admirable, formidable, wonderful, and incredibly lovable.

♥ Here Is Everything I Learned in New York City
by Sarah Hepola
Cabbies Are the Greatest People on Earth, at Least for Fifteen Minutes
Thank you to Gala Darling for pointing me towards this article!

Rainbow saris, source unknown (let me know if you know the provenance for this
and the other mystery images here – I had no luck looking on Tin Eye, alas.)

Please, please, please take a moment to watch this incredible interview with my friend Altercation.
She just blows me away, y’all – and always has. We both moved to New Orleans the same year,
and I remember seeing her singing mournful murder ballads in a chiffon robe with her breasts exposed
and a beehive wig, from a tiny wrought-iron balcony on the side of the old Winter Palace. I remember
the first time I saw her shake her ass, and stood there, jaw dropped – hypnotized by that rolling motion.
I didn’t know an ass could move like that! I was there with her and Rusty and Freedia and Nobby for that
first bounce show in New York in 2009. Who knew then where all this would go? I’m so glad that she teaches
this dance to people, and that she asks people to think about it, to talk about it. She’s fucking brilliant. I love her so much.

Rainbow clouds, source unknown

Lio – Banana Split
“Ça me déplairait pas que tu m’embrasses
NA NA NA – Mais faut saisir ta chance avant qu’elle passe
NA NA NA – Si tu cherches un truc pour briser la glace
BANANA BANANA BANANA
C’est le dessert
Que sert
L’abominable homme des neiges
A l’abominable enfant teenage
Un amour de dessert
BANANA NA NA NA NA BANANA SPLIT
Les cerises confites sont des lipsticks
NA NA NA – Qui laissent des marques rouges sur l’antarctique
NA NA NA – Et pour le faire fondre une tactique
BANANA BANANA BANANA
Baisers givrés sur les montagnes blanches
NA NA NA – On dirait que les choses se déclenchent
NA NA NA – La chantilly s’écroule en avalanche
BANANA BANANA BANANA”

Photo by Clayton Cubitt

Photo by Clayton Cubitt – In-camera Dichromat Homage, Dorotheenstadt Cemetery, Berlin, 2007

♥ My friend Jennymarie Jemison has been working on this web series about life in the offices of a sex toy factory:
The Flesh Life – You Know You Want to See This

♥ Sex on the brain: What turns women on, mapped out

♥ I’m feeling this article by Susannah Breslin on Unemployment/Self-employment.
As terrifying as it can be to step on the limb of only doing what you love, and trying to sustain yourself
on what you make doing that, I have to say I don’t know if I could ever see myself going back to a “job-job”.
I’m pretty determined to make this work – go big or go broke, man. Just hopefully not both!
I prefer Hunter S. Thompson’s maxim: “When the going gets weird, the weird go pro.”

♥ Austin’s Planned Parenthood Loses State Funding – What fucking dark age are we living in, y’all?

One of Alphonse Mucha’s exquisite stained glass windows in Prague’s St. Vitus Cathedral.

♥ Spellcaster and Earth Angel…Angeliska Polacheck a sweet interview with me from the lovely Celeste Quesada

♥ A beautiful article from The Paris Review about Frida’s Corsets by Leslie Jamison
“Sadness is green as well. Also leaves and the nation of Germany. She has an entire vocabulary of color. Brown is mole and leaves becoming earth. Bright yellow is for the undergarments of ghosts.”

♥ I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Katelan Foisy during my visit to New York – I’ve been watching her hand-painted
tarot deck blossom card by card, and was so excited to see her latest work, featuring Baby Dee as The High Priestess

Babies can’t eat kimchee! That’s the look on my face when I smell kimchee!
Hate the stuff. Korean food is my favorite, though! Just not that part…

Handmade Portraits: YOKOO
♥ I love her. Thank you to JL Schnabel for sharing this.
“There is only the slightest chance that you might cross Yokoo’s path in the streets of Atlanta, Georgia.
Holed up with the quiet company of old movies, she knits about 15 hours a day. Running a one-woman knitwear enterprise from home,
Yokoo is an artist, a perfectionist and a “total control” worker. She enjoys being a part of the entire process: thinking, designing, sketching,
picking up the material, creating, photographing, promoting, trading and sending. She still gets butterflies every time she packages up a new order.

Kalash women. One of my favorite photographs. Still not sure who took it.

♥ 5 Views of East Side Show Room from the delightful Miss Tolly
One of my Austin favorite restaurants, written about lovingly by one of my favorite Austin blogger ladies.
She also came to Vintage Vivant recently, and wrote this sweet piece about her hijinks:
Meet me at the speakeasy, buy me some giggle water

♥ Why Lying Broken in a Pile on Your Bedroom Floor is a Good Idea – Akhilandeshvari, The Goddess of never not broken – by Julie (JC) Peters

There’s No Place Like Here: Brazenhead Books from Etsy on Vimeo.

♥ I meant to make a pilgrimage here, but there was no time! The Secret Bookstore – Brazenhead Books

♥ I want to visit all of these one day, too:
10 Unconventional Bookstores For Your Browsing Pleasure

“The Water Is Rising” by Amy Earles
Amy sent this to me after the storm, because it made such a huge impression on me.
It was such an amazing thing to receive in the mail, especially from a total stranger –
and it marked the beginning of our friendship. It captured so much of what I felt then,
the ominous feeling of leaving, knowing the water would rise, and that so many would
stay behind, and be trapped in their houses. I don’t dream of tidal waves anymore –
now I dream of floods, inexorable, consuming water that just gets higher and higher.

Glory At Sea! from Court 13 on Vimeo.

A group of mourners and a man spat from the depths of Hades build a boat from
the debris of New Orleans to rescue their lost loved ones trapped beneath the sea.
Just in case you never saw this, or even if you did – it’s so beautiful, it bears
watching again. I cry and cry every time I see it. Keep an eye out for their
new film, set in the swamps: Beasts of the Southern Wild

My Katrinanniversary was spent in the following ways:
I escaped New York and the Hurricane Irene fear-fever by the skin on my teeth, at 4am
in a hail of bullets & falling corpses, our valiantly diving through the swiftly closing doors of the last
train out of Armageddon (in a rubber jumpsuit, natch.) Okay, not really – but it was pretty crazy.
I just barely made my train out of the city because of a shooting at the stop before mine & a suicide at
the one after. End times were preemptively in the air, making everyone extra crazy. The air was a sodden
fug of unease – dead still & flat, so heavy and too quiet for that big city. Having evacuation flashbacks in NYC
was surreal and unpleasant – packing hurriedly to steal away in the wee hours, remembering to breathe and
hoping that everything would be okay for all the people who were sticking around to see what the storm brought.
Every grocery store that day was crammed with people buying provisions, the check-out line vibrating with tension
and talk of taping windows. It was kind of like waiting in line for a super-scary haunted house with a bunch of first
graders rather than the juvies you’re used to. No offense meant by that at all, mind you – it’s just a matter of experience.
The day before I evacuated for Katrina, I went to the Matassa’s, the bank and out to Mona’s for Lebanese. Not one person
even mentioned it – and I had chatted with people everywhere I went. I had no idea that a massive storm was headed our
way until I went in to work the next day, and found my employers packing up the shop and getting everything low off the floor.
Usually, the storm warnings I got in New Orleans were one of the old-timer stoop-sitters in my neighborhood reminding me
to take my potted plants in off the balcony. I remember sometimes wishing that people would freak out a little more,
especially when the minor tropical storms and depressions got nasty and knocked out my power. I guess you just
got used to it after awhile – six months of hurricane season every year, constantly punctuated by threats and fizzles.
As tense and weird as Irene’s approach was making everyone around me, I also continuously stunned by the kindness
and helpfulness so many of the New Yorkers I encountered – especially the cabbie who picked me and all my bags
up and took me to the next stop so I wouldn’t miss my train, and the sweet felon who helped me haul my crap through
the turnstiles. He told me he worked in “telecommunications & debt collections”, and complimented my “Italian-girl ass”.
It was hard to leave New York this time – I felt we’d resumed our love affair that seemed so sour last time I had visited.
This time I found her brilliant and silvery, a beautiful and mercurial beast with a sharp, serendipitous kiss. Her back is
ridged with spikes of glass and metal and thronging with people like shining like stars. I can feel her grit lodged into
my tongue, and I let it stay, knowing it will one day become a pearl. I fell in love with the city again, and hope to find
myself rambling around her golden grid again sooner than later. We’ve got big things to do, she and I. Soon, soon.

(A deer wades through floodwaters in the aftermath of Hurricane Irene on August 28, 2011, in Lincoln Park, N.J. Photo by Julio Cortez/AP)

I ended up riding Irene out in Philadelphia, in the company of two very inspiring ladies, Tabatha and Nyx
of < • le MONDe Primitif •>, and a bottle of Wild Turkey. We spent two days doing nothing but eating,
sleeping, talking and cutting up old Soviet Life and Art in America magazines for collage. I needed that
sweet respite so much after a week of running and hustling non-stop. Just to sit and watch the wind and
rain out the window and breathe. I lay in bed and watched the maples thrash and prayed to Oya to be kind.

– Photo by Ted Jackson / THE TIMES-PICAYUNE

August 29th this year found me in an aisle seat on a Greyhound bus for six hours, struggling to write something about
Katrina for the Austin Chronicle, and getting frantic texts from my friends in New Orleans asking if they could come evacuate
to my house because the poisonous gasses emanating from marsh-fires were making them sick. So bizarre to be living in
the post-apocalyptic nightmare of terrible droughts, storms, fires, oh, and – earthquakes! I was riding the train to brunch
and honestly didn’t think too much about it when the subway car jolted and shook us all for a minute or two. I remember
wondering if that sort of turbulence was common, and then thinking nothing more of it until I got out onto the street.
Everyone had come out of their offices and were crowded on the sidewalk smoking and looking pensive and freaked out.
Apparently, there’s a fault line right under 14th St., which was my stop. People don’t like to talk about it being there, but
it’s there all the same. Earthquakes terrify me more than hurricanes. A hurricane you can prepare for, run away from.

A year or so before Katrina, I was given the amazing gift of a taxidermied peacock from my dear friend Ilya.
It was one of the things that I was most pained to lose after my roof blew off. That whole side of the parlor
had been destroyed – the walls had crumbled, and blackly viscous curls of moldy fiberglass insulation had
peeled down over chunks of plaster and debris. I pretty much left everything on that side of the room alone -
the kitchen table and everything on it, the dvd player and all our movies, and the poor sodden peacock,
who had fallen on the wall and was pinned by a large part of the ceiling. I was so allergic to the mold, that
I feared to take most of my taxidermy collection from the rubble, and once the trailer was totally packed with
whatever else I could salvage, sticking a wet, gross, dead bird on top of it all seemed like a bad plan.
It was the one thing that I mourned above all others – above my records and tapes, all my shoes and boots,
clothes and costumes, photos and other treasures. I couldn’t imagine ever being gifted another peacock in
my life, and had never come across one for sale that I could even begin to afford. About a year after the storm,
I heard that for a short time, my peacock had resurfaced in the briefly reincarnated ramshackle version of Z’otz
Coffeeshop that happened at the old Siam. I was told that the mighty bird had been spray-painted black, and
decorated with broken mirrors. After that, I lost track of it again – until recently. My friend Miss Angie texted me
the photos below from her phone, asking “Is this your peacock?”. There was no doubt that it was. I called up the
dealer who had brought it in, and luckily, he was willing to let me have it back, provided I paid him the $30 bucks
he had paid for it. So, things come full circle. Sometimes. I have my fucked-up, moldy-ass peacock back from the
rubble, delivered to my door by my friends who were escaping from marsh fire sickness. That fire is the size of
City Park right now, and NO ONE is even talking about it. All my friends who haven’t gotten out are sick in bed,
and the whole thing is getting whitewashed by the media. No one is talking about why a marsh would catch fire
and keep burning for days. No one is talking about BP’s oil, or how completely fucked Louisiana’s ecosystem is.
Friends who own houses there, businesses there, who’ve stuck it out all this time are finally talking about leaving,
because they’re afraid the city will kill them, one way or another. Heartbreak on top of heartbreak. Oh, New Orleans…

The other night, I got into a discussion about New Orleans in a bar in Pittsburgh.
The bartender asked me, “If I had to choose between Austin and New Orleans,
which one would I choose?” I explained to him that it didn’t really work like that,
but that my aversion for natural disasters had grown to a point where I’m no longer
willing to knowingly put up with or prepare for them. A strange drunk man at the bar
interjected to ask me if at some point I had been into natural disasters but only decided
I didn’t like them only after I had been “divested of my belongings.” I told him that seven years
of constant evacuations and fear culminating in the eventual destruction and loss of my
city, home, belongings, lover, job, community and friends, and just my whole life as I knew
it was enough to do the trick. I had to go into how I felt about all people who patted my hand
to make themselves feel better by telling me it was “just stuff”. I’m afraid I ranted a little bit in
a sazerac-induced way about people who buy everything they own at Ikea, and have no
emotional attachment to objects. I went off for a bit about how most of the things I treasure
most were passed down to me by loved ones who have died, and how those objects represent
the only tangible, physical artifacts left of them for me. I apologized, explaining that the day before
had been the six year anniversary of the storm, and that I was feeling pretty raw, as I tend to when
the end of August rolls around. He responded by saying “Happy anniversary?” and that was it.
No, dude. Not happy. Wrong answer! He tried to back pedal, but I had to shut him down, saying
that I had just taken the time to speak to him from my heart about experiences that are still very
painful for me, and that he had just taken an opportunity to connect with another human being
and instead thrown it away being drunk and dunderheaded and letting callous bullshit fall out
of his mouth. It was weird. Weird and fucked up to still be getting into it about Katrina in bars with
people who find it more comfortable to stand on the outside of a tragedy and look in on it coldly,
thinking they’re being objective, when really they’re just afraid or incapable of empathy.
Or maybe they’re just assholes. Right after the storm I ended up getting in a few near-brawls
in bars with that sort of guy. I was so, so, so fucking angry and anyone who said the wrong thing,
or just wasn’t getting it needed to be educated as far as I was concerned, and often my version of
doing at the time only ended up getting me nearly kicked out of a few watering holes. PTSD and
whiskey are a bad, bad combination. I try to stay calmer about it these days, but it’s still hard when
people don’t want to get it, don’t really want to try to understand what it was like to go through that.
I remember getting booted from the Longbranch Inn one night for giving a homeless lady money
and then freaking out on the owner when he told me I couldn’t do that. I stood on the sidewalk,
weaving with drink and trying not to cry when the old man who worked at the bar came up to me.
He wore a big cowboy hat, and was a good dancer. He had been showing me moves all night.
His face was the color of dark oiled wood, and his eyes were misty with blue cataracts.
He told me he was The Man With No Name (I found out after he died that he was known as
“Fast Black”, but his name was Carl Miller.) He took my hand, and looked deep into my eyes,
and he said, “Forgive those who do not know.” It was the one piece of wisdom that
helped me through that time – the only thing that helped soothe the rage that kept threatening
to bubble over in barrooms and kept me pacing the floors of my tiny house every night.
Forgive those who do not know. It’s a hard thing to do, but I still try. I try and keep dancing, too.

✸ Susannah Breslin nails it once again – I never really believed in or understood what PTSD was before it happened to me.
Reading about her experience with it really helped me. After Hurricane Katrina, Years of Post-Traumatic Stress

Everyone Forever Now – “Stoop Sitting” from Everynone on Vimeo.

EFN 03 – “Stoop Sitting”
By Will Hoffman & Daniel Mercadante
EVERYONE FOREVER NOW is an episodic motion-based media project.
It is an examination of the collective wisdom and expression of human actions.

✸ A LOVE LETTER TO NEW ORLEANS – written by Sarah Jaffe, illustrated by Molly Crabapple.

✸ What I’m going home to: 3 heartbreaking photos of desert-like Lake Travis during the Texas drought

✸ As Texas Withers, Gas Industry Guzzles
Drought restrictions are forcing homeowners to quit watering their gardens,
even as thirsty fracking operations help themselves to the agua.

IRMA THOMAS – “It’s Raining” – maybe if I play this over and over,
it will bring rain to where it’s needed and away from where it’s not.

If you’ve still got it in you, here’s some collected writings
about my experiences with Hurricane Katrina,
in reverse chronological order. Dig in:

✸ Storms – 5 Years

✸ Hurricane Katrina: Four Years Later

✸ New Orleans in August

✸ One Year

✸ Lower Ninth Aftermath

✸ MARDI GRAS APRÈS L’ORAGE

✸ AFTERMATH: REVELATIONS

✸ JUST WHEN YOU THINK IT CAN’T GET ANY WORSE

✸ Calamity

✸ The Triumph of Death

✸ What can you do?

✸ Katrina

I’m getting excited about the theme for the upcoming Exquisite Corpse – The Left Eye of Horus.
Norah came up with it, and I’m so glad because it’s given me the opportunity to explore an aesthetic
that I’ve always found very alluring: Egyptian Goth. I call it that, but really it’s a mish-mash of traditional
and fantastical styles from a variety of Middle Eastern countries and peoples. The bleak tales of death in
the desert from The Sheltering Sky, and the wraithed, black-clad shapes, of kohl-eyed, tattooed Berber
women shimmering on the horizon planted the seed, which grew into a lush little oasis: a stark vision in
black and white, hung with hammered silver and gold. Heavy clouds of incense, sharply scented with
Sandalwood, papyrus, lotus, and sycamore. These are embalming herbs, for canning hearts in canopic jars.
Bear with me while I wax rhapsodic, won’t you? The mysteries from the fertile crescent continue to inspire, even
as in modern Egypt, at the very moment I write this, Hosni Mubarak is standing (or laying down on a bed in a
cage, actually) trial for the murders of over 850 peaceful protesters who died fighting for change from the days
of ancient Egypt – when pharoahs could hold a throne hostage for generations while amassing untold riches
If you’re interested in keeping up with what’s happening in Egypt, I can’t recommend a better source than Mona Eltahawy.
I had the pleasure of meeting her last year, and we struck up an immediate connection. We talked about writing, but at
the time, I had no idea that she was an award-winning columnist or a total information powerhouse on Arab and Muslim
issues, until January 25th. I had come across her card, and decided to start following her Twitter feed, which is pretty much
the most up to the minute source for whatever’s going down in Egypt politically at any given moment. She’s truly amazing.

Sapho – Methylene

So, in part this post is dedicated to some strong women – Mona, my friend Zahra-Jane, and also Oum Khalthoum (who I’ll get to later…)
Zahra and I were Livejournal friends from way back, and finally had the pleasure of meeting one another for real recently in Chicago.
She has an incredible aesthetic sense and has turned me on to so much awesome stuff over the years. For this post in particular, I asked
her to recommend any treasures I might be overlooking, and she sent me some wonders, indeed. I also heavily pillaged her kick-ass tumblr
The Signs in the Stars and her beautiful blog, Black Celebration – go check out both and be delighted and inspired! I can’t thank her enough for showing me Sapho, a moroccan singer who hung out with Siouxsie in the 80′s and made awesome egyptian-inspired new wave!

Siouxsie and the Banshees – Arabian Knights

I collect khamsas (or hands of Fatima) – my grandmother always wore a big silver filigree one when she traveled,
and I remember always being fascinated and drawn to it. I wear it when I fly, and treasure it immensely. Sacred hands.

Givenchy Haute Couture Fall Winter 2009/2010 Full Show

I am FEELING this show so deeply. Knockin’ ‘em cold in black + gold is my permanent fashion motto,
and this just does it all for me. Now where can I get my hands on piles and piles of gold headdresses,
elaborately wrought paillettes, handfuls of massive knuckledusters, et cetera? I need it all by tomorrow.

I love these headdresses:

Dying for this one, made by my girl Miss Arielle de Pinto – her work is beyond fabulous. I desire silvery mounds of it.

Not sure where this one came from, but I sure do love it.

Sequin masks from the Givenchy show… DIY, y’all!

I love this photo of Inga & Anush Arshakyans. Watch out if you click on this link – the video is whoa.
They’re Armenian, but whatever – they look rad.

Oum, Umm, Oumme, Ümmü, OM!

From Zahra-Jane’s killer post on Oum Kalthoum
“The details of a woman. Oum Kalthoum. b. December 31st, circa 1900-1904, Egypt. the capricorn. Star of Egypt.
Queen of tarab, which is that…”this is MY JAM” feeling you get. Tarab is like a state beyond enjoyment, a state of
almost oneness and total ecstasy with the song. There is also a level of audience participation, the crowd moves the singer,
who moves the crowd, which allows an especially spiritual element which decades later, you feel listening to these recordings.
Enchantment is a popular translation, but the word seems almost too quaint for what I feel when I hear Oum Kalthoum.
It is no shock that she has inspired some of my favorite artists, from Nico, to Maria Callas.”

1938 Kodachrome film of two Ouled Nail dancers. Silent.
I recommend that you watch it while playing the track below.

Egyptian lover – Egypt Egypt

Pola Negri

From a 1970′s Playboy magazine

Nefertiti by Youssef Nabil

Shirin Neshat by Youssef Nabil

Kate performs “Egypt” on a 1979 Christmas special.
She is so bonkers. God, I love her.

Follow the Nile
Deep to much deeper.
The Pyramids sound lonely tonight.

She’s got me with that feline guise,
Got me in those desert eyes.
She’s got me with that feline guise,
Got me in those desert eyes.
Oh I’m in love
With Egypt.

I had the pleasure of meeting Maria Dahvana Headley, author of Queen of Kings,
(my own copy is tantalizing me at this very moment from my nightstand!)
recently – she is a fiercely joyous hummingbird of a woman, who I immediately adored.
We had discussed creating an event around her book-signing here in Austin to celebrate
her new work, which is all about vampires and monsters in ancient Egypt. It didn’t work
out time-wise, but the inspiration lingered – so I’ll dedicate this Exquisite Corpse to her
as well! I can’t wait to delve into this world she’s created…

Another book that comes to mind when developing this theme is an old favorite – Storm Constatine’s Wraeththu, a trilogy that shaped many of my views about style, gender, magic and provided a beautiful vision of a post-human, post-apocalypse future.

Illan Riviere is a consumate androgynous Wraeththu Har – and one of the most incredible dancers I’ve ever seen.

From ZJ’s post on Propaganda Magazine

The Sisters Of Mercy – Temple Of Love (Featuring Ofra Haza)

This was my number one favorite song throughout much of my childhood. I was (and still am) so, so into it.
During the 2011 Egyptian Revolution the song enjoyed a surge in popularity among the younger population of protesters:

All the old paintings on the tombs
They do the sand dance don’t you know
If they move too quick (oh way oh)
They’re falling down like a domino

Foreign types with the hookah pipes say
Ay oh way oh, ay oh way oh
Walk like an Egyptian

Natacha Atlas – Leysh Natarak

The Brooklyn-based artist Swoon, who may know from her beautiful wheat-pasted cut-out street art (and the following flotillas:
Miss Rockaway Armada, Swimming Cities of Switchback Sea, Swimming Cities of Serenissima) is bringing a landmark, permanent
sculpture to the Bywater neighborhood of New Orleans. This “house” also functions as a musical instrument. A growing group of
local and national sound artists are creating interactive instruments that will be built into its walls and floorboards so that visitors
can bring the house to life through their touch. How does a house sing? How does it keep a beat? Can a house be played like a trumpet?
These are the kind of questions will be answering this fall when we launch The Music Box – A Shantytown Sound Laboratory, which is the
first incarnation of what will evolve into Dithyrambalina. Our prototypes will gather together in a musical village of singing shanties!

Swoon’s “Ice Queen”, (currently debuting at MOCA, Los Angeles’ Art in the Streets exhibition).
Screen print on paper, coffee stained and hand painted, 2′x3′, signed in an edition of ten.
Happy to say that all three of these beautiful pieces went to each of our awesome Kickstarter backers who pledged $3000 or more!

We are very excited to be collaborating with Elizabeth Shannon, a hero of the New Orleans art world since the 1970′s on the shanty
that will shelter our piece TINTINNABULATION STATION. This temporary installation will run from October thru early January and will
be built on the future site of the Dithyrambalina in the New Orleans Bywater neighborhood. Over the course of the exhibition we will
welcome visitors, hold children’s workshops, and present a three-part series of performances featuring local and national musicians who
will orchestrate original works on the devices. Check out our fellow artists, also – we’re amongst great company of some dear friends and many future friends! I’d love it if you’d take a moment to go read more about this project – the whys and wherefores, the inspirations, and the spirit behind it. I’m so proud to be a part of this beautiful thing! The Dithrambalina Kickstarter Campaign ends Thursday Jul 28, 8:49am,
and not only did meet our goal, but nearly doubled it! However – any and all additional pledges are appreciated and needed! Additional funding will go towards build costs for the Dithyrambalina house, developing more instrumentation, and paying our artists and musicians
for all their hard work. We would all be so grateful for any donations, and for any help spreading the word about this project!
Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Swoon and Sound Collaborator Taylor Shepherd Discuss the Project

P.S. Have you been wondering why Swoon calls the musical house Dithyrambalina?
The root of the name comes from the ancient Greek work dithyramb. A dithyramb
was the chant of wild abandon sung by the devotees of Dionysus to call for their God.

Dionysus was the god of the grape harvest and wine, and he connotes ritual madness
and ecstasy in Greek mythology. He is generally depicted as an enchantingly beautiful
man attended by a debauched procession of animals, dancers, and music makers.
Suffice it to say that Dionysus has never missed a Mardi Gras in New Orleans!
– from the Dithyrambalina blog, which is chockablock with good stuff – go see!

School picture day! 7th grade. For real.

You see, we met when I was 13 and she was 11. The setting: a manky teenage boy’s bedroom in the trashiest
trailer in our neighborhood. I was in the middle of having my first kiss with a chubby boy who I agreed to try
making out with on basis of the fact that he had Robert Smith hair (sort of). The soundtrack: The Glove – Blue Sunshine.
With song titles like “Punish Me With Kisses” and “Mouth to Mouth“, it really couldn’t have been much more apt. I was much
more captivated with the album (it took me years to track it down and hear it again! Still a major favorite.) than I was
with the kissing. I think I was a little stoned, and all I could think about was giant pink slugs undulating. ¡El Grosso Maximo!
At the sound of the door creaking open, we wriggled apart, and through a veil of shaggy bangs that I thought hid my awesome
coke-bottle glasses (they totally, uh, didn’t.) I spied a feral wolf-child. A sullen cherub with a nimbus of golden curls that glowed
in the blacklight bulb. She stomped in all tough in plaid skater shorts and monkey boots. We eyed each other, and I think both
realized instantly that we were saved. Literally, in so many ways. We say it all the time, but it doesn’t make it any less true
that if we hadn’t stumbled across each other at that time in our lives, that both of us would have probably ended up dead
or worse. How fate decided to bless us by having our parents find houses right down the street from each other made up
(a bit) for all the other ways she decided to completely fuck us up. Soon, we were spending every free moment together,
hanging out in burned-out, abandoned houses after school and sneaking out of our bedroom windows to smoke pilfered
ciggies and wander around. Eventually we were dressing up like baby hooker vampires and cadging rides to nightclubs
and yet somehow made it back in our beds every night before 4am and go to school in the morning. We were wild, bad
little Lolitas, and it’s a goddamn miracle that we made it out of adolescence so (relatively) unscathed. Amazing, really.

I can’t find the picture of us as baby vampires, so instead here’s us dazed + starry-eyed after modeling in our first fashion show
at the very first New Bohemia, when it was over on Duval. Back in the day, man. We were such babies! Children! What.

Pea on St. Valentine’s Day back in our old place on Royal + Mandeville.
Observe her emu claw diadem and scars from Cupid’s arrows. Heartbreaker!

Sweet valentines. I am grateful to say that this girl was my very first lover, and who better to be initiated into
the mysteries of love than the person you love most in the world, your best friend and partner in crime?
We were lucky. We are lucky. She has taught me so much in these past (holy shit) 19 years…

Queen Marie, still from Pastrisetimania. – “Cake Sits, a fetishistic photo series.”

CYGNUS OLOR
This video is a collaboration between Dana Sherwood and The Black Forest Fancies
An incorrigible collector with an eye for the exotic captures a swan girl and holds her captive in a confectionary cabin

For the past few years, Pandora was working with the Dream Community in Taiwan,
living in rural villages, and working with the inhabitants to build large scale puppets and stage colorful parades.

I’ll let the beautiful Princess of the Puyuma tell you about it in her own words:
In this year overburdened by impossible goodbyes, I’d simply forgotten to miss Taiwan.
I’ve taken the double life summer dive headfirst into color I never can suffer at home.
The electric magenta hibiscus, relentless fuchsia and indigo of tree climbing orchids.
Tropical shades that sear the retina when viewed at midday and emanate neon through
thunderstorm gray. We have such colors in the swamps where I’ve nestled. We’ve the
requisite cruelty of the hot house garrote, anesthetized in narcotic notes of jasmine and datura.
But here these colors throb with mountains’ magic, erupting from black rock and vapour like Boschian
airships suspended in battle – a mesozoic sex display, the glow of which recalls the natal moments when
this magma formed landscape was molten. The timeless beauty of the mountains underlining indignity
of the cinderblock cityscapes, alive with devouring mold. Tree and trellis spangled with giant spiders,
Giger aliens spinning omens, and all we monstrous spinners on display.

Our parade work this year concerns the rediscovery and celebration of Taiwan’s aboriginal cultures.
There are 14 active and politically recognized tribes in Taiwan today, each with their own unique language,
mythology and cultural practices. There are at least a dozen more unrecognized tribes whose organization is
decentralized, as reflected in the death or morbidity of their language and dispersal of their genetic strains.
Archeological research suggests that the ancestors of the current tribes have been living on this island since 8000
years before Chinese immigration began in the 17th century. They have an ethnic identity that is distinct from the
Asian mainland but now comprise only 2 percent of Taiwan’s population, the majority of the population being
ethnically and linguistically Chinese. From the beginning of recorded history the aboriginal peoples have experienced
economic and military conflict with a global menagerie of covetous colonizers: western and northern Europeans,
north and south Americans, the Japanese, who came armed with the anvil of archeology. They staged digs and
opened museums, nailed bare asses into grey woolen writing desks in a thousand thatch roofed classrooms.
Turning practice into history as they systematically laid the – timeless – life of the village to waste.
A clock forever counting circles round the irrevocable bootprints of modernity.

Today as ever looms the ubiquitous spectre of lady China, face-shifting parasite sister to the all-too-proximal north.
These colonial viruses have redefined the island with almost comic regularity, invasions so frequent that they echo the
seasonal tracks of typhoon – violently resurfacing the patterns of life and landscape with language shifts and cultural
(re)assimilation. In keeping with the common plight of indigenous peoples the world over, Taiwanese aboriginals face
steep social barriers rooted in prejudice and exclusion: unemployment, substandard state provision for healthcare and
education, squalid housing and farming conditions, staggering rates of alcoholism and drug addiction. Since the 1980s
efforts have been undertaken on the part of the surviving tribes toward a revival of ethnic identity.
These include incorporating elements of their culture into commercial and artistic endeavors, pop music and pageantry.
That’s where we parade makers figure in. Putting craft through its paces and the spinners on display.

Falling in love with an enameled sewing machine. I mean, wouldn’t you?

The Mudlark Confectionary a cabinet of curious conceptions.

Dolls of The Mudlark Confectionary

Saint Dymphna
These days though, Pandora owns and operates the Mudlark Public Theatre in New Orleans upper Ninth Ward
neighborhood and is the artistic director of that space’s resident company, The Mudlark Puppeteers and co-founder
of the Black Forest Fancies Ltd. She makes puppets, dolls, sets and stories. She is a weaver of magic webs.

A puppet from The Black Wallows Foundling Hospital.

So here’s the deal, in her own words:
In the month of June I had the extreme pleasure of working as a craftswoman on an installation of my dear friend Mark Dion’s
design for a site on a National Tourist Road in Norway. The piece will be located at the top of a mountain, near a glacier
in the incomparably beautiful area of Ardal. A number of world-reknowned artists have been selected by the Norwegian
Tourist Bureau to contribute work to such sites. Notable among these is the last work of the brilliant metal artist Louise Bourgeois,
which is a memorial to the victims of the witch-burnings at Vardo Island, in the North of Norway.

I am constantly at work and seeking future opportunities. I now, a month after completing my contribution to the piece in Norway, still
haven’t even the vaguest clue as to when I will be paid. None of us do. Even Mark, with his esteemed reputation and integrality to the
completion of the project next year, has been given what can only be called ‘the serious, red-tape runaround.’ At first we were told simply
to be patient, that everything was being done in its proper order. The latest word is that all payments are on hold until the end of the
Norwegian Summer holidays – at some time in August. While the bureaucrats summer in sunnier climes, our invoices are evidently on some
Kafka-esque nightmare ride through the gears of a grim machine of the very old garde, and as in Kafka, there is no indication as to where
or when the ride might terminate. In short, I budgeted my life around money I have no access to for the indefinite future.
I have been unavailable for all other work in this period and consequently find myself at a pretty serious financial impasse.
I have had to cancel many plans, the most poignant being a visit to my hometown of Austin, TX to visit my oldest friends and
light candles at my parents’ memorials in honor of my 30th birthday, which is July 22nd.
I am hoping to sell some of my past-works, mostly hand sculpted art-dolls, to offset the deficit.
– Pandora Gastelum

If you’d like to help, please take a look at some of her work over at The Mudlark Confectionary,
and be on the lookout for her handmade art dolls for sale soon on etsy under mudlarkconfectionary
(we’re working on getting her shop up, but in the meantime, let me know if you have any questions
about purchasing pieces!) She has gifted me a new dolly for my every birthday for years, and each
one is perfect and comes intact with their very own soul. I treasure them enormously.

(Photo by Petra Arnold)
Happy birthday, star of the sea, poppy petal princess, peach-pie pea-pod, sweet sister, dearheart!

Dr. Jürgen Otto‘s footage of the courtship and mating behaviour of the Australian peacock spider Maratus volans.

✸ I’ve been getting really excited about Triboluminescence lately. Such a strange phenomenon!

✸ 5-10-15-20: Antony – I loved this article from Antony where he talks about his musical influences.
Christian Death, Marc and the Mambas, Nina Simone and Selda! Inspiring as always.

✸ Lakshmi Bai – the Rani (queen) of Jhansi
freedom-fighting warrior heroine from On This Deity

St Clemens, Church of Sts Peter and Paul, Rott-am-Inn, Germany – photo by Paul Koudoun­aris

✸ A wonderful article about the The amazing jeweled skeletons of Europe from Fortean Times

✸ Caddis fly larvae are known to incorporate bits of whatever they can find into their cocoons,
be it fish bone or bits of leaves. Hubert Duprat gave them gold, turquoise, gems and pearls.

“Since the early 1980s, artist Hubert Duprat has been utilizing insects to construct some of his “sculptures.”
By removing caddis fly larvae from their natural habitat and providing them with precious materials, he
prompts them to manufacture cases that resemble jewelers’ creations. Information theory, as explained by
biologists such as Jacques Monod and Henri Atlan, helps us understand what seems to be the insect’s aesthetic
behavior. The activities of the caddis worm, as manipulated by Hubert Duprat, are prompted by the “noise”—
beads, pearls and 18-karat gold pieces — introduced by the artist into the insect’s environment.”

✸

Victorian-Era Dress, Made With 1,000 Beetle Wings, Restored for £50,000
This is my dress. I need it back! Can someone go tell them?

✸ I’ve been meaning to moon about my love for the Kenzo Spring/Summer 2011 show for ages –
of course it’s right up my alley with the combination of hyper-saturated, rich color, exciting prints,
delicate silks and loads of intricate details. I go crazy for anything resembling an ethnic costume,
and this show was a mish-mash of Russian doll, Peruvian shepherdess and Japanese geisha. Heavenly.

It starts out a little dull, but watch and wait for the gorgeous and perfect grand finale. J’ADORE!

✸ The Orchid Mantis (Hymenopus coronatus) is called so, because it mimics orchid flowers.
They are usually white, but some of them grow little tints of pink over time. They live in papaya trees,
orchids and blossoming frangipani trees in Malaysia, Indonesia & Sumatra.

✸ When everything flies away, the outline of the heart goes black
Hans Christian Andersen’s illustrated “stamp books” from 50Watts

✸ What is Peter Falk Doing in Wings of Desire ?
Oh darling man, you will be missed! I used to watch Columbo and eat dried mangos with a couple of macaws every afternoon.

✸ The Paper Cuts of Chad Merritt featured in Hi-Fructose
Hooray for Chadling! I love that we will be living in the same town very soon!

✸ Norman’s Ghost Hole via Coilhouse
I love this. A lot.

That what I’ve got for right now! Send any bits of excitement + enchantment my way, won’t you?

For this month’s Exquisite Corpse, we will be dedicating the evening’s festivities
as a special memorial to some of our friends and heroes who have died this month:
Ramon, crazy-cat extraordinaire, Leonora Carrington – the surrealist sorceress,
and to Nefairia Devi, Bharatanatyam dancer and true gothic beauty. Bring something
to add to the altar for them if you wish, and come prepared to dance and celebrate their spirits.

Ramon and I. This is one of my favorite pictures of us together. He was very protective of all the ladies
of Swan Dive – acting almost like a dad (albeit a crazed, over-protective one!) A few weeks before he
died he told Amelia, “Ain’t nobody gonna be messin’ with you – they would rather be walking through hell
wearin’ gasoline drawers!” He was so great. We had a beautiful Second Line Jazz Funeral for him the other
night, and following the procession of friends playing “Just a Closer Walk With Thee”, something just broke in
me. The wall of weariness crumbled, and the numbness that has reigned in the face of losing so many amazing
people was replaced by waves of grief. Tears flowed down my face as we marched in a crowd packed with
people who knew and loved Ramon. It was the music, and being surrounded by such a beautiful community of
friends who would gather together to celebrate the life and mourn the death of one of our own. Ramon was
basically homeless, a veteran whose health (both physical, emotional and mental) had been severely
damaged by what he went through in the war, and in his difficult life – and he carried demons with him,
no doubt. Despite all that, his huge heart won out – he was a loving person, a good man. It’s just not going
to be the same without him. Lots of the fellas who work at the bar have gotten tattoos of his main motto:

Truth. One that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.

Amanda Stone and Marshall LaCount (of the Mudlark Puppeteers and Dark Dark Dark, respectively.)

Beautiful Norah

Devi cracks the snake!

Laurel and I worshipping the gilded skull.

Monika Hakkinnen

Monika + Colin

Stunning visitors from Germany. They wandered into the party and were much delighted.

Amelia was so beautiful that night that I was inspired to say some downright naughty things to her!
Luckily, she’s a tough dame who can handle my dirty talk. Must’ve been that vicious absinthe/tequila combo…

In honor of Cinco de Mayo, Naomi Elliott performed an incredible Aztec dance ritual that involved a watermelon being disemboweled! So beautiful.

Les Surrealistes

Nefairia Devi (Elizabeth Emily Mincho)– December 7, 1976 – May 14, 2011
Photo by Solvej Jordahl

Strangely, I never actually had the chance to meet this amazing woman, though we came from the same town,
and had many friends in common. She left for London when I was still a blooming wee gothlet, and somehow
our paths just never crossed, even though she had moved back this way for a few months before her untimely
passing. When I lived in New Orleans, she started sending me sweet parcels: gifts of books and music, and
even this incredible heart-shaped floral arrangement, accompanied by an actual honest-to-goodness telegram!
Both were delivered to Sideshow, where I was working at the time – and I remember my boss teasing me mercilessly
about my admirer. Nefairia was like that: someone who would shower affection on you, just because she could.
I love how the card on the flowers reads “Angel M. Gorgeous” – what a sweetheart! It’s truly bizarre that’s she’s
gone – just like that. A freak car accident resulting in a severe brain injury, and in a flash the world has lost one
of its shining lights. It makes no sense to me. I hope her journey across the river is easy, and am lighting candles for her
and sending love to her family and friends. Nefairia, I wish we’d been able to meet in this life. Perhaps in the next.

We also lost Leonora Carrington – (6 April 1917 – 25 May 2011) last week.
Oh death! I wrote a piece about her life and work for Coilhouse.

LEONORA CARRINGTON by Pamela Robertson-Pearce from Neil Astley on Vimeo.

This video is an excerpt from the film GIFTED BEAUTY – directed by Anne Kjersti Bjørn,
with music by Maia Urstad and animations by Gustav Kvall. (Ragg Film, 2000)

New York Is Killing Me (Chris Cunningham Remix)
Damn, and Gil Scott-Heron too? The afterlife is being populated with poet angels
wearing tarnished silver halos. The beating of their flaming wings is deafening.

✸ Really enjoying Martine Johanna lately. Beautiful work.

✸ Lori Field’s Forest Stories
I also really love these encaustic paintings. Wonderful, dreamy colors.
“Lori Field’s paintings depict a world where animals and humans live together in enchanted forests
filled with two headed skeleton kittens, Tiger goose head cows, and baby ram angels.”

“Virvon, varvon/tuoreeks, terveeks, tulevaks vuodeks/sulle vitsa/ mulle palkka”
✸ I LOVE this holiday: Virvon, varvon…
“I will wish, whisk and whack/ you health and happiness/
for this new season/ for you the branch/ for me the prize.”

✸ The wonderful Slavic folktale styled graphic work of Tin Can Forest is making me very happy.
“The deep, dark forest of our collective unconscious has never seemed more beautiful and mysterious
than in the images of Tin Can Forest. The Toronto-based team of artists Pat Shewchuk and Marek Colek
spin tales where barter-happy demons and animal spirits, drawn from Slavic folklore, walk in step with
witches and villagers. We caught up with Tin Can Forest to ask them about their work and new book
‘Baba Yaga and the Wolf’ from Koyama Press.”

✸ The Vanquishing of the Witch Baba Yaga
“The Vanquishing of the Witch Baba Yaga examines man’s interaction with the mythic woodlands of Eastern Europe,
detailing the bloody history and complex psychologies that transformed the forest from a conceptually sinister space into
a realm of precious security. Mushroom hunting provides a passageway into the history of the region and helps reveal the
roles that woodlands play in the psychology and sociology of fear, imagination, and survival.

Baba Yaga was vanquished by necessity when refugees of war and social unrest fled to her woods for shelter, nourishment, and
sanctuary. Drawing on fairy tales, folklore, and personal recollections, The Vanquishing of the Witch Baba Yaga examines how
the collective, social memory of Eastern Europe both shaped and shapes local relationships with the forest.”
This looks really wonderful. Watch the promo video!

✸ Eastern Europe’s Evil Granny Rules Two New Novels, “Deathless” and “Baba Yaga Laid An Egg”
I’m reading both of these right now. So, so good!

A candid shot from Devaki Knowles of me applying my lip-rouge at the most recent Vintage Vivant.
The next one’s theme is Storyville Bordello! Scandalous! Salacious! Shocking!

Another treasure from Pink Tentacle – Anatomical illustrations from Edo-period Japan
This anatomical illustration is from the book Kanshin Biyō, by Bunken Kagami.

From Joanna Ebenstein’s “Private Cabinets” Photo Series, Volume 1: Barrister’s Gallery, “Morbid Anatomy Cabinet” Exhibition

From the Home Collection of Evan Michelson, Antiques Dealer, New Jersey

My pals Dark Dark Dark were just here in Austin, and made me fall in love with them all over again.
This is one of my favorite songs of theirs. I sing it all day long, and so will you, I hope.

Tell me what you celebrate
It isn’t hard to do…
Do you love me?
Do you love that paint?
Exposing the brick
They’re crumbling a bit
Do you love the bees
Fly over our heads
Race into the woods
Make honey so sweet

And tell me what you celebrate
It isn’t hard to do
Do you love me
A walk on the street
Oh lavender!
The scent fills the air
Oh remember
The hand sewn quilt
We laid on it there
We laid on it there…

✸ As Above So Below
My friend Bruce Webb has an exhibition of some of his impressive
collection of fraternal order paraphernalia up at Domy Books this month.

✸ My darling dearest Dana Sherwood has a new project called All My Dresses
“Archiving twenty years of collecting vintage dresses, some have been destroyed,
some have been “borrowed”, none have been intentionally discarded.”

Thvm ✸ Rag for Arielle de Pinto from mary-catharine anderson on Vimeo.

A beautiful video featuring my friend Miss Arielle de Pinto‘s gorgeous woven chain jewelry.

✸ Look at Me, I’m Crying
A beautiful piece on crying in public in New York City. I can relate, having found myself doing just that, far too often,
on my last excursion up there. Maybe it was the insidious combination of mercury retrograde and vicious sinus infection
that made me more susceptible than usual to uncontrollably weeping on streetcorners, park benches, Duane Reade,
the backs of various taxis. It was kind of ridiculous. I remember being sandwiched on a bench between a henna-haired
bag lady and a lanky teenage boy reading an old science fiction paperback. They just shared the space with me,
and let me cry – oblivious or unbothered, but it was oddly peaceable. The Nigerian cab driver was much more
disturbed, begging me to stop my weeping, and promising to somehow help me figure out how to get from Prospect
Park South to Williamsburg in fifteen minutes. Yeah, that didn’t end up working out, but he was very nice to me.
“If you live in New York, you’re bound to end up crying in public eventually; there just aren’t enough private places.
Just the other day I saw someone doing it on West 12th Street. A tall woman in a beret, with a curtain of reddish hair,
she had tears streaming down her cheeks. She wasn’t on the phone, wasn’t accompanied by a man, or a mom or even
a dog. She wasn’t beautiful, the way a lot of people in New York are, but I couldn’t look away.”

I love this beauty from Jeremy Enecio – thank you, Mlle. Wurzeltod!

✸ Her Voice in My Head I love, love, love
this piece by Emma Forrest about Kate Bush in the Paris Review. Go read it RIGHT NOW!

Caresse P-Orridge & Sickmob – “R. U. Experienced?”

✸ Two new scientific studies reveal hallucinogens are good for your mental health

✸ Ruslana Korshunova – The Lost Girl
Why did a supermodel at the top of her game—hauntingly beautiful and only 20—kill herself in 2008?
A filmmaker describes his three-year quest for clues, and answers.

✸ The Lost Boys
“In December 1970 two teenagers disappeared from the Heights neighborhood, in Houston.
Then another and another and another. As the number of missing kids grew, no one realized
that the most prolific serial killer the country had ever seen—along with his teenage accomplices—
was living comfortably among them. Or that the mystery of what happened to so many of his
victims would haunt the city to this day.”

✸ The exceptional mourning of twins
From Mind Hacks:
“I’ve just found an amazing article that looks at how the death of twins is mourned in cultures around the world.
The journal Twin Research and Human Genetics is usually dedicated to the science of twin studies –
a key method for understanding the role of genetics and the environment on the development of human traits.
In 2002 they had a special issue that took a very different look at the subject – examining grief and mourning related to twins.
One of the articles is a stunning look at the anthropology of twin death, exploring the diverse and intriguing beliefs and practices concerning twin death.”

Articles about three heroes of mine:
✸ The Official Justin Bond

✸ The Invisible Scent – Christopher Brosius

✸ Poly Styrene (3 July 1957 – 25 April 2011) from Coilhouse

✸ the greening life from Moonshine Junkyard
These same thoughts have been buzzing around my brain, but I didn’t have a word to hold them close – until now: viriditas!
“the light green heart of the living fullness of nature.”
Thanks for this, Tam.

Drea + I

1.What is Exquisite Corpse all about?
Exquisite Corpse is a night for modern surrealists and old-school goths to dance, socialize and explore.
We take pleasure in creating an elegant temporary autonomous zone where ideas and flirtations can be exchanged.
The name refers to the Surrealist parlour game, (which we always play at the party) and is meant to evoke the gothic
style of dressing beautifully undead. It’s also a reference to a fascinating book by Mark Nelson and Sarah Hudson Bayliss,
which draws connections between the Surrealists and the famous Black Dahlia Murder. Film noir, ghastly crimes, bizarre art,
and a penchant for the macabre all lend themselves well to the theme.

2. What inspired you to create this event?
When I lived in New Orleans, my friends and I decided to start a monthly Dada Ball called Cabaret Revoltaire.
We saw it as a continuation of the movements begun by our disgruntled European forbears – their movement also
came about as a response to the insanity and futility of war and industrialized culture. In post-9/11 America, we
watched with horror the knee-jerk patriotism that presaged the war in Iraq, and knew we needed an outlet for our
feelings of helplessness and frustration. Cabaret Revoltaire was an experimental surrealist extravaganza, a combination
of art opening and intentionally chaotic salon featuring visual and performance art, experimental music and installation,
pranks, invisible theater, inexplicable fashion, participatory painting, and interactive hijinks of all sorts. Inspired by the Dada,
Surrealist and Situationist movements, our goals were to revive and expand on the good work of the artists and writers that
came before us, to achieve consciousness expansion, to engage collaborative art, interactive (rather than passive) social
experiments, full-contact participation and the abolition of the “audience”.

Dougie

3. What is your interest in surrealism, and what is its connection to this event?
I’ve long held a great respect and fondness for the work of the Surrealists and Symbolists.
These artists were delving deep into the human subconscious, and were determined to unearth
and express our strangest dreams, no matter how dark or nonsensical they might seem. They
understood that the most profound wisdom can come from these hidden places.

Davey + Penny

Teddy Baker & pal

David + Iana

Javi + Chia

4. What sort of experiences is Exquisite Corpse trying to engender?
Mainly, we just want people to come and have a lovely time. This event is sort of a low-key continuation
of those giant Dada parties we did back in NOLA, with a healthy helping of darkness and mystery thrown in.
I want people to feel free to participate, and be involved in creating the atmosphere. The concept is basically this:
imagine if David Lynch had a Goth night in the Black Lodge. Except that it’s at the Swan Dive, which is even more
magical, really. It’s such a special venue, and we’re so excited to be doing Exquisite Corpse there – I can’t really
imagine it working anywhere else. The music, and the whole gothic aspect was really thrown in as a mash-up,
because I’ve been wanting to do both nights for a long time, and it seemed like it might work to just toss them in together.
I’ve felt a real lack of the kind of goth/new-wave night like the kind I used to love going to back in the day. That scene kind
of died or faded away, but I feel like the time is ripe to bring it back, and play the kind of music we never really get to here
in clubs anymore. The focus is really on a specific pantheon and era of bands that created a sound that was dark, mysterious
and magical. It was before industrial music and EBM took over, with a much more aggressive, stompy, masculine vibe.
I do enjoy many aspects of that music, but there are also plenty of great nights where you can hear that stuff.
“Music for Witches” does indicate a more feminine leaning, an appreciation for mysticism, dramatics, and romance.
The music has a different tempo – it’s a slower, heavier beat. It’s sexy without being super aggro. It also creates a space
for new music that works beautifully with our theme, like witch-house and drag. Musicians like Karin Dreijer Andersson of
Fever Ray and The Knife, and the mysterious IAMAMIWHOAMI definitely have a place at Exquisite Corpse – they are
both doing really gorgeous and adventurous work. This isn’t a rigid retro night – it’s about creating a certain ambiance,
which might include a Nina Simone song played right after Einstürzende Neubauten. Our patron saint is Siouxsie Sioux –
(or I suppose she’s our queen, since she’s quite alive) a strong, unapologetic, punk sorceress.

Lau of RECSPEC

As far as performers go, I’m really opening the floor to people who want an environment to express themselves –
especially when what they’ve got to share doesn’t really fit in anywhere else. This could be dance, sound installation,
art, writing, a game – but the key is that it must be interactive. There’s no announcer, no stage, no audience. It’s more
of a happening. I love the idea of a salon (not the getting your hair-did kind!), but as a place to exchange ideas, and
even to workshop your creative process. I love performance art when it just happens unexpectedly. Announcing it tends
to kill it. It’s always better when you just catch it happening out of the corner of your eye and wonder if you might be losing
your mind, or dreaming. This is definitely the kind of space where anything might happen. At the debut, recent Austin transplant
Sassy Delure dazzled us with a dance performance that involved her portraying three very different and very strange characters in quick succession. It was truly amazing. Laurel Barickman of RECSPEC does an incredible projection installation that totally creates the tone of the night, as well as providing some pretty bizarre and exciting eye candy. Images from films like “Night of the Hunter” and Japanese cult favorite “Hausu” seemed to sync up perfectly with the set from DJ Pasht who is a powerful witch and goth club turntable veteran. Devaki Knowles of Funloving Photos sets up her photobooth, so we always end up with lots of beautiful photos of our big-haired, eye-linered guests. People dress up extravagantly for this event, and definitely take a lot of delight in digging out and donning their widow’s weeds and pointy boots. It’s fun, and we aren’t taking ourselves (or anything much) too seriously. This isn’t the kind of party where you’re going to get looked up and down for what you’re wearing, and then nobody talks to each other. Thankfully, we live in Texas – where even the goths and art-snobs are super-friendly (and fairly goofy).

Pandora + I
The best part of the last party? In the middle of the night, my very dearest darling Miss Pea
appeared, having just driven pedal to the metal all the way from New Orleans! So happymaking!

Two of Colin’s oldest and dearest friends also came (in full regalia!), so all in all,
it was a night filled with beautiful reunions of beloved friends. So very wonderful.

Some of the music we like to play, just to give you an idea:
Echo and the Bunnymen
The Glove
Gene Loves Jezebel
Love & Rockets
The Legendary Pink Dots
Bauhaus
The Creatures
Die Form
Nina Hagen
Siouxsie & The Banshees
The Cure
XMAL DEUTSCHLAND
Swans
Beach House
Bat for Lashes
The Birthday Party
Fever Ray
The Knife
Lydia Lunch
Nick Cave
Einsturzende Neubauten
COIL
Zola Jesus
L.A. Vampires
Joy Division
oOoOO
Gary Numan
Depeche Mode
Duran Duran
Tones On Tail
Indian Jewelry
Crones
Clan of Xymox
White Ring
Book of Love
Modern Witch
Strawberry Switchblade
//TENSE//
Matthew Dear
Foetus
New Order
Soft Cell
Salem
The Normal
Tuxedomoon

What? Hilarious. Obviously, the night is full of hinjinks,
and no one takes themselves too seriously. We’re not
worried about cracking our white pancake makeup!