Caution: Do Not Use If You Do Not Have Wonderful Speakers

Charles Hamilton's "Brooklyn Girls."
Just find a vessel with great bass; reminiscent in its forthright lyrics and uncomplicated production of Brooklyn rap in '93/'94... appropriately, enough.
Lovely.

Serving Gladly... the Earthly King of Hyperbole

The reviewer of Nigo and Pharrell's NYC flagship for Billionaire Boys Club/Ice Cream explains less than thoroughly the wonderments inside of the two story fantasy world.  However, photos of the interior are difficult to come by, as was learned this weekend, and his is charming.  (Click the title to be transported.)

Starkly white, the Ice Cream boutique downstairs features a full glass refrigerated counter stuffed with kicks, faux-flavor boxes hovering overhead, and an ice-cream scent installation.

Venture up Darth Vader's private, blacked-out, lacquered staircase... find your way by the blue laser lights gripping the edge of each stair and the constellation-festooned ceiling (technicolor, naturally) and you'll find yourself in the Billionaire Boys Club.

Cartoon starbursts looking like the Boys in question may have snatched them from a 1996 Takashi Murakami painting adorn the walls and shoppers/gawkers/addicts shuffle around on photorealistic moon surfaces while browsing the upstairs boutique.  Obviously playing to the art-connoisseur's hip-hop space casino hopefulness (contact Sir Richard Branson for when this will be possible outside of Soho if you connect with that lesser-catered-to demographic), it's almost difficult to remember to check out the clothes and shoes.  This feels so unnaturally enjoyable.

And where else will one be able to sit on an ice cream sandwich?

Pop in: 456 West Broadway.  NYNY.  X: Houston & Prince.

Waist

Thank you to the newest visitor, who found this blog by Googling "Body parts that begin with w."

You've found me.

A Day in A Life of Pharrell

Chance.

Rose: you're brilliant. always remember that.

me: I'll try.

Sent at 10:37 PM on Tuesday

Rose: there is no try, there is only do.

me: Right, Yoda.

Rose: ahhh the reference you get

me: Too far.

Rose: got it

me: Thanks

Rose: OK I'll go to bed.

me: Don't go on my account.

But if you're tired, by all means sleep,

no comma.

I'm busy texting with Zoe anyway.

Rose: my eyes feel like they're drying up in their sockets

me: That sounds unhealthy.

And it's why I keep eye drops on me forever.

Rose: I'm sure that's more enlightening than I can be

the zoe encounter, that is

me: Well you know... she IS going to London for spring break.

And writing on my Facebook wall 56 times a day.

Fucking grown up.

Rose: for real?

me: Yes.

Rose: sweet. maybe I'll see her there.

me: You going to London, Jetset?

Rose: One never knows . . . .

me: But funny thing: she tells me she had a "crazy" day, so I asked her what she did other than get chosen to go to London, and she said, verbatim: "dance (pointe ballet hip hop). cross country. babysitting. SCHOOL. social life."

She's Mini-Me.

Rose: have you seen her lately? she's gorgeous - yes, your moni me

mini me - sorry.

me: I know she's so beautiful it's incredible.

I tell her that frequently.

As she continues to post photos of her insane social life.

Did I tell you the Christmas Conflict?

Rose: That's important and very considerate and thoughtful - especially for a sophomore, eh?

me: We have a cousin-pot-smoking ritual on the day of the family Christmas party (sorry if I haven't told you about that and it's shocking).

Rose: What is the Christmas conflict?

me: And Dan and Alex want to include Zoe this year.

Rose: Ah

me: Acutally everyone does.

But me.

Because I'm conflicted about being a mentor to her and being a liaison for Betsey, etc. and smoking her up.

I don't know what to do.

Rose: I thought it was a Thanksgiving event, though

Does she get high?

me: And to address your previous message, I know that it's important and she is truly extraordinarily beautiful, for a sophomore. That is usually the height of awkward phase.

I don't know, last time I talked with her about it she didn't smoke.

She had had one drink before and didn't like it.

This is all in total confidence, of course, although I am breaching the intergenerational secrecy gap.

Rose: My brother Dan provided me with my first marijuana opportunity

though I must say, not as healthy a relationship as the one you practice.

Some day I will have to tell you about the weekend that Betsey was left in charge of the homestead.

me: Oh shit.

Rose: Not a wholesome weekend, I must say.

me: I thought that was the Bishop?

That's the story I got from your brothers, anyway.

The truth comes out.

Rose: This was in the late 70s early 80s

Definitely 1981

me: In any case, I was most certainly told that all instances of parental absence were substituted with the Bishop's presence at the estate.

Rose: My battery is about to die and I am too lazy to go downstairs ang get my power cord.

me: Role model extraordinaire.

Only teasing.

Rose: that is untrue

me: Love you very much.

Talk to you soon.

You ARE an extraordinary role model.

I mean, look at me.

Rose: I love you too - I owe you a story. though it may horrify you

me: Well after the story about the night I was conceived, I think I'm safe from being horrified.

Rose: Alright, when I disappear mysteriously (hi Nance) it's because my computer died

me: Well I thought you were leaving anyway?

Rose: The light is flashing - you know, I'll keep typing until I get kicked out.

me: Well I'm thinking about absconding to Kennebunk to roll with Zoe for the day on Sunday.

Does that sound like a good idea?

Rose: That sounds like a great idea.

Sent at 10:55 PM on Tuesday

Rose: OK you logged off at that. I guess I have horrified you.

me: No I didn't log off

You did.

My computer tells me you logged off.

Rose: Oh, it said you were gone

me: Don't impugn my honor.

Rose: Am I still here?

me: Yes, Anne.

Rose: It is shockingly frightening the similarities given that there is no genetic connection

me: I know.

That is so promising for me.

Seriously.

Rose: and who do you wish to emulate? present company excluded?

me: What do you mean?

Anne of course

Nance occasionally

Rose: Oh

me: Pharrell

you

Rose: Nance in your moments of prolonged intoxication

me: Thanks mom

Rose: oops meant to hit back space -wasn't going to send that after reading it

Though she did have some rather extraordinary valium vacations

me: I'm taking one of those in a few years

just once

in the Mediterranean

on my double decker yacht

Rose: remember to wear sunscreen

Sent at 11:01 PM on Tuesday

me: Good advice

Rose: And thank you for the props in the emulation roster

That's what a mother is for.

the sunscreen reminder, that is

me: And emulation

Rose: Me and my computer are fading.

I did not fnish the reading for the class and have no time before Thursday at 4

me: SLEEEEEEP WELL

Rose: maybe I can intuit operant behavior

and response classifications

me: uh oh didn't do your reading?

tisk tisk

chatting with teacher via gmail?

Rose: nope.

me: Who has prolonged periods of intoxication, again?

Rose: I have been trying to catch up on the reading because I added a week late

I must admit it is interesting and is giving me significant insight to my significant other

me: How Sex & the City of you to say

Rose: At least I know which experiments he's performing on me at any given time

me: Dr. Creepy returns

Rose: that isn't as seemly as it sounds

me: I think I want to make a zombie movie called that

Rose: It's just who he is

me: He seems seemly?

Rose: He does applied behavior analysis without meaning to - or he says he doesn't

Rachel calls him Darth Vader

me: I'm Darth Vader

but he can be The Emperor

so much creepier

Rose: Well you're going to have to get out your light sabre and take him on for the title

She thinks I'm Yoda

Of course, she's princess Leia

me: Pansy

Rose: Mark is Luke Skwalker and Mike is - i don't know - one of those sand creatures

?

me: Jabba the Hut

Rose: or Bobofet

me: Or R2D2

Rose: Who is the least imaginitive in Star Wars?

Yes.

me: He can only beep

but he IS hiding the plans to the Death Star

Rose: He speaks and no one can understand him - he's definitely programmed

very astute of you, Ms. whitmore

Sent at 11:14 PM on Tuesday

Rose: OK, I said I was going to sleep 45 minutes ago - why won't my computer die?!

multiple punctuation annoys me.

me: I don't know because it is striving to maintain our connection

and waiting for you to tell me about Betsey's weekend.

Rose: I did tell you - it was the bed check. Of course it involved cocaine, pot, booze, late nights and unexpected company

but I would recommend not being the one to introduce Zoe to the holilday smoke fest

me: You didn't tell me about the night.

That's my inclination.

Rose: if necessary you must recuse yourself and talk her out of it

me: But I always strive not to be the most moral one in a bunch

looks like it's my turn

Rose: except when you're setting an example / being a role model

me: Right.

I have to remember it within that framework.

But I am always the fucking lame cousin.






Saraband.

http://www.deyrolle.com/magazine/






Dear Futurism,
Please arrive with Red Velvet Cupcakes, Sofia Minis, Madeline, Babar books, a Magic Eight Ball, and a charming young man who is pretty and articulate and rolls his own cigarettes.

Collage of Gmail/Facebook/AIM chats for 15 Sept 2008

12:09 AM
worbinuaa: i ditched you yesterday. apologies

11:07 PM
Allison: "my invitation to the blog has expired"
8 minutes

11:15 PM
Allison: can you send me another
10 minutes

11:26 PM
Allison: respondddd

pleassseeee

1:38 PM
joelveto: persist and sweat

some fantastic things take persistence and sweat

a blowjob in a bathroom, or the best_sex_ever?

ety, addressing the responsibility of said violence, and such.

12:53am
Adam
dont get me wrong. im charmed by his eastern european cartel lord speaking style.
he is a madman of theory.
i am more scared by his Lacanisms.
have you seen his modish DVD
12:55am
Paul
not yet. he speaks of it in his book. luckily i am not reading it for a class, so i can take it at my own pace. soon enough.
12:56am
Adam
i love a boy who reads for fun.
i wanted to wander more in theory in a phase of my life
but it got so heady
and the hidden classicist in me revolted
12:56am
Paul
its painful sometimes.
but through destruction, creation, non?
12:57am
Adam
and sometimes philo-lite because where is the rigor for the risk
through them what?
a binary couple?
12:58am
Paul
speaking of heady.
1:00am
Paul
haha. destruction of one's presuppositions about one's own rebellion against the ability to get painfully heady. the revolt of the academic for the sake of one's own need to adhere to the tangibly applicable. the destruction of those emotions, the creation of a deeper understaning.
understanding*
that is assuming that the theoretic understanding is in fact any sort of understanding at all.
1:02am
Paul
see? you've got me rambling.
no bueno, sir.
1:03am
Adam
I love rambling.
You can't out ramble a rambler.
The problem is
yes it's good to be liberated
from anything, regardless
1:04am
Paul
"liberated"
1:04am
Adam
yes it's good to burn down the library
and let memory wander like a drunk goose loose
but how about trading in one's bone marrow
how about auctioning off one's immune system
what about attacking the dilatory urinary processing of the kidneys
theory prefers then to pause
1:04am
Paul
like AIDS. giving it to the gods.
the homosexual anti-moral gods.
1:05am
Adam
ha. explain that one padre pio.
or did you watch Angels in America recently?
1:05am
Paul
stigmata.
haha.
not recently enough.

me: i didnt install a code yet

i will tonight or tomorrow
8:26 PM
everything looks great

talk to you soon!!

thanks again for everything john

this is going to be so much fun and its only the beginning

the forum could turn into such an amazing place to share, post, find out info, etc.

r1: ok well talk soon. yep i am sure. its very fun to have someone who is so open minded like you :)
8:27 PM
me: thats very sweet of you to say

r1: its true

we will do great
8:28 PM
ttyl bye

me: xoxo

bye

9:05 PM
wpac15: dude i got chills when the chairman of our firm addressed us today. he gave the opening remarks to our first year class on the morning of what he called one of the three worst days in the history of the u.s. financial markets.

all the partners that talked to us were huffing and puffing when they ran in and gave a speech to us here or there. you could tell they were doin real deal shit and we were an afterthought.
9:06 PM
but it was still like the coolest thing. looking around wall st everyone looked like they just watched a puppy get hit by a car or something man. it was so weird.

Sarah: Who is Henri Cole?

I got that email.

me: google him

one of the very best living younger (50yrsold) poets

he's very gay

very aesthete

very indulgent and yet emotionally Mandarin, like a Japanese geisha
7:48 PM
Sarah: Wow.

I could fall in love with him.

me: Harold Bloom approved to boot.

Sarah: Wow.

me: not to come to the festival, but I mean of HC

Sarah: That's all so wonderful!

Oh gotcha

me: Hb said no
7:49 PM
Sarah: Bummer.

Why?

me: nothing except

"I very much regret I will be unable to attend. Harold Bloom."
7:50 PM
Sarah: Bizarre

Okay I am in a meeting and should participate now.

Talk with you later this evening?
7:51 PM
me: Sounds good

I hope yer well

Sarah: I will chat with you later on, though. Meeting over in 2 hrs. or so.

Love,

S.

me: Beautiful. I come to Boston Thursday. xoxo

8:44 PM
ofardorandarbors: how do i put a youtube link on bodyparts?

me: on the youtube page
8:45 PM
click on embed link

copy

and paste that into HTML box

ofardorandarbors: ahh! thank you
8:46 PM
so simple. i'm not technologically advanced

or even good

me: isnt it see


Scott Cairns
September 15 at 8:29pm
Reply
Hey, zap me a note if you think you might want to be part of Summer Seminars in Greece, 2009 edition. We're in the midst of negotiating accommodations, and having a sense of how many folks will be involved will help us in our planning.

Be sure to alert your graduate students and selected (i.e., most accomplished) undergraduate students to our program.

Also, if not 2009, keep an eye on May, 2010 for Thessaloniki/Thassos and/or June, 2010 for Athens/Serifos!

Paul
that woman actress. her name is slipping me, however, she is the one who did bug porn.
1:18am
Adam
isabella
bug porn, really, tell me
isabella rosselini
1:18am
Paul
watch it. its porn, but she and actors dressed up as bugs, mating.
1:19am
Adam
get out
why watch women enacting bug porn
when i can just watch porn
1:20am
Paul
porn is found art.
1:21am
Paul
bug porn is art.
porn is found art.
1:21am
Adam
if those definitions are true
i think that puts me in the found art camp
3,405 videos to 0
1:22am
Paul
you watch porn alone, or with a friend.
1:22am
Adam
ive never watched porn with a friend
1:22am
Paul
bug porn is for small movie theatres with old men.
haha.
you never know.
1:22am
Adam
do others enjoy porn together
in the straight world of machismo combinations?
1:23am
Paul
or the lack of libido?

Three Ruffled Sleeves

I wake at seven am on a Sunday, with little internet, but a dream lodged in my brain – a network of dreams, the purposive structures of the mind’s vague brilliance, its idiom of radiance, lost interminably in dialogues of self-analysis. The vacant door, the tower shadow, etc.

In the first dream, a movie star hearthrob clutches his arms around me in the doorway of my building, and then strips his shirt to show his alabaster abdomen and pecs. But the dream’s whammy pedal has been hit, and his body and face suddenly distort, instantly, without lying. He’s no longer an icon. He’s no longer beautiful. He’s suddenly heavy, and his face has aging scars, his waist stretch marks. (As he flexes nude, I can see his right arm is totally distorted: the muscles are red-raw and throbbing; there’s something infected and deteriorating about his whole arm. The chicken bones of his muscles stick out; the red endless rings of tissue are hot auburn and orange and sickly.) What’s worse is his personality: oblique but blunt, forceful and toxically attached. He forces his way into my bed and holds me down and just apelike holds me. Then an avenger comes in and locks him out. And he’s scrambling outside the door, and the dream changes.

In the second panel of images, I’m coasting and scattered with the breeze enjoyably over the groins of a hillside. The trees have Indians, and little delicate warriors in the bushes. All benign. A friend is there coasting like a plane, and is to be avoided. A series of people I know circulate around a bike path, coupled on a red path, like famous entertainers gearing up to enter Noah’s Ark. Then I disappear, and I’m in the bowels of a large white polyester-walled department store. (One from my childhood, I remember, in North Brunswick that used to be called Caldor, declaring bankruptcy in 1995 and closing all stores in 1999.) Lounging in the isles of this newly-furnished store, I enjoy the lazy idle wandering of browsing but not shopping, of looking but seeing nothing, of not absorbing the white but being absorbed by it. Idioretnal lamps, bleak ceilings, ashtray registers. Then a woman at the Help Desk eyes me up and I nervously ask for some books I know she couldn’t own, or couldn’t find, or couldn’t whatever. “Elizabeth Bishop,” I say. And she grins and plunks on her keyboard virtuoso-like and is calm and jittery in departmental rag clothes. “Yes, yes, now wait a minute, wait a minute.” And from her pockets she pulls out two rare vintage volumes of Bishop that resemble the little series of anthologies of English literature that Auden did for Viking or some other publisher many many years ago. Both books are identical copies of each other. “Which copy would you like?” she drawls with a souvenir smile. Both are Bishop’s translations of Helena Morley, the young Brazilian diarist who died young but left a supposed classic of Portugese letters.

In the final inner triptych, I’m in an apartment building that is also a school gynasium that is also a large chamber pot of corridors and park benches. I’m moving from tight space to tight space (pleasurably) (also frustratedly), and finally have set up in a small container booth a projection screen and feeder to display various lewd pornographic images (for my own private viewing pleasure). But the circus of people in the gym outside the hatch door causes me to scramble and find another stowaway spot (this all feels like being onboard a large seaworthy maiden vessel). Knock knock. The heavy circular door shuts without a chink. Setting up the projector isn’t going well; the settings are backwards; the streaming blue light of dust doesn’t cohere into the cut-out circus shapes I so desire. Knock knock. Different teachers from my recent life are on the other side of the door. The Russian. The Englishman. Even Frances. A whole assembly hall that announces my name. I sputter out on my heels and keep slipping sideways to the ground and quickly slip (in reverse re-wind effect) back up to my feet. Once again they mention my name. A large piece of ribboned paper with various inscrutable figures and designs is straightaway presented. I walk around the gym and the crowds are emphatic. I am swollen with pride and deference. I move to the appropriate seat for exit. The next name is called. “Sarah Whitmore.” And then I shout, “All hail Sarah Whitmore!” Strange, eh? I don’t think it was a Nazi rally, but who knows while inside the flushing sleeping colors of a dream. “All Hail!” “All Hail, etc.!” The shouts and chants and bursts of thunderous applause are unstoppable. Everyone repeats the new mantra. Sarah pops up in her smart Prince Harry outfit and moves gladfully to the isle to pick up her locust-winged diploma. Later, in the disconnected aftermath of the gym awards show (which has the post-hush of a ended coronal), she takes me aside and says “Did you hear the one person who was saying instead ‘All hail the tan of Sarah of Whitmore?” I look at her. She might look tanned. She is tanned. Or maybe not. “It was me, Sarah," I confess. She pauses. Looks back with suppressed grin. “No it wasn’t. It was me.”

And then I wake.

A Response to "Poet's Press Conference" of 12:28 a.m.

The Panda's Reintegration into the Random Forest

NOW THAT I AM IN MADRID AND CAN THINK

I think of you
and the continents brilliant and arid
and the slender heart you are sharing my share of with the American air
as the lungs I have felt sonorously subside slowly greet each morning
and your brown lashes flutter revealing two perfect dawns colored by New York

see a vast bridge stretching to the humbled outskirts with only you
standing on the edge of the purple like an only tree

and in Toledo the olive groves' soft blue look at the hills with silver
like glasses like an old lady's hair
it's well known that God and I don't get along together
it's just a view of the brass works to me, I don't care about the Moors
seen through you the great works of death, you are greater

you are smiling, you are emptying the world so we can be alone