A brief summary of The Great Gatsby film.
An incredible new version of “This is Water” with the original audio by David Foster Wallace.
You use it all, for you are a writer. You put on your god-damned head gear and smile gawkily through your imaginary writer’s braces. And you write. You fucking write.
This is lovely. An animated David Foster Wallace discusses perfection, tennis, and grammatical tyranny.
Frank O´Hara reads “Having a coke with you”
The beauty of literature—also its limit—is that it is inescapably personal, even if you’re writing science fiction. Even if your story takes place on a different planet, it comes out of your personality, your personal experience, your sensibilities, your interests, your passions, the whole of you. Even if you tried to extinguish your personality, what is left in the story will reflect it, perhaps by its negation. Our lives provide the bricks from which we build these cathedrals.
17 minutes, 22 years, one moment
The story is this. Marina Abramović and Ulay, her former lover and artistic partner, deployed a number of performance artworks in the 70s including my personal favorite, Breathing In/Breathing Out
…they connected their mouths and took in each other’s exhaled breaths until they had used up all of the available oxygen. Seventeen minutes after the beginning of the performance they both fell to the floor unconscious, their lungs having filled with carbon dioxide. This personal piece explored the idea of an individual’s ability to absorb the life of another person, exchanging and destroying it. wikipedia
When their relationship reached its end, they decided to calcify the demise with/as/by a piece of performance art. The pair walked the Great Wall of China from opposite ends, met in the middle, and said goodbye. The moment they reunited, 22 years later, is one of the most important things I’ve ever seen. Ulay attended Abramović’s exhibit at MoMA, “The Artist is Present,” and the two seem to talk for hours, with their eyes, in fast forward. This meeting begs you to feel. And yet, coded into the experience is the certainty that you can only understand a fragment of the meeting of other people’s eyes. You enter the experience knowing you’ll only be able understand a small part. And the remaining distance, out of reach, is heartbreaking and beautiful.
It begins to make sense to commit to no particular identity in advance and live from within a sort of beta-testing self to see what sort of self the network tells you that you should embrace.