> 164: Rainbows: exposed, when everyone's famous, Patricia Highsmith's diaries
Gueorgui Pinkhassov
How are you doing, are you hanging in there? Yo, same.
Here's some art, ideas, and internet for you:
"Energy is too abundant at ten. The world is too rich to be eaten. One sits in a whirl at one’s desk thinking of drawing, writing, walking in the woods. The overwhelming flood of experience rushing in from all sides." Excerpts from Patricia Highsmith's diaries from her young womanhood (including part of her time at Yaddo where she apparently regularly got drunk with the likes of Flannery O'Connor).
Hannah Arendt and Mary McCarthy struggling with the mortifying ordeal of being known via anchovy paste.
A new point-and-click game inspired by nineties mystery games and a text-to-pixel art generator (examples).
"Everyone is losing their minds online because the combination of mass fame and mass surveillance increasingly channels our most basic impulses—toward loving and being loved, caring for and being cared for, getting the people we know to laugh at our jokes—into the project of impressing strangers, a project that cannot, by definition, sate our desires but feels close enough to real human connection that we cannot but pursue it in ever more compulsive ways."
A profile of Ghost Honey, the gentlest, weirdest, most genius TikTok creator.
Looking forward to: K.Stew's Diana, Cowboy "John Cho!!!" Bebop, Paul Thomas Anderson's new one, and Jo Firestone's new comedy documentary about teaching standup to seniors mostly during the pandemic.
A suggestion for eggplant szn: Pasta alla Norma, which can easily be made vegan.
Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn,
and moreover my mother told me as a boy
(repeatingly) ‘Ever to confess you’re bored
means you have no
Inner Resources.’ I conclude now I have no
inner resources, because I am heavy bored.
Peoples bore me,
literature bores me, especially great literature,
Henry bores me, with his plights & gripes
as bad as achilles,
who loves people and valiant art, which bores me.
And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag
and somehow a dog
has taken itself & its tail considerably away
into mountains or sea or sky, leaving
behind: me, wag.—John Berryman, "Dream Songs 14"
Bye,
Laura