It looks like a beard trimmer that plays Phil Collins songs.
"Get a Load of This Sorry Piece of Crap", Albert Burneko for Defector
While this sentence is perfect as a sick burn on the Tesla Cybertruck, it is a little harsh on Phil Collins.
No, no, no, hobbits do NOT wear hats with red pompoms on them!
a margin note from J.R.R. Tolkien in the manuscript of Joanna Russ' play adaptation of The Hobbit, as quoted in Ansible
A submission from Graham, following last week's Tolkien sentence.
His camera can never drink in enough unsightly chaff, never slake a thirst for debris and rubble.
"Ghastly News from Epic Landscapes", Max Kozloff for American Art
I didn't fully agree with this essay which I read for a class—while I too am wary of ruin porn and aestheticizing environmental damage, an implicit critique in this particular text seemed to be "why isn't this image of bad things not out organizing people?" Which is a lot to ask of any image but certainly a lot to ask of images that were probably made in part with the goal of facilitating money laundering via the gallery system. (Whether you like that system or not, why pretend it's not part of the creative process?)
But there were some good turns of phrase in this. I am a real sucker for the verb "slake", sounding so exactly like what it describes.
We tried to sport hats as jauntily as he did, but our heads seemed to miss the point.
White Girls, Hilton Als
Still reading it since last week. Still a banger.
The interstate highway system was designed as a frozen shape—a dumb network with dumb switches.
Organization Space: Landscapes, Highways, and Houses in America, Keller Easterling
We are talking less about a body of theory, then, than about an attitude, or perhaps one might even say a faith: the rejection of certain types of social relations, the confidence that certain others would be much better ones on which to build a livable society, the belief that such a society could actually exist.
Fragments of an Anarchist Anthropology, David Graeber
The most annoying part of writing a master's thesis for me has been incorporating and explicating theory—partly it just feels like a farce (the 3 people who are going to read this know all the citations!!) but also it feels so self-serious and stuffy. (I blogged about my theory influences a little to vent.)
I always come back to Graeber, in part, because he never feels stuffy. His sentences are always full of life, always clear and straightforward, always invitations rather than intellectual obstacle courses.