Luna Job

•May 3, 2011 • Leave a Comment

Grieving with Grieg

•January 10, 2011 • Leave a Comment

Is there anything  more depressing than the passage of time that allows this

to go from this

to this


La Belle Morrissey

•October 4, 2010 • Leave a Comment

Morrissey’s always talking about how he can’t go back home. He’s very vague about why. All we know is that it’s not his home, it’s their home, and he’s welcome no more.

Images Across Time #3- Babe Edition

•September 26, 2010 • Leave a Comment

Promotion Shot for Prince Ananias (1894)

George Platt Lynes

Facets of Butchness

•June 29, 2010 • Leave a Comment

Rockwell’s Rosie

Michelangelo’s Isaiah

More Talk of Tits

•June 11, 2010 • Leave a Comment


which have come to obsess the nation. And as I am part of the nation I find I’m not immune to it. It’s not that I’m concerned about the direction in which her career is going, because she seems to have an abnormally strong business head for a celebrity that has mananged to remain top-tier celebrity without ‘selling out’ as yet*. What bothers me are her tits. It’s not their shape or their aesthetic, or the transitions they go through from video to live appearance to video. It’s their referentiality that concerns me. She is bent on doing interesting things with every other part of her body except her tits, which she, in clothing, appears to render up each time in slavish imitation of all female pop stars—-controversial or not—-that came before her. This cannot, nor will not come to good. Will she long be able to distinguish herself from the crowd, or will her tits be the thing to drag her down into the mire?

*For confusion about the term ‘selling out’, see Madonna’s entire career,¬† or Beyonce’s Nokia campaign.

Two Americans

•June 10, 2010 • Leave a Comment

“Like so many men, he had found that he had only one or two ideas.”

Better than Fitzgerald is Miller, with his lack of christian intolerance, and the complete absence in his writing of any emotion that is not disgust, exstacy or amused appreciation. Better than Miller is Fitzgerald, with his old-world loyalties and ashamed romanticism, his finger on the trigger of what we would come to refer to as the death drive.