Spot the difference

We had this interview on The Way She Writes about "linguistically challenged" writers like us, where we were saying typical &t-things like...

I am (and have always been) fairly absent-minded. Absentmindedness is a strength, I think, not a weakness, in general it’s a good thing to be somewhere else with your mind.

...and there was this author picture...

...and people responded with nervous emails along the lines of...what's your secret, what's your secret...?

Here it is (the secret):

Spot the difference.

PS: Cathy Ulrich from Hollywood Hates Me writes: "What difference? I can see no difference."

Wednesday matinée

The view from Chang's room this morning

Libra (Jezza Smilez)

(Click here for Jezza's website)

Monday matinée

("I had been thinking about recontextualizing news as art for some time...":) 

Circle of Abstract Ritual from Jeff Frost on Vimeo.

Back home

Last day in Switzerland

First day in France (the Estérel, us, seen from Cannes)

Gallery (12) (Naomichi Okutsu)

"Lotus," Naomichi Okutsu

(More artwork in our gallery) 

"After Auschwitz---no more poetry!"

"Alles hängt mit allem zusammen," (everything is connected with everything) would Norbert Elias say, the German sociologist and first recipent of the Theodor W. Adorno Price. It wouldn't be an Adorno saying however, because the man himself, the heavy thinker of "Critical Theory" and its Frankfurter Schule, would never say (or think) things as simple as this.

Theodor W. Adorno

But there you have it. We wake up, tumble upon a link to The New Yorker and read an article on Theodor W. Adorno and his Frankfurter Schule and learn that "he died of a heart attack in the shadow of the Matterhorn."

The Matterhorn

That's us here in Switzerland, folks, the Matterhorn is right around the corner. And yes, alles hängt mit allem zusammen, Adorno suffered his attack, was brought to the nearest hospital and died there, an unassuming Spital located in Visp, Valais, Switzerland, unassuming except that yours truly spent a whole week in the same hospital, his first time ever as a hospital patient, waiting for his foot to unswell so that Dr. Ursprung could repair his broken fibula.

"F***" (English for beginners)

Spot the difference

(This is somehow related to our Fountain of Geneva story:)

Gallery (11) (Michel Plaisir)

"Le coeur tout zébré d'amour" Michel Plaisir (oil on canvas)

(All rights reserved; reproduction in whichever form only with the permission of the artist)

(More artwork in our gallery) 

Virgo (Jezza Smilez)

(Click here for Jezza's website)

Friday matinée (Glenn)

(Click here for a bit kulturkritische assistance)

Gallery (10) (Rory Midhani)

"Boys Ahoy," Rory Midhani

(More art on our gallery page)

Today

The view around 17:00 --- the view is downhill, and the weather is also downhill, since four weeks

Gallery (9) (Steve Walker)

"At five in the morning," Steve Walker (1961-2012)

(There's more art on our gallery page)

Gallery (8) (Vilela Valentin)

"Your sweet ...," Vilela Valentin

(find more art here)

Coming out and of age in China (1) (reblogged)

Cool, folks, cool, the first part of a wonderful story by Massoud Hayoun, an Arab-American who went to China at the age of 19 to learn Mandarin. The piece---originally published by Gawker---is here reblogged with the permission of the author. It will easily count as one of the best examples of gay writing this year...


He would have been my first, I suppose---a Korean student at some other school in Beijing's Wudaokou university district.

I'd met him on a website. You're the first and only person I've ever admitted that to, handsome reader. I suppose I want to feel closer to you.

I was 19, Arab-American, studying Mandarin and poli sci at a Chinese university. I was exceptionally awkward, and still under the impression that no one knew I was gay. They all knew and indulged me my illusions of illusiveness.

(Just an illustration)

He was in his mid-20s. School was hard for him, he said, in our brief chat on a website for gay men in Asia.

I'd heard of a class of Korean students like him---unsuccessful and blowing their family's money away learning Mandarin, while China busily worked itself into the world's second-largest economy. Their parents wouldn't let them come home until they obtained a certificate of completion, and the Chinese universities appeared keen to keep accepting international student tuition fees, even if they were from the same students, year-in, year-out.

He was foreign---not just in the sense that we were of two different nationalities, living in China. He was a bad student, a rich kid, a magnificently athletic loser with a Rocky-like neanderthal chin and tall nose, the kind of man who is called, in Chinese, a baijiazi, a son who spoils his family's wealth. Fresh, preppy. He wore clothes my Chinese friends paid twice as much for at the bazaars: Korean fashion. His man-bag was made of real leather. He was a petit bourgeois; every lock of hair had been calculated and every pore tightened, perhaps surgically, because he had the time, money and inclination. He turned me on.

The view this morning

The Signalhorn seen from our chalet 

(How to explain this? You've heard of Trotzki vs. Stalin? Along those lines. The snowflakes are fake, but the rest is not. This morning, around 7 AM)

Gallery (7) (Hideki Koh)

"Les amores Kabuki" Hideki Koh

Gallery (5) --reposted

(Pedro Palanca died yesterday from HIV-related liver complications --- we posted this only 10 days ago:)

"Drinking men," Pedro Palanca

(We asked Pedro about the year of the painting, and the title, and he wrote back: "Oh this one has many titles... but in fact it's about grape distilling (an old fashioned way) to make wine or pisco and it is still practiced (but not so promoted). The piece dates from 1996-1997")

(For more art, go here)

"That's not enough!" (French for beginners)

Please read this...it's only one paragraph  from the London Review of Books connecting our recent Foucault post (by Mr. E.) with our own faux-French background with our quest for happy endings (just so that you know, Alain Robbe-Grillet was the inventor of the nouveau roman)...please read this:

Alain Robbe-Grillet

"By now, most readers in France had ceased to care [about Robbe-Grillet]; even his intellectual champions lost interest, although  [Roland] Barthes stood by him. ‘Transgression’ had come to mean l’écriture féminine and gay erotica; Robbe-Grillet’s hetero-sadist fixations looked decidedly démodé, quite possibly reactionary. (Fredric Jameson wondered whether his books had become ‘unreadable since feminism’.) At the party for  Barthes’s 1977 inaugural lecture at the Collège de France, Foucault confronted Robbe-Grillet: ‘I have told you this already and I will say it again, Alain: when it comes to sex, you are, and always have been misguided!’ Barthes rose to his defence, reminding Foucault that Robbe-Grillet was, at the very least, a pervert. Foucault replied: ‘Ça ne suffit pas!’"

Leo (Jezza Smilez)

(Click here for Jezza's website)

Gallery (6) (Jack Cowan)

"Speciman A and B," Jack Cowan (1998)

(For more art please click here)

If you were alone on an island (Incidental Comics)

(from Incidental Comics)

Thursday matinée

Gallery (5) (Pedro Palanca)

"Drinking men," Pedro Palanca

(We asked Pedro about the year of the painting, and the title, and he wrote back: "Oh this one has many titles... but in fact it's about grape distilling (an old fashioned way) to make wine or pisco and it is still practiced (but not so promoted). The piece dates from 1996-1997")

(For more art, go here)

Pick me up

The fountain of Geneva (5) --- "Infinite Jest"

John and Alex, our friends from the Green Eyes, are being told the back story of the Fountain of Geneva, the most phallic object on the planet (in a liquid sense). Hadrian, the visiting Roman emperor (117-138 AD), had to help the Swiss locals deal with a ravaging Nordic tribe, the Muttoni. And he did so, apparently. Richard Zugabe, librarian of the city archives of Geneva, explains how (his last sentence was: "Nothing was ever heard of the Muttoni again.")

Part V --- "Infinite Jest"

There is a silence. “Cool,” Alex says. “You are going to elaborate?”
“I will try.”

“They got OD’d on this Megalo-wine,” I say, “they had no tolerance for the stuff.”
“Right, that would be hypothesis number one. It had been my working hypothesis until I discovered yet another document in the archives with an imperial order issued on the fifth of September of the same year, sending a platoon of Army Engineers across the Passo di Monte Moro into the Saas valley.

Saas valley, including Lake Mattmark, seen from the Passo di Monte Moro

“Hadrian had been given a tour of the place, so you can assume that he was shown Lake Mattmark, a pearl of a mountain lake sitting right above the grounds of the Muttoni settlement.”
“Above the grounds? Above?”

___________________

The ice barrier would collapse and the water would gush down the valley and destroy everything in its path. 

___________________

Gallery (4) (Wes Hempel)

"Triumph over empire," Wes Hempel

(For more art, go here)

Erotic writing

The fountain of Geneva (4) --- the Muttoni's last meal

John and Alex, our friends from the Green Eyes, are being told the back story of the Fountain of Geneva, the most phallic object on the planet (in a liquid sense). Hadrian, the visiting Roman emperor (117-138 AD), has to help the Swiss locals deal with a ravaging Nordic tribe, the Muttoni. And he does so in a circuitous way. He starts a school for erotic talent, the School of Antinous, named after his late lover. Richard Zugabe, librarian of the city archives of Geneva, tells the story. 

Part IV --- the Muttoni's last meal

“Yes, right. So, Hadrian would inspect his Antinousians lined up and fitted in Praetorian garb---the spectacular helmet with a feathered, Cherokee-like crescent fitted to the top, the breast-plate of chased bronze molded to the perfect fit of toned pecs and rippled abs, the humble belt with a loop for the scabbard and a notch to rest the shield. With the belt coming off everything else would drop, creating a wealth of quick opportunities behind (or in front of) the bushes.

Hadrian and Antinous, British Museum

“Trained personnel would see to the maintenance of the bespoke outfits. Hadrian, by the way, had by now been in residence for several months. His entourage had grown considerably with the addition of specialists from all walks of court life, spokespeople, equerries, not to mention personalized assistants who would handle Antinousian emails.”

“Huh?”

“Just to see whether you are still with me. So Hadrian would now select one or more of his pupils, meaning they were to join him on a dais fashioned for group activity---tiger skins, couches, cushions, ancillary toys---but the account I’m referring to is about a one-on-one from the early days of the program.

___________________

There he stands, naked, his genitals sparkling in the morning sun

___________________

The elected youth, Anaximandrius, takes Hadrian’s hand---it is his task now to seduce the Emperor---and lead him to the dais. He invites Hadrian to recline on a couch, then unties his sword and hands it to his personal assistant. Next comes off the helmet.

Gallery (3) (Paul Cadmus)

"Finistrère," Paul Cadmus (1952) (Note the baguette)

(For more art, go here)

The fountain of Geneva (3) --- erotic talent

John and Alex, our friends from the Green Eyes, are being told the back story of the Fountain of Geneva, the most phallic object on the planet, in a liquid sense. Hadrian, the visiting Roman emperor (117-138 AD), has to help the Swiss locals deal with a ravaging Nordic tribe, the Muttoni. And he does so in a circuitous way. He starts a school for erotic talent. Richard Zugabe, librarian of the city archives of Geneva, tells the story. Please note the adult content warning.

Part III --- Erotic talent

“When I said that Hadrian kept his plan secret, I meant he kept his intentions secret; the facts were plainly recorded. He put an empire-wide call out for, let me concentrate, let’s get this verbatim, for the primum proelium ego ingenium venereae.”
“Huh?”

Publius Aelius Hadrianus Augustus (Hadrian), Palazzo dei Conservatori, Capitoline Museums.

“I-have-erotic-talent, roughly. You’ll see soon. The call was a big success, the emperor calls upon the youth of the nation, what do you expect, most Roman careers involved the casting couch. So he held his own talent show---even women were admitted in the audience---first to filter for physical features, then to identify sexual prowess, then to select the sensual few. Hadrian had a sensual soul, and he yearned for reciprocity.

___________________

These boys were not for one night, mind you; to complete the program they had to get laid for several months.

___________________

These boys were not for one night, mind you; to complete the program they had to get laid for several months. His final selection comprised exactly fifty specimen of the finest proto-erotici ever gathered in one place.”

“Wow,” I say.

Water pistols are awsome (Chang)

German for beginners (Sacha)

Most readers of this blog, we can safely assume, know this picture:

But how about this one:

(Saying: "The removal of this notice is strictly forbidden---The German Railways") 

I'm gay, I guess

Gallery (2) (Christiane Vleugels)

"Samourai" (detail) Christiane Vleugels

For more stuff, go here

Sirrr --- we told you so (Iraq war)

(Letter to The Economist)

Sirrr:

We sit on the lavatory where we tend to read your "newspaper" ever since you supported George W. Bush's invasion of Iraq, and---we can't trust our eyes, it's not possible, yes, let's have a third look---and you are writing elliptically in your edition of June 14, on page 11 in the European edition:

"No doubt, his [Obama's] predecessor's decision to go to war---which we mistakenly backed at the time---was a disaster."

Right, one would say, wouldn't one.

As far as I recall, you continued to justify your backing of the war for years and years---the last attempt to do so appeared ca. two years ago on your opinion pages---so perhaps you might find the space to elaborate what finally made you change your mind. The Iraq war was destined to be, as for example Barack Obama, or President Jaques Chirac, or many others---including yours truly---did tell you then, in advance, just putting one and one together, the war was destined to be a mayor mistake with foreseeable consequences, destabilization of the Middle East, strengthening of Iran, senseless squandering of taxpayer's money, senseless squandering of human life, we told you, we told you, we told you so.  

You are co-responsible for this...

 

The world soccer (football) cup and us (and our dentist)

Its always thus: while Bernard-Henri Lévy (don't ask, or google "pictures of French Intellectuals"---they are all his), so while Lévy and Dominique Strauss-Kahn (the IMF chief who fell onto his penis over a few sexual minutes in his Hotel Suite) are "good friends" who "know each other well," us---we only know the concierge of Michel Foucault, the other French intellectual, the guy who died an early AIDS-death in 1985. And even that isn't true (we don't know the concierge, that is).


Along those lines. We never met Sepp Blatter, the much-discussed head of the FIFA, the organization that runs the world soccer cup. BUT---we know his brother, almost. Have a look at this picture.

We took the picture this morning on the way to the dentist. It's a car dealership, located at the entrance of Visp, the nearest town from us down in the Valais valley. The home town of the Blatter clan.The Blatter AG, you see it? On the sign, to the left. That Blatter's brother, and we almost know the guy because they also have a car-wash where we have our car cleaned irregularly. Cool, isn't it.

And the dentist. Lives in nearby Naters (picture (this morning)). Don't get jealous. We've added a bit magenta to the picture. The real colors are less picturesque.

«Amis pédophiles, à demain!» (reposted)

Nikolas Sarkozy, former French president, was arrested yesterday for money laundering.

Remember our post of Nov. 23, 2010 about the then-French-president Nikolas Sarkozy and billionairess Liliane Bettencourt? He're the post again:

The French President, Nicolas Sarkozy, to journalists, in response to questions about his role in the Karachi affair (one of countless French scandals involving money being redirected into the coffers of the governing party):

«Et vous, j’ai rien du tout contre vous. Il semblerait que vous soyez pédophile… Qui me l’a dit? J’en ai l’intime conviction (…) Pouvez-vous vous justifier?».

(Translation: And you? I've nothing against you. It looks like you are pedophile. How do I know? I'm thoroughly convinced. Could you please justify yourself.)

Then he waved goodbye to the journalists with the words:"«Amis pédophiles, à demain!»

Celebrity deficiency?

Not famous enough? Go public with your ménage (à trois):

The view this morning

After a rainy night...

...there's a shadow of fresh snow up there.

Connecting...connecting (Glenn)

Fucking Foucault (reblogged)

Here's another beautiful piece from the mysterious Mr. E., the force behind the 50 Shady Gays. Enjoy:

I’m sure that every queer cultural theorist has thought about it at some point haven’t they?

I was first fucked by Michel Foucault during the nineties when I was a raver/rock star and all round fuck up. It wasn’t until I was a mature student, when I was reading articles on discourse and power, that I thought to myself, I actually love this man.

Michel Foucault (1926-1984)

I have never been literally fucked by him of course, but I have in a literary way, which is often much more intimate and powerful – and I suppose in some way it’s all about the power isn’t it?

Anyway, being incredibly vain and sexually unfulfilled as a performer (exclusively top), I naturally thought that in some way my life mirrored his; indeed, as I flounced across stages, and tripped through a myriad of alien, urban sprawls (oh so bohemian and clever); I stupidly imagined myself to be his successor. Yes, I alone would weave the power of his madness into my own duvet of sexual discovery, because I was unique – it was like he was speaking to me, and me alone.