The Black Emerald is coming EVER SO SOON! Pick up an early copy at our LAUNCH PARTY ON AUGUST 5TH.
https://www.facebook.com/events/803135356405076/ if you are on Facebook and want to RSVP to this kinda thing! If not, it’s going to be at
Gallery at Le Poisson Rouge
158 Bleecker St
New York NY 10012
I’m gonna be reading with MIRACLE JONES, CLARE LOUISE HARMON, and TODD ANDERSON, with a bunch of rad music and other stuff!
(A. Litsa did this cover also—you oughta hire her to do stuff! http://alitsa.net/)
Your praxis of eating burgers is to take bites around the outer circumference, removing all the places where bread, meat, cheese, and toppings fail to overlap exactly as you spiral toward the center, ensuring without fail that each bite you take is more juicy and flavorful than the last.
I know you’ve felt that way, she says later, when the day’s work has long since collapsed into getting stoned and looking at magazine articles about proposed moon rocket designs. —Haven’t you?
You get up stiffly and go to the piano, where you start to play a moebius shuffle of chords as fast as you can, like you’re stabbing a knife between your spread fingers.
shudderpup tagged me and i don’t normally do this stuff but whateverrr, here are ten or so books that have been important to me. the caveat is that one isn’t supposed to think too hard about this, so this is basically just the embarrassing ones + the ones that I noticed when scanning my shelves real fast and thought “oh yeah that merits inclusion”
so READ ONRead more
Is it possible that this was you, once, that you were here, once, in this car, huddled six feet in the back seat wishing to disappear, focusing on the transit of meat into your throat so you won’t have to feel human? That here you were, every night, ordering off the same menu? That this place exists in the same universe, same city, where batwing girls lurch and vampire musicians in black glasses bend notes into death blues?
INSTAR BOOKS invites YOU and your FELLOW GUESTS OF QUALITY to our OFFICIAL LAUNCH PARTY at LE POISSON ROUGE!
Enjoy the decadent, synaesthetic reading stylings of Todd Anderson, Clare Louise Harmon, Miracle Jones, and Jeanne Thornton and musical guests Mad Meg, Jason Laney, and Kevin Carter!
Learn the secrets of our launch title, The Black Emerald, and witness the prototype Wunderkammer Seed that will transform the world of publishing! Take a complimentary copy of our catalog zine to see what we are planning! And above all, come meet the plucky young publishers of INSTAR BOOKS, a partner of O/R BOOKS! Drink with us, dance with us, have whispered conversations with us in awful neon alcoves, and learn about how we will change ALL THE PUBLISHING ASSUMPTIONS UPON WHICH YOU RELY, SINNER.
Business! Pleasure! Which is this?? How will you know?! Forget “knowing!” Come and join us for an evening of readings, music, and fundraising, out here in the darkness!
hahaha BLAST OFF WITH US y’all
Gosh, he says. Are the doctors sure?
I don’t know, you grouse. I ain’t talked to any. What’s the point of doctors? I mean anyone can study about the body if they really want to. Doctors are just trickin’ us out of possibilities.
I was feeling low-down today so I wrote the first part of an Atlas Shrugged erotica fan-fiction starring Lilian Rearden and Dagny Taggart. I guess I have the rest of the story worked out but this is a really dumb thing to spend time on writing, so I guess you can imagine your own conclusion to this TORRID, RATIONAL SCENE!
SANCTION OF THE VICTIM, PART I
Lilian Rearden smirked as she stalked in circles over the elegant fur rug that disguised the clean lines of her sitting room, the crisp, rational clack of her golden heels dissipating in the vague mush of the fabric hooks. It was a mere one and a half minutes, according to the watch her husband had given her that infuriatingly kept accurate time, no matter the circumstance. She found herself hoping—with a cold, indistinct emotion that she could not explain to herself, but that reminded her of times at restaurants when she had finished chewing the last buttered snail to pieces between her orthodontia-perfected molars, yet she still wanted more—that Dagny Taggart, Vice-President in Charge of Operations at Taggart Transcontinental and her chief rival for her husband’s affections, would be late for their meeting. Dagny would be late, Lilian reminded herself, for perhaps the first time in her existence. The thought of it gave her a shiver of pleasure such as she had last felt when she had been walking through her husband’s steel foundries, found herself forced by crude biology (how she hated it, her body, this undeniable A=A at the core of her despised existence!) to blow her nose, and wiped the soiled lace handkerchief against the exposed metal flank of a smelter: this union of the sacred with the profane. So it was with a terrible feeling of detumescence that the servant showed Dagny into her presence a mere sixty-seven seconds after having checked her watch, allowing the “girl railroad-executive” to maintain her unblemished record.
For the moment, at least, Lilian would have cackled inwardly, had her depraved soul allowed her to consciously translate her inchoate desires into the honest scaffold bindings of rational language.
She wondered, with an audible sniff, what men such as her husband could possibly see in the young girl-executive. The tailored suit and skirt of gun-metal gray, exposing ghastly curves and slim legs that looked as though they might break under the slightest pressure, the rumpled coat into whose pockets the woman’s hands had been rudely, impatiently jammed; the indifferent makeup; the ungainly slouch that merely disguised a deeper elegance of line and form; the insolent smirk implicit in every cast of serene gray eyes over thin red slash of a mouth. And on the thin wrist, the bracelet—the thin bracelet of blue-green metal, the prize her husband had offered first to Lilian, yet that had been cruelly snatched from her by the crude hands of the woman before her. The prize whose value Lilian had never truly calculated, until she had seen it gracing the arm of this other woman before her.
She felt the thought racing through her, like a jolt of fresh oil from the vital Wyatt wells of Colorado, before she allowed herself to know its conscious meaning: What does she look like with only the bracelet on? In a panic of evasion, she knew she must never allow herself fully to understand the meaning of this idea. It was fundamental to her character, Lilian knew, that sex was bestial; much like money or cigarettes, it was a thing for unrefined spirits. Certainly sex with Hank Rearden had never been an object of interest to her; she had silently endured sweaty nights with him in her private bedroom, leaving her book open to its place on the nightstand to be picked up as soon as he was finished and she could be left in peace. The thought of that book was sometimes the only thing that got her through those periods of thrusting, grunting, acrid sweat dropped on the clean sheets: soon, she always thought, he’d be done, he’d leave, she could read again and be alone. Lilian understood what sex was: it was boring. Now, though, looking at Dagny—a large run in her right stocking that she was beginning, appallingly, to scratch at while she smoked with her other hand—Lilian began, with a low, distinctly inelegant rising feeling of terror, to wonder whether she had ever truly understood the idea of sex at all.
She shook her head. The important thing here, she knew, was to stick with the plan.
How are you? she asked. I’m glad you came here to meet with me. The best people, of course, might expect that I should hate you—consider you, what would they say? A bitch of a homewrecker—but I’m sure you and I, as independent spirits, can agree that this isn’t worthy of us. Mercy is the highest virtue, wouldn’t you agree?
Dagny yawned, continuing to worry her stocking. —Get to the point, she said.
Lilian bit her lip as hard as she could, surprised by the fascination the pain of this held for her. The bracing rudeness of the girl-executive never ceased to shock her; it was as if the woman had been raised by beasts, lolling and howling in some primal, stinking woods. She imagined Dagny howling and managed to bite her lip harder.
How direct of you, she said aloud. I’ve always admired this about you, Miss Taggart—your indifference to the little white lies most of us tell ourselves to get through the day. One might think you were trying to be a saint, hovering above us all, that gun-metal skirt of yours wafting in the holy winds! Of course, there are those—experts, all of them—who’d say that a saint doesn’t become a saint until she’s martyred. Have you ever thought, Miss Taggart, about how you might like to be martyred?
Dagny flinched. —Why would you say that? she asked.
Oh, no reason, Lilian quickly replied. It’s just a thing people say.
The girl-executive’s thin, angry mouth drooped; the spark of interest Lilian had seen, for an instant, in her sleepy gray eyes dulled like a collapsing star. —You were almost interesting for a moment, Dagny said. —Since I gather that you don’t have anything real to say to me, I’m going to go back to my office. The looters and moochers are taking over, and I have a railroad to run—unless you can tell me, in the next thirty seconds, why you’ve brought me to your house.
Lilian smiled and tapped an elegant index finger against her soft lips once, twice, thrice. —As you like, she said. —In fact, I can do better than tell you. I can provide you what you and my husband seem to value so well—objective, scientific examples of what I intend.
As the girl-executive’s eyes again grew wide, Lilian touched the secret control she had hidden in her bosom—the control Dr. Floyd Ferris, Top Coordinator of the State Science Institute and one of the most powerful man in the coming People’s Republic of America, had ordered a top committee of industrialists to create specifically for Lilian, calling in all manner of corrupt political pull and favors that were the stock in trade of this their fallen age—which activated the powerful electromagnet hidden in the wall, just behind the Rembrandt painting of a side of beef that Lilian loved so well. Instantly, Dagny shrieked as she was pulled against the wall by the bracelet of Rearden Metal on her wrist. With instinctual rationality and efficiency, the girl-executive attempted to pry the blue-green bracelet loose, but it was no use: the State-sponsored electromagnetic forces possessed a brutal rationality of their own, one that Dagny’s frail muscles were unable to resist.
Lilian stepped forward, laughing gently. Dagny stared at her levelly, cold gray eyes meeting her captor.
Force is the ultimate form of evasion, she said, the cracks in her voice almost completely concealed by her stoical demeanor.
I’m sure that’s so, laughed Lilian, fingering the soiled lapel of the girl-executive’s coat. It smelled; she must have been wearing it for days, riding back and forth across the country on her special little train. —For now, however, Lilian said, jerking one of Dagny’s shoulders roughly free from the coat, —I believe we can begin to talk at last. Perhaps we’ll discuss what A really equals. The answer, Miss Taggart—may surprise you.
Just got the alert from one of my BTMI brothers that KOKUMO is missing. The Chicago based artist was in the Baltimore area and was last seen on Thursday at her hotel.
She was staying at the Motel 6 at 110 W. North Ave. in Baltimore and was reported appearing confused.
Of course the Baltimore area trans community, all who love her and I are obviously quite concerned for our sister’s safety, and the BTMI chapter in the area is helping coordinate the search for her. She is full figured and approximately 5’11-6’ tall.
If you Baltimore are peeps have any information concerning her whereabouts or spot her, please call BTMI at 1-855-.255-8636 ext 51
If I have any further information on this situation I’ll pass it along as quickly as I receive it.
EVERYONE STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING FOR A MINUTE AND SIGNAL BOOST AND REBLOG THIS. ONE OF OUR COMMUNITY LEADERS/FRIEND/COMRADE/SISTER IS MISSING.
WE KNOW THAT THE LIKELIHOOD OF THE MEDIA SIGNAL BOOSTING THIS IS SLIM, SO IT IS UP TO US TO FIND HER.
SO PLEASE PLEASE SIGNAL BOOST THIS AND SPREAD THE WORD.
WE WON’T STOP UNTIL WE KNOW THAT SHE IS SAFE!
KOKUMO WE LOVE YOU AND WE’RE SENDING YOU ALL THE LOVE AND POSITIVE VIBES.
I REALLY HOPE YOU’RE OKAY.
Boost y’all boost!
Please spread the word!!