“Whatever you now find weird, ugly, uncomfortable and nasty about a new medium will surely become its signature. CD distortion, the jitteriness of digital video, the crap sound of 8-bit - all of these will be cherished and emulated as soon as they can be avoided. It’s the sound of failure: so much modern art is the sound of things going out of control, of a medium pushing to its limits and breaking apart. The distorted guitar sound is the sound of something too loud for the medium supposed to carry it. The blues singer with the cracked voice is the sound of an emotional cry too powerful for the throat that releases it. The excitement of grainy film, of bleached-out black and white, is the excitement of witnessing events too momentous for the medium assigned to record them.”—Brian Eno, A Year With Swollen Appendices, 1996. I saw part of this quotation and thought “that’s fantastic”; some judicious googling turned up both the source (hat tip to here) and more of the original thought. (via imathers)
“212. It always saddens me to leave the field. Even fielding the final out of the World Series, deep in the truest part of me, felt like death.”—Aparicio Rodriguez, The Art of Fielding (via mightyflynn)
Yesterday The Daily Forlorn passed a huge milestone in number of followers, and while I don’t want to go into really specific numbers, I do want to extend a thank you to the tens of thousands of new people following this site.
To give back a bit, I wrote a post about what I use to make my work, in the hopes that this is useful to people. I posted it on my blog, but I wanted to post it here too. So… here’s that:
Bundling is something that bookfolk have been talking about for years (literally — Jenn was on a panel about this back in 2009). So far, no one has really figured out how to make the distribution work for books, in part because there’s not as much packaging security as there is with vinyl. Several have experimented with it, and we’re big believers in the possibilities; hoping someone sorts it out soon!
This (free mp3 code w/ vinyl purchase) is one of my fave things of digital age and this post is a reminder that I need to update this info on the new website 2.0 pages, but…
“We have probably passed the point where there can be any credible objections to the existence and use of electronic readers. (I like the feel and smell of books as much as anybody, but come now: you can keep all of Montaigne and Tolstoy on a phone in your pocket. That’s amazing.) And booksellers have wholeheartedly embraced the online selling that keeps them in business. Yet bookstores provide something irreplaceable that we shouldn’t easily relinquish. Their knowing charms and surprises (even, admittedly, their parochialism and occasional cluelessness) spring from the people who run them and who decide what they will carry. Bookstores are, in essence, personal libraries. In this way, they are macrocosms of the books they contain—there is life inside them.”—
“One of Truman Capote’s eccentricities was to walk into a liquor store and ask for a bottle of “Justerini and Brooks” scotch, which is more familiarly known as J&B, which is one of the most famous brand names in the liquor business. Even if a merchant told him the store did not carry the brand (as most people didn’t know what the initials stood for), even when it was likely it did carry the brand, Capote would not call it “J&B”, even if it meant that he went without it.”—
Hobart, that rad rad print journal, has tossed more zoom into their online doings. About a month ago, they switched to daily content, some of that same old goodness like fiction and interviews, with new woot-worthy stuff like poetry, food and drink reviews, and movie reviews. A month into this thing, I’m really stoked about how it has expanded, where it is heading. Maybe you will be too?!
The important thing is that Pete, the kid who gave me the game, pronounced robots like the name “Robitz” might be pronounced, if it were a name, and I just hated him for it, and we weren’t friends after that as far as I know.
I only think to ask you about dying because I saw the reflected light as something else. I can tell you would say to carve this new strange light into trains crossing slow and close enough to shake the dead dusty moths on the ledge of my window.
A massive plaster moon rotates above the rooftop bar, casting a milky glow over my fellow patrons. One by one their orders are placed. A vanilla bean porter with toasted nut highlights. A zwickel-style lager. A Cascade dry-hopped American pale ale. A cleanly malted and sharply hopped Czech-inspired pilsner. A cloudy hefeweizen with a hint of coriander and a tangerine wedge. When it’s my turn, however, I settle into my stool, look the bartender dead in the eyes, and ask for a good ol’ cool-my-throat, warm-my-insides, and thicken-my-wallet Pabst Blue Ribbon. Soon it flows smooth as a gentle breeze over my tongue, and, in this most idyllic of moments, I realize that after much deliberation and fifteen years of field testing, I am ready to officially and heartily recommend Pabst Blue Ribbon as perfectly fit for human consumption.