Poem on Andres Serrano's Piss Christ

Piss Christ

If we did not know it was cow’s blood and urine,
if we did not know that Serrano had for weeks
hoarded his urine in a plastic vat,
if we did not know the cross was gimcrack plastic,
we would assume it was too beautiful.
We would assume it was the resurrection,
glory, Christ transformed to light by light
because the blood and urine burn like a halo,
and light, as always, light makes it beautiful.

We are born between the urine and the feces,
Augustine says, and so was Christ, if there was a Christ,
skidding into this world as we do
on a tide of blood and urine. Blood, feces, urine—
what the fallen world is made of, and what we make.
He peed, ejaculated, shat, wept, bled—
bled under Pontius Pilate, and I assume
the mutilated god, the criminal,
humiliated god, voided himself
on the cross and the blood and urine smeared his legs
and he ascended bodily unto heaven,
and on the third day he rose into glory, which
is what we see here, the Piss Christ in glowing blood:
the whole irreducible point of the faith,
God thrown in human waste, submerged and shining.

We have grown used to beauty without horror.

We have grown used to useless beauty.

- Andrew Hudgins

I want to be your business proposal!

Today, I received an email with the above title. Who would have guessed that spam emails could have such poetic titles? Because the line was so perfect, I immediately turned it into the short ditty below.

Spam

I want to be your business proposal:

ask your friends

and family to sign;

tell them we look good,

on paper.

Movie Review

Recently wrote a movie review for the korean film I'm a Cyborg, But that's Ok (Saibogujiman Kwenchana). If you're interested, you can find it here on Wunderkammer, a new online magazine dedicated to "thoughtful examination of culture and society".

Excerpt from Ray Bradbury's No Particular Night or Morning

I read this short story sometime in middle school, a classic found in Bradbury's The Illustrated Man.  If you're looking for excellent science-fiction, look no further.  As I was glancing at pictures today on Facebook,  this dialog came to mind.  I thought I'd share it.  Their words resonate with conversations that occurred during an overly-long Princeton graduation  (the dialog, by the way, takes place on a spaceship).

“I can see it. I have a good memory." 

“It’s not the same, you fool,” said Hitchcock suddenly. There was a touch of  anger in his voice. “I mean see it. I’ve always been that way. When I’m in  Boston, New York is dead. When I’m in New York, Boston is dead. When I don’t see  a man for a day, he’s dead. When he comes walking down the street, my God, it’s a resurrection. I do a dance, almost, I’m so glad to see him. I used to, anyway.  I don’t dance any more. I just look. And when the man walks off, he’s dead  again.” 

Clemens laughed. “It’s simply that your mind works on a primitive level. You  can’t hold to things. You’ve got no imagination, Hitchcock old man. You’ve got  to learn to hold on.” 

“Why should I hold onto things I can’t use?” said Hitchcock, his eyes wide,  still staring into space. “I’m practical. If Earth isn’t here for me to walk on,  you want me to walk on a memory? That hurts. Memories, as my father once said,  are porcupines. To hell with them! Stay away from them. They make you unhappy.  They ruin your work. They make you cry.” 

“I’m walking on Earth right now,” said Clemens, squinting to himself, blowing  smoke. 

“You’re kicking porcupines. Later in the day you won’t be able to eat lunch, and  you’ll wonder why,” said Hitchcock in a dead voice. “And it’ll be because you’ve  got a footful of quills aching in you. To hell with it! If I can’t drink it,  pinch it, punch it, or lie on it, then I say drop it in the sun. I’m dead to  Earth. It’s dead to me. There’s no one in New York weeping for me tonight. Shove  New York. There isn’t any season here; winter and summer are gone. So is spring,  and autumn. It isn’t any particular night or morning; it’s space and space. The  only thing right now is you and me and this rocket ship. And the only thing I’m  positive of is me. That’s all of it.” 

Will Faust save me from grad school?

Hab nun, ach! Philosophie, 

Juristerei und Medizin

Und leider auch Theologie!

Durchaus studiert, mit heißem Bemühn.

Da steh ich nun, ich armer Tor!

Und bin so klug als wie zuvor;

Heiße Magister, heiße Doktor gar,

Und ziehe schon an die Zehen Jahr,

Herauf, herab und quer and krumm,

Meine Schüler and der Nase Herum -

Und sehe, dass wir nichts wissen können!

Great quote, I wonder though...

Ich muss immer darin denken, was Lenin von der apassionata  gesagt hat: "Ich kann sie nicht hören, sonst bringe ich nicht die Revolution zu Ende". Kann jemand, der diese Musik gehört hat -ich meine, wirklich gehört hat - noch ein schlechter Mensch sein.”

A cat is, above all, a furry animal.

"Isn't ping-pong about giving and receiving? I don't think so! Must one always receive after giving? Can't there be a ping-pong where we only give?"

From I'm a Cyborg and that's Ok

Forgot how funny this movie is...worth a look, if you're bored, or it's raining.