truth: i emailed childish gambino's press and events contacts this afternoon

from XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX to dweiner@bwr-la.com, MBlake@caa.com, gwalter@3arts.com date Thu, Apr 28, 2011 at 2:38 PM subject This is a Modest Proposal. mailed-by gmail.com

To Whomever It May Concern the Most:

I'm in no position to book Gambino for anything, unless he does charity shows.  This is my tragic situation.  I purchased 2 tickets to the I AM DONALD show in Minneapolis, May 19th for my babysister and I, and have since discovered that I have to work one of my 3 part-time jobs.  I will be downtown Minneapolis seeing to it that The Advocates for Human Rights' Annual Human Rights Awards Dinner runs smoothly.  I will be dragging my feet to the beat of distant, probably imagined, reverberations coming from the Varsity Theater. 

I have a proposal.  I am hoping that Donald might be interested in trading autographs with me, or meeting for a drink and a handshake post-show.  My autograph is not worth much right now, it'd be more of a blind investment or an ironic wall ornament or a funny thing to give to a friend for their birthday as though it were important.  Donald could sign a milk carton or a candy wrapper or a band-aid and I bet I'd think it was really special and I'd put it in a float frame and I'd never let anybody look at it unless they had earned my highest respect.  If this proposal seems like one that you think he would go for, please reply so that I can prepare my autograph.  I'm thinking that the simple strategy would be for him to call "Liddle Slice aka Glittertits" to the stage on May 19th, at which point my babysister will make the transaction in high fashion.

Apologies for an abnormal proposal.  If nothing else, it gave you a BREAK.

So sincerely, XXXXXXXXXXXXX

(sk)etches: 1 is the loneliest #

on italo svevo's zeno's conscience

Zeno's Conscience by Italo Svevo (1861-1928): A satirical critique of Freudian psychoanalysis.  A novel about a man who inherits his father's business and who is a well-intentioned liar and a self-interested hypochondriac, chronically smoking "L.C.s" (last cigarette) and fantasizing about - sometimes chasing after - youthful, "healthy" women who are not his wife.  The novel is written as Zeno's reflection on certain endeavors in his life and as a counter assessment of his psychoanalyst's conclusion that he suffers from an Oedipal Complex.

so good.  the novel moves through a series of foolish acts and hindsight and compromised ideals.  zeno's character writes about his life in his old age and focuses primarily on 2 questions: 1) whether or not he can achieve health, and 2) whether or not he is a good person.  he is plagued by sharp pains that cause him to limp and he collects and abuses prescriptions, diagnosed with a new ailment each month.  he lies to everyone he meets, cheats on his wife, gambles, neglects his children.  blah, blah, whatever.  the great part is that finally zeno concludes that the questions of health and goodness are frivolous and that mankind is the sickest species in that he has become consumed by his preemptive prescriptive antidotes to natural circumstances that ought to be experienced, endured, and overcome.  the implied critique of western medicine (and especially psychoanalysis) is fairly obvious, but the critique of our ethics is more subtle and INTERESTING.  zeno concludes that we are not anything, we are neither good nor bad, nor are we anything else.  rather, goodness is a guiding light that occasionally illuminates our thoughts and actions - it fades and flickers in accord with nature and convenience, yet we attribute its presence to our character.  oh, oh, oh, i just love this shit.

Article on "Kin Selection Theory" and Evolution of Altruistic Behaviors

Leon Neyfakh, The Boston Globe

Blog on Empathic Theory

Peter R. Breggin, M.D., Huffington Post

and i have to include a few badass excerpts from zeno's conscience:  

I forgive the Doctor for seeing life itself as a manifestation of sickness.  Life does resemble sickness a bit, as it proceeds by crises and lyses, and has daily improvements and setbacks.  Unlike other sicknesses, life is always fatal.  It doesn't tolerate therapies.  It would be like stopping holes that we have in our bodies, believing them wounds.  We would die of strangulation in the moment we were treated.  (p. 435)

When the swallow learned that for her no other life was possible except migration, she strengthened the muscle that moves her wings, and it then became the most substantial part of her organism... But bespectacled man, on the contrary, invents devices outside his body... Devices are bought, sold, and stolen, and man becomes increasingly shrewd and weaker.  His first devices seem extensions of his arm and could not be effective without its strength; but, by now, the device no longer has any relation to the limb.  And it is the device that creates sickness, abandoning the law that was, on all earth, the creator.  The law of the strongest vanished and we lost healthful selection.  (p. 436)

(sk)etches: 3 / truth: jected and rejected and jected again

i am in search of work.  i was 'jected by eagle rock school and professional development center.  i was 'jected by the multi-billionaires who interviewed me as a potential world traveling nanny.  and this week, i am likely to be rejected by the advocates for the full time position i interviewed for last week.  i was feeling pretty blue about all the 'jections and so i applied to donate my egg to infertile adults.  i decided that if i get rejected by the reproductive medicine center, i might as well stop trying for anything at all.


legit blog entry to come soon.  i finished reading zeno's conscience by italo svevo - so, so good - and i've started charles wright's littlefoot.

(sk)etches: 2 / truth: a stranger bit my arm today

these are 2 terrible sketches.  terrible.  i want everyone to know how terrible i can be.  i want everyone to worry over it.  i want everyone to worry and to send me cards in the mail and to call me up to see how i am doing. and i want everyone to feel better about their abilities in comparison to mine and just have a great day.

i can't believe i have a boyfriend, but i do, and he is so nice.  he is also better at doing sketches than i am.  and he's better at it than you are.  and you're lucky if he ever lets you see how good he is.  he is one of my 3 followers.  he is the follower who is not a woman.  no more hints.

this morning, i worked at the café.  a stranger reached across the counter to put my hair behind my ear.  he also bit my arm and made an angry dog sound while flashing me a look of intrigue that really frightened me and made me wonder if he truly would eat me right up.  too far.  not to mention, universal precautions violation.  and so:

dear everyone,

when you go to a café or a bookstore or a bar or wherever you go, the people who serve you are paid to do so, they are paid to be civil and helpful and enthusiastic. do not mistake their paycheck manners for romantic interest. do not ask them on a date. do not ask them how they feel about marriage. do not tell them that god is the glue that binds. they are your servers, but the services that they provide are finite and are typically summarized by the name of the establishment at which they are employed (e.g. the girl at the gas station sells you gas, or the girl at the hair salon sells you haircuts). you can smile if you want, you can say thanks, you can even give them money, but you cannot assign them the task of social resuscitation. just place your order or ask your question or tell a little joke and then have a seat.

sincerely,

R

(sk)etches: 1.037 / truth: i smell like The Worst

The Child Baptist in the Wilderness by Sir Joshua Reynolds (1776)

look cool. break your sternum.

last month, my friend got a DUI and i drove to eagan to pick her up and i brought her home with me and the next morning, i prepared for an interview, hosed myself with burberry, and drove my friend to her parents' house.  and last night i met that friend for a drink and asked if she would be so kind as to illustrate the interior of my locket necklace.  and the truth is, she was going to, but she said it smelled like The Worst Day of her Life.  what it smelled like was burberry, which is what i have been smelling like since December 25, 2010, which is the smell that makes my friend want to throw up.  so that's great.  i'm not exactly drowning in friends.  minnesota has 13,000 lakes and not one of them is full of friends.  and do you know what.  i took off my locket and submerged it in beer and my friend agreed to help me as long as i never smell like burberry again. 


one of my tasks as intern today was to go on a journey (that's literally how it was assigned to me by my supervisor) through the minneapolis skyways until i reached the 40th floor of the north building on south 6th street.  it took me 5x as long as it should have because i'm directionally challenged and i'm always late for everything no matter what.  on my way back to the suite, i shared a skyway with a nice young man who was talking to himself in at least 5 different voices, one of them a high-pitched female voice ranting about pressing rape charges.  another of my tasks as intern was to call people and present them with the opportunity to hang up on me.  another of my tasks was to order some much-desired dvds and a photography book for myself on amazon.com while eating carrot sticks.


i interviewed for a year-long Public Allies fellow position at a residential high school & professional development center in estes park, CO.  working there would be a miniature dream come true.  i won't get it.  i'll ruin my chances somehow.  like by blowing the interview.  or by being underqualified.  anyheck, the current life plan is to get that job or to tag along with the talented and best rose that i know all the way to chicago in search of adequate-to-fat paychecks.  i need to relocate.  i need to be young.  it's important.  i cannot live with my parents in the barren suburbs.  and now i am going to bed because it's 9PM and i can't keep my eyes open.