The tattoo artist on the corner of Davies Street says “Please.” “Please let me write something on your body.” After a while, the needle doesn’t even hurt, he promises, your skin just sort of goes numb. I look up at … Read More
John Cameron Mitchell’s new film Shortbus raises a lot of difficult questions. For example, if A is fellating B, B is fellating C, and C is fellating A, is A fellating C? Is A fellating himself? Because that is, as … Read More
The medium is the message,” Marshall McLuhan said, and Andres Serrano’s is shit: holy shit, mom shit, sheep shit, dog shit, rabbit shit, Freud shit, bull shit. Shit photographed and enlarged, shit set against campy backdrops of psychedelic swirls, shit printed, mounted and framed by somber black wood.
“I am quite overwhelmed and somewhat surprised that something that I helped get off the ground over as generation ago is still relevant and cherished over 40 years later”
Silvery and warm, Anderson’s voice is comfortable, like that of a children’s book narrator. It sounds terrifically, radically human through a vocoder, a fact that she indulges frequently on record and in live performance.
1. Leave notes in books that imply a campus-wide Masonic influence. 2. Climb on the roof(s). 3. Invade another carrel. 4. Fill your carrel up to the window with tennis balls and then print out explanatory notices with dialogue from … Read More