Archive for April 14, 2011

OPB: rape possibly in decline, immigrations being massacred, and James Salter

Via marginal revolution the idea that internet pornography has decreased the likely hood of being raped (the m revolutionaries suggest caution when interpreting this one), but still this is an interesting idea. For me fantasies build from simulation, pornography advertises sex and makes me feel more likely to sexually molest someone, that a possible percentage of the population is satisfied enough with self stimulation and borrowed fantasies to possibly relieve a libidinal load says a lot about the significant difference in the way fantasies work. Good work internet!

via global voices 59 bodies found in mass grave in border state, the same state had an earlier massacre of 79 potential immigrants to the U.S.  My first impression was that this was some type of U.S. border patrol thing being held from the U.S. media, but apparently Mexicans carry out these mass killing of potential immigrants frequently.

Finally, the Paris Review has a lot of great stuff. I love the day in the life piece about the editor of Paper hanging out with Duran Duran, but I was unaware of James Salter, a minimalist with a peculiar sense of the line. A lot of my writing bears witness to minimalists and borrows from Gibson, but Salter’s work is sketches with a firm hand the hard details of emotion as if history rains down sensations on a place. The Paris Review has made some of his short stories available.


It is Songkran here, water parties are go! Will be throwing water balloons soon.

April 14, 2011 at 11:26 am Leave a comment

Park Porno

Trucks exist in multiple different formats. Some come tall and sturdy, others rugged but vintage, her father’s though was simply homey. She pawed around in the seat next to him and slowly a ton of neuro-chemicals climbed into hey synapses, she felt consciousness return to her. In front of her was a red pleather glove compartment and she felt the sense of home that cars can bring, the sweet road weary sickness of a family trip. Dad was humming in the seat next to her. Her phone had registered at least 18 IMs, 1,400 tweets, and 8 new facebook friends, “Are you okay?” the Dad asked, her Dad she thought silently correcting herself. “I’m so tired,” she beamed, “can we go home?” “On the way,” he replied, she pawed through the tweets finding nothing especially intriguing, and then she saw @armourjesus CONGRADS ON MAKING IT OFFICIAL from someone named gwynie_winnie39 whom she had no memory of adding, and that’s when she started crying again and the chorus of fatherdom began his coaxing.  When they got home, she crawled into bed, still a little sobby, and went to bed.

The idea of returning to school, much less to the MISSPISSYDEATHSTENCH hunt, was overwhelming. She begged her father to let her stay home sick, “Dude!,” she shouted, “I CAN’T GO TO SCHOOL TODAY!” They yelled for awhile, but in the end he got her into the truck and she walked into the hallway and hid in the bathroom. After an hour she made her way out to the park, she im’d Miguel, “hey! wanna come to the park with me?” “dude, where are you?” he returned, “we have a test today.” “Dude, I’m not going there… not today. Not with that little bitch and that asshole sitting around holding hands.” “Dude, it’s not that big of a deal, they’ve been going out for awhile.” “Dude, I’ve been with Jessie for like 3 years. I introduced those two. Caroline is my bestfriend and she runs off with him?” “He’s not your boyfriend never was, you’re just on the same squad.” “DUDE FUCK THAT BITCH!” “You can’t blame them for liking each other,” Miguel exclaimed. She felt a peculair disconnection she’d never felt before, as if a giant lag sign had somehow been erected just north of her sight in the park, her reality was a peculair reality, a pock marked one, and each of Miguel’s beeps bounced off a new sense of isolation, as if heart break had dragged her into its own world and she descended the park’s staircases in an Orphaen daze.

Space has some peculair properties. The well organized desk she kept at home was the only concession she gave to order, the rest of her room was as disorderly any other manufactured wilderness, yet nothing in it can prepare you for the moment you enter the woods. The feeling of being enlivened, the way the eye seems perfectly adapated to such an environment and then the smell, “it must be the smell,” she thought as she walked a little further. Ten or so paces back a procession of ants had thrwated her, now she simply saw the forest as it is, before the overpass a few miles over and the Taco Bell perched on the perimeter 5 miles to the east. She walked down the worren path, having never ventured this far into the city’s only wilderness preserve. She was a princess walking through the woods, a woman with out a knight, something like that. ​

She sat down in a grove of thickening trees, but still not wide enough to symbolize forest in her eyes and she spied a bbq pit a few meters over. The forest had been designed in some half ass manor so as to meet a requirement for a “natural” place, but the idea of frying burgers in the middle of an uninspiring wood hadn’t managed to unseat the drama of family and fucking that kept the city indoors. It was primarily a place where youths could due drugs. She found an improvised beer can bong in a tree and whisked it away and felt another refrain of the mile wide heart ache that pressed at her, the intense betrayl running through her and she managed a few steps into the abyss the bbq pit presided over and noticed a small little boy in the distance, the child she saw clinging around the stop signs after school, lonely, isolated, and now reading a porn magazine.


April 14, 2011 at 11:08 am Leave a comment


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