Due to the chaotic nature of the world during the turn of the twentieth century, literature (and culture more generally) responded to and actually instigated a pervasive sense of global revolution.
The problem is not with how we treat the Earth. It’s with how we treat ourselves. We work 40, 50, 60, 70 hours a week. And thanks to microcomputing, we work all the time. All the time. There is no leisure, there is no pleasure.
A decade after 69 Love Songs, the Magnetic Fields are still relying on formal stunts. This time, they’ve made an acoustic “folk” record–the joke being that Realism couldn’t be any less “realistic.”
July 1776 folds into February 2008: Jefferson and Obama merge. The visual motifs of McGiney revitalize the verse of Whitman. The gold rush pioneer morphs into the post-recession innovator or agent of change.
Roman à clef doesn’t make quite as much sense as a form now that we have Gawker and Perez Hilton to provide us with the real names and humiliations of anyone involved in a scandal.
When the zombie first appeared on film in the 1930s, audiences became hooked on what they saw. Often depicted with crazed, transfixed, and bloodshot eyes, an insatiable hunger for human flesh and above all, a reckless disregard for human life, these terrifying creatures were slow-moving pack travelers.
Listen, I am attracted to Obama just as I’m attracted to the fine produce of Whole Foods. But I am not so insane as to believe that voting for that guy or shopping at some goofy supermarket changes anything.
Inglorious Bastereds is a fuck you to the totalitarian cinema of any sort.
This is an album of strange pain. The cover artwork says so itself, just gaze into it: a blurry image of a naked woman tied up on a bed.
Adolescence is so beautiful, even if awkward and insane — and perhaps precisely because of that.