Get hot, get too close to the flame
Wild, open space
Talk like an open book
Sign me up
Got no time to take a picture
I'll remember someday all the chances we took
We're so close to something better left unknown
We're so close to something better left unknown

I can feel it in my bones
Gimme sympathy
After all of this is gone
Who'd you rather be?
The Beatles or the Rolling Stones?
Oh, seriously
You're gonna make mistakes, you're young
Come on, baby, play me something
Like, "Here Comes the Sun"
Come on, baby, play me something
Like, "Here Comes the Sun"

Don't go, stay with the all-unknown
Stay away from the hooks
All the chances we took
We're so close to something better left unknown
We're so close to something better left unknown

I can feel it in my bones
Gimme sympathy
After all of this is gone
Who'd you rather be?
The Beatles or the Rolling Stones?
Oh, seriously
You're gonna make mistakes, you're young
Come on, baby, play me something
Like, "Here Comes the Sun"

Metric "Gimme Sympathy"

This song is humming through my body this morning. I just got off work, having my shift drink (raspberry vodka mixed with sweet tea vodka mixed with water -- the only "sweet" thing I ever allow myself, as I've not much the sweet tooth, but damn it's divine after a long bar shift), downloading some new tracks to possibly DJ (I'm working EVERY WEDNESDAY THIS MONTH), and am being swamped by this song.

I don't know what it is about this track. I've liked Metric from the get-go. I like it all, from the catchy hooks of "Dead Disco" to the nearly slinky hip-hop undertones of "The Twist" to the hard-hitting epic beats of "Help I'm Alive". I like the singles, I like the b-sides, I like all of it. It's not the best music out there, but it's damn good music, good synths, good fun.

But there's just something about this song that hits me. I've had this debate with many friends before, the Rolling Stones vs The Beatles debate. I've never really thought about what your decision means, but for me (and most of the people I know), the answer is unanimously Rolling Stones. Hands down, no argument. Now, I know we're all rock stars, heathens, and hedonists, but could it mean something more than that?

Honestly, what does it matter? It's a damned good song, worthy of anyone to take one, five, fifteen listens to. It's a love song without being oppressively saptastic (not that there's anything wrong with that, but it's on the CD I'm going to make of "non-traditional love songs" -- there'll be a more in depth blog about that in the furture), it's clever, it's fun, it's danceable, and generally well around awesome. Go hunt it down, you won't be sorry.

Hello, I am now a resident of the French Quarter.

I've been very busy -- with moving, new jobs, restarting my relations with Xtreme Illusions (a drag/andro troupe that performs weekly at Bourbon Pub), busting my ass with Corrosion (the city's best goth night, featuring none other than Yours Truly and your breathtaking cast of hard-hitting, let's-get-naked DJs), and gearing up for Carnival (guess who's bartending for the infamous Krewe De Vieux party? You're looking at it), I haven't had much time for blogging. I also only have the internets at work, so I haven't really had much access to the World Wide Web. I will say this:

YOU GO READ Written on the Body by Jeanette Winterson RIGHT NOW. This book tore my soul apart. It's that good. Were I to underline every single fantastic line in this novel, the entire book would be underlined. Also, the narrator has no discernible gender -- they could be male, they could be female, the book never lets you know. I like that.

Also: fuck my uterus. With a 2 x 4. Holy shit ow motherfucker ow.

I did get my greedy hands on a copy of Mythmakers and Lawbreakers, and I plan on starting it very shortly. I am quite excited about it. I hope the book lives up to my expectations. A comrade who read it, who hates fiction, told me that the book inspired him to try to start writing fiction. How rad is that?

Alright, I've broken the 7AM mark. The grocery store in the quarter is now open, so I'm going to bike my way over and grab some provisions. I'm making dinner tonight in my new house, and realized I don't have too much to offer beyond seaweed, rice noodles, and the weird Brown Sugar PopTarts that my previous tenant left. I am a bit frazzled with after work fatigue and my uterus making me lose way more blood than necessary, so grocery shopping will most likely involve me wandering around rather aimlessly picking up random food objects that have nothing to do with one another. Let's just hope I don't end up with peanut brittle, three fish, some grapes, and mayonaise. I think even in this sleep-deprived state, I doubt I'd end up with that kind of awful assortment.

Good morning, world. Wish me luck.

That's right, bitches. I'm name-badged and all. New Orleans, guard your women and your whiskey. This is Corrosion: we don't take names, and we have no mercy. Throw us your fake restraining orders. Slander us. Try to play wicked mind games with naked photos and poor, unsuspecting tourists. See what happens.

Alright, apocalyptic posturing aside --

Good morning, heathens. A drunk dude left me $5 worth of credits on the jukebox just in time for me to get off work. I'm blissfully listening to this (don't mind the video):



It's been a while. Here's an update: I have a fabulous new job: I'm working at graveyard shift at Buffa's now, a nice little 24hr bar with a 24hr kitchen. I deal with far fewer crackheads. My coworkers are golden. I can't say I'm sad to leave the old job, even though there are some friends I see far less now due to scheduling. Ah well.

I still owe you an analysis of the Anarchism and Technology essay. I've been without internet access for a while, and have been essentially running with my head spinning like I've been possessed. I haven't done a drag show in months: I've been incredibly busy with Corrosion, as well as all the other social projects lurking in the wings.

But there are plans, my loves.

I've been doing a lot of editing lately. I've been working on some new projects: some art, some writing, some physical. I have designs on a keytar. I've got a two-day trip to my place of birth in the works, along with a lot of mischief while I'm there. I've decided to write a 'debunking sex books' book. I've lived off of Japanese pestle cereal, apples, and caffeine for longer than any human should. I've survived The Great December Flood of New Orleans. I am set alight with beauty and rage.

It's only the beginning.

Also, GO READ THIS NOW. It is short, sweet, and full of bad-assery!

It's been a little while.

I've been busy, and haven't had much time to read, blog, or even breathe, really. I still want to finish reading Anarchy and the Politics of Technology, but as I only have internet at work, and I haven't had time to be on the internet, well, shit happens. I'll probably try to finish it tonight.

For now, chew on this morsel of awesome, taken from Minor Compositions:

As a novelist and fiction SF writer, JG Ballard developed one of the most dynamic (and disturbing) exploration of collective psychopathology, excesses in organizational life, and the collapsing of the Western imaginary. From the fetish of the car crash to obscene hidden violence of the business park, internment camps to masochist fantasies directed through the mediated form of Ronald Reagan’s body, Ballard’s work ventures into territories that are disconcerting to explore, but from which one can learn a great deal. Rather than assuming that disorder and excess is a condition that management and organization must respond to, this event will explore the proposition that what might really be psychopathological is the desire to impose order upon an inherently ungovernable and excessive condition.

More later, my darlings. For now, know that I love you.

I just got off work, and I'm totally exhausted.

BUT! Listen up: I'll be DJing alongside MARTIN FUCKING ADKINS. Yes, you heard me. Martin Adkins, of Ministry and Pigface fame, will be occupying the same dj both as yours truly. We will be leading dance floors into gritty, dirty, raunchy boot pounding bliss. It will be absolutely glorious.

In other news!

I'm randomly trolling through my photobucket, and I found this photograph of myself:

I was trying to sell this stuff to fund my I REALLY DON'T WANNA GO TO JAIL fund, but holyshit I look weird. As in, emaciated high-dollar socialite weird. As in, my bitch ass can sneak in to any red carpet party and cause a fucking ruckus weird. As in, who the fuck is that person?! weird.

Considering the fact that my brain is far too fried to post anything in this blog of actual worth, I'm going to give you a rambling tour of my photobucket. Like all great (i.e. ridiculous) chronologies, we're going to start from the last page onward. Because that's just how I roll.




Year one of drag. This is the first time I ever strapped my tits down on camera. It was a photo project a friend and I were working on, showing the transition between girl and boy. There are more photos, but this one is the gem.

Again, year one. This is a rather iconic photo of Aleksandr. It's low quality, and not a great shot, but even at that point in my performance evolution, I think it shows a fair amount of bravado and hypertheatrics.

Everyone's got one. Don't lie.

The second evolution of Aleksandr. More balls, more bravado, more makeup, more androgyny. I've been told that, in this suit, I am "the devil's lawyer." It was Valentine's day. I prowled the campus causing havoc. I figure, if anything, I wouldn't be the devil's lawyer, I'd be the devil's fire-under-the-ass.

Cocaine shoot. My friend wants to be a photographer. She wanted to do a shoot. I was all about it. The blood on my face is actually tattoo ink. Totally doesn't look like me, but whatever.

Oh hai, I'm a strange looking high-fashion model. OH WAIT. I'm Oscar Wilde. OH WAIT!! Identity crisis OH NOES. In this photo, I was on my way to a shoot, and asking a friend for advice. This photo also got me in a lot of trouble later on, but that's a story for another day.

Right.


So, there's my photobucket. I skipped over the random images of bright glaring things, grafitti, street signs, comics, and vhs cover jackets of nunsploitation films (if you haven't taken an internet look at the, YOU SHOULD). But there you go. A history of me in film.

There are more recent photos of me (that last photograph is about, eh, two years old), but they're already on here. SALUTE.


To quote the man beside me, "would you like to be in a cubicle somewhere, just typing away..?"

Because apparently, being on a machine means being in a cubicle.

I just got out of an employee meeting (I know, ugh: but really, it wasn't so bad. Kajun's doesn't work like other places), and opened up an essay I've been trying to read while on my shifts (I get all of my internet time whilst working).

Anarchism and the Politics of Technology

It's a bit lingo-dense, and the academic language is a bit heavy, but I've never been turned away from that kind of thing. I've only read up to the end of the articulation of Promethean and Primitavist arguments for technology, and thus far, I think this essay has a lot of illuminating points. I'm just now getting to the build up for the meat of the essay, which is a theory of anarchism and technology that goes beyond these two modes of thinking.

I've got some more reading and thinking to do, but I'm pretty interested in this essay thus far, and would like to analyze it further (you know, when I actually *finish* the essay, perhaps? I've got a problem with getting really excited about things and wanting to gear up for discussion prematurely -- but hey, at least you have all been forewarned about it now, so you can be prepared to discuss with me!)

This piqued my interest:

As technologies are being built and put into use, significant alterations in patterns of human activity and human institutions are already taking place . . . the construction of a technical system that involves human beings as operating parts brings a reconstruction of social roles and relationships. Often this is a result of the new system’s own operating requirements: it simply will not work unless human behavior changes to suit its form and process. Hence, the very act of using the kinds of machines, techniques and systems available to us generates patterns of activities and expectations that soon become “second nature.” (11–12)

I also get the feeling that there's going to be some Cyborg Manifesto re-reading very soon.

I am deeply invested in ideas of technology and the evolution of the human in general. Figuring out how to apply that to class relations and social structures as a whole is something I'd like to think about and work out more. The idea of 'posthumanism', an evolution of the human being from what it once was, integrating ideas of modification, technology, tearing apart and refiguring the structures of what we are and what we could be has been on my mind a lot lately. Watch closely. We're going to blow this shit apart.