The wind this morning was deceivingly relentless. It didn't gust or whorl (or whirl?) but was like a quiet, steady shower of needles blowing off the river.
The first few miles of my run, I was like 'hey, this isn't so bad' -- I was 'dressed for it' with thermal underwear and an outer 'shell' along with hat and gloves -- but then I was like 'umm, why does my face feel like it's about to fall off?'
I apparently need to buy a 'multiclava,' which is on sale right now from _____. Stephen told me about the sale, which I was 'blissfully unaware of' because I finally 'unsubscribed' from the promotional e-mails from this company, which seemed to promise a 'once in a lifetime sales event' every few hours.
I wonder if anyone twenty years ago would have said that the 'promise of the internet' would be fulfilled by making us susceptible to advertising 24/7. And not only advertising from companies, but also from friends and acquaintances who have recently released or published or made (in the creative sense) a record/song/book/poem/sculpture/video/painting.
I don't blame artists for 'self-promoting,' particularly since it's a 'pot-kettle-black' situation, but I do feel increasingly fatigued/confused by the strategy of 'retweeting' every single reference to your work. I guess I'd like to write back to some of the 'worst offenders' and be like 'bro, we get it -- you made something meaningful and relevant -- you don't have to tell us ten thousand times every day.' I know that I could 'mute' or 'unfollow' but I'm just not convinced that I enjoy the Twitter/FB platforms enough -- even in a best-case scenario -- to 'invest' in curating my experience. In a way I guess it helps me 'steer clear' of something for which I feel an implicit distrust that is validated every time I log on. Being 'old school' I still prefer blogs because I think blogging usually requires more than a 'click of a button' to post something and hence makes it more likely to be worth reading. I'd rather read a self-promotional blog post, in other words, than see a series of self-promotional (re)tweets or FB updates.
IDK, maybe you know what I"m saying or maybe you don't, but in either case I'm sure you can appreciate how much I enjoyed being in the heather garden this morning, even though it was minus-fifty, because it was an 'ad-free zone.'
'Thinking about starting a new twitter, yall. Follow me @heathergarden for all the latest on my sweet blooms.' -- Heather Garden Seriously, the heather garden in winter is like a lost continent.
I was disappointed that neither Bernie nor Hillary addressed the 'heather garden situation' in the most recent debate.
Is it even possible for plants to bloom in such lush colors all winter? Apparently it is.
The holly was also looking festive, in a kind of boring way. I guess you might say I'm voting for heather for president.
All three gray cats lined up to watch the debate. "I'm concerned about the increasing disparity of wealth and want to know how each of the candidates will address this issue." -- Dante
"Who wears the fuzziest sweaters? Because that's who I'm voting for." -- Zephyr
The orchids were ambivalent, as always.
"Are you telling me that each state has two senators? That seems so undemocratic!" -- Clio
"Feel depressed that cats can't vote." -- Zephyr
Here's another shot I took with my new macro lens. Orchids will give you bad dreams if you look at them too closely, is what I learned this week.
Damn. Not sure I'm going to be using my macro lens that much anymore.
Have you guys been watching the X-Files 'reboot'? I've been loving the opening credits and...
"Actually, the last episode about the homeless monster was pretty great." -- Elektra
In garden news, everyone is looking forward to spring, which is technically only about a month away.
Speaking of plants that look (and act) like aliens, the hellebores fall into that category.
The light is becoming increasingly diffuse and enchanting. It makes me feel like the precarious nature of the world is a constant, with the implication that things are going to be okay. Or sort of okay.
Sometimes I look out at the city and visualize an internet without advertising.
All of the skeptics would no doubt start objecting and talking about how it can never happen. 'Join the real world for a change.'
"Shut up and let's build a dream." -- Elektra
« Shipwreck 2016 | Main | The Long Shadows May Belong to the Gods »
02/13/2016
ORDER HERE
A RADICAL NEW MYTH ABOUT SEX, FAITH, AND THOSE OF US WHO WILL NEVER DIE
A young boy wanders into the woods of Harlem and witnesses the abduction of his sister by a glowing creature. Forty years later, now working as a New York City homicide detective, Gus is assigned to a case in which he unexpectedly succumbs to a vision that Helen is still alive. To find her, he embarks on an uorthodox investigation that leads to an ancient civilization of gods and the people determined to bring them back.
In this colossal new novel from the author of The Metropolis Case, the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice collides with a new religion founded by three corporate office workers, creating something beautiful, illogical, and overwhelming. Part sex manifesto, part religious text, part Manhattan noir—with a dose of deadly serious, internet inspired satire—#gods is a sprawling inquest into the nature of faith and resistance in the modern world. With each turn of the page, #gods will leave you increasingly reborn.
Praise for #gods
“#gods is a mystery, an excavation of myths, an index of modern life, a gay coming-of-age story, an office satire, a lyrical fever dream, a conspiracy. One of the most ambitious novels in recent memory—and a wild, possibly transformative addition to the canon of gay literature—it contains multitudes, and seethes with brilliance.” —Mark Doten, author of The Infernal
“Matthew Gallaway’s #gods is a novel so brilliant, so funny, so full of strange and marvelous things, I couldn’t stop writing OMG WTF I <3 THIS SO MUCH in its margins. It’s rare to find a novel that so dazzlingly reinvigorates age-old meditations on faith and f&!*ing, art and eros. Luminous, enterprising, and sublimely cheeky, #gods tells the story, the myth, the dream of the human soul in all its glorious complexity.” —Suzanne Morrison, author of Yoga Bitch
“Matthew Gallaway’s storytelling manages to be both dreamy and serious; lean and luxurious. His words carry an incantatory power of mythic storytelling where beauty and savagery wrap around each other like bright threads in a gorgeous tapestry.” —Natasha Vargas-Cooper, author of Mad Men Unbuttoned: A Romp Through 1960s America
“If the ancient gods were just like us, only more so, then the same could be said for this strange, wonderful book, in which the mundane sorrows and small triumphs of very ordinary lives glow ever so slightly around the edges, sometimes quite literally. At once an oddly romantic send-up of dead-end office culture and an offbeat supernatural procedural, #gods is terrifically weird, melancholy, sexy, and charming.” —Jacob Bacharach, author of The Bend of the World
'It’s to the credit of Matthew Gallaway’s enchanting, often funny first novel that it doesn’t require a corresponding degree of obsession from readers, but may leave them similarly transported: the book is so well written — there’s hardly a lazy sentence here — and filled with such memorable lead and supporting players that it quickly absorbs you into its worlds.'
-- The New York Times
Music: Death Culture at Sea and Saturnine
Listen or download songs and records from my indie-rock past with Saturnine here and Death Culture at Sea here.
Music Video: Remembrance of Things Past
Watch the rock opera Remembrance of Things Past written and performed by Saturnine and Frances Gibson, starring Bennett Madison and Sheila McClear.
Video: The Chaos Detective
The Chaos Detective is a series about a man searching for 'identity' as he completes assignments from a mysterious organization. Watch the first episode (five parts) on YouTube.