(A pretty nice girl, but she changes from day to day.)
All right, I may have lied to you, and about you, and made a few
pronouncements a bit too sweeping, perhaps, and possibly
forgotten to tag the bases here or there,
And damned your extravagance, and maligned your tastes, and
libeled your relatives, and slandered a few of your friends,
O.K.,
Nevertheless, come back.
Come home. I will agree to forget the statements that you issued so
copiously to the neighbors and the press,
And you will forget that figment of your imagination, the blonde
from Detroit;
I will agree that your lady friend who lives above us is not crazy,
bats, nutty as they come, but on the contrary rather bright,
And you will concede that poor old Steinberg is neither a drunk,
nor a swindler, but simply a guy, on the eccentric side, trying to
get along.
(Are you listening, you bitch, and have you got this straight?)
Because I forgive you, yes, for everything,
I forgive you for being beautiful and generous and wise,
I forgive you, to put it simply, for being alive, and pardon you, in
short, for being you.
Because tonight you are in my hair and eyes,
And every street light that our taxi passes shows me you again, still
you,
And because tonight all other nights are black, all other hours are
cold and far away, and now, this minute, the stars are very near
and bright.
Come back. We will have a celebration to end all celebrations.
We will invite the undertaker who lives beneath us, and a couple
of the boys from the office, and some other friends,
And Steinberg, who is off the wagon, by the way, and that insane
woman who lives upstairs, and a few reporters, if anything
should break.
Aphrodite Metropolis (1)
“Myrtle loves Harry”—It is sometimes hard to remember a thing like that,
Hard to think about it, and no one knows what to do with it when he has it,
So write it out on a billboard that stands under the yellow light of an “L” platform among popcorn wrappers and crushed cigars,
A poster that says “Mama I Love Crispy Wafers So.”
Leave it on a placard where somebody else gave the blonde lady a pencil moustache, and another perplexed citizen deposited:
“Jesus Saves. Jesus Saves.”
One can lay this bundle down there with the others,
And never lose it, or forget it, or want it.
“Myrtle loves Harry.”
They live somewhere.
— Kenneth Fearing
A Glasgow nightclub has installed a two-way mirror which allows male revellers in private booths to spy on unsuspecting women as they visit the toilet! With no notification or signage anywhere in the venue many female club goers have been left feeling embarrassed and used. Although they do briefly show the mirrors in a promo video, the club has been quickly deleting comments and posts on their social media from club goers trying to alert others to the situation. This is pretty much illegal and hugley violates privacy. Thank you The Shimmy Club for giving us a shiny, new, creative and cool take on objectification.
article herei’m never leaving my house again, this world is just too fucked up.
WHAT!?
gross gross gross gross gross
Good morning disgusting.
Remember ladies:
- “No space, leave the place” (fingernail test)
- A two way mirror must be set INTO the wall, not placed on top of it.
- If you rap/knock against the mirror, one installed onto a wall (a normal mirror) will make a dull sound, because there’s something behind it. A two-way will have more reverberation.
- Use the flashlight on your phone to shine on the mirror, if it’s a two-way, you’ll be able to see into the other room.
- You can also shield your eyes and see in if you lean up against the glass.
- The room being viewed will have to be brightly lit (10x brighter than the room looking in), so if you’re in a typical dimly lit club bathroom, you’re ok.
I really hope Yahoo doesn’t fuck up Tumblr like it’s fucked up … well, every single thing it’s ever touched in the history of the universe.
See here’s the thing though. The only way to prevent something like this would have been to make Tumblr an unwelcoming space, and that’s where we run into the Usenet Paradox. If you try to keep a cool thing to yourself, you get called cliquish, elitist, a snob. But if you don’t work to police its borders — which you probably shouldn’t do, because the people calling you cliquish probably have something of a point, and being an actual border-policing snob saps the fun right out of the thing you’re ostensibly trying to protect — then the people with the money are coming for it. Every single time. Forever. And they will do what they do, because it’s what they do. I can’t speak on behalf of my friends, but I’d hazard a guess that my old buddies Alternative Rock, Rap, Jazz, Independent Film, Things That Are About Vampires and/or Zombies, and The Neighborhoods of Several Large American Cities will co-sign me on this.
*I just invented this paradox. If you wanna option it for a film please do holler, I see immense prospects for development
