Grey is the new black. I mean blonde. Oh, whatever. Benjamin Franklin once counseled a young man to take an older woman as his lover using the logic that “in the dark, all cats are grey”. Indeed. A cat is a cat is a. You get the picture. One thing is the same as the next. And they’re all grey. Women, cats…turn off the lights and you’ll see. Seriality is the new New.
Ill-fitting synthetics, bi-weekly baths, and lack of personal de-lousing will get you buzz only a “fly girl” can swing. I have a pointy finger tipped with a dirty nail aimed right at your ass. “It’s comfortable,” she says. With fly eggs and cigarette burns. Grow and evolve like the maggot turns to fly. Photo credit: Joe Bahret
Welcome back to The Avant Guardian. Starting Monday, we have not one, not two, not three, but nine avantastic contributors! That is a big fucking deal. Nine is a totally magical number, and these are some pretty fucking magical people. They run the gamut from hairdresser to window dresser to cross dresser to reclusive covered-in-fur dead people. So, what else is new? We’ll all be working around a weekly theme, so across the span of seven days one idea will develop, evolve, devolve, and veer off in a variety of mediums. I don’t want to bore you any with long-winded shite about how excited I am, so let’s just see what this new band of miscreants have to say for themselves. This is me, Tracey D, and I’m the captain of this here drunken boat. I live nestled in a moist, sticky nook of the deep deep south, where I practice aerobics limblessly and with abandon. My turn-ons include polyurethane varnish, sharp scissors and taxidermied roadkill trophies. My turn-offs are basically everything else. You can read my editorials on Mondays, but don’t get attached or anything. I’m not into commitment. Eileen Garcia is a photographer who lives in Provincetown. Try [...]
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