When I feel my finger on your trigger, I know nobody can do me no harm. Images by Geliografic via Wicked Halo
Blog Archives
this week on the avant guardian \/\/ ghosts love the rain
In order to designate reality, Buddhism says sunya, the void; but better still, tathata, as Alan Watts has it, the fact of being this, of being thus, of being so; tat means that in Sanskrit and suggests the gesture of a child pointing his finger at something and saying that, there it is, lo! but says nothing else; a photograph cannot be transformed (spoken) philosophically, it is wholly ballasted by the contingency of which it is the weightless, transparent envelope. -Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida Images via Crowolf, Ghost Research
this week on the avant guardian \/\/ warm car paint and wintergreen
“And so, it was at Puerto Rico that I first made contact with the United States; for the first time I breathed in the smell of warm car paint and wintergreen, those two olfactory poles between which stretches the whole range of American comfort, from cars to lavatories, by way of radio sets, sweets and toothpaste; and I tried to guess what the girls in the drugstores with their lilac dresses and mahogany hair were thinking about beneath their mask-like makeup.” -Claude Levi-Strauss, Tristes Tropiques RIP Claude Levi-Strauss, 1909-2009
this week on the avant guardian \/\/ sever the cucumber from the vine
“The same thing can be both good and bad. Whenever you speak of good, bad is also present. The world is a mixture of both. There is not good without bad. They are both sides of the same coin. Both are necessary. We have been given free will and discriminating capacity to select what is beneficial to us and to avoid what is detrimental to us. Even cobra poison can be used as medicine.” HH Sri Swami Satchidananda
all cats are grey
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.
the drunken boat has moored again
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
