Everyday = Hustling

Halloween forever.

eternamentepop:

I’m Miss World, watch me break and watch me burn

artsorbit:

As if growing up wasn’t already hard enough, Lucia Greenhouse, author of fathermothergod: My Journey Out of Christian Science (Crown Press), grew up encased in a family that didn’t believe in illness. Think about that for a second. The family of Lucia Greenhouse, like many Christian Scientist families, did not believe in illness; rather, they believed that man, made in the perfect image of God, is without error, and that sickness is an illusion—the illusory manifestation of incorrect thinking. Having not known anything about Christian Science before reading Greenhouse’s book—aside from the presence of their reading rooms in just about every city I’ve ever been in—this aspect of the religion came as a complete surprise. To my dismay, I found that what was just shocking for me, was tragic for Lucia Greenhouse.

Fathermothergod tells Greenhouse’s story of her experience with Christian Science and the devastating loss of her mother to a potentially treatable illness, one that remained a mystery until only weeks before her mother’s death. While it may seem relatively simple from the outside, fathermothergod tells a uniquely complex tale of a family torn apart, disastrously so, by a startlingly dangerous faith. Loosely told in the style of a journal, the book dips in and out to specific and important occurrences leading up to the secret sickness the author’s mother bears. Greenhouse (like her siblings, and much of her extended family) is torn between seeking medical help for her mother, and respecting her faith.

Greenhouse is very open about her stance on Christian Science. In an interview on The Leonard Lopate Show she tells Elliot Forest about getting chicken pox when she was a child, an event she details in the book. To her parents, this sickness was a falsehood—something that needed to be prayed for, and corrected in young Lucia’s mind. Eventually, the rash went away, and to her mind, she had done a good thing. However, the virus spread to other children, leading Greenhouse to reconsider what being a Christian Scientist means. Greenhouse and her two siblings all left the Christian Science faith; however, both of her parents remained steadfast to their very sick, and painful, ends.

Greenhouse is very forthright about the fact that fathermothergod tells her account of the family’s history, and hers alone, but even with those balances, the world that Lucia relates to readers is nearly unbelievable. This is through no fault of the storyteller, but rather because in this modern world it seems imprudent to deny someone medical attention for things so clearly curable. Combined with Greenhouse’s website, and various interviews she has done, fathermothergod jumps right past cathartic retelling and into the realm of ideological cause. Lucia Greenhouse appears to be using her book, readings, and publicity to actively speak out, argue, and warn against Christian Science. Given the cacophonous emotions brimming in the book—the shame, arguments, blame, sadness, tragedy, and paralyzing guilt—who could blame her? Surprisingly, a lot of website commenters.

Putting the pieces together, Greenhouse makes a strong case against Christian Science, even tempering her argument with concessions like, “Growing up as a Christian Scientist there is a very positive aspect to the faith. Which is man is the perfect reflection of God, and so therefore cannot be ill, cannot have any imperfections. In some ways made for a childhood where we felt like there was nothing we couldn’t achieve,” and, “I think that in any religion there is a spectrum of faith. And in Christian Science there are some people who follow it to the letter and others who will combine it with medicine,” both of which she brought up of her own volition in her discussion with Elliot Forest—but that’s about as far as she’ll bend in making nice with the faith.

Far more than just a brave “coming out” of her past experiences—the book took her around twenty years to write, which indicates, at least to me, a residue of shame and guilt that might still be plaguing her—Greenhouse’s book is a startling exposé of a widely-heard of, but scarcely understood faith. A captivating, heartbreaking work that will leave readers wondering what else they don’t know about the hidden pockets of the faithful world.

Greenwood answered my questions via e-mail.

Read More

A wittle, mini web page.

thetangential:

Thuggalo: A tough-ass ninja who doesn’t take shit from anybody. Likely to be found on the receiving end of a “FAM-I-LY” chant, usually called out to break up a fight. He walks with a fake limp, and maybe carries a cane with a joker head at the handle. Definitely has a giant, gold Hatchet…

Ickyums

Ohhhh, a legend in my own time.

artsorbit:

It’s Monday, so it must be time for the legendary ALGEO INVOICE.

Hell is when the worst parts of your life are replayed before your very eyes for all of eternity.

The movie was a piece of garbage, but Fanning killed this part.

Then I saw pallid faces, dimly luminous, and white uplifted hands, floating bodiless in the air – floating a moment and then disappearing. The whispering ceased, and the voices and the sounds, and a solemn stillness followed. I waited and listened. I felt that I must have light or die. I was weak with fear. I slowly raised myself toward a sitting posture, and my face came in contact with a clammy hand! All strength went from me apparently, and I fell back like a stricken invalid. Then I heard the rustle of a garment – it seemed to pass to the door and go out.

Back off, man. I’m a scientist.

Yeah, I was in the shit.

I like to say a prayer, and drink to world peace.

Time out. Uh, I hate to break out of character, but, you cannot shout into a person’s ear. It does damage. The spitting I don’t mind…

Yeah, I think that’s sort of the American way. And it’s also the Polish way, it turns out.

America… just a nation of two hundred million used car salesmen with all the money we need to buy guns and no qualms about killing anybody else in the world who tries to make us uncomfortable.

For every moment of triumph, for every instance of beauty, many souls must be trampled.

I have a theory that the truth is never told during the nine-to-five hours.

If you’re going to be crazy, you have to get paid for it or else you’re going to be locked up.

The TV business is uglier than most things. It is normally perceived as some kind of cruel and shallow money trench through the heart of the journalism industry, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free and good men die like dogs, for no good reason.

littlebrumble:

dictionaryofobscuresorrows:

adj. hearing a person with a thick accent pronounce a certain phrase—the Texan “cooler,” the South African “bastard,” the Kiwi “thirty years ago”—and wanting them to repeat it over and over until the vowels pool in the air and congeal into a linguistic taffy you could break apart and give as presents.

Do you know Joe Meek?

 

Murder and suicide

Meek was obsessed with the occult and the idea of “the other side”. He would set up tape machines in graveyards in a vain attempt to record voices from beyond the grave, in one instance capturing the meows of a cat he claimed was speaking in human tones, asking for help. In particular, he had an obsession with Buddy Holly (claiming the late American rocker had communicated with him in dreams) and other dead rock and roll musicians.

His professional efforts were often hindered by his paranoia (Meek was convinced that Decca Records would put hidden microphones behind his wallpaper in order to steal his ideas), drug use and attacks of rage or depression. Upon receiving an apparently innocent phone call from Phil Spector, Meek immediately accused Spector of stealing his ideas before hanging up angrily.

Meek’s homosexuality - illegal in the UK at the time - put him under further pressure; he had been convicted of “importuning for immoral purposes” in 1963 and fined £15: he was consequently subject to blackmail.^[4] In January 1967, police in Tattingstone, Suffolk, discovered a suitcase containing the mutilated body of Bernard Oliver. According to some accounts, Meek became concerned that he would be implicated in the murder investigation when the Metropolitan Police stated that they would be interviewing all known homosexuals in the city.

In the meantime, the hits had dried up and as Meek’s financial position became increasingly desperate, his depression deepened. AFrench composer, Jean Ledrut, accused Joe Meek of plagiarism, claiming that the tune of “Telstar” had been copied from “La Marche d’Austerlitz”, a piece from a score that Ledrut had written for the 1960 film Austerlitz. This led to a lawsuit that prevented Meek from receiving royalties from the record during his lifetime.

On 3 February 1967, the eighth anniversary of Buddy Holly’s death, Meek killed his landlady Violet Shenton and then himself^[5][6] with a single barreled shotgun that he had confiscated from his protegé, former Tornados bassist and solo star Heinz Burt at his Holloway Road home/studio. Meek had flown into a rage and taken the gun from Burt when he informed Meek that he used it while on tour to shoot birds. Meek had kept the gun under his bed, along with some cartridges. As the shotgun had been registered to Burt, he was questioned intensively by police, before being eliminated from their enquiries.

Meek was subsequently buried at Cemetery lodge Newent Newent, Gloucestershire. His black granite tombstone can be found near the middle of the cemetery.

The lawsuit against Meek was eventually ruled in Meek’s favour three weeks after his death in 1967. It is unlikely that Meek was aware ofAusterlitz, as it had been released only in France at the time.

[edit]

Bruce Haack made it into the brains of children.

Leon Theremin playing his own instrument, the Theremin.

Invented in 1928, it was originally called the Aetherphone, which is marvelously creepy and magical. 

This is the instrument that Hannibal Lecter plays. 

A guy that I work with shared this link with me. It’s pretty funny and, since I don’t know squat about typography, very useful.

laughingsquid:

Baseball Skull

kylomoonguts:

Tomorrow is also the Art Squared event at Stevens Square Center for the Arts, where some of my work will be raffled off. There is going to be a slew of great art being sold to benefit the community arts programming in Stevens Square Park. Performances by Kicks and Spurs, the Absent Arch and the Chord and the Fawn and live painting by the Rogue Citizen Collective.

There will be some wood cut coasters that I made with Hilari Bandow and some art prints that I made with Ben Petersen. 

The most successful actor/ess to come out of this was Renee Zellweger (unless you count Debi Mazar, who is really only successful in terms of friends, because she was friends with 1990’s Madonna), which is saying something. I’m not sure what.

The Netflix watch now version is definitely not the theatrical cut. Who the fuck is that woman? Lucas, Joe would never do that.

Hah! I had to start it for my Graphic Design class to show the stuff that influences me. Thanks fo the heads-up, though!