The Last Cookie

Because

bombmagazine:

Because I’m on fire. Because I’m a church. Because I’m Richard Pryor. Because I’m Google search.

Because O snap, Branch Davidian Gideon, a real burner, cinder incinerate drunk tank caloric intake shake. And bake. And I helped.

I perpetuated the mythology. I forwarded the message. I researched the glottochronology, desperate for a great grandparent to blame. Awe shit!—I wrote a poem about “picnics” etymology, the practice of picking a nigger for lynching. The practice of coloring cluster munitions the same shade as aerial food drops.

Because I am stuck in the lotus position. Because I nuked the leftovers, back to the Stone Age. Because—opah, etc.—Lake Erie exploded. Because Michael Jackson and Pepsi and toasters and bathtubs. I’m hot. Because I’m fly, a fly, a 747 fly into a twin, I’m 808, I’m 212, I’m a kindle that spreads jungle fire like Amazon, consummates the info ecology. This is why comparisons are odious. This is why all explanations fail. Because it is real. Because it is real. Because coincidence is mythical as God. A tree falls in the forest and no one’s around. It feels self-conscious, a stereotype. O koan, I’m hot because the Hilton’s on fire. Because the conference center is burning! I’m the severed breasts of my warrior mother, an ambidextrous archer. And I am the shit the entrepreneurs have taken on her honor.

Because I have survived extraordinary violence. Because I’m sensitive, I’m passionate, spontaneous. You ain’t. Because you not. An equation elementary as water. A formula of misinformation, a river that flows like mother’s milk. Let me explain: because I drank the Molotov. Now I am the revolution. Because I myself am hell. Because I myself am the pollution wafting from the Iraqi National Library’s ashes. I’m hot. Because I’m fly. You ain’t. Because you not. This is why. This is why. This. Is. Why.

—Nick Demske’s “I’m Hot” from BOMB’s latest installment of Word Choice. Artwork is Dan Witz, “Hoody Gas Mask,” 2011.

Heartbreakingly beautiful picture.

grapevinetwine:

I’d also like to call him my husband. I’m not the biggest fan of the word “partner”: It either means that we run a business together or we’re cowboys. “Boyfriend” seems fleeting, like maybe we met two weeks ago. I’ve been saying “better half” for as long as I’ve been able to. I think it’s a little self-deprecating and clearly defines that we’re in a relationship, but it would be nice to say “my husband.” 

Neil Patrick Harris and David Burtka photographed by Matthew Kristall for Out Magazine, January 18th, 2012

I don’t. But this looks stunning.

bbook:

imwithkanye:

I always wonder what life would be like if Peggy and Don got together. [image]

Ugh, me too.

This song was my New Year’s Eve and my New year so far.

noahkalina:

Youth Lagoon - Daydream

It took nine months for Iggy Pop to reply to then-21-year-old Laurence’s fan letter, but really the timing couldn’t have been more perfect as on the morning his thoughtful note did arrive at her home in Paris, Laurence’s family were being evicted by bailiffs. Laurence recalls that moment back in 1995:

By the time I finished I was in tears. Not only had Iggy Pop received the letter I had sent him nine months before, and I could have missed his if he’d sent it a day later, but he had read the whole ‘fucking’ 20 pages, including the bit about my Adidas dress (a semi-innocent allusion on my part), and all the rest, my description of being the child of an acrimonious divorce with the string of social workers, lawyers, greedy estate agents and bailiffs at the door, the fear, the anger, the frustration, the love.

Although understandably brief, Iggy’s empathetic, handwritten letter addressed Laurence’s problems with both grace and eloquence, and really can’t be praised enough.

www.lettersofnote.com is the best.

Doc, do I have this? How does one cure it? 

tiredfoxes:

camera-lust:

THIS IS TRACY ANN CONKLIN

Yes it is!  That is one tired fox!  xox

aminatou:

“Because many women, once released from marriage, seem to feel that it would take an act of madness to move back into a setup that involves not only housekeeping in all its manifold time-sucking beauty but also husband-keeping.”

ann, you are so right about this. we know this. DUH AFICIONADO MAGAZINE

You know what isn’t? The consumption of packaged drinking water.  Last night, I drank the shadiest looking mineral water at 4 AM from a railway station, not even reading labels because you rarely do that while coping with being an extreme synonym of parched. Tonight, I’m expected to work on a mineral water branding research discussion guideline. The market is expected to grow at 40% the brief says. My purchase explains that statistic but does the statistic explain my purchase?  I mean I dig research exercises but sometimes you just know you’re looking in the refrigerator for the missing sock.  Oh and the elements of life anyone? Ring a bell? They kinda don’t have substitutes? You’ll possibly brand air or heat or light or natural sunshine tomorrow but if you’re not around when and where I need it, my perceptions are about as useful as adhesive pegs which collapse as soon as you peg something on ‘em. And while we’re at it, please don’t buy adhesive pegs. Also, explodingdog is awesome.

explodingdog:

Asking Questions

fred-wilson:

All The Places - Made In Heights

heard this just now in the indie while you work room in turntable

eargazmic:

Made In Heights - All The Places

luckyshirt:

Netherfriends - I’m Gonna Start