In which The Gay Recluse is momentarily exasperated.
Heigh everyone! Check out these side-by-side ledes as they appeared on the New York Times home page this morning:
A Scrappy Style
Senator McCain honed his debate skills both in and out of politics.
versus
An Uneven Record
Senator Obama has shown that his strengths may also pose vulnerabilities.
Seriously, why is McCain “scrappy” — generally a positive trait — and Obama “vulnerable”? Here’s a proposal: political journalists should as a matter of course always disclose who they voted for in the last three elections. [Hey, we’ll start: 1996 (Clinton), 2000 (Gore), 2004 (Kerry).]
Incredibly, it gets even worse in the actual articles. Check this out from Seelye:
Senator John McCain, the Republican presidential nominee, heads into the first debate on Friday with a track record as a scrappy combatant and the instincts of a fighter pilot, prepared to take out his opponent and willing to take risks to do so.
Translation: OMG, I love McCain! He’s sooo dreamy and heroic!
This from Broder:
Mr. Obama has a tendency to overintellectualize and to lecture, befitting his training as a lawyer and law professor. He exudes disdain for the quips and sound bites that some deride as trivializing political debates but that have become a central part of scoring them. He tends to the earnest and humorless when audiences seem to crave passion and personality. He frequently rises above the mire of political combat when the battle calls for engagement.
Translation: Obama is an intellectual elitist.
If we wake up on November 4 to a McCain victory and ask ourselves “how did this happen?” we won’t have to look very far for the answers.
Filed under: Drivel, Government, Politicians, The Gay Recluse, The Times | 2 Comments
Tags: Bias, McCain, Obama, Objectivity, Stereotypes
On Death Culture at Sea
In which The Gay Recluse starts a new band. 
So we decided to start a new band: Death Culture at Sea.
We googled it and nothing came up, so we’re assuming it’s fair game.
We’ve always loved Echo and the Bunnymen, so we decided to start things off by covering one of their best songs.
“The Killing Moon,” from their still fucking incredible album Ocean Rain.
Sometimes when things get a little too stressful in the outside world, it’s better to retreat into something familiar and nostalgic.
This song has been going through our head for almost 25 years.
We hear it and remember what it was like to be young and full of dreams.
“The Killing Moon” performed by Death Culture at Sea (MP3)
(Written by Echo and the Bunnymen.)
Filed under: Bad Rock, Death Culture at Sea, Good Rock, Longing, Memory, Nostalgia | Leave a Comment
Tags: 1980s, Bands, Death Culture at Sea, Echo & the Bunnymen, The Killing Moon
In which The Gay Recluse walks through the mist of a Sunday morning.
Saturday nights can be particularly trying in Washington Heights.
Especially now that it’s getting cool out, and you want to keep the windows open.
But somehow a cool breeze at one in the morning just isn’t the same when it brings with it the constant din of screaming children and their drunk parents, along with the cacophony of forty or fifty stereos, punctuated by glass breaking, engines roaring and disturbing slams of metal lids against metal containers.
But then at 5:30 or so, the encroaching light of day quiets the revelers. Children are locked in their rooms, parents crawl into the bathroom to vomit and for a moment regret the pitiful state of their lives and the certainty that it will never get any better, and the stereos stop playing when they are accidentally kicked over. The souped-up cars are driven back to driveways in New Jersey and Westchester. Even the drug dealers abandon the corners and go inside, knowing they need a good night’s sleep before heading out the next afternoon to the Mercedes dealership to spend the night’s take on a new SUV.
This, of course, is when we like to walk the streets of Washington Heights.
Although there’s garbage everywhere, at least it’s quiet — even more than quiet given what so recently passed — and the exhausted buildings are most unguarded.
They seem to reclaim a certain grandeur in the eastern light that makes it easy to imagine what they looked like 100 years ago, when they were first built.
We often wonder what these old buildings think about, whether they, too, are dismayed by the erratic, impoverished indulgence in which they have been fated to live.
And if they ever dream of escape.
We smile sadly, knowing that — barring a miracle — we are as stuck as they are.
Yet we walk home and go to sleep feeling somewhat more thankful.
Knowing it could still be so much worse.
Of all the Manhattan venues available to the gay recluse, Washington Heights is undoubtedly the preferred. Here we live among extremes of material decadence and breathtaking neglect, apparent in the crumbling cornices of Ft. Washington Avenue and eroding limestone facades of St. Nicholas, not to mention the tiled mosaics in the entrance foyers of the apartment palaces of upper Broadway — grand, tessellated spaces reminiscent of The Alhambra — through which uncountable millions of apathetic feet have passed in the decades since their painstaking construction. Only here among the ruins can we permit ourselves the indulgence of a certain wistful nostalgia for the past, knowing it is one that we can never hope to live.
— The Gay Recluse, September 21, 2007
Filed under: Architecture, Capitalism, Communism, Conspiracy, Decay, Dissonance, History, Landscape, Pessimism, Resignation, Ruins, Search, The Gay Recluse, Washington Heights | 1 Comment
Tags: Cars, Columnar Pin Oaks, Day, Facades, Night, Noise, Stereos, Streets, Townhouses
In which The Gay Recluse is officially one year old.
So guess what! We made it through an entire year.
For us, that meant 696 posts, 549 comments, 95 categories, 2,617 tags and 96,339 total views.
It’s true that we were a traffic whore at times.
Which we don’t regret, but lately we haven’t had the impulse.
The election, the financial crisis, the terrorists, the thuggish teenagers on the subway who last night aggressively told us we looked like the only other white guy on the train…so many things seem to lead to one conclusion: this is one of the worst times to be alive.
But then again, we saw Salome last night at the Metropolitan Opera.
The music was lush and percussive, yet — like the story of the sadistic princess who craves love at any cost — jarring and deranged.
Much like the city itself. (Which is why we make the rest of the country nervous.)
But when it ended, we felt exhilarated, and not all that bothered by the teenagers or the fact that it took an hour to get home when the subway door wouldn’t close at 116th Street.
Everyone should have the chance to live in the city for at least a little while, to understand not only its allure but its danger, the irrepressible energy and the ceaseless, maddening abrasion. Then they — and you know who we’re talking about, of course — might not want to slaughter us.
We slept, and our dreams were filled with anticipation.
As we considered what one year has brought, and what another has yet to bring.
We begin by noting that — even more than “freedom” — the word “community” has entered a new and perhaps unprecedented level of (mis)use from which the gay recluse will wish to completely disassociate himself. Particularly noxious are those forms of community — e.g., the gay community, the Irish community, the international community — regularly employed by politicians and reporters in the superficial and facile analysis that is the order of the day. We will not dwell on this extensively except to say that our most fundamental desire is for a community-free existence, one in which we always strive to remain immune to any such categorization, no matter how politically expedient, e.g., “The gay community expressed its pleasure at the election of Geraldine Ferraro to the United States Senate.” Exceptions will naturally be made for those communities defined not by tiresome categories of race, religion, class, location or — worst of all — nationality, but by a shared fondness for certain plants — particularly the alpine variety — animals, dying art forms such as the grand opera, and modes of public transportation, such as the D-train, e.g., “The D-train community has been perplexed by the stunning and inexplicable decline in service over the past few years, which has resulted in the serious deterioration of a once-vaunted line to a mere shadow of its former self.”
–The Gay Recluse, On The Desire for a Community-Free Existence, September 20, 2007
Filed under: Architecture, Dissonance, Health, History, Longing, Memory, Ruins, Search, The Gay Recluse | 6 Comments
Tags: Birthdays, Cities, Orchids, Solitude
In which The Gay Recluse considers the ephemeral nature of art.
Today we received a letter from “the fictionist,” a Brooklyn writer who inserts “short stories into the surrounding urban environment: a construction site, guard rail, park bench, etc.”
Hmm, that sounds kinda cool…let’s take a look, shall we?
This reminds us of when we used to be in a band and would go around gluing our posters all over the East Village. It would have been so much easier to just place them on the curb like this!
And to some extent, it would have made no difference to our fate, either musically or otherwise. Most obviously, this symbolizes the larger destiny of the written word, at least in its literary form. Or maybe art itself. Or life. Or anything else you could lay down on a curb to admire for a few seconds before it blows away.
But that’s not to say it shouldn’t be done! We can see how a little art will spruce up even the ugliest and most barren of landcapes (emotional and otherwise).
Thanks for sharing, fictionist! For those seeking more info on the fictionist, please visit:
Filed under: Graffiti, Landscape, Letters, Memory, New York City, The Gay Recluse | Leave a Comment
Tags: Art, Brooklyn, Curbs, Ephemeral, Installations, Short Stories
In which The Gay Recluse records and tumbles.
Hey fans of the British Invasion (by which we mean the one with Spacemen 3 and My Bloody Valentine)! Why not tumble on over to the latest in Saturnine Death Culture at Sea — recorded by us like five seconds ago on this very laptop — where we pretend we’re tripping and high (i.e., like we used to be).
“The Same Day, The Same Feeling” (MP3) by Saturnine Death Culture at Sea
This is just the same feeling
You have seen the worst in people
I can see you
Somewhere laughing
Somewhere distant
Somewhere this won’t find a way to you
Filed under: Bad Rock, Capitalism, Communism, Death Culture at Sea, Dissonance, Dream, Good Rock, Photography, Pleasure, The Gay Recluse | Leave a Comment
Tags: Evergreens, New Songs, Saturnine
In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with birds.
For a while after college, we worked watering plants in corporate office buildings in downtown Manhattan.
We worked in law firms, investment banks and other companies who generally could be said to rule the world.
It was poisonous work to the extent that we were not really considered a person; it wasn’t as bad as the cleaning staff, but we were definitely lower on the totem pole than the shoe-shine guy.
People were universally awful to us; they ordered us around and screamed at us as if — just because we made a lot less $$$ than they did and took care of the plants — we were inferior to them.
Of all the companies we worked at, the insurance companies were the worst.
The offices were beyond ostentatious; there were endless hallways of executive vice-presidents, all of whom made major $$$ and whose offices — besides containing the finest of ming trees — contained countless precious artifacts. It was seriously like being in a wing of the Louvre.
Of course all these rich assholes had their own executive cafeteria, too.
That’s why I’m so relieved that we’re bailing out AIG.
I would hate to think of any of these men (and they were all men) losing their jobs.
They’re used to a certain standard of living!
Which must be maintained at any cost.
Filed under: Animals, Capitalism, Communism, Government, GWB Project, Infrastructure, Memory, New York City | 2 Comments
Tags: $85 Billion, AIG, Bailouts, Corporate Welfare, Greed, Plant Watering, Rich Assholes
In which The Gay Recluse ponders the Hills and the empty rooms of his past.
So tonight we watched the most recent episode of the Hills. The first part was about Audrina.
She had to help promote some horrible band for her job.
She invited Lauren, who — now that they are on better terms — showed up with Lo and Stephanie. What was great about this episode is that there were no idiot guys in the whole thing. Spencer was completely absent, which was a big relief.
Anyway, the concert with Lauren and the gang was kinda fun — even though the band was a total shitshow — and even though everyone kept asking Audrina where her boyfriend Justin was.
And she looked vacant and sad because he had told her that he would come — just to help her out — and then he totally blew her off. She kept texting him and he wouldn’t answer!
But whatevs, the important stuff happened later, when Holly (Heidi’s sister, or we think that’s her name) had lunch with Lauren.
And they talked about how the three of them used to be best friends.
And how that’s not really possible anymore, because Heidi and Lauren have been enemies ever since Heidi started dating Spencer.
It made us think of the wars we fought, and how some of our old friends used to have lunch with our enemies and then act like it was no big deal, like nothing had changed between us.
And how we hated them for it, because after everything we had done together, we thought they were on our side. (When clearly they weren’t.)
Part of growing up for us has been learning that you often have to pick sides and deal with the consequences.
It would be wrong to say that we never think about some of the friends we lost.
But it would also be wrong to say that we miss them.
What we really miss are the memories, the joy of which will always be tainted by what happened later.
Filed under: Dissonance, Dream, History, Longing, Memory, Television | 2 Comments
Tags: Audrina, Couches, Empty Rooms, Fans, Heidi, Lauren, Lo, Spencer, The Hills
In which The Gay Recluse bemoans the state of the union.
For as long as we can remember, our mother has (like us) been a bleeding-heart liberal, while our father has been a Republican asshole.
They’ve been married almost 55 years.
But then a few months ago, she told us that he was supporting Obama.
We dared not ask him about it, because politics is not a subject we can ever discuss with him. (That’s a lesson we repeatedly learned the hard way.)
Still, we could hear the hope in our mother’s voice when she relayed the news, even though she was a Hillary supporter. (She’s now working for Obama.)
Except then last week he told her he was voting for McCain. Sigh.
And that he thought she should vote for him too, because of Sarah Palin.
My mother — who has only devoted the last four decades of her life to women’s equality and related issues of health and reproductive freedom — tried to explain why Sarah Palin was nothing like Hillary Clinton.
He told her she was “nitpicking.”
Omg, what an asshole!
Our father is a smart man in many ways — we could always respect his calls for fiscal responsibility — but somewhere along the line he became infected by a Rush-Limbaugh mentality.
So you see why we can’t talk to him about any of this: It’s too painful to acknowledge that he would vote for people who discriminate against his own son. We try to stick to three subjects: 1) weather, 2) sports and 3) gardening.
Once he confessed to us his belief that a gay relationship — and specifically, his son’s — didn’t deserve to be recognized by the law, no matter how long it had lasted. We were filled with hatred for him at that moment.
But that passed — obviously, some people will never be convinced — and we mostly think of our mother.
And try to follow her example of denial, resignation and forgiveness.
Filed under: Conspiracy, Decay, Disease, Dissonance, GWB Project, Health, History, Memory, Orchids, Pessimism, Resignation, The Gay Recluse | 3 Comments
Tags: Asshole Republicans, Barack Obama, Families, Fathers, Hillary Clinton, John McCain, Liberals, Mothers, Orchids, Sarah Palin
In which The Gay Recluse considers a Palin administration and shudders.
One difference between George W. Bush (and McCain) and Sarah Palin is that Palin is genuine to a degree Bush or McCain is/was not.
Watching Bush (as much as we prefer not to) we get the sense that he — a Connecticut blue blood who went to Yale and Harvard, after all — has always been faking the Texas act, in part because he’s not exactly a nimble speaker — lol — and in part because he knew it was politically advantageous to act like a good ol’ boy.
His true constituency has always been the super-rich, i.e., the recipients of his tax cuts. McCain is basically the same.
The social bullshit — gay marriage, most obviously, but the usual range of demeaning policies toward women, ethnic minorities and the poors — was like the nuts and cherry on his conservative sundae. (Which is not to say we don’t hate him for it.)
Palin, however, is completely genuine. We get the sense that she actually believes 100 percent of the white-trash shit that comes out of her mouth! Which of course is why she’s exciting (and polarizing): everyone would like to be a believer on some level, because it represents a return to an easier (albeit more childish) existence. This is also why it’s so easy to mock her.
But this is hardly a quaint picture of small-town life. As the New York Times reported this weekend, Palin is deeply suspicious of outsiders and operates her government like a thug.
We once saw a movie about gay holocaust survivors, and we were struck by what a few of them said about Hitler; how he was considered a joke by many thinking people, who thought it just was kind of funny to imagine such a stupid idiot in power. What we realize now is that Palin is the closest thing to Hitler this country has produced in a long time (at least at this level of power). We are totally complacent as a country.
In this respect, a Palin presidency — and let’s just assume for a second that McCain kicks it about five seconds into his administration — would be revolutionary.
Because there’s no doubt she would in fact happily slit the throats of many Republican insiders, the sort of chess players who are most interested in money and addicted to the power it brings. Let’s call it “Night of the Long Knives II,” shall we?
Palin’s administration would be filled with demagogues and fellow believers. It would obviously have all the trappings of a theocratic state.
The Republican party right now is in crisis: there are many who (with good reason) are frightened of Palin, but there are just as many who will do anything to maintain the level of power to which they have become addicted.
There is some reason to think — e.g., critical articles in The Times, AP, etc — that corporate America understands the danger she represents.
But like so many things impulsively set in motion, this too could gather an improbable, illogical momentum; it’s not just that she energizes the crazies, or even the complacency she inspires on the left (in many cases, because she’s a she) but also because her election would fulfill a certain desire for self-immolation common to political dynasties throughout history.
The point is: if she gets elected, the real losers are going to be George Bushes and John McCains — i.e., corporate America — who are suddenly going to find the access to power quickly walled off.
It’s almost enough to want to see her win, knowing that it would truly be the end of a horrible era, never mind that it would be the start of another that would be even worse.
Filed under: Addiction, Capitalism, City Pattern Project, Government, History, Memory, Pessimism, Politicians, Ruins, Washington Heights | 5 Comments
Tags: Demagogues, Sarah Palin, Thugs
On David Foster Wallace
In which The Gay Recluse remembers David Foster Wallace.
When we turned 28 or 29, our friend Marla gave us a copy of Infinite Jest.
We spent the next month or so locked in our room reading it, pretending to be sick and not going to work.
To say it was Pynchonesque doesn’t really do it justice.
DFW could write like Pynchon, but unlike Pynchon you got the sense he actually cared about his characters.
Ultimately this is why Pynchon will always be so beloved by geeks and adolescents of all ages.
Whereas DFW is more literary, and probably more obscure. He is Robert Musil to Pynchon’s James Joyce.
Once we were having dinner with some pretentious asshole who asked us who our favorite writer was.
We said David Foster Wallace.
He smiled smugly and made some quip about how his favorite author — Philip Roth — didn’t appreciate David Foster Wallace. (Or something like that.)
The point is, DFW was a hero to us not only because he was a great writer but because he hated “hideous men” like Philip Roth, John Updike, Norman Mailer and all the rest of them who were held aloft during the dark ages.
DFW was definitely the voice of a generation.
Albeit a cynical, misanthropic, suspicious and guarded generation.
When we say the DFW is in a “better place,” we aren’t talking about heaven.
But we aren’t exaggerating, either.
Life: “A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again.” Resquiat in pace, DFW.
Filed under: Addiction, Pessimism, Ruins, Search, Sickness, Writers-American | 5 Comments
Tags: David Foster Wallace, Death, Heroes, Infinite Jest
On a Song for Saturday Morning
In which The Gay Recluse writes a song for Saturday morning.
Oh hai! So apparently WordPress.com (on which The Gay Recluse is hosted) doesn’t allow you to upload MP3s, but for those souls interested in hearing our first musical composition since like forever, why not tumble on over to our Tumblr blog and have a listen? If you need additional incentive, we’ll confess that the effect on the vocal track is called “Epic Diva.” Lol.
You are not with me
I wasted this worry
On places I’ve already been
If hope is your offer
I’m getting too weary
To have you haunt me again
Filed under: Bad Rock, Gay, Good Rock, Ruins, Search, The Gay Recluse | 1 Comment
Tags: Epic Diva, Lo-Fi, Recording, Saturnine, Tumblr
In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with the George Washington Bridge.
Wake us up when it’s over.
Filed under: Architecture, GWB Project, Health, Longing, The Gay Recluse, Washington Heights, Weather | Leave a Comment
Tags: Bleak, Fog, Rain, The George Washington Bridge
In which The Gay Recluse reflects on those who died on 9/10 and 9/12.
Every year on 9/11, our thoughts inevitably drift to those who died on 9/10 and 9/12.
And whether their deaths were any more or less tragic than those so aggressively memorialized.
Those who try to elevate themselves on the shoulders of the dead always sound shrill and artificial.
They forget that in death, we are all equal.
And on some level, everyone understands this.
This is another example of how our culture has devolved.
In some ways — thanks to medicine and technology — death is more remote to us than it has ever been.
So perhaps it should not be surprising that — by the same token — it has never been more misunderstood.
As death, when we consider it closely, is the true goal of our existence, I have formed during the last few years such close relations with the best and truest friend of mankind, so that his image is no longer terrifying to me, but is indeed very soothing and consoling! And I thank my god for graciously granting me the opportunity (you know what I mean) of learning that death is the key to our true happiness.
–Mozart, in the year 1764 and at the age of 18 in a letter to his father
Filed under: Animals, Disease, Dissonance, Government, Longing, Quotes, Resignation | 3 Comments
Tags: 9/11, Death, Mozart
In which The Gay Recluse feels a little less depressed.
So hmmm… we can’t help but wonder if the Republican geniuses considered the idea that they might mobilize a movement of women against Sarah Palin.
Consider all the women in our family — who btw live in Pennsylvania and Ohio — who are srsly irate.
They’re all logging on to womenagainstsarahpalin.blogspot.com.
Like any dynasty, the Republicans have engineered their downfall.
More effectively than any opponent.
(Let’s hope we don’t eat these words on November 4.)
The Republicans literally have not one substantive issue in their favor.
And they know it!
It’ll be interesting to see if the MSM picks up on the growing Palin backlash.
Doree Shafrir writes about it in The Observer. (Is that MSM? Probably not so much.)
Maybe The Times will keep writing about hugs between the dynamic duo.
Ironically, The Times is another dynasty engineering their own downfall at the same time as the Republicans.
We’ll be happy to see them both go.
Filed under: Drivel, Government, GWB Project, Politicians, The Gay Recluse, The Times | 2 Comments
Tags: Beech Trees, John McCain, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Sarah Palin, WomenAgainstSarahPalin
In which The Gay Recluse loves bamboo and The Hills.
So we just watched the most recent episode of The Hills.
It was a lot better than the Las Vegas episode.
We’re never interested in any of the dumb guys, especially when they end up in jail.
But fortunately that wasn’t a plot line in this episode.
That’s another great thing about The Hills.
Much like real life, things happen and aren’t really resolved.
You just kind of forget about them and hope they go away.
And they do! Which is also why we like The Hills so much more than Gossip Girl.
Srsly: lords and dukes and duchesses? Who the fuck cares?
We’ll take Lauren and Audrina any day.
This episode they finally “talked” about how they’ve been drifting apart.
They didn’t really resolve anything. But they cried.
And they’re going to try to hold things together a little longer.
And forget the past.
It makes us remember all the friends we used to have.
And how we haven’t seen any of them for years.
Our life is like The Hills.
But only after the teevee is turned off, and the screen is blank.
Filed under: Gay, Longing, Memory, Nostalgia, Pessimism, Television | Leave a Comment
Tags: Audrina, Bamboo, Gossip Girl, Lauren, The Hills
In which The Gay Recluse is still morose.
Today we felt so completely trapped.
By our neighborhood, our job, our possessions.
Oh and our stupid country.
Our life felt completely artless.
But then we came home and watched The Hills.
And played with the cats.
Soon we’ll go to bed.
We wonder what it would be like to really believe.
LIke what do Sarah Palin or John McCain think about in those last seconds before they lose consciousness and drift off to sleep?
Are they too filled with doubts and longings?
Or do they think: I am really something special. In fact, everyone should be just like me!
Or perhaps: What are we going to do about all the homosexuals?
But as much as we tend to hate our life, we are grateful to learn about the McCains and the Palins.
And realize it could be so much worse.
Filed under: Architecture, City Pattern Project, Conspiracy, Dream, Government, Landscape, Pessimism | Leave a Comment
Tags: John McCain, Morose, Sarah Palin
In which The Gay Recluse questions the kind of man who berates a 75-year old woman for being pro-choice.
Our mother — who lives near Pittsburgh in the “swing-state” of Pennsylvania — has been going to physical therapy lately because she hurt her foot.
She goes during the day, when a lot of the other clients are old Republican assholes who have somehow managed not to die of heart attacks yet.
Last week this one guy was saying: “McCain made a smart move: now all those Hillary women are going to vote for Palin!”
Our mother couldn’t resist yelling from across the room: “Here’s one woman who voted for Hillary Clinton who won’t be voting for Sarah Palin.”
A little while later, he came over to her and said: “I want to tell you something: when my wife was younger she was diagnosed with cancer and had to get chemotherapy. It turned out that she was also pregnant at the time, and her doctor recommended getting an abortion, but she didn’t. And I just want you to know that that child — my son — was perfectly healthy.”
Our mother said: “Aren’t you glad she had the choice?”
But of course he didn’t understand what our mother was trying to say.
Somehow this guy thinks because a doctor once recommended that his wife get an abortion — and was ultimately wrong about the health of the baby — that no woman anywhere should ever have one.
This is obvs what John McCain and Sarah Palin believe, too.
We think of people like our mother who have spent decades and decades fighting for the right to make basic decisions about their bodies.
Which is basically the same thing the gays want.
And how frustrating it must be to read about the election, where these issues — i.e., abortion, gay marriage — become nothing more than markers in a sporting event.
And how demoralizing it must be to see everything they fought for eroding away.
All because people are fundamentally miserable.
And refuse to admit it.
Filed under: Gay, Government, Health, Landscape, Law, Pessimism, Politicians | Leave a Comment
Tags: Abortion, John McCain, Physical Therapy, Pro-Choice, Republican Assholes, Sarah Palin, Schopenhauer
In which The Gay Recluse wears his landlord hat.
Hey! Dreaming of renting a room in Washington Heights?
Brownstone life? Expansive closets? Acres of sparse, wooden floors?
Views of the George Washington Birch Project?
Then get in touch! (Unless you have huge fish tanks or big blue couches from the 1980s.)
(Edit: if the above CL link doesn’t work, please just write us for details at thegayrecluse [at] gmail.com.)
Filed under: Capitalism, GWB Project, The Gay Recluse, Washington Heights | Leave a Comment
Tags: Couches, Fish Tanks, Rentals
In which The Gay Recluse braces for the inevitable.
This past week has been very depressing to us.
You just get the feeling that the election is already slipping away.
It’s not like we think Obama is going to save us or anything.
But when was the last time we had a major candidate who was smart, charismatic and urbane?
In our life, the answer is never.
Why do people think they’re so superior because they append the phrase “by the hand of God” to something?
It is by the hand of God that we write this blog.
It is by the hand of God that we create this oil pipeline.
One thing we can say with absolute certainty.
God is ambivalent about politics.
Or countries.
Perhaps we should pray for divine intervention to stop our government from ossifying and cracking apart.
Except — as with this manhole cover — such prayers would be futile.
We try to take solace in the decaying beauty of the decline.
And the certainty that without death, you can’t have rebirth.
Whenever anyone asks me for something to put into a time capsule, I tell them not to bother. The manhole covers will last longer and look better than anything I could give them.
–Andy Warhol
Filed under: Capitalism, City Pattern Project, Communism, Dissonance, Government, Landscape, Longing, Resignation | 2 Comments
Tags: Andy Warhol, God, Manhole Covers
The Gay Recluse 