http://search.deviantart.com/?q=by:xxxxxx&section=today deviantART RSS for by:xxxxxx en-us Copyright 2009, deviantART.com Sun, 06 Dec 2009 12:21:27 PST deviantART.com http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss http://s.deviantart.com/minish/widgets/apple-touch-icon-precomposed.png http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/8402800/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/8402800/ Fri, 07 Apr 2006 22:04:22 PDT

On the subject of Batman's religious affiliation, there is some disagreement among fans as well as among writers about whether the character is a mostly lapsed Catholic or a mostly lapsed Episcopalian. There is universal agreement that the character is not an active churchgoer in any faith.

Given the wealth of support for both major theories about Batman's religious background (Catholic and Episcopalian), it seems most likely that both are correct, and that Bruce Wayne's father (the source of Batman's surname, Scottish heritage, wealth and social standing) was an Episcopalian, while his mother (the key source of Bruce's early religious upbringing and ingrained religious feelings) was a Catholic.

As Batman's religious affiliation is listed as "Episcopalian/Catholic (lapsed)" in various places, we have noticed a few people who incorrectly interpret this as an indicator that Batman is a "lapsed Catholic" who has now become an Episcopalian. This is certainly not the case. What is meant is that Batman is an "Episcopalian/Catholic" who is lapsed in the bi-denominational upbringing of his childhood. It is a valid observation that children raised in homes with a split religious identity are more likely to be lapsed or religiously non-observant as adults than children of parents with a united religious identity. Batman is certainly no exception to this trend, although it is possible to think of many reasons other than his parents' inter-faith marriage for his lack of traditional religious observation and identification as an adult.

Many comic book fans regard Batman as an atheist or agnostic, albeit one who has personally witnessed the fact that powerful god-like entities and gods of mythological pantheons actually exist. Batman has appeared in literally thousands of stories, and not all of these are in agreement with regards to the character's theological views. On rare occasions, stories have been published in which Batman has simply identified himself as an atheist or a Christian. It is reasonable to assume that, as with other people, Batman's precise beliefs, spirituality and relationship to God vary over the years, and sometimes shift depending on his experiences. The religious aspects of Batman's character also vary depending on the writer.

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/8396713/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/8396713/ Fri, 07 Apr 2006 10:54:34 PDT

hello. go to the frolick room for a chat [link]

hi. my subscription is running out. i'm very sad about it cause i dont have a credit card to get a new one, and DA is rather ugly without it. so would you buy me one? pretty please? i'll return the favor somehow.

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/8303708/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/8303708/ Wed, 29 Mar 2006 10:46:12 PST

ugh fuck goths punks metals rappers trashers skinheads staighedges fascists anarchists communists hippies hippies hippies. the individual is no longer a free branching self forming autonomic human being but a almost always pathetic attempt at becoming a certain archetype for something. a self forming imitator lost in the resonant fields of multimedia. this is what plato was afraid of (and ironically, his solution was to create a completely FASCIST state of impossibilities). oh yeah plato had seen the future but he had NO idea how to interpret it. the future syndrome, the disease of all people born before their time. because it's no longer the future if you know what it's like.

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/8260887/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/8260887/ Sat, 25 Mar 2006 00:43:43 PST

uh shit last night i got way drunk and fucked shit up bad. i don't even remember much, i only know that i fucked it up BAD.

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/8249951/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/8249951/ Thu, 23 Mar 2006 20:00:34 PST

getting lost in the getting, the using until using up the last bit the inevitable bottom of the pocket, it's getting into the same old alley staring at the same old friends, none of them knows me we're all too busy getting lost, getting, using. we as human beings have it in our nature to want and get. or do we? why then do it so artificially, instinct doesn't speak through a microphone it doesn't use theatricals to thrill it doesn't thrill it doesn't exploit. cigarettes sodas whole chicken breasts and bubblegum, cereals and makeup. marihuana with my left hand. booze, mescaline (and food and coffee and more cigarettes for mescaline). food does its part in the brain there are chemicals in all of our decisions. but what if we decide for more chemicals? it becomes a huge slide into getting lost in the getting, the using...

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/8136956/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/8136956/ Sun, 12 Mar 2006 10:32:14 PST

california, evo morales

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/8110867/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/8110867/ Thu, 09 Mar 2006 09:39:31 PST

i can't stop eating

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/8102790/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/8102790/ Wed, 08 Mar 2006 14:49:01 PST

last time it was floripondio, for those of you who don't know floripondio it's a beautiful hallucigenic flower that makes you experience horrible horrible things about yourself. she and i were floripondio at least in my mind and she loved it in a masochistic way while i hated it in a masochistic way. drank 2 entire pots once and the hospital for 3 and that was to freak out, that's why i say i need to freak in now. there's a big beautiful floripondio flower on her grave.

starting things late fucking things up is a natural thing to me it's like i don't want a fair treatment, don't want to belong, i do things to myself i rip things out of me and then i stare at them and the only thing i get is anxiety and not even guilt. "my bla bla for bla causes me to do the opposite of what's expected of me" jesus i couldn't even start doing that. let's just say my bla bla causes me to try and reach what's expected of me, by me, in ways that aren't expected, not even by me.

health is an asset in reality i'm looking to quit on this body and this mind but it's under construction still it has to be like fucking ROME and then it has to go down in flames and whoever is typing this now has to be nero.

(Both fiction and reality TV were encoded a certain way to fit diverse standards of what people called "sophistication", a reduction of aesthetical and moral, mental and emotional impact on the individual. No matter what the theme was it was a familiar theme; no matter how people looked, it was an acceptable look - everything was already assimilated, conflict on the viewer was reduced to a controlled minimum, resulting in stupor, artificial letargy. This is something troubled parents had known for over 60 years since the stablishment of television. She wasn't truly aware of this but her mother had been a great enthusiast of it, the way it made her life easier).

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/8101343/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/8101343/ Wed, 08 Mar 2006 09:14:46 PST

i want to do something special and freak IN.

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/8060623/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/8060623/ Fri, 03 Mar 2006 22:08:50 PST

lets fuckin end it with the bio bla bla

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/8016206/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/8016206/ Mon, 27 Feb 2006 08:59:06 PST

i woke up today and i had this weird like inflamed spot the size of a penny on my face. it's red and shit, but it doesn't hurt at all.

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7997250/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7997250/ Sat, 25 Feb 2006 08:26:26 PST

drugs drugs drugs. 4ever sadness.

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7975020/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7975020/ Wed, 22 Feb 2006 19:22:15 PST

when i get to boston i will have ended a cycle of contradictions and deformations that constituted what was true, of unlikely but unquestionable events like crystals in swamp water, and i will start another cycle; a vulnerable skull among millions, a skull alone inside a skull, plastered onto reality, watching itself on video, through video, watching itself alone from inside itself, unlikely but unquestionable like one unique crystal lost in the middle of a unique swamp.

arriving in boston i will not be in boston again, i will be here. here is limbo and there's no stepping out of limbo, no flying off of limbo, even when you arrive at the airport in boston. a cycle will have ended and another will have started but the changes have to be made physical, which implies time. i have never been one to rush into things. i have never been one to program myself. if i'm ready to go through a new cycle it's because i don't want to die with the old one and nothing else. i don't want to be that video.

on monday the machines and the diet. starting wednesday the work of finding work. by then i will be looking at boston from high above. before then i will just be high. cocaine and heroin on my way to boston. heroin and cocaine to drop from and land in boston. because you have to know the city and i know the city, i know the people in the city. and this weekend, i will let the city of boston suck a little more off of me, it couldn't be any other way, for it's the carnival. what's left will have to do, on monday, getting to boston. the machines can wait, the diet can wait, work can wait. and looking at boston from high above, from inside my own skull, i realize, boston can wait too.

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7952437/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7952437/ Mon, 20 Feb 2006 12:09:05 PST

friendly psychological warfare?

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7946942/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7946942/ Sun, 19 Feb 2006 20:07:58 PST

i don't think i'm thinking very clearly lately.

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7879812/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7879812/ Mon, 13 Feb 2006 04:01:00 PST

for those who care, jessica marie alem, ~india, is dead. she died saturday feb 11 at 5 am. she was my lover and my best friend. the best person in this fucking world. the most honest and yet the kindest person i've ever met. my muse. i'll never be whole again. this is a stupid egocentric thing for the most part. she did good. so good i want to follow. but unlike hers, my death will probably be slow and painful and stupid. just like yours.

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7836864/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7836864/ Wed, 08 Feb 2006 11:33:03 PST

how do i get in the demolition business? i've been thinking about it and i'd love to be a demolition woman. and do the whole thing, smash concrete blocks with those big hammer like things and shovel shit and dig and bend and crush, hang out with the guys after a long day of hard work. on the best days, i'd use that huge vehicle with the enormous metal ball that swings and beat the crap out of buldings with it. and occassionally, when i get super lucky, be able to blow the shit out of a building using high power explosives. jesus and the bitch.

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7826984/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7826984/ Tue, 07 Feb 2006 09:57:30 PST

i love it when jessica calls other women whores.

[link]

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7824399/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7824399/ Tue, 07 Feb 2006 00:34:44 PST

my little girl had her first day of class in a new school today. she's the tiniest one in the class, and she loves it.

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7814369/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7814369/ Sun, 05 Feb 2006 23:44:08 PST

some people and i are having a party thursday. it will be THE party, guaranteed. if you're in LA or near it, and you've got style, and you want to assist, send me a note.

btw i watched "party monster" jesus christ what an awful movie. why's dr. evil's son in it?

and kind of related, but not really, isn't she precious?



]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7754961/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7754961/ Mon, 30 Jan 2006 18:58:32 PST

"the anchorman" is such a great movie, that fight scene almost made me pee myself which would have been too much since monika did pee herself.

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7749774/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7749774/ Mon, 30 Jan 2006 09:36:43 PST

that stephen kid is such a fag.

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7740302/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7740302/ Sun, 29 Jan 2006 10:25:40 PST

good bye anna malle. let's not be down, she's in a better place now (suckin' heavenly dick)

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7728592/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7728592/ Sat, 28 Jan 2006 02:01:08 PST

don't you hate it when people start copying the way you talk or walk or type or dress or whatever? it's amazing how good people are at imitating eachother, you put an original business and if it does well, 5 businesses just like it open in the same block. i don't know i hate the monkey like things about humanity, and i see them everywhere in everyone including myself. but at least i am conscious and try to go over it or swerve and hit and wall anything works. i hit walls often when it comes to people. when i do get through though it feels very good, i have a frew great friendships that i wouldn't trade for anything, so i wish it would happen more often, but it's hard if not impossible to hit it off with most people. i spent some time of my life trying to "open up" and adapt to certain social enviroments and many kinds of people, or dwelling on the fact that most of these give me headaches. but i just don't like most people, what can i do? be friendly to them all anyway? maybe. maybe i'm just not zen enough.

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7713103/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7713103/ Thu, 26 Jan 2006 12:00:04 PST

smart chicks, man.

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7646982/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/7646982/ Mon, 20 Feb 2006 10:33:52 PST

i'm sorry i haven't sent the finished piece yet to those who wanted it. personal problems. i will soon deliver, so hold on.

here is an excerpt of something i've been writing. if you like it, and would like to read the full thing once it's done (it is sort of long but i'm almost through with it) let me know so i can send it to you. also i'd appreciate any constructive thoughts, in the sense of construction, not correction.


Lizzy didn't mind some of the older technology, it gave a person time to think-- Dead black metal stove gradually goes fulgore orange. Older technology seems comparatively alive, the way the boiler sweats and shakes. She almost didn't want the water to boil. But black hot coffee was alive too. She drank it slowly, pacing around holding the mug with her right hand, the left one alternating between her lower abdomen and the left of her forehead, pressing slightly but firmly. Outside it was another sunny afternoon, ignorable smog, buildings squinting at eachother from the reflection - below, on the pavement, cars hating eachother and people aware of them, walking around sun-fucked. With ice-cream cones and dogs and stuff in their pockets. The coffee got colder with every sip and with every sip the blunter, less imaginative got the view. It made her wince and press on her head again. She was close to figuring out a pattern for the head thing. According to her mother, though, there couldn't be a pattern, for the pain was a symptom of something else - a certain malfunction of a certain organ. The 51 year old woman had said it had to be a neuralgia due to the liver and then she had interrogated Liz about her diet and things of the sort for so long she had had to switch ears on the earpiece 4 times.

Years ago, the first time Liz had been diagnosed and prescribed mom had bought enough pills and drops of each particular medication to last 2 or 3 months. She had been very rigorous with the dosification during the first few weeks. But then the novelty of it all wore off, and the dedicated worrying became routine: mindlessly, mother got apathetic about it all, as if there had been no threat in the first place, or as if the scare had been the threat and not the disease. Liz didn't know whether to care or not, so she wouldn't. However, on check-up days, mother wouldn't get off her neck, making sure over and again that she'd swallowed every pill, every drop, before going to the clinic, like to fool the doctors. "Doctors are fools already, in reality you're makin' fools out of us" Liz would laugh, dropper in hand, watching her mother's cold anxiety, casual suffering. Now Lizzy was afraid to pick up the phone because she made the terrible mistake of telling mother about the headaches last time they talked. She had assumed, and wouldn't back off on the idea that Liz had been eating greasy food, drinking and smoking cigarettes much. "How could you possibly know those things? And don't give me any of that 'mothers know' bullshit", Liz had interrupted her in the middle of the rerun sermon for a healthier life. "Mothers are naturally paranoid that's all. Artificially too. You're bound to get one right now and then."

It was a very particular kind of pain. There was tension to it but it wasn't the result of a mental or physical strain, being very apart from your every day stress: Tension was the alerted response to an alien presence, a non-functional pain holding her hostage. Lizzy had sensed that while some headaches are located in a specific part of the brain, others seem to exist without physicality. This, it was some sort of ghost pain, the way it moved around her brain and not in it, mocking the skull-- the way it would take over her thoughts at any time and she'd wince, curse, it had always been there, haunting passively. Its intensity varied, but there was no real agression. Pain killers didn't seem to do anything. What's the point of pain if it doesn't let you know what's going on?

The pain in her stomach was more senseful, it was the result of taking so many fucking pills. She winced again. The pattern now indicated she was going to have to sit down for a while. She did it on the recliner she kept by the sunlight window, in the living/dining room. It was the last decently sunlit window in the apartment, all the others had big buildings in front of them. There had been a one floored mechanic workshop where Liz was now staring. However, there was no workshop now (one day Liz just looked outside and there was nothing) and it wouldn't be long before it became a building too and you couldn't see the sun anymore from anywhere in the partment; the foundation of it was already settled (one day Liz looked outside and it just was) and they were raising the skeleton for at least 6 floors, the cement trucks w... ]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/2565704/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/2565704/ Mon, 05 Sep 2005 22:03:34 PDT

i had a dream that i had built an EMO killer. (EMO: any activity, fashion, disposition or individual stance which (ab)uses emotional expressionism as some sort of social armored disguise). it was enough to point it at anything emo and push a button and they would melt. i had so much fun, but then i realized i had killed too many people and most television shows, resulting in terrible unbalance. the survivors become EMO themselves at incredible rates in a desperate attempt to regain some balance. i investigated using the INTERNET 6 (at a cybercafe/bar/motel on the outskirts wearing a costume and then another, since i was the most wanted criminal on earth) and found out that there is a percentage, many percentages that can't be messed with, which control EVOLUTION: DECADENCE--POPULISM--MARGINALITY--etcetcetc. and that EMO was just a sub-branch of HYPERTEENAGEHOOD which was just a product of OVERPOPULATION.

]]> !xxxxxx http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/2450263/ http://xxxxxx.deviantart.com/journal/2450263/ Mon, 17 May 2004 18:05:04 PDT [link]

I

All experience is mediated — by the mechanisms of sense perception, mentation, language, etc. — & certainly all art consists of some further mediation of experience.

II
However, mediation takes place by degrees. Some experiences (taste, smell, sexual pleasure) are less mediated than others (reading a book, looking through a telescope, listening to a record). Some media, especially "live" arts such as dance, theater, musical or bardic performances, are less mediated than others, such as TV, CDs, Virtual Reality. Even among the media called "media", some are more, and other are less mediated, according to the intensity of imaginative participation they demand. Print & radio demand more of the imagination, film less, TV even less, VR the least of all — so far.

III
For art, the intervention of Capital always signals a further degree of mediation. To say that art is commodified is to say that a mediation, or standing-in-between, has occurred, & that this betweenness amounts to a split, & that this split amounts to "alienation". Improv music played by friends at home is less "alienated" than music played "live" at the Met, or music played through media (whether PBS or MTV or Walkman). In fact, an argument could be made that music distributed free or at cost on cassette via mail, is LESS alienated than live music played at some huge We Are The World spectacle or Las Vegas niteclub, even though the latter is live music played to a live audience (or at least so it appears), while the former is recorded music consumed by distant & even anonymous listeners.

IV
The tendency of Hi Tech, & the tendency of Late Capitalism, both impel the arts farther and farther into extreme forms of mediation. Both widen the gulf between the production & consumption of art, with a corresponding increase in "alienation".

V
With the disappearance of a "mainstream" & therefore of an "avant-garde" in the arts, it has been noticed that all the more advanced and intense art-experiences have become recuperable almost instantly by the media, & are thus rendered into trash like all other trash in the ghostly world of commodities. Now, "Trash", as the term was redefined in, let's say, in Baltimore in the 1970s, can be good fun — as a sort of ironic take on a sort of inadvertent folkultur that surrounds & pervades the more unconscious regions of popular sensibility — which in turn is produced in part by the Spectacle. "Trash" was once a fresh concept, with radical potential. By now, however, amidst the ruins of Post-Modernism, it has finally begun to stink. Ironic frivolity finally becomes disgusting. Is it possible now to BE SERIOUS BUT NOT SOBER? (Note: The New Sobriety is of course simply the flip-side of the New Frivolity. Chic neo-puritanism carries the taint of Reaction, in just the same way that postmodernist philisophical irony & despair lead to Reaction. The Purge Society is the same as the Binge Society. After the "12 steps" of trendy renunciation in the '90s, all that remains is the 13th step of the gallows. Irony may have become boring, but self-mutilation was never more than an abyss. Down with frivolity — Down with sobriety.) Everything delicate & beautiful, from Surrealism to Breakdancing, ends up as fodder for McDeath's ads; 15 minutes later, all the magic has been sucked out, & the art itself dead as a dried locust. The media-wizards, who are nothing if not postmodernists, have even begun to feed on the vitality of "Trash," like vultures regurgitating & reconsuming the same carrion, in an obscene ecstasy of self-referentiality. Which way to the Egress?

VI
Real art is play, & play is one of the most immediate of all experiences. Those who have cultivated the pleasure of play cannot be expected to give it up simply to make a political point (as in an "Art Strike", or "the suppression without the realization" of art, etc.). Art will go on, in somewhat the same sense as breathing, eating and fucking will go on.

VII
Nevertheless, we are repelled by the extreme alienation of the arts, especially in "the media," in commercial publishing & galleries, in the recording "industry," etc. And we sometimes worry even about the extent to which our very involvement in such arts as writing, painting, or music implicates us in a nasty abstraction, a removal from immediate experience. We miss the directness of play (our original kick in doing art in the first place); we miss smell, taste, touch, the feel of bodies in motion.

VIII
Computers, video, radio, printing presses, synthesizers, fax machines, tape recorders, photocopiers — these things make great toys, but terrible addictions. Finally we realize that... ]]> !xxxxxx