It's been a rough week. I'm starting a blog roughly five and a half years after everyone else, as a sort of scrapbook for ideas and images I come across. And also as a platform for my self-opinionated discussions on other people's work, and how they influence mine. Girl, I'm giving full-on cross pollination realness.
Please direct your attention firstly to the luminary Ms Penny Arcade, as pictured on this virginal posting. She nursed the howling baby of glam rock out of the womb, she is punk rock's foster mother, an A.I.D.S era Florence Nightingale, and the parole officer of burlesque. You had their poster on your college dorm wall, she taught them how to give face.
Earlier, this week I went to see Rami Shamir read from his terribly poignant debut novel Train to Pokipsie and as part of the evening's table of delights Ms Arcade herself presented material from her show Bad Education. Now, in the time I have been in New York, I have seen Ms Arcade perform more times than I have eaten; and tragically this is not much of an exaggeration. However, I had never seen anything from this show and frankly, it was staggering. She told of how she as a teenage girl, coming down from speed, was pulled from the street and forced into sexual trauma at the butt of a gun. The howls and sobs she brought up, the nauseating terror of a girl in fear for her life was so devestating I could hardly move to cover my mouth in horror. But of course, she's as smart as a whip and will never overindulge her audience in anyone emotion, she snapped out of the depths of this desolation with a whiplash instantaneity and rolled on, into uneasy humor, delighting us all with her encyclopedia of observations.
Honorable mention to Mother Flawless Sabrina (pictured here by Johnny Dynell) who hosted the event as only she can, with an uplifting and pithy sermon on New York's waining underground. We can't wait for someone else to rescue us she said; "You are the people I've been waiting for. You are the people you have been waiting for." Hearing her speak, I felt as though I was in a Baptist Church in Alabama at the darkest hour of the civil rights struggle, listening to a preacher leading us onwards to freedom.
Now look at the time! I'm attending Night of a Thousand Gowns tonight, it's four-thirty and I'm still sitting here eating peanut butter in my kimono. In fact, maybe I don't even need to change; it's a look isn't it?