Negation Aspiration vol. 36

Apocalypse Whatever

The making of a racist, sexist religion of nihilism on 4Chan

In their apparent indifference to content and their commitment to aestheticized irony, shitposters resemble the disengaged ironists the 19th-century philosopher Søren Kierkegaard discussed in texts like The Concept of Irony and Either/Or. According to Kierkegaard, the ironist “poetically composes himself and his environment with the greatest possible poetic license” and lives “in this totally hypothetical and subjunctive way.” Every act is an act of self-creation: Stories that are told are not descriptive of “true” facts out there but rather ways in which the ironist can prove his power, his philosophical strength, his verbal dexterity. He says things just to be the sort of person who says them. The ironist maintains his power by taking no position, starting every argument anew. “There is something seductive about every beginning, because the subject is again free, and it is this pleasure the ironist longs for,” Kierkegaard writes in The Concept of Irony. “In such moments, actuality loses its validity for him; he is free, above it.” For that freedom, the ironist is willing to say anything, make any argument, undeterred by any fear of being called to account. That is, the ironist is the proto-troll.

U.S.A.! U.S.A.! vol. 95

Report: Russia Has Trump 'Golden Showers' Blackmail

NERRRRRRRRRD! vol. 56

DC Comics’ Watchmen Revival Could Go Very, Very Wrong

“DC Universe meets the Watchmen!”

i'm not going to suggest that someone Charlie Hebdos the DC offices... but that might be the only way they'll learn.

 'kay... that's your nerd-salt for the year.

We Are The Sprocket Holes vol. 234

micro-reviews:

BLACK PAST

shot-on-video enfant terrible Olaf Ittenbach's first gooey blast of backyard splatter borrows heavily from Raimi's first Evil Dead film in plot and ideas, but Ittenbach establishes his vision within those parameters, crafting set-pieces that look as if your worst nightmare of an indoor kid made a life-size paper-mache diorama detailing the goreist passages of Sade's 150 Passions.

CARNAGE PARK

Mickey Keating's stand-your-ground parable avoids the pitfalls of most similarly costumed "grindhouse" throwbacks due in large part to convincing performances from all the players involved, an organic sense of who the characters are, and a narrative that escalates into strobe-lit nightmare.

THE DEVIL LIVES HERE

occasionally formulaic (sometimes frustratingly so) and periodically dragging, this Brazilian export still has enough visual imagination and energetic aggression to encourage its recommendation.

DOG EAT DOG

Paul Schrader's latest veers dangerously close to being one of those dreadful post-Tarantino celluloid husks that pocked the indie-scene throughout the 90s, but mercifully all those involved are able to stay the course, crafting a film that hearkens back to the themes that made Schrader the Poet Laureate of White Male Impotence.

THE GREASY STRANGLER 

every frame... every piece of dialogue... is a work of mind scrambled post-ironic art.

TRASH FIRE

Richard Bates Jr.'s (Excision) delightfully mean-spirited gothic horror comedy dips hard into perverse surrealism and dinner-table-giggling blasphemy, topped off with some of the most likable unlikables this side of John Waters.

Negation Aspiration vol. 36

"He would sit on a throne at the front of this vast room filled with trainees. There would be a girl stroking his hair, another massaging his back and another stroking him under orange towels that would be placed on his lap. It was disgusting but it was a daily occurrence. He is a cold, calculating predator. I witnessed him routinely abusing that power, often with the most vulnerable students. These were young women who looked up to him as a spiritual guru. They loved him. And he took advantage of that in the most heinous way imaginable.”

Hot Yoga Founder Bikram Choudhury Loses Lawsuit, Has to Give up His Entire Empire

by  Shahana Yasmin 02 January, 2017

Negation Aspiration vol. 35

The story behind the sudden cancellation of Adult Swim’s Trump-loving comedy show

2007 / 2017: Ten Years of Retributional Sodomy

i was fresh out of college, 2 and 1/2 years immersed in The Communion (still counting), cruising for trim, and looking for writing gigs when i conceived this blog. as best i can remember, the title came from a post on the old Relapse Records message board (hence the parodic tribute in the banner), and this blog was meant to be a place where i could curate raw materials and aesthetic inspirations for my creative outputs. not merely a blog for self-attention starved diary entries (although there is plenty of that), but a place where i'd share art, music, bizarre news stories, films, pornography, works of others shuffled into a barrage of information both catastrophic and fruitful.

looking back at older entries, i see a lot of idiot rage stemming from deep insecurity and frustrated uncertainty about what would become of my aspirations. i had not yet learned that the publishing industry had been perhaps irrevocably toxified by a misguided animus directed toward those from working class backgrounds, who fail to be in possession the enabling trust funds that insure they only remain fashionably impoverished while they grind through unpaid internships and barista underemployment while still expecting everyone to marvel at their "struggle" to live in one of the most expensive cities in the country, as if their inherited privilege had nothing to do with their occupation of the metropolis and their ability to network among other cosmopolitan subversives.

that being said, i can't help but wince at the ballistic overentitlement and craftless vitriol that make up much of this blog's DNA in the early years. stupid, petty, vicious stuff... no wonder they don't come calling. the fact that much of the social networks are invariably fueled by even more acerbic strains of spite and possessiveness is what caused me to move this blog into more of a spot for off-beat news items and poetically terse film reviews, with an occasional dip into the perma-fixation on women, in all their infuriating splendor and tantalizing rancor.

perhaps they'll be further shifts in content and expression. perhaps not. but since i'm going nowhere... i'm not going anywhere.

here's Lydia Lunch getting spanked while Richard Kern watches: