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May. 16th, 2012 @ 10:03 pm Interview With The Vampire.
This hypergesticulation disorder only gets worse as I get older. By the time I'm 80, I'll only be able to string together a sentence if I'm voguing simultaneously.

May. 7th, 2012 @ 11:29 pm The fear of exploring folds inside my navel lest they unravel and spill my guts.

May. 2nd, 2012 @ 07:42 pm Family Reunion.

Apr. 14th, 2012 @ 10:58 pm Prior to "the downside of starting to pay attention."

Apr. 9th, 2012 @ 02:19 pm Our Mutiny.
Our challenging friendship
became the intimacy between lovers,
became the clairvoyance amongst kin,
became the illumination of all learning
that is
at its heart
a process of remembering.

Mar. 29th, 2012 @ 10:33 pm Et in Arcadia ego.

Mar. 2nd, 2012 @ 03:03 pm ¡Baila conmigo!
Once at Starr Space, Amir threw one of his late night doo wop dance parties. All of the requisite Bushwick art chicks and scrag dudes showed up to trip the light apathetic. Around 1 a.m., a drunk Guatemalan immigrant guy from the hood showed up. He positioned himself in the center of the dance floor and began gyrating suggestively. For two hours, Jules, Stacey and I watched him fly solo - make pass after pass at every girl there, get turned down, and remain undeterred. I thought it was magnificent. He left happy and beaming (albeit inebriated) in a way that would make even Eckhart Tolle jealous... a Dalai Lama of "giggity giggity."

Feb. 24th, 2012 @ 07:43 pm Said the sky to the ground.

Feb. 23rd, 2012 @ 11:35 pm Equity.
If societal strata reflected evolutionary pressures, then the richest amongst us would also be the most beautiful. But they obviously aren't. And, I don't care how much you tart up a horsefaced Kardashian, those bitches ain't pretty. They're camouflaged.

Jan. 18th, 2012 @ 09:49 pm Untitled.

Jan. 15th, 2012 @ 11:26 pm Henry.

Me and my friend Max finished work on a short film tonight. It's a portrait of a man named Henry.


Jan. 11th, 2012 @ 07:58 am /diˌɒksiˌraɪbɵ.njuːˌkleɪ.ɨk ˈæsɪd/
A cumshot is the purest form of self-promotion.

Jan. 3rd, 2012 @ 10:50 am Erotic City.
Use nanotechnology to craft a new sonic-responsive form of MDMA, connect your heartbeat to a Linn drum machine via wi-fi. Funk yourself to death.

Dec. 21st, 2011 @ 08:51 pm No One You Ever Really Met.

Nov. 25th, 2011 @ 06:40 pm Black Friday.
I made a podcast this afternoon, while you shopped, dodged venereal skankazoids at Wal-Mart and held your breath through wafts of residual pepper spray. I'll keep it up until I gotta take it down, so download it. It's free and especially for you. With all my love.

Nov. 18th, 2011 @ 10:55 am Slipstreams.

Oct. 31st, 2011 @ 05:44 pm It Gets Better.


Sep. 15th, 2011 @ 07:43 am Pink Eyes. Wine Lips.

Sep. 10th, 2011 @ 07:31 pm Soliloquy Three.


SOLILOQUY III: JOSHUA SEIDNER & BLVCK AMERICA | UV Nile
 
Saturday, September 17, 2011
7 pm - 9 pm
@ P.P.O.W. Gallery
535 West 22nd Street, 3rd floor
New York, New York
 
(NEW YORK) - P.P.O.W. and the Create Art Today (C.A.T.) initiative, founded by P.P.O.W. Director Jamie Sterns, are proud to present Soliloquy III: UV Nile, a performance by multi-disciplinary artist JOSHUA SEIDNER and art collective BLVCK AMERICA.
 
Organized by curator Joseph Whitt, "Soliloquy III" is the third installment in "Soliloquies," an invitational series that features collaborations between emerging and established talents in the worlds of film/video and performance art.
 
UV Nile is an immersive, start-stop performance that draws connections between spiritualism, exoticism, false-idolatry and themes of tribal unity in 90's rave culture. The piece casts the gallery space as a house of worship, the performer as a high priest, and each spectator as a congregant. Throughout the night, Blvck America will project multiple layers of live video and sound to isolate the most escapist elements of contemporary nightlife. In response, Joshua Seidner, prompted by constant and intermittent siren interruptions, will borrow aspects of Egyptian initiation ritual and go-go worship to offer both himself and a younger apprentice as an objectified, mummy-wrapped, father-and-son of the cloth.
 
All costuming will be created especially for this event by TELFAR.
 
Slowly transforming a secular experience into one of mystical reverence, UV Nile uncovers often overlooked connections between nihilistic artifice and holy abandon that characterize much of underground club culture.
 
UV Nile will begin promptly at 7pm. The performance will continue for a minimum of two hours and is open to the public.
 
For additional information, please visit the following websites:
 
www.ppowgallery.com
www.joshua-seidner.com
www.blvckamerica.com
www.createarttoday.com

Aug. 22nd, 2011 @ 08:44 pm The Best Revenge.


Late in 1999, my uncle broke into my father’s restaurant and hit me in the head with a bat-sized plank of firewood. He’d called me a pussy ass over the phone earlier in the day, and instead of allowing it to slide, I retorted with “Tell me, what do you think your wife feels when you try to fuck her with that impotent dick of yours?” There was blood everywhere. The doctor said that if the blow had landed about an inch higher than it did, I would’ve sustained life-altering brain injury. It took three men - my father, another uncle, and a bread salesman - to restrain me. But I did manage to break my uncle’s shoulder (at least that is what he said in court) and yank a large handful of hair from the top of his head. His lawyer tried to argue that anyone in my uncle’s position, having heard such an insult (which I was asked to slowly repeat three times), would justifiably react in such a way. The judge, erring on the side of logic, disagreed and his decision tore my extended family apart. My grandmother died believing that I “brought everything on myself” and told my father that if I didn’t drop the charges against her son that he would spread word to everyone in our small Alabama town that I was a “nigger-lovin’ faggot.” Much of the family either stayed silent or sided with him, and when my uncle had to pay my hospital bill, there was nothing left to do for many of the people that grew up saying that they loved me except to pretend that I no longer existed.

I’ve never known my place. I’ve never understood how I came from where I did, and how unconditional love can sometimes evaporate when you need it most.

But here I am, alive and thriving. Just for spite.

Aug. 4th, 2011 @ 01:51 pm That's The Way Love Goes.
My grandparents used to play this song by Merle Haggard every Sunday during supper. I remember sweating catfish grease in the August humidity within earshot of the stereo. Probably one of the most beautiful love songs that I've ever heard; and it's taken me twenty years to fully appreciate it. Country music always felt suffocating until I left the south. Now it just feels like somebody giving me a big warm hug.

Aug. 1st, 2011 @ 02:44 pm I look at the ground a lot. It keeps me grounded.
 

On my walk to work on Saturday, I found this letter folded into a paper airplane on the sidewalk. I imagined its author throwing it towards the sky and walking away. On the outside of the airplane, "To my truest love" was written on one wing, and "A cry for help" on the other.

There are so many people hurting in the world.

All we really have is our honesty with one another and the grace of empathy.

Jul. 29th, 2011 @ 11:15 pm Zan and Jayna.


Jul. 21st, 2011 @ 06:09 pm Xyzzy.


P.P.O.W Gallery cordially invites you to attend the opening reception for:

MAGIC FOR BEGINNERS

Bas Jan Ader, Olaf Breuning, Jennifer Cohen, Scott Hug, Kevin Lips, Niall McClelland, Jesse McLean, Kristie Muller, Rbt. Sps., Brent Stewart

Curated by Jamie Sterns and Joseph Whitt

THURSDAY, JULY 28th
6 - 8 PM
@ P.P.O.W Gallery
535 W. 22nd St., 3rd floor
New York, NY 10011

After Party @ U.S.A - 24 Avenue C (btwn 2nd & 3rd Street)
(Private from 9 - 10 PM) > Party continues late.
Music and projections by Joseph Jagos.

Historically, the formulas of Modernism have lent themselves to the imposition of structures on nature. Utilizing an economy of means, or a paring down of form, some artists have drawn attention to the processes and materials that they employ in order to comment on limitations inherent in human observation and experience. The impossibility of this search for certainty is prescient in a world rife with unforeseen technological advances and consequences. From Kurzweilian "singularities” to the embrace of dystopic or parallel hyper-realities, many artists today use Modernist tropes to draft odes to possible futures.

In the face of such infinitely malleable destinies, the ten artists selected for this exhibition remain undaunted. In bold, minimal and idiosyncratic terms, they propose new, decidedly un-grandiose, vernaculars through various mediums such as video, photography, and sculpture. Their works concern themselves with an intensely personal present tense, with lives lived and documented in real time. These works are inward, solipsistic, and in some instances, similar to an occult experience or an exercise in ritualized revelation. The art object is often left over from actions performed in service of an impossible quest, or crafted in playful celebration of it. These artists seem to exist in cultural peripheries, lobbing ruminations out of left fields, revealing epistemological truths—truths that have little or nothing to do with changing the world.

Exhibiting artists: Bas Jan Ader (born Winschoten, the Netherlands, 1942, lost at sea, 1975; artist’s estate represented by Patrick Painter Gallery, Los Angeles); Olaf Breuning (lives and works in New York City; represented by Metro Pictures, New York); Jennifer Cohen (lives and works in New York City; represented by Salon 94 Freemans, New York); Scott Hug (lives and works in New York City); Kevin Lips (lives and works in New York City); Niall McClelland (lives and works in Toronto, Canada); Jesse McLean (lives and works in Chicago, Illinois); Kristie Muller (lives and works in Toronto, Canada); Rbt. Sps. (lives and works in Murray, Kentucky); Brent Stewart (lives and works in Nashville, Tennessee)

For more information, please visit www.ppowgallery.com or call (212) 647-1044.

Jun. 26th, 2011 @ 08:11 am Paesi che vai, usanze che trovi.
Three mornings ago. Grand Central Station gelato bar, getting espresso fix.

Clerk rings me up, asks "You Italian?"

Me: "I don't know what I am."

Him: "Really? Why not?"

Me: "I dunno. I'm from the South. We don't keep track of stuff like that."

Jun. 3rd, 2011 @ 01:03 pm Gymnasium Meditation.
All of the Guido Techno being played inside all of the gyms in America siphoned into a black hole, then autotuned en masse until it approaches a Satanic abstraction - an infinite singularity of skank - a jewel somehow maneuvered by the gravity of our thought to a delicately placed perch atop the ring finger of Lady GaGa.

May. 26th, 2011 @ 09:45 pm Grizzly Tan.
In eighth grade, I was one of the first boys in my class to hit puberty. It was unnerving because this manifested itself as blankets of black hair on my legs and sporadic bouts of acne. As the spring of 1985 approached, I feared wearing shorts at school and resolved to “fix” things by secretly shaving with my mother’s disposable razors. I’d also observed how her makeup concealed imperfections and resolved to sneak applications of her Estee Lauder base foundation each morning before school… without her knowledge of blending. So, imagine… a 13-year-old boy in white Ocean Pacific short shorts, knee high socks, conspicuous razor bumpy stubble up and down his thighs, and a pronounced line demarcating the end of an oddly tan face and the beginning of an alabaster neck. Kathy McClung, who sat next to me in science class, traumatized me twice that year by asking: “Jody? Are you wearing makeup?!?” “Jody? Do you shave your legs?!?” “No!” I answered, flushing beet red each time.

These bald-faced lies heralded in my first dark period of pock-marked swarthy legged-ness and proto-gay brooding.

May. 22nd, 2011 @ 07:00 pm 6 - 9 - 11

May. 4th, 2011 @ 06:33 pm Love Buzz.
All of the love that I've given, and all of the love that I give, is still love, undiminished by circumstance or receipt. No one can use me up. I spurt an inexhaustible stream.

Apr. 29th, 2011 @ 09:18 pm "You Call This A Storm?!?"
Ok. Just got off the phone with Amanda. She said that during the tornado outbreak in my hometown a couple of days ago, a man drove up to our BBQ restaurant's takeout window... debris flying through the air, sirens blaring, sky green, weather radio announcing F5 on the ground ONE MILE AWAY. Man said "'Nader down the road. Ya'll need to take cover. (pause) I'll take two pork sandwiches, no slaw, extra mayonnaise."

And as every employee crowded into the innermost room in the building crying in terror, my father made those sandwiches, handed them out the window, and the man PARKED HIS CAR next to the building and ate them in the hailstorm.

I can identify with nearly aspect of this story in a first-person way; and that... is a much longer story.

Apr. 22nd, 2011 @ 07:39 pm Birth of the Universe.

Mar. 30th, 2011 @ 01:10 am A Night at the Opera.
 

Mar. 14th, 2011 @ 11:23 am Sue? "Nah," me.
Some people spend their lives cupping hands and arms around sand, pulling it toward them and speaking "Mine!" against the sea.

Jan. 26th, 2011 @ 01:17 pm K.
I wish that I could tattoo the date and time that I first met you somewhere on my body, somewhere hidden. The expiration date for my apathy. Around my ring finger.

Jan. 14th, 2011 @ 04:46 pm Bad Animals.
Fizz from a crashing, monochromatic sea,
Ann and Nancy Wilson perched atop a fjord,
an advertisement for bartending school,
cotton-headed, polyester funerals,
made me grow my hair out
just so I could lean into the wind.

Jan. 4th, 2011 @ 06:08 pm Pietà.
 

Dec. 27th, 2010 @ 02:15 pm Whiteout.
 Last night and this morning.

Dec. 26th, 2010 @ 01:52 pm Boxing Day.
Last night, I ate truffles. I stared out of the windows of a millionaire's penthouse onto the streets of Chelsea. I imagined myself inside the lives described in conversations about Fire Island real estate and Morel mushroom hunting. I drank amazing wine. I smiled into the faces of two of my best friends. I overindulged. I froze. I wondered who I was. And then, I remembered.

Dec. 23rd, 2010 @ 02:19 pm About or a little over.
In an online profile, the use of fractions or decimals in the notation of cock size raises a red flag of undue fixation. Real men round up or down. This is the essence of stoicism.

Nov. 29th, 2010 @ 10:10 pm Last month, I got interviewed by my friend Robert. I got very drunk.

Nov. 27th, 2010 @ 06:17 pm I am making a zine. It feels surgical.
 

Nov. 8th, 2010 @ 04:22 pm Circle.
People without accents.
People without accidents.
People without.
Ain't my people.

Nov. 6th, 2010 @ 03:34 pm Prélude à Dimanche.
 

Nov. 1st, 2010 @ 07:09 pm Carry Go Bring Home.
When hangovers branch too far into the following morning, the sun can become something like a cathode ray tube. Opening the door to it, especially in winter, feels like the patronizing glare of God. "I'm ashamed of you," it says. The sight of your own breath into this fluorescence bakes your words into ether. "Your explanations are nothing but hot farts to me," says this light. "Take that shit to the astral plane, cut your silver umbilicus, and float the flotsam of your mind right on out to sea... because I blessed you with life, and all you can muster is a way to destroy it." This is why you ate the 4 am burger under the heat lamp at Checkers. You felt its pain, empathized with it, saw the burger as yourself, and in your consumptive urge to destroy what you love, turned it to poo. In its flush, you see fractalized karmic consequences.

Oct. 30th, 2010 @ 04:25 pm Letter of apology to my penis.
 

Oct. 22nd, 2010 @ 06:26 pm ABRAK48DABRA!
 

The eighth edition of K48 megazine will continue to explore contemporary culture with ‘magic’ as a central theme of the issue. Once again, deploying its well-known penchant for combining an electric mix of artists drawing from various disciplines, K48 unveils the unknown territory of the supernatural. With 196 pages of collaborations by Alex Da Corte, Joseph Whitt, Dis Magazine, Robert Bittenbender, Nancy de Holl, Chadwick Moore, and a custom R-U-In?S spread compiled by Kari Altmann called “Similar Image Haul” among others. The issue will feature an exclusive interview with the band SALEM and a full length CD mixed by BOOKWRMZ including original tracks made by House of LaDosha, Light Asylum, Brenmar and Mirror Mirror (see full track listing below) – it’s an indulgent foray into realms of mystery, enchantment, surprises, and illusions that are at times ethereal, and at other times staggering. Reserve your copy today! K48rules.com

ABRAK48DABRA
Mixed by BOOKWRMZ

AYSHAY - Jemsheed
Teengirl Fantasy - Cheaters
WORK TVK - PHNTM PWR
Brenmar - Paper Running
Blondes - Rude Boy
NGUZUNGUZU - _X_
Realness - Fade Shade
Unsolved Mysteries - Blood
Escandalo - Nocturning
Light Asylum - 12 Horsemen
Mirror Mirror - Nau Sau Ser Bil
Prayer Town - Super Predator (Live)
House of Ladosha - Witches of Bushwick
SALEM - LAS HOUSE ONNA LEF
AYSHAY - Shaytan

Oct. 17th, 2010 @ 04:12 pm Into The Void.
Once, in the 80's, my father mounted a still camera on the belly of a model airplane that he built and crafted a way to remotely snap pics of the ground below via his radio controller. After developing one roll of 110 film, we saw our hometown from an amazing, pre-Google Earth perspective. This video makes me think of that experience, albeit in a mind-blowingly new way.

Sep. 30th, 2010 @ 10:53 pm Over My Dead Body.

Sep. 26th, 2010 @ 06:21 pm Mark your calendars, homo-sexers... BRONNY'S COMIN' TO TOWN!


FAG SCHOOL IN FAG CITY
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
8:00 p.m.
P.P.O.W., 511 West 25th Street, New York, NY

P.P.O.W. and its Create Art Today (C.A.T.) initiative are proud to present FAG SCHOOL IN FAG CITY, an intimate hour of queer punk readings by Brontez Purnell, Joseph Whitt, and Max Steele.

This event begins at 8:00 p.m. on Tuesday, October 26th, in P.P.O.W.'s main gallery space on West 25th Street, in the Chelsea district of New York City. Doors open at 7:30 p.m.; and a reception precedes and follows the performances.

The reception and performances are free and open to the public.

FAG SCHOOL IN FAG CITY is a bi-coastal showcase of underground queer punk righteousness hosted by Brontez Purnell, creator of "Fag School," an Oakland-based zine devoted to cruising, blackouts, reviews of porn, books, music, nightmare parties and homocore activism. Decidedly low-key and improvisational, this event aims to introduce Brontez and his literary work to New York City, while giving two of his East Coast buds, Joseph Whitt and Max Steele, an opportunity to share their stories in the spirit of "Fag School." Expect surprises... special guests, nudity, sperm, obtuse women's studies references.

Past issues of "Fag School" will also be available for sale in limited supply.

Brontez Purnell is an Oakland-based musician, writer, and dancer. His band, The Younger Lovers, has performed at London house parties, basements in the SF Bay Area, and the New Museum (NYC), respectively. He writes a monthly column for "Maximum Rock N' Roll" and is currently working on his first dance showcase while writing the last two installments of "Fag School."

Joseph Whitt is a Brooklyn-based artist, writer and independent curator. His work has been featured in exhibitions and events at various venues (CRG Gallery, Deitch Projects, Small A Projects, Envoy Enterprises, Starr Space); and his writing has appeared in several art publications (Art Papers, ArtUS, Useless Magazine). His latest essay, "Last Dance Before Exodus," will appear in K48 #8, edited by Scott Hug.

Max Steele is a performer and writer. He has presented work at the New Museum, Rapture Cafe, Deitch Projects, Envoy Enterprises, and the Queens Museum of Art. He writes the psychedelic porno poetry zine Scorcher, is a contributor to East Village Boys and Birdsong, plays Becky on the Logo sitcom "Jeffery and Cole Casserole", and is a go-go boy at NYC's only queer punk party QxBxRx.

For more information about this event, please visit www.createarttoday.com, or call (212) 647-1044.

Sep. 23rd, 2010 @ 05:20 pm Bookface.
Shadows cast from his eyelid to his eye,
echos thrown from earbud to eardrum,
the height of a line drawn with a fingertip across a screen...
this is how far he's come from crawling out of his own ass.

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