Apologies for lateness, slow-downs, and work stoppages: 2 jobs and miscellaneous writing projects have kept me from the console. If you read books, and I know you do, you might find some of my recent book reviews for The Brooklyn Rail. Also, in addition to publishing a chapbook of poetry with Dos Madres Press out of Loveland, Ohio, I am collaborating on a spoken word project with two Newark-based filmmakers, Marylou and Jerome Bongiorno, whose documentary REVOLUTION 67-- about the Newark urban rebellion-- is a must-see. The project has been commissioned by the Newark Museum in celebration of its 100th year. More on that in future posts...
So Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, and Michael Jackson died-- international tragedies, I suppose, similar to the situation when any human being passes away. An Iranian comrade reports that on Twitter, someone posted: "While you in the West mourn Michael Jackson, the Iranian government is still killing us over here." Ah, the priorities of the public. Celebrity culture reigns as do auto-theo-crats: nothing new. But in tandem to Renaissance's damning, delightful, and on-the-mark post from yesterday, I would have to add my voice to chastising the woeful disrespect to, if not outright negligence of, essential human events and reportage. The cult of the celebrity, the cult of the personality, whether in terms of aesthetics or politics is all pervasive and a sad commentary on us. Or at least some of us. J/C