[Nettime-bold] FW: <nettime> Re: Deeply boring age

[Robert Atkins <robertatkins@earthlink.net>]

Terrence:

Your (homophobic) meanderings sound strangely like Rick Moody's in Ice
Storm. Are you sure you weren't really in Connecticut?

Robert

It's the mid 70's, I'm a teenager in West Vancouver, British Columbia. My
New
friends and I are doing lines of coke and swilling 10 year old singlemalt
both
borrowed from one's dear dad. We decide, after having sneaking into several
night clubs and finding some of brothers and a few our parents running
things
that disco and the whole plastic crowd really does suck. We agree that both
the
beatles and the stones are now dead music and elton and glam is pathetic
sellout to disco fantasy. We go pool hopping in the neighborhood and find
our
neighbors are having an orgy.  Shagging on the shag. Porn stars all. What a
riot. We find another neighbor kid exploring his first homosexual sexual
affair, a strange thing to sober all of us. Another neighbor crashed into
our
hedge the same night due to locked steering. His step daughter, Kim C. a
real
sweet thing who gave nice parties used to come by to chat between modeling
gigs, once wearing short shorts to give me a peek, eventually marries Hugh
Hefner. Everyone eventually finishes college between jobs and drug treatment
and uncertain expectations about life and the world. It seemed like a time
that
constructed a total lack of trust for authority and a fantastical perception
of
adult society. I became "the silent one" after quiting sports getting into a
fight with the star jock. I destroyed my platform shoes and swore off all
phonies and was the first to wear black and hang out in the art room, alone
stoned dripping paint everywhere while the girls did paintings of magical
princes on unicorns.  I spent many latenight alone watching Italian
neorealism
and listening to gary newman on the headphones exhausted and detached after
going to clubs to do the pogo get wanked by other punks. Eventually after
getting cut off off home free bliss began hitting the queer bars to get
fucked
by old perverts in dirty hotel rooms just to get another line of coke till
it
all indeed got boring.  The whole revolting late 70's ended with 3 weeks in
the
hospital.  It was 4 years later that the neo-punks showed up in poser purple
hair. The revolt for reality had come and gone. Then the the 80's cultural
vampirism came. The techno tunes ether became house or muzak or rock
romantics.
It seemed like the night of the living dead. I recall doing strange
paintings
in a cellar listening to most jazz , old techno, skinny puppie and throbbing
gristle.

Its raining outside.

T.

James Allan wrote:

> >and life and creation have to be experienced first hand, not in a mediated
> >fashion...
 <...>

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