Robyn - Call Your Girlfriend
Just got caught dancing to this in my cube. NO SHAME.
(Source: youtube.com)
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KING KHAN SENT ME THIS, SAID THERE’S A JAY REATARD DOCUMENTARY COMING OUT. (photo by Kirstie Shanley)
My First Time with Jay Reatard… By King Khan
I first met Jay when he was 17 years old. He booked us a gig at Barristers, the line up was The Spaceshits, Deadly Snakes and Reatards. When we showed up in Memphis it looked like a ghost town. Skid Marks (drummer of the spaceshits) has always been a magnet for scum bags and immediately befriended a one armed man who had just come out of prison. They disappeared in search for some weed.
When Jay showed up he told me that he had just gotten engaged to be married. He also apologized about the lack of people at the show in advance, the reason was simple… “everyone hates us in this town.” There were 4 people in the audience that night, Greg Oblivian and the dudes from Impala. But the show went on and it was great fun. Later that night everyone went to Greg’s house to hang and listen to records and Carson Binks (Legend of San Fran), Skid Marks and I decided to go for a Memphis adventure with Jay.
We drove around crazy ghettos in search of drugs. All we wanted was a little weed, none of us wanted any of the countless crack offers not even Jay. We parked at a gas station for some cigarettes and when we were getting back into the car i remember all these crack heads coming out of nowhere asking me for a smoke. They were crawling towards us like true zombies and even continued to follow the car in slow motion as we drove away. It really felt like George A. Romero was somewhere around the corner. Jay spoke of these crackheads with a sense of pride which was followed by pure hatred. He was really into showing us the nitty gritty of his city.
After hours of unsuccessful attempts Jay seemed fed up of searching and told us we could go to his mom’s and get some weed. So we showed up at her house at around 3 AM, sure enough his mom was awake watching TV and his little sister was sitting in the cutest mini lazy boy chair i had ever seen. His mother was so kind and invited us in and was thrilled to have some Canadians in her house. It felt so timeless like it could have been afterschool but it was actually 3 AM. His sister was adorable, she looked like a little Shirley Temple. At one point his step dad, poked his head out and basically looked just like what jay had described earlier as a real “pinhead.” We hung out and smoked some dope with his mom and then proceeded to Alicja’s house where he had just moved in.
When we got there he showed us some crazy analog organs and we had a little jam (this was all years before Lost Sounds). It was so amazing to see how into space sound he was already at that age. Carson passed out in the corner on a rug like the pigmonkey (a nickname his Japanese girlfriend gave him years later) that he is.
Jay and I stayed up till the wee hours of the morning and swapped tales about total debauchery. He told me about how he played a show in a mechanic’s garage where he got naked and dumped a can of motor oil over his head. He was literally slippin’ and a slidin’ everywhere and could hardly even play a note on his guitar. Then some douchebag rolled a spray can towards him. Jay didn’t even look at what was in the can, he just opened it up and sprayed it all over his balls. Within a few seconds he collapsed into a foetal position screaming his head off. He had emptied a can of Easy off oven cleaner on to his junk. Could you just imagine the facial reaction of the doctor that had to examine him later, finding this 16 year old naked boy covered in motor oil with the first two layers of skin off his penis burnt off? It really felt like I had found a lost twin, two exhibitionist punk kids who loved to fuck shit up and get fucked up.
He told me he went night swimming with some buddies and this girl whom he couldn’t stand but who used to follow him around like a puppy. When they got to the “lake” he got butt naked and jumped in. When he came out he was covered in shit, he had jumped into a cess pool. The first thing he did was go up to the girl and sit right next to her and put his arm around her.
In the wee hours of the morning Jay wanted to sneak into Alicja’s room to show me something. We were giggling like little kids and he went straight to a little night table next to her bed. He pulled out this cherry cola flavored body gel that Hustler magazine had just put out. He poured some into my hand and told me to rub it it on my wrist. I did and my wrist got hot. We giggled some more and he told me about how when he was a kid he used to take a can of Pam to school and huff it with girls “cuz it made your privates hot”. It was funny cuz I had never met Alicja before and it felt like we snuck into Jay’s big sister’s room.
So what’s next? “Wanna watch a UV porno?” Ofcourse!!!!!
We watched a porn movie that was filmed entirely in heat sensitive UV. It was incredible. You could see how the blood rushed into body parts as they got hotter and the cum shot looked like an erupting volcano. I mesmerized Lemmy in a studio in Frankfurt ten years later describing this exact porn film, I still don’t know what it was called.
Despite his hatred for everything in Memphis, Jay loved it and was proud of all the scum.
And that was the beginning of what became a great brotherhood for life.
Jay loved showing class and painted his face with pride when the Death Cult first rolled into Memphis, and he was by far the wildest of the bunch. All the times we shared after this were as insane as you probably have heard, lots of nudity, burning money, drugs and pure mayhem, but there is no need for me to get into all that cuz when i think of the Jay who lives permanently in my heart I see a big hearted lion who just loved to entertain us, sometimes shit got real out of hand but it was all a part of the fun.
The last day i spent with Jay was very different from the first time we met. We were playing a show together in Buenos Aires and had spent the night before in Sao Paolo getting utterly obliterated. We shared a cab to the Sao Paolo airport, we both hadnt slept the whole night. He was telling me about this Geto Boys song that he loved so much about a guy who kills his girlfriend, it was really scaring me how much he loved this song.
When we arrived at the airport he bought me some water and a beer. We went to the bathroom where he threw up standing with the door of the toilet stall wide open, i was blowing my nose so hard it sounded like a trumpet and looked like an abortion had come out of my nostril. We were the only two guys in the bathroom and then in walks this old Brazilian man who must have been like 70 years old. He was in slow motion. When he opened the door he took one look at us, me with bloody slimeball in hand, and jay vomitting. He just turned around and left. We erupted into very loud maniacal laughter. We flew into Buenos Aires, checked into a luxurious hotel, and went swimming. We sat by the pool and talked about how great things had turned out for us. We went for a bite to eat and walked around the city for a few hours, he spoke of how he had made peace with his dad and was really stoked about that. We sat down and ate a nice meal and he got the check.
Later that night we played in a soccer club house for a strange party of people who may or may not have really got what we were doing, but whatever we had a shit load of fun. I saw him piss in some soccer trophy backstage, it was a real hoot.
I miss him everyday and I know that wherever he may be right now he is surrounded by all the legends that made us who we are. Jay Reatard was a real rock n roller, a true death cult champion and the first and only male lips that have ever touched my penis. There I said it.
This final point is worth lingering over just now. The last of the many articles I’ve read about the strange odyssey of Tsarnaev’s body was about the reactions of the residents of the small Virginia town where it was, finally, buried. “What do you do when a monster is buried just down the street?” the subhead asked. The sensationalist diction, the word “monster,” I realized, is the problem—and brings you to the deep meaning of Martha Mullen’s gesture, and of Antigone’s argument, too. There is, in the end, a great ethical wisdom in insisting that the criminal dead, that your bitterest enemy, be buried, too; for in doing so, you are insisting that the criminal, however heinous, is precisely not a “monster.” Whatever else is true of the terrible crime that Tamerlan Tsarnaev is accused of having perpetrated, it was, all too clearly, the product of an entirely human psyche, horribly motivated by beliefs and passions that are very human indeed—deina in the worst possible sense. To call him a monster is to treat this enemy’s mind precisely the way some would treat his unburied body—which is to say, to put it beyond the reach of human consideration (and therefore, paradoxically, to refuse to confront his “monstrosity” at all).
This is the point that obsessed Sophocles’ Antigone: that to not bury her brother, to not treat the war criminal like a human being, would ultimately have been to forfeit her own humanity. This is why it was worth dying for.
Anything on earth that a woman does, is, or is capable of doing, is womanly. It is impossible for a woman to be unwomanly because a woman is a woman. Therefore, anything a woman does is womanly by default. Fighting is womanly. Winning fights is womanly. Bruises are womanly. Savagery is womanly. Unwholesomeness is womanly. Athleticism is womanly.
— Lindy West
(Source: lateralsymmetry, via blaaargh)
The Summer of Battling Boy Give-Away!
BATTLING BOY POSTERS!
First Second has trusted me to run a series of give-aways and one contest between May and Battling Boy’s release in October. This means you will have a few chances to win posters, prints, galleys (advance reader’s copies of the book) among other things.
For May, I’m giving away a few Battling Boy posters!
Rules and Guidelines:
1. Like or reblog this post and encourage your followers to do the same. The more your name is in the notes to this post the higher your chances of winning.
2. Make sure you follow Destroy Comics. This is not necessary to winning, but if I decide to check if the winner is following the blog, it will influence my decision.
3. You have two weeks.
Winners will be selected randomly and contacted on the 19th.
Good luck!
I’m doing a give-away for Battling Boy, if any of my followers haven’t gotten into Paul Pope’s work yet!
Keep this moving!
“Now the forbidden fruit must be tasted!”
One of 30-ish portraits for my new show which opens on Friday, April 26th at Mondo Gallery in Austin, TX.
Check out the rest of the portraits on his blog: all our equally amazing.
“No, it’s pronounced ‘eye-gor’”
One of 30-ish portraits for my new show which opens tonight at 7pm at Mondo Gallery in Austin, TX.
(via adriofthedead)
When Claudia returns to her family, it may be the same home, but Claudia herself is changed; she’s gained knowledge of the art-historical kind, and also of her individuality. She has become enriched, enlarged, somehow set apart, and it wasn’t just the nights she spent sleeping on a sixteenth-century royal bed. Konigsburg granted Claudia a perfect answer to the great childhood what-if—what if I leave behind my family, which is all that I know? The answer is that Claudia will learn to tell her own story. E. L. Konigsburg was the rare grownup who understood that childhood is a time when “most of us are outsiders.” Children, she knew, feel out of place. They worry. They “want to be the same as everyone else, and they want to be different from everyone else. They want acceptance for both.
Posted April 23, 2013 at 11:41am in E. L. KONIGSBURG From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler
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