trisha low on pop pop
what one might consider a silent ventriloquism, or a ventriloquism that, while deeply vacant, is still effectively mesmerizing. Mining dead source images can create a psychic energy field because of a saturation of association or because it becomes a lynchpin for an entire field of reference. Like Laura.
Because fangirls are also picture-perfect examples of prosumers, the results of an explosion of self-production technologies that encourage crowd-sourced and fan-made products, fictions and identities to be re-consumed and spat out in a claustrophobic cycle of disembodied virtual intensity—and intensity as capital. As Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri write of this new model, “the great industrial and financial powers thus produce not only commodities but also… agentic subjectivities within the biopolitical context: they produce needs, social relations, bodies, and minds—which is to say, they produce producers.” Gotta love pop culture when what it really means is that feeling good becomes the most efficient form of facilitating sheep-like, sleepwalking labor. I don’t know. I don’t think I really believe all that, even if it is kind of a smart argument. Maybe what it all comes down to is that basically I believe in demonic possession. Like in The Exorcist when Linda Blair just projective vomits pea soup for longer than humanly possible, I want to be able to spew meaningless waste into platforms generated via my objects of desire. And then I want the world to drown in it. Is that so much to ask?
 the "closet" or "cabinet," which was a woman's writing and reading study. The place where novels like Pamela were fantasizing about a woman's private life, and representing it as "authentic" or "true" take place, leading neither to the eroticization not of the woman, nor the fulfillment of any kind of voyeuristic desire, but the eroticization of the space itself, the space of the closet, much like the genre of the confessional, or maybe a virtual space like LiveJournal.Â
 To falsify the overarching narrative of salvation, I guess and subsume it to an overwrought, noisy and intuitive imaginary logic. I have this gigantic crush on the artist Banks Violette. I'd marry him in a heartbeat. Or whatever, really whatever I can get.  But he talks a lot about the strip-mining of subculture images and the contradiction between the increasing strip-mining of say, the classic iconography of a heavy metal subculture, skulls, churches, motorcycles, all while the increased investment of belief in these images as they begin to get really, really flimsy. That's how I feel about how I made the book. That's how I feel about "recovery" or "healing" or "reparation." For a lack of a better word, it's so high-pitched, the sharpness of that new belief, the second time around. It's so fucking hot.
