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The other day, on the way to work, I heard Modern Love on two different radio stations at the same time.
Despite liking all three of these songs, the limited playlists of corporate radio still suck!
Two Daily Musical Interludes:
And two pages from Dangerous Minds:
‘Mind your own business!’: Socialist post-punk funksters Delta 5
Growing a grass-roots anti-racist group and having an emotionally unstable long distance girlfriend reallys takes away from your reading time, lemme tell you, but I am happy to report that Mr. Comrade and the Nigerian Princess have moved on from flirting over Patrick Rothfuss to flirting over Michael Moorcock. Mr. Comrade got her to read her first Elric novel; she loved it.
She's wicked into intersectionality so it was only a matter of time before the subject of black sci-fi/fantasy authors came up. I got to look pretty f$+#ing cool when I introduced them to Samuel R. Delany. (Thanks, Lord Dice!)
Did indeed read a great big chunk of The Whispering Swarm on the ride down to Brooklyn. I can see how the undevoted might not care, but I'm loving this shiznit. Whole bunch of name-dropping that would thrill readers of this thread ("I went to lunch with John Wyndham and Alfred Bester and we talked about Fritz Leiber..." runs a part that I just made up) mixed in with a good dose of class war (at one point he and his fictional girlfriend/muse hold up a train full of executive wage packets to give to the union so that their families won't go hungry during a strike). Had to put it down when I got to the part (autobiographical, I'm guessing) about his inability to console his clinically depressed first wife, which hit a little too close to home as La Principessa went from exultation that I was coming down a day early to sobbing depression to barely suppressed irritability within the course of three phone calls over the span of three hours. [Sigh]
Anyway, mixed it up with a book by dissident Marcyites called China: Revolution and Counterrevolution which is much too soft on Chairman Mao but, at the same time, makes me incredibly jealous because at least they're not running around saying the PRC is "state capitalist". [Shakes fist]
Anyway, I think this is the first time I've been left in La Principessa's apartment while she's at work when there hasn't been snow on the ground, so I'm thinking of going out to a park and drinking some cider and reading some more Moorcock. Hopefully, I won't get Broken Window-ed.
Activism and drama have prevented me from getting much reading done, but I am happy to report that Mr. Comrade has moved on to the second Corum trilogy.
I am headed to Brooklyn this weekend, and hope to take down The Whispering Swarm on the bus. Last time I was reading it, Mike had just run into this book's version of Jerry Cornelius. Huzzah!
--Neuromancer is the shiznit.
--I remember that list.
--Three Men in a Boat was wicked funny.
--I haven't read those two, but I thought I heard they weren't set in the same world as all his previous books? Which has nothing to with whether they're any good, of course.
--I liked the sex scene in Before They Are Hanged, too, but, then again, I usually like sex scenes. I'm a bit of a pervert.
Must choose between two books that I recently received as gifts:
1) Herbert Aptheker's American Negro Slave Revolts (from Mr. Comrade)
2) Michael Moorcock's The Whispering Swarm (from The Black Goblin)
Didn't really expect to receive a gift from The Black Goblin. His birthday is next week, and I bought him Patrick Rothfuss's The Slow Regard of Silent Things.
Celestial Healer wrote:
Yeah, she was apparently quite the bon vivant, studying with Franz Boas, writing and fighting with Langston Hughes, loving and leaving young black studs all over the place, etc., etc.
Celestial Healer wrote:
Finished Their Eyes Were Watching God
Like everyone, I'm guessing, who ever took an Afro-American Literature course, I ended up reading a lot of Zora Neale Hurston. Even wrote a paper on her literary tiff with Richard Wright in his communist phase. Sided with her, surprise, surprise.
Almost done with The Interesting Narrative, etc., read a commie theoretical journal with exciting articles about Clara Zetkin and the Greek Civil War, and swallowed a sizable chunk of Leaves of Grass.
Took the latter to the "Soup and Art Night" at the second Brooklyn Soup and Art night. If challenged on my lack of art, I was gonna declaim homoerotic verses about pressing my breast to the breasts of drovers and machinists. Fortunately, I wasn't challenged, but some other dude heard I had a copy in my pocket and asked to see it. "Yeah, I don't know, man. Strange dude I just met, wants to see my Whitman? Sounds a little intrusive, if you ask me..."
Been a television gluttony binge for me lately, doing the whole first season and a few episodes of the second season for both Buffy the Vampire Slayer and 30 Rock. A lot of Brooklyn Nine-Nine, too. There was a funny joke about Adam Sandler and Leon Trotsky from one of the more recent episodes, I think.
I am there, I help, I came stretch'd atop of the load,
--Walt Whitman, "Song of Myself" in Leaves of Grass, "Death-Bed Edition"