The best place to start the story is a misty canal near the intersection of Maroa and Fedora in Fresno – early 2001. Ian Nance and I, full of lemongrass-flavored green tea, were pretending to be gentleman scientists, speaking ridiculous posh faux-scientific language in bad British accents. I had seen a muskrat swimming in the canal on my way to school, and made plans to investigate further. I brought a sketchbook along and made notes. We didn’t see the “Muskie,” as I called it, that morning, although we did find his den. Then we went home and spent the rest of the morning talking about Kenneth Rexroth’s poem, “On What Planet,” and Frank Black’s music. I didn’t realize it, but this experience, midway between science and performance, set the stage for my investigations into the borders of the fields when I was accepted into the Experimental Performance Institute at the New College of California and began work on my Master’s Thesis.
- This perfectly illustrates Trump's conformity w/, if not actual ID w/, white supremacy. twitter.com/justinjm1/stat… 1 day ago
- RT @Amy_Siskind: Is this swamp draining you Trump supporters were hoping for? twitter.com/washingtonpost… 2 days ago
- RT @charlubby: facts https://t.co/Gd6wN6gkYr 2 days ago
- RT @GrumpySkeletor: Good morning everyone. I hope you have a great day. Unless of course you're He-Man, in which case I hope you drown in a… 2 days ago
- RT @Saythetitle: JAWS (1975) https://t.co/M0IFhOOODF 2 days ago