Series
This week on 3 Things, we talk about millennials, insomnia, and healers in strange places. We continue to whine in the tradition of the aging everywhere. Keep listening! And watch Jacob’s Ladder! We may no longer understand what’s happening in pop culture, but … watch Jacob’s Ladder! And keep listening.
This week on 3 Things, we look at the top 3 musical acts of 2016, the great youtube enthusiasts, including MRE food critics, rat feces infested TV repairmen, and true macguivers with elaborate means for making fire, as well as the best deaths, because, if there’s one thing you can say about 2016, it was a year of death! For a complete playlist of videos and music discussed in this podcast go here. Also. Apologies for the pops and blips! We had a few technical issues this week.
The performance showcased below was part of a larger evening called Women’s Inaugural Ball, an event dedicated to women artists and their work on the day of the Women’s March, and after the inauguration, January 20th, at Brickbottom Studios in Somerville. The performance artist, Jessica Lu, lives and works in Brighton, MA. Keep posted for more dispatches from the on-going Bedroom Theater happenings!
In this first apocryphal history of the parasite we find ourselves at a retreat in the Southwest and some strange goings on, as the residents grapple with some incomprehensible force creeping in from the beyond. What it is, and why it is here no one knows, but it is invading our reality.
For this week, we discussed crazy ideas about: the voices inside our heads, Alexander Dugin, aka the “Rasputin behind Putin”, and the amazingly bizarre Japanese Ads of 2016 (a selection of which can be found here.) Mutable’s curmudgeon’s got deep, got dirty, and got a lot more than they’d bargained for this week.
In this original play by Ben Segal, two men have a short conversation. Written specifically for Bedroom Theater, it is our pleasure here at Mutable to share this delightful drama with you.
As abyss has come calling on your doorsteps this holiday, and your openings are twisting into the most convoluted of holiday shapes in their efforts to disguise themselves as the non-sacred things that have replaced their authentic originals—as what we thought was a thing is now transforming into a much older more disgusting thing—as there is no more time left—as time is always running out—as we move without clarity of vision into places without clear contours where the weak among us can be feasted on by bodiless persons as if these bureaucracies could sing in the spirit of the stars, when these are paper card constructions, built of paper so as to maintain their fully paper empires.
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Click on Wes to see all our letters.
Dear Wes,
Will you ever go bald? Do you worry about it? Do you worry that people won’t want to work with bald Wes Anderson, that they’ll see balding as a sign of antiquatedness, that your career might be divided between the haired and hairless eras?
I worry about it, but then again I worry about almost everything.
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isten to our three experts pontificating this week on these three issues of sexuality, reality, and dentists on drugs in the 21st century for the first in our series of 3 Things. Mutable’s favorite three curmudgeons are giving their two cents on issues you had no desire to ever know anything about! Check in regularly for more 3 Things!
So here’s a person without cares within the larger care-riddled world, and this person then takes on certain responsibilities. This person is known to have a very irresponsible outlook on life, and this person readily accepts a situation in which being careful and watchful are necessary requirements. This person moves a person they care most about in the world from her familiar environment and off to another less familiar environment. This person has the best of intentions, and we know how those can be paved to build roads that lead to places far from heaven. This is where we are now. It’s called Boston.
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The first thing you incoherent erogenous zones should understand is that there is no apocalypse. The apocalypse already happened, you pleasantly subdued psychologies. There will never be an apocalypse if you keep this up my half-whored verb friends, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t prepare for it like you would prepare for one of your notorious cyclical weddings or any of the other great beginnings or endings of you. It is in this way that your brains become peopled with new and colorful crustaceans of the cartoon variety.
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People are the first indication that you’ve moved from Djuna’s city to Tom’s. People: better to call them figures. They behave in only one way, not the same way but one way each. They’re doing what they do whenever you look. Unobserved they likely hide, lay folded or at length in canisters under the street like tanks of obsolete poison.
The ones wrapped in on themselves may burst with new selenotropic buds that spring up where brows rub wrists. Dirt-caked blooms with stiff seaweed fans, picked by other flowers and other fish into a comb of rigid tendrils. Fed by cool milks of the moon. Fed on white drink with ribbons curling through it, blue and moonflecked like Pierrot’s face.
The ones laid out full-length must grow by diminution, like corpses getting bigger. Their chests will rise to lower points and filter out less yeast; their eyes will sink nearer to the tank’s tarnished surface and take root in metal clefts. With their other flesh laid aside, stretched full elsewhere and eyeless, such eyes would stand like glistened marshland plants. An eye unglassed, unglazed, still shocked by sight, atop a stalk of greasy nerves. And every slump toward the floor makes these bodies longer. When they die, we think, they die as man-shaped patches of damp. Not a fingernail thick, but thirty feet between their toes and the eyes that stand still upright.
Cave paintings made with human soap.
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Click on Wes to see all our letters to him.
January 25, 2012 2:00pm
Dear Wes Anderson, I heard you took the train from Chicago to southern California. I thought it was kind of cute to hear you don’t like airplanes. They scare me too, somewhat, but not enough so that I can’t ride them. The other night, Brett told us the story. He’d been gone for Christmas to Columbus, Ohio. He didn’t mention the train story until after a couple beers at the kitchen table. I showed him I Love Dick by Chris Kraus—a series of billet-doux glitter bombs from a married couple to a man named Dick.
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A young scholar off to her new life at the Lady Jane Grey College for Little Ladies
The year is 1903, and it’s time we played the laughing game. The Lady Jane Grey College for Little Ladies has hedges that release poisonous fumes cause those who sniff them to swoon. Oh, and Gundrun’s brother has a tumor in his brain among other things.
Mutable Sound Chicago, Illinois Mutable Sound is an online gallery for sound and word located in Chicago, IL. We are dedicated to publishing works in all genres, from the dense and inextricable to the light-hearted and absurd, and release albums that are experiments more than anything else, without being particularly experimental.
As I’m going through this awful break-up, I feel that the animals should only be in the zoos so to watch the humans. My crying, in public—as the pain invades the numb shock—is present only in short, cacophonous bursts; my decades of socialization have cause it to cut off before it becomes the blubbery mess it could be, in front of Chicago. The sensation is entirely involuntary. And it’s wordless like the break-up conversation might as well have been; words are said, plenty of them, but they’re ultimately just the texture of mine and her’s confused, angsty horse-wails.
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“But whose mind was it?” They are the terror of all domesticated pets!
It’s the year 1903 and Grammar Instructor Gundrun was asking the Professor of Arcane Knowledge a point concerning gerunds, while Jack must have his fleet of porcelain miniature hot air balloons complete for the Saint Louis World Fair, while all manner of fantastical beings twinkle in the candle light. Much laughter ensues. There are things that can move from rooms to the very idea of rooms.
Mutable Sound Chicago, Illinois Mutable Sound is an online gallery for sound and word located in Chicago, IL. We are dedicated to publishing works in all genres, from the dense and inextricable to the light-hearted and absurd, and release albums that are experiments more than anything else, without being particularly experimental.
What horrors are occurring in the office of Headmistress Ursula at this very moment?
The year is 1903, and several young scholars are throwing stones at ducks, while boys from the preparatory school down the lane teeter about under the influence of the strong narcotic released when they set fire to the bushes, and all this under the beady gaze of the Headmistress, soon to be joined by Handyman Jack. But what of the Professor of Arcane Knowledge and the monkey on his gurney?
Mutable Sound Chicago, Illinois Mutable Sound is an online gallery for sound and word located in Chicago, IL. We are dedicated to publishing works in all genres, from the dense and inextricable to the light-hearted and absurd, and release albums that are experiments more than anything else, without being particularly experimental.
My friend Bradshaw’s been out of a home for some weeks now. A year or so ago, the owner of the building Bradshaw rented in, in Chicago, was foreclosed upon—and not just in Bradshaw’s building. The owner was held up to a debt in the range of thirty million dollars, spread across many foreclosed-upon properties, and he thus fled to his native Ukraine.
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What is Archibald doing to that monkey?
The year is 1903, and Grammar Instructor Gundrun is remembering a time she smoked tobacco products. But what about the monkey? Did Gundrun really squish jellyfish between her toes when she was younger? What is she getting at?
Mutable Sound Chicago, Illinois Mutable Sound is an online gallery for sound and word located in Chicago, IL. We are dedicated to publishing works in all genres, from the dense and inextricable to the light-hearted and absurd, and release albums that are experiments more than anything else, without being particularly experimental.
Headmistress Ursula pictured here when she was much younger and wilder.
Handyman Jack has just accused the Headmistress of eating the ears off living pigs, while Archibald is also revealing some unsavory bit of business to the Grammar Instructor. But what of the boy currently under the influence of the psychedelic fumes emitted by the bushes he had set fire to? What of Simone and Boo Boo?
Mutable Sound Chicago, Illinois Mutable Sound is an online gallery for sound and word located in Chicago, IL. We are dedicated to publishing works in all genres, from the dense and inextricable to the light-hearted and absurd, and release albums that are experiments more than anything else, without being particularly experimental.
