Commonplace Alex

Commonplace books were a way to compile knowledge, usually by writing information into books. Such books were essentially scrapbooks filled with items of every kind: medical recipes, quotes, letters, poems, tables of weights and measures, proverbs, prayers, legal formulas. Commonplaces were used by readers, writers, students, and humanists as an aid for remembering useful concepts or facts they had learned. Each commonplace book was unique to its creator's particular interests.

Incomplete Thoughts: Cliche

The cliché or clichéd device does not just make the piece of art weaker, but also has a reciprocal effect.  In its use, the cliché itself is attacked, removed from its original context and meaning and dropped into a new one, the arena of the slogan and the platitude.  Take “Let’s Get It On” by Marvin Gaye:

Who under the age of 30 can hear that opening wah-wah-wah and not recall some movie, or TV show, or commercial, where this song has been used to cheap and terrible effect?  Mr. Gaye wrote this song to be judged as a song, but it has been reduced to the level of the laugh track, a quick button to push to elicit a Pavlovian response.  Thanks to the hacks who choose to speak in clichés (see: nearly all Hollywood directors and writers, all artists on mainstream radio, almost every writer in TV or on Broadway), unique and potentially beautiful pieces of art become just another catchphrase, rather than something meant to be truly felt and experienced.  New languages must be created; every second the old languages are being co-opted and stripped of meaning.  This is entropy.

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
Beach House

—Troublemaker

Apparently pretty much the entire new Beach House album is floating around on Tumblr.  I’ll take it.

leahisawkward:

Beach House - Troublemaker

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
Beach House

—Troublemaker

leahisawkward:

Beach House - Troublemaker

Theory.

… a rich, collegiate tradition of taking a movement or piece of art that you enjoy and writing about it in a way that suggests you take no enjoyment from it whatsoever.

Oneohtrix Point Never.

Johnson.

Darkness, my name is Denis Johnson,

and I am almost ready to

confess it is not some awful

misunderstanding that has carried

me here, my arms full of the ghosts

of flowers, to kneel at your feet;

almost ready to see

how at each turning I chose

this way, this place and this verging

of ocean on earth with the horns claiming

I can keep on if only I step

where I cannot breathe.

Rankine.

Then I returned home from school one day and saw my father sitting on the steps of our home.  He had a look that was unfamiliar; it was flooded, so leaking.  I climbed the steps as far away from him as I could get.  He was breaking or broken.  Or, to be more precise, he looked to me like someone understanding his aloneness.  Loneliness.

Kandinsky.

Kandinsky.