| Quin Withey's Radio Weblog |
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Last Update: 19:04:33 05/27/2006
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First Fetched: 00:18:09 01/31/2004
Last Updated: 19:04:33 05/27/2006
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(Here is the link to the story by Mr. Prince. http://www.fwweekly.com/issues/2003-12-31/metropolis.html Each and everyone of you should read this story. Mr. Prince writes in a fascinating, Texan ...)
Here is the link to the story by Mr. Prince. http://www.fwweekly.com/issues/2003-12-31/metropolis.html Each and everyone of you should read this story. Mr. Prince writes in a fascinating, Texan weave and if that isn't enough to lure you to this story, there is the story itself. If someone doesn't do it first, the Luna Azul Foundation will try to get down to Texas to interview Ms. Webb with our new little tax write off, the digital minicam. However, we fear that Borinanada fine ecclectic knits and wollens will have to sell a few items first so that we can pay for the trip. We'll summarize Ms. Joann Webb's trials and tribulations here, but do read the story. It features a fine picture of Ms. Webb and her legs, which are responsible for her excommunitation from the Baptist Church which she and her husband had been attending, as well as a Webb-based dress code at the local Chamber of Commerce on which she volunteered. Gosh folks, aren't Christianity and small town life wonderful? Isn't ...
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(We find that several of our posts have mysteriously disappeared. Could we have so offended the Radio Userland God? We find our attempts at sex toy analysis rather harmless in the extreme. At any ...)
We find that several of our posts have mysteriously disappeared. Could we have so offended the Radio Userland God? We find our attempts at sex toy analysis rather harmless in the extreme. At any rate, we attempt to repost. DILDOS IN AMERICA DILDOS IN AMERICAten. Far be it from us to forget Indeed, on December 28, 2003, in a year already long past, we created a summary for readers who will not want to buy the expensive coffee table tome upon its inevitable publication, of our extensive research thusfar. Really we did. And, true to the tricky nature of this blog technology, when we tripped happily out onto the web in search of further links for our gasping readers, pages and pages and hours and hours of research and blogging were lost sending us into a hiatus of despair and knitting almost equal to that of which Quin is capable, but not quite. No one can match that. We have now, after cups and cups of coffee, yards and yards of knitting, questioning the meaning of life and all that, ...
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(Before Quin left on his hiatus this afternoon, he asked us to announce our forthcoming book, Dildos in America: a Short history of the American Pornucopia. In this book, we will have lovely ...)
Before Quin left on his hiatus this afternoon, he asked us to announce our forthcoming book, Dildos in America: a Short history of the American Pornucopia. In this book, we will have lovely watercolor paintings of dildos with historical narrative, notes and so on. We have already done approximately four hours of research . . . we just started after all. And have found that this promises to be quite a valuable topic indeed. Although there is a plethora of information online which would, and does, allow us to access plenty of pictures of girls and guys with dildos, it takes quite a while to dig deep enough to get to dildos and any kind of historic reference. One does get there after a while, but this takes about ten searches, at least, with many many keywords, including such things as dildo history, historic dildos, Netsuki, Erotic Art--good stuff, not surprisingly, in the Netherlands, oh, and of course we searched under John Donne dildo. Now, I hear some of you chuckling good ...
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(Here is a passage from a book, old now, first published in 1976, by Annabelle Melzer. The book is called DADA AND SURREALIST PERFORMANCE. It is now available from Johns Hopkins University Press. ...)
Here is a passage from a book, old now, first published in 1976, by Annabelle Melzer. The book is called DADA AND SURREALIST PERFORMANCE. It is now available from Johns Hopkins University Press. Interestingly, Ms. Melzer is now teaching in Isreal. We wonder how she finds all of the current war situations going on from the perspective of her research on dada. At any rate, here is a lengthy passage which we will type out from her book. As a preface, we will just let you know that the dadaists in Paris, about which this book is primarily concerned, met and performed out of what they called the "Cabaret Voltaire", which was a kind of bar which they had talked the owner into letting them use. We long for such a bar scene in New York, or anywhere for that matter. Quin would move to whatever city it was in if we could just find one where he could spend his time being Quin among other intelligent types who were interested in collaborating in some way which might bring in income of some ...
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(We pause in our narrative to discuss a once and future topic. Once and future because it supplies background information to all the works of Quin, and because it will be the next great thingamagig ...)
We pause in our narrative to discuss a once and future topic. Once and future because it supplies background information to all the works of Quin, and because it will be the next great thingamagig in the series of performance art which is and has been his life. This next great thingamagig is and will be: The dada hootenanny. Readers are probably all already aha-ing on this holy of holy days--the culmination to the great holidays of consumption--when all have completed the required religious rituals of feasting, purchasing gizmos and gadgets in profusion, holding tight to old resentments in their hearts while watching loved ones' disappointed faces as they fight bitterly with the plastic packaging to get at the gizmos, and finally, with relief, anticipating the homeward journey inside some hugely large and heavy gadget, gizmo, or thingamagug, so that they may behold the faces of loved ones no more. The dada hottenanny has something to do with gizmos and thingamagigs, and here is ...
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(It was a handbill inviting all sharecroppers, day laborers and tenant farmers to a meeting with Mr. H.L. Mitchell, at Labor Hall in Jonesboro about a month back. Mitchell, it said was Secretary of ...)
It was a handbill inviting all sharecroppers, day laborers and tenant farmers to a meeting with Mr. H.L. Mitchell, at Labor Hall in Jonesboro about a month back. Mitchell, it said was Secretary of the Southern Tenant Farmers Union and would speak on the topic of fare living conditions and wages for all.
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(The sun had shifted over to the east side of the house so that the front room was nice and cool. Dishes were washed, Purity was out back shelling peas for supper. There was plenty of ham left, and ...)
The sun had shifted over to the east side of the house so that the front room was nice and cool. Dishes were washed, Purity was out back shelling peas for supper. There was plenty of ham left, and potatoes. The greens wouldn't take long to boil up and they could have corn on the cob and hot rolls and that pecan pie in there. They had been lucky to get this piece of land with the tree on it. Time enough to sit a while before supper with the men out and taking Clem with them. Oscar'd said after lunch that he didn't know but what Clem wouldn't be helped by some hard work that afternoon. The truth was, this was the only morning of the week the boy hadn't been out in the fields with the men, and that was just because she'd needed him to mend the cow's stall in the barn. It was a wonder young ones managed to learn anything during the school year as hard as the men worked them when they needed them. Clio went to check on Nellie out on the sleeping porch. Saw she was sleeping with Cassie ...
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(Jim Allen cleared his throat. He should have known better than to set foot in this house. Oscar never had gotten over him knowing Clio for so long. "Anyways, I don't know but we may have some ...)
Jim Allen cleared his throat. He should have known better than to set foot in this house. Oscar never had gotten over him knowing Clio for so long. "Anyways, I don't know but we may have some trouble in Arkansas before this thing is over. Sometimes it seems to me Mr. Roosevelt is trying to kill cotton farming in the South." "Teacher said Arkansas has the largest cotton production in the world," Clem quoted coming out of his bib a little. "Surprised the boy can remember that so long after school's out." said Clio. She took a hot yeast roll from the pan but ate it plain, without any butter. "Well did he now, Clem, did he indeed," said Jim Allen, "Well it's third largest if I remember it right. Whatever it is, it's a hell of a lot of cotton, that's for sure." Across the table, Nellie's two girls giggled. The man had said hell, and at dinner too. Jim Allen heard them and looked over at Clio, "Excuse me Ma'm," he said. "Roosevelt's got his hands far and away too much into other people's ...
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(Cassie sat on the floor of the sleeping porch on an old patchwork quilt. Colors and shapes without names looked up at her. That the quilt was one of three that her grandmother had worked for Clio ...)
Cassie sat on the floor of the sleeping porch on an old patchwork quilt. Colors and shapes without names looked up at her. That the quilt was one of three that her grandmother had worked for Clio for her wedding, she did not know. Nor that it had been a place keeper for four other small damp packages of flesh like hers. She knew soft, and somewhere in her mind a word was forming for the smell of the quilt. Her own smell mixed with the smell of Clio's lye scrubbed pine floors, the beloved aroma of the dog and the general odor of food and sweat and work that was the family. Her mother's smell was not on the quilt. Perhaps just a trace. That smell of lilac water and soap from the store. Woman damp and pie crusts. "What you doing honey?" A voice from above. Cassie focused her eyes on Nellie's round face and blonde hair and her own face opened up. "Oh look at her smile." said Nellie. "You sure are a pretty little thing. Look like your momma don't you with them eyes. Daddy always said ...
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(The Editor takes a moment to interrupt the narrative and remind our dear readers of Quin's promised offering on ebay. The iconic portrait of Leo Castelli. We believe that Quin wrote the biography ...)
The Editor takes a moment to interrupt the narrative and remind our dear readers of Quin's promised offering on ebay. The iconic portrait of Leo Castelli. We believe that Quin wrote the biography that appears there himself and so we know our readers will want to peruse it. To view Quin's offering and biography, simply go to ebay.com, search by Quin Withey, and there you will be. We might just also note that any funds received from a sale will go to help support The Luna Azul Foundation, a photograph of the future home of the Foundation will appear in this blog, and on the website RagtimeTexas.com, shortly.
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("Oscar, O.T," Jim Allen pulled off his hat. Well the wind would have had it off in a minute. O.T. nodded. Oscar just stood and waited. "Sorry to come round bothering you right at lunchtime." ...)
"Oscar, O.T," Jim Allen pulled off his hat. Well the wind would have had it off in a minute. O.T. nodded. Oscar just stood and waited. "Sorry to come round bothering you right at lunchtime." "Figure it was the only time you could find us all at home," Oscar said, then waited again then: "Must have something on your mind, I reckon." When Jim Allen still didn't say anything, O.T. tried. "Must be something pretty important. to get you away from Miss Eulane's cooking." O.T. shot a look at Jim Allen to see how he'd take that. He took a lot of guff on account of Miss Eulane taking care of him like she did. But Jim Allen was smiling it looked like. Something like a smile anyway, his face all pulled to one side like a scar. But Jim Allen just said, "Mamma's gone into Newport to do some shopping." Then he looked at his boot. Scuffed it around in Clio's hard swept yard. He was staring at it hard it seemed. Or maybe he was just listening to the wind. Feeling the humidity go up. Thinking that ...
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(<IMG height=214 alt="A picture named avatar320.jpg" hspace=15 src="http://radio.weblogs.com/0123578/images/2003/12/15/avatar320.jpg" width=160 align=right vspace=5 border=0>Quin as Avatar.)
<IMG height=214 alt="A picture named avatar320.jpg" hspace=15 src="http://radio.weblogs.com/0123578/images/2003/12/15/avatar320.jpg" width=160 align=right vspace=5 border=0>Quin as Avatar.
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("You sayin' a good woman like me shouldn't be reading her Bible?" Clio was at the door. Apron off and twisted in one hand. The rest of her was rail straight. Skinny, O.T. thought, despite five ...)
"You sayin' a good woman like me shouldn't be reading her Bible?" Clio was at the door. Apron off and twisted in one hand. The rest of her was rail straight. Skinny, O.T. thought, despite five kids, and still with all her teeth. Maybe that was because she knew what to do when she was expecting better than most women. Grew all those plants in the summer and drank her teas all winter long. A little shiver went down his spine looking at her. Clio was the only woman in the community who still wore her skirts to her ankles. Looked like a pioneer woman. "Oh you know sister," Nellie said, "I was just talking. But I wish you'd let me do something around here. I feel fine." "And have you nearly bleed to death like last time?" O.T. looked over at Nellie and saw her wince. "No ma'm. You're doing just like I say this go around. Now you lay back down there and keep your feet elevated. O.T., she's had enough of you for now. You go on outside, that pump's waiting." At the door, O.T. looked back ...
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(At the road O.T. stayed with Oscar. Usually he'd take the fork and turn toward his own house and Nellie's cooking, but Nellie was pregnant again and looked peaked to him this morning. And earlier ...)
At the road O.T. stayed with Oscar. Usually he'd take the fork and turn toward his own house and Nellie's cooking, but Nellie was pregnant again and looked peaked to him this morning. And earlier that day Oscar's boy Clem had run out to the fields to tell him to eat lunch at their house. "Wish the old man would paint these houses." Oscar said pulling off his hat and scuffing the dirt off his boots on the front porch step. "Purity!" he called in the house. Almost instantly a girl of about seven appeared through the screen door and shifted Cassie down from Oscar's hip to her own. Her dress was of the same pattern and material as Cassie's, only cut bigger to fit. Already she had a curve at her waist shaped to fit Cassie's bottom. "The old man saves a penny where he can find one, " said O.T. behind him. He looked down the gravel road toward his house a half mile or so away. "Think I'll just go check on Nellie before lunch." "She's in here." A voice from the house. A woman's or maybe ...
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(We have been set a task, please see below. Cryptic message from Quin, written in red marker on the back of a menu. movie--the empire of dr. bienke--a lifestyle design celebration of RUBOS--rural ...)
We have been set a task, please see below. Cryptic message from Quin, written in red marker on the back of a menu. movie--the empire of dr. bienke--a lifestyle design celebration of RUBOS--rural bohemians. "we must cultivate a class of bolsevic hillbilly." --ivan the terrible redsky. . . . the beaty boys in: RED HILLBILLY--a shocking expose of sex 'n' sedition in de sere sensuous sodden southland up yr. red dirt 'n' other green puff marijuana road. hoo doo tales . . . We begin. Cotton. Miles of it scorching the earth. At eye level the boles white and blazing. Stalks making soft crackling sounds in the damp breeze. Tough outer petals spotted dry and specked with black. Inside dark spots. Seeds. Knees under a crumpled skirt. All stained with black dirt. Soft. Toes digging. Cool. Nails hallowed by black rings. Dirt dust clinging to skin and fabric. A small wind lifts damp hair. Sky and big white clouds. Then wet and hot. Tending and guarding. Bells ringing out. Voices. A laugh. And ...
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This is a placeholder for the photo of Quin as Avatar.
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(Here is a fun and interesting thing to do. Enter a combination of worlds with which you believe that you could search for almost any sex site and you will get Quin Withey's Radio Weblog. For ...)
Here is a fun and interesting thing to do. Enter a combination of worlds with which you believe that you could search for almost any sex site and you will get Quin Withey's Radio Weblog. For instance, we checked our referrers for this morning as we sometimes do, and someone had entered the words Gangbang Child. Sure enough, about five from the top, there was Quin Withey's Radio Weblog. Below, we post the entry from that day, June 2, 2003 in it's entirety as an example for our readers of how this spider technology works. We also note that searching for sex sites in this manner is a very good way to find long lost entries to the blog which are no longer posted. It is the I Ching of the web. Here is Quin's entry for June 2, 2003. It is a very good one, long before the darkness of the hiatus came upon him. June 2, 2003 Anarchism begins at Home, the Means are the Home, the End is the Home; anarchism is a stay at home child because all the Fruits of Society are so twisted up with ...
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(d.'s promo company would seemingly exist to feed schnaybels n englishmen. from: new mafia in town. 2). already correcktness is a bother. from: happiness in the tower of babble.)
d.'s promo company would seemingly exist to feed schnaybels n englishmen. from: new mafia in town. 2). already correcktness is a bother. from: happiness in the tower of babble.
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(We suppose we see ourselves as Paul. We have an overpowering need, having had a blinding light fall on our faces but not fully understanding, to get the word of Quin to the masses. And we have a ...)
We suppose we see ourselves as Paul. We have an overpowering need, having had a blinding light fall on our faces but not fully understanding, to get the word of Quin to the masses. And we have a giant thorn in our flesh, which is Quin himself. The problem is this: We never liked Paul very much with all his talk of it is better to marry than burn and all that. What he preferred was that men have no sex at all. He presumed that women had no need of if except to make children. Perhaps since we have no churches yet which write us endless letters filled with tedious detail about how to do this or that--which clothes to wear, how to wear our hair. Whether women should speak, and all of that--when it is our turn to write letters to our Thesalonians, we will do better. Jesus was supported by rich women, did you know that? Did you ever wonder how he managed to wander about Judea speaking and being charasmatic and getting the word out? He still had to eat after all, and pee and wear clothes ...
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(We know not why the beast below appeared. We had begun a sentence about the sudden bleakness of the winter and the accompanying desolation of Quin's hiatus, when suddenly, there appeared this ...)
We know not why the beast below appeared. We had begun a sentence about the sudden bleakness of the winter and the accompanying desolation of Quin's hiatus, when suddenly, there appeared this beast--pig, man, or van . . . today's cenotaur . . . or whichever is the beast of the Greeks which was half man half horse. Yesterday was the full moon . . . or so almost full that it seemed so. Last night after walking in the city snows, we were bitten by a small sad dog. He would not have bitten had he not been so small and so sad. We know him well. We know we will not be hydrophobic. But now the finger seems to be infected. We haven't seen Quin and so we don't know how he is doing in the full moon and snow, if he is in the snow. We see that he writes in his blog from time to time but that is all we know of him. We hope he is well and not too unhappy. He has set us a task. We are contextualizing. If you look at RagtimeTexas.com, you will see that it has changed. It will continue to change. ...
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(<IMG height=230 alt="A picture named pig300.jpg" hspace=15 src="http://radio.weblogs.com/0123578/images/2003/12/09/pig300.jpg" width=300 align=right vspace=5 border=0>)
<IMG height=230 alt="A picture named pig300.jpg" hspace=15 src="http://radio.weblogs.com/0123578/images/2003/12/09/pig300.jpg" width=300 align=right vspace=5 border=0>
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(bob dylan wrote 'positively fourth street' in 1965. i was seven. that's the copyright date. on album it was not released until 'bob dylan's greatest hits' in 1967, but i think it was a single or a ...)
bob dylan wrote 'positively fourth street' in 1965. i was seven. that's the copyright date. on album it was not released until 'bob dylan's greatest hits' in 1967, but i think it was a single or a b side in england prior to that and maybe in america too. 'positively fourth street' was notable as sort of an anti-pop offering and non-love song. it is a protest song but you are not sure against whom dylan is protesting. baez maybe? i read the lyrics today and i think it might be that he's protesting against me... but i was seven in 1965 so i didn't grin when he was down and out and it seems to me that bobby is the one that stays on the side that's winning. i suppose it would be the conventional thing to feel grateful for bobby for the profound impact he has had on my life. i can remember my music teacher in coventry in 1972 telling me that 'no one will know who bob dylan is in ten years'. i was skeptical, but then i was 14 so i wasn't sure he didn't have a better grasp of history than ...
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(somehow duchamp's green box became s.r.a. i would read all the s.r.a.s but then i hated doing the written work at the end and so nominally remained in low colors. purply colors. we could download ...)
somehow duchamp's green box became s.r.a. i would read all the s.r.a.s but then i hated doing the written work at the end and so nominally remained in low colors. purply colors. we could download pieces of blog and laminate them and fill up old lunch boxes painted green. there'd be a plastic fold out 'board' like twister on which you might lay your pieces of blog. we could offer the lunch boxes in a twofer commodity package with a plastic ukelele with a wind up music box inside you could jam along with. we could make a movie of pretty teenagers playing with their blog filled lunch boxes and their jam-along ukeleles and then they'd get eaten by monsters if they'd ever done it. actually i'm tired of that movie. when koo dies he goes to "the radio ranch in the ether". it will be from the Radio Ranch in the Ether that we shall revisit the 1596 battle of cadiz (after the style of cy twombley) where we shall see essex and raleigh and mr. john donne.
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("Posters, photos large and small, and other mementos from his music career were tacked up on the walls of every room, along with a calendar portrait of Jesus. The living room walls were painted ...)
"Posters, photos large and small, and other mementos from his music career were tacked up on the walls of every room, along with a calendar portrait of Jesus. The living room walls were painted bright red, and after a half hour or so I noticed that the wallpaper was made of old newspapers. This last detail shocked me. How was it that a famous musician was living in a place like this? I suddenly found myself sitting in Mance Lipscomb's reality, not my own, and I realized that if I was going to write about his life, I would have to do it by leaving my prejudgements back in Austin and living in his world for however long it took me to come to know it." Glen Alyn. "I Say Me For A Parable: The Oral Autobiography of Mance Lipscomb, Texas Bluesman." as told to and compiled by Glen Alyn. Da Capo Press. New York. this is a great book and da capo has been a great imprint.... so much more is available than when i was a kid and the blues and jazz literature sucked and was hard to come by.... ...
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