"I went to the Noise Show at the new arts-space and the memo my brain is issuing is that, officially, I am over it. It being: this whole transgressive beardo / faux-ironic/non-ironic/ ironic -- "the "mystery" of are we serious, maybe maybe not?" -- the entire scene that playfully confuses facism-chic and fashion -- is straight up wack bullshit. These bands purposefully teeter the line of "might be joking" as their aesthetic statement, so that they can, conviently dial up, and then withdraw "meaning" from "transgressive" elements. So, that, if you are offended by say, a "questionable" song about rape, or a pro-bulimia anthem or a white man in leather screaming "PALESTINE/ISRAEL/PALESTINE/ ISRAEL!" pretending all the while like it's more than a signifier, you being offended might be the point, or if you aren;t that might be the point because hey man, all they are doing is pushing controversy without context and fronting like it's actually an aesthetic statement.
But it's not. It's effete bullshit.
There is no real idea, it's totally uncommital, reactionary and puerile fakery. At best, it aims for some elusive Albini-schooled pigfuck , but, it never gets there. BECAUSE THE GUN IS NOT EVEN LOADED. It's gestures are impotent, and while the impotent gesture is supposed to be the commentary on the (supposedly) potent gesture (potent gest could be delivered by Boston or emo or Xiu Xiu or Staind) or the affectation of understood potent gesture, and the inherant offense of potent gesture as being "genuine", because music/music culture being what it is, the genuine potent gesture is actually hollow and revolting , but here is the crux -- this impotent gesture, too, is also hollow and revolting -- so how is that commentary? Is that in fact ironic, too? Does that make it post-ironic ironic irony? Where is the actual transgression taking place? OUILA -- there is no actual transgression because they are parallel things, they are both revolting and hollow fake gestures not actually commenting on anything, it's all just like, dudes miming rhetorical handjobs into infinity and beyond.
See, dudes, like Yoda says, there is no try, there is only do, and this squawky noise blast / nazi-porn-racism anti-music / Jim Goad drunk on Ivy League semiotics, Whitehouse 12's and bukkake -- it's all try and no "do" -- and I know that that, supposedly, IS your point, but like, I mean, really --HOW IS THAT A POINT IN 2005 AD? It's not.
ALSO: Is it transgressive, or is it just generational ignorance, when you ask the door guy "What does AIDS Wolf sound like?" before you lay out 5 bucks, and the merch guy-so-greasy stands on the table and yells "I can tell you this: AIDS WOLF GAVE ME AIDS! WHOOO-HOO!"? I thought "Well, his trangressive trick worked. He is trying to show how much a fuck he does not give by offending me, and it worked. I am offended by him." The band, see, they did not work because I was just annoyed and not, in fact, disgusted.
I only stayed for one band. Bloodyminded (see above) were still playing when I left. The audience was doing the nouveau-scrub tie-dye shirts/ screaming/ "we're crazy mode" with one kid with shaved in male pattern baldness sig heiling and spraying his Sparks™ everywhere and "moshing" along with a few other people portraying/mocking geniune gestures of actual excitement.
To me it seemed AIDS Wolf were just another drop in the naughtynoise provoke-the-converted cumbucket (I just got an album in a DVD case, draped in a page ripped from a p0rn... the band Twodeadsluts Onegoodfuck).
But then AIDS Wolf hit No. 65 on college radio this week! Should a line be drawn between hyperbolically offensive Mentors schtick that may have point (they DO put the final nail in the whole Wolf band coffin) and MySpace spazzos that live and die by "LOLocaust" jokes?
Should Hopper just lighten up? Or should we take down AW because they are might be a joke band (their day job is Seripop)? Or should we like Aids Wolf MORE because might be a joke band?
― Whiney G. Weingarten (whineyg), Thursday, 9 February 2006 20:33 (7 years ago) Permalink
― james van der beek (dubplatestyle), Thursday, 9 February 2006 20:37 (7 years ago) Permalink
― j blount (papa la bas), Thursday, 9 February 2006 20:38 (7 years ago) Permalink
― gear (gear), Thursday, 9 February 2006 20:39 (7 years ago) Permalink
Lock thread, plz.
― Whiney G. Weingarten (whineyg), Thursday, 9 February 2006 20:40 (7 years ago) Permalink
Yeah, AIDS in all its forms, possible flavors and usages is one of the biggest rib-ticklers of all time, no doubt about it.
― George the Animal Steele, Thursday, 9 February 2006 20:41 (7 years ago) Permalink
― james van der beek (dubplatestyle), Thursday, 9 February 2006 20:41 (7 years ago) Permalink
― senseiDancer (sexyDancer), Thursday, 9 February 2006 20:42 (7 years ago) Permalink
― james van der beek (dubplatestyle), Thursday, 9 February 2006 20:46 (7 years ago) Permalink
I would have typed "AIDS" into the search function on the Noise Board, but I would have imagined that I would have an insane amount of results.
― Whiney G. Weingarten (whineyg), Thursday, 9 February 2006 20:49 (7 years ago) Permalink
― jhoshea (scoopsnoodle), Thursday, 9 February 2006 20:55 (7 years ago) Permalink
― Edward III (edward iii), Thursday, 9 February 2006 20:56 (7 years ago) Permalink
― s1ocki (slutsky), Thursday, 9 February 2006 20:59 (7 years ago) Permalink
― senseiDancer (sexyDancer), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:01 (7 years ago) Permalink
― james van der beek (dubplatestyle), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:01 (7 years ago) Permalink
― chris besinger (chris besinger), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:02 (7 years ago) Permalink
― senseiDancer (sexyDancer), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:03 (7 years ago) Permalink
― Jay Watts III (jaywatts), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:08 (7 years ago) Permalink
Wait, they're from MTL, aren't they?
(xpost guess so)
― jaymc (jaymc), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:09 (7 years ago) Permalink
― Shakey Mo Collier (Shakey Mo Collier), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:13 (7 years ago) Permalink
― sean gramophone (Sean M), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:16 (7 years ago) Permalink
― Jay Watts III (jaywatts), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:17 (7 years ago) Permalink
Hopper's chatty ArtForum writing style is... exhaaaaaaaaausting.
― Jay Watts III (jaywatts), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:18 (7 years ago) Permalink
― Shakey Mo Collier (Shakey Mo Collier), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:19 (7 years ago) Permalink
― Eppy (Eppy), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:20 (7 years ago) Permalink
― senseiDancer (sexyDancer), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:26 (7 years ago) Permalink
(confession: I've never heard a note of AIDS Wolf music)
― Shakey Mo Collier (Shakey Mo Collier), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:26 (7 years ago) Permalink
― Shakey Mo Collier (Shakey Mo Collier), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:28 (7 years ago) Permalink
― jaymc (jaymc), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:29 (7 years ago) Permalink
― james van der beek (dubplatestyle), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:32 (7 years ago) Permalink
― james van der beek (dubplatestyle), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:33 (7 years ago) Permalink
c'mon kenneth lay, i mean weingarten. everybody knows that shit's rigged.
― hstencil (hstencil), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:37 (7 years ago) Permalink
― j blount (papa la bas), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:40 (7 years ago) Permalink
― roberton, Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:51 (7 years ago) Permalink
― hstencil (hstencil), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:51 (7 years ago) Permalink
― dan bunnybrain (dan bunnybrain), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:55 (7 years ago) Permalink
― Fritz Wollner (Fritz), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:58 (7 years ago) Permalink
― dan bunnybrain (dan bunnybrain), Thursday, 9 February 2006 21:59 (7 years ago) Permalink
― Fritz Wollner (Fritz), Thursday, 9 February 2006 22:00 (7 years ago) Permalink
― senseiDancer (sexyDancer), Thursday, 9 February 2006 22:02 (7 years ago) Permalink
Oh OK that is pretty offensive.
― Eppy (Eppy), Thursday, 9 February 2006 22:02 (7 years ago) Permalink
nope. and not in mtl. and i don't know them. so whatevs.
― Fritz Wollner (Fritz), Thursday, 9 February 2006 22:04 (7 years ago) Permalink
2. There's a band in San Francisco called Child Pornography. I would not want to google them.
3. I'll be at the Child Abuse show tommorrow (Fri) @ Asterisk if anyone wants to hang out.
― Whiney G. Weingarten (whineyg), Thursday, 9 February 2006 22:04 (7 years ago) Permalink
still - isn't the thing with most noise music that it's pretty interchangeable? i mean even more so than most other genres. and that given the interchangeability of the -sound-, a lot rests on a) the fun-ness of the live show, and b) the band's image/gimmick?
so the fact that the album's pretty mediocre ends up meaning a lot less than whether they're a good time, playing live, and whether their particular aesthetic ("sexy"! slightly offensive! arty! naked in a wood!) appeals to you.
(and Seripop's posters are fucking great)
― sean gramophone (Sean M), Thursday, 9 February 2006 22:06 (7 years ago) Permalink
― senseiDancer (sexyDancer), Thursday, 9 February 2006 22:07 (7 years ago) Permalink
I'm with you. They are definitely more art project than band, but I think the art project is mighty fun, even though their attempts at "shocking" stunts are C-level at best
― Whiney G. Weingarten (whineyg), Thursday, 9 February 2006 22:09 (7 years ago) Permalink
― dan bunnybrain (dan bunnybrain), Thursday, 9 February 2006 22:11 (7 years ago) Permalink
no, and no.
― hstencil (hstencil), Thursday, 9 February 2006 22:12 (7 years ago) Permalink
― Eppy (Eppy), Friday, 10 February 2006 20:54 (7 years ago) Permalink
― M@tt He1geson (Matt Helgeson), Friday, 10 February 2006 20:54 (7 years ago) Permalink
― Reid Fleming, World's Toughest Milkman (Shakey Mo Collier), Friday, 10 February 2006 20:56 (7 years ago) Permalink
That would be Costes. And yeah, he has more creative vision in his pinky than Wolf Eyes have in their combined bodies. But you seem to attack the entire proposition of making extreme/offensive art when it sounds like you just had a bad night out on the town. Who knows, the AIDS Wolf performance might have transcended their stupid name and immature merch guy had you stuck around for it. Sorry to keep harping on that point, but it makes you seem like the people who say, "I don't have to see Brokeback Mountain to know I won't like it."
― Edward III (edward iii), Friday, 10 February 2006 21:02 (7 years ago) Permalink
― M@tt He1geson (Matt Helgeson), Friday, 10 February 2006 21:04 (7 years ago) Permalink
Actually, this might also be a reference to Boyd Rice.
― pdf (Phil Freeman), Friday, 10 February 2006 21:07 (7 years ago) Permalink
i actually don't need to see "brokeback mountain" to know i won't like it, tho.
― hstencil (hstencil), Friday, 10 February 2006 21:10 (7 years ago) Permalink
― M@tt He1geson (Matt Helgeson), Friday, 10 February 2006 21:14 (7 years ago) Permalink
― hstencil (hstencil), Friday, 10 February 2006 21:18 (7 years ago) Permalink
― Edward III (edward iii), Friday, 10 February 2006 21:21 (7 years ago) Permalink
― Shakey Mo Collier (Shakey Mo Collier), Friday, 10 February 2006 21:27 (7 years ago) Permalink
― hstencil (hstencil), Friday, 10 February 2006 21:28 (7 years ago) Permalink
Beef out, indeed!
― Edward III (edward iii), Friday, 10 February 2006 21:47 (7 years ago) Permalink
― jessica Hopper, Friday, 10 February 2006 21:50 (7 years ago) Permalink
― hstencil (hstencil), Friday, 10 February 2006 21:55 (7 years ago) Permalink
- Lisa Carver, Rollerderby
― Edward III (edward iii), Friday, 10 February 2006 22:05 (7 years ago) Permalink
― Edward III (edward iii), Friday, 10 February 2006 22:07 (7 years ago) Permalink
Stop comparing wolf eyes to Aids wolf. The use of "wolf" in the name does not automatically make them similar groups.
Noise isn't about anything, it's a lack of a message, it is the abandonment of preconceived notions of music, that is why it has the draw it does. Personally I prefer noise's non-message over the contrived punk-politics that I have spit into my ear by every sad mid-20s activist with a leather jacket and a dead kennedy's patch when I go to a god damned rock and roll show.
― abugharib, Saturday, 11 February 2006 18:06 (7 years ago) Permalink
― kyle (akmonday), Saturday, 11 February 2006 19:13 (7 years ago) Permalink
RE: calling your band AIDS wolf.
Hmmm. There was a humor zine for people with AIDS called "Diseased Pariah News" that was pretty amazing. It's not as if you can't combine comedy with fucked up devastating illness, I guess the question is, who is making the joke and for whom? If the members of AIDS wolf are HIV positive, then fair enough, it's their party. If they're not, it's a different gesture. If AIDS is just another signifier of "heaviness" among the grab bag of signifiers, that's just an index of the comfortable position from which the gesture emanates. And comfort tends to make people long for things, and overcompensate. My first boyfriend made AIDS jokes all the time. Since his death from AIDS complications I have a hard time laughing along with AIDS humor. But something tells me this band is for people for whom AIDS is exotic, exotically "dated" as a thing to worry about, etc. I wonder if they're going to tour Africa anytime soon.
To state the super obvious: this is not a censorship issue. Of course they can call their band whatever they want.
Also to state the obvious: this has nothing to do with the "noise" scene as a whole or in part because this is a rock band. A "noisy" rock band, but a rock band all the same.
― Drew Daniel (Drew Daniel), Saturday, 11 February 2006 23:44 (7 years ago) Permalink
― hstencil (hstencil), Sunday, 12 February 2006 00:58 (7 years ago) Permalink
the entire "ha ha deliberately uncool AIDS joke ha ha" gesture was already played- and by a REAL noise band (in fact the greatest noise band ever) cf. the Hanatarash 4 CD subtitled "AIDS-a-delic" on Public Bath.
AND the "ironic hipster douchebag rocks AIDS humor" gesture was played circa Black Nasty's "AIDS Can't Stop Me" bedroom hip hop CD, years and years ago.
So, it's not even a new way to piss people off, and it's been done before by people whose actual sound/music was worth the time of day.
That is all.
― Drew Daniel (Drew Daniel), Sunday, 12 February 2006 01:09 (7 years ago) Permalink
Anyway, if there's anything notable about this group, it's how not shocking their shtick seems. "Transgressive" is definitely not how I would describe them. Their act seems completely pat and kind of traditional in a good way. Reassuring. I like Green Day/White Stripes/etc in small doses and if they ever made to MTV, I bet I'd like the Aids Wolf in exactly the same way.
― Anonymity preserving pseudonym, Sunday, 12 February 2006 06:21 (7 years ago) Permalink
Also one difference between calling your band "Cancer Clown" or "Child Abuse" or "Child Pornography" or whatever and namechecking AIDS in your joke band is that NOBODY in this country thinks cancer, child or child pornorgaphy are God's personal ethnic cleansing method / moral judgment upon their victims. AIDS has wiped out a huge swath of a generation of people, many of the best-and-brightest, whose swift and gruesome deaths were made even more egregious in light of the absolute political indifference to it in the first decade that it raged. Also, the fact is that today AIDS kills disproportionately more gay people and African-American people than any other demographic. Nice call, white art band. The name isn't "shocking" so much as staggeringly stupid.
P.S. Jessica Hopper is right too.
― analog roam, Monday, 13 February 2006 03:21 (7 years ago) Permalink
― Anonymity preserving pseudonym, Monday, 13 February 2006 06:33 (7 years ago) Permalink
by Tim Dlugos
I'm at a double wakein Springfield, for a childhoodfriend and his fatherwho died years ago. I joinmy aunt in the queue of mournersand walk into a brown study,a sepia room with booksand magazines. The father'sin a coffin; he looks exhumed,the worse for wear. But wheremy friend's remains should bethere's just the empty baseof an urn. Where are his ashes?His mother hands mea paper cup with pills:leucovorin, Zovirax,and AZT. "Henrywanted you to have these,"she sneers. "Take allyou want, for all the goodthey'll do." "Dlugos.Meester Dlugos." A lampsnaps on. Raquel,not Welch, the chubbynurse, is standing by my bed.It's 6 a.m., time to flushthe heplock and hook upthe I.v. line. False dawnis changing into day, infusingthe sky above the Hudsonwith a flush of light.My roommate stirsbeyond the pinstriped curtain.My first time here on G-9,the AIDS ward, the cheeryD & D Building intentionalityof the decor made me feellike jumping out a window.I'd been lying on a gurneyin an E.R. corridorfor nineteen hours, next toa psychotic druggiewith a voice like AbbieHoffman's. He was tiedup, or down, with stripsof cloth (he'd tried to sluga nurse) and sent upa grating adenoidal whineall night. "Nurse. . . nurse. . .untie me, please. . . theserags have strange powers."By the time they founda bed for me, I was inno mood to appreciate the clevercurtains in my room,the same fabric exactlyas the drapes and sheetsof a P-town guest housein which I once — partied? stayed?All I can remember isthe pattern. Nor did ithelp to have the biggest queenon the nursing staffclap his hands delightedlyand welcome me to AIDS-land.I wanted to dropdead immediately. Thatwas the low point. Todaythese people are my friends,in the process of restoringme to life a second time.
I can walk and talkand breathe simultaneouslynow. I draw a breathand sing "Happy Birthday"to my roommate Joe.He's 51 today. I didn't thinkhe'd make it. Three weeksago they told him that he hadaplastic anemia, and nothingcould be done. Joe had beena rotten patient, moaningoperatically, throwing chairsat nurses. When he gotthe bad news, there wasa big change. He calledthe relatives with whomhe had been disaffected,was anointed and communicatedfor the first time since the ageof eight when he was rapedby a priest, and made a will.As death drew nearer, Joegrew nicer, almost serene.Then the anemiabegan to disappear, notbecause of medicines, buton its own. Ready to die,it looks like Joe has moreof life to go. He'll gohome soon. "When will youget out of here?" he asks me.I don't know; when the X-rayshows no more pneumonia.I've been here three weeksthis time. "What have Iaccomplished? Read someBalzac, spent "qualitytime" with friends, come backfrom death's door, andprayed, prayed a lot.Barry Bragg, a formerlover of a formerlover and a newEpiscopalian, has AIDS too,and gave me a leatherboundand gold-trimmed copy of the Office,the one with all the antiphons.My list of daily intercessionsis as long as a Russiannovel. I pray about AIDSlast. Last week I made a listof all my friends who've diedor who are living and infected.Every day since, I've rememberedsomeone I forgot to list.This morning it was ChasenGaver, the performance poetfrom DC. I don't knowif he's still around. I likedhim and could never standhis poetry, which made itdifficult to be a friend,although I wanted to defendhim one excruciating nightat a Folio reading, whereChasen snapped his fingersand danced around spoutingfrothy nonsense about AndyWarhol to the rolling eyesof self-important "language-centered" poets, whose dismissiveattitude and ugly mannerswere worse by far than anythingthat Chasen ever wrote.
Charles was his real name;a classmate at Antiochdubbed him "Chasen," afterthe restaurant, I guess.Once I start remembering,so much comes back.There are forty-nine nameson my list of the dead,thirty-two names of the sick.Cookie Mueller changedlists Saturday. They allwill, I guess, the living,I mean, unless I gobefore them, in which caseI may be on somebody'slist myself. It's hardto imagine so many peopleI love dying, but no harderthan to comprehend so manyalready gone. My belovedBobby, maniac and boyfriend.Barry reminded me that hehad sex with Bobbyon the coat pile at his Christmasparty, two years in a row.That's the way our lifetogether used to be, a lotof great adventures. Who'llremember Bobby's storiesabout driving in his debutantedate's father's white Mercedesfrom hole to hole of the golf courseat the poshest country clubin Birmingham at 3 a.m.,or taking off his clothesin the redneck bar on a dare,or working on Stay Hungryas the dresser of a then-unknown named SchwarzeneggerWho will be around to anthologizehis purple cracker similes:"Sweatin' like a niggeron Election Day," "Hotterthan a half-fucked foxin a forest fire." The onesthat I remember have to dowith heat, Bobby shirtless,sweating on the dance floorof the tiny bar in what is nowa shelter for the indigentwith AIDS on the dockstrip,stripping shirts off Chuck Shaw,Barry Bragg and me, rollingup the tom rags, using themas pom-poms, then boltingoff down West Street, gracefully(despite the overwhelmingweight of his inebriation)vaulting over trash cansas he sang, "I like to bein America" in a Puerto Ricanaccent. When I pass,who'll remember, who will careabout these joys and wonders?I'm haunted by that morethan by the facesof the dead and dying.A speaker crackles nearmy bed and nursesstreak down the corridor.The black guy on the respiratornext door bought the farm,Maria tells me later, butonly when I ask. She has tearsin her eyes. She'd known himsince his first day on G-9a long time ago. Will I alsobecome a fond, fondly regardedregular, back for staysthe way retired retiringwidowers return to the hotelin Nova Scotia or Provencewhere they vacationed withtheir wives? I expect so, althoughthat's down the road; today'senough to fill my plate. A bellrings, like the gong that marksthe start of a fight. It's 10and Derek's here to makethe bed, Derek who at 16saw Bob Marley's funeralin the football stadiumin Kingston, hot tearspouring down his face.He sings as he foldslinens, "You can foolsome of the people someof the time," dancinga little softshoe as he works.There's a reason he came injust now; Divorce Courtdrones on Joe's TV, andDerek is hooked. I can'tbelieve the script is plausibleto him, Jamaican hipsterthat he is, but he standstransfixed by the paradeof faithless wives and screwed-uphusbands. The judge is testy;so am I, unwillingauditor of drivel. Phonemy friends to block it out:David, Jane and Eileen. I missedthe bash for David's magazineon Monday and Eileen's readinglast night. Jane says thatMarie-Christine flew offto Marseilles where her motherhas cancer of the brain,reminding me that AIDSis just a tiny fragmentof life's pain. Eileen hasbeen thinking about Bobby, too,the dinner that we threwwhen he returned to New Yorkafter getting sick. Pencil-thin,disfigured by KS, he held forthwith as much kinetic charmas ever. What we haveto cherish is not onlywhat we can recall of howthings were before the plague,but how we each respondedonce it started. Peoplehave been great to me.An avalanche of lovehas come my waysince I got sick, and notjust moral support.Jaime's on the boardof PEN's new fundfor AIDS; he's helping out.Don Windham slipped a checkinside a note, and BradGooch got me somethingfrom the Howard Brookner Fund.Who'd have thought when wedressed up in ladies'clothes for a night for a hootin Brad ("June Buntt") andHoward ("Lili La Lean")'s suiteat the Chelsea that thingswould have turned out this way:Howard dead at 35, Chris Cox("Kay Sera Sera")'s friend Billgone too, "Bernadette of Lourdes"(guess who) with AIDS,God knows how many positive.Those 14th Street wigs and enormousstingers and Martinis don'tprovoke nostalgia for a timewhen love and death were lessinextricably linked, butfor the stories we would tellthe morning after, bestwhen they involved our friends,second-best, our heroes.J.J. Mitchell was a masterof the genre. When he learnedhe had AIDS, I told himhe should write them down.His mind went first. I'll tell youone of his best. J.J. wasJerome Robbins' houseguestat Bridgehampton. Every morningthey would have a contestto see who could finishthe Times crossword first.Robbins always won, untila day when he was clearlybaffled. Grumbling, scratchingover letters, he finallythrew his pen down. "J.J.,tell me what I'm doing wrong."One clue was "Great 20th-c.choreographer." The solutionwas "Massine," but Robbinshad placed his own namein the space. Every wordaround it had been changedto try to make the puzzlework, except that answer.At this point there'd bea horsey laugh from JJ.— "Isn't that great?"he'd say through clenchedteeth ("Locust Valley lockjaw'').It was, and there were lotsmore where that one came from,only you can't get there anymore.He's dropped into the mawwaiting for the G-9denizens and for all flesh,as silent as the heartsthat beat upon the bedsup here: the heart of the drop-dead beautiful East Villagekid who came in yesterday,Charles Frost's heart nine inchesfrom the spleen they're takingout tomorrow, the heart ofthe demented girl whose screamsroll down the hallwayslate at night, hearts that longfor lovers, for reprieve,for old lives, for another chance.My heart, so calm most days,sinks like a brickto think of all that heartache.I've been staying sane withprogram tools, turning everythingover to God "as I understandhim." I don't understand him.Thank God I read so muchCalvin last spring; the absolutenecessity of blind obedienceto a sometimes comforting,sometimes repellent, alwaysincomprehensible Sourceof light and life stayedwith me. God can seemso foreign, a parentfrom another country,like my Dad and his ownfather speaking Polishin the kitchen. I wouldn'ttrust a father or a Godtoo much like me, though.That is why I pack up allmy cares and woes, and load themon the conveyor belt, the speedof which I can't control, likeChaplin on the assembly linein Modern Times or Lucy on TV.I don't need to runmachines today. I'm standingon a moving sidewalkheaded for the darkor light, whatever's there.Duncan Hannah visits, andwe talk of out-of-bodyexperiences. His wasamazing. Bingeing on vodkain his dorm at Bard, he woketo see a naked boyin fetal posture on the floor.Was it a corpse, a classmate,a pickup from the blackoutof the previous night? Duncandidn't know. He struggledout of bed, walked overto the youth, and touchedhis shoulder. The boy turned;it was Duncan himself.My own experience wasmilder, don't make me fleescreaming from the roomas Duncan did. It happenedon a Tibetan meditationweekend at the Cowley Fathers'house in Cambridge.Michael Koonsman led it,healer whose enormous pawsdirected energy. He touchedmy spine to straighten upmy posture, and I gaspedat the rush. We were chantingto Tara, goddess of compassionand peace, in the basement chapellate at night. I felt myselfdrawn upward, not levitatingphysically, but still somehowabove my body. A senseof bliss surrounded me.It lasted ten or fifteenminutes. When I came down,my forehead hurt. The spotwhere the "third eye" appearsin Buddhist art feltas though someone had pusheda pencil through it.The soreness lasted for a week.Michael wasn't surprised.He did a lot of workwith people with AIDSin the epidemic's early days,but when he started losingweight and having troublewith a cough, he was filledwith denial. By the timehe checked into St. Luke's,he was in dreadful shape.The respirator down his throatsquelched the contagiousenthusiasm of his voice,but he could still spell outwhat he wanted to sayon a plastic Ouija boardbeside his bed. Whenthe doctor who came into tell him the resultsof his bronchoscopy said,"Father, I'm afraid I havebad news," Michael grabbedthe board and spelled,"The truth is alwaysGood News." After he died,I had a dream in whichI was a student in a classthat he was posthumouslyteaching. With mock annoyancehe exclaimed, "Oh, Tim!I can't believe you really thinkthat AIDS is a disease!"There's evidence in thatdirection, I'll tell himif the dream recurs: the shinyhamburger-in-lucite lookof the big lesion on my face;the smaller ones I daubwith makeup; the lossof forty pounds in a year;the fatigue that comes onat the least convenient times.The symptoms float like algaeon the surface of the gracethat buoys me up today.Arthur comes in withthe Sacrament, and we haveto leave the room (Joe'sItalian family has arrivedfor birthday cheer) to findsome quiet. Walk outto the breezeway, whereit might as well beAugust for the stiflingheat. On Amsterdam,pedestrians and drivers areoblivious to our small aerie,as we peer through the grillelike cloistered nuns. Sinceleaving G-9 the first time,I always slow my car downon this block, and stare upat this window, to the unitwhere my life was saved.It's strange how quicklyhospitals feel foreignwhen you leave, and how normaltheir conventions seem as soonas you check in. From below,it's like checking out the windowsof the West Street Jail; hardto imagine what goes on there,even if you know firsthand.The sun is going down as Ireceive communion. I wishthe rite's familiar magicdidn't dull my gratitudefor this enormous gift.I wish I had a closer personalrelationship with Christ,which I know sounds cornyand alarming. Janet Campbellgave me a remarkable ikonthe last time I was here;Christ is in a chair, a throne,and St. John the Divine,an androgyne who looks a bitlike Janet, rests his headupon the Savior's shoulder.James Madden, priest of Cowley,dead of cancer earlierthis year at 39, gave herthe image, telling her not tobe afraid to imitate St. John.There may come a time whenI'm unable to respond with words,or works, or gratitude to AIDS;a time when my attitudecaves in, when I'm as weakas the men who lie acrossthe dayroom couches hourafter hour, watching sitcoms,drawing blanks. Maybemy head will be shavedand scarred from surgery;maybe I'll be pencil-thin and paler thana ghost, pale as the vesperlight outside my window now.It would be good to knowthat I could close my eyesand lean my head backon his shoulder then,as natural and trustingas I'd be with a cherishedlove. At this moment,Chris walks in, ChristopherEarl Wiss of Kansas Cityand New York, my lover,my last lover, my firsthealthy and enduring relationshipin sobriety, the manwith whom I chooseto share what I haveleft of life and time.This is the hardestand happiest momentof the day. G-9is no place to affirma relationship. Two hoursin a chair beside my bedafter eight hours of worknight after night for weeks. . . it's been a long haul,and Chris gets tired.Last week he exploded,"I hate this, I hate yourbeing sick and having AIDSand lying in a hospitalwhere I can only see youwith a visitor's pass. I hatethat this is going toget worse." I hate it,too. We kiss, embrace,and Chris climbs into bedbeside me, to air-mattresssqueaks. Hold on. We hold onto each other, to a hopeof how we'll be when I get out.Let him hold on, pleasedon't let him lose hiswillingness to stick with me,to make love and to makelove work, to extendthe happiness we've shared.Please don't let AIDSmake me a monsteror a burden is my prayer.Too soon, Chris has to leave.I walk him to the elevatorbank, then totter backso Raquel can open my I.V.again. It's not evenmid-evening, but I'm noddingoff. My life's so full, even(especially?) when I'm hereon G-9. When it's timeto move on to the next step,that will be a great adventure,too. Helena Hughes, TibetanBuddhist, tells me thatthere are three stages in death.The first is white, like passingthrough a thick but porous wall.The second stage is red;the third is black, and thenyou're finished, readyfor the next event. I'm gladshe has a road map, but I don'tfeel the need for one myself.I've trust enough in allthat's happened in my life,the unexpected loveand gentleness that rushes into fill the arid spacesin my heart, the way the cityglow fills up the skyabove the river, making itseem less than night. WhenJoe O'Hare flew in last week,he asked what were the besttimes of my New York years;I said "Today," and meant it.I hope that death will lift meby the hair like an angelin a Hebrew myth, snatch me withthe strength of sleep's embrace,and gently set me downwhere I'm supposed to be,in just the right place.
― Drew Daniel (Drew Daniel), Monday, 13 February 2006 07:00 (7 years ago) Permalink
― midi sanskrit (sanskrit), Monday, 13 February 2006 14:55 (7 years ago) Permalink
― Holy Moly!, Tuesday, 14 February 2006 04:02 (7 years ago) Permalink
― uhm, Sunday, 26 February 2006 18:55 (7 years ago) Permalink
A resident of said vandalized building later informed the band that the phrase was derived from an urban legend (this is Ohio, mind you) concerning AIDS-infected wolves coming down into the city and biting peopleâ€™s housepets. The pets then passed AIDS on to their owners via seemingly innocuous licks. â€œThey had a ferret stuck in their walls,â€? she says, â€œand when it would scratch around, theyâ€™d be like, â€˜Oh no! Thereâ€™s the AIDS Wolf!â€™â€?
― +, Sunday, 26 February 2006 19:41 (7 years ago) Permalink
Also, to even mention AIDS Wolf in the same breath as NNCK should be a capital offense.
― trees (treesessplode), Sunday, 26 February 2006 21:02 (7 years ago) Permalink
The band broke up on March 22nd, 2012. 
― turds (Hungry4Ass), Tuesday, 23 October 2012 05:50 (7 months ago) Permalink
AIDS Wolf just announced they have broken up
― sarahell, Friday, March 23, 2012 12:38 PM (6 months ago)
― sarahell, Tuesday, 23 October 2012 06:07 (7 months ago) Permalink
never heard this band but that tim dlugos poem is amazing
― these wilburys taste like wilburys (donna rouge), Tuesday, 23 October 2012 07:10 (7 months ago) Permalink
It was a small tragedy in my mind that around 2008 or 2009 this band went from being "kinda bad" to being "kinda the best", but nobody noticed b/c of "AIDS"
― flamboyant goon tie included, Tuesday, 23 October 2012 12:10 (7 months ago) Permalink
That, or that any goodwill toward them had expired after years of less-than-stellar shows. Too bad! They got so amazing toward the end!
― flamboyant goon tie included, Tuesday, 23 October 2012 12:12 (7 months ago) Permalink
u mean once they became a trio?
― flopson, Tuesday, 23 October 2012 13:47 (7 months ago) Permalink
I think so? I once tried to ask Chloe the question as delicately as I could-- "how did your band get so good suddenly?"-- and she said they stopped what they had been doing and spent a year reworking and revising.
Their second-last show at Casa is up on Youtube and I re-watched it to make sure I Wasn't Just Kidding Myself and I'm not, it was super super
― flamboyant goon tie included, Tuesday, 23 October 2012 14:07 (7 months ago) Permalink
yeah that was a good era
― flopson, Tuesday, 23 October 2012 22:21 (7 months ago) Permalink
seripop art>>>>>>aids wold music
― This Is Not An ILX Username (LaMonte), Tuesday, 23 October 2012 22:46 (7 months ago) Permalink
yeah, sure, but that art is pretty rad so
idk i claimed to have hated aw for years & while i never fully got on board, i gotta say their live show was always really brutal and crazy and whether good or bad got a really strong response out of me every time. i was never bored and never walked out on one of their sets
― flopson, Tuesday, 23 October 2012 22:56 (7 months ago) Permalink
I like Seripop just fine but don't think it needs to be a, what do they call it? False binary
― flamboyant goon tie included, Tuesday, 23 October 2012 23:21 (7 months ago) Permalink
This is the show?: http://youtu.be/u8w4l_iIxjo
Some cool stuff for sure.
Anyone into Drainolith?
― EveningStar (Sund4r), Tuesday, 23 October 2012 23:48 (7 months ago) Permalink
What is Drainolith*googles*OK!
― flamboyant goon tie included, Tuesday, 23 October 2012 23:59 (7 months ago) Permalink
I walked out of an AW show in ~2006 at Tranzac when Chloe put her mouth over the mic and went OOOOOoOOOoOOOOOOOOOOO so loud that the tweeters glowed red and my ear started singing
― flamboyant goon tie included, Wednesday, 24 October 2012 00:06 (7 months ago) Permalink
what kind of things did your ear sing?
― ɥɯ ︵ (°□°) (mh), Wednesday, 24 October 2012 00:18 (7 months ago) Permalink
"I got AIDS" iirc
― flamboyant goon tie included, Wednesday, 24 October 2012 00:27 (7 months ago) Permalink
oh man, you even got it in the ear before?
― ɥɯ ︵ (°□°) (mh), Wednesday, 24 October 2012 00:28 (7 months ago) Permalink
― flamboyant goon tie included, Wednesday, 24 October 2012 00:45 (7 months ago) Permalink