A Roundup
I am a pilgrim, and a stranger, travelling throuuuugh, this wearisome land.
I see some people tack whatever they’ve been working on at the beginning of whatever their most recent self-contained post is, but I hate doing that, and I also hate self-promotion as it is, so I suppose every so often I’ll make a post like this. It’s like the world’s silliest newsletter.
ꕥ Given my book, I haven’t been able to dedicate as much time to my pursuits of fiction and poetry, let alone submitting the fruits places. If you would like a glimpse into my approach to the latter, I am pretty sure I wrote the poem linked below in one sitting after first reading the outreach Crayfish Magazine put out about their upcoming issue’s theme: that of futures, the lives we as individuals envision for the world. It’s a very new digital publication, and I first heard of it since it is co-spearheaded by Charlie Malone, assistant director of one of my favorite places, the Wick Poetry Center. Everyone at Crayfish that I’ve interacted with is very kind and dedicated to promoting great writing, so go read my submission and everyone else’s here, and maybe submit something for their upcoming third issue while you’re at it — they would love to see what you’ve got in you.
ꕥ I’ve also been clogged up with my recently acquired role of managing editor of Luna Negra, sifting through poems and art and whatnot for their website (even though Wordpress has seemingly decided that it hates us lately). But Luna Negra is more than just poetry (even though it often encompasses over 50% of our submissions at any given time — do what you like, says Blind Faith, but where are my short-story writers at Kent State!); it also hosts a blog containing reviews of books, films, fashion, what have you. Apparently, on top of my official duties, I have become Luna Negra’s resident cranky film critic-slash-film historian. If you are making a film nowadays with the intent to shock audiences, I will be comparing you to Ken Russell, and I will be harsh if you are not as good as him. The trailer for Emerald Fennell’s Wuthering Heights was my first target, and who knows how that film will actually be come February, but from the elements we’ve got, the forecast isn’t looking too bright.
ꕥ Guillermo Del Toro’s Frankenstein, however, gave me more mixed emotions. I brought to tears multiple times by Jacob Elordi’s performance as the monster, and I implore you to watch this film so you, too, can bask in his impeccably tragic portrayal. If only he weren’t trapped in some of del Toro’s inexplicable choices to Shelley’s perfect plot structure and progression. Don’t screw up the framing device, kids, and surely don’t make that the ending. Go watch Russell’s Gothic, then watch this, then read my review, then tell Robert Eggers he should’ve never remade Nosferatu.
ꕥ And for your visual pleasure, today’s Pinterest-of-the-Now: this isn’t actually of the now-now, but I’ve been fascinated by this topic for some time. One of my big problems with the e-commodification of vintage fashion — especially of the sixties and seventies — is the lack of credit most bandwagon ‘aesthetic’ accounts and posts grant their primary sources. This results in lesser-known models who weren’t tethered to a rock-star (especially if that rock-star was a Beatle and they were blonde) or bonafide media sensations in their own rights (Twiggy, Tree, Moffitt, et al) getting lost to the sands of time. The same happens to clothing brands and boutiques that weren’t Quant-adjacent or BIBA, and don’t even get me started about the full-blown epidemic of ‘vintage aesthetic’ accounts cropping out the catalog numbers of vintage sewing patterns. Thumbs-down, un-follow.
Thankfully we have people like Liz Eggleston who are dedicated to the thankless occupation of not only documenting cultural history via scans but always giving credit. And these individuals themselves deserve credit; it’s genuinely sad that names like Ryan Richardson (responsible for scans of every issue of Rock Scene as well as infamous groupie-rag Star, as well as many punk ‘zines) get lost in the dust, because preserving the contents of these artifacts is just as important as the contents and the artifacts themselves. So thanks, Ipolani2, for letting us know that this one face I’ve been noticing belongs to one Cay Sanderson, and I am grateful to those who have kept that name in circulation and granted it importance. Fashion is a field of art, too.
