Tom Hawking’s recent drubbing of Daft Punk’s new “Random Access Memories” LP in Flavorwire (“Why Daft Punk’s ‘Random Access Memories’ Won’t Save Electronic Music”: Flavorwire) enjoys the distinction of having ignited a small fire under the rears of some millennial, electronic music fans. That said, my response is less about Daft Punk, and least of all about Hawking’s harangue.

Two readings have shunted me (it is not willful!) in the direction of this essay about online dating. (Though, in truth, this essay merely defends the ambiguous status of online dating and is by no means a phenomeno-cultural study.) The first is a passage written by Karl Marx in his now very much published “unpublished Manuscripts”

In the contest to mystify what is at least for this worker bee the self-evident object-cause of mass killing—namely, the happiness of a warm gun—Professor Wampole’s latest foray into social criticism at The Stone really takes the cupcake.

As the descriptions of the events at Sandy Hook become more and more detailed in the media, I find myself — like probably much of America — imagining this horrific scene. J.R. mentioned in the comments to metaphysicalvillain’s post that these scenes are “infused with the fantasy of some absolute, cinematic gesture.” This seems quite true, but I’m not sure how we should understand this association. What makes a scene or an act cinematic?

I was living in Ithaca, NY when I was first introduced to The Flaming Lips. Ithaca has the privilege of steep hills, large, healthy trees, and imposing Gorges that gush with waterfalls. At the time nothing was more exciting than walking through this landscape with headphones on. Whatever is playing in your ears has a way of seeping into everything surrounding you—my heartbeat would grow heavy, and my legs would feel lighter than ever.

The new NBC series Revolution imagines an apocalyptic fantasy wherein electricity simply stops working, all at once, without scientific explanation. Physics has gone haywire, and no one seems to know why. The opening scene of the first episode stages this event with no shortage of dramatic flourish.

This is the wrong moment to comment on Lana del Rey, especially for a blog about contemporary culture. Her national infamy occurred nearly a year ago and was short lived after a widely panned performance on SNL. Even Brian Williams was tweeting about it. But my belatedness is, I suppose, fitting for what I want to say about her.