‘We are excited to work with the MCA and Takashi Murakami to bring to our community these special, exclusive, first-of-their kind tools to connect with the people they love,’ Facebook’s Head of Messenger, David Marcus, said in a press release. ‘The work of the team at the Facebook Creative Shop has been both thoughtful and playful, and we can’t wait to see how people interact with their own small piece of Murakami art!’”
“Any discussion of male loneliness must begin with two caveats. The first is that our loneliness cannot be the fault of women; this is no fedora-wearing, MRA message board polemic. The second is that the issues which may exacerbate loneliness are our own fault, stemming from concepts of masculinity that have given us a pretty good shake for millennia.
Modern American Masculinity is the one I know best, and it feels defined by stoicism, by beards and guns and backwards Flexfit baseball caps. Such atavistic ideas can be deeply alluring; I know, because I have felt them, too. So when a man who defines himself by his Modern American Masculinity is presented with something corrosive like loneliness, he can either sacrifice a part of that masculinity and express his emotional pain or internalize it and immolate with rage. One guess as to what choice many men make.”
… stars on charts, inside of us, outside of the skylights holding in their embrace laughable specks of rock and coagulated gas we named for our deities, which we in turn hold in our hands in the form of globes, globes and models and computers and books, an embrace more intimate and perhaps more important than the stars, for it is a studied one, the mind rapidly expanding, human intelligence and endeavor and hope red shifting in a desperate attempt to keep apace with the galaxy’s bleeding, fleeting edge …
“There is, of course, a diamond, minimal almost to the point of abstraction, just baselines and bases and a batters box on a dark surface, somewhere between scratches on a mirror and ad hoc blacktop fields. The audience is in the outfield, the subtitles in the stadium seats, and looming over the entire thing—right over the batter’s box—is a sculpture. It looks like a TIE fighter cockpit covered in milk; actually, it looks exactly like a B-29 Superfortress nosecone, like the Enola Gay nosecone … and out there under the nosecone, to an organ melody of the “Charge!” song and the Mickey Mouse Club theme (“M-i-c …”) come two women with baseball mitts dangling from their hands, alien attachments at the end of their limbs that they fiddle and move with the grace of deep-sea submersible graspers.”