CONTEMPORARY SWISS DESIGN

Sang Bleu (middle left and bottom) Designer and tattoo aficionado Maxime Büchi (see W*140 page 072) has helmed Sang Bleu since 2004, when the first issue of this fusion of tattoos, alt-culture, art and fashion reared its richly printed head. Working with Jeanne-Salomé Rochat, Adrian Wilson and Ben Perdue, the Lausanne-based publication is dragging body art into the gallery and onto the catwalk.

Ariana Reines claims that the sex parts of good books are usually the worst parts, and that is too bad about good books. Also, it appears that some bad books have good sex in them.

In that case, thirteen writers, each with different backgrounds and experiences, are given the simple brief: write a sex scene.

OK, the cover is dreadful but the book features stories by: Sabina England, Penny Goring, Dan Holloway, Sara Lippmann, Kirsty Logan, Sarah E. Melville, Gary Percesepe, Leah Petersen, Jeff Pfaller, Remittance Girl, Scott C. Rogers, Robert James Russell, and Cherise Wolas.

Surprisingly recommendable.

And guess what, it is downloadable HERE for FREE!

Guten Appetit.

Miss Ciccone for W magazine (2006)

* 23 skidoo (phrase), an American slang phrase from the 1920s
* 23 Skidoo (band), a British post-punk, ethnic fusion and industrial music band
* 23 Skidoo (film), a 1964 short experimental film by Julian Biggs
* 23 Skidoo (poem), A 1912 poem from Aleister Crowley’s Book of Lies

Michel Manoll: Writers complain of the constraint under which they work and of the difficulty of writing.

Blaise Cendrars: To make themselves sound interesting, and they exaggerate.

Check out the rest of the interview on The Paris Review’s website.

Image above was taken in Seoul.

I’m Comic Sans,

BY MIKE LACHER

Listen up. I know the shit you’ve been saying behind my back. You think I’m stupid. You think I’m immature. You think I’m a malformed, pathetic excuse for a font. Well think again, nerdhole, because I’m Comic Sans, and I’m the best thing to happen to typography since Johannes fucking Gutenberg.

You don’t like that your coworker used me on that note about stealing her yogurt from the break room fridge? You don’t like that I’m all over your sister-in-law’s blog? You don’t like that I’m on the sign for that new Thai place? You think I’m pedestrian and tacky? Guess the fuck what, Picasso. We don’t all have seventy-three weights of stick-up-my-ass Helvetica sitting on our seventeen-inch MacBook Pros. Sorry the entire world can’t all be done in stark Eurotrash Swiss type. Sorry some people like to have fun. Sorry I’m standing in the way of your minimalist Bauhaus-esque fascist snoozefest. Maybe sometime you should take off your black turtleneck, stop compulsively adjusting your Tumblr theme, and lighten the fuck up for once.

People love me. Why? Because I’m fun. I’m the life of the party. I bring levity to any situation. Need to soften the blow of a harsh message about restroom etiquette? SLAM. There I am. Need to spice up the directions to your graduation party? WHAM. There again. Need to convey your fun-loving, approachable nature on your business’ website? SMACK. Like daffodils in motherfucking spring.

When people need to kick back, have fun, and party, I will be there, unlike your pathetic fonts. While Gotham is at the science fair, I’m banging the prom queen behind the woodshop. While Avenir is practicing the clarinet, I’m shredding “Reign In Blood” on my double-necked Stratocaster. While Univers is refilling his allergy prescriptions, I’m racing my tricked-out, nitrous-laden Honda Civic against Tokyo gangsters who’ll kill me if I don’t cross the finish line first. I am a sans serif Superman and my only kryptonite is pretentious buzzkills like you.

It doesn’t even matter what you think. You know why, jagoff? Cause I’m famous. I am on every major operating system since Microsoft fucking Bob. I’m in your signs. I’m in your browsers. I’m in your instant messengers. I’m not just a font. I am a force of motherfucking nature and I will not rest until every uptight armchair typographer cock-hat like you is surrounded by my lovable, comic-book inspired, sans-serif badassery.

Enough of this bullshit. I’m gonna go get hammered with Papyrus.

I went to see some real life art and real art life, then ate a steak, took a train, went to bed and thought about what I had done. I tried to believe that this wasn’t the desired outcome, that I hadn’t seen this coming, but I refused to allow myself even that comfort. I turned my computer on and wondered what I was becoming, what we all were becoming. I entered my virtual bed and said Honey, I’m home. I asked him to hold me and he did, caressing my virtual back while I rubbed my real life temples. Tell me you love me, I said. Tell me you’ll never leave me, that I’ll never be alone. Tell me we’re not monsters. Tell me I’m capable of loving someone. Tell me that I’m still human.
You are. His thoughts appeared. I love you. This is our life. This is our real life and I will love you forever.
He held me closer and I pushed the button that caused my avatar to cry. I pressed it again and again. Then again and again.

CLICK HERE TO VISIT THE ADOBE MUSEUM OF DIGITAL MEDIA.

Last November, the world’s first tiger summit in St Petersburg ended with £330m pledged to make the great cat worth more alive than dead. The summit was attended by Vladimir Putin, Wen Jiabao, Leonardo DiCaprio, World Bank chief Robert Zoellick and Naomi Campbell. During the summit, Naomi spoke with the Russian prime minister.

Naomi Campbell: You’re in pretty good physical shape. How do you manage to keep yourself so fit?
Vladimir Putin: Probably the same way you do.

Check out the rest of the interview on British GQ’s website.