hello there. i've got a couple things to mention today but first something quickly that i was made aware of thanks to the little tv/infoscreen in the elevator: transformers set a record for first day dvd sales this week and has already sold more than 8 million copies. this is proof that america is stupid. it's proof that we don't all deserve the right to select the leader of our country. (i'll circle back to this topic later.) now, i'm not merely passing this judgement upon america based on the quality of the transformers movie--i never saw it so it might be worth watching, though i highly doubt it--i'm passing judgement on the sheep-like nature of too many americans. transformers' dvd release has been incessantly hyped in the last few weeks. i don't pay too close attention to these things, but it's been promoted as heavily as any dvd i can remember. and this promotion, naturally, has resulted in the highest sales ever. one seems to reasonably follow the other right? maybe if you're in advertising. to me, it is sickening. because something is promoted does not mean it has value. because something is talked about does not mean it is worthy.
i'm not going to blame the people for all of this. of course it should be your duty to always operate with free will, and to exhibit reasonable doubt toward things. but at a certain point, you've got to look higher and put the blame on those who are making the desicions that lead to the lowest-common-denominator mode of american entertainment. everything is presented--even the supposedly staid news--to us in a way that ensures only the greatest absorption of the message, and unfortunately that message is almost always consumerist.
i like to see advertising campaigns fail. it means that the audience has digested the message, considered, and rejected it. if advertising succeeds, you only know that it has not been rejected, you don't know if it's actually been thoughtfully considered or digested. call me cynical, but i think far too often people simply accept what is given to them, and that is a shame.
ok then. game one of the world series was last night, and being the dutiful american-bred being that i am, i sat down to take it all in. after a couple innings it was painfully obvious that we're heading to yet another lackluster, anticlimactic world series. i think i'd just assume that they play it out in a vacuum somewhere and then just tell me who won after the fact, as it doesn't seem as though i'm going to have any joy in the process this year. we haven't had a remotely interesting series since 2003 actually and i can't even remember the last time i had a strong personal rooting interest. maybe the indians in the 90s. so what this is leading me to is the admission that i was channel surfing, reading a magazine, and doing a crossword as early as 9:30 last night, and that this freedom from being anchored to a sporting event allowed me to catch a particularly interesting edition of charlie rose.
in fact, if you'll excuse the obvious analogy, this is two nights in a row that the charlie rose show absolutely hit it out of the park. tuesday night he had a very well-prepared, knowledgable, and clear guest (sorry can't remember his name) speaking about the dynamics of the supreme court. he'd written a book about the "secrets" of the court or something and done some more personal profiles of the justices than you are used to seeing. i don't know why but i find the supreme court fascinating and i agree with the guest in that it is terribly important in today's world. an all-around excellent interview.
last night's show was even better, if for entirely different reasons. it featured guest tavis smiley and cornel west in a dual interview, followed by a short one-on-one with jim lehrer. the lehrer interview was short and ok but not extremely distinguishable (though i did learn that he has written 17 novels. how about that?). it was the smiley/west interview that was fascinating.
if you don't know, smiley hosts a fairly nondescript talk show that airs on channel 13 right after charlie rose, and west is a fairly well-known black intellectual. evidently they are close friends. on last night's show, smiley was in the best form i'd ever seen him: very intelligently presenting thoughtful, agenda-less ideas. i was very impressed with him. west, on the other hand, was much rougher. let's say he was lucid but erratic. rose seemed like he has having a hard time controlling him, as though he were struggling through a difficult interview with an unwieldy child. he more than once seemed to almost desperately gesture at smiley to cut in and bring the interview back under control. west would have none of it, though not because he was being insolent; instead, he seemed completely unaware of the capriciousness of his comments. so it was ridiculously entertaining to watch. and, when he actually got into making a point, west was positively excellent. as with smiley, but very differently, i was quite impressed with west. completely unaffected, completely unpretentious, and that is truly refreshing. plus, he's fun to look at: the huge gap tooth, the puffy nappy hair, the greyish beard, the black suit that seemed too big and the very long-armed, french-cuffed white sleeves sticking several inches out of the jacket sleeve. when he kept saying "my brother," it never seemed anything but natural to him. let's just say that i would be very happy to spend some time in his classroom at princeton.
smiley actually produced a quote of west's during the interview which he said has influenced the way he lives his life: "you can't lead if you don't love and you can't save if you don't serve." i'm with smiley on that one: it's a very nice epigram.
perhaps the most interesting moment of the interview came from smiley, in responding to rose's questions about the presidential campaign. i think he used the word "despicable" in describing how candidates twist and turn in the desperate attempt to get elected, that no one has any convictions. he used mitt romney as an example, how he could never have been massachusetts governor under the platform he currently endorses. and he's right. not just about romney, but everyone. all of them are like that and it's probably the number one thing that turns me off about politics in this country. a man cannot be a man (nor a woman be a woman, to keep things current).
a candidate is simply a manufactured being. manufactured to be what their promoters think "the people" want. but these people are the same ones who have been beaten down into sheep by a similar system of promotion to gobble up just what they are given. so now the ones who would presumably be in a position of power and leadership are beholden not just to "the people" but to "the people's" manufactured desire. do you see the futility of this process? it's like the whole world is nothing but a constructed bit of fanciful nothing, only existing as much as it is desired or as much as it is told to be desired. despicable is indeed the word to use.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Let's Face It, Holidays Are Stupid
yeah you read that right. obviously i can enjoy a day off as much as anyone, but you've got to admit that taking a day off to celebrate christopher columbus' discovery of the new world over 500 years ago is just ridiculous. to make this even more absurd, venezuela celebrates the same occasion as the "day of indigenous resistance."
what's got this on my mind is someone here at work was asking for my assitance with his halloween costume. for a long time, i always considered halloween to the be dumbest and most contrived of the largely-observed holidays in this country. then i moved to new york, a place where no holiday is too small to celebrate (witness the puerto rican day parade or the rainbow of colors commemorating who knows what at the top of the empire state building). naturally, my participation in the halloween holiday became much more broad and looked-forward-to, but that's probably just because i'm an alcoholic.
anyway, right now--this year, i guess--i'm back to thinking halloween is stupid. but just how stupid? well, let's see where it ranks of 12 holidays i arbitrarily selected for their american popular impact (rankings however are all mine: biases definitely included):
1. thanksgiving. let's be honest, this one is just my favorite. it's not as big as christmas, it's not as relevant as independence day, and it's not even as nicely timed as memorial day, but let us count the ways it's great: turkey, football, that nice lull before "the holidays," binge eating, and friends but not necessarily family. this last factor is important. it's like what christmas would be without frills or obligations. compare to: me--what less awesome people would be without frills or obligations.
2. christmas. i hate it for all the same reasons you do, but it's christmas for christ's sake.
3. memorial day. this one barely beats #4. it's main strengths are just too strong: it is celebrated at basically the perfect time of year (labor day is similar sure, but by that time you're fed up with 80degree weather), and perhaps most importantly, it falls at the end of a pretty long holiday gap: the nearest day before it that a large amount of business close for is in mid-february. also, it pretty tactfully celebrates soldiers, and even a cynic like me can respect that every once in a while.
4. new year's day. this one is interesting. for one, it's more well-known for it's eve. for another, it would be much much more revered if it were situated a month later in the calendar. as it stands, it comprises the last gasps of "the holidays," and it's hangover lingers like a naive one night stand. it's the one night in the entire year when unbridled partying is not only expected but encouraged, for everyone. and you get to watch boatloads of college football games the next day.
5. halloween. here is where my nycitude gets me. not so much that it elevated this holiday, but that it sucks the life out of others. in a lot of ways, this day ranks #2 on the party-like-mad scale, and that's good. it's also just plain stupid. costumes? are you kidding me? pumpkins? ghosts? still, the main reason it sits so high on this list is that it gives people a good excuse to have fun and maybe let loose more than they normally would, which is only good.
6. independence day. call me unpatriotic, call me a commie, call me whatever you like. the fourth of july just aint what it used to be. consider: you get off work july 4, yet you also celebrate the evening of july 4. the key day off here is july 5. of course this will change as i get older and less alcoholic, but for now i'm just not seeing the logic. add to this the fact that it's uncomfortably hot by this time of year and you can't really set off fireworks in the city, and you don't have much left. (*big asterisk here--my ohio memories are keeping this one pretty high on the list. columbus in its infinite wisdom celebrates independence day on the evening of the 3rd. and fireworks are legal in west virginia.)
7. labor day. this and memorial day are like bookends for most people. i think it's like the difference between the first and last days of school when you're a kid. also, this holiday is centered around being outside and grilling, something infinitely harder in the concrete jungle. it is in a convenient spot on the calendar though, and frankly we're running out of servicable holidays at #7 already. told you they were stupid.
8. st patrick's day. a little piece of me just died. this holiday is completely repulsive in some ways, far moreso here in the c of ny. i can't even explain the filth of it; you've got to see for yourself. however (and that's a big "however"), the current incarnation of this holiday is 99% about drinking, specifically about drinking guinness. maybe if i had a little irish in me, or if i were a cop, or a douchebag, i'd rank this one higher. alas you never get off work for it.
9. columbus day/president's day/veteran's day. at this point in my life these are all the same: utterly nondescript unless we're getting a day off for work. i'd feel bad for veteran's day until you remember that it is actually "armistice" day and celebrates a peace but a peace that in a roundabout way kind caused the biggest war ever. it's almost irony and almost hypocrisy to celebrate that.
10. mother's/father's day. i love my mom and dad. you probably love your mom and dad. but can we all just stop the fuss and recognize these were invented just to sell cards? there's dirty, filthy capitalism, and then there's that.
11. martin luther king day. this is standing for all those holidays that are terribly important to some people but meaningless to others (there is probably a michael collins day in ireland, a castro day in cuba, a dean martin day in steubenville (oh, wait)). these aren't really holidays and shouldn't be considered such but rank higher than many legitimate ones because they do in fact mean something to some people.
12. valentine's day. i could give you a couple thousand words on why this is awful but i'll spare you that and instead direct you to #10 and additionally posit that if you need a holiday to make you do nice things for someone, or if you use a holiday to misplace agnst towards someone, then there is something dreadfully wrong. it's love. it's not hard. you feel it and you go with it. it doesn't require a calendar.
13. any religious holiday. you could say i'm not being fair here (or worse), that these should be lumped in with #11. you'd be right, except that most of the people who celebrate those in #11 aren't aloof or condescending about it. again, there is more to say, i'm just not going to say it. what i will say is that this includes easter, which once upon a time was probably one of the top 5 most-anticipated days of the year for me.
now i don't know about you, but i think hamsgiving would have to rank somewhere between #3 and #7. and it's only one year old. and we invented it, like festivus. congratulations us.
what's got this on my mind is someone here at work was asking for my assitance with his halloween costume. for a long time, i always considered halloween to the be dumbest and most contrived of the largely-observed holidays in this country. then i moved to new york, a place where no holiday is too small to celebrate (witness the puerto rican day parade or the rainbow of colors commemorating who knows what at the top of the empire state building). naturally, my participation in the halloween holiday became much more broad and looked-forward-to, but that's probably just because i'm an alcoholic.
anyway, right now--this year, i guess--i'm back to thinking halloween is stupid. but just how stupid? well, let's see where it ranks of 12 holidays i arbitrarily selected for their american popular impact (rankings however are all mine: biases definitely included):
1. thanksgiving. let's be honest, this one is just my favorite. it's not as big as christmas, it's not as relevant as independence day, and it's not even as nicely timed as memorial day, but let us count the ways it's great: turkey, football, that nice lull before "the holidays," binge eating, and friends but not necessarily family. this last factor is important. it's like what christmas would be without frills or obligations. compare to: me--what less awesome people would be without frills or obligations.
2. christmas. i hate it for all the same reasons you do, but it's christmas for christ's sake.
3. memorial day. this one barely beats #4. it's main strengths are just too strong: it is celebrated at basically the perfect time of year (labor day is similar sure, but by that time you're fed up with 80degree weather), and perhaps most importantly, it falls at the end of a pretty long holiday gap: the nearest day before it that a large amount of business close for is in mid-february. also, it pretty tactfully celebrates soldiers, and even a cynic like me can respect that every once in a while.
4. new year's day. this one is interesting. for one, it's more well-known for it's eve. for another, it would be much much more revered if it were situated a month later in the calendar. as it stands, it comprises the last gasps of "the holidays," and it's hangover lingers like a naive one night stand. it's the one night in the entire year when unbridled partying is not only expected but encouraged, for everyone. and you get to watch boatloads of college football games the next day.
5. halloween. here is where my nycitude gets me. not so much that it elevated this holiday, but that it sucks the life out of others. in a lot of ways, this day ranks #2 on the party-like-mad scale, and that's good. it's also just plain stupid. costumes? are you kidding me? pumpkins? ghosts? still, the main reason it sits so high on this list is that it gives people a good excuse to have fun and maybe let loose more than they normally would, which is only good.
6. independence day. call me unpatriotic, call me a commie, call me whatever you like. the fourth of july just aint what it used to be. consider: you get off work july 4, yet you also celebrate the evening of july 4. the key day off here is july 5. of course this will change as i get older and less alcoholic, but for now i'm just not seeing the logic. add to this the fact that it's uncomfortably hot by this time of year and you can't really set off fireworks in the city, and you don't have much left. (*big asterisk here--my ohio memories are keeping this one pretty high on the list. columbus in its infinite wisdom celebrates independence day on the evening of the 3rd. and fireworks are legal in west virginia.)
7. labor day. this and memorial day are like bookends for most people. i think it's like the difference between the first and last days of school when you're a kid. also, this holiday is centered around being outside and grilling, something infinitely harder in the concrete jungle. it is in a convenient spot on the calendar though, and frankly we're running out of servicable holidays at #7 already. told you they were stupid.
8. st patrick's day. a little piece of me just died. this holiday is completely repulsive in some ways, far moreso here in the c of ny. i can't even explain the filth of it; you've got to see for yourself. however (and that's a big "however"), the current incarnation of this holiday is 99% about drinking, specifically about drinking guinness. maybe if i had a little irish in me, or if i were a cop, or a douchebag, i'd rank this one higher. alas you never get off work for it.
9. columbus day/president's day/veteran's day. at this point in my life these are all the same: utterly nondescript unless we're getting a day off for work. i'd feel bad for veteran's day until you remember that it is actually "armistice" day and celebrates a peace but a peace that in a roundabout way kind caused the biggest war ever. it's almost irony and almost hypocrisy to celebrate that.
10. mother's/father's day. i love my mom and dad. you probably love your mom and dad. but can we all just stop the fuss and recognize these were invented just to sell cards? there's dirty, filthy capitalism, and then there's that.
11. martin luther king day. this is standing for all those holidays that are terribly important to some people but meaningless to others (there is probably a michael collins day in ireland, a castro day in cuba, a dean martin day in steubenville (oh, wait)). these aren't really holidays and shouldn't be considered such but rank higher than many legitimate ones because they do in fact mean something to some people.
12. valentine's day. i could give you a couple thousand words on why this is awful but i'll spare you that and instead direct you to #10 and additionally posit that if you need a holiday to make you do nice things for someone, or if you use a holiday to misplace agnst towards someone, then there is something dreadfully wrong. it's love. it's not hard. you feel it and you go with it. it doesn't require a calendar.
13. any religious holiday. you could say i'm not being fair here (or worse), that these should be lumped in with #11. you'd be right, except that most of the people who celebrate those in #11 aren't aloof or condescending about it. again, there is more to say, i'm just not going to say it. what i will say is that this includes easter, which once upon a time was probably one of the top 5 most-anticipated days of the year for me.
now i don't know about you, but i think hamsgiving would have to rank somewhere between #3 and #7. and it's only one year old. and we invented it, like festivus. congratulations us.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
a (drinking) game
just about two and half months from now, the final die will have been cast. after an exhausting, eight-plus year run of underachievement, drunkenness, sloth, and general aimless drifting, i finally will have fully metamorphosed into the black sheep of the family.
on december 29, 2008 my younger sister is getting married. she is two and half years younger and blessed with appreciably fewer IQ points than me. she already has a house with a yard and a dog and a career plan. i have a sun-less, mice-infested 175 square feet and little office cubicle and a job that can best be described in the word "subordinate." and now she's getting married, in ohio, a place where that sort of thing is terribly important. meanwhile, in decadent new york, a place where nothing is ever romantically or non-materially significant, i'm glad that a certain someone whom i foolishly slept with will be out of town for a couple months thereby dissolving me of any need to interact with this person.
it wasn't always this way, of course. eight years ago i was in high school and was more or less effotlessly good at everything: academic, athletic, interpersonal. i didn't smoke, didn't drink, my flesh was pure, and i even went to church basically every sunday. i spent a lot of time being patted on the back. and my sister--my wonderful sister--without all of my obvious advantages, just sat there and watched all of this, and actually worked with her studies, and actually had to put some effort into her athletic pursuits, and sometimes went to parties where kids drank, and asked my parents for birth control and otherwise lived life like a relatively normal person of that age.
so now of course, like any normal person of her age, in her midwestern environment, she's getting married. and no, mom, though i'm mortified by your state's amendment against same-sex marriage, i am not, in fact, gay. i'm just a little fish in a big pond, trying to amuse myself, trying to stay moving so i don't die, and that's pretty much it.
but no, that's not it. this was meant to be a very upbeat, if ironic, post. because i've got my own set of pros and cons, my own ideas about success and happiness. i like to take it easy. i like to laugh about things. i like to make fun of people when they aren't aware of it. i like to have a few drinks. i like to not take things so seriously. and that's why, over two months in advance, i'm setting up a little drinking game for myself for this wedding reception. rules follow.
1. take one drink of beer anytime someone asks how i like new york.
2. take two drinks of beer anytime someone asks how long before i move back to ohio.
3. take three drinks of beer anytime someone remarks how they couldn't take living in a big city like that.
4. finish whatever's left of beer anytime someone asks if i'm worried about the eye-rack-ees.
5. take two shots of soco anytime someone asks how i manage to get along with all the minorities.
6. smile and do nothing anytime someone asks "what's it feels like for your little sister to get married before you."
7. smile and rip a nasty lingering fart anytime someone says "come on, there's got to be someone out there for you."
8. voraciously chug beer anytime someone says "whatever happened with that girl--what was her name--jocelyn, something?"
9. take one drink of beer anytime someone asks about the ohio state football team.
10. punch him in the face anytime my cousin from michigan says anything about them ruining our perfect season this year.
11. force smile, take shot of jameson, then look for another conversation anytime someone asks if i'm still running.
12. throw up in mouth anytime my mother says anything related to going back to school.
13. chug one glass of champagne, smash the glass against the floor, and say "quite clearly," anytime someone asks if i'm still writing.
14. raise entire punch bowl over head and pour over same anytime someone says "yeah, she was real nice. what was her name? blonde girl, cute, you met her at ohio state. what was her name? i thought you were going to move back to ohio?"
15. finish drink anytime someone asks if i'll enjoy being an uncle.
16. finish drink and ask bartender if they have mountain dew on hand anytime someone asks when i'm going to write the next great american novel.
17. take shot of wild turkey and then feign choking anytime i am sucked into any conversation involving the words: hillary, obama, abortion, god, bin laden, values, iraq, or taxes.
18. grab nearest champagne bottle and chug anytime someone asks where my date is.
19. smash champagne bottle and slit throat if the person follows up with "well, who was that one girl you were with, kinda quiet, whatever happened to her?"
20. say "you know, i think i might try homosexuality actually," when my mother absolutely insists i get my butt into the crowd of d-bags waiting to catch the garter belt.
21. take one tequila shot anytime a much younger girl catches me perving on her.
22. finish drink anytime someone randomly congratulates me.
23. take three drinks anytime someone calls me by my father's name.
24. lie down homer simpson-style under open beer tap and say "it's hard to say" anytime someone asks how many drinks i've had.
25. shit my pants anytime someone asks where my wife is.
on december 29, 2008 my younger sister is getting married. she is two and half years younger and blessed with appreciably fewer IQ points than me. she already has a house with a yard and a dog and a career plan. i have a sun-less, mice-infested 175 square feet and little office cubicle and a job that can best be described in the word "subordinate." and now she's getting married, in ohio, a place where that sort of thing is terribly important. meanwhile, in decadent new york, a place where nothing is ever romantically or non-materially significant, i'm glad that a certain someone whom i foolishly slept with will be out of town for a couple months thereby dissolving me of any need to interact with this person.
it wasn't always this way, of course. eight years ago i was in high school and was more or less effotlessly good at everything: academic, athletic, interpersonal. i didn't smoke, didn't drink, my flesh was pure, and i even went to church basically every sunday. i spent a lot of time being patted on the back. and my sister--my wonderful sister--without all of my obvious advantages, just sat there and watched all of this, and actually worked with her studies, and actually had to put some effort into her athletic pursuits, and sometimes went to parties where kids drank, and asked my parents for birth control and otherwise lived life like a relatively normal person of that age.
so now of course, like any normal person of her age, in her midwestern environment, she's getting married. and no, mom, though i'm mortified by your state's amendment against same-sex marriage, i am not, in fact, gay. i'm just a little fish in a big pond, trying to amuse myself, trying to stay moving so i don't die, and that's pretty much it.
but no, that's not it. this was meant to be a very upbeat, if ironic, post. because i've got my own set of pros and cons, my own ideas about success and happiness. i like to take it easy. i like to laugh about things. i like to make fun of people when they aren't aware of it. i like to have a few drinks. i like to not take things so seriously. and that's why, over two months in advance, i'm setting up a little drinking game for myself for this wedding reception. rules follow.
1. take one drink of beer anytime someone asks how i like new york.
2. take two drinks of beer anytime someone asks how long before i move back to ohio.
3. take three drinks of beer anytime someone remarks how they couldn't take living in a big city like that.
4. finish whatever's left of beer anytime someone asks if i'm worried about the eye-rack-ees.
5. take two shots of soco anytime someone asks how i manage to get along with all the minorities.
6. smile and do nothing anytime someone asks "what's it feels like for your little sister to get married before you."
7. smile and rip a nasty lingering fart anytime someone says "come on, there's got to be someone out there for you."
8. voraciously chug beer anytime someone says "whatever happened with that girl--what was her name--jocelyn, something?"
9. take one drink of beer anytime someone asks about the ohio state football team.
10. punch him in the face anytime my cousin from michigan says anything about them ruining our perfect season this year.
11. force smile, take shot of jameson, then look for another conversation anytime someone asks if i'm still running.
12. throw up in mouth anytime my mother says anything related to going back to school.
13. chug one glass of champagne, smash the glass against the floor, and say "quite clearly," anytime someone asks if i'm still writing.
14. raise entire punch bowl over head and pour over same anytime someone says "yeah, she was real nice. what was her name? blonde girl, cute, you met her at ohio state. what was her name? i thought you were going to move back to ohio?"
15. finish drink anytime someone asks if i'll enjoy being an uncle.
16. finish drink and ask bartender if they have mountain dew on hand anytime someone asks when i'm going to write the next great american novel.
17. take shot of wild turkey and then feign choking anytime i am sucked into any conversation involving the words: hillary, obama, abortion, god, bin laden, values, iraq, or taxes.
18. grab nearest champagne bottle and chug anytime someone asks where my date is.
19. smash champagne bottle and slit throat if the person follows up with "well, who was that one girl you were with, kinda quiet, whatever happened to her?"
20. say "you know, i think i might try homosexuality actually," when my mother absolutely insists i get my butt into the crowd of d-bags waiting to catch the garter belt.
21. take one tequila shot anytime a much younger girl catches me perving on her.
22. finish drink anytime someone randomly congratulates me.
23. take three drinks anytime someone calls me by my father's name.
24. lie down homer simpson-style under open beer tap and say "it's hard to say" anytime someone asks how many drinks i've had.
25. shit my pants anytime someone asks where my wife is.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Book Review: The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test
The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test (1968), Tom Wolfe.
This is my first book review in this space and it's an odd one because I have mixed feelings about it. The first thing you need to know is that it is a very famous "nonfiction novel." In fact, this might even be the father of the nonfiction novel. If you're truly interested I'd suggest you look it up yourself, I'm sure there is a nice story there somewhere. What I know is that Mr Wolfe was in cahoots around this time with a writer I am much more familiar with, Hunter S Thompson, in creating what was known as New Journalism, wherein the journalist was not the venerable impartial, fly-on-the-wall observer, but actually just the opposite. Thompson called it Gonzo Journalism and unabashedly not only inserted himself in the story but usually made himself the centerpiece. It's in this spirit that Wolfe wrote TEK-AAT.
Of course, it's far too simple to merely say that this book is a longer example of New Journalism. No, this is indeed a book, an artistic work of Wolfe's not just memory but also imagination. He is chronicling the story but he's also telling it in his own words through his own filter. What I'm trying to say is that there is no pretense towards journalism here, as there would be in a Thompson piece in Rolling Stone. This is important. The freedom from word counts and deadlines and the need to be clear and concise and coherent opened Wolfe up to expand his prose into to the unique voice he found for TEK-AAT, a voice that truly elevated the story into something timeless and artistic and valuable, something you perhaps can not say about the subjects he was describing.
For those uninitiated, this book is about the acid culture around San Francisco in the mid 1960s, in particular Ken Kesey and a group of his followers/admirers called the Merry Pranksters. Kesey was evidently a kind of messianic living legend at the time, and his Pranksters famous in their own right. He/they had the ambition to reach a higher form of mutual/group consciousness, which they facilitated through copious consumption of acid and intense openness and sharing of ideas and experiences. To be blunt, these people were the absolute stereotype of the drugged-up hippie, flower children to the extreme, covered in big ridiculous colored clothing and touring around the country in a converted school bus painted psychadelically in Day-Glo and totally amped for sound.
At one moment, I was sucked into the allure of this pursuit of a higher consciousness, but in the next, I was completely turned off by the its hypocrisy and ignorance. This represents a large part of why I have mixed feelings about TEK-AAT. Because it's a "nonfiction" novel, after all, you can't really fully extract the message from the "message." Being a proudly spontaneous actor, I am very much intrigued by the idea of the "Now trip," where everyone comes out front and almost unconsciously experiences the whole world around them in that exact moment. It's similar to how I feel about writing poetry: that it just comes and you sense it and feel it and don't think or edit just let it float and write itself. I believe in the power of the muse. However, I also appreciate that the muse cannot always be a-musing or else what's the point, what's yin without yang? And there was a somewhat telling moment toward the middle of the book (how do you like that for thorough and precise scholarly criticism?) when one of the Pranksters is admonishing someone else for being too intellectual, that they themselves are stridently anti-intellectual. Not that I consider myself any kind of highbrow intellectual, but isn't it almost cowardice that have this stance? Intelligent and mature thinking is what separates us from the animals, you know. Cognition alone isn't enough. I just don't find it terribly easy to admire something that strives towards ignorance, even if it's a willful or mutual ignorance. (Even more of a digression now, but this is probably a large reason why their movement more or less died, and why a book like TEK-AAT is more historical than philosophical today. In another part of the book a man is chastised for reading, because reading isn't contributing to the group experience. Nice thought, but what happens when the group gets a little bigger and too many voices are speaking at once. Their approach to life can work in doses amongst a group of friends but not really anywhere else.)
As with any book strongly associated with an idea, it's hard to dissociate your reactions to that idea from your reactions to the book itself. This caused me to put the book down for a week at a time more than once. I likely wouldn't have finished it at all were it not for the generally good quality of the writing, as well as the undeniable fact that it's quite an original book especially given it's context.
It's to Wolfe's credit that through much of the book he doesn't tip you towards sympathy or revulsion to the lifestyle he's describing. Mostly, he's simply leading you through Kesey's world, showing you what it's like both through his mode of description and the descriptions themselves. But I do think there is a chapter late in the book called "The Red Tide" where the POV shifts to the Mexicans, who are looked down upon by basically everyone (Wolfe included) as worthless, dirty ignoramouses. Through this lens the veil of bullshit seems to be lifted above Kesey et al to reveal the relatively pathetic and pitiful truths of their existence. There are other smaller bits where it seems we get a glimpse of the phony romanticism of the Prankster life, but this chapter cements it. After The Red Tide, the dream and the romance are over. Kudos to Wolfe for holding out so long. He made a good read for us.
(Sorry if this is disjointed/unintelligent/incoherent. I'm at work and have been distracted. Shame on you, work.)
This is my first book review in this space and it's an odd one because I have mixed feelings about it. The first thing you need to know is that it is a very famous "nonfiction novel." In fact, this might even be the father of the nonfiction novel. If you're truly interested I'd suggest you look it up yourself, I'm sure there is a nice story there somewhere. What I know is that Mr Wolfe was in cahoots around this time with a writer I am much more familiar with, Hunter S Thompson, in creating what was known as New Journalism, wherein the journalist was not the venerable impartial, fly-on-the-wall observer, but actually just the opposite. Thompson called it Gonzo Journalism and unabashedly not only inserted himself in the story but usually made himself the centerpiece. It's in this spirit that Wolfe wrote TEK-AAT.
Of course, it's far too simple to merely say that this book is a longer example of New Journalism. No, this is indeed a book, an artistic work of Wolfe's not just memory but also imagination. He is chronicling the story but he's also telling it in his own words through his own filter. What I'm trying to say is that there is no pretense towards journalism here, as there would be in a Thompson piece in Rolling Stone. This is important. The freedom from word counts and deadlines and the need to be clear and concise and coherent opened Wolfe up to expand his prose into to the unique voice he found for TEK-AAT, a voice that truly elevated the story into something timeless and artistic and valuable, something you perhaps can not say about the subjects he was describing.
For those uninitiated, this book is about the acid culture around San Francisco in the mid 1960s, in particular Ken Kesey and a group of his followers/admirers called the Merry Pranksters. Kesey was evidently a kind of messianic living legend at the time, and his Pranksters famous in their own right. He/they had the ambition to reach a higher form of mutual/group consciousness, which they facilitated through copious consumption of acid and intense openness and sharing of ideas and experiences. To be blunt, these people were the absolute stereotype of the drugged-up hippie, flower children to the extreme, covered in big ridiculous colored clothing and touring around the country in a converted school bus painted psychadelically in Day-Glo and totally amped for sound.
At one moment, I was sucked into the allure of this pursuit of a higher consciousness, but in the next, I was completely turned off by the its hypocrisy and ignorance. This represents a large part of why I have mixed feelings about TEK-AAT. Because it's a "nonfiction" novel, after all, you can't really fully extract the message from the "message." Being a proudly spontaneous actor, I am very much intrigued by the idea of the "Now trip," where everyone comes out front and almost unconsciously experiences the whole world around them in that exact moment. It's similar to how I feel about writing poetry: that it just comes and you sense it and feel it and don't think or edit just let it float and write itself. I believe in the power of the muse. However, I also appreciate that the muse cannot always be a-musing or else what's the point, what's yin without yang? And there was a somewhat telling moment toward the middle of the book (how do you like that for thorough and precise scholarly criticism?) when one of the Pranksters is admonishing someone else for being too intellectual, that they themselves are stridently anti-intellectual. Not that I consider myself any kind of highbrow intellectual, but isn't it almost cowardice that have this stance? Intelligent and mature thinking is what separates us from the animals, you know. Cognition alone isn't enough. I just don't find it terribly easy to admire something that strives towards ignorance, even if it's a willful or mutual ignorance. (Even more of a digression now, but this is probably a large reason why their movement more or less died, and why a book like TEK-AAT is more historical than philosophical today. In another part of the book a man is chastised for reading, because reading isn't contributing to the group experience. Nice thought, but what happens when the group gets a little bigger and too many voices are speaking at once. Their approach to life can work in doses amongst a group of friends but not really anywhere else.)
As with any book strongly associated with an idea, it's hard to dissociate your reactions to that idea from your reactions to the book itself. This caused me to put the book down for a week at a time more than once. I likely wouldn't have finished it at all were it not for the generally good quality of the writing, as well as the undeniable fact that it's quite an original book especially given it's context.
It's to Wolfe's credit that through much of the book he doesn't tip you towards sympathy or revulsion to the lifestyle he's describing. Mostly, he's simply leading you through Kesey's world, showing you what it's like both through his mode of description and the descriptions themselves. But I do think there is a chapter late in the book called "The Red Tide" where the POV shifts to the Mexicans, who are looked down upon by basically everyone (Wolfe included) as worthless, dirty ignoramouses. Through this lens the veil of bullshit seems to be lifted above Kesey et al to reveal the relatively pathetic and pitiful truths of their existence. There are other smaller bits where it seems we get a glimpse of the phony romanticism of the Prankster life, but this chapter cements it. After The Red Tide, the dream and the romance are over. Kudos to Wolfe for holding out so long. He made a good read for us.
(Sorry if this is disjointed/unintelligent/incoherent. I'm at work and have been distracted. Shame on you, work.)
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Odds and Ends from the Vault
i feel like i should apologize for the lack of pictures or links in this blog, but that would disingenuous because there won't be any of either in this post.
last night i was moving some things around on my bookshelf and came across three old notebooks. so of course i cracked a couple open and had a look. i should first say that it's been over a year since i've touched these, the most recent entry of any kind was from our west coast trip last august. but the most recent notebook was positively full of great nuggets of all sorts. and i thought i'd post some of them here, not all right now necessarily but as it's convenient. (i really start a lot of sentences with conjunctions.) most of what's in the notebooks is journal-y, but i'll try to only post stuff here that is interesting independent of my contextual feelings or doings. where possible, i'll try to relate when it was written since i date stuff almost by habit.
oddly now, the first one wasn't dated but must have been written sometime between may and november of 2005:
The idea, most usually, is to let the art in you become real, and not to create new art. It's a postpostmodern world. Every artist has at some point done everything, frequently as well as it can be expected to be done. However, no one has ever been you and no one knows you as well as yourself. Let the art bake into you like cancer into skin and revel in the melanomic masterpiece.
This is from the same unknown mid-2005 time period and i think could be labeled a poem (it was written as a paragraph but let's see how it looks now in line form.):
Sit and sniff.
Murky cool drear air,
Sprinkles and whiffs,
Heat created never related.
Heavy breath and slight drip ooze of regret,
Tender and passive and yet--there.
Head rocks like a shifting fishbowl,
Coated and dry, alternating sublime
Until drug-filled breaths mimic sand-filled steps.
Time stops slowly making trivial tics into tortuous tocs.
A need to release like a cannonball arises,
Panicky searching standing scratching for the fire,
Too much sleepy head make body dead,
Slouch and pout wring what's left from your hands.
Grit and grin and bear it,
Wear it on your sleeve,
Pet peeves give reality
Some sense penance and patience as I stay tense.
This is marked Nov 28 2005:
Do I need to synthesize my reality with any "real" reality? If not, is there anything "real" that exists? Perhaps the end evolution of existential philosophical thinking is thta all existence is mere idea. All that we will ever see is imagination. All we experience we create. We each are God. And why not? We all live our own lives completely within our ideas and imaginations, and all human actions interconnect in a quantum relationship. I can punch a person in the face in my reality but instantaneously that same person can punch me in his reality. We both have personal experiences, but in the dimension of myself, what I see and feel is a function of my idea and my brain.
Time, as an invention of man, is the single most effective means of control of these infinite dimensions of hyperrealism. It allows everyone to synchronize and grasp their own innate senses of connectivity and "shared" experiences. It is the subjugation of the personal existence to the will of the drumbeat.
Last one for today, this is from an undated time between 11/30/05 and 1/8/06, and it's the most contemporarily interesting one so far:
I hide my emtions mostly and then I burst in an oddly unprovoked supernova, confusing the unfortunate soul who picked the wrong time or place to nudge me.
I like to think about myself and how great I am, how intelligent and witty, how intriguing, how generally infallible, how charming and magnetic to strangers and acquaintances alike. Am I the actor or the rememberer? Am I the writer? Am I the misfit mute? I don't like using "I" so much.
Albuquerque. Amanda Natalie Pike. Reality is out there somewhere but I haven't found it yet. I don't want to find it, but I want to look.
last night i was moving some things around on my bookshelf and came across three old notebooks. so of course i cracked a couple open and had a look. i should first say that it's been over a year since i've touched these, the most recent entry of any kind was from our west coast trip last august. but the most recent notebook was positively full of great nuggets of all sorts. and i thought i'd post some of them here, not all right now necessarily but as it's convenient. (i really start a lot of sentences with conjunctions.) most of what's in the notebooks is journal-y, but i'll try to only post stuff here that is interesting independent of my contextual feelings or doings. where possible, i'll try to relate when it was written since i date stuff almost by habit.
oddly now, the first one wasn't dated but must have been written sometime between may and november of 2005:
The idea, most usually, is to let the art in you become real, and not to create new art. It's a postpostmodern world. Every artist has at some point done everything, frequently as well as it can be expected to be done. However, no one has ever been you and no one knows you as well as yourself. Let the art bake into you like cancer into skin and revel in the melanomic masterpiece.
This is from the same unknown mid-2005 time period and i think could be labeled a poem (it was written as a paragraph but let's see how it looks now in line form.):
Sit and sniff.
Murky cool drear air,
Sprinkles and whiffs,
Heat created never related.
Heavy breath and slight drip ooze of regret,
Tender and passive and yet--there.
Head rocks like a shifting fishbowl,
Coated and dry, alternating sublime
Until drug-filled breaths mimic sand-filled steps.
Time stops slowly making trivial tics into tortuous tocs.
A need to release like a cannonball arises,
Panicky searching standing scratching for the fire,
Too much sleepy head make body dead,
Slouch and pout wring what's left from your hands.
Grit and grin and bear it,
Wear it on your sleeve,
Pet peeves give reality
Some sense penance and patience as I stay tense.
This is marked Nov 28 2005:
Do I need to synthesize my reality with any "real" reality? If not, is there anything "real" that exists? Perhaps the end evolution of existential philosophical thinking is thta all existence is mere idea. All that we will ever see is imagination. All we experience we create. We each are God. And why not? We all live our own lives completely within our ideas and imaginations, and all human actions interconnect in a quantum relationship. I can punch a person in the face in my reality but instantaneously that same person can punch me in his reality. We both have personal experiences, but in the dimension of myself, what I see and feel is a function of my idea and my brain.
Time, as an invention of man, is the single most effective means of control of these infinite dimensions of hyperrealism. It allows everyone to synchronize and grasp their own innate senses of connectivity and "shared" experiences. It is the subjugation of the personal existence to the will of the drumbeat.
Last one for today, this is from an undated time between 11/30/05 and 1/8/06, and it's the most contemporarily interesting one so far:
I hide my emtions mostly and then I burst in an oddly unprovoked supernova, confusing the unfortunate soul who picked the wrong time or place to nudge me.
I like to think about myself and how great I am, how intelligent and witty, how intriguing, how generally infallible, how charming and magnetic to strangers and acquaintances alike. Am I the actor or the rememberer? Am I the writer? Am I the misfit mute? I don't like using "I" so much.
Albuquerque. Amanda Natalie Pike. Reality is out there somewhere but I haven't found it yet. I don't want to find it, but I want to look.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Film Review - Inland Empire
Inland Empire, 2006, David Lynch. This is not a movie, it's a piece of modern art. It's also not technically a film, as Mr Lynch shot it using digital video. It's rather like an experiemental or very artistic short film, except it goes on for nearly three hours. It's not epic, but it's ambitiously and majestically grandiose.
Briefly, so as to get it out of the way, here are just some of the things this film is "about," and which I will not mention again in this post: quantum physics, the intangibility of time, the unreliability of memory and the paradoxical concept of consequence, inevitability, free-will/self-control, metavoyuerism, metafilm, metaPOV, meta-everything, and the overlapping of the obvious, the abstract, the surreal, and the imagined or assumed "facts" within the existence of both actors, characters, humans (both dead and alive), ghosts, and--of course--the audience.
You could probably spend an infinite amount of time trying to parse through the plot lines and various themes and levels of reality in this film, but, as with most of Lynch's oeuvre, I don't think that's really the point. It should be absorbed as a whole and not broken mercilessly into bits; it's about the totality of the emotive and mental experience and not the banality of it's details.
Of course, if you've seen this film, you could probably say, well, Josh, that's just a cop-out because you don't understand the details because they're too complex. To that, I would say--exactly. There is a lot going on here and surely quite a bit of it is important in the micro sense, but I really have to believe that a greater portion is just expansive expository canvas onto which we are meant to paint our own pictures. I read in an interview that Lynch didn't have a complete script while filming, that instead he would write out a scene and then film it, never quite intending to produce a 175-minute opus, but that along the way, he would think of something else, and then write and film that, and then sense some vague connection to what he'd already filmed and so write and film some more, and so on. In the hands of a lesser man, this would likely be no more than an onanistic mess. Though I suppose this point is open for debate, as no doubt many people who are not fans of Mr Lynch would say exactly that about this film.
I disagree. This is the most grandly artistic film I've seen released in quite some time. My own filmic experiences are far from comprehensive, of course, but people just don't make films like this. This should be shown at MoMA or the Guggenheim, not Loews or AMC.
Briefly, so as to get it out of the way, here are just some of the things this film is "about," and which I will not mention again in this post: quantum physics, the intangibility of time, the unreliability of memory and the paradoxical concept of consequence, inevitability, free-will/self-control, metavoyuerism, metafilm, metaPOV, meta-everything, and the overlapping of the obvious, the abstract, the surreal, and the imagined or assumed "facts" within the existence of both actors, characters, humans (both dead and alive), ghosts, and--of course--the audience.
You could probably spend an infinite amount of time trying to parse through the plot lines and various themes and levels of reality in this film, but, as with most of Lynch's oeuvre, I don't think that's really the point. It should be absorbed as a whole and not broken mercilessly into bits; it's about the totality of the emotive and mental experience and not the banality of it's details.
Of course, if you've seen this film, you could probably say, well, Josh, that's just a cop-out because you don't understand the details because they're too complex. To that, I would say--exactly. There is a lot going on here and surely quite a bit of it is important in the micro sense, but I really have to believe that a greater portion is just expansive expository canvas onto which we are meant to paint our own pictures. I read in an interview that Lynch didn't have a complete script while filming, that instead he would write out a scene and then film it, never quite intending to produce a 175-minute opus, but that along the way, he would think of something else, and then write and film that, and then sense some vague connection to what he'd already filmed and so write and film some more, and so on. In the hands of a lesser man, this would likely be no more than an onanistic mess. Though I suppose this point is open for debate, as no doubt many people who are not fans of Mr Lynch would say exactly that about this film.
I disagree. This is the most grandly artistic film I've seen released in quite some time. My own filmic experiences are far from comprehensive, of course, but people just don't make films like this. This should be shown at MoMA or the Guggenheim, not Loews or AMC.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
somewhat superficial post about eyes
something rather large has occurred in my life just recently that has very literally changed the way i view the world, so i really ought to address it here. there is a picture of myself on the right side of this page (no not the beach-jumping one). it's my profile image and i used to feel like it described me perfectly: wife-beater, pirates hat, guinness, "what the fuck you want" gesture, and the almost-silly moustache and glasses-dominated face. well, lately i haven't really like that picture much, and have in fact a couple times tried to change it but unfortunately i'm an idiot and my attempts failed. so it's still there. but one of the essentials of that photograph is now very misleading: i no longer wear glasses. (yes i do drink guinness, yes i am still bound to the eptless pirates, but now that the weather has changed i've begun to forsake the beater for my ties, and finally i'd like to think i'm more pleasant lately. weird.)
so yeah, i don't wear glasses anymore. i don't wear contacts either though for the last three days it's constantly felt like my eyes have been covered by very dried-out or slept-in contacts. see, i had LASIK last friday. (yeah, i know i just punned.) and since it's only been a few days now and i've not reached that thoughtless level of comfort, i'm not quite sure how to react to it all.
(sorry but i just realized this is a boring post. blame that on all the people i've seen since the surgery and delivered breathless descriptions of the procedure and the simple exhilaration of seeing upon waking up in the morning. i'm just about tapped out of that vibe now, though maybe in the next couple days i'll try to share in the most descriptive verbiage i can muster the details of the procedure--at least verbally it seemed to raise hairs of listeners.) (i promise i'll give a more metaphysical written reaction to this whole experience soon. just not in the proper mood for that now.)
one thing i can say definitively: i can't wait until i can rub my eyes again. you can't appreciate how much you take for granted the ability to rub your eyes, and how comforting that sensation can be. it's extremely involuntary. and with the semi-constant dryness i'm dealing with, it's unbelievably tempting. so that's one freakishly tormenting aspect.
aha. shit. there is one semi-interesting tidbit related to this whole experience: the sunglasses. first, it should be explained that i have a rather large pet peeve (actually it's more than a pet peeve) relating to people wearing sunglasses inappropriately, such as on subways, at night, or when carrying on a conversation with someone when it's not necessary to wear them. i find this to the be one of the most self-centered, asshole, annoying habits. wearing sunglasses does not make you cool. wearing sunglasses while talking to another person does not give you a psychological edge. wearing sunglasses at night does not make you more interesting or mysterious. it makes you a stupid fuck. and sorry if this makes me even a sliver prudish, but i think it's terribly rude.
so of course i've been forced to wear sunglasses outside, at any and all times of the day, since the surgery last friday, in order to protect from gusts of wind of any flying dirt or debris in the air. for the last 4 days, i have been the giant douchebag. one of my friends said i looked like jack nicholson while inside watching a football game saturday night (this is maybe the only time that comparison is ever negative). another day i walked right by a former coworker on the sidewalk unnoticed because of the celebrity-ish large sunglasses-and-pulled-down-tight-hat combo. on the subway saturday i could sense the discomfort of those seated across from me, especially the females. and i felt shame. not-my-fault shame, but still.
also, on this same theme: today i ventured for some lunch and actually forgot to put on my trusty free plastic big-ass sunglasses. so my one block trek for food, on this windy early fall day, turned into a superbly paranoic experience. suddenly i felt a kinship with hunter s thompson and his drug-addled waltz through the cocktail lounge in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, the one where he thought the people were lizards and there is the awesome Ralph Steadman illustration. well, every person i walked by i flinched at, and every time someone turned around i expected them to claw my eyes out and don't even ask me what was going through my mind as i strolled, head-down, through the smoky foul mist drifting downwind of the kebab cart.
so yeah, i don't wear glasses anymore. i don't wear contacts either though for the last three days it's constantly felt like my eyes have been covered by very dried-out or slept-in contacts. see, i had LASIK last friday. (yeah, i know i just punned.) and since it's only been a few days now and i've not reached that thoughtless level of comfort, i'm not quite sure how to react to it all.
(sorry but i just realized this is a boring post. blame that on all the people i've seen since the surgery and delivered breathless descriptions of the procedure and the simple exhilaration of seeing upon waking up in the morning. i'm just about tapped out of that vibe now, though maybe in the next couple days i'll try to share in the most descriptive verbiage i can muster the details of the procedure--at least verbally it seemed to raise hairs of listeners.) (i promise i'll give a more metaphysical written reaction to this whole experience soon. just not in the proper mood for that now.)
one thing i can say definitively: i can't wait until i can rub my eyes again. you can't appreciate how much you take for granted the ability to rub your eyes, and how comforting that sensation can be. it's extremely involuntary. and with the semi-constant dryness i'm dealing with, it's unbelievably tempting. so that's one freakishly tormenting aspect.
aha. shit. there is one semi-interesting tidbit related to this whole experience: the sunglasses. first, it should be explained that i have a rather large pet peeve (actually it's more than a pet peeve) relating to people wearing sunglasses inappropriately, such as on subways, at night, or when carrying on a conversation with someone when it's not necessary to wear them. i find this to the be one of the most self-centered, asshole, annoying habits. wearing sunglasses does not make you cool. wearing sunglasses while talking to another person does not give you a psychological edge. wearing sunglasses at night does not make you more interesting or mysterious. it makes you a stupid fuck. and sorry if this makes me even a sliver prudish, but i think it's terribly rude.
so of course i've been forced to wear sunglasses outside, at any and all times of the day, since the surgery last friday, in order to protect from gusts of wind of any flying dirt or debris in the air. for the last 4 days, i have been the giant douchebag. one of my friends said i looked like jack nicholson while inside watching a football game saturday night (this is maybe the only time that comparison is ever negative). another day i walked right by a former coworker on the sidewalk unnoticed because of the celebrity-ish large sunglasses-and-pulled-down-tight-hat combo. on the subway saturday i could sense the discomfort of those seated across from me, especially the females. and i felt shame. not-my-fault shame, but still.
also, on this same theme: today i ventured for some lunch and actually forgot to put on my trusty free plastic big-ass sunglasses. so my one block trek for food, on this windy early fall day, turned into a superbly paranoic experience. suddenly i felt a kinship with hunter s thompson and his drug-addled waltz through the cocktail lounge in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, the one where he thought the people were lizards and there is the awesome Ralph Steadman illustration. well, every person i walked by i flinched at, and every time someone turned around i expected them to claw my eyes out and don't even ask me what was going through my mind as i strolled, head-down, through the smoky foul mist drifting downwind of the kebab cart.
Monday, October 1, 2007
A Poem Draft
I don't normally do this but I'm going to post a poem in the roughest form possible. I woke from a 3hr nap last night, sat up in bed, picked up pen and notebook, and let these words come out. I promise I'll return to it and revise or whatever is necessary and I think maybe it will be interesting to see how it changes.
Every so often a cool breeze rushes in through the sliver of my bedside window.
Not quite sure where it comes from or why it arrives here,
But it's nice.
The air shaft is not just a shaft: it's full of air, and sometimes life.
On these odd moments, it finds and kisses me.
It's not easy to write--scratch that--it's not easy to write maturely.
4, 5, 6. Six lines sit back relax and smile. It's pretty, it's an emotion--most importantly it's truth.
But it is only what it is and nothing more.
Therefore hardly public merely onanistic,
My few pretty lines.
If my words are inchoate then so too am I.
One score and seven years (no shoot actually still only six),
And it seems always only an open door to an empty room.
--To ruminate and marinate in those soft simple draughts of air beyond the door,
Filling nothing with nothing. Lear-ish recognition.
Ah but is that something?--Snobbery, likely.
Self-satisfied. Hot air.
It's getting warm now next to the window where has my breeze gone--
Out.......Drifting into another's window.
The music is personal and private--often neglected and misunderstood.
It tickled me, briefly.
But that is enough, for I am no glutton.
Pathetic, perhaps, but that's my lot.
Again, it's hard to compose for mature consumption.
Every so often a cool breeze rushes in through the sliver of my bedside window.
Not quite sure where it comes from or why it arrives here,
But it's nice.
The air shaft is not just a shaft: it's full of air, and sometimes life.
On these odd moments, it finds and kisses me.
It's not easy to write--scratch that--it's not easy to write maturely.
4, 5, 6. Six lines sit back relax and smile. It's pretty, it's an emotion--most importantly it's truth.
But it is only what it is and nothing more.
Therefore hardly public merely onanistic,
My few pretty lines.
If my words are inchoate then so too am I.
One score and seven years (no shoot actually still only six),
And it seems always only an open door to an empty room.
--To ruminate and marinate in those soft simple draughts of air beyond the door,
Filling nothing with nothing. Lear-ish recognition.
Ah but is that something?--Snobbery, likely.
Self-satisfied. Hot air.
It's getting warm now next to the window where has my breeze gone--
Out.......Drifting into another's window.
The music is personal and private--often neglected and misunderstood.
It tickled me, briefly.
But that is enough, for I am no glutton.
Pathetic, perhaps, but that's my lot.
Again, it's hard to compose for mature consumption.
Another Very Short Story
Blows
We went to MoMA to see the Serras. I called him a sensationalist hack; she cried; I apologized. We went to the Film Forum to see a Truffaut film. She called him a derivative hack; I bit my tongue--hard. We don't talk about art anymore. She left me, simply. I cried, breathlessly.
We went to MoMA to see the Serras. I called him a sensationalist hack; she cried; I apologized. We went to the Film Forum to see a Truffaut film. She called him a derivative hack; I bit my tongue--hard. We don't talk about art anymore. She left me, simply. I cried, breathlessly.
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