I had it for too much time

I just finished rereading the Anthony Burgess 2 volume autobiography . “Little Wilson and Big God” and “You’ve Had Your Time” . First I have to thank Nitrovski Boraxski (or whatever he’s calling himself lately) for his patience in letting me sit on it for oh, maybe, say about a year? Maybe more. Too danged long anyway. Especially since I owe him the debt of hipping me to it in the first place. But, it was actually good that I waited, sort of one of those magical confluence's, because I understand him so much better now than the first time through. As well as that if I hadn’t taken a bunch of philosophy and Lit. classes I would have missed out on a bunch of stuff again. Not that I am claiming to understand Anthony Burgess. That guy is way out here in terms of education, brilliance, talent and a big dose of wackiness.

But things kept popping up that were oddly synchronistic. For example only a day or two after my little spaz about reeds and harmonicas I’m reading about him composing classical pieces for harmonica players such as John Sebastian’s father John Sebastian. Then he gave a little rundown on the musical structure of harmonica playing, which I of course did not understand. And he kept talking about things which I have been thinking about. All kinds of things, from villanelles to Rousseau to Kuala Lumpur to T.S. Elliott. He even touched on the same themes as my John MacDonald quote earlier, when he returned to Malaysia and saw them trying to get westernized.

I have some trouble reading his books, but at least now I get that it’s because he does crazy things like taking an ancient myth (normally that would be right up my alley) then sets it in a more modern time. Then takes some form of something like a Beethoven Sonata, or a mathematical formula, or a Kabbalistic prayer or whatever and overlays it onto the shape of the novel and writes within the parameters of that thing, whatever it may have been. All according to some formulae that almost no one else can recognize except him and a few other brilliant genius types.

He spoke (and read and wrote) like 20 languages. He made the language for the movie “Quest For Fire”. He was this crazy master linguist with the diphthongs and the schwas and all that. He makes me wish that someone had forced me into a classical education. I have missed so much and he did everything!

And how did old skool dudes like him drink so damn much and survive with brain cells intact? Everybody in his world is a total bloody sot . I swear there isn’t a single page without alcohol mentioned on it. I guess once you’ve survived being in the British military in WWII you can survive a lot of other abuse.

So I am highly recommending these books. This from someone who basically never reads nonfiction and things like biographies. It’s got everything travel, animals, lot’s of sex, mysticism, music and sword canes.

Freaking Brilliant 1st post of the year (koff koff)

My end of the year festivus feat of strength was reading 21 Travis McGee novels by John MacDonald in 19 days. I may never have been more cynical and bitter. I have been more angry. But that was in youth when it was an un-formulated, nonspecific, anger. A sort of devil-may-care, lash out at anyone and get in drunken fist fights with my best friends sort of anger. This one is pretty specific.
But now I pay the horrordays price, because I’m sick. Real sick. So just leave me alone. No, wait coddle me. No, no, just fuck off. But wait, can you bring me some juice and the thermometer first? Oh, and the TV guide?

Like OMFG!

I think Nigel and I just discovered The Best Koney in town.

Here’s how it happened:
We went to the book fest @ Kerrytown. (Awesome, again.) I bought Dover's, he bought vintage Communism pamphlets and such. We tried twice to get into Kosmo’s for twiggum and burgers. It was packed constantly. Finally I was too tired and hungry to wait. We headed for home with the idea that we would get the car and go somewhere. I thought of a Koney I had wanted to try for ages. The one out at Liberty & Maple. (For future reference it’s called Kappa Koney).
It was really, really, real food. Good onion rings and lots of ‘em. I will have to hold off being absolutely positive that it’s completely awesome until I actually try one of their coneys but I’m really getting my hopes up.

Whoa Nelly

I am not afraid of porn. I’m not particularly interested in it either.
I just read a filthy, filthy, book. And not filthy in a good way like Nitro von Borax’s “Pigglyland”. My cup of tea is like, looking at pictures of emo boys kissing or reading some mild erotica. Nothing too taxing or graphic. Having read “The Happy Hooker” when I was 10, then having lived the life I have, I am just too jaded to be thrilled by the hardcore.
When I picked up this particular novel that came with a load of books primarily comprised of self-help, christian mysticism, get rich schemes, vitamin bibles, and computer language manuals from Oliver's fathers estate I expected the male version of a bodice buster. Perhaps I might have a mild frisson', eh?

It says on the back cover “Mother’s Three Daughters" is one of the most famous works of fiction of the early twentieth century, thought to be the work of French novelist Pierre Louys, (I can’t find the umlaut anywhere, it should be over the Y), the author of “Aphrodite”.
It goes on to summarize the plot and then quotes Wayland Young saying
“ A notable modern novel written out of a perverse compulsion.... This is one of the largest and most real presentations of the whore-charachter in European fiction.”
If only that had meant something to me at the time!

The cover art did nothing to warn me either. As usual you just can’t take the era out of the girl. The three models in the photo are so definitively from the late 60’s, early 70’s. No amount of faked up, turn of the century, chemises and pantaloons could ever convince anyone otherwise. As well as so clearly not being 10, 14 and 20 years old like the prostitutes in the story. Oh, did I not mention that two of the prostitutes were under 15? The most sadistic and jaded one being the 10 year old? Anne Rice’s weak attempts at a titillating baby vampiress has NOTHING on this.

I will never, ever, think of the victorians and post vicky’s the same way again. Corphragy, sadism, incest, anal, bestiality and really, really, naughty, potty mouths. This so totally explains why generations all around that era were so completely conflicted. And here I was wondering what the hell was going on with Japanese porn lately, what I thought was a “sudden and new” obsession with corphragy, it turns out is just another turn of the wheel.

I am way out of my league with this one, I think a couple months strict diet of children's books is needed to put my digestion back in order.

(Did I mention the male narrator is a royal asshole?)

Can’t focus, need chocolate

• The student 'zine apparently now hates me, they print only one, of my worst poems, each time. I’m starting to feel patronized.

• Perhaps we shall hear the pitter of little patters? The vet has spoken that Little ghee likely needs a boy toy. We begin a searing and painful search this week.

• Thursday, Thursday, Thursday. Last day before holiday break. Christ you know it ain’t easy....

• I think I’m a senior Betty.

• Chilean Sea Bass. Lightly panfried, HOT PAN, after rolling in herbs, spices and flour then baked at 500, HOT PAN, for 6 minutes = Frickin’ totally fabulous.

• (A • C) ~ (C v A) write a truth table for that! (You only need 4 lines).

• Thursday, Thursday, Thursday. Kant vs. Mill in the battle of the centuries, @ the my brain arena, blood WILL spill. (Probably from my ears).

• The Eye Of The Sybil by Phillip K. Dick, soon to join Ridley Walker by Russell Hoban, in “The Best Things College Has Exposed Me To Hall Of Fame”.

AM earworm

I’m Hans Christian Anderson - Danny Kaye
There is no mystery in the why and where of that one. I’ve been thinking about the Grimm stories. That leads to a 2 book set I own, one of Grimm, one of Anderson. They both are excellent, thorough, collections in the traditional style. The Anderson has these crazy late stories of his. They are called things like “On To The Future” and such. Most people have never seen them, they are really wacky.
So that leads to thinking of the Danny Kaye movie of Hans Christian Anderson which was a musical. Which is where the song came from.

I am also thinking about an old movie my parents loved called “The Red Shoes”. The basic idea is the ballerina goes insane.

OK OK already

I admit it I have been nose deep in books, yes actual books, lately. At school they’ve got me reading Aristotle’s “Nicomachean Ethics” and if you don’t think that’s as thick and chewy as it gets you’d be wrong. Then in addition I went to the Kerrytown bookfest and spent WAY too much and added another stack to the perpetual “needs reading” pile. Following which I went to UBU’s bookstore and added another bundle. I have just about finished a Rod Serling collection which offered up a bunch of nice horror I’ve never run across before, including a really cool Nathaniel Hawthorne. As well as an incredibly dark, weird, apocalyptic story by Jane Roberts. I have to wonder if it’s “my” Jane Roberts, as in the author of the Seth material. The time frame is certainly right.

There is also the fact that we now have internet on only one computer for awhile and the demand for my lap box has gone way up. So basically these are excuses for why I suck. Pictures this weekend I promise.