five unconnected burbles
May. 5th, 2007 11:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
readingthedark"I'm sorry I can't bleed for you the way you want me too.
Throw myself against the rocks the way I used to do."
(from "Sorry," by Assemblage 23, a nifty counterpoint to his classic, "Disappoint.)
We'll start with an untitled prosepoem by me, that reminds me of D. F. Lewis at his least coherent:
1) And the ceiling was as terrible a place as the floor. No usage of eyes, or reaching of outstretching fingers, or letting his consciousness pour about in rivulets, sloshing real and imagined walls, could place anything or hold it to a geographic or even representational space.
We were left humbled by him, knowing that, sooner rather than later, he’d melt to nothing - hydrogen burning fast and becoming water.
But we’d miss his flapjacks.
---------------------------------
2) I'm listening to Assemblage 23's new album, "Meta." It's so cool (for those unusual people who have musical taste as poor and weak and huddled as mine) that I'm on track three ("Sorry") and I already know that I'll play this album for months. He's so cool, so powerful and so observant. Like a wizard.
"You wear your misery like a crown.
You're only happy when you're down.
It satisfies and you don't even know why.
What are you lacking deep inside?
Depression as a point of pride...
If you're not careful, the world is going to pass you by..."
---------------------------------
3) Somewhere I have an advance burning of The Hounds of Hasselvander and I'm wondering what on earth that'll sound like. (I'm not really a doom, sludge or dare I say retro metal person -- because there aren't enough keyboards and you can't dance to it -- but a bootleg of the other member of the band playing bass blew my mind, so I'm psyched.)
---------------------------------
4) Recent purchases of words:
T. E. D. Klein's The Ceremonies -- quite impressive so far
Some Charles Baudelaire -- yay! spleen and decadence
("How could you not care / that I was reading Baudelaire?" is a couplet that I'll eventually use, along with "No regrets / nor egrets.")
Rue Morgue with Grindhouse on the cover -- Liisa Ladouceur's interview with Ogre from Skinny Puppy reminded me of how brilliant, talented and lovely she is. (http://www.therss.com/liisa/) It was a spectacular, yet short, look into one of the most interesting wordsmiths. Both are among the rockingest.
Gothic by Fred Botting -- a British textbook, introductory but well-steeped in French Marxist Lit Theory. Almost done with it and it's full of ideas and leads for further study. (I love that I get to read things like this as research for the novel, but I'd hate to try to teach them. My thoughts are too incoherent, enmeshed and complicated. I'm so opinionated on the subject that I'd have trouble brooking another point of view.)
Paul MacAuley had an interview in a vaguely recent Locus where he mocked (slightly) writers in a scene adjacent to his who wanted to throw the whole world out except for a few rock bands they liked. I felt indicted. (Not that he would ever know who I am, just that the finger was pointed generally and that I was in that direction, hiding in the bushes.)
--------------------------------
5) Sometimes staying up late and not sleeping is still fun. I just wish I was working on the novel instead of typing silly little thoughts.
Throw myself against the rocks the way I used to do."
(from "Sorry," by Assemblage 23, a nifty counterpoint to his classic, "Disappoint.)
We'll start with an untitled prosepoem by me, that reminds me of D. F. Lewis at his least coherent:
1) And the ceiling was as terrible a place as the floor. No usage of eyes, or reaching of outstretching fingers, or letting his consciousness pour about in rivulets, sloshing real and imagined walls, could place anything or hold it to a geographic or even representational space.
We were left humbled by him, knowing that, sooner rather than later, he’d melt to nothing - hydrogen burning fast and becoming water.
But we’d miss his flapjacks.
---------------------------------
2) I'm listening to Assemblage 23's new album, "Meta." It's so cool (for those unusual people who have musical taste as poor and weak and huddled as mine) that I'm on track three ("Sorry") and I already know that I'll play this album for months. He's so cool, so powerful and so observant. Like a wizard.
"You wear your misery like a crown.
You're only happy when you're down.
It satisfies and you don't even know why.
What are you lacking deep inside?
Depression as a point of pride...
If you're not careful, the world is going to pass you by..."
---------------------------------
3) Somewhere I have an advance burning of The Hounds of Hasselvander and I'm wondering what on earth that'll sound like. (I'm not really a doom, sludge or dare I say retro metal person -- because there aren't enough keyboards and you can't dance to it -- but a bootleg of the other member of the band playing bass blew my mind, so I'm psyched.)
---------------------------------
4) Recent purchases of words:
T. E. D. Klein's The Ceremonies -- quite impressive so far
Some Charles Baudelaire -- yay! spleen and decadence
("How could you not care / that I was reading Baudelaire?" is a couplet that I'll eventually use, along with "No regrets / nor egrets.")
Rue Morgue with Grindhouse on the cover -- Liisa Ladouceur's interview with Ogre from Skinny Puppy reminded me of how brilliant, talented and lovely she is. (http://www.therss.com/liisa/) It was a spectacular, yet short, look into one of the most interesting wordsmiths. Both are among the rockingest.
Gothic by Fred Botting -- a British textbook, introductory but well-steeped in French Marxist Lit Theory. Almost done with it and it's full of ideas and leads for further study. (I love that I get to read things like this as research for the novel, but I'd hate to try to teach them. My thoughts are too incoherent, enmeshed and complicated. I'm so opinionated on the subject that I'd have trouble brooking another point of view.)
Paul MacAuley had an interview in a vaguely recent Locus where he mocked (slightly) writers in a scene adjacent to his who wanted to throw the whole world out except for a few rock bands they liked. I felt indicted. (Not that he would ever know who I am, just that the finger was pointed generally and that I was in that direction, hiding in the bushes.)
--------------------------------
5) Sometimes staying up late and not sleeping is still fun. I just wish I was working on the novel instead of typing silly little thoughts.
