Have some Elkin, from George Mills:
He didn't know what hit him. He didn't go to church. He didn't listen to evangelists on the radio. Nothing was healed in him. His back still hurt like hell from the time he had picked up a television funny. He didn't proselytize his neighbors. He talked as he always had. He behaved no differently. Not to his wife, not to the dispossessed whose furniture he helped Laglachio legally steal. Finally, he did not believe in God.
Holyfuck, if I was shown the last few posts three years from now when I read them I'd know I was reading Elkin when I wrote them, the rhythm and diction of what I write but mostly the frenzy he releases in my head when I'm happy, but this is busiest shittiest month of my working year, I'm reading four books simultaneously while thinking about what I'll read next, and these are the strangest days of my life, and what the fuck happened to my campaign to be quieter, calmer, more circumspect and peaceable?
- Endless political paralysis.
- Fayette Nam.
- Obama as curator.
- Narcissus and Echo.
- The misery of mullahs.
- That thing you do, whatever it is.
- Don't go out in the rain in your socks.
- Murphy. Once I'm done rereading this and this and reading this and this, 2012 is going to be the Year I Immerse Myself in Beckett.
- I understand why Nirvana was important even if I think their music meh and the imitators they spawned suckful of suck, but jeebus fricking christ.
- This week's new releases.
- Glacial wave.
Most explicit-- the sense of trap as a narrowing cone one's got stuck into and any movement forward simply wedges once more-- but where or quite when, even with whom, since now there is no one quite with you--Quite? Quiet? English expression: Quait? Language of singular impedance? A dance? An involuntary gesture to others not there? What's wrong here? How reach out to the other side all others live on as now you see the two doctors, behind you, in mind's eye, probe into your anus, or ass, or bottom, behind you, the roto- rooter-like device sees all up, concludes "like a worn-out inner tube," "old," prose prolapsed, person's problems won't do, must cut into, cut out . . . The world is a round but diminishing ball, a spherical ice cube, a dusty joke, a fading, faint echo of its former self but remembers, sometimes, its past, sees friends, places, reflections, talks to itself in a fond, judgemental murmur, alone at last. I stood so close to you I could have reached out and touched you just as you turned over and began to snore not unattractively, no, never less than attractively, my love, my love--but in this curiously glowing dark, this finite emptiness, you, you, you are crucial, hear the whimpering back of the talk, the approaching fears when I may cease to be me, all lost or rather lumped here in a retrograded, dislocating, imploding self, a uselessness talks, even if finally to no one, talks and talks.
...and what the fuck happened to my campaign to be quieter, calmer, more circumspect and peaceable?ReplyDelete
That campaign has ended, or is it ongoing?
It sputters, but goes on. Been sputtering for thirty-five years, but goes on.ReplyDelete
problems won't do, mustReplyDelete
cut into, cut out . . ."
Or cut up, perhaps? I wanted to answer your Elkin with a Gaddis (thank you so much for sending it to me, I love it! I know what you mean about happiness) but maybe Burroughs is more apt?
"When you cut into the present the future leaks out."
Did Gardasil make you retarded?ReplyDelete
There is a paragraph, about two-third through *Magic Kingdom*, when the children are sunning themselves on an island, that is as beautiful and life-affirming as anything I've ever read. You'll know it when you get to it.ReplyDelete
Gracias for linkage.ReplyDelete
Samuel or Josh?
Always recognize 0.7% of your typical new release links because I'm too busy BEING QUIETER, CALMER, CIRCUMSPECTER (a circular ghost!) and something else.ReplyDelete
Four novels at once is madness, you know.
fish: both! I left a line out in this post, which is a shame since it's what it's about - I keep forgetting: Death to the Either/Or! And thanks for taking the man-crush challenge!ReplyDelete
Randal: it's worse - it's two novels, two books of theory. Just a manic phase.
to be fair, they aren't really theoryReplyDelete
Magic Kingdom made me gasp in awe.ReplyDelete
Yah, *theory* was just lazy shorthand. They are much more interesting and fun than objectsubjectsubjectobject. But it's strange (in a pleasant way) to feel compelled to read them.ReplyDelete
*Magic Kingdom,* considering when Elkin wrote it, as his MS was destroying his body, is an astonishing feat of both literary imagination and life-affirming generosity. I love it more than any other novel I've ever read.
I love you for loving it and for sending it too to me, BDR. So many gifts, rare and exquisite ones. Thank you, thank you. The thought that it'll be in my mailbox waiting for me on my beautiful country road when I get home is thrillingly wonderful. I can just reach in and take my pleasure. I must confess, I went on something of an Elkin binge at The Strand the other day. Fortunately, they ship at reasonable rates. Speaking of object/subject. I just met Levi Bryant at the Object-Oriented Ontology conference at The New school. And he's a hunk! And a love! And, can I please brag a little?--I made the acknowledgments (Jacob, too) in his new book The Democracy of Objects just posted on his Larval Subjects blog(now that's theory with a capital T). Something like being a stowaway on The Beagle. But, oh, ow, ouch, this poor city. I can't believe how many more stores, restaurants, businesses of all stripes have shuttered their doors, windows, everything since I left 9 months ago. This is such a bittersweet trip. Like the whole city's wedged in a cone...ReplyDelete
Thanks for the link to John Cale, been years since he cut an album. I filched it all.ReplyDelete