At the outermost limits of language, where it swirls into eddying vortices of nonsense, anything can happen. Climates can change. Seas can rise. Meaning can melt. What, then, is worth saying? What utterance is worth its weight in warm air? Today I watched yet another documentary about global warming. Save the plant, was its urgent,…… Continue reading Yes we can
Once, I tried to insert an aubergine into my lover’s vagina. We were both quite drunk (red wine, civilized by my standards). She looked at me indulgently, an obtuse child trying to fit the wrong peg into the wrong hole. “It won’t fit,” she said laughing. “It’s too big.” A prosthetic penis. In the form…… Continue reading In a vegetative state
Last night I triangulated! I emerged from history (my bed, at midnight) and went out and triangulated! This is such a personal triumph that I will follow my dearest friend’s advice and get political. Donald Trump is a monumental cunt, a pseudo-orange idiot who was conceived when Uranus drunkenly descended to earth and stuck his…… Continue reading Triangulation and jubilation
A confession: I like lists. They soothe, placate, facilitate me. They beguile me, siren-like, with their ominous but irresistible logic. One of my novels begins with a list-as-quest when an elderly woman gives her neighbour a list and asks him to do her grocery shopping. In another novel, the suicidal hero sits in a…… Continue reading It’s one thing after another..
Why say anything? How best say nothing? That, there, is the art of it, the rub of it, the rub-a-dub-dub of it. My language is exhausted. Over with. Beyond what is. This bleeding out. A steady drip-drip of doubt. Via a laugh and a joke. Convulsing with hope. Glacial love melts my heart. Infernal eras…… Continue reading …
Despair, like everything else, should be an art. That is to say, it should be experienced as artfully as possible. I am a veteran of despair. Sounds trite, right? But to my ever-dwindling family of fellow-sufferers, despair is as real as air itself. I am not talking about questionable psychopathologies or material hardship or dubious…… Continue reading Please sir, can I have some more?
In a thrilling biography I recently read of Sartre (how I miss the perversely innocent intellectualism of his time), he is quoted as saying that incest was the only model of family that interested him. “Yum yum,” I thought on reading it. For I am profoundly attracted to the idea of incest. Please don’t misunderstand…… Continue reading Discourse between two pigeons