Thursday, 20 March 2008

The remote edges

Park bench at 4 AM. Woods and the moon at 5 AM. Dark.

While you rot and vegetate in your warm home, I'm out at the remote edges. The places no-one visits.... I'm surprised I'm the only person that goes out to the far, distant countryside; it surpasses the environment where these dull people prepare for death.

As I walk past the suburban streets at night, accompanied by lamp-posts that illuminate my path, I see 40-year-old replicas of my mother ironing as the television is on. Repetition. Repetition. Repetition. Repetition. Repetition. Repetition. Repetition. Repetition.


Sunday, 16 March 2008

Written just before my mental breakdown and psychotic episode: Don't Live In A Boring World

I wrote this blog entry some months ago, but it got deleted along my other posts. I have, fortunately, found it on my laptop and will re-post it for yah.

Don't live in a boring world.

2 + 2 = 5

Self-discipline for psychosis; I want to be insane. The intellectual boundaries are what are pulling me back, so I want to move onwards. Bela Bartok's music is exciting, and so is Debussy's and so is Gyorgy Ligeti's. No rudiment must interfere with the process, so it isn't dull. That's what makes the dream amazing at the same time. This is why these composers are preferred by authors, not musicians - they charge my emotions in a way I want them charged.

J. G. Ballard - out of all the writers I've read - is the most exciting. He has used logic to arrive to illogic. If I didn't realise this I'd go insane, but I want to be insane so that I can do what I want to do.

Suddenly, it all seems clearer now. Musical composition seems appealing now. I have been able to get to this stage without the help of psychiatrists, and I'm glad I've done that in an autodidact manner, although I've had to read several books to think over and over again. Hopscotch by Julio Cortazar, in particular, helped me. There are cryptic references all over the place (me included), but I don't want to bang my head on the wall anymore - I've gathered enough information as it is. It's idiotic to strive for a utopic world where everyhing is perfect.

I don't care whatsoever about dropping out now; it is of no worry. In fact, it's a huge relief that I'm not in an education system of any sort. And if the process needs to be done, it needs to be done with great care - a personal craft which doesn't dictate an academic anxiety which strangles me beyond belief.

It seems to me that Ballard went through the exact same phase. He said 'when you've written 20 pages of a novel at the age of 19, it seems like Finnegans Wake.' This is a novice mistake to make. I followed this path to the brink of death. It is idiotic to be smug and elitist over other people's behaviour. Ultimately, it's idiotic to worry what people think of you or your work in the first place. It's idiotic to apply these notions because you rejected them way back when you first arrived at school and all the morons pointed a finger at you. I have been showing off despite doing as much as I possibly can to avoid doing so. Now that I'm thinking in these terms, it doesn't matter one little fuck, it's a good thing that I can have my childhood obsessions back and re-work them, re-cut them up. I want to live life to its fullest potential, and this seems to be the correct route. I think it's helpful to create a dream world that's favourable. If I were to get in sync with all this other bollocks then I'm obviously going to lose some steam and, well, bang my head on the wall.

That's and awful thing about adolesence or late childhood. Suddenly the notion of grammar comes up, the notion of spelling of correctly. I like my childhood obsessions because they're pure, simple. Now that all these powerful dreams pop up, they seem to point towards a really dark, twisted space where these amazing new thoughts lurk. I've been attempting to get to these thoughts in a hurry - ambiguously opting for an enormous intellectual capacity, when I should be stabbing at it slowly.

Ultimately, I want to explore this terrain. I don't want to fucking compose any more large symphonies or any more overblown fucking nonsense. A sense of the mathematical validates art - or entertainment - but if you see the formula right in front of you, then it's obviously going to ruin it.

People like William Burroughs seem more appealing, too. They didn't give one little fuck for what anyone else thought - they just wanted to sit down and type. An element of that needs ti be implemented, but to a fucking storyline.

It's important to be objective, too. At this age I don't want to be a fucking faggot who appreciates lovely high art - lovely Ludwig Van or Bartok.

Psychology seems appealing also. But if I were a psychologist I'd want to fuck people up with perverted dreams and sex. This is why I've got writing for myself.

Desert island discs

8 pieces of music
Bela Bartok - String Quartet NO. 4
Claude Debussy - La Mer
Frank Zappa - Revised Music for Guitar and Low-Budget Orchestra
Gyorgy Ligeti - Clocks and Clouds
The Fall - The Classical
Eric Satie - Gymnopedies
Miles Davis - Flamenco Sketches
Igor Stravinsky - Rite of Spring

William Faulkner - The Sound and the Fury

Luxury item
Laptop without internet access (for my creative writing)

Wednesday, 12 March 2008

Short stories

It's such a shame that short stories have lost a considerable amount of popularity over the years. All magazines used to publish short stories, and that sadly isn't the case anymore.

Too many young, budding authors are forced into writing novels too early on. With short stories one discovers one's own style, and one can dabble and adjust oneself into many different genres prior to finding which is the most suitable.

An idea can be expressed perfectly well within 5 or 4 pages. Many novels are elongated short stories, and would benefit from being presented in this medium. Curiously, there are many perfect short stories, but no perfect novels.