Simon King's written outpourings

Why some people don't get the joke

2012-01-28T14:17:00.000-08:00

'Saint Augusto'

When you publicly declare that you think that an entire indigenous race must be exterminated, that a war criminal and despot should be adulated and that a centre-left government was run by extremist communists, you wouldn't take this seriously nor even agree with it - would you?

Some people do. I have a comedy blog called Iván Izqueirdo and have received comments that surely would raise your eyebrows.

The premise of this blog is that an extremist right-wing person from the Chilean aristocracy spouts out his diatribes. The thing is that there are so many of these people, who say exactly the same things, that for many Chilean people this blog would seem perfectly authentic.

Having grown up amongst upper-middle class communities in Chile, I find the worldview perspective of these people very narrow and repugnant. Many of these people have shrines to Pinochet in their homes and are never able to wake up to the reality of situations.

I find that the progressive conservatives in Chile are fairly respectable people. The majority of people from the right, however, speak what Iván Izquierdo speaks word for word. (On second thought, because Spanish is their first language, they don't have to think too hard on their phraseolgogy so much...)

So, when you speak to these people on their level, they'll agree with you... Yet they don't realise that you are actually mocking them and everything they stand for...

One person who attended my old school said "I love the blog, [Pablo] Neruda is a fucking communist."

This brings back memories of a conversation I had with this kid back in the equivalent of year six. My father was voting for a leftist candidate at a local election and he replied "God grief, your dad is a leftist!" His political reasoning doesn't appear to have altered since he was eleven...

What inspired the blog was The Daily Show, Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. Colbert is a comedian who impersonates a ultra-right political commentator - the kind you see on Fox... Yet, in a world, when this is the norm, hoards of Americans watch this spoof show and don't notice the difference...

I'd like to add that the concept of irony doesn't really exist in Chile. I mean, this blog is pretty crude and unsubtle yet people still don't get it... I remember that whilst I was in Chile I would get a lot of laughs by being ironic, the likes of which I seldom get here in the UK...

It all may seem ludicrous and over-the-top, but the fact of the matter is that there are a lot of Iván Izquierdos around...

The fox and the hedgehog

2012-01-24T07:21:00.000-08:00

Mario Vargas Llosa

Gabriel Garcia Marquez

One of my gateways into literature was the new wave of fiction from Latin-America which gained prominence in the 1960s. However, I have only read one book each (or as I am about to describe, one and a half) of its two main figureheads and nobel laureates: Mario Vargas Llosa and Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

Back when Llosa was awarded that accolade I remember reading an article by William Boyd that was inculcated into my system: he described Vargas Llosa as a 'fox' and Marquez as a 'Hedgehog.'

From the two books I've read by each writer - The Feast of the Goat, a comparatively lesser work under Vargas Llosa's belt and One Hundred Years of Solitude, a unanimously acclaimed novel by Marquez - I find this to be an absolutely accurate statement.

What's striking about the two books is the style. Vargas Llosa is very varied - he switches tenses, locations and places in time within the space of a few pages. I have tried read Hundred Years of Solitude twice and I literally lose the will to live by page 150. I start of thinking "Yeah, that's cute," but as I progress through the narrative I am become exausted by the same stlye and tone being reiterated time and time again...

But it was revolutionary, you may say? I don't think so. Marquez was only popularising the concepts and ideas of writers who were far more complex and ingenious - Juan Rulfo, Juan Carlos Onetti and the stories of Borges... He simplified the more complex conceptions of these writers and spread a plague in which writers from across the world derived their ideas from Marquez and produced a magic realism that was even more kitsch than his own...

Reading about the bibilography of these writers to me is also indicative of the range of each. Vargas Llosa covers continents around the world, a wide variety of themes, a plethora of genres... Whilst Marquez, from what I can gather, simply writes the same book time and time again. If you look at it from this perspective, you can see that Llosa's prize was far more deserved. Marquez flippantly claimed that by awading him they were awarding the whole of South America - which was actually true... Vargas Llosa's award is a recognition of a lifetime of literary endeavour.

The Nobel commitee was criticised by some naive people for awarding the prize for Llosa's politics. I actually find it refreshing that the Nobel Prize was given out to someone from the political right; the politics of the Nobel comitee have always been incredibly biased and unfair. Borges, though it was a terrible move, gave support to Pinochet's government and was thus barred from ever winning the prize. Why should politics be brought to the equation when this is supposed to be a literary award?

Besides, the politics of Vargas Llosa are far more respectable than Marquez's. He is a centrist who leans to the right and an advocate for freedom and democracy against authoritarian dictatorships. Marquez, on the other hand, has been a vocal supporter of Fidel Castro since the inception of the Cuban regime... His politics are very rarely questioned, but they are as ineptly conceived and monotonous as his own writings...

Thoughts on my course

2012-01-15T06:25:00.000-08:00

What I like about my course

I get to study many texts I would read in my spare time anyway and it looks beyond national borders by studying texts in translation.
What I also like about studying literature at uni is that pretty much everything I detested about GCSE and A-level is left aside. I hate studying characterisation and narrative structure. Maybe we'll look at that in closer detail in the second and third years - if that's the case, I don't look forward to it...
My course is also interdisciplinary, drawing from other subjects. I'm doing two film modules this year and they're part of the literature programme...
English is a very varied subject anyway. Something I was told by a lecturer at Hull University struck me: that he often saw lectures on sociology, History, philosophy etc. which he found perfectly suitable to be taught in English. I'd rather have that and draw from a wide range of disciplines instead of the fucking dull and narrow prescriptive analysis of texts...

What I don't like about my course

Contrary to what my 'About Me' says, I am actually quite enjoying my course, but here's a few things I dislike about it.
Like any other academic course, you've got to tick all the right boxes. My essays have ranged from receiving Firsts to Thirds. It always does my head in to give thought to the structure of the essay and ensure that I'm answering the question. I'd like to have more latitude to do whatever the fuck I want. I guess there would have been more of that if I'd studied Philosophy...
The workload can be a bit too much. I'm a slow reader, so I'm often behind with all the ludicrous amount of reading set... I'm so fed up with it at times that I know for certain that I'm not pursuing anything academic after getting a BA. There are some people who are willing to tear their brains to shreds studying for a doctorate, but I'm never going to go through all that trouble just to add three letters to my name...

Thoughts on my English school

2012-01-11T13:02:00.000-08:00

These are the words I had for the school I attended in Chile: "A school ran by disgusting bureaucrats, taught by disgusting teachers, attended by disgusting students, brought up by disgusting parents - in short, a school of disgusting cunts."

Gee, that's harsh... I have actually fairly fond recollections of my Chilean school. Even though the above is true, I don't think the rancour was necessary... My Chilean school may have been 'disgusting', but my school in England was much worse.

Whilst my school there was run by a disgusting head teacher who rightfully got fired, and for the most part consisted of absolutely vile students, I have fond memories of my circle of friends. Some of the teachers were also ok....

In England it was only in Year 11, after spending a prior five years there, that I had a circle of friends I appreciated. Perhaps it's because I started getting more rebellious in England, but most of the students in (fuck legal reasons, I'm going to write the name of my English school here) 'The Dronfield School' I found to be conformist unquestioning little nit-wits.

What was more atrocious was the way the syllabuses were taught... All 'overachieving' students were given special attention whilst the underachievers were left alone in the wilderness.

Dronfield is a bourgeois middle-class town, which means that its local school will inevitably receive more educated and academic students. That's the sole reason why it is one of the schools with best results at GCSE.

But were these 'overachievers' intelligent? I wouldn't say so. Most of the time (not always) they were taught arithmetic and science by their parents at the age of five in the hope that their boring bland child would eventually go onto become a precocious prodigy.... School work was second-nature to them, but school work aside, did they have any academic curiosity for anything? No.

So, when I was there, I found the work painfully tedious... I decided that I simply wouldn't do it - I would either truant or attend classes and doze in the corner.

So I was classed as an 'underachiever,' but believe me, I didn't receive any sympathy. Most of the teachers got infuriated by my reluctance to work. Often, I felt like telling to their faces: why should I work on some dull formulaic meaningless piffle when I could do some real learning by looking at beautiful meadows in the countryside or staying at home listening to some chamber music by Maurice Ravel?

And I've been told several thing from other people who, unlike me, came from working-class backgrounds. One of my sister's friends is dyslexic and she never received any assistance for English and, to this day, still does not have a GCSE degree in the subject. The seating arrangements also worked against her advantage: the overachieving students would sit in the front of the room whilst students with less 'potential' would be sit at the back of the room without any assistance. She wasn't even diagnosed as dyslexic at the time.

I seriously could sue the school. After school I had a psychotic breakdown which was largely induced by memories of many of the school teachers and students...

After I got over my illness I got into a FE education college. My results from my school left me with a 'D' target grade. In the first year I ended up with AAB.

I was awarded a prize for 'Outstanding progress.' I looked at the other awards for other more 'practical/manual' courses and recognised the names of two underachievers who attended my school awarded as 'High Achievers'...

In the last few days I spent in that disgusting fortress they organised a school yearbook collating comments from all the students. I filched a quote from Frank Zappa: "Without deviation from the norm, progress is not possible." In a book laden with stupid inane quotes, my (stolen) contribution was perhaps the only one which was actually saying something. After my head of year read it, every time she saw me she'd sheepishly say "Oh... hello Simon."

Review #27

2012-01-08T15:17:00.000-08:00

Esperanto - Rodrigo Fresán

On a trip to Bilbao, Spain (a trip in which the priority was to see Marcelo Bielsa's current football team Athletic Bilbao in action) I saw this book and bought it. Since it was the christmas break I thought, fuck it, I'm going to read this as a little divagation from the books set for uni. I was also very keen to read another book in Spanish again, such a rich language I love to peruse.

Having devoured many of the Latin-American classics in the past, I have been very interested in knowing how contemporary fiction from these parts fares... Sure, the critics have practically built a shrine in Roberto Bolano's honour, but - as elsewhere - there are swathes of other writers who do not receive as much attention.

How does this fare, then? Compared with most of the classics, not very well. On its own terms, this is entertaining, original and loopy...

'Esperanto' is an actual language a philologist called Lazarus Ludwig Zamenhof devised, who attempted to produce a composite of all existing languages, thus producing one 'universal' tongue.

And the narrator is christened 'Esperanto'. A former rock star who idolises James Dean and Bob Dylan, he has perished into obscurity for many years and now lives sequestered in a dingy apartment.

And he is the novel's namesake: Ernesto cannot make himself understood to others. Sure, he has no speech impediments and he is articulate, but he lives in a world of rejection and unfortunate mishappenings.

Drifting in and out of sleep, experiencing odd dreams that overlap with the events of the book, his best friend is a giant called Montana Mágica, whose principal interest is the various sounds you can make with farts...

Taking place withing a week, the tone - like the character - is hasty and frenetic. What we mainly see is Esperanto's memories: the past relationships he has had with women, his relationship with his relatives and his debunked career as a rock star.

Once Ernesto gets caught up in a mix-up in a discotheque, the whole thing lets loose and grabs you by the thorat in a cocktail of weirdness... The only shortcoming is the repetetive language; I sometimes found myself re-reading lines, only to find it was the same line, slightly altered and slightly tinkered...

Is there a wealth of great latin-American fiction? Sure. Is this it? I'd say so. Does it beat the hell out of the derivative banal magic realism of the Garcia Marquez variety? Hell yes. Is it going to change the world? No. But it certainly is worth reading...

My routine

2012-01-05T13:06:00.000-08:00

"I lead an extremely quiet life. [...] I write during the day, go for a walk along the river in the early evening and then watch TV and drink whisky and soda. And that seems to be the right background for me as an imaginative writer; perhaps I need invisible surroundings and this suburb is almost invisible to me." - J. G. Ballard

A month-long break from university means I have the chance to practice my routine....

8-9

Get up by at least 8.30 and arrive at this pond by 9.00.

9-12

Read book.

Recently a few examples being:

12-1

Scourge the fridge for food. Invariably this tends to consist of egg, bacon, spagetthi, cheese, etc.

1-5

Go to the library and work. First two hours are spent on a short story (just started a piece called 'The Murmurings'), the next two hours are spent on an essay or other university work.

This is my workplace:

5-7

(From 5 onwards the schedule tends to be more variable and don't necessarily stick to it so rigidly)

'Chill'/listen to music. Last few days I've been using this block of time to hear Beethoven symphonies...

7-9

Once every two days, spend this block of time on the internet; the other day use this time to watch a film.

And all this will come to an end within a week or so... Aghhr. : (

The value of the 19th century novel

2011-12-30T14:35:00.000-08:00

I've gone on record on this blog of saying that most 19th fiction is worthless and kitsch. The only novelist from this period I haven't derided is Dostoyevsky.

But then Dostoyevsky is a different kind of writer - he prefigures the existentialists and the nightmare visions of Kafka.

But the fact is that even the tamer, more conventional writing of the period is of worth and can teach a whole lot to any budding writer.

Even the equivalent chick lit of that time. I mean there's a lot of passion to Wuthering Heights - and it's genuine, heart-warming, involving even if you're a cynical male...

And that novel is one of many that's finely structured. WH may be an odd example in that is a sort of Pandora's box story-within-a-story, but the A to B novels of the day, be it in Balzac, Zola, Tolstoy or Stendhal, have merit... They are finely written, descriptive and have one aspect that lacks in today's serious fiction - it reflects their time of production.

A lot of the social realism in those novels are mirror images of the time the writers were writing in... Stendhal, however soppy a lot of his romances are, give a real vivid impression of 19th century society. The post-modernist trickery of today's fiction is more interested in the idea of meta-fictional illusion by reminding the reader that he is reading a work of fiction... Either case, neither social realism nor meta-fictitious narratives are the one-and-only way to write fiction, but both are equally valuable.

Sensory and cognitive perceptions in music

2011-12-28T11:17:00.000-08:00

The Double Life of Veronique (Kryzstof Kieslowski, 1991)

For a film module I'm taking I did a presentation on this clip. I touched on several themes, but something I covered that I'd like to explore in further detail here is a theme of 'universality' and its relation to music.

Double Life is a film Kieslowski made in the wake of a realisation that his storytelling gifts were universal. He realised that he didn't, he said, make small 'provincial' films but that his films moved hearts from across the globe.

The film features the same person, Veronique/Weronika, or far more arguablytwo 'soul mates', who make different ethical choices. Both are musically gifted and when Weronika has a chance to be a lead singer in a choral piece, because of her frail heart condition, collapses and dies. Veronique, having a presentiment or fear that this fate awaits her, pulls out of music.

So, using this clip, I argued that people from all walks of life react similarly to the same piece of music because it is a 'universal' language. I argued that music could be seen as more sensory than cognitive; you 'feel' it far more than 'think' through it.

In hindsight, I realise that this isn't entirely true... It's just that, because of my lack of technical musical knowledge, I see music as some sort of ineffable language that can't be explained nor elucidated...

But is music really a 'universal' language? This may seem odd coming from an ardent fan of classical composers like Xenakis and Varese and dissonant rock performers like The Fall and Captain Beefheart...

That's why many of the post-war composers were accused of 'elitism' - producing material that could only be heard and understood by small groups of people.

Kieslowksi used music to represent this interconnection between cultures, to bridge a gap between eastern and western Europe. People can be united by the 'Ode to joy', but would the blaring sounds of Varese's Ionisation really do the trick? ...

Yet, still, for me, listening to modern classical music is a sensory experience. Never setting my eye on the scores of these pieces I just listen to the sounds and try disentangling the musical activity. This still isn't cognitive - I'm not exactly using my brain to decode intellectual processes... I'm basically reacting very emotively to something that was conceived in a very methodical and intellectual manner.

And to place all this together is in itself a mathematical discipline. The school of serialism and many other forms of modern composition use procedures that are cognitive... But when I hear music by Webern and Berg I'm not able to distinguish all this - I react to it through sheer intuition.

Whilst listening to music is principally, though not always, a sensory endeavour... the argument I made in my presentation is arguable. The Third Reich appropriated Wagner in their pursuit of world domination, but did the whole world come together as a result? No.

Why the political and metaphysical are intrinsic

2011-12-23T11:13:00.000-08:00

In a childish post I wrote a couple of years ago I wrote that 'reality is fiction and fiction is reality,' but then argued that reality must be distorted at all costs and that it's unnecessary to follow political events.

A perceptive comment left by Doug said the following: "The metaphysical and the physical are one and the same. I do not feel this requires a dismissal of political events. I do feel that it does lend itself more to certain political leanings for a variety of different reasons."

Either way, both are unavoidable. The mind is at once controlled by politcal beauracracy and unconscious impulses. Rejecting one or the other is denial.

Political machinations are the foundation for everyone's lives. I wouldn't say that it's vital to keep a close watch on the current political events, but important decisions reached at the commons have a direct or indirect effect on other people's lives. It certainly isn't foolish to have political inclinations.

And the political has an intrinsic relationship with the metaphysical. For instance, the films of Kryzstof Kieslowski recurrently feature the theme of destiny and the synchronism of human emotion. These are metaphysical themes influenced by philosophical texts. Yet the destinies of these characters are at once determined by politcal undercurrents and their own free will.

Blind Chance

Take his film Blind Chance. The film sees Witek chasing a train, foreseeing three possible outcomes: he cathces it and works as intelligence for the communist government; he misses the train and becomes a dissdent; he crashes into a train attendant and he decides to continue his medical studies, living an apolitcal life.

It certainly was audacious to make this film under the communist regime, but that's beside the point: this film is a composite of metaphysical elements and political. Witek has existential dilemmas that he attempts to confront, which are determined by the repression of the communist order.

If one is able to gauge an idea of the metaphysical, a good and common example is the dream life of an individual. The political climate no doubt influences the outcome of a dream - especially if it's communist Poland or the Soviet Union - yet at the same time the so-called 'unconscious' of an individual has an inverse function: it determines the choices we make, the way we behave, and it moulds our society.

How does the agenda I had three years ago reflect this? How does one 'distort reality'? The distortion of reality is certainly something I continue to be interested in, but is completely irrelevant to the 'reality is fiction and fiction is reality' argument. Reality and fiction play off one another - the distortion of reality is an entirely different endeavour that would require an entirely different blog post...

Review #26

2011-12-10T07:01:00.000-08:00

Memorias prematuras (Premature Memories) by Rafael Gumucio

A descendent of the political left, Gumucio found himself exiled from his own country, Chile. This, his first novel, charts his experiences abroad as a coming-to-age story of his place of birth viewed from afar.

What I think makes the whole thing effective is that it is narrated from the point of view of a child. Gumucio is not really evoking but almost transmitting his experiences, or 'recording' them, from the very instant.

The character aspires to be a 'genius' within a world lacking in culture, but his own limitations counterabalance against that, which leads to feelings of impotence and self-loathing.

And the novel's frequent shift to adulthood gives it a sense of reflexivity that sheds light on these 'premature memories'.

A very entertaining read and suitable for any kindred spirit who lives in Chile and has felt distanced by the country's disparity and class system.

-------------------------------

I copy and pasted this from my GoodReads account so that I can get all the procrastination out of my fucking system and to finally focus on my essay!

Two masters

2011-12-09T08:15:00.000-08:00

Jorge Luis Borges and J. G. Ballard, c. 1971.

Oh fuck...

2011-12-08T08:58:00.000-08:00

One 2,000 word essay due in for Wednesday...

Another 2,000 word essay due in for the following Friday...

Haven't started either.

My favourite films of the year

2011-12-03T12:32:00.000-08:00

I'm sure there's a plethora of young directors doing all sorts of interesting things and making 'advancements' in the film idiom as it were, but I ain't checking them out... The films I have seen that most impressed me were by three old 'masters': Woody Allen, Werner Herzog and Terrence Malick.

Midnight in Paris

I saw this at a cinema in Buenos Aires, an experience which shaped a short story called '8 PM in Buenos Aires'. I was giggling and smiling throughout the entirity of this. A young Hollywood hack wants to get into serious novel writing, starting a book about someone who runs a nostalgia shop in Paris. He is a fanboy obsessed with the Parisian literati of the 1920s and, hey ho, as he walks through the Parisian streets a time warp materialises, Woody doesn't explain how, and he arrives at 1920s, meeting all his literary idols - Hemingway, F. Scot Fitzgerald, Gertude Stein among others! In my story, I walk out of the cinema and meet all my Argenitnean literary heroes! It was kind of funny that, when I saw this at the local cinema here at the university, not a student was in sight - heaving with old fogeys. For them Allen is an object of nostalgia, the very thing the film (very light-heartedly) lampoons. This has to be his best film in many, many years.

Cave of Forgotten Dreams

Herzog acquired special permission to go into the Chateu Cave, home to the oldest cave paintings on earth. I didn't see this in 3D (it was a free screening, so I guess I shouldn't complain...), but it was still absolutely remarkable. With his classic wry humour and poetic insight, Herzog narrates these truly astonishing and historic paintings. Ever the anthropologist, there are numerous interviews with experts which delve into the living conditions of these prehistoric men. "These are the first examples of prototype cinema," Herzog says. However bizarre its ending (Herzog latches on a 'postscript' about albino crocodiles), this is still an enthralling mesmeric experience. To think that it may have been even more extraordinary in 3D!

The Tree of Life
Pretentious? Check. Humourless? Check. A lot of whispering voices? Double check! Malick has been given full rein to indulge himself as much as he can, but the thing is that this is the most ambitious and complex film to hit the multiplexes since 2001. And once more, like the Herzog, I didn't see this in its full glory. A film of such grandiose proportions should really be seen at cinemas but, alas, I went to Chile whilst this was screened in the UK. And it was just about to be shown in South America just as I came back here! So I had to comfort myself with the DVD. This really reminded me of Tarkovsky Mirror, a sort of autobiographical mosaic/cine-poem... It was beautifully shot, not to mention the fascinating recreation of the genesis... The ending I found rather beautiful, however sentimental many would accuse it of being. Few worldwide multiplex films have so many early walk-outs, but then few are this beautiful. What the hell is this all about some may ask? The answer is: everything starting from time immemorial!

Come the revolution

2011-11-28T09:15:00.000-08:00

Here's one of the many things I'm missing out of the so-called 'uni experience': snotty pseudo-intellectual discussions and revolutionising.

When I walked out of the university cinema the other day I saw a group of bespectacled long-haired youths saying stuff like "Yeah, communism is a great way out of the current financial crisis."

And it does seem that there's a little of that in the air right now, with the movement 'Occupy.'

I've never liked the idea of movements. A bunch of ambitious youngsters develop a revolutionary idea, only to be rebuked by the following generation of youngsters a few decades later, then again - ad-infinitum.

But I'm sure it must be exciting to be involved in some sort of movement... And what's warmed my heart is that my generation, generally typified by its apathy and conformism, has forged a something exciting... A generation which has left nothing behind other than technological gadgets, shallow trends and... The Arctic Monkeys...

But what does this movement consist of, exactly? It's not clear. The Arab Spring has been cited as an influence, in addition to the protests currently taking place in Israel and Chile.

And the fact is that, in my book, in this shitty fucking world we live in... it's pretty justifiable to take a stance and complain.

But I don't think I'll take a part and never will... I live too much of a closeted life. Come the revolution everyone will be out in the streets marching, deposing the leading political figures as I'm locked in some stingy little room somewhere wanking and hearing Beethoven symphonies...

University romanticised

2011-11-26T09:10:00.000-08:00

The Second Heimat

Ever since I was a small child I was told that I'd find my niche at university. For some years it seemed that I'd never attend university, which some people may consider a "shame" or a "waste."

One of my favourite films, which I saw when I was fifteen, is The Second Heimat. The film follows a young composer who leaves behind his small village to study music in Munich. He discovers avant-garde music, intellectualises, etc. and the film focuses on several other sub-plots and characters, all of whom have their own dramas.

I don't know if this is one of the many books and films that romanticises university, or if people really do have this kind of experience at their alma mater... But I've had a pretty miserable time at university so far...

Maybe it's the university itself? I did turn down an offer from King's College to come here... But I don't know. Maybe because the world has developed and expanded over the last fifty years, attending university may not be as exciting as it was in the early sixties for Herman...

Or this says more about me than about academic institutions... Perhaps I'm such a defeatist that I always look for the worst possible outcomes... And I'm so prejudiced that I'm rarely willing to make friends with people who are markedly different...

You have fifteen seconds to summarise Proust!

2011-11-18T06:14:00.000-08:00

I wanted to upload a post of this Woody Allen video from the film Crimes and Misdemeanors... but fucking embedding is disabled for it.

So for this blog's video fix, time for something completely different.

Summarise Proust Competition by Monty Python

Innate curiosity

2011-11-15T11:41:00.000-08:00

I'm wondering: is intellectual, scientific or artistic curiosity a result of one's surroundings and upbringing or an innate quality?

There's ample evidence to back the second view. There are several erudite writers who didn't grow up in literary households and great movements boom from places where culture doesn't figure in every-day life.

I was lucky to grow up in a house-hold where there were always a lot of books and films in the house. From an early age I was able to develop an interest in a broad range of subjects.

But then... I have encountered several people with this curiosity who didn't grow up in this sort of environment. I'm going to illustrate this with an environment where different ways of thinking don't really figure in every-day life.

In the city I grew up in, Concepción, it was very difficult for individuals to look out of their little insular bubble. Not only is it difficult to have intellectual interests there but take a different political stance and there's little doubt that you'll be ostracized.

My old school there is a good example of this. A school ran by disgusting beauracrats, taught by disgusting teachers, attended by disgusting students, brought up by disgusting parents - in short, a school of disgusting cunts.

So, in a 'disgusting' place like this, how does one develop an interest in anything?

It is kind of ironic that one of the people I accused in this blog (though I didn't want him to read the post, but that's one of the risks you run with being so fucking candid online) of lacking curiosity is one of the most curious people to have gone through that school: http://simonking1.blogspot.com/2011/08/when-curiosity-is-at-peak.html Unlike the typical response you would have expected from a former atendee of that school, he actually stood his ground and intelligently argued against me.

And one of my childhood friends I found out has an interest in architecture, playing musical instruments, photography, reconstructing vintage cars, 60s and 70s rock, etc. And he didn't grow up in the kind of environment where you'd expect this sort of curiosity from emerging.

Whilst these people haven't completely broken out of this 'bubble' (invariably you'll find that they espouse all the right-wing political beliefs passed on directly from their parents), they are examples that unusual and creative minds can come from anywhere. A Marxist reading of this subject would say that all human beings are products of their environment, but through my observations I find that originality and curiosity can sprout out of anywhere.

In defence of the pessimistic

2011-11-12T10:22:00.000-08:00

In his book of new age philosophy Psychomagic, Alejandro Jodorowsky states that (paraphrasing here...) "the world is ill," the role of art is to "cure" and that "art which doesn't do this is a failure." He ends all this by decrying the popularity of Kafka.

This is some of the biggest load of cobblers I've ever heard in my life. I've got absolutely no issue with his dismissal of Kafka (there is plenty to object to about Kafka and if I'm perfectly willing to accept any tirade of abuse you are willing to pour over him), it's what he's saying...

The word 'pessimism' seems to be a term no-one is willing to embrace in the literary/film/etc. world. Negative feelings are out there; people feel disillusioned; unhappiness outweighs happiness... there is more immorality than morality etc. etc. So, if it is present, why not discuss it?

The world is ill, Alejandro tells us - art is there to cure it... Ok, if that is your aesthetic - go ahead, do all the curing you can... But the fact is that 'art' can be very morally ambivalent and still be of value.

I do accept that 'positive' feelings are good for you. What I do not accept, however, is that the 'negative' must be hid behind a cushion never to be discussed or acknowledged.

Film adaptations I'd like to make

2011-11-05T06:59:00.000-07:00

THE CASTLE, KAFKA

The atmosphere of this book... is so visual and haunting. To visually recreate the scenes of this book with quality cinematography and set designs would be the bomb... The footage shot outdoors with an abundance of snow and whiteness in contrast with the darkness and murkiness of interior shots would be remarkable. Would the screenplay writer add an ending or leave it at a loose end?

THE SOUND AND THE FURY, WILLIAM FAULKNER

I think this has already been made, but from what I can gather that adaptation is a linear recreation of the book. But wouldn't it be cool to attempt a literal adaptation of this? True, it would be almost impossible, but the frenetic jumps in time would be interesting to see on the screen. It would be intriguing to see how a film-maker would try to create a cinematic equivalent of Quentin's mental collapse. With the increasing number of hollywood non-linear flicks I see no reason why someone can't take the bull by the horns and attempt to transpose this into visual form.

THE OBSCENE BIRD OF NIGHT, JOSE DONOSO

Many would argue that the sheer complexity of this novel + the number of perspectives, dual narratives would not tranfer well to the screen. Apparently Luis Bunuel kept telling Donoso that he wanted to film this, but that the narrative strand of the deformed mutants didn't interest him. He wanted to exclusively recreate the old ladies' home. Personally I'd rather see an attempt to construct expensive set designs of the castle Azcoita builds for his son 'Boy' + gory make-up and costumes done for the mutants.

HOUSE TAKEN OVER, JULIO CORTAZAR

Well, I've already written a screenplay for a short film of this, so it'd be nifty to see someone film it.

THE DROWNED WORLD, J.G BALLARD

Ballard is a very visual writer, so he really makes you feel this vision of an inundated London... The thrilling storyline would fare well in a film too.

Reading list for pleasure

2011-11-02T13:55:00.000-07:00

Post-Office - Charles Bukowski (Fiction)
Elecciones presidenciales, democracia y partidos politicos en el Chile pos-Pinochet - Alan Angell (Non-fiction, politics)
Habana para un infante difunto - Guillermo Cabrera Infante (Fiction)
The Rest is Noise - Alex Ross (Non-fiction, music)
The Book of Illusions - Paul Auster (Fiction)
A Cultural History of Latin-America: Literature, Music and Visual Arts in the 19th and 20th Centuries - Leslie Bethell (Non-fiction, culture)
Hijos sin hijos - Enrique Vila-Matas (Fiction)
El astillero - Juan Carlos Onetti (Fiction)
Blood Meridian - Cormac McCarthy (Fiction)
Thus Spoke Zarathustra - Friedrich Nieztsche (Non-fiction, philosophy)
A book on German culture.
Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell (Fiction)
Existentialism is Humanism - Jean-Paul Sartre (Non-fiction, philosophy)
Los lanzallamas - Roberto Arlt (Fiction)
Los siete locos - Roberto Arlt (Fiction)
History of Western Philosophy - Bertrand Russel (Non-fiction, philosophy)

I want to broaden my horizons, so about 45% of this is non-fiction.

But... I plan to read all this... in about three years' time, after I've completed university. I'm so anxious to get my hands on these books that dropping out altogether may be on the cards for the rest of my tenure here!

If I manage to organise my time and actually get around to studying (instead of worrying about studying) I may get around to reading all this... but that I ain't gonna happen... Besides, I don't want to be distracted by my studies when dipping into these beasts.

Women

2011-10-28T12:04:00.000-07:00

How do I gauge my complex feelings towards women? ...

A look at some of my stories - or indeed these blog posts - and I may be accused of misogny. Not only are my female characters card-board cut-outs, they are simply there as objects of desire. At best, they are objects of love...

With the exception of family members, I don't see women that much. They are a mystery. While I am often infatuated with certain girls, this is never reciprocated.

Though I must say, the few times I have met women I find that I can have far more coherent conversations with them... I find them more accessible.

But then... I find most English girls pretty vile. They continue to hold dear the social codes of the school playground - laugh at 'nerds', smother themselves up with make-up, be materialistic - that to consider spending time with me is pretty laughable.

And it should indeed come as no surprise that in the first two occasions where I made advances with women, these girls weren't English.

I saw a beautiful French girl at the airport in Paris. We looked at each other and smiled. This has never happened before.

And a few weeks later I flirted with a girl - from Syria... I seemed to have charmed her - she laughed throughout our entire conversation and said that she really enjoyed talking to me. This girl may even have considered to be sexy, but I let her slip away...

I don't at all hate women. I'd say that, in a warped sort of way, I am obsessed with them... Sadly Darwin got it spot on with the law of sexual attraction: to be attractive, you have to dress yourself decently and open yourself up to win someone else's heart. I am scruffy and withdrawn, which is why, on the whole, girls tend to ignore me or, depending on the level of cuntishness, scold me.

Apathy

2011-10-26T11:30:00.000-07:00

I am enthusiastic about the things that I am interested in...

But then I have made the discovery that I am apathetic about most things...

Seriously, I find that I don't care. While I am interested in certain aspects of politics and current events, talk to me about your passion for organic food, your emphatic interest in abolishing abortion or your deep disrespect for euthanasia and... you'll find me yawning.

Not to speak of science and mathematics... I remember how my dad tried in vain to coach me for GCSE maths... I mean, the few times I did manage to work out the formulas I was left cold... I mean, yeah, I get it - but what's its use? I'm sure if you study it at a more advanced level, or if you study physics, you may apply it to something more useful... But I am not willing to plough through the rudimentary basics to get to that...

And geology - again I'm apathetic. I love nature, I love beautiful landscapes... but if you were to explain how these landscapes were formed by centuries of erosion or whatever I don't give a fuck. In San Pedro de Atacama the guides would explain how the rocks were formed there, how salt appeared there... This didn't shed light on the landscape's beauty...

We keep coming back to this - people. I simply don't care about other's tribulations or quandaries... And I find most people so detached from what I'm like that to care for them... would be like caring for alien species from a distant galaxy. I'm sure this is exactly what people feel when reading this blog or what you are experiencing right now reading these very words.

Yet I'm not a nihilist. I see hope. I see a way out. That's why I stick to what I care about. And I battle on and on.

A list of people I despise

2011-10-21T10:11:00.000-07:00

Sergio Jadue, Cristian Warnken, Rodrigo Hinzpeter (blimey, three Chilean people in succession), Julio Grondona, Richard Dawkins, a few people from my old school in England who have in all likelihood forgotten about me, Boris Johnson, David Cameron, Raymond Domenech, Sarah Palin, Oprah, Martin Amis, Jarvis Cocker, Thom York, George Bush, Bill O'Reilley, Sepp Blatter, Tom Cruise, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Alejandro Jodorowsky, Phil Collins.

I'll try to think of more later.

THEY'RE ALL CUNTS OUT THERE!!!!!!!!

Overstatement

2011-10-21T05:59:00.000-07:00

One has to wonder if the adjectives "Genius," "Best," or "Masterpiece" are really accurate descriptions for something...

Or the need for wanking over a film or whatever with flowery language.

The French are really good at that. I'm sure if you were to take out the arts section of La Monde I'm sure it's teeming with such language.

'Overstatement' also purports to be the absolute truth... For instance, my book of a J. G. Ballard short story collection has the omnipresent Will Self declare "The most important British contemporary writer." Really, Will? According to what or whom? Basically he is camouflaging his own predilections and preferences.

And, like the previous post 'Chic', once more I will confess that I am also guilty of 'overstatement' Just a quick read through some of my posts and many recurring words surface like "Best," "Most important," or "Remarkable," etc.

Though I guess overstatement is useful in some instances. When one wants to prove a point one has to resort to overgeneralising, to prove a more complex subject in a more condensed simplified language... It still gets on my tits every now an then, though.

She's gonna groove it the whole night long

2011-10-16T07:10:00.000-07:00

'Bo Duddley' by Peter Cook and Dudley Moore

Chic

2011-10-15T09:28:00.000-07:00

I really don't like flamboyance.

So, in turn, I don't really like showing my personality to others.

But that's something most people do - it shows in ther clothes, in their mannerisms, their vanity.

And it shows in a lot of art - the "Oh, look at me," chic poncey crap.

That's why I've become disenchanted with a lot of movements I previously revered. The Beat movement, for instance. With the exception of William Burroughs I don't think many of its participants were particularly good writers. A lot of it just consists of superfluous tricks aiming to floor the audience. Allen Ginsberg's poetry is, I find, self-consciously playful, hip and just plain literary onanism. Even though I did to some extent enjoy On the Road when I was 16 one has to admit that its literary value owes far more to its context than content.

The same can be said for much of the French new wave. Even though I love many of the films that emerged from the movement, much of it was far more concerned with self-conscious posing than any actual revolutionising of cinema.

So, yeah, in essence, we all want to be a little chic. I can't stand the idea of it and that's probably one of my many shortcoming. We can't help but feel a little vain.

This may seem quite contradictory because a lot of the writing on this blog is pure chicness... Long-winded philosophising, flowery reviews of books, venerating comments about art films... Damn.

Solitude

2011-10-13T07:38:00.000-07:00

Here I'll propound a theory on solitude.

Days when I don't meet people I feel splendid. I feel 'fulfilled', content, productive. I'm not plagued by existential dilemmas or anything of the sort: I feel like I'm really accomplishing something.

On the other, days when I meet others... I feel miserable. Either because I said something that made me look like an arsehole, the way others regard me or comments other people make.

So: the three days I come into contact with others, total fucking misery; the rest of the week where I don't communicate, wonderful.

This may go against the grain of scientific proof, but fuck me, this is the way my mind tends to work. I guess that makes me inhuman.

Though science is true to some extent: if I don't communicate at all I literally go insane. That's why I have to communicate in moderation - even if it means ringing my dad up every evening and waffling about the thoughts circulating through my head.

In any case, when other people see me, I can tell they think of me as some sort of parasitic non-entity. They have that eye on me; the same eye that all the low-lives and cunts had on me in the past. Why should I mingle with them? They are just as secular and unwilling to embrace eccentricity as the people I encountered previously. Maybe a little more educated, but that's as far as it goes.

Concentration

2011-10-11T12:19:00.000-07:00

My concentration is beginning to wane...

After all, I've been on this v. potent medication for almost four years...

I'm ok-ish at lectures and seminars, but when it comes to independent work... I can't concentrate. I've yet to find a rhythm, so I'm kind of stuck in a lethargic stupor.

Today was a major advancement: I worked for three continuous hours without my mind wandering away. Though it must be said, by the time I was finished, my brain was throbbing.

I'd have been far better off studying at university at the age of 17/18. Back then I could easily read 60+ pages per day without difficulty. Now, at most, I get through 30 pages... And that's just the bare primary reading - there's a lot of secondary reading I haven't got my hands on.

I seem to be on the moon perpetually... For instance, when I was in Chile some people in the south seriously believed that I had attention deficit disorder because I hardly ever heard dinner-table conversations... So they'd ask me a question and I'd simply stare blankly into space without acknowledging them. This olanzapine has gradually built some sort of wall around my brain, which sort of barricades vital information - either trivial or intellectual - from breaking in and getting processed.

Hopefully I'll be come off it soon and hopefully... I might get into a rhythm for my course.

Top 11 Films - Revised

2011-10-09T08:26:00.000-07:00

Where would I be without lists...

1. 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968, Stanley Kubrick) USA
2. Blue Velvet (1986, David Lynch) USA
3. Andrei Rublev (1966, Andrei Tarkovsky) RUSSIA
4. A Man Escaped (1956, Robert Bresson) FRANCE
5. Aguirre, the Wrath of God (1971, Werner Herzog) GERMANY
6. The Second Heimat (1992, Edgar Reitz) GERMANY
7. The Big Lebowski (1998, Coen Brothers) USA
8. The Producers (1968, Mel Brooks) USA
9. Taxi Driver (1977, Martin Scorcese) USA
10. The Passion Joan of Arc (1928, Carl Theodor Dreyer) DENMARK/FRANCE
11. Three Colours Trilogy (1993-94, Kryzstof Kieslowski) POLAND/FRANCE

Honourable mentions: Crimes and Misdemeanors, Barton Fink, Dr. Strangelove, Stalker, Mirror La grand illusion, Ordet, Videodrome, A Short Film about Killing, The King of Comedy, The Seventh Seal, Alphaville, Vivre Sa Vie, The Green Ray, Metropolis, Spellbound, Bicycle Thieves, Burden of Dreams, The White Ribbon. ETC.

Fuck, I'm procrastinating again. I'm so easily distracted...

Influences

2011-10-07T06:33:00.000-07:00

After writing a the stories in my 'Confroting Reality' collection (the seven stories described in the side bar) I found that a few were were similar to films and books I had read in the past. I hadn't set out out to replicate them, but they seeped into my mind and had an impact on the end result.

Below I list two influences on four stories. I couldn't find any parallels for three stories (Painting on the Wall, S. B. S.B + Parasite), so these aren't listed.

False Beauty

The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolano (Chile, novel, 1998)
The Outsider by Alber Camus (France, novel, 1942)

Deep Down in Talca

The Feast of the Goat by Mario Vargas Llosa (Peru, novel, 2000)
Pulp Fiction by Quentin Tarantino (USA, film, 1994)

The Perpetual Death of the Composer

Doctor Faustus by Thomas Mann (Germany, novel, 1947)
The Locked Room by Paul Auster (USA, novella, 1987)

Planet Zhelanie

Stalker by Andrei Tarkovsky (Russia, film, 1977)
The Circular Ruins by Jorge Luis Borges (Argentina, short story, 1941)

Ineffability

2011-10-03T11:48:00.000-07:00

There are many perceptions that can't be put to words, which are somehow 'ineffable'... For me, at least, certain books or films, and pretty much all music, can't be elucidated. More pressingly, to evoke certain sensations by words is simply impossible...

Let's take a book as an example. It's words on paper. You may analyse the syntax, the grammar, and reach a conclusion as to how it's structured. But that in a sense falls through when meaning is connoted... Does meaning originate from these structures, or is it some sort of... embodiment of something far more abstract? When I read I am certainly left with that sensation. I can't pinpoint a reason how words on paper often leave me with a certain... wondrous feeling. It certainly isn't something technical like grammar.

The medium most commonly used to illustrate this point is music. There are swathes of high-minded musicologists and academics who can refute that with statistics and graphs. But for someone with no technical knowledge of music, how can I explain what a Beethoven or Mahler symphony does to me? I am left in a certain emotional trance, but it is impossible to attribute concrete meaning... These beautiful sounds can evoke memories, be attributed with similes and metaphorical descriptions... but, without a grasp of its technical rudiments, can you truly describe what it means?

Finally, I want to write about an odd little feeling I experience every now and again... deja vu. When I'm often in certain locations - the Atacama desert, this uni, lecture rooms etc. etc. - I feel that I have seen this once before in a dream... Though I can't be sure because I can't entirely remember the original dream. I'm sure there are psychological explanations for this - that you witnessed a similar landscape elsewhere in the past - but I am left with a queer feeling... that I can't make head or tail of.

Small turns big

2011-09-30T09:23:00.001-07:00

I just quickly want to jot down a small (but big) idea that has been germinating in my mind recently.

It seems to me that most complex concepts - in philosophy, science, etc. - start with very simple epiphanies.

There's the classic Isaac Newton example. I can't claim to understand, nor read, any of his writings, but his big idea started small: an apple fell on his head, thus the concept of gravity came about. Eureka.

And for a lot of complicated philosophical ideas to be expounded, they are often required to be presented with a simple starting point. John Stuart Mill's utilitarianism, for instance, though a complex branch of philosophy starts with a premise that a Mozart symphony requires greater levels of intelligence and knowledge than eating an ice-cream... which leads to several discussions, theories, elaborations etc. etc. etc.

This may seem v. self-evident or simply platitudinous (my very use of this word may seem like a platitude in itself)... It's merely a (small) thought that has amused my mind recently.

------------

EDIT - When writng this I was not aware of any (possible) sexual connotations in the title of this post.

34th Parallel

2011-09-28T12:22:00.000-07:00

http://www.34thparallel.net/index.html

Well, I can't say it's The New York Times - but it's something. I'm going public...

My name is on the cover of some magazine, but here I am, all alone, unable to discuss it with anyone. The Perpetual Depression of Simon King.

Buy a copy to support this excellent magazine. It's part of a dying breed of publications.

10 Reasons why I'm already considering dropping out of uni

2011-09-25T09:36:00.000-07:00

I desperately want to return to the routine I had in Dronfield.
I don't like adhering to someone else's scheme-of-things. I want to impose my own self-devised timetable and programmes onto myself.
I don't want to write about books, I want to simply write them.
Literary analysis seems pretty futile to me... I mean, I don't really see much I didn't already know brought to the surface by merely looking at a paragraph of writing, annotating scrupulously and making observations.
I'm yet to see an extraordinarily attractive girl at this uni.
It has dawned on me that I am quite slow-witted. I'm dreading seminars because I don't how I will fare sitting witjh a roomful of youngsters having intellectual discourse. It takes me a long time to formulate observations - many seem to make them at the drop of a hat.
I don't know how I'll make the transition to university-level writing. I can't really tailor my writing to a specific formula...
This course seems terribly demanding... Apparently I need to devote 40+ hours of independent study each week...
Here comes an incredibly prejudiced assertion, since I've hardly spoken to anyone in my course: most of the people doing this course seem like poncey pseudo-intellectuals. They wear these thick squared pseudo-beatnik glasses (I bet they aren't even prescription) and make these pretentious remarks... If this isn't the case, some of the students are merely jocks who make me question why the fuck they have even chosen this course in the first place.
I miss the by-gone days of marvelling at the wonders of a library... without being part of any academic course of any sort.

I'm giving this thing one semester... If I'm still this despondent by then, I'm packing my suitcase and I'll take my leave.

The south

2011-09-24T08:01:00.000-07:00

Lautaro

A Mapuche ritual in Lautaro's 'plaza'.

Cañete

A Mapuche 'ruca' presented by none other than me. In Spanish.

Too heavy to upload here. So it's on YT.

Chile

2011-09-22T10:27:00.000-07:00

Right, the initial idea for my trip to Chile - hike from the northernmost town to the southernmost - floundered. I soon realised that it was too ambitious - far too ambitious. That's why I only visited certain sectors instead.

This was an almost epiphanic trip for me in that several 'positive' things occurred. I did far more socialising than usual, a dislikeable headteacher from my school in Chile was fired, a short story of mine was accepted for publication and my place in university was confirmed.

I am writing from there this very moment. I feel rather disillusioned by it - both academically and socially - but that's something I'll cover in a future post.

Sadly I didn't take as many photos as I would have liked, but I've uploaded more than enough here.

Santiago

La Moneda, at night.

Santiago, the capital, was my base. I stood at quite a disadvantage in that I stayed at my aunt's home in quite possibly the 'poshest', most privileged area in Chile - 'La Dehessa,' which is very far apart from the city centre and tourist attractions. This meant that I had often to commute on metro to reach places of interest.

The first few days were quite boring, but I soon started keeping myself occupied.

The tentative of the trip was to really 'see' Chile, though while I stayed in Santiago I can't really say I saw 'the real Chile'. La Dehessa is a very insular place, almost antithetical to 'real' Chilean places and people. My family were very very hospitable and friendly, though

Though I did get to see more of that when going over to the Southern town I grew up in as a child, Concepción.

Concepción

The two and a half weeks I spent in Concepción were terrific. The greatest joy was having conversations with the woman of the house, Paulina. I also got on very well with their elder sons and had lots of laughs.

In terms of football, there were nuggets of gold and there were catastrophic let-downs. I went to see the team I support, Fernandez Vial, win 3-0. On the other end of the spectrum Chile, despite playing attractive football, were eliminated in the quarter-finals of the Copa America. And the luckiest national side in the world went on to win it, again with a very favourable draw - Uruguay.

While I was there I was enthralled in the fiery politics in the country, which I'll write about below.

Student Protests

Universidad de Concepcion, gaining an almost apocalyptic dimension whilst 'en toma'.

'Lemas'.An authorised protest soon to turn into something a little nastier.

Universidad de Chile.

What gave my trip an interesting 'backdrop' was the political situation. Indeed, I came back with a stronger political conscience.

The protests made complete sense to me. What the students are claiming for may be disproportionate, but the general sentiment is absolutely justifiably.

Basically, everything in Chile is determined by the class system. State education is of far lower quality than private, which all in all leads you to a lower qualification. Private universities, which require large sums of money, have lower requisites. In short: if you are privileged, you'll have it far easier.

Solve the problem of education, something the centre-left party didn't do for twenty years of power, and there you improve the class differences in the country.

From conversations I had with people I couldn't help but feel that 20% of Chile have a worm's eye view of the world. They lead insular lives, mingle with no other people and continue to espouse backward beliefs. "If they push themselves, they [lower-class people] can achieve," was one account. How can they achieve if the current always runs against them?

Southern Towns

A statue of folk singer Violeta Parra in the town of her birth, San Carlos.

An indigenous ritual performed in Lautaro's public park. Video of this soon to follow.

Nacimiento, one of the poorest towns in Chile.

With a childhood friend I went across about eight southern towns. Miserable weather, several 'plazas', 'Mapuches - this was quintessentially Chilean.

I was lucky enough to witness a mapuche ritual right middle in the park of Lautaro. I'll upload this as a video soon.

San Pedro de Atacama

Valle de la luna.
Valle de marte.

Gheisers.
This was an incredible, if tiring, experience. I went to all the attractions of San Pedro within two or three days, virtually without having slept at all. Atacama is the driest desert in the world and the altiplano, as demonstrated in these photos, is beautiful.

Valparaíso

Valparaíso is a city by the port with a distinctive history. It is wonderful to climb up the hills and look at the scenery...

This was a great, great day. I was kept good company by a friend, who I relentlessly jabbered at throughout the entire trip. Couldn't have gone on a better day.

Buenos Aires, Argentina

The icing on the cake. Astonishing parks, books on all corners and plenty of culture...

Two pretty girls

2011-09-09T17:29:00.000-07:00

I had a lovely rendez-vous across Buenos Aires the last week. Buenos Aires is a bibliophile's heaven - book shops in every corner, teeming with the complete works of Borges. And you know what? There are a lot of pretty girls, too. You may get to know them, at least if you are prepared to initiate discourse with them...

Back in the north of England I couldn't possibly imagine seeing a female person my age perusing a copy of one of my favourite authors... Perhaps they'll read a little chick-lit, but J. G Ballard's Crash is a little off the radar...

Well, in Buenos Aires the girls are pretty and they read the same books as me... Yet, like the Anglo girls, they are completely disinterested at looking at me when I walk past...

But fuck fuck fuck... In a book shop a girl is right next to me and she's picked up a Julio Cortázar anthology... A day later I am in a cafe, outside in the blistering sun, a pretty girl sits in a table adjacent to mine, she orders a cortado (same as me) and she takes out a Roberto Bolaño book... For twenty mintues she reads through it, annotates it, drinks her coffee as I nervously flit my eyes across her.

And fuck, on both occasions, I do absolutely nothing.

I'm pathetic, I'm vermin, I'm dumb, I'm hopeless.

I'm of use to no-one but myself.

Burn bridges

2011-09-02T14:34:00.000-07:00

So much shit has happened that I think I must... burn bridges.

The past has haunted and haunted me... I have made many mistakes, but I must tighten up.

I really shouldn't fret about the past. All those cunts... are a thing of the past.

I have a place in a university... A short story of mine was accepted for publication. This is my starting point and I must be cautious and furtive.

All those people I despised - school companions, teachers, bureaucrats... Are probably wallowing in their shit right now, their backward minds, their backward societies... Victims of their own making.

Even people that didn't particularly bother me - goodbye. You're part of the past, a scheme of things that is no longer relevant.

My new life beckons me.

"You will never sense things the same way"

2011-08-30T18:17:00.000-07:00

Following my episode, the local council arranged several sessions in which I spoke to a psychiatrist, where I was instructed with 'advise'.

I've never liked the idea of advise. I've always despised all the fucking hogwash pedalled in 'PSE' classes, anti-drug presentations. Teenagers never swallow it, but they attentively listen to it.

Anyway, for most of these sessions with my psychiatrist I'd nod and say "yes" to all the advise she gave on how to avoid a relapse etc. etc. etc.

I completely forgot about this, though it re-surfaced a couple of hours ago, she said something along the lines of "You will never perceive situations the same way. Don't be surprised if you no longer engage or view your surroundings differently." Something like that - I'm not entirely sure.

But fuck, it's true. For instance, when I visit foreign countries - like now, I'm in Chile - I do not feel like I am abroad, I just 'float' by situations.

This could be due to all the medication I've consumed for nearly four years... My brain feels... scrambled... at all times, I feel drowsy... I have now reached the point where I need a clean mind.

Yet... All the fucking trauma I experienced... All those stupid delusional thoughts, all the hallucinations, all the hyperactivity... I'm pretty sure has immunised me to perceiving the world more sharply and that all new events that transpire in my life... simply pass me by.

It can happen anywhere

2011-08-12T18:16:00.000-07:00

Having past over a month in a 'third world' country, two striking news bulletins of note crossed my eye, coming from very stable and prosperous 'first world' countries: Norway and (my place of residence): United Kingdom.

During my stay thus far in Chile, the social inequalities here are been protested by students claiming for fairer education system, something that, if amended, would be a stepping stone to solving the staggering class differences.

The right-wing government (the first since the dissolution of the Pinochet regime in 1990) are unable to handle the protesters, slipping down to an all-time low 26% approbation. An incompetent government, constantly changing tack and direction without a fixed plan, the social injustices have exploded all over Sebastián Piñera's face. In short, there's turmoil here - but in a 'third world' country.

Can delinquency, social unrest, carnage only erupt in third world countries? These two news bulletins to me completely refute this: social unrest can surface in any part of the world. If anything, it is very like to surface in tranquil areas.

The case in Norway is staggering, a terrorist act carried out by a single man, killing over eighty people in a country where nothing happens. I know nothing of sociology, but my gut instinct says that when a country is fully-developed and anesthetised, this can unleash many repressed feelings and... wreak havoc.

A few weeks later these brutal riots surface in England... A group of youths, perhaps bored with the mundanity of their every day lives, injected a dose of violence into this calm little island. Apparently there was no political motive, it was merely an anxious need for brutality in a world lacking it.

My Good Reads account

2011-08-09T12:35:00.001-07:00

http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/5993530-simon-king

Can't believe that I didn't start to use this marvellous website sooner.

When curiosity is at a peak

2011-08-07T19:07:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I met a childhood friend, with whom I attended school in Chile. Surprised by his extroversion, he talked to me exhuberantly until we ran into two female friends of his. We were in a mall heaving with people, we went outside, they smoked cigarettes and they heckled about all the juvenile sheananigans they get up to. Yes, I felt out of place, but I didn't want to be prejudiced, so I didn't shrug them off or anything like that.

They seemed overwhelmed when I told them that I have never drunk alcohol and that I have never 'passed out' in a party. "You have wasted your life" they told me.

Here I will elaborate on why this comment unsettles me. I don't want to give off an air that I am 'superior', but I want to say what I have in mind: I think I've had a unique adolesence.

I may not have passed out in parties (the very idea of this nauseates me, to tell the truth), I may have had very limited contact with others, but (but!) during the age of seventeen... curiosity is at a peak. The hormones kick in, they jangle and your neurons are alert... you perceive the world differently. It is time to explore.

When I was seventeen my virginal mind anxiously wanted to explore and discover new ways of thinking. I can't put in words how exciting scampering over to the local library to read about all these classical composers was, how to flick through all these modern classical music CDs in stores was and to later place these compact discs in a sound system and hear a Bartok piece for the first time. (Ah!) Not to mention my first readings of Borges and Cortázar, which without doubt changed my worldview and enoumoured me with literature and writing... To read Crime and Punishment in a park bench at the age of sixteen... really isn't the same as reading it as a mature adult...

Not to take advantage of that at this age... is a shame. I've heard many people argue "Teenagers are young; they have a whole lifetime ahead of them to develop their academic and artistic abilities. Let them have their fun while they can."

I'll say it again: curiosity at this age is at a peak. When you enter your twenties, you never sense these things the same way. You may tell me I have wasted my life, but in this blog post I won't be humble, I'll state what I really think: you have wasted yours.

Thoughts on religion, existentialism and the supernatural

2011-08-05T12:09:00.000-07:00

The main factor that makes me uncomfortable about religion is that mulititudes of people, from different walks of life, adhere to a single set of morals. Whatever you may believe, think or aspire, the morals you stick by are from a religious creed, not something personalised.

What I admire about existentialism, Sartre et. al. is the necessity for an individual to construct his own set of morals... You can make whatever choice you like as long as it is a moral one, and this bars any choice of murder, rape, etc.

But for someone to read this ancient book, that in essence is a piece of apocrypha, and see relevance in it to contemporary life... I don't think that one set of morals can govern what different people, from different persuasions, believe.

Now that I have pointed out my admiration for existentialism, I will talk about my qualms with it... Existentialist literature is antagonistic to the supernatural and is often rooted in the concept of proactivity and, often, political change. On the other hand, I am often disinterested in many forms of fantasy because of its reticence to explain itself or make comments... But a lot of the time, this idea of the supernatural emerging out of this new world of moral choices is completely out of the question for many existentialists. (Albert Camus wrote a fulminating reply to Andre Breton's surrealist manifesto.)

Something that to me bridges the gap between the two territories is Franz Kafka. Admired by both existentialists and magic realist writers, his writing depicts both troubled characters striving to form their own take of the world yet at the same time... crushing defeat often results in the supernatural, like the metamorphosing of Gregory Samsa...

New blog

2011-07-05T13:27:00.000-07:00

Well, I said that I would not post during the trip, but times change...

Unable to work on my book of stories, I have felt very fidgety and uneasy... That's why, before I set off to the North of Chile, I have started a new project called 'On the Fly', consisting of improvised little miniatures. I think I'll be writing daily for it over the course of this week.

http://doneonthefly.blogspot.com/

Saimon se fue p'al norte...

2011-06-28T15:02:00.000-07:00

I have never had such a huge hurdle to overcome in my life... But now, in a naively ambitious trip, I will trek across the entirety of Chile.

Wish me luck. I don't think I'll be writing posts while there, but perhaps I'll upload photos when I'm back.

Confronting Reality

2011-06-26T15:52:00.000-07:00

Confronting Reality: Stories from a Sabbatical Year is a collection of seven stories I hope to put together. I have edited the first three; the rest will be completed after my Chile odyssey.

Meanwhile there's this... An audio recording of my going through each story, describing its ethos, its incidents and messages. It's 35 minutes long; I don't understand how anyone would be willing to sit through its entirety.

I split it into two parts because it was too heavy to upload as one video... The background image was originally going to be this arbitrarily chosen one, but it made the video heavier for some reason. I had to simply slap on my profile image in the end... Not that it makes any difference.

Something I was going to mention at the end of this recording, but forgot, is that I'm like that "Shakespeare actor who always plays himself." Even though I try to write broadly, about a number of subjects, it always seems the same and somewhat monotonous... This could be remedied by attending Creative Writing classes, but I'm quite stubborn about that sort of stuff... Alas.

Review #25

2011-06-24T10:15:00.000-07:00

Three Colours Trilogy - Kryzstof Kieslowski

Having taken the ten biblical commandments as an instigator for his series Dekalogue, Kieslowski took another moral lesson for a trilogy of three feature films. He used the colours of the French flag: Blue (Liberty), White (Equality) and Red (Fraternity).

A native Pole, with no grasp of French, it may be that Kieslowski undertook this project because, after the the fall of communism, it left more room creative freedom. To work with French crews, distributors and settings may have been a welcoming prospect after having worked under the watchful eye of an authoritarian regime. The higher budgets from these production companies, no doubt, was also an enticing prospect.

Far more pressingly, the themes that could be developed out of these moral lessons were limitless. Already using elements of French culture in The Double Life of Veronique, which some say was a way of expounding a political allegory, Kieslowski was given rein to use this foreign culture to develop themes and moving stories.

Kieslowski films depict characters struggling in their daily life with cultural myths. Strongly evident in this trilogy, each protagonist experiences some sort of strife with the moral codes of their community; they ultimately learn to acclimatise themselves to their conflict and find strategies of solving their issues.

Blue is a film that centres itself around emotional, not political, liberty. Julie, played by the beautiful Juliette Binoche, is wife of a renowned composer. The film begins with a car crash where she is the sole survivor, surviving her husband and five-year-old daughter. She thereafter cuts herself off from the rest of the world.

The film follows her through her isolation, discovering that her husband had been unfaithful. What fortifies the film is the perennial presence of music: whenever the protagonist closes her eyes to think, there is a fadeout superimposed with lush orchestral music.

Kieslowski said that cinema is inferior to literature because of its incapacity at showing 'the inner life,' but he does find ways of ameliorating this by depicting characters' inner thoughts. Curtailing the explicitly of cinema, he nuances the level of obviousness often prevalent in film. Everything in Blue is centred around the character, so all her surroundings become detached. Kieslowski makes every common triviality - a cup of coffee, a television set, backgrounds - lose importance as she continues to banish the world around her.

The Binoche character eventually comes around to integrating herself into the world again, completing an unfinished symphony of her deceased husband and beginning a relationship with a contact. Her emotional liberty is reciprocated and resumes her activity again.

White is considered the weak link in the trilogy, but if you consider it in its own terms it is an excellent piece of film-making. It follows the misfortunes of a Pole stranded in Paris, who is abandoned by his adored wive, leaving his him as a vagabond. After a whole series of events he becomes a rich entrepreneur after having connivingly acquired an expensive spot of land.

At the time of the film's release there was a sudden explosion in suspicious dealings and investments. For instance, people like Chealsea football club owner Abrahamovich amassed a great fortune because they managed to acquire enterprises cheaply after the dissolution of the communist hierarchy. Kieslowski was clearly unsettled by this and felt the need to comment on it.

Red no doubt features the most benevolent protagonist, played by the beautiful (how many French beauties are there?) Irene Jacob. A student who does modelling for spare cash, she runs over a dog, feels guilty and returns it to its owner. Having sought him, she finds that he is rude and cold to her. This solitary man lives isolated in a small house while monitoring tapped conversations of his neighbours.

This man turns out to have been a former judge, who now seems to be displaced with the world. With the assistance of this kind model, they establish a friendship and he turns himself into the authorities.

A concurrent narrative is of a law student's fraught love relationship. Like in Double Life of Veronique Kieslowski revels in mirroring interconnected lives. This young law student is perhaps a missing link between each other's destinies; that perhaps, had they been born in the same time-frame, they may have had a relationship.

All the films are riddled with symbolism. One recurring theme in each of the film is of an old woman scavenging over to a waste disposal to trash a bottle. In the first two films the characters simply see it from a distance; in Red, as an act of solidarity and fraternity, Jacob helps the elderly woman.

Finally: I am not one to praise, nor even notice, the cinematography of a film, but here it is unavoidable. Each film is tinted with its respective colour, in addition to being accompanied by setting and props of it. Not many directors can be acclaimed for taking content and cinematography in consideration simultaneously, not separately, but Kieslowski is one of them.

An extraordinary trilogy and definitely the most impressive piece of contemporary film-making I have encountered. Strongly recommended.

Wednesday films 2010/11

2011-06-23T05:50:00.000-07:00

For the last three years I watch a film every Wednesday. Here and here are the previous links. This is a little ritual of mine.

I'm going to Chile next Wednesday, so this ritual has no come to an end. I hope to practice it during my stay at university, too.

Most of the films I enjoyed enormously. The two Fellini and Godard films were excruciatingly tedious, though. I also saw many films in addition to these throughout the year. I hope to see the last film on this list, Enfant du paradis, soon.

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Jackie Brown (Quentin Tarantino)
Crimes and Misdemeanours (Woody Allen)
Deconstructing Harry (Woody Allen)
October (Sergei Eisenstein)
Intolerance (D. W. Griffith)
M (Fritz Lang)
Nosferatu (F. W. Murnau)
Ordet (Carl Theodor Dreyer)
Sunrise (F. W. Murnau)
The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari (Robert Wiene)
8 ½ (Federico Fellini)
La Dolce Vita (Federico Fellini)
Vertigo (Alfred Hitchcock)
Spellbound (Alfred Hitchcock)
Marnie (Alfred Hitchcock)
North by Northwest (Alfred Hitchcock)
The Third Man (Carol Reed)
Jules et Jim (Francois Truffaut)
Masculin Femenin (Jean-Luc Godard)
Wild Strawberries (Ingmar Bergman)
Persona (Ingmar Bergman)
Broadway Danny Rose (Woody Allen)
Hannah and her Sisters (Woody Allen)
Stardust Memories (Woody Allen)
Le Regle de Jeu (Jean Renoir)
Rebel Without a Cause (Nicholas Ray)
Three Colours: Blue (Kryzstof Kiesloswi)
Three Colours: White (Kryzstof Kieslowski)
Three Colours: Red (Kryzstof Kieslowski)
Gertud (Carl Theodor Dreyer)
Sanjuro (Akira Kurosawa)
Tokyo Story (Yasujiro Ozu)
Hidden (Michael Haneke)
Enfants du Paradis (Marcel Carne)

Review #24

2011-06-20T13:38:00.000-07:00

Bat Chain Puller - Captain Beefheart & the Magic Band

After the fiasco of his two Mercury albums - Unconditionally Guaranteed and Bluejeans and Moonbeams, both released in 1974 - Beefheart was a lost cause. In vain he released two self-conscious bids at commercial success, but it fired back: not only did these pithy albums sky-rocket in the charts, it also alienated his own fan-base. It was a fan-base that had grown to appreciate him for all the eccentricities that that made him so special.

A stint in Zappa's band followed, until the bearded musical polymath agreed to fund his next album. This album, sadly, has yet to see the light of day.

Beefheart's contractual situation was always wrangled - conflicting papers from different record companies claimed his ownership. Most decisively, Zappa sued his own manager and, in that complicated legal process, prevented the release of the album.

This is a huge shame. If the album had seen the light of day it would have announced Beefheart's comeback with aplomb. Beefheart, throughout the seventies, had been making compromises. Due to the obtuseness of his music, it was always clear that it could never reach wide audiences. Failure after failure followed until Van Vliet realised that all he needed to do was do what he did - and do it well.

The only way to hear the album is through bootlegs, meaning that the mixing is not as it should be and that the sound isn't crystal clear. There are good copies available, though: the one I stumbled across in Soulseek is fine.

Shiny Beast (Bat Chain Puller) is wrongly regarded as a re-recording of this album. Only five of this album's tracks appear on it, and anyone has taken the time to seek out a copy of the original BCP will realise that it is a different kettle of fish altogether. Ten of the twelve album tracks would be re-worked in his three subsequent releases: Shiny Beast, Doc at the Radar Station and Ice Cream for Crow.

The music in the album returns to the unbridled wildness of his earlier days, though it still has a little more cohesion. It is far less frenetic than the controlled mayhem in Trout Mask: the guitars sound angular and the complex signature drumming is there, but it doesn't rocket ahead so fast rapidly and anxiously. The drumming in Trout Mask, though it may not seem so at first, was centred around the other instruments. This is also the case here: the scraps of music are held together by the arhythmical drumming, though it is more paced and relaxed.

The opener 'Bat Chain Puller' was centred around a drum rhythm: the windshield wipers in Don's car. And the rhythm sounds just like that. Drabber than the version on 'Shiny Beast', it is a funky and foot-tapping in a strange Beefheart sort of way (my dad once put this on thinking that he had an African music cd on the player and he started dancing to it - which he never does - completely unaware that it was Beefheart!).

The lyrics are back to free-association and weirdness. While Beefheart's voice by this point was gravelly and cracked, he couldn't really sing as he used to, but he delivers it methodically and humorously. "Bat Chain" he deadpans. "Bat Chain Puller," he continues, before vociferating "BAAAAAAAAAAT CHAAAAAAAAIN PULLER." Again he draws from rural and wildlife imagery, the subject of his expressionist oil paintings, to flesh out these non-sensical - though hilariously entertaining - lyrics.

'Seam Cooked Sam' is a song with very complex guitar lines, which coalesce and intertwine atonally. Beefheart 'reads out' a surreal poem. This intriguing oddity never resurfaced in any of the later re-recordings.

'Harry Irene' is far superior to the Shiny Beast version. It's mainly the timbre of the keyboards that make this one special, ironically sounding like a lounge combo. The good thing like a track like this is its levity: something good to be placed amongst an abundance of complexity and difficulty.

There is a return to 'spoken word' tracks on this album. Two are featured on the album. 'Poop Hatch' is a little repetitive, not helped by Beefheart's tired delivery that a critic remarked sounded as if he were reading from an extensive shopping list. The closing track 'Apes-Ma' is full of his characteristic humour, clocking in at 40 seconds. "Your cage isn't getting any bigger, Apes-Ma."

And then there's two instrumentals. 'Flavour Bud Living', here played by the drummer and musical arranger John French, is substantially different on this version. It is played far more quietly and contemplatively, in contrast to the more accelerated and Oriental-tinged version rendered by Gary Lucas on Doc. The lovely guitar and piano duet 'A Carrot is as Close as a Rabbit Gets to a Diamond', a very melodic and cohesive piece, is exactly like the version that appeared on Doc.

The 'Brickbats' version that appeared on Doc is much better because here the cacophonous sax is mixed far too loud, obscuring all the stimulating musical activity. Every time I put BCP on and this comes on, I root for the skip button.

There are two rollicking blues-rock tracks which, by Beefheart standards, are fairly orthodox... yet still far from normal. 'Floppy Boot Stomp' and 'Carson City' they are played with more vigour and bite than in the Shiny Beast versions, though Beefheart's delivery on the BCP tracks are below par.

By far, the album's highlights are the tracks 'Odd Jobs' and 'The Thousandth and Tenth Day of the Human Totem Pole'. They sound like what would have happened if Stravinsky had been persuaded to write a rock song. Both clocking in at over five minutes, which for Beefheart is long, they are meticulously crafted and superbly rendered. The lyrics are memorable as well, the former track describing the absence of a charismatic tramp and the latter a tongue-in-cheek Beefhearterian allegory. These two songs are the best tracks from Beefheart's late period material.

The Zappa family trust own the rights to the tapes, yet they continue to abstain from its release... Hopefully if more laudatory reviews and write-ups like this appear on the internet they may get their finger out... Release the fucker!

The big mystery

2011-06-17T10:17:00.000-07:00

One of the worrying factors about studying a literary course, or any course to do with the arts, is the ridiculous amount of in-depth prescriptive analysis required. One of the reasons I read and write is (excuse the excruciatingly pretentiousness and ponceyness of the phrase) 'the big mystery'.

A lot of the time to go through page after page with a red pen in hand, strenuously analysing every single page, can tear apart the life and soul of the work. Some academicians may argue that this is essential to 'comprehend' a text, but a lot of elements of literary analysis - characterisation, use of time, setting - are pretty superficial anyway. Often these analytic techniques won't delve any further than what any intelligent and attentive reader can sense on a first or second reading of a book.

Many works that leave themselves open to interpretation intend to be cryptic and ambiguous anyway. Many people seem to be quite puzzled when they encounter what seems to be a 'puzzle' or 'tapestry', something that perhaps doesn't have a cohesive thread or a clear meaning. People will think that some sort of elaborate analysis is required to 'get' the work, without realising that the forte of it lies in its ambiguity and its enigmatic appeal.

In academic circles there is an abundance of theses and academic studies analysing such art. Studies of people like Beckett or the films of David Lynch, intellectualising numerous aspects which may or may not be there. The great dilemma Estragon and Pozzo face while waiting for something that never arrives begs to question, for many people, the necessity of spirtual belief. The complex tangled web of narrative in something like Mulholland Drive leads to numerous psychoanalytic studies.

Ultimately, I don't entirely turn my back on rationality and intellectualisation. I simply feel there should be a place for 'the big mystery', which I feel is consistently neglected in favour of the methodic analysis that anxiously strives after meaning.

Routines

2011-06-10T06:42:00.000-07:00

This week I have set a routine in motion: I get up every morning at eight, arrive at this pond at nine and then come back at home to read and write. There are few variations to this schedule on other days, but on the whole I try to remain faithful to it.

I realised that I am only able to concentrate on reading and writing if I get up early in the morning. When I oversleep until 12:00 AM I'm not in the mood for anything.

And that's what the year has been like prior to this week: lethargy. I used to sleep in ridiculous hours, which left unmotivated for the remainder of the day.

I really despair at how I only came to realise this late on. During this week I have been (for the most part) at my most fruitful, using my time to the full. This has only come about as a consequence of having a routine and getting up in the early hours in the morning.

Though it isn't all that rosy. Because of having such a fixed schedule, any intervention that comes about infuriates me. Since it was my birthday this week, my sister stayed for about three days and was unable to do anything for an entire day. I am very sensitive to sounds of any sort and, add to that the presence of my sister, and I was fuming. I had my first full-blown tantrum in years, which traumatised my sisters and prompted my parents to have a 'serious' discussion with me. I'll have to learn to make my schedule flexible.

What's worse is that the Job Centre have bullied me into work experience. Next week I'll have to work at a clothes shop from 5-9 PM every day. Again, I'll have to think of ways of accommodating it into my schedule.

Now I understand why so many writers write in the early hours of the morning. I used to follow the Kafka route by writing at night and going about it only when the inspiration kicked in. The problem is that, if you follow this approach, it only comes off when you are very inspired.

When I get up earlier I feel sharper and it all just flows out of my fingertips with greater ease. I have always placed myself in 'hedonistic' camp, but now I feel very tempted to move into the 'craftsmen' camp. I guess that I waver between the two at the moment.

I guess the Flaubert maxim is fitting: "Be regular and orderly in your life, so that you may be violent and original in your work." I just have to look at writers I admire, like J. G. Ballard, and realise that this is true.

Real shame I only had this epiphany now... I should have practiced it throughout the entire year. In two weeks' I'm going to Chile, then three years of uni and finally I'll probably get a job, where I won't have anywhere near as much latitude and freedom as I have now. Oh, well.

21

2011-06-08T08:10:00.000-07:00

I turned 21 yesterday. At this age I am still an anonymous non-entity... Most of my school peers (the cunts) have completely forgotten about me while I continue to wallow in this untraversed cosmic zone... I may get out of this zone and enter the real world when I attend university, but... I very much doubt that. Doomed.

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Recent acquisitions

The main reason I wanted to make this blog post is that I have got my hands on several books, two of which were birthday presents. They are listed below.

The Andrei Tarkovsky Collection (DVD)

I don't actually have this yet, it's pre-ordered. Birthday gift. It's released on the 27th, a day before I set off to Chile. I will only get my hands on it once I come back in September. I really wanted to watch Mirror a second time, but it'll have to wait. Shame.

Selected Non-Fictions by Jorge Luis Borges

On a trip to London, my dad took me to what is definitely the greatest book shop I've ever set foot upon - Daunt Books. They order a great proportion of their books by country, so it thrilled me to see stacks of books from Latin-America piled together, most of which I had never even seen in a book store before. This deluxe edition of Borges' non-fiction works made my cock stiff, so I didn't hesitate to take it out and gorge on it. Short on cash, my dad said he'd buy it for me as a birthday gift. Eternally grateful. Most of Borges' output actually consisted of non-fiction, and his short stories actually blur the boundaries between fiction and non-fiction anyway.

Tres Tristes Tigres by Guillermo Cabrera Infante

On the way to London I asked my father, "Out of all the book shops in London, do you think there is a single copy of Guillermo Cabrera Infante's Habana para un infante difunto?" "No," he answered. Well, I almost did find a copy; I found a copy of his more celebrated work Tres Tristes Tigres in The European Book Shop, a store selling books in foreign languages. I've been wanting to read Infante for a while now; he specialises in linguistic games, making all sorts of Joycean tricks with language.

A Brief Life by Juan Carlos Onetti

I've already read this novel in Spanish, and I consistently place it in my Top 10 Books of all time, but I was overjoyed to find it in my local second hand book shop. I never buy gifts for people, but the one day I did buy a gift was on the date of my birthday! I've decided to give this copy to a friend (the only one I have) because I know that he'll appreciate it.

Poemas y antipoemas by Nicanor Parra

I've been buying all sorts of Spanish language books from my second hand book shop - what a treasure trove Rare and Racy is! Parra is a famous iconoclastic Chilean figure, with a wry sense of humour. I've never read him in the past and this the first book of his that I've bought. Apparently his poetry is simple, playful and tongue-in-cheek. He's a really clever guy, too - he is the foremost translator of Shakespeare into Spanish.

Cuentos by Horacio Quiroga

Another Rare and Racy corker! They have an excellent selection of Hispano-American books, and I presume that I'm the only person who buys them. Quiroqa is a classic of Latin-American literature and was a blueprint for the entire century. His widely-read stories, which I've never read in the past, are read and adored by children and adults alike.

Unregistered comments enabled

2011-06-05T10:23:00.000-07:00

I have now enabled unregistered comments, so, for anyone who reads this blog and doesn't have a Blogger account, you can leave comments anonymously.

Can't say this will boost the meagre amount of comments I receive... A very vain decision indeed.

Antonio Di Benedetto

2011-06-03T11:24:00.000-07:00

Audio of my effusive recommendatory praise for the Argentinean writer Antonio Di Benedetto.

I make quite a few slips and grammatical mistakes during the recording. For instance I say 'economic' instead of 'economical' and there's quite a lot of verbal repetition. It's oral language, not written, so there are bound to be some inconsistencies.

Hear my voice in all its glory.

My heroes

2011-05-31T09:09:00.000-07:00

Mark E. Smith

What a stage presence. This curmudgeon staggers through the stage, aimlessly, as he mumbles about God knows what. The music, which backs him, sounds like shafts of glass breaking through one another; his lyrics amass a million things together and present them in short little pop songs - "in a straightforward manner." I'd give anything, I'd walk through thistles and thorns, to merely see him live. But the real reason he is my hero is that he doesn't care: doesn't care for your affection, your admiration or your animosity. He exudes attitude.

Werner Herzog

I admire Herzog for his obsessive, resilient commitment to his projects. Like his films, he is a quixotic obsessive - a "soldier of cinema" - who will endure the most harrowing, most dangerous obstacles to unearth his visions. He is willing to steer a ship over a mountain, visit a volcano on the verge of eruption, endure torture, even if the weight of his own ambitions crush over his head. Yet he does all this while shunning pretension, having a sense of humour often absent in directors of 'art' films.

Marcelo Bielsa

Another obsessive. I admire 'El Loco' for two reasons: his obsessive nature and the results he obtained with Chile, taking them to heights that could have been even greater had they been blessed with a kinder world cup draw. Having the nickname of 'Loco' in South America brings to mind shamanism and witchcraft, but Bielsa's madness is of a nerdier variety. He has a vast collection of football tapes, which he watches and re-watches to analyse the opposition, and in his tenure at Chile he even lived in a little hut located in the national side's home ground. He never alters his signature 3-3-1-3 tactics, no matter what the opposition, and this can sometimes be counterproductive. His attacking, fast-paced football also reflects my mentality when it comes to writing: stubbornly attack, avoid modifying the strategy and attempting to remain true to one's principles. The way he was ousted by seedy Chilean business men was a great cause of grief to me and it is something I can't live down.

Franz Kafka

Secretly writing stories, novels, letters and journals of great calibre, fraught with existentialist and absurdist scenarios, Kafka never wanted you to peep into his literary world, ordering his dear friend Max Brod to burn all his writings. Kafka's difficult, complicated life - his relationship with his father, his troubled love affairs - all came as a result of his single-minded devotion to literature and writing. Not only is his inducing, haunting fiction something that I admire but his personal life, however fraught and difficult, I find something that, paradoxically, something worth aspiring to.

Review #23

2011-05-29T08:47:00.000-07:00

Rayuela (Hopscotch) - Julio Cortázar

Having now past my adolescence, it seemed an enticing prospect to revisit a book I had once devoured back in those hectic times, when the hormones jangled fervently. This was one of the first novels I ever read, at the age of sixteen, Rayuela. Though as I delved into the book again I found it to be harder work than expected and a greater chore than I ever imagined.

Rayuela is a book that invites itself to multiple readings. It comes with a 'Table of Instructions' where Cortázar states "This book is many books, but above all it is two books'. Subdivided into three parts - 'From the Other Side', 'From This Side' and 'From Other Sides' - one reading of the book encompasses the first two parts, the other reading encompasses all three. The first reading is linear and is made up principally of a narrative thread; the second reading, which includes 'From Other Sides', is non-linear and includes a lot more theorising and philosophising. Either way you choose to read it, you will have an entirely different experience.

Now I chose to read it through the second option. Initially I became very frustrated by how often I was diverted, just as Cortázar began to raise my interest, to rather meandering ruminations on how to 'subvert' literature and the novel. I found reading these sections either very difficult to say the least (it doesn't help that Spanish is my second language), or simply boring. I stuck through it, though, and I found all the qualities I had found in Cortázar that I've always adored.

'From the Other Side' takes place in Paris, where the protagonist Horacio Oliveira, from Argentina, resides. Oliveira wanders across the streets with his lover 'La Maga' and gets together with a bohemian group of friends that call themselves 'The Club', where they converse (in a very heavy-handed manner) about literature and art, all while hearing jazz records. There is a rift between Oliveira and La Maga; he suspects that she is cheating on him, so he starts seeing another woman. In a spectacular scene ridden with suspense and intellectual discourse, La Maga's son dies, all in an ambience of disaffection and apathy. Eventually, Oliveria decides on returning to Buenos Aires.

'From This Side', while maintaining all the wit and stylistic innovation in the first section, downplays the relentless intertextuality and name-dropping. Oliveira finds that, when arriving at the port in Buenos Aires, a friend of his youth is waiting for him, Traveler, along with his wife, Talita. They are full of eccentricities, and a lot of Cortázar's characteristic humour comes to life in their interactions with Oliveira. He begins working as a fabric seller, then joins Talita and Traveler at the circus they work at until the owner becomes bored with it, sells it and buys a mental institution. Oliveira begins to see features of 'La Maga' in Talita, while he begins to spiral into a state of insanity.

A main theme in the novel is that of self-exile and South American adapting to new territory. Oliveira feels a sense of displacement while in Paris and later struggles to rekindle the pleasant memories of his homeland when he moves back. Cortázar indeed wrote the novel in Paris, having exiled himself there from 1950 until his death in 1984. Its foreign setting emphasises that many of the Latin-American novels of Cortázar contemporaries were written in Europe - including the works of Vargas Llosa, José Donoso and Carlos Fuentes.

The main impetus and concept behind the work is to create an 'open' novel wherein the reader plays an active, not passive, role in forming the work. This comes through in the novel's third section where Oliveira encounters a novelist, who doesn't figure in the other reading of the book, called Morelli, who writes such books. Cortázar, riling many feminists, called a reader who doesn't take an active role in the book a 'lector hembra' (Female Reader) and one that is more involved, 'Lector Complice'.

This idea of an open novel provoked a lot of reactions in South America at the time of its publication and in turn lent itself to analysis and dissection. This was indeed Cortázar's intention: to instigate a number of reactions, both positive and negative, and to create angered discussions and counter arguments. Because of this strife, Garcia Marquez stated that Cortázar was the 'Simón Bolivar of the novel'.

Much of the novel's appeal can't really be adequately reduced to words because Cortázar's main appeal lies in his use of language, using puns, interior monologues and wordplay (often going over my head). By the time I neared the end of the novel, I sort of glided through it and lost my sense of time and place; Cortázar really is one of the writers I most cherish for his writing style.

Though a lot of it, especially at the beginning, can be very long-winded and up its own arse. As I began the book I shared Borges' sentiment that Cortázar tries so hard to be original in every page that "it becomes a tedious battle of wits". Often, I became quite jarred by stand-off phrases like "Eyes of Picasso and ears of Varese."

It is pretty uneven overall, and to me its greater moments are shorter and ephemeral, which to me confirm that Cortázar's forte is shorter fiction of searing beauty. There are many chapters which you can take and stand on their own as excellent pieces of fiction, but which, a lot of the time, when placed together, seem disconnected. For anyone unfamiliar with Cortázar, beginning with his short stories is recommended.

I'll end the review on a personal note. I read the novel at a time of great anguish and despair, so the character's constant 'search' hit a chord with me. When I succumbed to a mental breakdown, the novel was a source of a number of paranoiac conspiracies and delusional beliefs which, for your sake, I won't recount here. Though, when I read chapter 145 and I saw that Morelli shares a correspondence, shares a literary adventure, with a "muchacho de Sheffield" it unsettled me and made me think that Cortázar, though from a different generation and from a different time, inserted me into Rayuela to involve me, very much in the same way that he involved swathes of youngsters who gorged and devoured this open-ended, multi-faceted and derailing novel

All remote edges

2011-05-26T14:40:00.000-07:00

This post consists of the best photograph of each Remote Edges instalment. Last time you will see it in my blog, and one of the last times I will probably see them, too - what with my Chile trip and me attending university for (hopefully) three years.

#2#3#4#5#6#7#8

#9#10#11#12#13#14#15#16#17#18

Where was I?

2011-05-22T13:27:00.000-07:00

Click to enlarge. Dodgy scanning - my apologies.

'Day at the Circuits' (1975) by Art Spiegelman

Top 10 directors

2011-05-20T06:27:00.000-07:00

I usually order these lists from bottom to top, leading from 10-1, and I intended to do just that here, but I forgot about that as I uploaded the photos, and it is always a tribulation to fidget about with images on blogger, so I'll leave it as it is.

The images I chose feature the directors, for the most part, at their most casual; I avoided choosing poncy photographs of an introspective 'artist' methodically smoking a cigarette in front of a camera. As much as I love art cinema, I don't at all like the posturing and pretence that often comes along with it.

I have compiled this list in the past, but I have since seen more films, making this new list a more accurate reflection of my film tastes.

Andrei Tarkovsky

Tarkovsky is a director who seeps into your mind, appropriating it and taking control of the recesses of your thought processes. I didn't at all like Tarkovsky in my first exposure to his work, Solaris, but I soon found myself having dreams influenced by the atmosphere of the film. Since then I have been flabbergasted, intrigued, haunted and ravished by the rest of his work

Personal favourite: Andrei Rublev

Russia

Carl Theodor Dreyer

After a hit-and-miss series of films from the silent-era (among them quite possibly one of the greatest films of all time, The Passion of Joan of Arc), Dreyer produced a small but incredibly powerful body of work in the sound era. His films reflect the dominance of a patriarchal society, depicting women repressed by the men around them. Like Bergman, he showcases characters' doubt in belief but, unlike him, always sides himself with God. And like Bresson, he portrays religious themes in a sparse austere way but, unlike him, emphasises dramatic techniques and emotion.

Personal favourite: The Passion of Joan of Arc (The entire film can be seen on YouTube.)

Denmark

Robert Bresson

Bresson economises almost every single aspect of film-making, yet it is minimised to the point of entrapment. Never working with professional actors, he tinkered with ordinary people instead, and his films avoid the flamboyance of theatre. Instead, Bresson's films favour the literary: the camera angles and the narrative techniques all utilise techniques more typical of a prose writer, with careful deliberation showing the inner thoughts of characters, in addition to exploring concepts more easily expressed in the written word.

Personal favourite: A Man Escaped

France

Krzysztof Kielsowski

The power of Kielsowki's films lie in the fact that he doesn't phrase his messages with dialogue in block capitals, he dramatises them instead. The audience is drawn to the films through his dramatisations, only later realising how forcefully it has hit their heart. His greatest films take simple moral lessons as their starting point (the ten commandments, the colours of the French flag), but from then on only tenuously relate to them.

Personal favourite: Blue

Poland

David Lynch

Lynch explores the dark, seedy underworld residing beneath the tranquility of suburban USA. Lynch's childhood was just that - idyll, suburban homes, fields of green - but he had such a scorching imagination that he transgressed it and, later, subverted the Hollywood facade. His films are a mind-bending experience, jostling and unnerving the viewer with a strange dream logic. Reality always seems dreadfully boring after walking out of a Lynch film

Personal favourite: Blue Velvet

USA

Ingmar Bergman

Exploring themes like spiritual belief, existentialism and sin, Bergman's overpower the viewer by their strength and emotional immediacy. The classic scene of the knight playing chess with death is symbiotically pretentious and fascinating.

Personal favourite: The Seventh Seal

Sweden

Werner Herzog

Herzog deals with obsession, a theme I am, incidentally, obsessed with... His quixotic characters, most memorably played by Klaus Kinsky, voyage after goals that are unattainable. Or in other cases, memorably played by Bruno S., they are eccentric people with peculiar talents in specific fields. His films straddle between documentary and fiction, and he has spent the last twenty years or so of his career focusing on the former.

Personal favourite: Aguirre, the Wrath of God

Germany

Woody Allen

From his earliest self-defined "early, funny ones" to his drama films, Woody Allen infuses the comical into the bleakest, most pessimistic scenarios. His neurotic caricature is endearing and his one-liners are amusing, but he he is also capable of producing cinema of the highest order, from the novel-like structure of Hannah and Her Sisters to the monochrome black-and-white photography of Manhattan.

Personal favourite: Crimes and Misdemeanours

USA

David Cronenberg

Cronenberg has always been a favourite of mine. He reflects my predilection for the unmitigated portrayal of gore, sex and morbidity, but he also has a cerebral agenda, making all sorts of social critiques that reflect the novels of Ballard and Burroughs. Since his earliest horror films, he has emphasised the importance of the human body, something that comes through in the oft-quoted statement "Long live the new flesh!"

Personal favourite: Videodrome

Canada

Stanley Kubrick

Kubrick is responsible for two films that are quite possibly the greatest ever committed to camera: 2001, A Space Odyssey and Dr. Strangelove. A lot of his other features are very, very strong but there is a lot in his oevure that I find rather uninteresting, especially when he produces "genre" films that are wholly concerned with sticking to the conventions of the style instead of bringing a wider palette into the film... If all his films were as strong as the two aforementioned titles then he'd top the list, but he finds himself at no. 10... Still, he was strong enough to beat other directors I am fond of, like Hitchcock, Orson Welles and Akira Kurosawa...

Personal favourite: 2001, a Space Odyssey

USA

The aesthetic and the moral

2011-05-14T13:34:00.000-07:00

D. W. Griffith

Many works of art that are wholly immoral are often championed on a aesthetic level, yet many grudges are held against their moral codes. First of all I will take as an example silent-era film director D. W. Griffith, who directed the film Birth of a Nation, which is both praised and denounced on equal measure.

Birth of a Nation, made in 1915, brought to use many of the cinematographic techniques that would be practiced in subsequent decades. In terms of innovation, it is deemed to be on a par with Citizen Kane, and it used extreme and dramatic camera angles interwoven with careful edits.

Yet its content and messages are unavoidably tactless. Griffith distorted American history to propagate racial politics, glorifying the Ku Klux Klan. Birth of a Nation was the first feature length film to receive vast public distribution, and for many years was the highest grossing film of all time. As a consequence of its popularity, it re-instigated the Ku Klux Klan sect, which had been dormant for several decades, and it garnered more members than it ever had in its previous inceptions.

Viewing it from this standpoint, is it worthy of praise? When a work of art is aesthetically innovative, can it be seen in a good light when it deliberately stirs up racial hatred?

The existentialist dictum is that, with the fall of religion and the rise of secularism, we must make moral choices. Figures like Sartre and Camus used literary forms to showcase individuals who pursue their own path of self-fulfilment whatever the cost. This is a case of the moral and the aesthetic intertwining.

But then there are people like me who are very keen in portraying depravity and pornography in literature - what is the difference between this and the unadulterated expression of racism? Griffith himself staunchly advocated freedom of speech, and in response to criticisms of racism, made the equally innovative but equally dubious film Intolerance.

Should there be restrictions and inhibitions as to how far you can take literature, film etc. without reaching the territory of racial fomentation? Many controversial writers, who deal with dark and lurid subject matter, actually saw themselves as moralists. J. G. Ballard always argued that his books in fact postulate moral lessons and cautions, despite him having written excessively about mutilation and perversion of every kind. The same can be said of Georges Bataille, author of what is quite possibly the most sordid book of all time, 1928's Story of the Eye, who at one point almost became a priest.

Perhaps I am raising more questions than I am answering here, and I think I'll leave this blog post on an ambiguous note. Personally, I think that racial hatred and xenophobia are admissible to write about if it is dealt with ironically but, other than that, I think that immorality should be taken the furthest most reaches if one is felt inclined to go there.

Top 5 Woody Allen films

2011-05-10T07:40:00.000-07:00

Taking into account that I've only seen about thirteen of his films.

No words. Just images.

Sleeper

Deconstructing Harry

Annie Hall

Hannah and Her Sisters

Crimes and Misdemeanours

Provinciality in English fiction

2011-05-06T07:51:00.000-07:00

Reflecting on my reading interests, I have realised that I don't prioritise English fiction all that much. The English writers I do read aren't quintessentially English but approach the writing craft differently. On the whole, I find that English fiction is saturated by provincialism and parochialism, which is something I will explore in this blog post.

Perhaps England was at the forefront of literary advancements during the 18th and 19th centuries - we have, after all, Sterne, Fielding, the Brontes, Dickens, etc. - but 20th century fiction has seen little innovation. Many innovative authors who are classified as 'English' were in fact expatriates: T. S. Eliot was American and Joseph Conrad was a Pole who learnt to speak English at the late age of twenty-one.

Many writers who have brought something new to English fiction have in fact grown up in foreign soil. This to me is indicative of the type of impact England has on the creative mind, that perhaps something in its psychology doesn't nurture a creative mentality. Personally, I don't think that all the hallmarks of J. G. Ballard's writing - psychological despair, extremes, desolate surroundings - could have come to life had he not spent his childhood in China during the second world war. Had he grown up in a middle-class suburb in Britain, there is no doubt that his writing would have leant onto a different direction, or maybe he would not have felt inclined to write at all.

There can be no doubt that Britain is an insular little island, with little contact with the rest of the world. Many of its academic institutions still practice and teach the same syllabuses that were taught decades ago, a system many budding authors go through, and it often shapes their writing and world-view. If writers are to go through the same decadent lectures, seminars and education isn't this going to limit their horizons?

Ballard railed against the realist 'Hampstead novel' that was prevalent in the early 20th century, and this type of fiction is often representative of a lot of English writing: an enclosed world with a limited set of characters, the same situations and the same writing style.

Often for an English writer to break out of this creatively sterile community, he often receives a lot of scorn and animosity. A writer like Anthony Burgess, who wrote prolifically in every conceivable genre, had to peregrinate through Europe for much of his life because the British press was unappreciative of him and his work. The similar can be said of Lawrence Durrell, an Anglo-Indian who was out of sorts with the British literary community, and he sought for inspiration through travelling and experiencing different cultures.

U. S. A. seems to be a breeding ground of creativity. Its sheer size, its multifarious and varied landscape, affects the human mind differently. Its fiction seems to be far more cosmopolitan, and a wealth of important concepts and ideas are developed. One only has to look at the ideas of De Lillo, the density and complexity of Pynchon and the alluring meta-fiction by Auster and one can sense something far more exciting. These authors have been brought up in a vast communication landscapes that has instilled in them a more inventive and creative streak often lacking in English fiction.

From a personal point of view, I am an aspiring writer and - I can't say that the fiction I have written is remotely capable of changing the world or anything along those lines - I am Anglo-Chilean. I think that my writing is a synthesis of Latin-American (my favourite writers are from this part of the world) and British writing, and I really do think that my perspective and world-view is incompatible with English writing traditions. I do sense provinciality in its fiction and I think that a way of remedying this is by looking at world literature, by trying out foreign writing styles and looking into foreign writers - be they canonical, long-forgotten writers who never broke through or contemporary.

You're being jolly naughty, Wiggins.

2011-05-03T08:42:00.000-07:00

'Sir!' by Derek and Clive

Hahahaha, you can't get any lower than this!

Review #22

2011-04-29T16:15:00.000-07:00

If on a Winter's Night a Traveller - Italo Calvino

Even if you don't like this novel, you can't deny it is striking. From the very beginning, it is written in second person, not addressing an acquaintance of any sort but, you, The Reader. You will either become enraptured by it and glue yourself to the pages - like I did - or simply find a completely cold pointless exercise, throwing the book across the room, dismissing it as one of the 'Books You Needn't Read' that Calvino enlists in the first few pages.

Italo Calvino has just published a new book called If on a Winter's Night a Traveller, but The Reader finds out that the copy is faulty. At the bookshop he finds a female reader, Ludmilla, and they exchange numbers. However, each new book he arrives at isn't the one he was hunting, one book leading onto the next, each one confounding you, The Reader.

None of the books bear any relation to one another. Each time you land upon them, you pour over them. They are incredibly fascinating yet stem from completely different genres - satires, travel writing, diary entries, magic realism, Borgesian oddities, even describing a fictional country called Cimmeria. However, each time you become interested in these narratives, you are abruptly interrupted and diverted to new reading material.

Everything becomes deceptive; all fiction seems apocryphal and misconstrued; you chance upon a writer who can get you out of this rut; you end up in a South American country where, once more, you are imprisoned and can't seem to escape from this surreal maze.

The ten books you encounter upon are impeccably written and will leave you with a thirst for more. One of my personal favourites, Juan Rulfo's Pedro Páramo, is paid homage to in 'Around an Empty Grave'. This writer, being the miserable lonely sod that he is, saw himself in the epistolary Kafkaesque 'Leaning from the Steep Slope'. There will be something for you to gorge on, too, Reader, a piece of writing that will resemble one of your personal favourite or resemble your personal life.

I, too, was caught up in this delirious cat-and-mouse game that is If on a Winter's Night a Traveller Reader, and found it to be a true heart-felt, emotionally-involving venture - completely devoid of the cold distant meta-fiction posturing it may be accused of. I couldn't recommend it enough, Reader, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

The remote edges #18

2011-04-21T17:47:00.000-07:00

These photos caputre my favourite place on earth. I truly felt I had discovered a rare jewel after trundling through an endless profusion of wilderness and encountering this - a true remote edge... Unbeknownst to me there was a shortcut...

On my way to taking these photos I saw another kindred soul - equally unkempt appearance and seemingly awkward - who said "Hi" to me. But I shrugged him off, I'm such a moron.

A lot, a lot of photos this month.

Great pop songs

2011-04-13T15:26:00.000-07:00

I have been simplifying some of my listening habits recently by listening to unsophisticated, unadulterated pop. Most of the music I have written about on this blog usually tends to be over-complex, within the genres of classical, jazz and avant-rock. For a change, here is a dose of pop.

Though not all of these songs are, strictly speaking, pop. Though as far as I see it, there is no substantial difference between conventional pop music and conventional rock music: the structure is usually the same.

A frequent criticism that this type of music receives is that it lacks 'ideas', or that it is ephemeral and insubstantial. Well, yes, it is - that's part of the appeal.

Muevan las industrias - Los Prisioneros

El baile de los que sobran - Los Prisioneros

Radioactivity - Kraftwerk

High Tension Line - The Fall

Yolanda - Pablo Milanés

L'anamour - Serge Gainsbourg

Roller Girl - Anna Karina

Les vieux - Jacques Brel

Shipbuilding - Robert Wyatt

Top 5 coffee brands

2011-04-10T13:48:00.000-07:00

Coffee, coffee, coffee. I drink increasingly more of it; almost every day, in fact. If you are susceptible to its effects, then it's not such a good idea to drink so much of it. After having a cup of coffee - especially if it is strong - I will be bouncing off the walls frenetically.

I never drank the stuff before I was at PICU - I simply assumed that I didn't like it. But I was wrong. They gave it to me while I was a patient there and I discovered that I adored the stuff.

Here is a list of my top 5 coffee brands. I usually have a latte when I go to these places - strong and with sugar. I also really like black coffee, but tend to drink that at home.

This list will mean absolutely nothing to you if you don't live in the UK, or if you are not a coffee drinker....

5. Café Nero

This is better than the other major brands - i.e. Costa and Starbucks. But it is still rather boring - it has no flavour. It is basically a stronger equivalent of those pissy-milky-sissy brands. The thing that gravitates me to their cafés is that they are pleasant to sit inside in (much like Costa).

4. Coffee Central

This is only a café in the town I live in, Dronfield, so it is not a brand so to speak. They serve coffee with a really unique flavour that is quite unlike anything else. If you happen to find yourself in Dronfield - chances are that you won't as it is a really boring fucking dump - try the coffee served here. The girls who serve it are cuntish little whores, though.

3. Coffee Nation

This is only served in service stations, but it will knock you out. They provide an 'extra shot' button, which is truly invigorating. Recommended.

2. La Vassa

Proof why foreign coffee brands are superior to those in England. This has recently started to be served at 'Upper Crust' outlets in train stations. It is an Italian make with a sublimely delicious creamy texture.

1. Pumpkin Coffee

I am so pathetic that I even started a Last FM group dedicated to this coffee (http://www.last.fm/group/Pumpkin+Coffee+Fan+Club). Stimulating, mind-bending and delicious. Whenever I am at a train station I will make an effort to buy one (unless I go for 'La Vassa')...

Formula writing

2011-04-04T03:25:00.000-07:00

I am not spouting out diatribe against formulaic writing here, I am simply writing about my inability to produce writing with strict adherence to formulas.

All the essays I wrote that were successful while I attended college were so because I was following my own line of thought - and the examiners seemed to like that. In the final exam - 'the Gothic' - I stumbled because the answers required definite answers and carefully outlined ideas about what they expect you to write.

And that's something I can never do: write for others. Not only is the concept anathema to me, but I am incapable of doing so. I can pour out ideas and thoughts that I have in my head - which, yes, I want others to read - but I don't have an understanding of how to pander to others by making it appealing, or writing for a specific 'readership'.

I find the idea of 'good writing' absolute bollocks - well-plotted out ideas, clarity, good syntactical constructions. Many publishers put an emphasis on all this and shun originality, meaning that literary establishment gushes out the same material time and time again.

If anything I am deeply envious of people whose writing is more adaptable and flexible; those who can write in a number of registers, styles, genres, etc. That's why my writing is so reiterative and repetitive: I am not capable of writing in a specific style. That's one of the most frequent criticisms I get on the internet: that I re-emphasise points to the point of exhaustion, that I am 'all the same'. I attribute this to my inability to adhere to formulas.

A lecturer I had mentioned that "I am an academic at heart" because of the "range and depth" of my "personal studies and interests." As much as I'd like to agree with this, this isn't true. My work simply has no range; maybe thematically, but not in terms of the writing.

I find that the more emphasis one puts on formulas, the less original material appears. It is those who write what they want, with little regard to predetermined formulas, who end up producing the most innovative work and broaden the horizons of what's possible in literature.

What do you see in a text?

2011-03-28T06:53:00.000-07:00

Independent reading differs on many levels from academic study. In many ways, you are laying the groundwork for yourself, whereas reading fictional texts purely for academic purposes is a very different process.

Many academics, however, think that there is only one concrete way of reading texts: that an undergraduate - or even postgraduate - education is fundamental to derive meaning and understanding from them.

Others would bring the word 'subjective' to the fore. Literary texts convey different meanings to different people. Some people, for instance, may find reading Kafka a very funny and humorous experience whereas others may find it deadly serious.

When I read Jean-Paul Sartre's Nausea I saw my life in it on a very molecular level. Antoine Roquentin daily life strongly mirrored my own, in addition to his thoughts and insights. To any student studying the novel this is all a mere oversight - it is all about teasing out the existential dilemmas.

I read an interview with Michel Houllebecq and he stated that an "ordinary reader" puts a far greater emphasis on "characters" which, to literary critics, is something that is downplayed, with greater emphasis put on the themes and messages instead.

To an "ordinary reader" approaching literary material, the narrative is of greater importance than any element in the subtext. Who is to say that their perceptions aren't as valid as those of an academic critic?

The intent of the author can also be discounted if one is to take this into consideration. Any intent he or she may have wished to connote to the reader is irrelevant if the reader takes a different perspective to the text.

This perspective is, a lot of the time, completely incompatible with the parochial literary institutions in the UK. After spending so long in their ivory towers many of these courses shut themselves off from other methods of reading that differ from the established doctrine that has been practiced time and time again since the dawn of the 20th century.

Stranden

2011-03-25T14:08:00.001-07:00

When I wrote a pretty mediocre short story at the age of seventeen called 'Strnadenforp's Drunken, Cerebral Outsider', I set the story in an unspecified harbour/beach in a Scandinavian location. I had no idea what 'Strandenforp' meant - it just had a good ring to it.

However, I had unwittingly, by a stroke of chance, used a Swedish word. After watching a few Ingmar Bergman movies I discovered that 'Stranden' meant 'Beach' (and let's face it - most Bergman films are set in gloomy beaches, so I was bound to pick up on this word).

This isn't the only time such coincidences have happened to me. I find it incredible how, for some unfathomably latent reason, I christened this story with a Scandinavian word, a word I had never encountered in any shape or form in the past. The music of chance.

Review #21

2011-03-16T14:36:00.000-07:00

El silenciero (The Silencer) - Antonio Di Benedetto

There are certain novels I have encountered that seem to be specifically written for my consumption, containing so many of my thoughts and obsessions that it seems perfectly plausible that I may have felt inclined to writing them. The novels in which I see myself in tend to be existentialist, populated by isolated, misanthropic specimens. Nausea struck a chord with me, and now The Silencer has done so too.

The novel deals with a character whose life is constantly hampered and afflicted by noise. Set in an indefinite location in South America during an indefinite time in post-war years, he lives with his mother, works at an advertising agency, has intellectual discourse with an eccentric acquaintance called Besarión, but the noise produced by a mechanical factory is a constant source of agitation. Having married a love interest, he flees his city with her, all in the pursuit of eliminating all noises and obtaining total silence.

In the second half of the novel, this urgency becomes more extreme and the protagonist starts resorting to tactics of eliminating noise that border on the psychopathic. Every location he arrives to with his wife appears to be unsuitable and noisy, and all of his previous preoccupations are replaced by this abhorrence. He eventually sets fire to a dance hall and, upon being imprisoned, the noise keeps haunting him, jostling him and infuriating him to the point of despair.

The main appeal in Di Benedetto's writing lies in its beautiful laconism and economy. Very short and fragmented sentences create a splendorous reading experience suffused with nuances and subtleties. Its narrative is everyday and quotidian to begin with as well, but as the novel takes its course it gains a greater sense of urgency and eventfulness.

One of the ironies is that, like most of the books I read, I had to overcome a variety of noises and sounds to finish it. Like the character, any 'imposed sound' is a nuisance that prevents me from existing and, like the character, from reading and writing.

Sadly, none of Di Benedetto's novels have been translated into English and I suspect that I am one of the few Anglo people to have read him. Apparently, his excellent book Zama is been translated into English, which may just bring him the posthumous fame and recognition he so evidently deserves.

Four films in a week

2011-03-15T07:20:00.000-07:00

On Thursday
Broadway Danny Rose by Woody Allen

Hilarious and witty.

4/5

On Saturday
Genius Within: The Inner Life of Glenn Gould by Michelle Hozer and Peter Ratmont

Overlong and tepid.

2/5

On Sunday
A Short Film about Killing by Krzystof Kieslowski

Moving and ravishing.

5/5

On Monday
Mirror by Andrei Tarkovsky

Hypnotic and Beautiful.

5/5

My bedroom floor is a fucking mess.

2011-03-12T14:59:00.000-08:00

No one suspected that he was a Marxist.

2011-03-10T06:10:00.000-08:00

'The Arnold Homecastle Story' (1987) by Joe Sacco

'Strictly Genteel' (All versions mix) by Frank Zappa

2011-03-05T09:35:00.000-08:00

200 Motels is a really crappy little movie, but this is fucking amazing.

Iván Izquierdo

2011-03-02T07:30:00.000-08:00

http://ivanizquierdo1.blogspot.com/

My new satirical audio blog 'Iván Izquierdo'!

This was just done for laughs and also because, at the time it was conceived, I didn't really have anything better to do. It really is very amateurish.

The scary thought is that people like these really exist. There are so many of them in Chile that, for the layperson of the country, it may seem that this is a real person who geniuenly means what he's saying.

Even if can speak Spanish, many of the topics will be so obscure and pertain to Chile so much that you probably won't understand them.

Review #20

2011-02-28T14:02:00.000-08:00

Atomised - Michel Houllebecq

Houllebecq has caused a great stir in the literary establishment, gushing out novels not only containing sleaze, shock and sexual perversion but also provocative commentaries and statements on society. Atomised is the book that catapulted him into notorious fame (some would say infamy).

He most certainly divides people. Many academic critics are highly dismissive of him because, in structuralist terms, his work is badly formed, and he often makes sweeping generalisations on his satiric targets to manipulate the reader and make his point.

There are so many ideas amounted on top of one another that it is difficult to condense what it truly is 'about'. Principally, Houllebecq is deconstructing post-war society (from a Frenchman's point of view), arguing that love has been replaced by sex and religion by pseudo spirituality embodied in new age philosophies. There is a furious, nihilistic contempt against humanity; Houllebecq seems to be indicting humanity for its political correctness, emotional detachment and malevolence. In something of a twist, which is latched on as a epilogue that I won't reveal here, Houllebecq appears to be disgusted with us yet, at the same time, oddly eulogising.

The two central characters are half-brothers; they know little of each other, both were abandoned by a hippie mother at a young age and both are stark opposites. Michel is a molecular biologist, who is deeply immersed in his profession and his little time for anything else. He is described as having had a precocious childhood, but since his infancy has rarely been capable connecting emotionally with others. The other half-brother is Bruno, a sex-obsessed libertine, plump, lascivious and a complete failure. He frequently visits resorts for the sole purpose of sexual adventure, his lusts never being fulfilled.

Bruno's sexual escapades are described graphically and frequently, the encounters rarely having any sort of affect or emotion from the participators. He drifts into marriage, pulls out of it and returns to this frantic world of sex. Michel can't sustain a relationship with a childhood sweetheart, retreating to his scientific work instead.

Houllebecq is far from subtle in the ways he transmits his messages. Characters frequently break off into philosophical discourse, vent their rage on a societal trend and a whole chapter consists of the two half-brothers suddenly having a conversation on Aldous Huxley, an author Houllebecq likes the idea of being compared to.

I certainly enjoyed reading it, the lurid sex and violence really exciting me, even when it uneasily takes a shift towards xenophobia and racial hatred. Its constant subversive and provocative tone make it a page-turner, although he often gets heavy-handed with the philosophising, which slowed me down and gave me pause for thought. A lot of the time the philosophising is insightful and perceptive, other times it is cheap and half-baked.

Having finally read this I can certainly see why it has drawn so much attention and won over both praise and condemnation. The thrilling and inducing nature of the book makes me place myself in the laudatory camp.

Review #19

2011-02-19T14:47:00.000-08:00

Ok, here's a first for this blog: a negative review.

Eloge de l'amour - Written and directed by Jean-Luc Godard

I will begin this review by stating that I am a very big admirer of Godard's earliest work. While I was completing A-level film studies there was an opportunity to research a subject of your choice as part of coursework. Without a trace of hesitation I chose to research Godard, the project having the convoluted title (don't laugh) 'The film aesthetic in the auteurial signature of Jean-Luc Godard during the French New Wave period'.

Godard, even in the early '60s, never cared for linear narratives or conventional dialogue. Roughly from 1968 onwards he has eschewed any element of narrative to construct 'film essays', assembling a melange of images and words that, apparently, when viewed on a number of occasions, all falls into place. Eloge de l'amour is considered to be amongst the best of his later work.

Having sat through all this, I can quite simply say that it was not a pleasant experience. I find Godard's agenda snobbish and reactionary, simply there to flaunt his own superiority. Why attack Spielberg, the United States, imperialism, etc.? I am mystified by it all.

Godard's New Wave films include back-and-forth banter that works to great effect. In this film, again, conventional dialogue is put away with. This time I found it to be sophomoric and pretentious, making me cringe for the most part. There is no interaction as much as a series of loose, unconnected aphorisms.

A lot of his aesthetic has been to be unorthodox and 'radical', often using alternate camera angles and framing. Here, though, I became really flustered by characters constantly being filmed from their backs, elongated shots, random intertitles. A film like Vivre sa vie also employed these techniques, but then there was a lot of vitality and vigor that held it together that I find missing here.

The cinematography has moments of great beauty, particularly the black-and-white footage of Paris and the transition to colour in the second half of the film.

I guess that I haven't picked up on what other people see in this film. To me, it seemed like pseudo-intellectual nonsense; perhaps I may have disentangled its meaning and appeal on repeated viewings, but judging by how bored and irritated I was by it all, I was not encouraged by that thought.

'Extracurricular actvities'

2011-02-16T09:44:00.000-08:00

Interest which don't fall within the category of schoolwork and academic learning are called 'extracurricular activities'. In this post I will - briefly - go through this term and its connotations, expressing my views on it.

Many students put a lot of effort and energy into their school/college/university work, but what do they do in their leisure - their extracurricular - activities? I often find that academic learning, instead of encouraging students to branch out across a wide range of interests, limits them.

I'm not criticising the quality of the education; I have come to find over the years that, in comparison with other countries, education in Britain is fairly ok. What often happens is that school exhausts students so much that in their spare time all they have time to do is 'clubbing' or wasting their time doing nothing. Alternatively, they put no effort into their academic and, again, spend their time doing nothing.

To most people it is an alien concept to shun academic education in favour of one's own independent learning. I flunked my GCSEs pretty much out of boredom and lack of interest yet, at the time, I had a fervent interest in modern classical music and the arts. When lecturers in a subsequent course saw my academic work, they seemed pretty startled - how was it possible for someone to flunk their GCSEs to produce material like this?

I met a fellow last November to drink some coffee, and he described the work he had to do at school as so boring. He told me that he is currently writing an opera. For people entranced by the wonders of academia, and for people not acquainted with autodidactism and independent learning, it may seem incomprehensible how a dropout is capable - or even inclined to - writing an opera.

He also told me "I learnt more after I left school," which I also sympathise with. School really flustered me, both with its social codes in the playground and the classroom as with its stale and formulaic academic work. Once I left school I made a conscious effort to read books, articulate myself better and write fiction. All of these activities were sparked off after attending classes was no longer compulsory.

What I found particularly exciting about doing A2 coursework was the opportunity to study, research and write about subjects that I had investigated/read up on in my own time. In English literature I wrote a comparative essay on William Burroughs and applied ideas of aesthetics to the poetry of T. S. Eliot, in Film Studies I undertook a research project on Jean-Luc Godard and in English Language I wrote a research on the linguistic features of William Faulkner. I had read up, and watched, all these subjects as part of my 'extracurricular activities', and I found the chance to intermingle it with my own academic work illuminating, bringing to it a vitality and vigour which I assume was lacking in a lot of the other students' work.

For a lot of students their only contact with intellectual subjects comes through academia, but I think that an excellent way of remedying this is to provide youngsters with alternatives that do not fall into this category: to perhaps make them think and question the status-quo outside the classroom.

An alternative to Facebook

2011-02-11T09:34:00.000-08:00

When applying to universities via the undergraduate system UCAS I found out that 94% of applicants have a Facebook account. That, to me, is a shocking statistic.

It seems that Facebook is the ultimate teenage - and grown-up - device. An assortment of people of different ages and ethnic origins log onto it every day to keep up with what their fellow friends are up to. They channel their whole life into it, keeping the most minute detail of their daily occurrences and incidents.

It's not true that it is used purely by 'mindless yobs' and 'imbeciles', the most intelligent and cerebral folk use it to exchange intellectual ideas and details about the latest cultural or scientific event - and they do it with relish. There is a possibility to list your favourite music, books and films as well as joining groups purporting to represent a certain trend or belief. Often, if you don't have a Facebook account, there is a possibility that you'll miss out on the trendiest and most sophisticated events.

Where do I fit in all this? Nowhere. I am not compatible with it. This, apparently, is most unusual; I am part of the 6% of university applicants who are not a member of this social network.

What I find worrying about this is that this is the cornerstone of our generation - what defines all our ideals and beliefs. I find this most disheartening; surely there should be some sort of interest for something else, some sort of interest in broadening one's horizons.

Many people do not know of other alternatives. Some of mine are: keeping a diary, looking for interesting literature and film, going for walks, constantly challenging and redefining my notions of how to better myself. Not many people are doing this, and I find that Facebook, rather than encouraging people onto new and exciting avenues, is a dead-end, leading people to repeat the same activities time and time again, instead of looking at things objectively and considering ways of how one can better oneself.

The remote edges #17

2011-02-09T08:56:00.000-08:00

Review #18

2011-02-04T11:38:00.000-08:00

The Green Ray- Written and Directed by Eric Rohmer

While Eric Rohmer may have a reputation of being difficult and cumbersome, I have found the opposite to be true, in comparison with the work of his New Wave peers, at least. I had heard of these films allegedly consisting of long, insufferably inane conversations. So much so that he was the last New Wave director I looked up - even after Rivette.

For some reason I find his films to be 'feel-good' experiences; they leave me feeling uplifted and cheery, even if they consist of sombre or morose subject matter. I am not one to watch Hollywood romantic comedies for the simple reason that they don't appeal to my sensibilities, but Rohmer adds enough of what I am interested in to make this type of cinema worthwhile.

The Green Ray is my favourite of his films I've seen so far because it really resonated with me. I, too, am an introvert and have spent a vast quantity of my life without much human contact. Like Delphine, I can't create many friendships because of many ingrained beliefs and ideals.

To begin with I did find her quite irritating but, unlike Rohmer's principal character in another comedies and proverbs cycle film Le beau mariage, she won me over in the end and I sympathised with her. Her crying outbursts or her pettiness is initially straining and irritating, but once we learn about her experiences the audience sides itself with her.

The cinematography has nothing remarkable about it; in fact, it is strikingly primitive. Like his narrative devices, it is all rather sparse - there is no score, there are no flashy camera angles or complex narrative devices. Rohmer draws you into the inner life of his characters in an austere and economical way that evokes many emotional responses. He does not have a cerebral agenda, either: this is a simple account of an introvert's difficulties in finding love or companionship.

Like an excellent book, it will leave you with fond memories, which are especially sparked off by a very satisfying finale.

We must all experience the sublime

2011-02-02T06:58:00.000-08:00

"Impressing the mind with a sense of grandeur or power; inspiring awe, veneration, etc.: Switzerland has sublime scenery." Dictionary.com

"The term especially refers to a greatness with which nothing else can be compared and which is beyond all possibility of calculation, measurement or imitation." Wikipedia

Wanderer above the Sea of Fog (1818) by Caspar David Friedrich

Polar opposites in the arts

2011-01-26T05:09:00.000-08:00

I have a fairly eclectic interests in the arts, so much so that I may admire two artists who are antagonists in their field. In film, music and literature there can often be two artists whose aesthetics conflict with one another. Followers of these art fields will often 'jump on a bandwagon' and have disdainful feelings against the dilettantes who jump on the bandwagon which is the antithesis of their chosen artist.

In this post I will go through three art fields - literature, music and film - and choose artists who can be divided into two factions. I will then reach a decision as to who I side with and which 'bandwagon' I jump on.

Film

Dichotomy 1: Ingmar Bergman vs. Jean-Luc Godard

This is a really tough decision for me. This dichotomy could be described as 'Snobs' vs. 'Hipsters'. Bergman is more about the human condition and introspection while Godard is all about innovation and breaking new ground.

I do have a soft spot for Godard because his films were one of my first exposures to 'art' cinema, but if I had to side with either of these director, in terms of how their aesthetic has more to do with my outlook on the world, I'd have to choose Bergman.

Bergman does piercing explorations of the human conditions; his interests are existential and philosophical. Godard, on the other hand, especially later on in his career, constructs film essays dealing with political issues. The former's work is more carefully constructed and rooted in theatre whilst Godard is improvisatory and wholly cinematic. Both of them can be self-indulgent: Bergman's films can often be long-winded and obscure while Godard abandons any element of narrative to explore subjects which, often, only make sense and hold meaning to no-one but himself.

Godard's earliest films are, for me, full of vitality and vigour. They can be very exciting. Yet it is still something that works at the surface and, once Anna Karina left him, he veered farther and farther away from his audience, becoming a Maoist. Most of his post-1968 films can often be impenetrable and irritating.

Bergman's films appeal to my sensibilities far more. He produced films of consistent quality throughout his entire career and they have a lot more substance and depth than Godard. I guess that I prefer the 'construction' ethic over 'deconstruction' and, while I do like film-makers to dabble with experimentation, I like it all to be done in a more tightly-disciplined and structured way.

Music

Dichotomy 2: Igor Stravinsky vs. Arnold Schoenberg

These two composers represent two factions the music cognoscenti either aligned themselves to or disparaged in the early 20th century. Allegedly, both composers hated each other.

Both were innovators. Stravinsky's Rite of Spring famously caused scandal on its premier while Schoenberg conceived the twelve-tone technique, a method that attracted as many followers as it did detractors.

Stravinsky adopted three styles of composition throughout his career and they all bear his hallmark of 'organised sound', from a Russian phase, through to Neo-classicism until he eventually adopted the serialist procedures that Schoenberg devised.

I do find Schoenberg's concepts dogmatic and pretentious. I am not musically literate, so I can't come anywhere near in decoding the real worth of his music. Meanwhile, I do think his disciples produced music of worth to me - I have been able to enjoy output from both Webern and Berg. He did devise this procedure for composing that was welcomed by a generation of composers, but he did not use it effectively himself. I have enjoyed the romantic music I've heard by him and Survivor from Auschwitz, however.

I side myself with Stravinsky on this one. The range of his pieces are extraordinary and I find myself hearing his music very frequently. He was able to adapt himself to various forms and styles of composition and produce music that was stimulating to both the music lover and musician.

Literature

Dichotomy 3: Fyodor Dostoyevsky vs. Leo Tolstoy

I'll make this one brief. Both Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy are very, very respected 19th century Russian novelists. From what I've encountered from the latter, I've always been inclined to prefer the former. Dostoyevsky dealt with all the existentialist themes that were to be developed in the 20th century; his novels have been very stimulating to me. I tried reading Anna Karenina once, however, and simply had to give up. I prefer the existential questions and dilemmas over family romances and histories; I have found Dostoyevsky to be far more preferable.

Examinations

2011-01-24T06:33:00.000-08:00

Today I had a literature exam. It didn't go very well.

What really flusters me is the fact that in the run-up to today I was producing fairly good, coherent practise answers. When it came to the crunch I got blocked up and wrote very little. I will be genuinely amazed if I get a grade higher than a C. And that's precisely what I needed: a low C.

I couldn't get to sleep the night before and, right now, I am in an almost insomniac state. Just before the exam, when I needed to rest, I found myself incapable of sleeping.

In exams it is ideal to assimilate a lot of information and then to carefully organise it in a centred and focused manner. This is particularly true for this A2 exam: you need to write clearly, making sure you answer the question and that you don't go into unrelated tangents.

When it comes to exams these days I become quite obsessive about it, thinking of it constantly. I postpone my main activity, reading novels, in favour of 'revising'. The problem is that I can never revise, procrastinating all of the time, and that costs me in the end. I neither prepare myself for the examination nor do I keep myself occupied with my leisure activities. Nothing but lethargy.

If I fail this exam, which I suspect I will, it will jeopardise my chances of getting into four universities I have already applied for. The problem is that these university courses suit me more academically and, judging by the modules, they will always have something that pulls me back to work. With this A2 Gothic exam, nothing pulls me back to do it because I don't have a particularly strong interest for it.

No matter how well I prepare for the fuckers, it seems that I stumble at the final moment when writing clearly and concisely is a requisite.

Masturbatory cipher

2011-01-16T12:32:00.000-08:00

The Big Night Down the Drain (1963) by Georg Baselitz

Captain Beefheart: An appreciation

2011-01-14T09:54:00.000-08:00

Following Don Van Vliet's passing the previous month, I have been revisiting and replaying his albums more than ever. The Captain has meant a great deal to me since the age of thirteen, so I felt compelled to write a post commemorating him. I won't write an overview of his career, I will write what his music means to me personally.

Discovering Beefheart at the precociously young age of thirteen was a gateway to a whole realm of possibilities. Without him I wouldn't have discovered the avant-garde in music, literature and film as soon as I did.

In the same sense as football is a hangover from my childhood, the music of Beefheart and Zappa is hangover from my adolescence. That's why I hold it in a special place in my heart.

My first album of his was Trout Mask Replica. I didn't completely understand it initially, playing the orthodox songs like 'Moonlight on Vermont' more frequently. To begin with I liked it because it was 'whacky', jumping on an 'alternative' bandwagon in the process. But I soon unearthed the jostling and unnerving genius in it.

There is nothing like it in 'rock and roll' - not even in the music of Frank Zappa, Tom Waits or The Fall. While many post-punk and alternative bands have cited his influence, their music doesn't really follow in this tradition. It may do so in spirit and attitude, but not musically.

The arrangements and guitar interplay on the album is truly extraordinary. Yes, its conception should be credited to the musicians more than Don, but he imposed this atmosphere upon them that unearthed this very original music. He was able to achieve equally good music with different band while these members have never come anywhere near in matching the vitality and quality of the music in their other endeavours.

He was a tyrant and a manipulator, imposing dictatorial regimes. He was also a compulsive liar, taking all the compositional credit for himself. Yet, paradoxically, this is part of his charm, part of the Beefheart mythos he created.

Like much early 20th century classical music, you have to re-adapt yourself and re-conceive your notions of music. Once you do understand it, everything else sounds tame.

Many people do take it all a little seriously. His lyrics are playful and humorous; they are not attempting to communicate messages on politics, the environment or morals. They should simply be seen on their own terms. He did have a rather idiosyncratic observations on the world and this surfaces through his lyrics.

I watched her cut with clarity
the sea of Satan's red rolling water
that stung my eyes with vile vile brine
and clung to the vine that choked Mary's only Son
God in vain to slaughter
I can't darken your dark cross door no more
the light lovely one with the nothing door
and oh that pours life water

I do feel sorry for the condition he has been in over the last two decades or so. He has suffered from multiple sclerosis, a terrible condition for such a bright and agile mind. His mind has continued to function throughout all these years, but his body shut down.

Having come across a plethora of what I call 'boring fucking cunts', it is pretty startling to think that people as unusual and complex as Don van Vliet have roamed the earth. The world is a little less special without him.

----------------

My top 13 Beefheart records, ordered by personal preference.

1. Trout Mask Replica

2. Lick my Decals Off, Baby

3. Safe As Milk

4. Doc at the Radar Station

5. Bat Chain Puller (Unreleased)

6. Ice Cream for Crow

7. Shiny Beast (Bat Chain Puller)

8. The Spotlight Kid

9. Strictly Personal

10. Clear Spot

11. Mirror Man

12. Bluejeans and Moonbeams

13. Unconditionally Guaranteed

Book shelf statistics

2011-01-06T13:27:00.000-08:00

My book collection has gradually amounted over the years and is fairly large for someone my age. I think that, all together, it consists of about 250 titles. I do feel quite frustrated with myself these days because I seem to buy more books than I read whereas, a few years ago, the opposite was true - I read tremendous amounts.

The fun of having a more extensive collection is that you can compile pointless lists and statistics. Below are two lists are, based on my book collection.

Right now I am procrastinating and should be revising. (It's getting scary now; I am resitting this exam and have scarcely done anything for it... In all likelihood I will fail it again. Nevermind, here are the lists...)

--------------

Most nationalities

This list was made by making a note of each author in my collection and from country that author is from. Later I tallied them all up and made this list. The fucking yankies were triumphant by a rather large margin.

What follows is a list of all the countries and, adjacent to them, the number of books in my collection.

Yes, the formatting is a bit dodgy, but that is because I'm inept with computers.

1. USA 55

2. UK 40
3. Argentina 28
4. France 23
5. Chile 13
6. Russia 12
7. Ireland 8
8. Italy 7
9. Mexico 5
10. Poland 4
10. Germany 4
10. Czech Republic 4
10. Japan 4
14. Uruguay 3
14. Perú 3
16. China 2
16. Austria 2
16. Spain 2
19. Colombia 1
19. Hungary 1
19. Portugal 1
19. Belgium 1

It may seem quite surprising that countries like Russia and Germany are lower in the list, but the works of those countries in my collection are more 'canonical' and 'respected' - Dostoyevsky, Thomas Mann, etc. - so it evens out. Also, some of the authors I put as being from countries they were born and grew up in and not what they later nationalised as later. For instance, I put Joseph Conrad as being from Poland, not England, Kafka I considered Czech and not German and I put Nabokov as being a Russian rather than an American writer. Yes, all this is, ultimately, meaningless and unimportant.

Most authors

This is a top 5 list of the most books I have by certain writers. This list is determined by the quantity of these authors on my shelf, not the quality of their writing or a list of favourites.

1. J. G. Ballard 19
2. Julio Cortázar 11
3. Paul Auster 9
4. Fyodor Dostoyevsky 8
5. Jorge Luis Borges 7

An assessment

2011-01-02T14:42:00.000-08:00

Recently I have grown to question the necessity of this blog in my current life, realising that it is not as relevant to my current agenda. I do feel the need to 'blog', but not in such an organised, systematic way, which is what I've tended towards recently. That's why I am writing this assessment, organised under four different headings, dealing with my current situation and what changes will be made to my blog to remedy anything that's unsatisfactory. I will start with an analysis of my previous illness.

My illness

I have reiterated in the past that I have had problems with my mental health, but this occurred over three years ago. Now that a considerable amount of time has elapsed since my episode, I would like to look back and disentangle the truths and falsehoods surrounding it.

First of all, the clinic psychiatrists and my parents seemed to reach the conclusion that my episode was the culmination of several months of excessive reading and overindulgence; they concluded that my brain 'shut down' because of it.

I don't entirely disagree with this, but I don't think it is overtly accurate. While my episode was infused by the rigorous and angrily intense lifestyle I pursued, it was mainly incited by being overexcited and uncontrollably energised. I wasn't overexcited and energised because I was still angry and morose - this 'intense' lifestyle I mentioned before - but because I seemed to have put a halt to this moroseness and anger.

After having put a halt to it, it made me effusively happy - it all seemed to be over. That's when I became uncontrollably energised, stayed up for three nights in succession and entered a psychotic state. This is when I lost control, eventually gaining delusional thoughts and hallucinating.

Contrary to the general consensus others reached on the matter, my episode was triggered by three or four days of deliriousness - not something that kept amounting for months and months. My episode was also triggered by memories of these months and of my childhood, but these rafted into my mind for a three or four day period and caused it.

My current situation

I have gone through college and I'm currently applying to universities. I am far calmer and rational than I was in 2007. Yet I still feel nostalgic about these times because I was creative and there seemed to be quite a lot of vitality in my life, something that dissipated quite a bit after I was discharged. Gradually, I have resolved this; I write and pursue activities frequently, although not as hastily and frenetically as I did in the past.

Now I am in a time of uncertainty in that I do not know whether I will get into four universities and I'm currently seeking a job to finance myself. Additionally, I am pursuing a trip covering the entirety of Chile, which is the equivalent of travelling from Norway to Nigeria, and I don't know how this ambitious undertaking will turn out.

This blog

I have grown to be disenchanted by this blog, but I still feel the need to keep it. The problem is that I I have been keeping it very systematic way recently; when I used this blog in 2007 I updated it whenever I felt the need to update it. That's how I'd like to use it now.

What's more is that I have found that I prefer keeping reflections and meditations about my current life and 'states of mind' through ink and paper. I have started keeping a diary again and I find that it is far more viable and practical to channel all my candid confessions through this.

Yet I still feel a pressing need to write small articles, essays and reviews. This blog will be an outlet for that.

Applications

There won't be eight posts per month any more, nor will I write about my current life and activities. I will use this blog whenever I want to and I will write about subjects that are appealing to me at any given time.

Without spectacles

2010-12-31T12:03:00.000-08:00

I have posted a photograph of myself in the past wearing spectales... Here I am not wearing spectacles.

I am a self-obsessed little cunt.

Changes will be made to this seldom-read blog this upcoming year. Watch out...

Happy new year.

Unorthodoxy in music

2010-12-29T15:59:00.000-08:00

My music habits are rather different to most; my notions of music aren't similar to those of the average person. Most 4/4 music tires me and I am equally exhilarated by harmonious melodies as I am by dissonance and atonality.

Yet it seems that I am alone in having these preferences. But then I look at other art fields - cinema, literature and painting - and I find that in these fields unorthodoxy is prevalent and popular.

Mainstream cinema, largely due to the popularity of Tarantino in the mid '90s, has increasingly used different narrative techniques which dispel linearity and embrace time ellipsis. In painting there has always been an abundance of unorthodoxy since the start of the twentieth century, which has frequently crossed over to the public spotlight, and realism has been downplayed in favour of surrealism and expressionism. Avant-garde writing frequently becomes best-selling material, and academic institutions put as much emphasis on modernism of the early 20th century as they do to more traditional literature from preceding centuries.

And what about music? As far as I see it, both 'serious' and 'popular' music circles always put far more emphasis on the conventional and banal, to the extent that unorthodox music is non-existent. Many music lovers are unaware of these musical genres.

The niggling question is: is it marketable? Most people instantly reach the conclusion that, no, it isn't. To some extent, they may be right. I had a conversation with my father on this topic and he said that, when hearing music, you are constantly assaulted and you can't really 'look away'. When looking at a painting, you are seeing it from a certain distance and you have time to think it over and appreciate it in a different way than when you hear a record.

Often, when people have heard my music playing in the background they'll laugh and ask me: "Why do you like this?" They don't seem to be picking up on the musical activity I hear and they find it baffling how anyone would want to hear such a 'racket'.

But then, there is a select few who are ravished by these sounds. The problem is that people who may like this music have no access to it because they simply haven't heard it. I was lucky to discover unconventional music at the age of thirteen, but before then I was listening to music that, when I hear it now, makes me sick.

I do feel that, a viable step to a solution for this, is that stores like HMV and Virgin actually had a section of 'Avant-Garde' music. People who may like this stuff may discover music that is both challenging and fresh in fields ranging from jazz, pop, classical, jazz, rock and more.

Some musical circles and cliques decry how figures like Albert Ayler and Charles Ives were misunderstood and neglected in their time. But wouldn't it be good if music followers, who haven't heard them and may like them, agreed with these people on a larger scale?

Book by book: J. G. Ballard's bibliography

2010-12-23T08:58:00.000-08:00

I'm only covering his novels here, even though I do think his shorter fiction is the greater achievement, especially the earliest ones from the late 50s/early 60s and Vermillion Sands.

Ballard is the British writer of greatest significance to me. He played a dominant role in my episode and was an idol at the time. He is the author whose books are of greatest quantity on my shelf. Now I will go through all the novels of the greatest literary prophet of the 20th century.

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The Drowned World (1962)

Ballard's prescient first novel envisions a 22nd century London inundated and ridden by primeval swamps, decades before 'Global Warming' was a common fact. It is a science fiction novel in the post-apocalyptic genre, although the characters aren't depressed nor negatively affected by their surroundings but enraptured and ravished by them. Ballard plays homage to surrealist painting, with the morass of plantation and trees representing the chaotic world those works envision. There is a scene that is an homage to a stunt Dali pulled off; the character Kerans plunges into the deep water in a water garment, which is what Dali did in the 20th century, claiming that he was "exploring the deepest recesses of the mind". Like these paintings, the surroundings have an effect on the unconscious mind; the characters are addled by dreams of their former ancestors. Indeed, the characters regress to a more primordial mind state and Ballard's setting prompts them to have recurring thoughts of people several centuries their senior. Ballard says that, with the more the world is in tatters, the more primitive and dehumanised we are. The characters are comprised of doctors who are recording data and statistics from the zone. The character, Kerans, instead of returning north to salvation, eventually sets off to the south and into self-annihilation.

The Drought (1964)

The second in Ballard's catastrophe trilogy. This is the The Drowned World in reverse; now the shortage, and the cause of distress for the characters, is water; and, to head to salvation, the central character heads south. This novel features all the hallmarks and quintessential aspects which are associated with Ballard: drained swimming pools, loose lions, quixotic characters, strangely attractive women. An underrated novel but not essential; recommended reading once you've read at least five or six of his other books.

The Crystal World (1966)

Haven't read this one yet.

The Atrocity Exhibition (1969)

A change of tack for Ballard and a book that confirmed him as an avant-garde voice. This is Ballard's attempt at trying to make sense out of a world that has become increasingly psychotic; indeed, the character is a doctor in a mental hospital suffering a mental breakdown. Its validity as a novel is disputable (Ballard called the miniatures a "condensed novels"); it is a collection of disparate miniatures with little or no narrative thread interconnecting them. This fragmentary approach was inspired by William Burroughs, a writer Ballard greatly admired. At the time of its conception, Ballard felt like capturing a transfiguration of reality he felt was undergoing at the time. With the mass media landscape, we live in a world of fiction and, conversely, the 'space inside our own heads' is false. The character's breakdown is ignited by several celebrities and events from the late sixties, from Kennedy's assassination to Marilyn Monroe's suicide. The protagonist name, in addition to other character's, changes in the course of the chapters and this is one of many aspects of the book that confounds and confuses many readers. Ballard didn't recommend reading the book linearly, but to simply read snippets here and there from different parts of the book until some sort of cohesion is formed. Martin Amis noted that it was unusual at the time to have chapters with names of like 'Why I Want to Fuck Ronald Reagan' and 'Princess Margaret's Facelift' but concluded "That would be unusual at any time, perhaps." The current edition comes with footnotes from the author that elucidate any difficulties the reader may encounter.

Crash (1973)

The first in a trilogy of novels where Ballard centres catastrophe, not in a futuristic environmental disaster, but in the heralding of motorways and high-rise apartments. This work lavishly depicts a character (called 'Ballard') who, after crashing into a car and being in a state of shock, becomes aroused and pursues a peculiar form of fetishism in gaining sexual pleasure from car crashes. He finds that he is not alone and soon discovers an underworld of like-minded individuals, all led by the insatiably gruelling Vaughn. Vaughn is also obsessed with a sexual death with celebrity culture and the book culminates with him dying with actress Elizabeth Taylor. Like many Ballard novels, there is a coldness and the characters pursue the most gruesome sexual activities - like penetrating a woman's wound - with little regard to morality and affection. The book caused a minor stir upon publication, but when David Cronenberg chose to adapt the novel to film in 1996 it caused a frisson of scandal of unimagined proportions. Indeed, Ballard was aiming to shock the reader, to make the reader come to the realisation that many people enjoy pain and danger. A psychiatrist's wife read a manuscript of the novel and stated "This author is beyond psychiatric help: do not publish," which Ballard said "Is the greatest compliment one can be paid."

Concrete Island (1974)

A Robinson Crusoe for modern times, an architect crashes into an converging motorway and maroons himself in a small island lying beneath it. He rations food out for himself, finds ways of healing his wounds and, eventually, as you would expect from Ballard, ends up living in his own mind. The character finds two other people in the island: a woman, with whom he fornicates, and a simple-minded tramp. Although he is initially very keen in the idea of escaping the island, he decides against it and stays.

High-Rise (1975)

Although it is not my favourite, I can confidently say that this is Ballard's best novel. Its setting, although the novel takes place in present day, looks to the future: an ultra-modern, state-of-the-art luxury building housing thousands and of people and even has its own supermarket, pool and school. This enables Ballard to deconstruct social codes and do what he does best: present humanity at a slant and depict human degenerance, where people act in a primal state. As soon as the building electricity power fails and many petty worries have been escalating progressively over a few weeks, the inhabitants separate themselves in three distinct groups, attacking one another and eventually resorting to cannibalism. Like his two previous novels, which along with this work form a trilogy, Ballard uses modern advances in technology as a way of putting forth a cautionary warning about humanity. Reading this, it comes as no surprise that Ballard was a literary favourite amongst underground anarchist groups and publications in the late 70s.

The Unlimited Dream Company (1979)

Although this is not his best novel, I can confidently say it is my favourite. Ballard's three previous novels, despite depicting strange occurrences and unravelling a world of perverted sexuality and violence, were firmly rooted in realism. Here he abandons it completely and undertakes a full-frontal assault of surrealism. In naming the protagonist of Crash after himself, Ballard has said in the past that that book was an effort at an 'internal autobiography', but this book bears features and recurring obsessions that make it abundantly clear that this is his 'internal autobiography'. The unsubtly named 'Blake' steals an aircraft (Ballard flew airplanes with the RAF) and crashes it into the thames of Shepperton (the small town Ballard settled in from the late 1950s until his death). The story is narrated in first person by a narrator who is not at all reliable, which suggests that the entire novel could be merely be delusions of a person in a constant psychotic state. Or it could be interpreted that, when he crashes the plane into the thames, he actually dies and that this is his afterlife. Blake has unusual superhuman powers: he can heal sick people, fly and, most notoriously, grow a variety of exotic plantation by spreading his semen around. Once more, Ballard grounds the novel on a common theme whose germination would soon become clear in Empire of the Sun: Blake is incapable of leaving the small suburb and, despite feeling an overwhelming urge to break free, stays. Although his plans are initially malevolent - he wants to absorb all the citizens of Shepperton that will give him power to fly away - he changes after another character, an owner of the zoo who frees vultures out of cages and they are prevailing presence in the novel, shoots him. The wound of the shot enables him to fly away from Shepperton with all its inhabitants and resurrect his deceased and enigmatic lover. Highly recommended reading.

Hello America (1981)

Haven't read this one yet.

Empire of the Sun (1984)

After been published, this novel surpassed the sales of all his other books combined within a few weeks. And after Steven Spielberg made a glossy, though impressive, Hollywood adaptation of it it catapulted Ballard into a fame that had, for the most part, previously evaded him. Ballard was raised in China and after Pearl Harbour and the second world war he was placed in an internment camp. This makes the origin of all the previous novels very clear and all his previous works could be seen as a reconstruction of the experiences described in this powerfully moving novel. The death of a Japanese soldier is described with a deadpan matter-of-fact style and the carnage described relentlessly is searing. Ballard, in essence, has been writing and rewriting these scenes time and time again. Jim moves from one escapade to another, all in the pursuit of going through "the university of life". At once a stunning departure and a recapitulation of all his former themes.

The Day of Creation (1987)

Haven't read this one yet.

Running Wild (1988)

This novella is something new for Ballard: a detective story. The parents of a whole street of middle-class children are murdered and they are missing, presumed to be kidnapped. Again, through this very readable and entertaining story, Ballard poses one of his most recurring themes: are we really as civilised as we think we are? All plotted out very well, with a revealing twist...

The Kindness of Women (1991)

The sequel to Empire of the Sun. We follow Jim into adult life, although now it is narrated in first person. Ballard chronicles his studies as a medical student, flying for the RAF in Canada, the discovery of Science Fiction in the 50s, the premature death of his wife, raising his children and the frantic 1960s where he describes his experiments with LSD. Like Empire, it is not all entirely true and many moments are fictionalised. It starts off in the Lunghua camp, surprisingly, it doesn't follow straight on from the end of Empire. The most poignant moments are from the women he meets and some of his sexual encounters, hence the title.

Rushing to Paradise (1994)

Haven't read this one yet.

Cocaine Nights (1996)

Ballard now writes detective fiction in novel form with Cocaine Nights, the first of a quadrology. Ballard's fiction, it seems, has darkened even more here; the sex scenes here are almost as lurid as those in Crash. The protagonist goes to a British resort in Spain called Estrella del Mar and the character's brother claims the guilt for setting a family's house on fire. Like much crime fiction, there are many twists and turns but they are far more depraved and darker. Riveting stuff, although it lacks a bit of the bite of the earlier work.

Super-Cannes (2000)

Haven't read this one yet.

Millennium People (2003)

Haven't read this one yet.

Kingdom Come (2006)

The opening paragraph is magnificent! The rest... Well, Ballard's strength had never been characterisation or dialogue and I've got no problem with that - I'm woeful with it in my own fiction. The problem is that it is just an entanglement of loose ideas with no interconnecting thread and it becomes quite jarring to read. This was his first most overtly political novel and tackled the topic of consumerism, and Ballard depicts it transforming it into fascism. Interesting ideas and concepts, but it doesn't come together as a novel.

Ipod shuffle #6

2010-12-21T10:38:00.000-08:00

1. Impressions - Napalm Death

A rollicking start to the shuffle, but From Enslavement to Obliteration is weaker than Scum in that there is even less variety and the tracks are more 'samey'. Open chords are repeated, the drums (Mick Harris, or was he one of the many who of the original members who left in droves?), the most impressive aspect of Napalm's intensive cacophony, play at a ridiculous speed. Additionally, the angry rants. Every time I write about a smidgen of N. D. on this monthly regular, the description is bound to be the same...

2. Systematic Abuse - The Fall

I'm not at all fond of this album, but this track ain't that bad. Reformation TLC is a mere footnote in The Fall's rich and vast catalogue. This track in one of their stronger albums would seem rather tame, but here it stands out. The bass plays this simple line, which the rest of the band hammer out until the whole thing, four minutes into the track, smacks of tedium. I fucking love M. E. Smith's delivery, though: "I got a potato out, it is the same-uh. I got the paper out, it is the same-uh". When you think he has ran out of things to say, he surprises you by saying even less. No matter what the heck he rambles on about, it is fucking amazing and you are in awe of him.

3. Zion Hill [Alternate Take] - Albert Ayler

Even in the the vast world of hectic, dissonant and inharmonious world of free jazz Alber Ayler stands out as being rather difficult. That was earlier on, later his music became far more approachable. This is his later music. I fucking love this album, Love Cry, even though it was inspired by flower power and psychedelic drugs. He is actually playing a melody here and he resists the temptation of making hideous noises, which is most admirable. The fact that this is an alternate take acts as testament of the richness and power of the music, this is fucking amazing!

4. The Blessing - Ornette Coleman

Ayler could be seen as Coleman's musical progeny and it's doubtful that his initial career could have been accepted by the jazz cognoscenti had it been for the avenues Coleman opened up by records like these. It's quite hard to fathom that Coleman's music, especially this album Something Else!!!!, was considered so outré at the time. This is straightforward free-bob, but it really is 'something else'. This album is quite rare in his catalogue in that includes piano playing (is it from the master Paul Bley?). The classic Coleman line-up is sax, trumpet, bass and drums. Coleman's melodies are fucking luxurious and wonderful, and the soloing is by masters of their instruments.

5. Extinct - Nile

Nile incorporate Egyptian melodies and mythology into their brutally good death metal. This synth melody opens up for an incredible groove. Then chords are repeated below some malevolent howling (it just wouldn't be death metal if this were absent, would it?) Five minutes into the track it gets faster and it approximates grind. In the proliferation of predictable and dull death metal bands, Nile stand out. Nothing is more exhilarating than death metal that is well-crafted.

The comics of my youth #6

2010-12-20T10:51:00.000-08:00

Mampato and Ogú fighting for Chilean independence 200 years ago...

Click to enlarge.

Mampato

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Goodbye, Don Van Vliet.

Review #17

2010-12-13T09:34:00.000-08:00

Obras de Violeta Parra - Los Jaivas

Los Jaivas are a Chilean progressive rock band who took from many aspects of Chilean culture and music and transfigured them into extensive and complicated rock songs. Their most acclaimed album is Alturas de Machu Picchu, which sets to music Pablo Neruda's famous ode to the Peruvian mountains. In this album, Obras de Violeta Parra, they radically rework eleven songs from revered Chilean folklorist Violeta Parra and the result is what I consider to be their best album.

Though by no means is this an ordinary 'tribute album'. Los Jaivas take Parra's raw melodies as a vehicle to head onto complex compositions that are as much indebted to early 20th century classical music as Latin-American folk music. Six of the ten tracks in the album clock in at over eight minutes in length.

In contrast to their previous work from the late seventies, here the band downplay the folk elements in favour of almost symphonic constructions. In the opener 'Arauco tiene una pena' there is use of the indigenous native instrument 'trutuka', but it is interspersed with an ominous moog sound and Claudio Parra's splendorous piano playing. The whole band come into the picture, with each member playing spectacularly well, Gabriel Parra's drumming being of note. It is only seven minutes into the song that they return to a folksy style and perform music wherein Violeta Parra's original song is more discernible.

The next few songs, 'El guillatún', 'Manana me boy p'al norte' mediate between the band's folklorist and classical influences, but it is in tracks 'Y arriba quemando el sol' and 'El Gavilan' that Los Jaivas reach new ground. The latter track builds up on a crescendo furiously; by the time the track ends, it is difficult to remember that you are hearing what should be, in essence, a folk record.

That is not to say there is no room for the light-hearted or the simpler folk Los Jaivas have pursued elsewhere. 'Violeta ausente', for instance, is a fairly faithful rendition to the Parra original.

The album, like their Neruda tribute Alturas, does a remarkable job of interconnecting the original text with suitable music. Parra's original lyrics are complemented by arrangements where both prog-rock complexity and Latin-American folklore abound.

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