FAB A LOT

When young fell into books as Beauty Horror Sacred Relics Architecture of Dreams flooded heart mind sorrows’ wild with tragic schisms of being. Books shared & informed. ✂ ✂ But drawing taught me lines, shadows, the quintessence of depth & how for to find. And design battled with meaning for courage, shared vision, strength.

Les Plaisirs et les Jours

Reading Marcel Proust’s short stories, called Les Plaisirs and les Jours. The Pleasure of My Days – in French with English translation. As am studying now methods and stylistic comparisons translating between English & French.

Freedom he takes, in story about Madame de Breyves and her Melancholy Vacation. Examines beauty and her sorrows, goes in on every ferocious divinely exquisite detail – right up my alley. As asserts a frightening resistance to all things banal.

Madame is struck, falls in love with someone – not quite in her class – very french, but it ends up that he has gone away. And she cant get him out of her head.

Love that exerts as curse of desire, when one’s imagination is too much. Cripples and conspires due to the person being out of reach.

Through the depths he details a heart’s merciless compulsion for whats missing – as a wild delicacy of treasonous virtues that inhabit her heart as prisoner of (what is at the moment) impossible, and her imagination is unforgiving.

Love that wont let go, its intensity & admissions terrifying –

Also loved Proust’s take on Flaubert, using characters Bacard and Pecuchet –  think Plato as two bourgeoisie bff posing a (‘cooperative argumentative type’) dialogue – as they are discussing merits of adjoining Music and High Society – Its delicious fictitious drollery, really funny &  by contraries profound, cheeky, charming, wonderful!

 

Golden

The idea of mounting a statue dedicated to Cave in Warracknabeal has been kicked around since the mid 90s, when sculptor Corin Johnson bumped into the artist and the rest of his band, the Bad Seeds, in a London club.

Cave has reportedly described it as “a rather beautiful piece of homo erotic art.”

From The Guardian.

 

Lucia Joyce

After setting fire to her room, Lucia Joyce was sent to Zurich to be psychoanalyzed by Jung. She became Jung’s patient in 1934. Jung said Lucia and her father were like two people heading to the bottom of a river, except that he was diving and she was falling. “I am grateful for your letters,” Joyce wrote in 1935 to Harriet Weaver, “but the only ones which enlighten me, even if they are wild, are Lucia’s own.”

 

Graft

Plunder bunnying after The Idea is a reflectivity old as sea along with its wretched desolation/delivery Tribulation piracy. 

And I know now Stinky was a robbery that devoured – that Em is a flesh eating flower, and that it gave birth to my beautiful treachery – I know thats the cruces. That madness is (in many ways like falling into a) musical key – oceanic and tectonic.

But – as I shift the transports toward here, toward theatre (as way of dealing with it) decidedly in promotion of the notion that I can make myself into a fucking deadline, everything begins to conglutinate – knowing “actors” arrive and together we steal a way through the Arc – the Magic of Arc –

Begins proto-religiously the sublime “rotations.” Sublime intensities become enveloped in possibility as theatre, as treasure and measure, and potency and proportion, my heart capitulates to the Turning Winds where patently mills depth notations  – littered and slough with beauty and madness and desire etc. 

Theme runs into person and Romance (of the fucking Rose) gets capitalized, turns posey and ecliptic meanwhile spelunking after “quantities” – ripe & tenebrous opacities – that hell hath devoured! And sounding, chews off foot – for Achilles freedom. 

 

HELLO

“Vampires can turn into bats, cats, dogs, wolves, and butterflies. Also insects, rats, birds, fleas, mice and locusts.” FAB A LOT! 

 

Clarice Lispector

Agua Viva. BOOK’s plot – as if there is an ex-lover somewhere to whom she must explain. And para after para gushes out then, after thresholds where language goes beyond the simple or the complex, beyond deviousness, and even beyond reflection or admission, to something ailing for a form. Seeps as paint does blood through the grave and the mighty. Irresolvable with hidden beauty, nestling in cracks. Luminance and void, dangling off hiatus of every breadth, every death, hearing itself scream, for murder & joy. Forthright as heresy. Wild as a state of nature.

Because writing is a kind of heresy that inhabits like a tyrant with a ukulele. Performs a burden of death & emptiness and longing, composure becomes everything

 

Slavoj Zizek

Turns out Zizek used to teach at New School.  Which is where I teach! Drawing at Parsons. Figured out what love about Zizek. Last philosopher who seriously “hit me” like this was Georges Bataille. Zizek’s philosophical writings though vewy wigowous and deep – reach beyond historical terms in view of philosophy, not always always, but a lot. Presents deeply wrestled philosophical issues as occur in media, including theatre. Because of what theatre does – expounds on vision through sharing – resolution of aspiration to resolve truth-issues as occur in cinematic interpretation – BIG Z uses cinema / media (of all kinds) as a sort of pass-thru, an intermediary, distributive of philosophical implosions of truth in the heart of darkness, symmetry, religion etc etc – Does this to great intensity scrutiny relish! Super fab.

 

Skunk Hour

BY ROBERT LOWELL

(For Elizabeth Bishop)

Nautilus Island’s hermit

heiress still lives through winter in her Spartan cottage;

her sheep still graze above the sea.

Her son’s a bishop. Her farmer

is first selectman in our village;

she’s in her dotage.

 

Thirsting for

the hierarchic privacy

of Queen Victoria’s century,

she buys up all

the eyesores facing her shore,

and lets them fall.

 

The season’s ill—

we’ve lost our summer millionaire,

who seemed to leap from an L. L. Bean

catalogue. His nine-knot yawl

was auctioned off to lobstermen.

A red fox stain covers Blue Hill.

 

And now our fairy

decorator brightens his shop for fall;

his fishnet’s filled with orange cork,

orange, his cobbler’s bench and awl;

there is no money in his work,

he’d rather marry.

 

One dark night

my Tudor Ford climbed the hill’s skull;

I watched for love-cars. Lights turned down,

they lay together, hull to hull,

where the graveyard shelves on the town. . . .

My mind’s not right.

 

A car radio bleats,

“Love, O careless Love. . . .” I hear

my ill-spirit sob in each blood cell,

as if my hand were at its throat. . . .

I myself am hell;

nobody’s here—

 

only skunks, that search

in the moonlight for a bite to eat.

They march on their soles up Main Street:

white stripes, moonstruck eyes’ red fire

under the chalk-dry and spar spire

of the Trinitarian Church.

 

I stand on top

of our back steps and breathe the rich air—

a mother skunk with her column of kittens swills the garbage pail.

She jabs her wedge-head in a cup

of sour cream, drops her ostrich tail,

and will not scare.

 

Shane MacGowan

Stole from him: The Jar. Almost killed me. Up my red rose with a rubber hose. His instincts are beauty & beastly. Brought out best & very worst in me. All Natural Ingredients. Got into my belly. Nick Cave had to walk me back. Some things about me, SM is the only person who knows – better than I do (or so it goes).

 

Wallace Stevens

Thunder by the Musican

Sure enough, moving, the thunder became men,
Ten thousand, men hewn and tumbling,
Mobs of ten thousand,
This way and that.

Slowly, one man, savager than the rest,
Rose up, tallest, in the black sun,
Stood up straight in the air, struck off
The clutch of the others.

And, according to the composer, this butcher,
Held in his hand the suave egg-diamond
That had flashed (like vicious music that ends
In transparent accords).

It would have been better, the time conceived,
To have him holding – what?
His arm would be trembling, he would be weak,
Even though he shouted.

The sky would be full of bodies like wood,
There would have been cries of the dead
And the living would be speaking,
As a self that lives on itself.

It would have been better for his hands
To be convulsed, to have remained the hands
Of one wilder than the rest (the music blunted,
Yet the sound of that).

 

Brief History of Infinity

PAULO ZELLINI

Compares line where divine meets the sublime and language of the counting heads – as coextensive with history of math, which it is. Book very fine for philosophy majors. 

 

Love song of Prufrock

T.S.ELIOT

“The yellow fog that rubs

its back upon the window-panes,

The yellow smoke that rubs

its muzzle on the window-panes,

Licked its tongue

into the corners of the evening,

Lingered upon the pools

that stand in drains,

Let fall upon its back

the soot that falls from chimneys,

Slipped by the terrace,

made a sudden leap,

And seeing that it was

a soft October night,

Curled once about the house,

and fell asleep. . .”

Listening to his liberties, talking to cats on hedge, on ledge, on wall. Reaching for paws that flip as they fall.

 

Beckett with Lacan by Slavoj Zizek

Slavoj Zizek talking up Beckett & Lacan: “If there ever was a kenotic writer, the writer of the utter self-emptying of subjectivity, of its reduction to a minimal difference, it is Beckett. We touch the Lacanian Real when we subtract from a symbolic field all the wealth of its differences, reducing it to a minimum of antagonism. Lacan gets sometimes seduced by the rhizomatic wealth of language beyond (or, rather, beneath) the formal structure that sustains it. (My emphasis).” – Its the glue its the glue –

And on the infamous Not I: “When asked if the Auditor is Death or a guardian angel, Beckett shrugged his shoulders, lifted his arms and let them fall to his sides, leaving the ambiguity intact – repeating the very gesture of the Auditor.” Auditors! I love it. Fab a Lot!

 

Why We Gesture

Development of communication & gesture by pre-eminent expert in field, Prof. Emeritus DAVID MCNEILL. Author of 11 books on language, gesture, speech and so on. Several of which are considered classics. (If I get 1 pub’d in my life time will be a frckng miracle.) Very Prestigious Guy. Was honored to provide Professor McNeill with series of gesture drawings for one of his latest books.

 

Jane Fonda on Love

“If you don’t feel seen, safe or celebrated, get out.”

 

Anna Maria Maiolino

FAB A LOT has fallen in love with this piece by Anna Maria Maiolino from her In and Out series. Yarn that tumbles out of the mouth of desire, exacerbating after knots? of beauty folly death. So simple so true.

 

Amy Carroll at Whisper

AMY CARROLL has been promoted from Research & Development Associate to Director of Message Creation at imaging group Whisper. Amy I vouch for super fab. She is seriously into branding, its all she wants, its all she thinks about. She is party of my ring of creatives. I love her. She helped figure out how incorporate Pee and Beauty without ACTUALLY offending anybody. As purposefulness rules. Though dirty faced boy, homeless Huck, sniggers to get caught peeing behind Liberty statute (P’s new poem, am finishing) saying that was then this is now. Parabasis intrude for me on everything – chorus butting in. And its not even me talking, its one of them. I let it – theatre – I let it! Because people inspire me. Amy is inspiring. P aside, I consider Amy a blessing. 

para: beside beyond analogous to, also short for paratrooper paragraph.

 

Comment C’est

SAM BECKETT, in his book Comment C’est, circles language La Boue (means mud in FR, nostalgia de la boue). He flushes and loops through an exquisite meandering mud of reason & dreams like a cryptographic lattice. My language dreams in La Boue too. Only now to open this book and discover – yeah Sam got there before me. His strength, courage & sanity gives for some of us a great sense of ministration & relief. Plot Summary: Past now gone with one Pim. Favorite soft sac he (apparently) sleeps on – and its readjustment once again (the last at first being so lovely). Also: a certain flow rate of (dinner?) tins. Part 1 is fab a lot. Eng/FR edition published by Routledge, a voluminous addition to the Beckett catalog. 

 

L’Experience Interieure

Read almost everything by GEORGES BATAILLE on beauty, sex & death. He wrote novels & philosophy. This is his master work. Holding French against English I have read it at least three times. I adore it. Sacred essentials of horror & beauty taken out to edges of ecstasy at depths of impossibility and endlessness. Fearless F$CKER I love him. New translation by Prof. Kendall (with whom I took an online course once, I think).

 

The Art of Dressing Curves

The Art of Dressing Curves is a gorgeous book that only SUSAN MOSES could write. Acclaimed stylist for the curvy side of life. No other book quite like it. Includes diagrammatic of 9 collars that she had me draw. I admire Susan greatly! Her faith helps me find what having faith means – Sacrificial cults abscond with me. Jesus was such a do or die. She’s on the DO side. And does it so beautifully!

 

Maison di Prima

Provided linelist and flats past season for up and coming Italian fashion house Maison di Prima headed by Designer and Parsons grad MANUELA DI PRIMA. Wonderful wonderful designer of scrumptious Italian togs. That just right balance between classic & gorgeous. As seen in Italian Vogue.

 

Writing to Zizek

From 2013. Letters between Nadja of Pussy Riot and Slavoj Zizek. When she was in Russian Prison. Following quote perhaps also true when creed of sincerity is overwhelmed by the thousand cuts of Everyday Horror: “The Deleuzian philosopher Brian Massumi tells how capitalism has already overcome the logic of totalising normality and adopted the logic of erratic excess: The more varied, and even erratic, the better. Normality starts to lose its hold. The regularities start to loosen…” Zizek in his books talks a lot about Mediation of The Excess. Eminently astute. Mmmmmm Fab a Lot!

 

kathy gilligan

Chief Editor: PM360 Great writer. One of the fiercest people I know. Indisputably a dedicated deadline Queen. Conversations with her into what sparks “The Spirals” some of the most amazing have ever had with anyone. Like any great Journalist, Kathy is a profound explorer.

 

Narrative Development in Young Children

ELENA LEVY met thru husband Leonard & super cousins C & T. Has true passion for early narrative dev. in children, pyschology of gesture & speech. This book written with celebrated Professor Emeritus David McNeill is an invaluable study into language acquisition for developmental psychology and gesture studies. Pleasure for me to work with Elena on design for cover, book includes series gestures drawings I drew. Elena is ferociously dedicated in own special way, I greatly appreciate her sensitivity for philosophy of language. (& our discussions on trauma & terror – often sublime, not everybody can go there).

 

The Sick Bag Song

NICK CAVE The Sick Bag Song is especially essential to my collection. Helps me wake up beyond revelations of ornery terrors: to behold with honesty humor and relish the beauty in my obsessions – especially those that otherwise should tear the soul apart.