Mar 14, 2012

Transmission from the Realms of Uncertainty

I created this blog with the exact opposite intention of writing what I am about to -- a candid, diary-entry-style transmission from my own babbling consciousness to the infinite Internet. Hello, Internet! Hello to the unknown, the Great Perhaps; with all its wanderers, forlorn, howling among the empty eternities. But I really do feel that some kind of update is needed, if only to prove that I am not dead and neither is this blog.

I haven't done this for a while, so bear with me. I might sound like an Romantic poet robot for a while, or Jack Kerouac on downers (more hopefully the latter). These sentences will form, hopefully will begin to coalesce, hopefully I will figure out what I'm trying to say. Or maybe I'll just dispense with trying at all for now and just stick to a page of notes.

This is the upshot of my excuse for being absent for so long: I have left school and have been living in New York City for the past 2.5 months. I've been very unstable and having a lot of psychological problems, some of which were what made me decide to drop out, so I haven't really been focusing on writing very much. But I feel like I'm coming back to life a bit and now that I'm in the city that enraptured me so much over the summer to write about, it would be a horrific waste to not at least try to wrangle something out of my freaked-out mind.

Things I Want To Write About Soon:

 - The Drake Hotel in Chicago, at Christmastime.
 - Coney Island in the winter
 - Looking Like a Mess in New York: the importance of fashion, The Look, what image you present walking down the street in this city. Patti Smith, Tom Wolfe, John Waters, and Lady Gaga all have a lot to say about this, and I have had my own sorry experiences of feeling subhuman in a Starbucks for having greasy hair and a plain, off-kilter shabby coat on.
 - McSorley's, the oldest bar in the city, where we met Monk. Who stays forever young.
 - the Haruki Murakami craze: review of After Dark (entrancing), Kafka on the Shore (overlong), Norwegian Wood (cloying and addictive)... maybe take a look at 1Q84 so I might have an idea of what I'm talking about in a contemporary, up-to-date context
 - the hopeless message running above subway commuters' heads -- literally -- that no one seems to be confused about the origins of but me. It begins, "OVERSLEPT, SO TIRED. IF LATE, GET FIRED."
 - Babbo's Books in Windsor Terrace, Brooklyn
 - midnight movies at the IFC Center in Greenwich Village -- ranging from cheesy to classic to cult in horror and the occasional basic American blockbuster (I'm not sure if you could call Jaws a horror movie...)
 - David Shields' 2010 book, Reality Hunger: A Manifesto. The front and back cover is a Christmas wrapping-paper-style pattern of glowing, ecstatic, excited blurbs and calls-to-arms from fellow writers... but did anyone really pay attention? Everyone is still stuck in the slow, lukewarm, milky tide of bland modern fiction. One thing he proposes: everything should actually be written in segments, in list form, not according to conventions of plot but by the haphazard insistent barrage of ideas as they pop up in the mind. Nothing horrific like a Twitter feed of a novel, just something that feels more like messages rather than one long streaming story. Maybe it's true that we don't have the patience for that anymore, who knows. Many decades ago, Carl Solomon (dedicatee of "Howl" and a reasonably fantastic writer himself) tried to start something similar with a book called The Messengerial Revolution; not by stating his stylistic aims outright, but by example. It never took off, the book is out of print and obscure. But still, an interesting idea... and one that speaks to my own mania for making lists/notes
 - It may be an easy/obvious one, but --> RETROMANIA, anyone?
 - Also, what the fuck ever happened to Lady Sovereign?
I love one-hit wonders. I could write a book. In high-school, I created another blog solely about the '80s synth-pop duo, Soft Cell (known only for "Tainted Love", except among the hopelessly nostalgic or insanely retroerotic):

I don't know if anyone remembers this...

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