Oh my fuck, I just had the most awesome-weird dream ever. It involved running from a band (ie. musical) of zombies that were "normal" until I turned my back (ie. just like those ghosts from super mario world) and the only antidote was a spray bottle of oil extracted from the corpse of Spinoza. Any time I sprayed them they would scream "not Spinoza oil!!!!" and slow down a little.
Not kidding.
Why didn't I just avoiding turning my back? Because when I did they started singing, which was almost as horrific as being chased.
I am in love with my afternooon-nap-unconscious for having such a grotesque sense of humour.
Speaking of grotesque, one of the greatest images I have come across lately:
"Her teeth are bright and it looks as if she just hit Pause. I want to fill in her gums and smear her teeth with the fish food flakes just for fun. It would look like scabs dissolving. IT WOULD."
-from my newly-purchased copy of Nathaniel G. Moore's novel "wrongbar."
It is very interesting and very well written. He's one of my favourite Toronto writers, for sure. And for those in any way familiar with my preferred poetry-aesthetic you will understand why I wish I had thought of this image before him. That's a sign of a really good writer for me, when I'm jealous of the things they say and wish I'd come up with it. Sometimes I just read and enjoy and bask in something's greatness, and other times some lines grab and pinch me so that it hurts a little and I feel immeasurably insuperior but more complete and a little heavier inside for having read it.
I experience that a lot with Scorch Atlas too, which I am slowly devouring in bits on the subway. Scorch Atlas is dirty and slick and ecstatic. It's hard to describe. I know I'm way behind the band wagon on reading it, but fuck it, better late than never. Now that I have some cash I'm going to slowly purchase books that I've been wanting forever (Shane Jones, Molly Gaudry, etc) so brace yourselves for some good old belated reviews. And please offer me suggestions of things that you think I would enjoy reading.
(Considering your dream I'd strongly suggest a complete edition of Sigmund Freud.)
ReplyDeleteI perfectly understand this jealousy of images. Have you ever read 'Death in Venice' (Thomas Mann)? For me, that novella is even beyond this jealousy. It's how language should be used. (at least the German language)