November 3rd, 2009 / 5:20 pm
Power Quote
Blake Butler
Power Quote
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Meta
That guy’s a sham.
That guy’s a sham.
so that’s our goal then as forward-thinking artists? to be drugs…. I like the way it sounds. I call peyote!
I always hated straight edge.
so that’s our goal then as forward-thinking artists? to be drugs…. I like the way it sounds. I call peyote!
I always hated straight edge.
me too
me too
straight edge kids usually eventually became the most frequent drug users, in my city
straight edge kids usually eventually became the most frequent drug users, in my city
Yup. Trading one addiction for another.
Yup. Trading one addiction for another.
but i don’t think this quote is about not using drugs
but i don’t think this quote is about not using drugs
i like that quote.
i like that quote.
thats me!
did he fuck his mustache up on purpose?
thats me!
did he fuck his mustache up on purpose?
yes
yes
“Sometimes I feel myself absolutely mad. I say what I am doing here? Because I feel reality so unreal and myself so strange. I have a mind, a liver, a heart. Everything I look and I feel is inside myself. It’s not reality. What I am is enormous reaction. It is not the thing. I am not the feeling. I am what is felt. The man who feels. Everything is so subjective. If someone say to me, I am mad, I say yes, I am absolutely mad like all the civilization and like all the persons in this planet. I think all the humanity now is absolutely crazy and mad. And some day when my essence sees myself, how my ego is crazy and mad, I laugh-with love and compassion. And in the moment when you have the enlightenment you start to laugh. Because you see yourself, how crazy and mad you are. Then you feel compassion. I have great pity on myself because I am so mad and crazy.”
– Jodorowsky
“Sometimes I feel myself absolutely mad. I say what I am doing here? Because I feel reality so unreal and myself so strange. I have a mind, a liver, a heart. Everything I look and I feel is inside myself. It’s not reality. What I am is enormous reaction. It is not the thing. I am not the feeling. I am what is felt. The man who feels. Everything is so subjective. If someone say to me, I am mad, I say yes, I am absolutely mad like all the civilization and like all the persons in this planet. I think all the humanity now is absolutely crazy and mad. And some day when my essence sees myself, how my ego is crazy and mad, I laugh-with love and compassion. And in the moment when you have the enlightenment you start to laugh. Because you see yourself, how crazy and mad you are. Then you feel compassion. I have great pity on myself because I am so mad and crazy.”
– Jodorowsky
It’s not. It’s about him being afraid to do drugs because he is afraid of himself. Pussy.
It’s not. It’s about him being afraid to do drugs because he is afraid of himself. Pussy.
haha
His mustache was drugs
Hitler Masturbating was drugs
haha
His mustache was drugs
Hitler Masturbating was drugs
“I don’t do drugs. I do myself.”
“I don’t do drugs. I do myself.”
And he is NOT drugs. I know drugs and I do them. And they are not him. Thank God. If they were, I wouldn’t do them.
And he is NOT drugs. I know drugs and I do them. And they are not him. Thank God. If they were, I wouldn’t do them.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iXT2E9Ccc8A
But his mustache is so appealing.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iXT2E9Ccc8A
But his mustache is so appealing.
i believe he is his own drugs.
i believe he is his own drugs.
Heh, Gian. I love drugs too. But Dali is the fucking man.
Heh, Gian. I love drugs too. But Dali is the fucking man.
Word. I absolutely suggest going to the Dali Museum in St Petersburg Florida. It is a mind fuck all the way around. Dali is up with Magritte in my book. I suggest reading his novel (twists your brain, crushes your nuts, fucks your psyche). Dali was the massive brain melting cosmic explosion box.
Yes.
Word. I absolutely suggest going to the Dali Museum in St Petersburg Florida. It is a mind fuck all the way around. Dali is up with Magritte in my book. I suggest reading his novel (twists your brain, crushes your nuts, fucks your psyche). Dali was the massive brain melting cosmic explosion box.
Yes.
Dali ended up supporting Franco and the fascists in the Spanish revolution and after a while his mind-bending pictures became cliches of themselves (I mean, Dali “doing a Dali”). His old pal the filmmaker Luis Bunuel was never an apostate and was anyway the better artist. But their early collaboration Chien Andalou is the bomb.
and if you go to st. petersburg florida, tell me because i live near there and i am very lonely
Dali ended up supporting Franco and the fascists in the Spanish revolution and after a while his mind-bending pictures became cliches of themselves (I mean, Dali “doing a Dali”). His old pal the filmmaker Luis Bunuel was never an apostate and was anyway the better artist. But their early collaboration Chien Andalou is the bomb.
and if you go to st. petersburg florida, tell me because i live near there and i am very lonely
Yes – what became of his politics is sad (see also Ezra Pound and T.S. Elliot). I agree that Bunel was the master. The Exterminating Angel is one of the greatest things ever put on film. Still, you cannot deny Dali’s talent, his sanity bending, his beauty.
Yes – what became of his politics is sad (see also Ezra Pound and T.S. Elliot). I agree that Bunel was the master. The Exterminating Angel is one of the greatest things ever put on film. Still, you cannot deny Dali’s talent, his sanity bending, his beauty.
If I make it back, I’ll take you for a beer
If I make it back, I’ll take you for a beer
yes! one more potential friend. that makes two totally distinct and real potential friends in my life.
yes! one more potential friend. that makes two totally distinct and real potential friends in my life.
they also cut people’s bad tattoos off and rape women for kicks
they also cut people’s bad tattoos off and rape women for kicks
politics are irrelevant to art
but exterminating angel, yes, is the shit
politics are irrelevant to art
but exterminating angel, yes, is the shit
Also the Discrete Charm of the bourgeoisie . That was a cerebellum screw for sure.
Also the Discrete Charm of the bourgeoisie . That was a cerebellum screw for sure.
This reminds me of part of some narration from some video I saw probably twenty years ago at the Pacific Film Archives, and I’ll be damned if I can remember the name of the artist, but this sentence from her video has always stuck in my head:
“We didn’t have to go to Hollywood. We _were_ Hollywood.”
This reminds me of part of some narration from some video I saw probably twenty years ago at the Pacific Film Archives, and I’ll be damned if I can remember the name of the artist, but this sentence from her video has always stuck in my head:
“We didn’t have to go to Hollywood. We _were_ Hollywood.”
Essentially we are all our own drugs.
Drugs would not affect us if the drugs weren’t already in our systems. The drugs are more the release triggers.
But I do drugs (some) because it takes too much meditation and/or exercise to release the specified reaction hiding inside me…
Essentially we are all our own drugs.
Drugs would not affect us if the drugs weren’t already in our systems. The drugs are more the release triggers.
But I do drugs (some) because it takes too much meditation and/or exercise to release the specified reaction hiding inside me…
politics is always relevant to art, it’s just not relevant to whether art works
i’ve always found this to be kind of tiresome, sort of preening, much prefer henri michaux’s anti-addiction motto: “Drugs bore us with their paradises. Let them only give us a little knowledge instead. This is not a century for paradise.” i like the way it both loves and leaves drugs.
politics is always relevant to art, it’s just not relevant to whether art works
i’ve always found this to be kind of tiresome, sort of preening, much prefer henri michaux’s anti-addiction motto: “Drugs bore us with their paradises. Let them only give us a little knowledge instead. This is not a century for paradise.” i like the way it both loves and leaves drugs.
I like Absinthe
I like Absinthe
I been to Saint Pete just s few months ago and that is what inevitably turned me off. I just found myself laughing at those giant paintings. It was very unsurreal. But I’m just feeling nasty, don’t mind me.
I been to Saint Pete just s few months ago and that is what inevitably turned me off. I just found myself laughing at those giant paintings. It was very unsurreal. But I’m just feeling nasty, don’t mind me.
“politics is always relevant to art, it’s just not relevant to whether art works”
I’d say David’s statement sums it up for me, too. There’s never any kind of necessary equation between “good” politics and “good” art, “bad” politics and “bad” art. Pound is the best case in point you could want on this question, a fascist and yet we should thank the cosmos every day for the Cantos (I forget sometimes but I’m lazy) not to mention all the splendid, constant generosity to other artists. Dali was a great painter who just kept repeating himself after a while; there’s no reason that has anything to do with his politics; Picasso was on the other side of the political divide and after Guernica spend the rest of his career just “doing Picassos.”
And Michael: Could you help me figure out how to trigger the Vicodin in my system? Pretty please?
It’s all cool
“politics is always relevant to art, it’s just not relevant to whether art works”
I’d say David’s statement sums it up for me, too. There’s never any kind of necessary equation between “good” politics and “good” art, “bad” politics and “bad” art. Pound is the best case in point you could want on this question, a fascist and yet we should thank the cosmos every day for the Cantos (I forget sometimes but I’m lazy) not to mention all the splendid, constant generosity to other artists. Dali was a great painter who just kept repeating himself after a while; there’s no reason that has anything to do with his politics; Picasso was on the other side of the political divide and after Guernica spend the rest of his career just “doing Picassos.”
And Michael: Could you help me figure out how to trigger the Vicodin in my system? Pretty please?
It’s all cool
There’s an argument to be made that Pound wasn’t actually a Fascist, but sided with them because he thought they would cause the end of civilization. Still though, your point stands
Absolutely right. It’s all endogenous, not the drug but what it makes cascade in your body. What is a drug, anyway? I think travel is one of my favorite drugs. Go to the right place, and you’ll get all the exotic botany, hallucinatory imagery, heightened sensory perception, synesthesia, munchies and euphoria you could ask for–even the smoke if air conditions are right.
This reminds me of the Tom Robbins quote that led me to start reading Angela Carter: “She’s my favorite dangerous drug.” That quote was even more potent because I thought about all the drugs Robbins had likely done, and was like, “Wow, and A.C. is the ultimate!”
There’s an argument to be made that Pound wasn’t actually a Fascist, but sided with them because he thought they would cause the end of civilization. Still though, your point stands
Absolutely right. It’s all endogenous, not the drug but what it makes cascade in your body. What is a drug, anyway? I think travel is one of my favorite drugs. Go to the right place, and you’ll get all the exotic botany, hallucinatory imagery, heightened sensory perception, synesthesia, munchies and euphoria you could ask for–even the smoke if air conditions are right.
This reminds me of the Tom Robbins quote that led me to start reading Angela Carter: “She’s my favorite dangerous drug.” That quote was even more potent because I thought about all the drugs Robbins had likely done, and was like, “Wow, and A.C. is the ultimate!”
pound was a dude, too much of a dude, that was pound’s problem
pound was a dude, too much of a dude, that was pound’s problem
We keep Ezra Pound in a cage and charge the suckers in the crowd five bucks a head to file silently past and watch with slack jaws and milky eyes as the old man squats, naked, bestial and recites endlessly from the Cantos .
Toback leans in close to me, his shoulders descending from his neck as if a lead weight were hanging on them, sighs without remorse and says: “You take too much.” I let my hand slide down the cool of metal that describes the bars that hold the old beast sternly in place. Somewhere, just beyond my understanding, I ache.
Occasionally someone will try to speak to the old poet and he will growl. The noise, guttural and raw rises from his throat and the crowd pauses. They wonder if this is the beginning of some new poem. Perhaps a sonnet. Perhaps a foray into postmodernism. They’ve never read Moby Dick.
Pound squints his eyes at them. They are eyes filled with dark light and bad intentions. Those eyes speak of things best not considered. They speak of ovens and showers and badly skewed rhymes.
A small boy, his hair askew, breaks from his mothers grasp, runs to the cage and shoots his tiny ballad fist between the bars. Ezra Pound stops and move toward the child. At first it seems that he will attack. But then, and with much portent, Pound gives the boy his annotated copy of The Wasteland and a few worn crayons.
We keep Ezra Pound in a cage and charge the suckers in the crowd five bucks a head to file silently past and watch with slack jaws and milky eyes as the old man squats, naked, bestial and recites endlessly from the Cantos .
Toback leans in close to me, his shoulders descending from his neck as if a lead weight were hanging on them, sighs without remorse and says: “You take too much.” I let my hand slide down the cool of metal that describes the bars that hold the old beast sternly in place. Somewhere, just beyond my understanding, I ache.
Occasionally someone will try to speak to the old poet and he will growl. The noise, guttural and raw rises from his throat and the crowd pauses. They wonder if this is the beginning of some new poem. Perhaps a sonnet. Perhaps a foray into postmodernism. They’ve never read Moby Dick.
Pound squints his eyes at them. They are eyes filled with dark light and bad intentions. Those eyes speak of things best not considered. They speak of ovens and showers and badly skewed rhymes.
A small boy, his hair askew, breaks from his mothers grasp, runs to the cage and shoots his tiny ballad fist between the bars. Ezra Pound stops and move toward the child. At first it seems that he will attack. But then, and with much portent, Pound gives the boy his annotated copy of The Wasteland and a few worn crayons.
Oh yeah, The Bloody Chamber…
Oh yeah, The Bloody Chamber…
Well, Pound was certainly “his own,” sui generis brand of fascist, rather than any kind of Mussolini party-liner, that’s for sure. He was a Poundist.
Well, Pound was certainly “his own,” sui generis brand of fascist, rather than any kind of Mussolini party-liner, that’s for sure. He was a Poundist.
Wow, Nate. If that was all you and not an excerpt, I’d want to read that in a magazine or journal or book or something….
Wow, Nate. If that was all you and not an excerpt, I’d want to read that in a magazine or journal or book or something….
@Micahel James That’s my stuff.
@Micahel James That’s my stuff.