Sunny today, and I ought to be at Pride, but I'll sit here and write, instead.
Yesterday, I wrote 1,794 words on Blood Oranges. And considered changing the title of the book to Diary of a
I'm trying to figure out the dedication for Confessions of a Five-Chambered Heart. It was easy with The Ammonite Violin & Others. Diane Arbus was the only choice that made any sense. But this time I have a list, and I'm considering Henry Darger, Angela Carter, Francis Bacon, and Robert Mapplethorpe. Anyway, blah, blah, blah. I should brush my teeth.
- Current Location:Melas Chasma
- Current Mood:
(not) okay
- Current Music:Smashing Pumpkins, "1979"
Comments
I approve of Francis Bacon.
It's a hard call.
I'm having a flashback to the one episode of Taxi I ever saw: "Mental illness or narcotics addiction?"—"That's a tough choice!"
"If you had an off-switch, Doctor, would you tell anyone?" - Data
Been having my own, far milder, bout of trouble sleeping. No advice, because I've also read Stephen King's Insomnia and already know how obnoxious that is, because you've already tried most of what people would suggest. Commiseration, instead.
Maybe humans should have off-switches.
I can not count the times I've wished for an off switch. And I'd be perfectly happy if no one ever turned it back on.
Well, we sort of do, eventually...
(Shit. The Profound-Pronouncement Circuits aren't kicking in to make me say that in a profound way. I must need to activate it with more tea. Speaking of...)
Yesterday, I wrote 1,794 words on Blood Oranges. And considered changing the title of the book to Diary of a
WerepireDead Girl. Saner portions of my head prevailed.Now I wish I could remember the list of joke titles
Meanwhile, here's hoping Blood Oranges keeps you laughing.
Well, we sort of do, eventually...
No. Suicide is a hideous, painful, often unsuccessful chore. Death takes its own sweet time, or arrives unannounced. An off switch is instantaneous and painless.
The suicide in Murder of Angels remains vivid in my mind. And is a reminder that I'm glad I haven't had thoughts of suicide.
For what it's worth, I was trying to refer to death in general.
I know.
I can't fault any choice or come up with a valid clear-cut reason for preferring one over the other. Darger stands out for being the weirdest. Carter stands out for being the only writer and woman, and also for her unique set of gifts. Bacon was probably the most talented when one thinks of all the painters that he's better than, though Carter's certainly exceedingly talented, just in ways that are more focused and less universal (take all this with salt, it's highly subjective). Mapplethorpe's perhaps the one who's most relevant to the world at large and who did the most to shape culture, but some of that popularity comes from being slightly more predictable.
In other words, someone with a bent enough brain and enough time on their hands could do Darger. Mapplethorpe's greatness is replicable despite its intimate nature. Carter had the most singular vision, but she's rarified, still somewhat unknown in the grandest scheme of literature (despite this being a hideous, hideous crime). Bacon's revered by almost all painters who really care about the craft, even people who would otherwise dismiss his work. [Everyone steals Bacon's tricks, only some people steal Carter's. Mapplethorpe's tricks are relatively easy to steal and Darger's one of a kind--but partially because who would want to have to do that much work?]
Given your impending novel, Bacon seems a wise choice, but I would also argue that Carter's your deepest personal connection.
Good points, but like I said, hard call.
This is why we have Wikipedia.
Yeah, the documentary is excellent.