All right, me and the Royal Portable Deluxe have decided that we're going to collaborate on something. As some of you may know, I made my first money from writing when I published a hardboiled detective story in Blue Murder Magazine back in 1999. I don't even remember the title of the story, but I've always liked hardboiled detective fiction- not just reading it, but writing it. I haven't written much of it since college, but now and then I'll read something that makes me think "you've still got some stories in you, self."
I don't know if that's completely true, but I'm on my way to finding out. My goal is to write twelve pulp-style stories this year: presumably one per month, though if I crank 'em out faster, it's all gravy. Now that I've got a typewriter, I can sit down to write without the distractions that come with an internet-connected laptop, and I already notice the difference in terms of productivity (God, I hate that word, but it's apt here). There's something very satisfying about piling up pages next to the typewriter as I finish them, and the visible errors and odd indentations and the like make the typed page a much more attractive artifact than one printed from a computer. Of course, everything I type is just a first draft and will be transferred to a digital format once said drafts are finished- this isn't an exercise in antiquated technology just for the sake of it.
I hope to make each story unique with regards to plot and characters, but I'm not committing myself to anything just yet. I have several ideas, some of them thematically related to different times of the year, but I'm only working on one at a time. That's part of the deal: I won't move onto another story until the previous one is done. I need to work on completing things.
I'll provide more details, and maybe the stories themselves, as they arise. Happy 2012, folks. Take it easy.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Thursday, December 15, 2011
"And the emptiness grew..."
One day, an increasingly large number of years from now, I'll write something really meaningful about heavy metal, despite the fact that metal needs no spokesperson- especially not me.
Hail the riff.
now playing: Jex Thoth, Jex Thoth
Hail the riff.
now playing: Jex Thoth, Jex Thoth
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Dear Hollywood: Fuck you and your censorship-loving cronies.
I've censored the following, in protest of a bill that gives any corporation and the US government the power to censor the internet--a bill that could pass THIS WEEK. To see the uncensored text, and to stop internet censorship, visit: http://americancensorship.org/posts/13273/uncensor
████ ███████ isn't ████████ ███████; it's the ████ ████ it's ████████ ████ ██████. Do █████████, ████ if it's ████ ███████ an █████ to ████ ███████████████. ████ ████ █████.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Teachings in silence.
At the blurred, exhausted edge of a winter night
there is possibly nothing better
than a tall glass of cold water
and Ulver
(particularly the Teachings in Silence compilation).
Silence teaches you how to sing
indeed.
there is possibly nothing better
than a tall glass of cold water
and Ulver
(particularly the Teachings in Silence compilation).
Silence teaches you how to sing
indeed.
Friday, December 09, 2011
"Teenagers and Cigarettes"/"16yo lungs" (first, maybe last, draft)
"teenagers and cigarettes"/"16yo lungs"
The surest sign of youth is that
patch of dirt or grass around
the side of the house,
or that sun-bled coke can,
sometimes a windowsill-
all
scratched black
and clotted with filters,
sometimes lipsticked
(and when they are, and that color isn't yours,
oh how the heart moves),
never symmetrical in their destruction.
The escape and worry,
isolation
and happiness,
the held hands
that led to
or emerged from
each long drag instance,
won't wait for archaeology
or enraged parents
or the disappointment of an older self
to signify
like the tiny orange supernova
of the word writ in fire
between synaptic headphones.
(12.8-9.11)
The surest sign of youth is that
patch of dirt or grass around
the side of the house,
or that sun-bled coke can,
sometimes a windowsill-
all
scratched black
and clotted with filters,
sometimes lipsticked
(and when they are, and that color isn't yours,
oh how the heart moves),
never symmetrical in their destruction.
The escape and worry,
isolation
and happiness,
the held hands
that led to
or emerged from
each long drag instance,
won't wait for archaeology
or enraged parents
or the disappointment of an older self
to signify
like the tiny orange supernova
of the word writ in fire
between synaptic headphones.
(12.8-9.11)
Monday, November 28, 2011
Achievement Unlocked: Garbage, I
The monoliths
rise before our eyes,
vertical steppes of basalt and sunburnt grass-
so out of place in this country,
this barren country,
stumps and thirst and empty wombs,
timber stripped and turned mockingly skyward.
How,
how on earth,
did they find time to build tombs while...
oh.
Oh.
rise before our eyes,
vertical steppes of basalt and sunburnt grass-
so out of place in this country,
this barren country,
stumps and thirst and empty wombs,
timber stripped and turned mockingly skyward.
How,
how on earth,
did they find time to build tombs while...
oh.
Oh.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Chinese eunuchs and PKD's Exegesis
Hey, look, it's been a while. What a surprise.
I blame school, mostly. The semester's simultaneously flown and crawled by, punctuated by one Chinese assignment after another, logic tests, and so on. I've got a week of classes left after Thanksgiving, and then finals. Or a final, really, since my last grades for three-fourths of my classes will come in the form of papers and such.
School stuff aside, I've been doing what I always do, and that's read. This habit almost unquestionably gets in the way of school sometimes, but I don't care, because it's reading, dude, and therefore impossible to classify as detrimental behavior. I've read a handful of books over the past couple months, and am in the midst of several more. Two of these, the recently-published Exegesis of Philip K. Dick, and The Eunuchs in the Ming Dynasty by Shih-Shan Henry Tsai, deserve special note. No, I'm not going to try and relate the two.
The Ming eunuch book, along with another volume (The Confusions of Pleasure: Commerce and Culture in Ming China by Timothy Brook, which I finished in October) have been invaluable resources about aspects of Chinese history that usually receive a few passing comments or are dealt with in broad strokes. Since I decided to take a stab at writing an historical novel that partly involves Ming China, I've read a number of books and essays dealing with various features of said dynasty, and the Tsai and Brook books have so far been my favorites- not only because they're packed with information that almost always leads to further research (God, so much to learn!), but because they've helped solidify some of my ideas for the novel. Not to mention they're both well-written and well-researched books.
The eunuch thing has been particularly fascinating. I have a hard time wrapping my mind around almost every aspect of castration-as-career-advancement, mainly because I can barely put up with what modern work demands of me. Complete emasculation under horribly unsafe conditions so I can work in the imperial household (if I'm lucky)? No thanks. Still, Tsai's book casts new light on the positive role eunuchs played in various spheres of Ming life, contrasting what he describes as a systematic bias against them by the betesticled scholar-gentry. He doesn't deny that there were notorious eunuchs, but clearly feels that those who did admirable work have been overshadowed in the history books. I would complain that the book could use some more personalized, humanizing accounts of eunuch life, but I think the absence of such material, both from this book and the historical record, proves Tsai's point. When I was in China I saw a biography of the last Qing eunuch, Sun Yaoting, who died in 1996, and while he was born a couple centuries after the end of the Ming dynasty, I bet his story would be worth hearing.
On to a different form of madness. No, madness isn't the right word, whether dealing with an era when "voluntary self-castration became epidemic," to quote Tsai, or the 8,000 mostly handwritten pages of Philip K. Dick's Exegesis, a personal (i.e., not really meant for publication) investigation into the causes and effects of what PKD called 2-3-74. This series of events is well-known to fans of PKD's work (hey, that's me!), and there's plenty about it online, so I'll spare you and I both a description. It would be easy to write off Dick's experiences as some kind of insanity or mental breakdown, but in my opinion such an approach wouldn't be accurate.
Well, not entirely accurate. The Exegesis as it exists in printed form is roughly a tenth of the material Dick wrote before his death in 1982, and I'm less than a tenth of the way through this version, which puts me at less than 1% of the original work. (Which will probably never be published in its entirety- the introduction to the excerpted version makes this clear, and the text itself makes it clear why.) Even at this point I find myself in that most interesting of positions: unconvinced by Dick's explanations of what happened to him, yet deeply intrigued by the variety of possibilities he entertains and his workings-out of them.
The degree of self-examination- which is what the Exegesis is at its core, albeit a type of self-examination that understands the self as part of something much greater; the whole microcosm/macrocosm thing, generally speaking- is staggering, downright Proustian at times, if Proust had had metaphysical and cosmological concerns as his focus. This kind of feverish attempt to explain one's experiences via constantly-shifting models- including Dick's own books, ancient Christianity, and extraterrestrial intelligence(s)- is one of the things that leads many to believe Dick lost it in the early '70s, which maybe he did to some degree. I see it- at least right now- as a sort of awakening, although since I really enjoy PKD's later work my opinion may be biased, and the books that emerged from the 2-3-74 thing aren't a complete break from earlier work anyway. A thematic detour, perhaps, but not a 180. I can't argue that the behavior that produced the Exegesis isn't obsessive, but again, I wouldn't necessarily use that term in a negative sense.
Another striking feature of the Exegesis is Dick's impressive knowledge. Some of his ruminations are grounded in faulty understanding, sure, but the ease with which he discusses philosophy, religion, and science gives me hope. In our day and age (read: the Internet era) one doesn't come across polymathic minds as often as one would like, so seeing Dick expound on all kinds of things, seemingly off the cuff, is a distinct pleasure. His wide range of interests is apparent in many of his novels, but it really shows when he isn't bound by narrative or plot. This in turn relates to why people are interested in writers' unpublished work: they like to see what writers write for themselves.
Christ, all this pontificating makes it sound like I've read more than I have- how could I glean this much from less than eighty pages? There's a couple ways to address this. One: by virtue of all the other PKD books and related material I've read over the years, I effectively have read more of, and about, the Exegesis. Two: despite being a fraction of the way through, my prior knowledge, and the structure of the book itself, leads me to believe that what I've read thus far is representative of the rest of the book. Not in terms of content, necessarily, but I think the central conceit- understanding his own experiences and, by extension, reality itself- will remain. If it doesn't, great; I'm down for all kinds of diversions from the path, the detours from detours, and seeing as how this isn't the kind of book one reads quickly, I'll have plenty of time to ponder each of Dick's new theories about why things are the way they are.
As I mentioned earlier, Dick's theories don't convince me, even though I enjoy mulling them over. I don't get the impression that he's trying to convince me, though- why would he, since the Exegesis wasn't meant for a particularly wide audience? Personal project or not, I'm glad it has reached a wider audience, which will find all kinds of intellectual gems (or proof of madness, depending on how one reads it) and interpret the work in all kinds of ways. If anything, the Exegesis will be good for that- not bad for a personal project!
It appears logorrhea's gotten the best of me. It's time to work on something else, so I'll say goodbye for now, and I'll try to write more often. Later, folks.
I blame school, mostly. The semester's simultaneously flown and crawled by, punctuated by one Chinese assignment after another, logic tests, and so on. I've got a week of classes left after Thanksgiving, and then finals. Or a final, really, since my last grades for three-fourths of my classes will come in the form of papers and such.
School stuff aside, I've been doing what I always do, and that's read. This habit almost unquestionably gets in the way of school sometimes, but I don't care, because it's reading, dude, and therefore impossible to classify as detrimental behavior. I've read a handful of books over the past couple months, and am in the midst of several more. Two of these, the recently-published Exegesis of Philip K. Dick, and The Eunuchs in the Ming Dynasty by Shih-Shan Henry Tsai, deserve special note. No, I'm not going to try and relate the two.
The Ming eunuch book, along with another volume (The Confusions of Pleasure: Commerce and Culture in Ming China by Timothy Brook, which I finished in October) have been invaluable resources about aspects of Chinese history that usually receive a few passing comments or are dealt with in broad strokes. Since I decided to take a stab at writing an historical novel that partly involves Ming China, I've read a number of books and essays dealing with various features of said dynasty, and the Tsai and Brook books have so far been my favorites- not only because they're packed with information that almost always leads to further research (God, so much to learn!), but because they've helped solidify some of my ideas for the novel. Not to mention they're both well-written and well-researched books.
The eunuch thing has been particularly fascinating. I have a hard time wrapping my mind around almost every aspect of castration-as-career-advancement, mainly because I can barely put up with what modern work demands of me. Complete emasculation under horribly unsafe conditions so I can work in the imperial household (if I'm lucky)? No thanks. Still, Tsai's book casts new light on the positive role eunuchs played in various spheres of Ming life, contrasting what he describes as a systematic bias against them by the betesticled scholar-gentry. He doesn't deny that there were notorious eunuchs, but clearly feels that those who did admirable work have been overshadowed in the history books. I would complain that the book could use some more personalized, humanizing accounts of eunuch life, but I think the absence of such material, both from this book and the historical record, proves Tsai's point. When I was in China I saw a biography of the last Qing eunuch, Sun Yaoting, who died in 1996, and while he was born a couple centuries after the end of the Ming dynasty, I bet his story would be worth hearing.
On to a different form of madness. No, madness isn't the right word, whether dealing with an era when "voluntary self-castration became epidemic," to quote Tsai, or the 8,000 mostly handwritten pages of Philip K. Dick's Exegesis, a personal (i.e., not really meant for publication) investigation into the causes and effects of what PKD called 2-3-74. This series of events is well-known to fans of PKD's work (hey, that's me!), and there's plenty about it online, so I'll spare you and I both a description. It would be easy to write off Dick's experiences as some kind of insanity or mental breakdown, but in my opinion such an approach wouldn't be accurate.
Well, not entirely accurate. The Exegesis as it exists in printed form is roughly a tenth of the material Dick wrote before his death in 1982, and I'm less than a tenth of the way through this version, which puts me at less than 1% of the original work. (Which will probably never be published in its entirety- the introduction to the excerpted version makes this clear, and the text itself makes it clear why.) Even at this point I find myself in that most interesting of positions: unconvinced by Dick's explanations of what happened to him, yet deeply intrigued by the variety of possibilities he entertains and his workings-out of them.
The degree of self-examination- which is what the Exegesis is at its core, albeit a type of self-examination that understands the self as part of something much greater; the whole microcosm/macrocosm thing, generally speaking- is staggering, downright Proustian at times, if Proust had had metaphysical and cosmological concerns as his focus. This kind of feverish attempt to explain one's experiences via constantly-shifting models- including Dick's own books, ancient Christianity, and extraterrestrial intelligence(s)- is one of the things that leads many to believe Dick lost it in the early '70s, which maybe he did to some degree. I see it- at least right now- as a sort of awakening, although since I really enjoy PKD's later work my opinion may be biased, and the books that emerged from the 2-3-74 thing aren't a complete break from earlier work anyway. A thematic detour, perhaps, but not a 180. I can't argue that the behavior that produced the Exegesis isn't obsessive, but again, I wouldn't necessarily use that term in a negative sense.
Another striking feature of the Exegesis is Dick's impressive knowledge. Some of his ruminations are grounded in faulty understanding, sure, but the ease with which he discusses philosophy, religion, and science gives me hope. In our day and age (read: the Internet era) one doesn't come across polymathic minds as often as one would like, so seeing Dick expound on all kinds of things, seemingly off the cuff, is a distinct pleasure. His wide range of interests is apparent in many of his novels, but it really shows when he isn't bound by narrative or plot. This in turn relates to why people are interested in writers' unpublished work: they like to see what writers write for themselves.
Christ, all this pontificating makes it sound like I've read more than I have- how could I glean this much from less than eighty pages? There's a couple ways to address this. One: by virtue of all the other PKD books and related material I've read over the years, I effectively have read more of, and about, the Exegesis. Two: despite being a fraction of the way through, my prior knowledge, and the structure of the book itself, leads me to believe that what I've read thus far is representative of the rest of the book. Not in terms of content, necessarily, but I think the central conceit- understanding his own experiences and, by extension, reality itself- will remain. If it doesn't, great; I'm down for all kinds of diversions from the path, the detours from detours, and seeing as how this isn't the kind of book one reads quickly, I'll have plenty of time to ponder each of Dick's new theories about why things are the way they are.
As I mentioned earlier, Dick's theories don't convince me, even though I enjoy mulling them over. I don't get the impression that he's trying to convince me, though- why would he, since the Exegesis wasn't meant for a particularly wide audience? Personal project or not, I'm glad it has reached a wider audience, which will find all kinds of intellectual gems (or proof of madness, depending on how one reads it) and interpret the work in all kinds of ways. If anything, the Exegesis will be good for that- not bad for a personal project!
It appears logorrhea's gotten the best of me. It's time to work on something else, so I'll say goodbye for now, and I'll try to write more often. Later, folks.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
2011年10月18日
almost midnight:
first chill
and a bit too much beer.
through yawn after yawn,
all it takes
is this moment.
first chill
and a bit too much beer.
through yawn after yawn,
all it takes
is this moment.
Sunday, October 09, 2011
(Still) Still Reigning
October 7th marked the 25th anniversary of the release of Slayer's seminal album Reign in Blood. I, and thousands of other metalheads, regard this record as not only a historical milestone in heavy metal history, but a completely fucking awesome record that, had it existed when NASA was shooting cultural artifacts into deep space, could've been the sole musical cargo.
I think Seasons in the Abyss was the first Slayer record I heard, and I still have incredibly strong youthful memories of "War Ensemble," "Dead Skin Mask," and "Seasons in the Abyss." Reign in Blood, however, is a monolithic memory. Kyle, our neighbor in middle school- and to this day, good buddy- had the tape, which he lent to me and my brother, seemingly forever. Back then (this is 1993, I'd say) our parents left for work before we caught the bus to school, which meant that we had somewhere between thirty minutes and an hour most mornings to crank up the stereo, make lame calls to Z-Rock (106.9 KKZR), and do other juvenile shit, like try to make napalm from gasoline and styrofoam peanuts. The album I remember listening to most was Reign in Blood, blasted at a volume no stereo I've had since could achieve, because nobody seems to make three-foot-tall speakers anymore (and, of course, memory inscribes the past with legendary features that the present could never hope to equal).
Still, Reign in Blood isn't merely a nostalgia piece. I've been listening to it on a pretty regular basis for almost 20 years, and it's still killer. I don't remember where I read it, but someone, possibly numerous someones, described it as "twenty-five minutes between 'Angel of Death' and 'Raining Blood'." I think that does the album a disservice, as almost all of the other songs are awesome, particularly "Altar of Sacrifice," and "Jesus Saves." The former is still one of the most evil-sounding songs I think I've ever heard; the way it moves from a sense of victimized panic to Satanic-priest-triumphalism remains unnerving, to the point where I can understand why parents would freak out if they caught their kids listening to it. "Jesus Saves" has a great buildup and a riff that any metal band would kill to have written.
You know what? Enough of this. If you're a metal fan, you already know what I'm talking about. If you're not, go buy a copy. Reign in Blood doesn't feel 25 years old; it feels timeless. And that cover art is untouchable.
Thanks, Slayer.
I think Seasons in the Abyss was the first Slayer record I heard, and I still have incredibly strong youthful memories of "War Ensemble," "Dead Skin Mask," and "Seasons in the Abyss." Reign in Blood, however, is a monolithic memory. Kyle, our neighbor in middle school- and to this day, good buddy- had the tape, which he lent to me and my brother, seemingly forever. Back then (this is 1993, I'd say) our parents left for work before we caught the bus to school, which meant that we had somewhere between thirty minutes and an hour most mornings to crank up the stereo, make lame calls to Z-Rock (106.9 KKZR), and do other juvenile shit, like try to make napalm from gasoline and styrofoam peanuts. The album I remember listening to most was Reign in Blood, blasted at a volume no stereo I've had since could achieve, because nobody seems to make three-foot-tall speakers anymore (and, of course, memory inscribes the past with legendary features that the present could never hope to equal).
Still, Reign in Blood isn't merely a nostalgia piece. I've been listening to it on a pretty regular basis for almost 20 years, and it's still killer. I don't remember where I read it, but someone, possibly numerous someones, described it as "twenty-five minutes between 'Angel of Death' and 'Raining Blood'." I think that does the album a disservice, as almost all of the other songs are awesome, particularly "Altar of Sacrifice," and "Jesus Saves." The former is still one of the most evil-sounding songs I think I've ever heard; the way it moves from a sense of victimized panic to Satanic-priest-triumphalism remains unnerving, to the point where I can understand why parents would freak out if they caught their kids listening to it. "Jesus Saves" has a great buildup and a riff that any metal band would kill to have written.
You know what? Enough of this. If you're a metal fan, you already know what I'm talking about. If you're not, go buy a copy. Reign in Blood doesn't feel 25 years old; it feels timeless. And that cover art is untouchable.
Thanks, Slayer.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Thoughts.
I was talking to my pops the other day, discussing random fields of interest and he said I should write an essay, or something along those lines, about something. It was interesting timing, given how fascinated I am with Chinese xiaopin wen品 文), Kenko's Tsurezuregusa, and similar efforts from Westerners, and that most of the books I bought in China were volumes of essays. It's not quite what my dad had in mind, but seeing as how the matter has continually struck a chord with me for some time, I'm giving it even more thought than usual.
Part of me wants to compile some essays- and I use the term loosely, as my Chinese and Japanese inspirations would- and maybe make an effort to have them published. But why? That's the question that haunts me. Off the cuff observations are incredibly well suited to the online format, so I'm leaning toward posting any such essays here or to my freeshell.org website (or both). We'll see; the first step is actually writing something, and given my course load this semester, I'm too busy memorizing Chinese characters and doing logic proofs- not to mention reading a lot of other stuff- to write even a short essay. And writing modern, Western takes on xiaopin isn't even a high priority, compared to other things!
I'm not complaining, mind you. I'm actually pleased that I have so much on my plate, even though most of it will never get eaten, so to speak. There are a lot of things I've got going on that should manifest in one form or another in the near future, which is pretty exciting. It's so fuckin' easy to lose track of possibilities if you're not careful.
Later, folks. Have a good night, and I'll do the same!
Yours,
DAS
Part of me wants to compile some essays- and I use the term loosely, as my Chinese and Japanese inspirations would- and maybe make an effort to have them published. But why? That's the question that haunts me. Off the cuff observations are incredibly well suited to the online format, so I'm leaning toward posting any such essays here or to my freeshell.org website (or both). We'll see; the first step is actually writing something, and given my course load this semester, I'm too busy memorizing Chinese characters and doing logic proofs- not to mention reading a lot of other stuff- to write even a short essay. And writing modern, Western takes on xiaopin isn't even a high priority, compared to other things!
I'm not complaining, mind you. I'm actually pleased that I have so much on my plate, even though most of it will never get eaten, so to speak. There are a lot of things I've got going on that should manifest in one form or another in the near future, which is pretty exciting. It's so fuckin' easy to lose track of possibilities if you're not careful.
Later, folks. Have a good night, and I'll do the same!
Yours,
DAS
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