Right now I’m reading Henry Miller’s “Tropic of Cancer.” I think I was compelled mostly because the book was banned and has a reputation for being dirty and obscene before, but despite the fact that I’ve never seen the word cunt written so many times before I'm far more struck my his metaphors (although naturally the levels of shock value have drastically changed since the 1930s…). I believe I read somewhere that his writing was an influence for the Beats, sort of a steam-of-consciousness prototype, so while all of this epic prose is coming straight from his observations it’s sometimes easy to forget that he’s there, that the words are filtered through him, so intimate and poignant are his descriptions of the depraved people he takes company with.
In other words, I’m loving it, although in reading it I’m realizing that for some reason I’ve never felt a pull towards Paris . I’m not sure why not, with its reputation for brooding artists and poetic atmosphere, but I’m starting to think that it’s better this way, since I’d rather have it cemented in time as a bohemian and destitute world for Miller and George Orwell to have inhabited.
I’m also not sure why I love reading about depraved people so much, but I’ve found myself kind of in a funk as of late and what made me feel better, nonsensically, was some Bukowski poetry. What is it about that man- he’s a misogynist, for starters, and a raging, angry alcoholic, but he can write some mean poetry. Case in point:
Alone With Everybody
the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.
there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.
nobody ever finds
the one.
the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill
nothing else
fills.
I have the feeling my worldview is a bit melancholic. Also, if you haven’t seen the documentary “Born Into This,” you should.
Also:
Tom Selleck, a waterfall, and a sandwich. The internet is a weird place.