Kingdom Come
J.G. Ballard
The suburbs dream of violence. Asleep in their drowsy villas, sheltered by benevolent shopping malls, they wait patiently for the nightmares that will wake them into a more passionate world...
Last Days
August 16, 2012
June 7, 2012
Arsehole
ARTAUD DAMAGED.
He is an arsehole.
Let’s be honest.
You screamed,
And he called you a cunt.
He threw a bottle of wine at you.
Or maybe that was me.
I no longer remember.
Once upon a time we swore that no amount
Of alcohol would make us forget.
That place in the park,
Where I went down on you.
In the rain.
It seemed romantic at the time.
But that place is no longer there.
It vanished the moment you cried rape.
So, I called you a cunt, and wasted a good bottle of wine.
But maybe that’s not the point.
We all have regrets,
I just wish that mine weren’t aimed so badly.
That boy you’re with.
Breakfast of Champions
His Favourite. It is hard to adapt to chaos, but it can be done.
I thought Beatrice Keedsler had joined hands with other old-fashioned storytellers to make people believe that life had leading characters, minor characters, significant details, insignificant details, that it had lessons to be learned, tests to be passed, and a beginning, a middle, and an end.
I had become more and more enraged and mystified by the idiot decisions made by my countrymen. And then I had come suddenly to pity them, for I understood how innocent and natural it was for them to behave so abominably, with such abominable results: they were doing their best to live like people invented in story books. This was the reason Americans shot each other so often: It was a convenient literary device for ending short stories and books.
Why were so many Americans treated by their government as though their lives were as disposable as paper facial tissues? Because that was the way authors customarily treated bit-part players in their made-up tales.
Once I understood what was making America such a dangerous, unhappy nation of people who had nothing to do with real life, I resolved to shun storytelling. I would write about life. Every person would be exactly as important as any other. All facts would also be given equal weightiness. Nothing would be left out. Let others bring order to chaos. I would bring chaos to order, instead, which I think I have done.
If all writers would do that, then perhaps citizens not in the literary trades will understand that there is no order in the world around us, that we must adapt ourselves to the requirements of chaos instead.
His Favourite. It is hard to adapt to chaos, but it can be done.
I thought Beatrice Keedsler had joined hands with other old-fashioned storytellers to make people believe that life had leading characters, minor characters, significant details, insignificant details, that it had lessons to be learned, tests to be passed, and a beginning, a middle, and an end.
I had become more and more enraged and mystified by the idiot decisions made by my countrymen. And then I had come suddenly to pity them, for I understood how innocent and natural it was for them to behave so abominably, with such abominable results: they were doing their best to live like people invented in story books. This was the reason Americans shot each other so often: It was a convenient literary device for ending short stories and books.
Why were so many Americans treated by their government as though their lives were as disposable as paper facial tissues? Because that was the way authors customarily treated bit-part players in their made-up tales.
Once I understood what was making America such a dangerous, unhappy nation of people who had nothing to do with real life, I resolved to shun storytelling. I would write about life. Every person would be exactly as important as any other. All facts would also be given equal weightiness. Nothing would be left out. Let others bring order to chaos. I would bring chaos to order, instead, which I think I have done.
If all writers would do that, then perhaps citizens not in the literary trades will understand that there is no order in the world around us, that we must adapt ourselves to the requirements of chaos instead.
June 5, 2012
Leo Tolstoy
What did that show? It showed that he had lived well, but thought badly.
Having then for the first time clearly understood that before every man, and before himself, there lay only suffering, death, and eternal oblivion, he had concluded that to live under such conditions was impossible, that one must either explain life to oneself so that it does not seem to be an evil mockery by some sort of devil, or one must shoot oneself.
But he had done neither the one nor the other, yet he continued to live, think, and feel, had even at that very time got married, experienced many joys, and been happy whenever he was not thinking of the meaning of his life.
What did that show? It showed that he had lived well, but thought badly.
Having then for the first time clearly understood that before every man, and before himself, there lay only suffering, death, and eternal oblivion, he had concluded that to live under such conditions was impossible, that one must either explain life to oneself so that it does not seem to be an evil mockery by some sort of devil, or one must shoot oneself.
But he had done neither the one nor the other, yet he continued to live, think, and feel, had even at that very time got married, experienced many joys, and been happy whenever he was not thinking of the meaning of his life.
May 13, 2012
The Ice Choir
I want you now and always
I want to die,
I want to feel you like the stars behind my eyes.
The force applied,
Fingers pulling from the dark to break my spine.
Feed me to the night, the day wears thin.
Fill me with your air, your blood and sin.
I want you now and always
I'll take the pill,
Be the inheritor to all your psychic will.
I'll get a grip,
I'll be content to drink the sweat from off your wrists.
Skip me to the end and fill me in.
Give me all your air and blood and sin.
I want you now and always
And when the far horizon calls, I only need to shut my ears and not say a thing...
...For flesh exchanged, my blood will sing. Don't go away, i'm reeling from your gold-dust poisoning.
I want you now and always
I want to die,
I want to feel you like the stars behind my eyes.
The force applied,
Fingers pulling from the dark to break my spine.
Feed me to the night, the day wears thin.
Fill me with your air, your blood and sin.
I want you now and always
I'll take the pill,
Be the inheritor to all your psychic will.
I'll get a grip,
I'll be content to drink the sweat from off your wrists.
Skip me to the end and fill me in.
Give me all your air and blood and sin.
I want you now and always
And when the far horizon calls, I only need to shut my ears and not say a thing...
...For flesh exchanged, my blood will sing. Don't go away, i'm reeling from your gold-dust poisoning.
April 29, 2012
Asobi Seksu
Red Sea
14 quiet days
these hours just slept in your place
white sand and a vague
sense of youth
how can i get through
it's a violent truth
that I'm like you
16 lonely hours
no sun or depth
15 dreams of you all alone
but still far from reach
crosses traced in white sand
it's a violent truth
that I'm like you
you said the first time was so perfect
but the rest was all just wrong
you said there too many gone too long
Red Sea
14 quiet days
these hours just slept in your place
white sand and a vague
sense of youth
how can i get through
it's a violent truth
that I'm like you
16 lonely hours
no sun or depth
15 dreams of you all alone
but still far from reach
crosses traced in white sand
it's a violent truth
that I'm like you
you said the first time was so perfect
but the rest was all just wrong
you said there too many gone too long
April 16, 2012
Tracks
Love has it's time
Jack had feld the same, only for me. On the tracks the night before he'd said, 'I fucked up'.
By that he meant that he'd waited too long, that our time had gone by, that all that had been good was gone, that he should have had the courage to end it first. 'Love is exactly like starlight' he'd said. By that he meant that love has it's time, which is not necessarily your time. You have to be big. I think, or old or brave or rich or mad, or something other than what I knew myself and Jack to be, to make love's time your own.
Love has it's time
Jack had feld the same, only for me. On the tracks the night before he'd said, 'I fucked up'.
By that he meant that he'd waited too long, that our time had gone by, that all that had been good was gone, that he should have had the courage to end it first. 'Love is exactly like starlight' he'd said. By that he meant that love has it's time, which is not necessarily your time. You have to be big. I think, or old or brave or rich or mad, or something other than what I knew myself and Jack to be, to make love's time your own.
April 12, 2012
Anthropology of an American Girl
The irony of mourning people who kill themselves is that the rush of love manufactured for the dead did not prevent them from dying in the first place.
Do you think suicide is a tragedy?
No, he stated. It's your life.
Aren't you obligated to people you love?
If you love out of obligation, it's not love. Besides, you're alone from birth.
But you're born to your parents. To your mother.
You don't enter the bond with your mother when you're born, you leave it. Birth is the point of departure from the only real communion you'll ever know. Everything is invention. Your happiness depends on how well your parents handle that. You know, the fact of separation, the fiction of attachment.
So you owe your parents nothing?
He shrugged. I don't. Maybe you do. Most parents don't want the kid or each other. They're just carrying our some brain-dead social functions. They marry because it's time, start a family because its time. They do it for fear of becoming outcasts, fear of acting on an original fucking thought.
How about lost potential?
Lost potential is irrelevant. How can anyone feel cheated out of something they were never entitled to in the first place.
The irony of mourning people who kill themselves is that the rush of love manufactured for the dead did not prevent them from dying in the first place.
Do you think suicide is a tragedy?
No, he stated. It's your life.
Aren't you obligated to people you love?
If you love out of obligation, it's not love. Besides, you're alone from birth.
But you're born to your parents. To your mother.
You don't enter the bond with your mother when you're born, you leave it. Birth is the point of departure from the only real communion you'll ever know. Everything is invention. Your happiness depends on how well your parents handle that. You know, the fact of separation, the fiction of attachment.
So you owe your parents nothing?
He shrugged. I don't. Maybe you do. Most parents don't want the kid or each other. They're just carrying our some brain-dead social functions. They marry because it's time, start a family because its time. They do it for fear of becoming outcasts, fear of acting on an original fucking thought.
How about lost potential?
Lost potential is irrelevant. How can anyone feel cheated out of something they were never entitled to in the first place.
March 28, 2012
Thieves Like Us
I can't sleep with you outside
Maria marie you're on my mind
You took my heart, you took my time
Maria Marie you're in decline
Look in the mirror, see the lines
Maria marie you're as cool as ice
Maria marie it's in your eyes
Maria marie take my advice
Please stop calling me at night
I can't sleep with you outside
I don't want another fight
It's no wonder that you still don't know me
Maria marie you're so unkind
I guess you are no friend of mine
Maria marie you're just a sign
Of days gone past and former times
Maria marie you're on my mind
You took my heart, you took my time
Maria Marie you're as cool as ice
I can't sleep with you outside
Maria marie you're on my mind
You took my heart, you took my time
Maria Marie you're in decline
Look in the mirror, see the lines
Maria marie you're as cool as ice
Maria marie it's in your eyes
Maria marie take my advice
Please stop calling me at night
I can't sleep with you outside
I don't want another fight
It's no wonder that you still don't know me
Maria marie you're so unkind
I guess you are no friend of mine
Maria marie you're just a sign
Of days gone past and former times
Maria marie you're on my mind
You took my heart, you took my time
Maria Marie you're as cool as ice
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