Showing posts with label Inner Space. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Inner Space. Show all posts

Saturday, 28 October 2023

This Is Inner Space









...the concept of Tau... the world of inter-atom... 

It was an area of  non-logic which only grudgingly conceded a place to man and his fallibilities.

Caught in a twilight world somewhere between between death and the edge of life, they hung at the very fringes of endurance in a state of mental and physical chaos.  


- Colin Kapp
Lambda 1 New Worlds Science Fiction, December 1962




illus: This Is Inner Space (Lambda 1), 2014

Wednesday, 6 April 2016

Second Highway III

Notes from the Neo-Underground


...from all these things I extracted the quintessence. The filth you gave me I have turned to gold. - Baudelaire

Anti-Gravitas
Gravitas is always the problem, never the solution. ‘… the principle result of existential psychoanalysis must be to make us repudiate the spirit of seriousness.’ – Jean-Paul Sartre 
I realised that insouciance is the one thing that can provide inspiration for our lives and yet have no argument to offer in its own defence – Francoise Sagan
Automatism
‘An ‘automatic’ scribble of twisting and interlacing lines permits the germ of idea in the subconscious mind to express, or at least suggest itself to the consciousness.’ – Spare & Carter. It was this principle that Leonardo advocated in his use of that semi-legendary ‘old wall covered with dirt’ or the odd appearance of certain streaked stones, and which Max Ernst later incorporated into his decalcomania idea of ‘inspiration to order’.
British Values
It is a paradox that Britain has engendered many precursors of Surrealism, from Cyril Tourneur to Lewis Carroll (by way of Swift, Blake, Coleridge, The Bronte Sisters, the Gothic novel and the 'mirth and marvels' of the Ingoldsby Legends) and yet very few self-defined Surrealists in the contemporary sense. Despite a dimension of subversive fantasy, a ‘tendency to irrationality’ in English art and literature, and in popular culture generally (Fred Karno's Army, The Whitehall Follies, Round The Horne, Carry On films, Union Jack knickers, farcical sex scandals) it is clearly the case that movements such as Surrealism remain ‘foreign’, indeed maladjusted, when transposed to the British context. ‘You know, it's just not cricket', as they say in the 'modern rustic' kitchens of Middle England.
But Is It Art?
We all know about Style, Content and Genre, the work of Schools, Movements and the historical culture, but what is the purpose of art? The purpose of any work of art is threefold: of course, there are differing degrees of emphasis, but the function of artistic activity is always Therapeutic, and its main purpose is either Propaganda or Entertainment or both. Therapy, Propaganda, Entertainment - look no further.
Convulsion
Please try to forget, if you can, those heretical convulsionnaires, dismissed by Diderot as ‘a sect of fools’, defined by experts of the day as an unfortunate by-product of dysfunctional gynecology or of the 'moral inferiority' of women. A line of argument continued in 1853 by Matthew Arnold when he described Charlotte Bronte's Villette as 'hideous, undelightful, convulsed'. More profitably, consider Baudelaire's view when he said inspiration ‘has something in common with a convulsion’ and noted further that all sublime thought is ‘accompanied by a more or less violent nervous shock which has its repercussions at the very core of the brain.’ 'Beauty' said Andre Breton, 'is like a train that ceaselessly roars out of the Gare de Lyon and which I know will never leave... it consists of jolts and shocks many of which do not have much importance, but which we know are determined to produce one shock which does.' The constitutive qualities of ‘convulsion’ may be detected in the oneiric aura of Paquita Valdes, as described by Balzac in La Fille aux Yeux d’Or (1835). He wrote: ‘there was something sombre, mysterious, sweet, tender, constrained and expansive, an intermingling of the awful and the celestial, of paradise and hell…’ Again can there be a more convulsive moment than those lines written in 1845 by the 'titanic' Emily Bronte at the age of 27? 'Winds take a pensive tone, and stars a tender fire/ And visions rise and change, that kill me with desire.' Further, consider this landscape from Flaubert's Salammbo: 'An immense mass of shadow lay spread out before them, containing vague crests that looked like the gigantic waves of a petrified black ocean.'  A more recent example, ladies and gentlemen, may be the uptempo classy yet anarchic 1960 mambo-cha interpretation of Artie Shaw's popular wartime hit Frenesi by the Edmundo Ros Orchestra with vocals by Caterina Valente; perhaps the ideal soundtrack of convulsive beauty on account of a predominant sense of ‘apparent gratuitousness’ (Breton). It was Garcia Lorca who reminded us that it is not a matter of theatrical intonation, dynamic vocal flourishes, skill or virtuosity (without question in this case), 'but of a style that's truly alive.' Just like a little girl the poet saw in Puerto de Santa Maria singing and dancing a 'corny Italian song... with such rhythms. silences and intention...' that 'she turned the Neopolitan gewgaw into something new and totally unprecedented...' She has duende! Convulsive Beauty is paradise deranged.  
Culture
Culture is tyranny. Enculturation and cultural baggage retard society.
Cultural Seismology
Beneath the outer ideological layer lies a subsurface region called the ‘mantle’ or cultural interior: a complex yet unstable force field of primal values imposed through structural violence. This structural violence is the immediate cause of surface instability leading to shifts and displacements of the cultural landscape. Cultural Seismology is the 'attempt to record the shifts and displacements of sensibility that regularly occur in the history of art and literature' - Bradbury & McFarlane.
Cyber-Junk Style (Cyber-trash)
Subtopian Materialism meets classic B-Movie Sci-Fi in cyberspace littered with cosmic debris. Like techno-eschatology. Well, sort of.
Didacticism?
No thanks. It's art-for-art's-sake, innit
Doubt
Doubt is freedom.
L'esthetique Baudelairienne
The marvelous envelopes and saturates us like the atmosphere; but we fail to see it. - The Salon of 1846.
Beauty always has an element of strangeness... a certain degree of strangeness, of simple, unintended, unconscious strangeness... - The Universal Exhibition of 1855
From all these things I extracted the quintessence. The mud you gave me I have turned to gold. - Draft for an Epilogue for the 2nd Edition of Les Fleus du Mal.
Exi-Noir Underground Style
Black, always black. Like Niccolo Paganini, the original Man in Black or Les Habits Noirs, via the Velvet Undergound.
Remarquez bien que l'habit noir... - Baudelaire, The Salon of 1846, XVIII On the Heroism of Modern Life
Existence
The horizon of existence is untranscendable.
Fashion
Fashion will be discussed according to the gravitation of white letters on nocturnal flesh. - La Revolution Surrealiste
The trick is not any one outrageous item, but in a combination and juxtaposition which is fashionably perverse.
- Mary Quant. 
Fear of the Dark
A Modernist tendency to reject subjectivist forms and movements such as Confessional Poetry, the workings of the Lyric Ego and Romantic Individualism more generally.  Fear of the Dark is a phobic fear of apparent introversion sometimes disguised as a moral argument, of ascetic origin, against ‘self indulgence’, 'egotism' the 'worship of false gods' or ‘ivory tower’ aestheticism. Fear of the Dark is a fear of the psychic depths, fear of the uncanny, fear of the Shadow and the shadow world, fear of the dark-side, Critics who suffer from Fear of the Dark tend to privilege the Apollonian over the Dionysian, the abstract over the figurative and the Classic over the Romantic. At the same time they promote high-brow ideas of elevated taste, great traditions and cultural superiority. This fear can be projected onto the products of consumer society, mass entertainment and mass production, often treated with disdain, derided as Kitsch or denigrated as decadence or even idolatry. Radical nonconformists may well feel they are on an iconoclastic mission to cleanse the world of distracting images and the seductive products of the imagination. However, as Jung says, the Shadow 'cannot be argued out of existence or rationalized into harmlessness'. Furthermore, this fear can be transformed into hatred because it reminds us of our 'helplessness and ineffectuality' in the face of the unknown and the indifference of Nature, an existential theme portrayed by Byron in his poem 'Darkness' (1817). Hence the zealotry of puritans, driven by the 'horror of great darkness' that afflicted Abraham, the prototypical 'God Fearing Man', in Genesis 12 - Fear of the Dark inflated by apocalyptic amplification.
Forbidden Territory
‘…let us not lose sight of the fact that the idea of Surrealism aims quite simply at the total recovery of our psychic force by a means which is nothing other than the dizzying descent into ourselves, the systematic illumination of hidden places and the progressive darkening of other places, the perpetual excursion into the midst of forbidden territory…’ – Second Manifesto of Surrealism.
Freedom
'The mere word 'freedom' is the only one that still excites me' - Manifesto of Surrealism, 1924. But what is freedom? Freedom is the absence of tyranny. Simple.
Hyper-Culture
After the ‘modern breakthrough’ of the period between 1850 and 1870 the idea of Modernity denoted a permanent transfiguration of the human condition. Yet, in retrospect it seems that this ‘modern’ culture was but a short transition phase between the speedy evaporation of traditional culture and the emergence of another globalised cultural formation. The looming ontological hyper-real collapse of the distinction between ‘reality’ and ‘fantasy’ has given rise to a new trans-national culture – hyper-culture. By the end of the last century the US had been defined as a hyper-power with full spectrum dominance, while the features of mass hyper-culture (emerging in the 1960s and 1970s) were becoming increasingly apparent: on the street the difference between fashionable and unfashionable was becoming more and more difficult to distinguish; ‘authenticity’ was becoming an obsolete concept; gender differences were getting hazy; so-called  post-modernism became an obsessive academic fad with multiple meanings both progressive and reactionary at the same time; Dada opposition to the ‘official’ avant garde became an all-pervasive trend; the elements of technoculture (post-biological-cyborg-biotech-virtuality-cyberdelia-fractal transmutationism) started to mutate with increasing speed of pace in a post-Future Shock landscape where Communist graphics fused with Space Invaders and gave birth to a new divinity: a super secular, Art Deco-gone-Pop-Flapper-Girl-Dolly-Bird waving a Sistine Chapel umbrella.
The Infinite
The objective of Surrealism, said Anna Balakian, was 'the infinite expansion of reality'. But what is the infinite? The infinite, she wrote, is 'the realm at whose borders our faculties fail.'   
Inner Space
We might note various use of the term ‘inner space’, ranging from the theology of the soul (Augustine) to the assertion (by Rorty) that the mind as ‘inner space’ is a misleading invention of Descartes. Novalis famously said in his Notes for a Romantic Encyclopaedia that ‘Time is inner space – Space is external time’, while Hegel claimed that ‘inner space and inner time’ comprise the psychic environment of poetry. It has been observed that the protagonists in the macabre tales of Edgar Allan Poe inhabit a godless anti-world which is an internalisation of the physical space of the entire American Continent, a space where the borderline between sanity and madness is a new frontier. In 1914, in a letter to Lou Andreas Salome, the poet Rilke claimed that the flight of a bird ‘turns the whole world into inner space’, an experience transmuted into a poem known as the Weltinnenraum Poem. Heidegger said that inner space is ‘the interior of uncustomary consciousness…beyond the arithmetic of calculation…’. In popular culture the term was first introduced at Worldcon 6 in July 1948 by Robert Bloch who said that in Science Fiction the ‘exploration of outer space must eventually give way to an exploration of inner space’, a challenge reiterated by J B Priestly in 1953 and J G Ballard in 1962. Talking about the future of the novel William Burroughs defined himself as a ‘cosmonaut of inner space’, attributing the phrase to Alexander Trocchi. Finally one might recall that Maurice Nadeau described the 'surrealist state of mind' as eternal, and should be understood as a tendency 'not to transcend but to penetrate reality...'
The Jet Age
An uncanny era when Comets mysteriously fell from the sky and the Jet Set flew Pan Am between NYC and Paris to a bossa nova soundtrack. The age of Populuxe Jet Age Moderne architecture, retro-futurism, supersonic research and Chuck Yaeger broke the sound barrier flying the Bel X-1 named Glamorous Glennis. 
The Kaleidoscope Principle
‘One instant leads me numbly to the next and the athematic theme unfurls without a plan but geometric like the successive shapes in a kaleidoscope.’ – Clarice Lispector
Neo-Underground
The Fourth Wave is sometimes termed the ‘Neo-underground’ – Where it’s at.
Non-conformism
For Surrealists non-conformism is total. Most ‘radicals’, however, are non-conformists in a very parochial sense: they are immersed in the protest culture and feel engaged in a high-minded struggle against ‘the establishment’. Our English dissenters like to think they are ‘more radical than the radicals’ even though in actuality they are merely acting-out a pre-determined role; a particularly entrenched mode of the spirit of seriousness, tolerated as a ‘safety valve’ by the very establishment they claim to oppose. The anti-establishmentarian Malcontent stance is usually an affectation of privileged, if disaffected, middle class youth: 'poor little rich kids' with low self-esteem, offspring of The Golden Age of Capitalism. These are the Radical Chic conformist non-conformists, the illiberal liberals, the belligerent pacifists, the authoritarian libertarians, the full time oppositionists, the anti-racist racists, the anti-elitist elitists, the Banbury Saints, the neo-phobic New Age counter-culturalists, the dystopian-utopian anarchists, the unfunny alternative comedians, the repressive multi-culturalists, the anti-feminine feminists (pro-natalist, anti-sexist puritans), the conspiratorial conspiracy theorists, Angry Young Men, refuseniks, iconoclasts (campaigners against 'graven images' and idolatry), dissenters, Levellers, Ranters, Diggers, subversives, hyper-active activists, right-thinking bien pensants and dissidents of all tribes, classes and types - they all aspire to sainthood in conformance with traditional, reactionary, ascetic ideals of goodness and 'virtue' or the received wisdom of heretics. As a character in Look Back in Anger said of that prototype political post-war era antihero Jimmy Porter: 'He doesn't know where he is, or where he's going. He'll never do anything, and he'll never amount to anything.' Sometimes the nonconformist can 'make a difference', but, more often than not, the 'difference' is an outcome of the law of unintended consequences.
Objective Chance
‘…in which natural necessity makes its way through the unconscious to coincide with the human necessity of desire’ – Gerard Legrand (in Ades et al). Objective chance is an occupational hazard.
The Ocean Chart
The Bellman, leader of the Snark Hunt, bought out a large map representing the sea 'without the least vestige of land'. The microcosmic crew were of course delighted 'when they found it to be/ A map they could all understand.'
Open Realism
Open Realism (realisme ouvert – Andre Breton) draws a line in the sand and, as they say these days, it ‘moves on’. From Kitchen Sink and Swinging Bonkbusters to Hammer Horror… nothing is sacred.
The Outland Country
‘He found himself, as he had hoped, afar and forlorn; he had strayed into outland and occult territory.’ – Arthur Machen. The Hill of Dreams, 1907
Paraxis
‘The paraxial area could be taken to represent the spectral region of the fantastic, whose imaginary world is neither entirely ‘real’…nor entirely ‘unreal’…but is located somewhere indeterminately between the two.’ – Rosemary Jackson.
Postsurrealism
The idea of a 'typical post-Surrealist viewpoint' is mentioned by Lucy R Lippard in her discussion of the art of Valerio Adami, a body of work, focused on the principle of metamorphosis, that also draws upon the world of advertising. To quote Adami himself: advertising is 'a language that assails you wherever you go'. He said his aim was to realise a condition where 'time and space spread out into a new psychic action'. Writing about the later films of Luis Bunuel a filmmaker whose aesthetic was rooted in the classic or ‘heroic’ interwar era of Surrealist provocation, Michael Wood observes a certain character pertaining to Bunuel’s work of his later period (1967-1977) or to the social context depicted therein. He notes that this mode of modernity appears ‘thoroughly pleased with itself’ and capable of the ‘firmest suppression’ of any indications of trouble. Crucially, he says ‘This is a world beyond satire, and the old disruptions of Surrealism are not going to make any mark on it, because ordinary life, in this place, is already as arbitrary and erratic as anything a Surrealist could dream up.’ Are there fundamental problems with Surrealism? Taking into account Sartre's critique of a 'curious enterprise of achieving nothingness through an excess of being' one might also add that there are significant issues with Marxism and Hegelianism, political idealism, music, homophobia, infantile regression, anti-consumerism, Westophobia, Postcolonialism, primitivism and the Orientalist Turn To The East which might situate political Surrealism as a precursor to what is now known as the chic pseudo-radical Reactionary Left although the Surrealist Anti-Stalinist emphasis on Liberty (artistic freedom, personal freedom) remains both fundamental and unique. The Surrealists eventually broke with the communists because they refused to accept Socialist Realism as an article of faith. From our present vantage point we should be able to formulate a 'post-surreal' perspective, countering, or, neutralizing such vexatious and problematic questions.
The Post-War Waves
The First Wave was The Angries, the Second Wave was The Satire Boom, and the Third Wave was The Underground. And after the Underground? The Fourth Wave.
The Psychonauts 
Research paradigm derived from the concept of the Psychoanauts (Psychonauten) first discussed by Ernst Junger in his collection of essays Annaherungen: Drogen und Rausch (1970). The term has subsequently been popularised in the occult world by Peter J Carroll in his book Liber Null and Psychonaut : An Introduction to Chaos Magic (1982). Immersive exploration of of the psycho-geography of inner space and/or ‘altered states’ is, obviously, the foundational aesthetic experience; to quote Burroughs, ‘altered consciousness, of course, is a writer’s stock in trade. If my consciousness was just completely conventional, no one would be interested enough to read it, right?’ All Surrealists are psychonauts as the principle is clearly implied in the First Surrealist Manifesto which explains that the discoveries of Psychoanalysis provide for the 'human explorer' (l'explorateur humain) to carry his investigations much further than would otherwise be the case, 'authorized as he will henceforth be not to confine himself solely to the most summary realities'. As the Manifesto states, 'It was a question of going back to the sources of poetic imagination and what is more, of remaining there.' This requires a 'great deal of fortitude' especially if the explorer intends to set up his abode 'in these distant regions where everything seems at first so awkward and difficult.' However, to attain this goal it is ultimately a matter of 'the travelers' 'ability to endure'. 
Radar
Poetry is radar.
Religion
Social evolution is secular, All religion is political: all theology is propaganda. All sacred books are fake news, Faith is an addiction, Morality is The Devil's work. Religiosity is mania but Faithwash, like Greenwash, is nevertheless socially expedient. Fideism is the worst kind of faithwash.
Second Highway
Term used by Huysmans with reference to his new artistic formula (Baldick) ; an extension of realistic Naturalism (the 'highway' marked out by Zola) in pursuit of which the novelist should trace a 'parallel road in the air, a second highway reaching out to regions beyond and hereafter...'. Not only was it required to maintain the accurate documentation and precision of detail demanded by the Realists, but it was also necessary to 'sink well-shafts into the soul' and develop  'a spiritual naturalism'. To extract core samples from the depths of the Soul.
Subtopia
To the critical observer it was an anonymous tract of anomic space lacking in distinctive character or ‘spirit of place'; an interstitial ‘middle state neither town nor country’. In hindsight it seems that this ‘Subtopia’ ('inferior place') was an incitement for the imagination; although it might also have been that the bizarre strangeness was not a subjective projection but a discovery – Subtopia is bizarre in itself.
Subtopian Materialism
A debased form of anti-didactic English Pop associated with the ‘cultural desert’ of the urban fringe. A by-product of the post-war economic boom (The Golden Age of Capitalism) Subtopian Materialism finds inspiration in boring or brutalist architecture, electricity substations, deserted allotments, mass consumerism, retro-futurism, all forms of popular entertainment, and the indeterminate, sub-surreal no-place of featureless suburbia - a locale or terrain vague where ‘nothing really happens’. Like The Room described by Cocteau in Les Enfants Terribles, works of Subtopian Materialism
are 'devoid of intellectual content, devoid... of any worldly aim...' reflecting the commercialised, mass-consumerist aestheticism of the mid-twentieth century.
The Subtopian Voyeur (People Watching)
Hang out on the other side of town, navigate the urban phantasmagoria in search of that 'unconscious strangeness' Baudelaire said was the defining element of Beauty. Get immersed in the Freak Show Scene: the fashions, the types, the attitudes: the friendly, the nasty, or the indifferent.
The Space Age
The atomic space age, the age of The Nuclear Dream and technocratic fantasy dressed by Courreges and Cardin.
‘Sometimes I have a feeling I’m an astronaut shot out into space.’ – Federico Fellini.
Tabloid Impressionism
(1) A Neo-Nonsense, absurdist anti-didactic trash aesthetic; a form of post-surreal Urban Alchemy. The principle of Objective Chance applied to the mass media, particularly in its most disreputable aspects where the Spirit of Seriousness is much diminished, or, with luck, completely absent: downmarket advertising, the tabloid press, junk mail, celebrity culture and scandals, tacky TV, mass production movies, porn mags, burlesque fashion and so forth. As Durgnat said, discussing ‘Mute Poetry in the Commercial Cinema’: ‘…academics often ignore or deprecate the popular mythology from which the mass media so often derive their intimacy of resonance with their audience.’
(2) A slangy literary style. A form of verbal slumming or nostalgie de la boue often incorporating found phrases and wacky neologisms from the mass media.
Teleology?
You must be joking. There is no master-plan.
Veronica Lurk
Bonjour Maitresse!

Bibliography
Ades, Dawn et al, The Surrealism Reader, Tate Publishing, 2015
Balakian, Anna, Surrealism Road to the Absolute, Dutton, 1970
Baldick, Robert, The Life of J-K Huysmans, Daedalus, 2006
Ballard, J G, A User’s Guide to the Millennium, Flamingo, 1997
Balzac, Honore de, The Girl with the Golden Eyes, Sphere Books, 1970
Baudelaire, Charles, Selected Writings On Art and Literature, Penguin Books, 1992
Benjamin, Walter, Charles Baudelaire, Verso, 1997
Bradbury, Malcolm/McFarlane, James Modernism 1890-1930, Penguin Books, 1981
Breton, Andre, Manifestos of Surrealism, University Of Michigan, 2007
Breton, Andre, Nadja, Penguin Books, 1999
Burroughs, William S, Word Virus, Flamingo, 1999
Carroll, Lewis, The Hunting of The Snark, The British Library, 2011
Carroll, Peter J, Liber Null and Psychonaut, Samuel Weiser, 1987
Cocteau, Jean, Les Enfants Terribles, Vintage Books, 2011
Durgnat, Raymond, Films and Feelings, MIT Press, 1971
Ernst, Max, Beyond Painting, Wittenborn Schultz, 1948
Fellini, Federico, Fellini on Fellini, Da Capo Press, 1996
Lorca, Federico Garcia, In Search of Duende, New Directions, 2010
Jackson, Rosemary, Fantasy: The Literature of Subversion, Methuen, 1981
Jung, C G, The Archetypes & The Collective Unconscious, RKP, 2000
Lippard, Lucy R, Pop Art, Thames & Hudson, 2001
Lispector, Clarice, Agua Viva, Penguin Books, 2014
Miles, Barry, William Burroughs El Hombre Invisble, Virgin Books, 1993
Miller, Lucasta. The Bronte Myth. Vintage, 2002
Nadeau, Maurice, The History of Surrealism, Penguin Books, 1973
Parnell, Steve, Ian Nairn The Pioneer of Outrage, The Architectural Review, 27 May, 2014
Quant, Mary,The Meaning Of The Mini, Daily Telegraph 18 Oct 1997
Sagan, Francoise, Bonjour Tristesse, Penguin Books, 2013
Sartre, Jean-Paul, Being and Nothingness, Routledge, 2005
Sartre, Jean-Paul, Modern Times, Penguin Books, 2000
Sirius, R U, 21st Century Revolutionary, Fringecore, 1999
Spare, Austin O, The Collected Works, The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, 1982
Watt, Judith (ed) The Penguin Book of Twentieth Century Fashion Writing, Penguin Books, 2000
Wood, Michael, Belle de Jour, BFI, 2005

illus: Beyond Writing, 1975

Thursday, 29 October 2015

There Are Many Roads To Space

i.m. William S. Burroughs 1914-1997


Now we are left with the career
novelists. – J G Ballard


Burroughs began writing much later than Kerouac and Ginsberg.
“I had no choice except to write my way out...”, he said. It is necessary to travel, it is not necessary to live. Two interlocked projectors turn out ‘flat’ copy, side-by-side, anamorphic.
“However there are many roads to space.”
So, tell me about it? I looked at the man in the grey suit, but before he could speak we were transported to a pizza joint on the other side of town. There was a pile of books on the dirty table:
Cities of the Red Night, The Place of Dead Roads, My Education, Ghost of Chance... he was a ‘map-maker’, an explorer of psychic areas, a ‘cosmo­naut of inner space’. The message was resistance:
“Our troops operate in the area of dream and myth under guerrilla conditions... the enemy is a noncreative. parasite.”
If we are to have a future we must catch up with the past even though headlight design occupies the brightest minds – the colour is almost identical – gleaming leather ‘wild boy’ sex appeal, pure velvet, born in St Louis, Missouri. And I was not alone. Boring rituals. Record-breaking results. Many roads. Many spaces. Fluent conversation.
Interviewer: Wright Morris called Naked Lunch a hemorrhage of the imagination. Would you take that as a compliment?
Burroughs: I frankly wouldn’t know how to take it.
Edit. Delete. Rearrange. Rumours circulate endlessly – but most of these leads result in dead ends — left and right images overprinted – filters are not necessary, to live is not necessary. We entered the 1951 Telekinema, it’s bloody and gross and shot in 3D. The screenplay squirts green, hallucinatory gunk at its victims. He was one of the strangest monsters of filmdom with an extensive archive and a diversity of activities. A unique talent, hot property – have they put rat poison in the pasta? The man from El Dorado shuddered as an alien waif stumbled in through the door.
By this time Burroughs had moved further out… The trail had gone cold.
Not for him the dark sadness of amour fou.
Look at what is in front of you in silence – in hieroglyphic silence – the key is beauty and deliriously intense flashbacks. This is how an exponent of English Dada can capture the news. You don’t need subvocal speech to write about it (“I could look at the end of my shoe for eight hours”). I looked out of the window: beyond the village green were angels and devils from Sicily in the 1860s. Yesterday becomes tomorrow. Easy lessons in hieroglyphic silence rendered by excellent pre-computer animation techniques and a lock of Lolita’s hair. He works with the precision of a master chess player.
Interviewer: Therefore, you’re not upset by the fact that a chimpanzee can do an abstract painting?
Burroughs: If he does a good one, no.
Now, the seedy manservant gains the upper hand in the updated film version discussing montage with Kathy Acker. It was an ascesis, a withdrawal.
Sometime Burroughs character, Academy 23 graduate Yen Lee, materialised and said “All dead poets and writers can be reincarnate in different hosts. Vivare no es necesse…” Lee made a victory V sign hovering three or four feet from the table-top. I looked at his cold, hard eyes. According to ‘Pages from Chaos’ he had been carefully selected ‘for a high level of intuitive adjustment’. Training was carried out in the context of reality. Known as El Hombre Invisible he had had several addresses in various cities: Duke Street, St James’s, London, 1972; Rue Delacroix, Tangier, l964; 210, Center Street, New York, 1965; Villa Muniria, Tangier, 1961; rue Git le Coeur, Paris, 1960. He had The Look, The Big Break, The Star Quality…even the wind can’t resist it. Distant recording of Peggy Lee singing Fly me to the Moon (In Other Words)... I just love it here in London where less is always more. Humorous neon years of exposure.
Interviewer: Do you work while you’re travelling on trains or boats?
Burroughs: There is one example of a train trip in which I tried typing, incorporating what I saw in the passing stations...
The expedition to see Celine was organised in 1958 by Allen Ginsberg – walked for half a mile in this rundown neighbourhood… what’s new? A small but significant detail was missing. Celine, a qualified doctor you know, nailed Edith Sitwell’s nose to the lavatory door. Personally I prefer Chanel No 5. Like many artistic revolutionaries Yen Lee became a cultural icon late in life, mixing science fiction, the western, the travel book, the dream journal and other genres. But to travel you have to leave all the verbal gar­bage behind. “God talk, country talk, mother talk, love talk, party talk.” You have to make a distinction between the sea in summer and the sea in winter – a blessed relief and a good hangover cure – cut-ups have been used in films for years. That tired and heavy feeling is eliminated.
The man in the neat, grey suit was sitting at a cafe table next to a sign that read ‘Beautify your legs’. By now his glamorous and exotic life had descended into literary madness – a gaunt figure in sneakers and sunglasses, a dank world of privilege and tragedy. It was 10:23am and, after an antiwar march in Rome, 1969, five hundred guests swept down the world-famous red carpet, a battleground of plastic weaponry. Next morning we check out. According to J G Ballard “when Burroughs talked about Time Magazine’s conspiracy to take over the world he meant it literally”.
The first full-length feature had distinctive architectural design, it opened up fresh corners of an idiosyncratic visual style, a language of old service newsreels, popular documentary films and extreme experimentation – fantasy and cinema verite in equal measure. Dead home movies roll on. Old red stars fade over Hollywood.
Dream and myth, sir, dream and myth.
Interviewer: Your books are rarely obscure or hard to understand.
Burroughs: We think of the past as being there unchangeable. There’s nothing between them and the image. A lot of old junkies used to do this.
Edit. Delete. Rearrange.
I looked up and saw a face I thought I knew – it was – er...
Count Alfred Korzybski, author of Science and Sanity.
Count Alfred said, “Anyone who prays in space is not there.”
Then he vanished. Rats might take over the Earth.
The man from El Dorado came home to write like a master chess-player, mapmaker and explorer. Bleeding bodies swept up in a sense of satire. Trendsetter burns out over Colorado. Conspiracy within the industry. What we call ‘love’ is a fraud perpetrated by the female sex.
There had been an exorcism ceremony to evict The Ugly Spirit, not too late. To achieve complete freedom from past conditioning is “to be in space.” Take trip, a step, into regions literally unthinkable in verbal terms… addiction is a disease of exposure, and an algebra of need. Don’t believe anything they say, people feel they have already seen it on TV.
I look at my watch. It’s still 10:23am and I think of a passage from The Necronomicon translated by Herr Doktor Kurt Unruh von Steinplatz, Benway Publications (1961):
‘Knowing we know not. Techniques exist. The message is resistance...’
Explain the subtle details.
The Herr Doktor crumples into dust. There is a cold shriek on a distant wind, old folded photos exert a morbid fascination, a hemorrhage of the imagination. But the extreme edge of art, as of life, was the only place to be. The texts record ancient nightmare parasites and plagues. Human combustion becomes an everyday reality. Pure anamorphic velvet, two interlocked projectors and Boom! Rumours circulate endlessly – no call – no answer. Always the Third walks beside you – always.
City fellas demand train comes on time and with a fully stocked licensed bar. The biggest avalanche in history just missed us by inches. Stay in or opt out, it’s all the same.
Edit. Delete. Rearrange.
His roommate expectorated for about 40mins. I never take a camera.
Dream and myth, travel and money.
Accelerated history, side-by-side, a psycho-fold-in, no scissors used – I quote James Grauerholz:
“He surely had travels to tell, and yet the five-hour ride back to the City was mostly silent, as together we concentrated on the darkening highway and our own thoughts.”
I observed that, for Rilke, Death was “a bluish distillate/in a cup without a saucer...”
The man in the grey suit, in the pizza joint on the other side of town, flashed me a telepathic message:
There are many roads to space –
There are many –
There are –
Now we are left with the career novelists.
The rats take over the Earth. Recall those seismic shocks in 1921...?
Navigare necesse es. Vivare no es necesse. (Plutarch)

© A C Evans, Mortlake, 10th August, 1997

 Acknowledgements

There Are Many Roads To Space is a psycho fold-in/cut-up – no scissors used.

 With thanks to:

J. G. Ballard. ‘The CIA are watching me,’ he confided. Guardian, August 4th, 1997.
James Campbell. ‘Struggles with the Ugly Spirit’. Guardian, August 4th, 1997
William Burroughs. The Burroughs File. City Lights, 1984
William Burroughs. Ah Pook is Here and Other Texts. John Calder, 1979
William Burroughs & Brion Gysin. The Third Mind.John Calder, 1979.
William Burroughs & Daniel Odier. The Job. John Calder, 1984
Barry Miles. William Burroughs: El Hombre Invisible. Virgin, 1992
The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke. Translated by Stephen Mitchell. Picador, 1982

This text first published in: My Kind of Angel: i.m. William Burroughs, Stride Publications, 1998
Subsequently published in:Text Book: Writing Through Literature, Third Edition, by Robert Scholes, Nancy R. Comley, and Gregory L. Ulmer. Bedford/St Martin's, 2001

Illus: No World Is Safe, 1995

Monday, 19 October 2015

In The Soft State Zone

Meanwhile, Cornfield came upon a tattered figure, shuffling ahead of him down the hollow corridor, illuminated so vividly in the glare of the overhead strip-lights.
He slowed his pace so that he was following this curious old woman who, though stooped with arthritis, was moving with an air of urgency. She led him to a door inlaid with panels of whorled glass, decorated with undulating metal tendrils; iron blossoms creeping across pearl grey-pink panes engraved with angelic, ethereal faces Drugged eyes, drooping lips.
               Silence.
               He listened but could hear nothing.
               Ahead and behind, just a deserted corridor with gleaming white tiles and veined, marble pillars.
               Knowing the old crone had gone inside he was compelled to follow and – for his audacity – was greeted by the most fascinating vision.
               He was standing high on a gallery fashioned out of iron, its balustrade extending around the perimeter of the entire room. Across the other side, exactly opposite, was another door of the same design as the one now swinging gently shut behind him.
               Between was an abyss.
               Blue air.
               Streaks and eddies of  violet light.
Trailing streamers of purple tinged with black. In the centre a shaft, rising to the empyrean, falling to infinite depths.
This was the Soft State Zone.
               Soundlessly, gracefully, continuously, slabs of golden metal drifted past, sailing upwards with a turning motion, slowed down images of jet aircraft at high altitude, where all sense of speed and direction has been eliminated in favour of a feeling of weightless progression. Busy machines scuttled across on wires that led nowhere. Boxes, bristling with metal arms and tubes, latticed with ostensibly decorative holes in arabesque patterns, floated static for a second or two before dropping away into some abyssal realm beyond all perception.
               Neon lights flickered. Black holes in the fabric of the almost tactile atmosphere opened and closed with obscene noises. Wires and electrodes gleamed in the suffused light.
               Cornfield noticed a vague, female figure suspended in space. It was slowly revolving, feet together, arms outstretched, fingers hooked convulsively, head thrown back in ecstasy or pain. Whole metal plates encased her limbs like sculpted armour. Cylindrical objects revolved in a circle about her. Above her head billowed a black thunder cloud where lightning flickered with subdued ferocity. White plates the colour of asbestos floated on the surface of this cloud and letters of the Greek alphabet appeared and disappeared on their surfaces in random patterns.
To the left of the cloud, above the radiant face of the female entity, was suspended a curious contraption. Its main component was a square cuboid apparatus with a curved horn-like feature projecting from one of its corners. Clipped to its side was a complex of pipes and wires from which was suspended a tube with a bulbous swelling at one end supporting a metal plate. A cluster of delicate, pronged instruments reminiscent of dental equipment was in contact with the figure, constantly probing, tapping and massaging the figure’s back with wide sweeps as she floated this way and that, suspended in viscous luminosity.
               Below the figure and to its right three shapes glowed silver. The first was a diagrammatic representation of an exploding star, a sort of giant asterisk. The second took the form of three concentric rings. The third consisted of twelve oblong blocks of silver laid together in such a way that their inner edges formed a circle.
 Lights flashed on and off beneath the glass floor as, suddenly, a brilliant flare lit up seven gold cones, luminous forms materialising for an instant before vanishing amid drifting rainbows.
               His attention was again drawn to the suspended figure. He noted the wide open eyes and fine black wires trailing from her russet coloured nipples, so swollen and inviting, twin crowns for her hypertrophic breasts. He saw, blossoming in the air below her feet, three grinding cylinders surmounted by an inverted crucifix drifting among sonographic echoes of extinct birdcalls, among a galaxy of component parts arranged in six zones. There were ascending, coiling Soft State paths of black and silver.
               Gripped by vertigo Cornfield clung to the rails of the balustrade. The whole area seemed to tilt and roll like the deck of a ship caught in a storm. The central figure opened and closed her legs thrusting her body in a contortion, moving her arms in slow circles – a blind swimmer in an acid bath. The near zone was drenched in a sticky, oozing cloud of white, milky light that dripped over the quietly whirring machinery, sending impulse needles spinning behind glass plates.
               A cage materialised. A vicious portcullis above her head which descended around her body, moulding itself to her throbbing, armoured, plastic flesh. There was a spasm of mechanistic carnality and a spurt of crimson was ejected into the shimmering haze.

               As Cornfield turned to leave the centre of this vast hollow space became brilliant white, glowing with the intensity of lava in the bowels of a volcano or metal in a furnace. Bolts of red shivered across the scene illuminating the inferno in a hellish glare. He heard a long, breathless sigh, an eerie sound on a descending chromatic scale of soft, warmly textured notes, melting into cascades of snowflakes, congealing into the faces of Netherlandish angels – wide eyes, cheeks formed from the wings of hummingbirds – blue, turquoise, violet – all the colours of unattainable dreams.

A FRAGMENT from ‘DEBRIS’, 1970

Illus: Bridal Viscosity, 1972 


Thursday, 20 September 2007

Convulsion Revisited

It might be the case that the idea of Convulsion as a guiding principle arose during a rambling discussion triggered by a short, passing reference to the topic in Patrick Waldberg’s book Surrealism (1965). There may be those who recall taking part in such a discussion in 1967 and who may even remember the very place in Chelmsford where we met – a coffee bar in Duke Street opposite the Civic Centre and Public Library – the last time I looked it was still there. There may also be some who, even today, might recall how, in a crowded, smoky hostelry next to the railway station, the more formal notion of a BCI (Bureau of Convulsive Inquiries, or was it Investigations?) was mooted. Some might claim that such a thing actually existed – on paper at least.
And yet I recall most vividly that it was, in fact, in Villiers Street, near Charing Cross, in a restaurant long since vanished (there was shadowy corner lined with fake books) that the suggestion of a Convulsionist Group was proposed for the very first time. I only wish I could remember the name of the place, but I expect it was a Golden Egg, as the interior decor was elaborate and colourful. We can all agree, I think, that Convulsionism emerged in 1967 for the simple reason that the poem ‘Birth of Convulsion’ dates from that year and no earlier testimonials survive: for a very few the Summer of Love was also the Summer of Convulsion.
It was late afternoon when, walking towards Villiers Street, through the Victoria Embankment Gardens, I came across that embodiment of the Convulsive Aesthetic, or one sharply defined facet of such an aesthetic: the Sullivan Memorial by W. Goscombe John. It was ‘the mourning girl’; an allegory of music grieving for a dead composer that, at that epiphanic moment, caused a veritable frisson of the imagination. This mild shock evoked in turn a quotation from Rider Haggard’s She, which I am very sure read as follows:

…with a convulsive movement that somehow gave the impression of a despairing energy, the woman rose to her feet and cast the dark cloak from her.


It was natural that I then recalled the famous passage from Against Nature where Huysmans decibes Salome's gesture in Gustave Moreau's watercolour The Apparation:

with a gesture of horror, Salome tries to thrust away the terrifying vision which holds her nailed to the spot, balanced on the tips of her toes, her eyes dilated, her right hand clawing convulsively at her throat..


By word association I next recalled an amusing anecdote recounted in a book on Art Nouveau by John Russell Taylor which recorded how, when Burne-Jones admitted that he wished he had seen Blake’s Behemoth as a teenager, a friend exclaimed "My dear, you would have been carried off in convulsions!"
Obsessed with Decadence, I felt the sensual ‘wave-line’ of Art Nouveau, the frisson a l’unison of the ‘Cantique de Saint Jean,’ and certain details of Beardsley’s Salome drawings exemplified the notion of a Convulsive force in a manner that complimented Breton’s eloge du cristal, or Dali’s ‘The Phenomenon of Ecsasty’. Eine linie ist eine Kraft (‘a line is a force’) wrote Henry van de Velde in some forgotten artistic treatise published in the fin de siecle era. Here, I thought, was a kind of continuity, linking the ‘magnetic force’ of Rider Haggard’s awesome Queen of Kor with the Surrealist principle of Convulsive Beauty via the sinuous, ectoplasmic wave forms of Art Nouveau and the galvanic posture of an allegory of music as sculpted for the memorial before me. It was the birth of Convulsion from an allegory of music.
There were others that evening who, because they despised Dali, and for other reasons, argued that Ernst's ‘The Eye of Silence’ (currently on the cover of Ballard’s The Crystal World) and ‘The Robing of the Bride’ epitomised the true spirit of present day Convulsion in art. Together with the ‘secret festivals’ of Leonor Fini and the multiple perspectives of the ‘unconscious anatomy’ described by Hans Bellmer, it was, in the final analysis, Max Ernst who was the guiding light on our quest to become cartographers of 'inner space'. Notwithstanding the still-living presence of Elizabeth Siddal, who seemed, for at least one of us, a more than fleeting presence, Gothic Convulsion in art was exemplified by Rossetti’s absolutely uncanny ‘How They Met Themselves’ (his ‘bogey picture’) while some, even more ambitious, claimed Crivelli, Goya and even Leonardo (think of his crumbling, oracular wall), as precursors.
Yet another asserted the importance of the echoing spaces and voids depicted in Messiaen’s Et Exspecto Resurrectionem Mortuorum (this, despite the anti-clericalism of Convulsion), or the tortured, Expressionist sprechstimme of Pierrot Lunaire, to show that Convulsion pervades the universe of music. Convulsion in music certainly existed, it was said, despite the intentions of composers who were, as we knew, often behind the times. Of course the ‘Liebestod’ from Tristan was always cited in such conversations together with some works by Varese and Bartok, while on other occasions, it was permissible to assert that ‘classical’ music (whatever that was) was no longer ‘it’. Quite rightly, to ‘get Convulsion now’, you should listen to ‘Rocket 69’ by Connie Allen, or The Doors’ ‘Horse Latitudes’/ ‘Moonlight Drive’/ ‘People Are Strange’ – well the whole album actually. Jimi Hendrix and his Experience was certainly Convulsive among the ladies, so were Tropicalia, Brian Auger and anything by Charles Mingus, but especially ‘Ysabel’s Table Dance’ from Tijuana Moods.
Above all, I thought of Wifredo Lam’s hieratic and sinister Altar for La Chevelure de Falmer exhibited in 1947 but not illustrated in Waldberg’s book, and certain images from a television programme called The Debussy Film (1965). It was an unquestioned axiom of dogma, a basic tenet of theory, that every utterance and written word by Antonin Artaud was ‘intrinsically Convulsive’ and ditto Marcel Duchamp. The same was true of every move and gesture by Conrad Veidt in the (‘totally Convulsive’) role of Cesare the Somnambulist or, more obscurely, as the eponymous student in The Student of Prague.
But of course, wishing, for obvious reasons, to elevate some film star or super-model to iconic status, most of us, inspired by The Phantom Of Sex Appeal, undoubtedly defined Convulsive Beauty in the context of ‘the internal (or, sometimes, ‘infernal’) feminine’. Candidates for this iconic role would include Charlotte Rampling for her portrayal of the doomed Elizabeth Thallman in Visconti’s The Damned (1968) or – very seriously – Fenella Fielding; and not just for her appearance as Valeria Watt in Carry On Screaming (1966). There was a positive mania for this kind of nomination with candidates ranging from Louise Brooks to Elsa Lanchester, Veronica Lake, Barbara Steele, Verushka, Jean Shrimpton, (not Twiggy) and Catherine Deneuve. One image, of the model Donyale Luna in Qui etes-vous Polly Maggoo?, became the ultimate icon, although a ‘Convulsive moment’ from Fortunata’s dance (Magali Noel in Fellini Satyricon) was also a close contender. At that time I had not seen a film called The Flesh and the Fiends or, without hesitation, I would have added the names of Billie Whitelaw to the list.
From very different perspectives there were other modes of Convulsion, including Lyrical Convulsion which was a style of ultra-decadent ‘Yellow Nineties’ poetry influenced by the naturalism of Arthur Symons, and Hermetic Convulsion requiring a knowledge of Alchemy but exclusively ‘under the poetic angle’. There were Convulsive Objects (instamatic cameras, cash machines, dictaphones, car stereos, audiocassette players), and Convulsive Places and Buildings (The Hellfire Caves, Museum Street, Centre Point, The Post Office Tower, Liverpool Street Station and Hungerford Bridge among others). Macabre Convulsion drew inspiration from Mervyn Peake's Fuschia Groan, Edgar Allan Poe and Maturin’s Melmoth the Wanderer, while Absurd Convulsion was definitely both Pataphysical (Faustroll, Ubu Roi) and contemporary – as in the ‘Convulsively funny’ dinner party from Carry On Up the Khyber (1968). Radio 1 was definitely not Convulsive at all, and neither was The Liverpool Scene. The Gernreich topless dress was Convulsive but Post-Painterly Abstraction was not – well, not usually. William Burroughs was ‘in’ but Jack Kerouac was ‘out’… and what about Union Jack sunglasses, and all those sort of things? Well, no, not particularly, even though floral or Op Art ties were sometimes worn to Convulsive parties or gatherings at Le Macabre, a coffee house in Meard Street, or the sordid wine-cellar of Dirty Dicks on Bishopsgate. While writing practice was often 'under guerrilla conditions' (cut-ups inspired by Nova Express), the ideal Convulsive fashion style avoided blue jeans and aspired to attain an Essex Exi-gangster look, via Warhol and the Velvet Underground.

An amalgam of Surrealism and Decadence with an element of the Mod-Pop axis mixed with pure fantasy, Convulsionism valued the imagination and automatism above everything – the ideal Convulsive 'moment' is always inadvertent. In their book Surrealism: Permanent Revelation (1970) Cardinal & Short said correctly:

Surrealism has established its own ‘aesthetics’ by defining beauty in terms of a purely affective response to phenomena.

That this ‘excitation of the nerves’ as Angela Carter defined the concept sometime later, was in fact an extension into the mid-twentieth century of the Decadent idea of the frisson nouveau or crise de nerfs was the clever but not necessarily original basis for the Convulsionist aesthetic. It was an aesthetic that flourished obscurely during the era known by some as 'that decade of convulsion', but, more specifically, The Swinging Sixties, and which, in the long term, I suspect influenced no one but myself.

Illustration: Cantique de St Jean, 1968