Recently put aside the behemoth manuscript of the novel started this summer — and from the same source came a dozen new HEAVEN songs.
I don’t believe in politics. I never really did — I’m of no party whatsoever and I have no interest and I abjure myself entirely of all of it. It’s all a tired LOL and not for me. I just don’t care. Almost nothing could be more boring. Sure, I’ve been tricked and conned and fooled and pulled like anyone else, like almost everyone. The only answer is to simply ignore it. Just like ‘social media,’ which is one of the biggest boring jokes and cons of this wreckéd age. All real friendship, life and living happens off-platform, and people who want to live need to remember that.
There are no answers — only questions. The more I know the more questions that I have and the more that I keep asking. There’s nothing else to do. I am interested in the long and near, the gone and far away, the moments in our reach that melt away. This is what I’m interested in and this is what my work is all about. Writing, stories, novels, songs, images and objects made — that’s what matters.
I don’t like WordPress, either, and I know this site and homemade theme has long outlived its simple usefulness — it’s time to return to plain HTML and the good handcoded text of yore, and I’m about to. In my own time — I’m still offline, working and doing, and I enjoy the distance and the silence.
In the course of going through and making sense of my sprawling and unwieldy vinyl collection, I’ve been sharing what I find by DJing at clubs. When I started, I wondered why I hadn’t done it sooner. So I’m spinning at Porco Lounge and Tiki Room again this month — mostly vintage lounge, and inevitably this night will end up as a kind of tribute to Doris Day. A decade ago — almost to the day — I stayed at her place in Carmel. I knew her passing was inevitable, but it was still sad when it happened. She was the end of something.
William S. Burroughs often suggested that one’s dreams are a valuable target for the writer to plunder. But what he never said, nor made explicit, was how the dreams of others might provide a writer with direction and material. And yet it happened to him: the dream of a literary character, as it occurs inside a novel of the past, appears to have given Burroughs a massive treasure cache.
The dream is Raskolnikov’s, in Crime and Punishment. And it brings William S. Burroughs to life. His whole oeuvre seems to spring from it, is outlined in the passage…