Posts Tagged ‘Camille Paglia’

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And now for a word on my creative process.  As published in the Head and the Hand.

Tracks w:Black Frame

 Art.  Fever.  Heart. 

It’s  the difference between night and day.  I spend my last waking hours reading exquisite writers.  Céline if I’m in the mood for raw and racing prose.  Pablo Neruda if I’m in the mood for aged and oceanic poetry.  Camille Paglia if I’m in the mood to split the difference. She’s a deep thinker whose sentences read  like acid-guitar licks.

In the morning, I kick-start my brain with junk.  I read spam.  I read celebrity gossip while ogling pictures of starlets in see-through gowns and micro-bikinis.  I read crime reports designed to put me into a state of apolexy:  white collar scams, crimes of passion and murders by bored kids.  Then, when my mind is catapulted into the chaos, I  fight to regain the lost chord.  It’s a fight to reconnect with the vibe that I carried, like a lullaby, through my sleep.  Nothing else makes me feel at risk of losing the  writer’s vocation in the jaws of media over-kill.

Coffee.  Nicotine gum.  These are my concessions, like steroids, to the need to compete at speed with the Big Boys. Of course, they exacerbate the over-stimulated, over-accelerated,  over-the-top rush that I get while coursing through the inter-net.  But having worked as a helmsman in the Carribean and priding myself as a cosmic navigator, I do a little yogic breathing to keep me right on course.  All of which reminds me of a passage in Michael Herr’s “Dispatches” in which an US Army LURP took a mix of pills to make himself “right” before long-distance patrols in hostile territory.   Amphetamines to give him down-range vision and lethal tension.  Sedatives to give him lateral vision  and a soft float through the thickets.  My co-option of the method could  be an author’s conceit.  I don’t care.   It’s my bullshit and I’m sworn to it. 

That’s my method.   In the darkness of night, I read authors who suit my character but arc above me in talent, stature and mojo.  They take me  into dreamland. In the light of day, I read chrome plated, tinsel covered, rat-tat-tat glitz that foils my imagination.  Tweeked to the point of insanity, I fight to find my center.  An inkwell in the eye of the hurricane. Or, the heart of my fevered art.

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Pleasure-Dome Police State

“We should expect tyranny to result from democracy, the most savage subjection from an excess of liberty”.

-Plato, Republic, Book VIII, 564 a

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Camille Paglia says that there is no female Mozart because there is no female Jack the Ripper.  She was talking about the obsessive nature of European Man.  All men must master trajectory or they’ll piss on their shoes.  Within this Universal there are cultural variants.

Which brings me to Spengler and the Faustian-thrust that’s a variation the beastly prowess common to all men.  All men carry rockets in their pockets.  Only a specific breed of man has the obsessive motive-force to send rockets into outer space. From which he gets a god-like view of the Planet Earth.  A confirmation of genius!  And also an invitation to all kinds of nasty conceits.

In regards to will-to-power, Mr Hackard offers a  guideline when he  says, “politics must be conducted in fidelity to the moral law, whose Author is supra-natural. All power derives from God, and to Him shall it be consecrated.”  Hackard could be the Catholic writer E. Michael Jones, or the Eastern Orthodox writer  Fr. Matthew Johnson, talking about Logos.  He could also be the anti-Christian writer Savitri Devi, talking about the evil cupidity of a Man-Centered-Universe, wherein Whites and Jews with hyper-trophied forebrains affect to hijack the Divine Order for their own seamy glory.  I am neither scientist, politician, priest nor philosopher.  My interest as an artist: how to maintain that virile Faustian momentum, how to  rise above the downward pull of the lower orders, how to tickle the upper reaches while remaining integrated into the fold.

Paglia says that Rousseau leads to Sade,  just as Plato said that democracy leads to tyranny.  These maxims, as Spengler teaches, only seem to be universals.  That’s because races don’t course through space and time in the same way.  The tests are different and so are the answers seen into existence.  Visionaries are seeded into ethnic fields of art, religion and science. Predicting variable outcomes between riveting brackets is a strictly Faustian quest.  Like quantum physics, the sets are “it”.  Equating Mozart to Jack the Ripper,  Rousseau to Sade, and democracy to tyranny takes a subliminal knowing that’s native-borne.

Now, “with  the NDAA, our policy elites have appropriated a mask of legality to manage the chaos they themselves engineered.” It’s form following content, bled of  folk aesthetic, and butt ugly. One is tempted to piss on it.  But, I guess,  Faustian trajectory demands higher aim.