went to elaine's saturday with the beautiful marybeth and others, baby. i figure most of literary success is parading cute girls past elaine kaufman (sp?). sunday attend a party so impossibly beautiful words fail. very girly, sending marissa and beth to the fire escape in horror. more for me. i'm reminded - for these were gigglesome cliquey girls skooled to pihrahna fish humiliation (i know not how concious they are of swimming) - of the time william carlos williams met duchamp and williams at arsenberg's place maybe (endless sp? sic?) and summons up his courage and goes up to duchamp and says: "i really like that painting." pointing at a duchamp on the wall and duchamp says: "do you?" and williams apparently collapses under his class conciousness. "i realized i could never be one of these people!!" he storms in his journal or memoir - i read this out of that circa '95 duchamp bio. you know even if duchamp was arch it was just cos he was drunk. some folks too weak to live.
art is about alienation and commodification. beauty she died with god. about the time we invented santa claus to console ourselves. about the time foucault says the modern homosexual was created. we are all frankensteins and we are all monsters. we are all jesus on that cross. culture is like a big string of phlegm you coughed up and you ain't in a place you can spit it out and you gonna have to swallow. your neighborhood is defined by your ability to get your mind around the concepts of philosophy and that ability a function of recognizing the strange shit you reflexively think. i didn't make this fucking world.
(play for liselle): you tell the life of henry darger from the standpoint of one of his fantasy girlfriends - oh it's yr. b-culture peter pan victory of imagination over horrible dirty lonely reality for sure. (or maybe jennifer?) anyway i'm gonna do the set design and it's just gonna be a whole mess of honey bear bottles.
gotta write in verse more. gotta get this fucking e-bay thing taken care of. gotta paint the kitchen for cleo. gotta get the govt. to support the arts even better (gotta try and stay out of jail for the fucking taxes). oh woe. oh whoa. oh sigh.
am reading fitzgerald's omar khayam with an eye to theft. priced tablas yesterday. somewhere ruskin says: "i like old things because they are old. i dislike new things because they are new. and therefore if i champion an innovation you can be sure it goes against the grain."
piercedbitches.com
sylvia plath on saturday. fourish.
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