about seeing herself

She stood in front of the mirror, turned the wineglass upside down, and watched the throat muscles work. Her posture and body spoke quiet—her face said trust, her eyes told of a search. But when she sees this reflection, she heard only the thirst.

 

 

something about another song and video

French synthwave musician Perturbator released a new video and single, “Death of the Soul,” from his forthcoming album, Lustful Sacraments.

The album, currently set for a late May release, explores people’s self-destructive tendencies, according to James Kent, the person behind Perturbator. You sort of get that idea, too, from the video for “Death of the Soul.” Animation depicting games are followed by noirish city night scenes lit by neon signs that flash words like “Heroin,” “Alcohol,” and “Lust”—about as subtle as a train wreck.

Kent has said, “The track takes inspiration from old school EBM a la DAF or Front 242. Valnoir has managed to perfectly pair visuals that reflect the nihilistic tone of it.” Kent wrote, performed, produced, and mixed Lustful Sacraments. The sound of “Death of the Soul” suggests the album will be consistent with the Perturbator oeuvre—dark, anxious, and cinematic, synthesized tones.

This music does little for me. Addicts without drugs feel need. Drugs can make people feel euphoria and, eventually, numb. This is the music of a machine that registers only the need and feels nothing.

something about "A Drinking Life" by Pete Hamill

A Drinking Life is a memoir by Pete Hamill, a New York-based columnist, journalist, and author featured in publications like the New York Post and The New York Daily News. I expected a deep-dive into alcoholism, but Hamill was never your bottoming-out alcoholic. Drinking, it appears, was something he did while killing time socializing in bars; it was not a preoccupation. This memoir, published in 1995, was born 20 years after his last drink. Hamill came to view alcohol as destructive and decided to quit. His sobriety does not sound like much of a struggle, which explains why addiction and destruction do not seem to be central themes in the arguably mis-titled A Drinking Life. Hamill's life, as relayed by the author, sounds mostly fine—so I found this a little dull and want to say only that there are far more interesting and compelling memoirs out there.

something about "My Life in and out of the Rough," by John Daly

The first professional golfer to catch my attention was John Daly. He was fat and could drive the hell out of the ball. Golf television broadcasters alluded to Daly's unconventional ways, which, of course, invites the viewer's curiosity. My curiosity was mostly satisfied by a 60 Minutes profile in 2006. The profile painted, unsurprisingly, a pretty accurate picture. Daly's full story is told in his autobiography, My Life in and out of the Rough (I assume, given the timing of its publication, that the book likely inspired 60 Minutes to profile Daly for the show).

Daly, with writing help from Glen Waggoner, turns in a breezy read. Daly's life is told in his honest, colloquial voice. A couple of chapters were just question-and-answer style, and one consisted only of bits of numerical trivia. The most interesting parts are when Daly declares that he does not think he is an alcoholic, despite the fact that he drinks a ton and has tried to cut down or stop. This is an autobiography that makes no demands and centers on a one-of-a-kind in his sport. I felt a little disappointed because Daly is not insightful in his thin moments of introspection. But, overall, this is not a bad read.

something about Ernest Hemingway's "The Sun Also Rises"

Most critics recognize The Sun Also Rises as Hemingway's best work. Published in 1926, the story follows an American expatriate traveling from Paris through Spain in the company of other American and British expatriates. Literary commentary inevitably refers to how the novel captures the Lost Generation's sense of disillusionment. Sure enough, Book I of this slim novel passes time in Paris, and there we see how unbearable disillusioned people can be, conspicuously bored and uncomedically witty. But after Book I, The Sun Also Rises reveals itself to be a potent, beautifully rich novel. Even the waste and cruelties of Book I become meaningful when recast in the violence at the fiesta.

There are so many wonderful lines. Examples:

Robert Cohn was a member, through his father, of one of the richest Jewish families in New York, and through his mother of one of the oldest.

And,

"How did you go bankrupt?" Bill asked.
"Two ways," Mike said. "Gradually and then suddenly."

And that phrasing is called back later:

The bull gathered himself, then his head went forward and he went over slowly, then all over, suddenly, four feet in the air.

But maybe my favorite part is the chapter in which Jake is drunk in his hotel room, thinking through his views on life. This chapter includes the following:

Women made such swell friends. Awfully swell. In the first place, you had to be in love with a woman to have a basis of friendship. I had been having Brett for a friend. I had not been thinking about her side of it. I had been getting something for nothing. That only delayed the presentation of the bill. The bill always came. That was one of the swell things you could count on.

I thought I had paid for everything. Not like the woman pays and pays and pays. No idea of retribution or punishment. Just exchange of values. You gave up something and got something else. Or you worked for something. You paid some way for everything that was any good. I paid my way into enough things that I liked, so that I had a good time. Either you paid by learning about them, or by experience, or by taking chances, or by money. Enjoying living was learning to get your money's worth and knowing when you had it. You could get your money's worth. The world was a good place to buy in. It seemed like a fine philosophy. In five years, I thought, it will seem just as silly as all the other fine philosophies I've had.

Perhaps that wasn't true, though. Perhaps as you went along you did learn something. I did not care what it was all about. All I wanted to know was how to live in it. Maybe if you found out how to live in it you learned from that what it was all about.

something about "I Should Be Dead: My Life Surviving Politics, TV, and Addiction" by Bob Beckel

Bob Beckel's long political career included holding office as Deputy Assistant Secretary of State during the Carter Administration and managing Walter Mondale's presidential campaign. In the years since, he has gained a little more recognizability through his frequent appearances as a political analyst on the news networks. The confessional I Should Be Dead relays some difficult sequences from Beckel's youth and then efficiently details his professional life and recovery. His father's alcoholism is a defining phenomenon, and since childhood Beckel has lived his life as a survivor. Even though it is the book's selling point, Beckel's own debauchery does not occupy a lot of time in the narrative. The man was a functional addict, so you read about campaigns, and now and again Beckel reminds you that this narrator was working with generous amounts of cocaine and alcohol in his bloodstream. It is a painfully personal tale, but Beckel forgoes emotional depth and tells it with a genial directness that makes for an easy read.


Note: I was hoping for more of a political memoir.

(posts) "Golden" by My Morning Jacket

My Morning Jacket
  -Golden

Watchin' a stretch of road, miles of light explode
Driftin' off a thing I'd never done before

Watchin' a crowd roll in, out go the lights it begins
A feelin' in my bones I never felt before

People always told me
that bars are dark and lonely
And talk is often cheap and filled with air

Sure sometimes they thrill me
but nothin' could ever chill me
Like the way they make the time just disappear

Feelin' you are here again, hot on my skin again
Feelin good, a thing I'd never known before

What does it mean to feel millions of dreams come real
A feelin' in my soul I'd never felt before

And you always told me
no matter how long it holds me
If it falls apart or makes us millionaires

You'll be right here forever
we'll go through this thing together
And on Heaven's golden shore we'll lay our heads


Note: from the "Late Show With David Letterman"

about Artie Lange's "Crash and Burn"

He established himself on the standup circuit, was an original cast member on MADtv, co-starred with Norm MacDonald in the movie "Dirty Work," and sometimes is a guest on late-night talk shows, but most people know Artie Lange from his eight years on Howard Stern's radio show. Too Fat to Fish, Lange's first autobiographical book detailing his (sur)real-life adventures, camped out defiantly on best-seller lists. In Crash and Burn, his latest book, he relives the decent into the drug and alcohol addiction that nearly ruined his career and led him to attempt a violent suicide.

Crash and Burn narrates Artie's debauchery and excess. While this sounds juicy, the repeated confessions of abuse, blackouts, hiding and lying to family and friends makes for a tale that is far more sad than sidesplitting. Though I'm not a Stern/Artie devotee, I'm familiar with some of the characters in the Stern show world, and easily enjoyed this fast read. When the book ends, Artie is sober, engaged, and hosting a sports and entertainment radio show called "The Artie Lange Show" (originally "The Nick & Artie Show" co-hosted by comedian Nick DiPaolo).

The lyrics to "Polar Opposites"

Polar opposites don't push away.
It's the same on the weekends as the rest of the days.
And I know I should go, but I'll probably stay.
And that's all you can do about some things.

I'm trying, I'm trying to drink away
the part of the day that I cannot sleep away.
I'm trying, I'm trying to drink away
the part of the day that I cannot sleep away.

Two one-eyed dogs, they're looking at stereos.
Hi-fi gods try so hard to make their cars low to the ground.
These vibrations oil it's teeth.
Primer gray is the color when you're done dying.

I'm trying, I'm trying to drink away
the part of the day that I cannot sleep away.
I'm trying, I'm trying to drink away
the part of the day that I cannot sleep away.

quickly, on Charles Baudelaire

French poet, essayist, and critic Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867) fits in between the Romantics and the Modernists--he's actually credited as the first to refer to modernity as a movement and condition of life in the increasingly urbanized world. Though still considered hugely influential, Baudelaire is not in style today.

As a Romantic, he's inspired by rich emotions, gives priority to aesthetics and nature, and--this makes him tricky to read--makes allusions to classical, medieval, and exotic stories, all while revolting against industrialization. But as a Modernist, he aimed to say and represent something about his time and defy orthodoxy. For this, he became a bit of a lightening rod, slapped with labels of indecency in his life and work. He lived hard and died at 46.

I first read Artificial Paradises, a sort of meditation on the effects of wine, hashish, and opium--all substances he indulged in until near his death, and perhaps taken in some part to medicate himself while suffering gonorrhea and syphilis. This text is neither the boasting of a stoned teenager nor the cautioning of a burnout; no, it reads like a devout aristocrat--which Baudelaire was--sunning himself in his talent for writing prose while recording for posterity a slice of his life and the strength of his intellect, hopefully to the offense of the reader.

Next I read two of his books of petry, The Flowers of Evil and Paris Spleen (combined in one volume by BOA Editions, Ltd.). The Flowers of Evil is Baudelaire's best-known work; here he glides beautifully over a range of subjects. And while he can summon fine porcelain words to capture the mood that strikes on a particular lovely evening, he can also express a healthy sense of disgust for things, and this I enjoy very much. The works in Paris Spleen are considered prose-poems, which are basically short, stream-of-conscious vignettes and random blurbs.

Artificial Paradises I can take or leave, but the The Flowers of Evil and Paris Spleen collections proved enjoyable, though only after a couple evenings spent flipping through them over again.

Notes:
(from The Flowers of Evil)

"The Grateful Dead"
by Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867)

Somewhere, in a country lush and fat with snails,
I wish that I might myself a narrow grave
Where my old bones, at leisure, could stretch out a while
And sleep, oblivious like sharks beneath the wave.

Last wills and testaments I hate, and tombs I hate;

And rather than implore the world to weep for me,
While I'm still living I'd be happy to invite
The crows to drain my blood from my carcass's debris.

O worms! black comrades without ears or even eyes,
Behold, there comes to you a free and joyful prize;
You philosophic wastrels, children of putrescence:

Within my ruins carry on without regret,
And tell me what is still to come, what novel torments
For this, my soulless corpse, this dead among the dead!

(from Paris Spleen)

"Get Drunk"
by Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867)

Always be drunk. That's it! The great imperative! In order not to feel Time's horrid fardel bruise your shoulders, grinding you into the earth, get drunk and stay that way.

On What? Wine, poetry, virtue, whatever. But get drunk.

And if you sometimes happen to wake up on the porches of a palace, in the green grass of a ditch, in the dismal loneliness of your own room your drunkenness gone or disappearing, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, ask everything that flees, everything that groans or rolls or sings, everything that speaks, ask what time it is; and the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock will answer you: "Time to get drunk! Don't be martyred slaves of Time, get drunk forever! Get drunk! Stay drunk! On Wine, poetry, virtue, whatever."