bathroom readings

[Jason Michel <jason.michel@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx>]

   "Things, certain things about my old idols bring the tears to my eyes:
the interruptions, the disorder, the violence, above all, the hatred they
aroused. When I think of their deformities, of the monstrous styles they
chose, of the flatulence and tediousness of their works, of all the chaos
and confusion they wallowed in, of the obstacles they heaped up about them,
I feel an exaltation. They were all mired in their own dung. All men who
over-elaborated. So true is it that I am almost tempted to say: 'Show me a
man who over-elaborates and I will show you a great man!' What is called
their 'over-elaboration' is my meat: it is the sign of struggle, it is
struggle itself with all the fibers clinging to it, the very aura and
ambiance of the discordant spirit. And when you show me a man who expresses
himself perfectly I will not say that he is not great, but I will say that I
am unattracted ... I miss the cloying qualities. When I reflect that the
task which the artist implicitly sets himself is to overthrow existing
values, to make of the chaos about him an order which is his own, to sow
strife and ferment so that by the emotional release those who are dead may
be restored to life, then it is that I run with joy to the great and
imperfect ones, their confusion nourishes me, their stuttering is like
divine music to my ears. I see in the beautifully bloated pages that follow
the interruptions the erasure of petty intrusions, of the dirty footprints,
as it were, of cowards, liars, thieves, vandals, calumniators. I see in the
swollen muscles of their lyric throats the staggering effort that must be
made to turn the wheel over, to pick up the pace where one has left off. I
see that behind the daily annoyances and intrusions, behind the cheap,
glittering malice of the feeble and inert, there stands the symbol of life's
frustrating power, and that he who would create order, he who would sow
strife and discord, because he is imbued with will, such a man must go again
and again to the stake and the gibbet. I see that behind the nobility of his
gestures there lurks the specter of the ridiculousness of it all---that he
is not only sublime, but absurd."

Henry Miller - Tropic of Cancer - 1934

now go get'em team!

love
jason