Showing posts with label miller henry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label miller henry. Show all posts

July 08, 2011

Literature is a social defense mechanism

Can you remember when you first started to read? Doubtless you thought that some day you would find in books the truth, the answer to the very puzzling life you were discovering around you. But you never did. If you were alert, you discovered that books were conventions, as unlike life as a game of chess. The written word is a sieve. Only so much of reality gets through as fits the size and shape of the screen, and in some ways that is never enough. This is only partly due to the necessary conventions of speech, writing, communication generally. Partly it is due to the structure of language. With us, in our Western European civilization, this takes the form of Indo-European grammar crystallized in what we call Aristotelian logic. But most of the real difficulty of communication comes from social convention, from a vast conspiracy to agree to accept the world as something it really isn’t at all. Even the realistic novels of a writer like Zola are not much closer to the real thing than the documents written in Egyptian hieroglyphics. They are just a different, most complex distortion.

Literature is a social defense mechanism. Remember again when you were a child. You thought that some day you would grow up and find a world of real adults — the people who really made things run — and understood how and why things ran. People like the Martian aristocrats in science fiction. Your father and mother were pretty silly, and the other grownups were even worse — but somewhere, some day, you’d find the real grownups and possibly even be admitted to their ranks. Then, as the years went on, you learned, through more or less bitter experience, that there aren’t, and never have been, any such people, anywhere. Life is just a mess, full of tall children, grown stupider, less alert and resilient, and nobody knows what makes it go — as a whole, or any part of it. But nobody ever tells.

Kenneth Rexroth - The Reality of Henry Miller

From a Rexroth archive, including a good later piece that is [somewhat] more critical of the image Miller and his disciples created after fame and fortune hit.

June 20, 2010

Midway upon the journey of our life

So I saw in my dream that the man began to run. Now he had not run far from his own door, but his wife and children perceiving it, began to cry after him to return; but the man put his fingers in his ears, and ran on, crying, "Life! life! Eternal life!" So he looked not behind him, but fled towards the middle of the plain.
John Bunyan, Pilgrim's Progress

August 07, 2009

How many?


"[Taiji Tonoyma - a Japanese actor - asked] ...tell me Mr Miller, how many women do you think you've slept with in your life?" I was, of course, embarrassed, you know, and also puzzled. And I said, "Well, I've never thought about that, maybe 40 or 50." "What," he said, "I've slept myself with maybe 250, you know, and you, with your reputation, you must have had a thousand."
Henry Miller, 6 minutes or so into the clip above [part 1 of 3]


I'm 37- Clerks

Related post: Guardian sex survey

September 05, 2008

Doing nothing, getting things done

I would caution that what one wants to think about is not hours of work but rather disutility of work--the extent to which work is not play, but rather something that alienates one from one's essence.
Brad DeLong, here.
Indeed, but this week it seems my work's become play again, a nice mix of conversation and exam prep classes along with some proofreading, but mainly time to cook, exercise, read, rest and play [GTA mayhem amid beauty], and so my essence, for good or ill, is starting to bloom again.

Taken somewhat out of context:
...for when we have abandoned our natural temperament, there are no longer any limits to hold us back.
From the Sixth Walk in Rousseau's The Reveries of a Solitary Walker, p 80

Henry Miller, by Peter Gowland
"To move forward clinging to the past is like dragging a ball and chain. The prisoner is not the one who has committed a crime, but the one who clings to his crime and lives it over and over. We are all guilty of crime, the great crime of not living life to the full. But we are all potentially free. We can stop thinking of what we have failed to do and do whatever lies within our power. What these powers are that are in us may be no one has truly dared to imagine."
Henry Miller, The Rosy Crucifixion, p341