Notes on Big Sur, Etc. (Henry Miller)
Finally finished, and an introduction to a whole new set of artists/authors I've never read (or knew of) and now must keep my eye peeled for...
- Ephraim Doner (Artist, friend of H. Miller)
- Bezalel Schatz (painter, sculptor, friend of H. Miller)
- Moise Kisling (French Painter)
- Charles-Albert Cingria (Author)
- Sir Godfrey Higgins (author)
- Oscar Vladislav De L. Milosz (Author, Milasius)
- Restif de la Bretonne (author, rival of De Sade, foot-fetishist)
- Lawrence Lipton (Journalist, author "The Holy Barbarians")
- Balzac (Author, "Seraphita")
- Jaime de Angulo - (Neighbor, novelist, ethnomusicologist, outsized reputation-major character of the era)
- Jakob Wassermann - "The Maurizius Case"
Many of the above were acquainted with Henry Miller, through correspondence, travel, or neighbors, for a time, at Big Sur.
It makes me curious as to what other books/artists he'd recommend, and - as luck would have it there is in fact a list:
The final chapter - some 100 odd pages of the book, deal with a character that comes to stay with Miller in Big Sur. His name is Conrad Moricund, a Swiss-French Astrologer who Anais Nin passed off on Miller when he proved to be too troublesome. Now, Miller has some issues with this guest over the three month visit, and over the course of 100 pages paints the most damnable picture of him - by turns laughable, outrageous, all things, foolish, sage, impotent, pornographer... - ...
And I'm laughing and laughing because I know him, or enough of his type, and laughing, laughing painfully because - in certain degrees he is as well me. It's like being shown a grotesque mirror of both everyone you know, but yourself included. It's funny, but it makes me aware - well, I was always aware, reminds perhaps is a better way of putting it, me of my own failings.
Anyways, finally finished that one up with enough notes to inform my reading for a year or two, should I so choose...
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Wood Flute
And, through the thrift shop, a wooden flute
Or I thought it was a wooden flute, picked it up, tried to play, could only get a single note, I'd figure it out.
And I did, there's a wooden block which covers the part I was blowing into, instead, I'm expected to blow into the end that looks suspiciously like a foreskin...
So, in other words, more of a "recorder" than a flute.
I'm annoyed beyond measure, I didn't want a recorder, I wanted a flute!
So I take it out on M******, showing him a fishbowl and telling him...."Next time I come up to you showing you this and SAYING that I want to buy this TV I WOULD APPRECIATE YOU CORRECTING MY GRAVE MISJUDGEMENT...!"
M's nonplussed. A sale is a sale.
And, in any event, these trifling failures keep the fire under my anti-materialistic ass. What good is buying anything when you have neither a place for it or have a clue as to what you are buying?
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Aspartame linked to Anxiety
Having heard so much nonsense about artificial sweeteners causing cancer, etc. - always at concentrations that would be impossible to consume - I was curious to read this study:
Which - so sum it up for those too lazy to follow the link, Aspartame use - at much lower than recommended daily allowances - creates long-lasting anxiety in mice.
As well, that anxiety persists over up to 2 generations (Epigenetic triggers).
So, time to reconsider my bad habit of diet sodas...
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Big Sur and The Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch - Henry Miller
Of all the Henry Miller Novels I'm enjoying this the most. Because it's him on writing, living, in Big Sur California, at the height of the 1950's counterculture.
A lot less raucous sex (so far) and a lot more of the living the values I can relate to.
It reminds me of Nelson, as it was perhaps 10, 20 years ago. It is somewhat the same now, but real estate, rent, the "buying-in" has gotten exorbitant, ridiculous, and the titled hippies, now millionaires, barons, baronesses, counts, countesses, they've been corrupted, eccentricity when poor becomes despotism when they think they're rich.
So, Big Sur, I mean, everyone went there - Steinbeck, Pynchon, Man Ray, Dylan Thomas, Jack Kerouac, Hunter S. Thompson, William Burroughs, Ginsberg, everyone went for a while, their time in the wilderness.
Few stayed, I'm not sure that Miller did for long beyond the scope of this book (I haven't finished it yet), but - it seems a place I should definitely visit.
Anyways, This, more autobiographical than his other books, more in the tradition of a writer on writing - and as such he comes off much better than he does say in "Tropic of Cancer" & "Tropic of Capricorn". Those - autobiographical to an extent, but also largely novels. This is him settled down, writing about more human relationships with wives and neighbors. And he has some pretty good neighbors.
It is a treat when a good book refers you to another good book you should read, that you haven't yet, and you make a note - the convenience of the internet is that whatever I don't know I can find out. And so note after note...
Like: Henry Miller's Watercolors (I didn't know he painted....), Artist Abe Rattner (neighbor), Ecce Homo by George Grosz, (funny, in that a painting by that name was infamously restored a few years ago, to art-lovers dismay and internet trolls delight...you know the painting...)
And for Authors: Arabia Deserta - Charles Montagu Doughty, Lillian Bos Ross, Robinson Jeffers, Rimbaud, "The House of Certain Death" by Albert Cossery, some of whom were Miller's neighbors, others people he knew through correspondence, and those he merely read and admired.
And - by this point, early 50's, he's well admired throughout the world. He wants - as always, only for cash, everyone knows his name but for some reason (the war) his royalties from France are slow to arrive. But he talks of his fame, people showing up unannounced to look at his pictures, see the writer, the sacks of mail, the hippies and drop outs and drop ins that frequent the Big Sur area, so, in almost every way a very relatable book...
Still another half to go, a little thicker than I'm used to reading, but enjoyable every inch of the way...
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