20 March 2014


I received an email, along with some by polite men from various film registries, which tell me that I again sent mov. Files that are unreadable, and or packets I knew I had SENT DIDN’T GET THERE AT ALL, sheesh, that my pro Salieri tracts on certain domains did not go over well with catering English theater sorts, personally explaining my zooming up at about 1000 views a week! I alas know it cant be the grand Salieri himself so bothered, he the beloved fagot father looking to a sacra T big nosed Angelican Ian Mckellen who I adore, and maybe as I adore my father too, and for similar reasons, but have been advised that my work is callously being notated at the old Vic or such may I be so Bold, some such  mud pits in what the Romans refereed to as Bug Town, Londonium, as Batman fad it, in their usual brusque glories of both. I take it I have been noted for my neoclassic charm at no less than at Oxford, no less, but sorry there in Tin-land, but this is America, the Calabria you late Greeks lost way back, and even the Simpsons have a sympathy for Salieri, as do I, so f off, to those who got to make the direful Amadeus and those who did not. Though, did find that Amadeus is a great movie for theorists who hate classical music, is I take it demented on Family guy which shows sometime the love of fools is a mixed blessing at best, personally I dont want the guy behind Ted thinking a whit about me,...heh. Therefore with the Jesuit boy aplomb I have reiterated in the making of these papers to go out to my Mas delight, that I am not another dead end kid like Copolla creeping and weeping like a bitch about his dead stupid kid, no one told you to call out to death, old boy, no one told you to do their decadence for them, Catiline was available to you as to me, so don't Greek up on me, old man, I say feh to the Salieri haters, and use their own hero Picasso, belllech, anyone shocked at that...?, when he said, a blind squirrel finding truth, good taste is the death of art. Im sure and could look it up, like so much youd not think, he stole it from Raphael and indeed when he was castigated for his love of prostitutes sitting in as Mary, said something much like it.

In that dreadful play, there is a scene where Saleri somehow 'absolves' the rest of humanity for not being as ponderously glorious as this poster child for the coming of Andenoid Hynkel or his catalog of ubermensches ironically stolen from Jew kids. No work of art, I don’t care what it is from Leonardo to Russ Meyer is in any way a crime, and any one who could say that will reap...well, you know my take on black to white and back again. So here as an Italian Folktale I present why Moat zart makes me ill and cautious, and what art is, as I said, seemingly bothersome to some who have the nerve to think themselves immune to criticism by having taken the bribe, that just opens you up more, and that as Dante said, being admired by Idiots makes you and idiot, so you cant have it both ways and say that the dimwit villain, boy he sure knew music well, no...I give old Villain Antonio’s more credit than anything so middlebrow as that. Lets put an Italian panel of Tony comics together kids as I work at Rag the preludio as have taken to like the great and wonderful Townsend use opera and Monteverdi as a guide, lets figure out how and where Captain Magnus comes back to life shocking all, epically those at Anvil comics...

In the eyes of God, the greatest of critics is a daemon and a middling or even a bad artist is closer to the angels he created first. --Cattulus.

Salieri: On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey! This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing the very voice of God.
[Salieri is wheelchaired through the insane asylum]
Salieri: Mediocrities everywhere... I absolve you... I absolve you... I absolve you... I absolve you... I absolve you all.

How do you write? How do you perform the physical act of writing?
I write by hand, making many, many corrections. I would say I cross out more than I write. I have to hunt for words when I speak, and I have the same difficulty when writing. Then I make a number of additions, interpolations, that I write in a very tiny hand. There comes a moment when I myself can’t read my handwriting, so I use a magnifying glass to figure out what I’ve written. I have two different handwritings. One is large with fairly big letters—the os and as have a big hole in the center. This is the hand I use when I’m copying or when I’m rather sure of what I’m writing. My other hand corresponds to a less confident mental state and is very small—the os are like dots. This is very hard to decipher, even for me.
My pages are always covered with canceling lines and revisions. There was a time when I made a number of handwritten drafts. Now, after the first draft, written by hand and completely scrawled over, I start typing it out, deciphering as I go. When I finally reread the typescript, I discover an entirely different text that I often revise further. Then I make more corrections. On each page I try first to make my corrections with a typewriter; I then correct some more by hand. Often the page becomes so unreadable that I type it over a second time. I envy those writers who can proceed without correcting.
Do you work every day or only on certain days and at certain hours?
In theory I would like to work every day. But in the morning I invent every possible excuse not to work: I have to go out, make some purchases, buy the newspaper. As a rule, I manage to waste the morning, so I end up sitting down to write in the afternoon. I’m a daytime writer, but since I waste the morning I’ve become an afternoon writer. I could write at night, but when I do, I don’t sleep. So I try to avoid that.
Do you always have a set task, something specific you decide to work on? Or do you have various things going on at once?
I always have a number of projects. I have a list of about twenty books I’d like to write, but then the moment comes when I decide I’m going to write that book. I’m only a novelist on occasion. Many of my books are made up of brief texts collected together, short stories, or else they are books that have an overall structure but are composed of various texts. Building a book around an idea is very important for me. I spend a lot of time constructing a book, making outlines that eventually prove to be of no use to me whatsoever. I throw them away. What determines the book is the writing, the material that’s actually on the page.
I’m very slow getting started. If I have an idea for a novel, I find every conceivable pretext to not work on it. If I’m doing a book of stories, short texts, each one has its own starting time. Even with articles I’m a slow starter. Even with articles for newspapers, every time I have the same trouble getting under way. Once I have started, then I can be quite fast. In other words, I write fast but I have huge blank periods. It’s a bit like the story of the great Chinese artist—the emperor asked him to draw a crab, and the artist answered, I need ten years, a great house, and twenty servants. The ten years went by, and the emperor asked him for the drawing of the crab. I need another two years, he said. Then he asked for a further week. And finally he picked up his pen and drew the crab in a moment, with a single, rapid gesture.


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