Já não me apetece muito

Já não me apetece muito
Escrever pohesias
Se fosse como dantes
Fá-las-ia abundantes
Mas sinto-me muito velho
Sinto-me muito sério
Sinto-me consciencioso
Sinto-me preguicioso

Boris Vian, Canções e Poemas

Nova Express

The operation is very technical -- Look at a photomontage -- it makes a statement in flexible picture language -- Let us call the statement made by a given photomontage X -- We can use X words and X colors X odors X images and so forth to define the various aspects of X -- Now we feed X into the calculating machine and X scans out related colors, juxtapositions, affect-charged images and so forth and we can attenuate or concentrate X by taking out or adding elements and feeding back into the machine factors we wish to concentrate -- A Technician learns to think and write in association blocks which can then be manipulated according to laws the laws of association and juxtaposition -- The basic law of association and conditioning is known to college students even in America; Any object, feeling, odor, word or image will be associated with it -- Our Technicians learn to read newspapers and magazines for juxtaposition statements rather than alleged content -- We express these statements in Juxtaposition Formulae -- The formulae of course control populations of the world -- Yes it is fairly easy to predict what people will think see feel and hear a thousand years from now if you write the Juxtaposition Formulae to be used in that period....

Images -- millions of images -- That's what I eat -- Cyclotron shit -- Ever try kicking that habit with apomorphine? -- Now I got all the images of sex acts and torture ever took place anywhere and I can just blast it out and control you gooks right down to the molecule -- I got orgasms -- I got screams -- I got all the images any hick poet ever shit out -- My Power's coming -- My Power's coming -- My Power's coming -- ... And I got millions and millions and millions of images of Me, Me, Me, meee.

Olá

Passada uma semana, já vai sendo o momento de divulgar aqui a coisa. Ainda está em fase de definição... ainda terá de se consolidar.

Contributos aceitam-se, digam qq coisa.

Vou esperando...

SoulTrane

Há muitos aspectos em que Kerouac me influenciou, mas nada terá sido tão significativo como as linhas que apresentei esta semana (em "Bop"), relatando um espectáculo de jazz (bop - bop, beat,...-). O músico transcende-se, passa para lá das suas próprias capacidades e cria um momento único: a criação.

É nisso que a escrita de alguns autores associados à Beat Generation assenta, e é esse o universo por onde viaja a música de Coltrane (o próximo personagem da Interzone...).

Culto da imagem

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars..." On The Road

Bio I

(Foto: The Beat Page)

Jack Kerouac nasceu a 12 de Março de 1922 em Lowell, Massachusetts. Através da sua obra mais significativa, Pela Estrada Fora (On the Road) , Kerouac torna-se o principal representante do Beat Movement (do qual falarei noutro dia).

Em On the Road, essencialmente autobiográfico, o autor percorre os EUA à boleia com o seu amigo Dean Moriarty (inspirado em Neal Cassady) e apresenta os relacionamentos e experiências vividos, baseados num estilo de vida não materialista e, ao mesmo tempo, místico.

Aprendeu tardiamente o Inglês (apenas quando entrou na escola), já que os seus pais eram Canadianos francófonos. Chegou a referir que o Inglês não era a sua linguagem, o seu pensamento ainda funcionava em joual, o seu dialecto. Kerouac era Canuck, grupo referenciado na sua cidade natal como blancs nègres.

Passou pela marinha, de onde foi afastado devido à sua personalidade esquizóide.Seguidamente enveredou pela marinha mercante. Mais tarde obtou por seguir a "carreira" de vagabundo, a partir da qual se inspirou para a maioria das suas obras.

O seu primeiro livro foi publicado em 1950 (The Town and the City), no qual o autor demonstra rejeitar os então dogmas da literatura. On the Road terá sido escrito em menos de três semanas. A sua escrita é espontânea, por vezes automática, "free of hypocrisy".

"What a man most wishes to hide, revise and unsay is precisely what literature is waiting and bleeding for. This was the veritable fire ordeal when you can't go back...all of it innocent go-ahead confession... making the mind slave of the tongue with no chance to lie or reelaborate, a style capable of delivering telepathic shock and meaning excitement."

A sua energia chocou a comunidade de autores de então mas acabou por lhe conferir o merecido reconhecimento (ainda em vida...).

A Beat Generation teve uma influência decisiva em diversas áreas, desde a música à literatura. Outros companheiros, referência neste movimento, são Ginsberg, Corso, Burroughs (de que muito irei falar...) e Snyder.

Bop

... one night we suddenly went mad together again; we went to see Slim Gaillard in a little Frisco nightclub. Slim Gaillard is a tall, thin Negro with big sad eyes who's always saying 'Right-orooni' and 'How 'bout a little bourbon-arooni.' In Frisco great eager crowds of young semi-intellectuals sat at his feet and listened to him on the piano, guitar and bongo drums. When he gets warmed up he takes off his undershirt and really goes. He does and says anything that comes into his head. He'll sing 'Cement Mixer, Put-ti Put-ti' and suddenly slow down the beat and brood over his bongos with fingertips barely tapping the skin as everybody leans forward breathlessly to hear; you think he'll do this for a minute or so, but he goes right on, for as long as an hour, making an imperceptible little noise with the tips of his fingernails, smaller and smaller all the time till you can't hear it any more and sounds of traffic come in the open door. Then he slowly gets up and takes the mike and says, very slowly, 'Great-orooni ... fine-ovauti ... hello-orooni ... bourbon-orooni ... all-orooni ... how are the boys in the front row making out with their girls-orooni ... orooni ... vauti ... oroonirooni ..." He keeps this up for fifteen minutes, his voice getting softer and softer till you can't hear. His great sad eyes scan the audience.
Dean stands in the back, saying, 'God! Yes!' -- and clasping his hands in prayer and sweating. 'Sal, Slim knows time, he knows time.' Slim sits down at the piano and hits two notes, two C's, then two more, then one, then two, and suddenly the big burly bass-player wakes up from a reverie and realizes Slim is playing 'C-Jam Blues' and he slugs in his big forefinger on the string and the big booming beat begins and everybody starts rocking and Slim looks just as sad as ever, and they blow jazz for half an hour, and then Slim goes mad and grabs the bongos and plays tremendous rapid Cubana beats and yells crazy things in Spanish, in Arabic, in Peruvian dialect, in Egyptian, in every language he knows, and he knows innumerable languages. Finally the set is over; each set takes two hours. Slim Gaillard goes and stands against a post, looking sadly over everybody's head as people come to talk to him. A bourbon is slipped into his hand. 'Bourbon-orooni -- thank-you-ovauti ...' Nobody knows where Slim Gaillard is. Dean once had a dream that he was having a baby and his belly was all bloated up blue as he lay on the grass of a California hospital. Under a tree, with a group of colored men, sat Slim Gaillard. Dean turned despairing eyes of a mother to him. Slim said, 'There you go-orooni.' Now Dean approached him, he approached his God; he thought Slim was God; he shuffled and bowed in front of him and asked him to join us. 'Right-orooni,' says Slim; he'll join anybody but won't guarantee to be there with you in spirit. Dean got a table, bought drinks, and sat stiffly in front of Slim. Slim dreamed over his head. Every time Slim said, 'Orooni,' Dean said 'Yes!' I sat there with these two madmen. Nothing happened. To Slim Gaillard the whole world was just one big orooni.'

Retirado de The Beat Page

Uma abordagem de Kerouac (Pela Estrada Fora) aos que se transformam na sua arte, fundindo-se, criando algo de novo, para lá dos limites do convencional. Um livro a não perder.

CV

Como ainda estamos em fase de apresentações, aquele ali atrás sou eu, a fazer o que mais gosto...

Manhãs azuis

So he imports this special breed of scorpions and feeds them on metal meal and scorpions turned a phosphorescent blue color and sort of hummed "Now we must find a worthy vessel" he said - so we flush out this old goof ball artist and put the scorpion to him and he turned sort of blue and you could see he was fixed rigth to metal - these scorpions could travel on a rader beam and service the clients after Doc coped for the bread - It was a good thing while ir lasted and the heat couldn´t touch us - however all theese scorpion junkies began to glow in the dark and if they didn´t score on the hour metamorphosized into scorpions straight away...
William Birroughs, The Soft Machine

Madrugadas

O universo Bilal parece-me um bom ponto de partida para o Blog...

Setembro

Saudações de dentro dos confins mais surreais da Interzone.

Festim Nu é um blog na fronteira entre o Onanismo e a Rede, à prova de Moral.
Literatura, fotografia, música e culinária. Beat Generation, Noise, Jazz, Surrealismo e Variedades.
Uma homenagem ao universo de Burroughs (Foto: The Beat Page).