PynchonDrummer

Gödel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid



In early spring 1978 I found myself down on Galveston Island, where I met a beautiful woman and fell madly in love. We had a magical, crazy summer together, and when she left me in August to move back to Boston I was crushed.

By Fall I ended up in NYC, hanging out in the Punk World of CBGBs and Max’s Kansas City. Winter was brutal that year, and although I had gone to NYC thinking I would wander up to Boston and look for my lost love, I actually auditioned for Blondie as replacement lead guitarist. I did get to attend the Nova Convention that fall, and met Allen Ginsburg and William Burroughs, and Ed Sanders and Robert Anton Wilson, Patty Smith reading her poetry in a small church, and Tim Leary, sort of. All other stories.

The Snow piled way high and I finally had enough of Manhatten Crazytown, so I headed back to Texas. I somehow got sidelined out to Portland Oregon for a month in the Spring, but by May I was back in Houston, playing lead guitar in a very intellectual Punk band and working for a civil engineering firm in the Houston Heights.

I had been a library obsessive all my life (even more so now), and I would often spend my off time in the downtown public library, memorizing the sum total of mankind’s knowledge base, or just reading through the thousand magazines they take. In May I read a review, in The New York Review Of Books I believe, of a new work being published called Gödel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid by Douglas Hofstadter. The review was so intriguing, the subject so close to my personal interests of art, music, math and neurological functions. I went out to the local bookshop and bought it the day it came out.

Oh, and what a book! It truly captivated my imagination, took over my world. Every page a new concept, a major revelation, a novel way of seeing our fascinating world.

I was never a good fit for the Punk scene, because I’ve never known boredom, never got the sneer down. I have been fascinated with the fine detail, the minutia of this mad world we inhabit since I was born, never lost my naivety, my innocent view of the chaos inherent in our culture and civilization.

The book won the non-fiction Pulitzer Prize in 1980, but most people had a hard time making the leaps necessary to follow Hofstadter’s convoluted and playful logic.

Not me. I had found my muse, and the waves of inspiration washed across my life. I’ve owned and lost at least four copies of this book over the decades, always hoping that the people that ended up with my copies were as inspired as me.

And I still recommend it to all readers fascinated with that magical leap of intuition.
ColorMeElmo

"Picturing the psychology of the future is what it's all been about." - Ballard


The English Writer and Essayist J.G. Ballard passed away this morning. I have been a fan of his writing for decades, and his intensely psychological world-view has informed my own understanding of reality to an amazing degree.

 

Those of you who have followed my Live Journal scribbles over the years might remember my month’s long posting of seemingly endless photos of my personal library, comprised of several thousand books, including, among certain other collectibles, a small but essential assortment of Ballard’s early works.

 

He was a great man, lived an astonishing life, and had much to say about the human condition and our ill-conceived attempts to fit into it.

 

He brought much understanding to those prepared to accept knowledge of the uneasy world we occupy, those inconvenient truths we so often deny.

 

The world has lost a great man. He will be personally missed.

 


 

“Ballard was one of my favorite writers ever and his thinking about culture, art, science, technology, and human behavior had a massive influence on me. He will be missed greatly.” – David Pescovitz

 
 

http://www.boingboing.net/2009/04/…

will sharp!

(no subject)

A single volume of three Pynchon novels was supposedly not published back in 1993, and now copies are turning up on-line for resale for extravagant sums.

Bookfinder and Amazon are listing used copies for $2,475.00.

http://www.bookfinder.com/dir/i/V_…

So I am offering my own copy of the supposed work for the bottom dollar discount price of  only $2,399.95 (+S&H)

TrippyJack

Shiva

For reasons, still dimly self-understood at best, I am headed to Rice University Village to indulge in the exquisite lunch buffet at Shiva Indian Restaurant.  

Well, not exactly “dimly understood,” since I am hungry this Sunday morn and Shiva is my fave restaurant.

 

I suppose I was trying to conceive some profound rationale, perhaps an auspicious date for attribution, roaming about deep within my subconscious to explain, my years spent studying  Buddhism and Hinduism and all things Oriental.

 

I will try to elucidate upon my motivations when I return, as I must depart before the severe weather front moves across Space City during the noon hour.

 

Oh, and not least because I am now quite hungry after contemplating that wonderful food awaiting.


And, because I am an eternal clown, I leave you with three words:
 



“Shiva  Las Vegas”

That Old Radio

“Nobody Reads Anymore” – Steve Jobs


Hmmm… thought it best to get in at least one journal entry for 2008, so, before the new year – what?

It’s Already New Year’s Day?

Yesterday?

Oh, Bloody Hell!

I missed it! Damnation Personified!

Still, one mustn’t grumble…

And come to think of it, 2008 wasn’t, after all, that most definitive and consummate Year Of Years upon which we might hang our Highest Hopes and Most Somber of Expectations.

Yes- we managed to elect Barack Obama, but what about Sarah Palin, so worthy of a footnote*.

*I hereby declare 2009 the Official Year of the cyclical return of the obligatory footnote, wherein every printed page, whether given over to true fiction or some twisted and helplessly spun version of truth (i.e. our modern variant known colloquially as “non-fiction”), or even the feverishly dissimilar forms of modern poetry, shall each and all meet the minimum requirements of extra knowledge inconveniently provided/shared with/inflicted upon said reader, and not imprisoned in some tortured and obscure gulag at the rear of the book**, but made available at the bottom of each page, in a font size even more unreadable than the already compromised main text, scaled down to accommodate the copious and excessive footnotes already threatening to replace the actual text with full pages of self-reflexive joy.

** I attribute this hiding away of the embarrassing footnotes, this thoroughly dreadful shunting away of the problem child of additional supplied information to the rural rehab asylum situated in the countryside at the rear of the volume, to that mindless hack T.S Eliot, who in his infinite “wisdom,” placed the copious notes he gathered to explicate the labyrinthine complexity of his lyrical trifle THE WASTELAND to the end of the poem, firing the first shot in The Revolution that finally held sway in the early sixties, a seeming Golden Age when every Lit Professor in America preached the One And True Literary Gospel According to T.S.E., Ol’ Possum himself, wherein all footnotes should henceforth be hidden away from sight, fenced and stored safely away from all but the most persistent of searchers, those neurotic individuals compelled by OCD to insure the information stored away isn’t, after all, essential to the beloved Author’s essential argument. And, no doubt owing to the crypto-fascist nature attributed to our Right Reverend Eliot, who understood that banishing the unwanted into out of the way ghettos was the first logical step towards a more “Final Solution,” a brighter and more logical world, one not cluttered with any footnote afterthoughts, of endless library shelves sagging with the combined weight of a bewildering variety of literacy bound in volumes, their chief, possibly only, similarity being their entirety of footnote-free pages.

 Which is an unfortunately roundabout and circuitous course toward my actual subject, now somehow buried deep within/beneath these endlessly inane footnotes footnotes, as it were: Steve Jobs, and how he has managed to piss me off so completely of late. But first, let’s cast a quick glance back to the inevitable backstory on this one.

Having spent any time at all on Earth during the last nine or so months, you, my humble reader, no doubt have opened up Amazon.com to find the front page completely taken over by CEO Jeff Bezos’ hard sell marketing of their electronic book reader, the Kindle. And while an amazing amount of actual media has been made available in this format, the Critics, those lovable fuzzy balls of personified goodness and impartial wisdom, have been much less than kind in pointing out a variety of shortcomings inherent in the Kindle’s initial software, prompting Bezos to suggest the Kindle platform would be opened to third-party software designed to improve upon the concept. True American sentiment, competition having always inspired towards a conceptually superior mousetrap.

However, when Steve Jobs (Mr MacWorld Apple Dude CEO and Intergalactic Overlord) was asked if his company (insert trademarked red, yellow or green edible pome fruit sobriquet, not to be confused with The Beatles Record Company) would consider developing alternative software for the Kindle, he immediately declined, explaining, and I quote: “People Don’t Read Anymore.”

What? Excuse me? Uh, Mr Jobs, may I call you Steve? No? O-kay… Mr Jobs, do you REALLY think people don’t READ anymore?

Sadly (for me anyway, one somewhat unaccustomed to having to admit to such shortcomings), Mr J is most likely in a better place to evaluate “people’s” reading habits, and lack thereof, than I, an inveterate and unrepentant word obsessive/book fetishist, and I defer to his dismal appraisal of the Common Man’s reading habits.

No, what pisses me off about this is Jobs being so utterly pragmatic and coldly realistic in his assessment of our collective humanity -done deal, accept/submit, no implied criticism suggested, get on with it.

But I digress. I believe I began this directionless rant with dear Sarah, our moose-busting Maverick Governor from the Upper One State, she who reads, you know, all the magazines, and feels Catcher In The Rye should be tossed atop the massive burning pile of all the mandatory Government-collected Korans, you betcha. Oh, and while we’re listing things to be tossed onto said bonfire, Ms Palin would most likely include Olbermann and Katy Couric.

So maybe Steve Jobs was thinking of Sarah Palin when he made his dismal assessment of our shared literacy. And just maybe Ms Palin is considering Mr Jobs as a possible Vice Presidential choice for her inevitable 2012 Campaign.

Or, as she calls him, Steve the Computer Guy.

Because if it is in fact true, that the “people” AREN’T reading anymore, then she is no doubt our next inevitable President.

God Bless America. 

will sharp!

Emily Dickinson's Birthday - December 10

.

There's a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons,
That oppresses, like the weight
Of cathedral tunes.

Heavenly hurt it gives us;
We can find no scar,
But internal difference
Where the meanings are.

None may teach it anything,
'Tis the seal, despair,-
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the air.

When it comes, the landscape listens,
Shadows hold their breath;
When it goes, 't is like the distance
On the look of death.

.