I prefer Marcel Proust. He took paper and pen to his bed and wrote Remembrance of
Things Past. This is described in "The Quit, A Consideration of the Art of Quitting"
by Evan Harris as "Technique #19, TAKE TO YOUR BED."
"This technique is helpful for the quitter at the end of her rope. It is suitable for
use in quitting ideas (such as the notion that anything matters), hope for the future,
and optimism of any kind. When despair is the operative emotion attending the quit,
Take to Your Bed is the appropriate technique.
Collapse in a heap of depression and disillusionment, driven to your bed in a sweep of
psychic exhaustion. Realize everything is hopeless. Intend never to emerge.
While opting out is a staple of the quitting way, the particular incarnation of the
notion requies a somethwat sedentary nature on the part of the quitter. Athletic
quitters should take to their beds with caution.
Many quitters who take to their beds bring things with them, like magazines or
cookies. Marcel Proust is a good example. He took paper and pen and wrote
'Remembrance of Things Past.' "
Which brings about excerpts from his questionnaire - shall we publish this one?
Your favourite virtue:
Your idea of happiness:
Your idea of misery:
If not yourself, who would you be?
Your favourite curse word:
Your most hated word:
Your favourite food or drink:
Your favourite poets:
Your favourite visual artists:
(well, a bit of artistic liscence above)
And, in 1972, I had moved into my first apartment, next to 5 guys from a farm team for
the NY Mets who pitched their hamburgers onto our wall to flatten them, drank cheap red
wine, smoked great Columbian gold, and read Thomas Pynchnon in the bathtub.
PK
Reed Altemus wrote:
> > Reed Altemus wrote:
> >
> > > [EMAIL PROTECTED] wrote:
> > >
> > > > In a message dated 04/21/2000 8:31:37 PM Eastern Daylight Time,
> > > > [EMAIL PROTECTED] writes:
> > > >
> > > > << > me. Quite bland. I think Rimbaud's life was more interesting than his
> > > > art. That's my
> > > >
> > > > Matineee d'ivresse ? >>
> > > > Yes, but did you think that when you were a teenager?
> > >
> > > Exactly, he was a poetic prodigy. I really can't put my finger on it but the
> > > poems just didn't reach me on an affective/visceral level. They didn't strike
> > > me as particularly lyrical like, for instance Rilke can be (which I like).
> > > Maybe I've just read too much brut stuff and it's ruined me for it I don't
> > > know.
> > >
> > > RA
> >
> > Reached me on an affective visceral level. But perhaps that was only in 1972 or
> > thereabouts, when my primary reading was greek drama and primary amusement booze.
> > Grew up in a little rural town where recreation was alcoholic, for everyone,
> > really, except the pastor and the priest had to do it privately. And of course my
> > parents didn't drink. Really.
> >
> > There are many many tales from that crazy little village. But they're all too
> > tacky for the present moment of prosperity.
>
> Greek drama & booze. Wow. That must have been a nasty combination. Boone's Farm or
> M.D. 20/20 and hubris. In 1972 I was 11 so Greek drama was a bit above my reading
> level at that point. Had to read them in college though and must admit didn't much
> enjoy them then. I
> had to anylize them according to Northrop Frye. Man I shudder just to think of it.
>
> RA
