On 7/25/09 1:04 PM, "John Carl" <[email protected]> wrote: > "The Prince of this world cometh, and he hath nothing on me" > > > Jesus Hi Ron' I was reading Maurice Nicoll's PSYCHOLOGICAL COMMENTARIES: "When I was a pupil of Dr. Jung in Zurich, he said one day: [I have to go and address Zurich University in Psychiatry (he was a professor there) on the idea of psychological factors in insanity.] (This was the beginning of what was then called Psycho-Analysis.) After we had been talking for a long time in his villa, he stood up and said: [Come, Nicoll, I have to give a lecture to-night at the university. Of course, it will be hopeless. No one will believe what I say. But come Nicoll LET'S GET TO IT.] " Now, I ask you all, was that willing what he had to do?" p. 1389 vol. 4 > > > Bill and I moved apart through the years. He married my wife's best friend > and ex-roommate and so you'd think there'd be nothing but harmony and joy > ever after, but alas, that was not to be. My wife's best friend and > ex-roommate can not stand me in the smallest doses, and so it has put a > strain upon our relationship. I haven't heard from Bill in years. > > > One of the times I did see him was at this event called "Wordslingers". And > it is something of a literary event here in our pretentious burg of Nevada > City. I should say a few things about Nevada City... > > > It's quaint. Are you acquainted with quaint? Its where a buncha victorian > gingerbread has been slapped over "Ye Olde Ice Cream Shoppe" along with > stores selling T-shirts proclaiming, "My folks went to Nevada City CA and > all I got was this lousy t-shirt" and there is a very seriousness in the > local paper and chamber of commerce about "tourism". > > > That sort of quaint. > > > But beyond the quaint there is the pretention, which has a different source > than "ye olde mining town picturesqueness". > > > The main source of annoyingly pretentious liberal intellectualism is that > bastion of all things right and righteous, San Francisco, but 2 1/2 hours > away. From whence a whole stream of consciousness flowed to these fair > hills back in the day - mid to late 70's. Jack Kerouac and Allen > Ginsberg and Neal Cassady always talked about buying some land in the > country where they could get back to the land, grow herb and groove on being > in-tune, peasant bodhisattvas. Jack got stuck with fame on the road, Neal > lost his path on a railroad track, Gary Snyder and Allen Ginsberg ended > up buying a hundred acres near here and Gary settled in the hills. Lots of > like-minded people followed and began the melding process of redneck sons > marrying hippie daughters. And the successful and town-oriented > gravitated naturally to Nevada City and it has quite an artsy following with > lots of quality music, theater and events. I didn't recognize anybody at > the wordslinger's festival, but I did have Bill to talk to in a big room > with around 40-50 hushed and serious looking professional new age types. > > > The sad news was, Kesey couldn't make it. He'd just in the week prior > suffered a debilitating stroke. It was just gonna have to be Ed McClanahan, > whom I'd never heard of before. It turned out ole Ed was probably a more > entertaining speaker and reader than Kesey. I bought this book he was > selling there, Famous People I have Known and it has become one of my > favorites. Ed's from Kentucky. Good friend and neighbor there of Wendell > Berry. Who's probably dead by now, but I digress, as usual. > > > Ed met Kesey at Stanford, where he was on some kind of fellowship and he > fell in with this amazingly crazy crowd on Perry Lane... his writing of that > time is worth the whole book for there was a literary and intellectual > community around that time that was about to change the world, but he also > reveals the inner secret workings of the mind of Little Enis, the worlds > best upside down, left hand guitar player who is a better singer than Elvis > and has a bigger dick. Unfortunately he's only 5 foot 2. But his > pompadour adds a good six inches. > > > The evening consisted of Ed reading a story from his book about the time > Kesey was down visiting an institution we shall term (in the story) the > "Harvard of the West" from his farm in Oregon and was invited along to hear > a French intellectual in the company of the Black Panthers berate the white > liberal establishment for its great evil, at a faculty tea at the home of a > prominent academic. Great opportunity Ken thinks, to go and flaunt some > American STYLE and wear a psychedelic shirt and enlighten the whole affair > with a story of the time his brother's basketball team shamed the referee > into calling a straight game where a bunch of black guys were getting the > shaft. It was a great story and I kept nudging Bill and looking around the > room, because to my eyes, the exact people skewered on the point of > McClanahan's insightful wit, were the same serious-minded bozos in the room > around us. I thought it was delightful. > > > Before the things started, we'd had an opportunity to write down questions > on slips of paper and Ken Kesey was going to answer our questions as read to > him over the phone by his old friend Ed. And speak to us via the long > distance call over the PA. When that time came, it turned out the only two > questions from this hall of people were from Bill and me. > > > The questions were read mine was read first, and it was probably the most > embarrassed I'd ever been. It was anonymous but Bill and I stuck out so > much, that everybody knew where the only two questions in the room had come > from. I felt that way, anyway. > > > For another thing, the question period came after Kesey gave his little > talk. A sort of set speech that he gives to aspiring writers, a sort of > test and definition of greatness. I would not have asked the question I > asked if I knew the nature of the talk it was following. Ahead of time, > with my mind on other things, my mind came up with a question reflecting > those other things. After he gave his speech, which I learned from reading > in Ed's book he always finished up with, I would have asked a completely > different question - what the hell did THAT mean??? Fortunately I bought > the book and got my real question answered. Unfortunately, when my initial > question was asked over the phone to Ken Kesey, taking out time from > recuperation to listen to Ed's stumbling over my writing in the long > rambling and ridiculous question, it was one of the biggest thuds I've ever > experienced in public. There was a Lo-o-o-n-g silence. From Ed. From Ken. > From everybody in the hall, while I squirmed and squirmed. > > > > I mean it's lame, but there's this fun celebrity thing you wanna spring on > people that's an egotistical thrill. It's a vicarious thrill, but > nevertheless. And there was this social factor of being so overlooked by > everybody (when we were both just newlyweds, Bill and his first wife Kathy > and Lu and I shared a house together in Nevada City), that he and I had > looked forward to going "tah dah" and experiencing Kesey's delight at > meeting Neal's grandson out of the blue like that. > > > So foolishly, I tried and capture some of that in this complicated question > I got from interviewing a friend of Neal's in Mexico that time Bill and I > went down there to see where his grandpa died. It was this friend's > assertion that Kesey's nickname "Chief" came from Neal, and it wasn't to do > with Kesey being the boss, it had to do with Kesey being analogous to the > narrator in One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest. The narrator was the Indian > watching Murphy trying to be free. Neal, according to this guy we met > identified strongly with Murphy and that's why he sought Kesey out in the > first place. At that time, Neal was locally famous for being Moriarity in > On The Road and Kesey hadn't had a movie made of his book yet... so he was > the lesser known. > > > Like I said, it was a big dud. It didn't translate at all into any kind of > coherent question that can be read over the phone to a guy who'd just had a > stroke. Here I thought I had some special inside information into the > insight of a character and all Kesey said in response, after about five > seconds of awkward silence, was "no". > > > Bill's question came as a relief. Do you have anymore stories about Neal? > Tell us a story. Those always save the day. I don't quite remember the > story Kesey told, but I sure remember his advice to writers. > > > > Kesey's explanation of how to be a great writer went something like this... > > > In order to be a great writer, first you have to be a good writer. A good > enough writer to attract some attention and get a little success. But to be > a great writer, you have to pass a certain test. You don't know where the > test will take place or when the test will come, but if you are to be great > you must meet this test someday. > > > The test will come when out of the blue the voice of God will come to you > promising fame, success and riches. If you hear the voice of God clearly, > then you must raise your middle fingers, of both hands, pump your fists with > middle fingers extended and yell at the sky as loud as you can, > > > "FUCK YOU, God... FUCK YOU!" > > > Only then can you have any hope of being a great writer. > > > There was something so wrong about that speech. And yet something sort of > right at the same time. The shock value carried a subtler message. Ed > explained it in the book as troubling him also as being a mite bit > blasphemous even for an old agnostic hippy to be too comfortable with, but > then one day he realized, hey, that's not God. That's the devil. And the > faithful are enjoined to say "fuck you" to the devil. > > > When I heard it, I thought of Pirsig. I thought of the God of celebrity and > fame being a different God on a different level than the God of truth and > intellect. The story made sense to me on a certain level because I > understood the underlying morale patterns. It took me a while and some > thought to rationalize it, but the immediate moral feeling was real. But > regardless of my correct understanding or Kesey's correct understanding, > good ole Ed illustrated with a story of his own from his book, which also > has a Lila tie-in so I'll let Ed's be the last word on the subject. Or > rather, Ed quoting Wendell Berry, an old acquaintence from the Deep Ecology > days. > > > "I do have one local Famous People story, though, about my neighbor and > longtime dear friend Wendell Berry, celebrated poet, novelist, essayist, > farmer, and ecology curmudgeon. When Wendell's The Unsettling of > Americawas published a few years ago, his editor called oneday, very > excited, with > the news that Robert Redford loved the book and was giving copies to all his > friends for Christmas. Whereupon Wendell, as he hung up the phone, turned > to his wife, Tanya, and said, "Queenie, who in the hell is Rober Redmon?" > Moq_Discuss mailing list > Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. > http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org > Archives: > http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ > http://moq.org.uk/pipermail/moq_discuss_archive/ Moq_Discuss mailing list Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org Archives: http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ http://moq.org.uk/pipermail/moq_discuss_archive/
