My compassion/pity can reach you at a subliminal emotional level while my
rationality would advise you to give a cut to this (doubly) vicious circle
that encloses and suffocates you. As a great adept of Nietzsche's work, I
believe in will and with Steiner in the complete change of our physical
cells every (3 _6 _9 ? cannot remember the number, probably nine since he
builds on it also the nine ethereal spheres). Chronic fatigue syndrome is a
disease by now recognized in the States and there should be proper treatment
for it. The same I think goes for coeliac disease of which I do not know
much.
Re.: "Life. Of course, life is a process of breaking down". I am reminded of
Cesare Pavese's "Il duro mestiere di vivere" (don't know if the title is "Le
metier de vivre" or "Hard labor", literally : The hard labor of living).
My best and sincere wishes, Anny
On 2/11/07, Chris Jones <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
> On Sat, 2007-02-10 at 17:03 +0100, Anny Ballardini wrote:
>
> > What do you suffer from Chris?
>
> Life. Of course, life is a process of breaking down.
>
> Well, as Frederick suggests, it is a move from the first person personal
> narrative to third person universal immanent critique and a technique or
> way into ficto-criticism if I can use these terms very loosely and in a
> vulgar sense. (What Frederick is doing in moving from 1st to 3rd person
> is far more complex then simply saying 3rd person narrative, of course.
> Free indirect discourse may be closer.)
>
> I suffer from from coeliac disease and chronic fatigue syndrome, two
> inter-related autoimmune complexes, best treated by opiates like heroin.
> I am a heroin addict and injecting drug user, this is no secret. Before
> being forced into medical retirement I last worked in the HIV/AIDS
> industry as a communication specialist in injecting drug use and the
> transmission of blood borne viruses. It has been assumed time and time
> again that I have AIDS and should be dead by now. (A heroin addicted gay
> male with coeliac disease looks like a terminal AIDS case, so this I can
> understand.) One of the joys of this job was meeting David Hertk, after
> shooting up some speed in the disable toilets and then at my apartment
> calling my heroin dealer who arrived ten minutes later with some of the
> best heroin available in Sydney at that time I sat in a hotel room as
> David handed me drafts of a book he was writing called _The Bunker_ on
> the last days of Hitler's bunker. I read several poems in silence,
> unable to speak. I thought of my abortive attempts at line verse in what
> I vainly hoped would be my second book, called _The Bar-B-Q_ and a
> silence came over me. After reading these few draft poems I knew what
> freedom was. No longer could I write line verse.
>
> Freedom is knowing nothing left to loose and line verse, as written by
> David Hertk in these draft poems was line verse that need not be written
> again ever. It was line verse with that sort of power, that freedom
> which is nothing left to loose. I did continue with _Bar-B-Q_ as a
> series of multi-voice monologues and still try to add some more.
>
> But more so, I decided to move to what is said to be the traditional
> prose novel form only to find that this is like writing ninety thousand
> words and packed into three hundred pages of verse without line breaks.
> Each word must carry the same importance as if it were a word in line
> verse, a word in poetry. (So far as I can find out David has not
> published _The Bunker_ and is also working on a novel.)
>
> If you look at Federick's poem "The Congressman's Daughter" and without
> meaning to do it some violence you can see that it can be made into what
> looks more like prose by removing the line breaks. I want to remove the
> line breaks as well.
>
> I can give an example from the draft of _Swindle Book One_:
>
> The surfer with the Bondi colours turns and looks at Gavin, takes three
> quick steps toward him and strikes Gavin between the eyes with a
> clenched fist. Gavin strikes back. They grapple and fall heavily into
> the sand. Broken glass buried in the sand cuts their wrists. Frothy red
> arterial blood mingles with deep red venous blood sucked of its oxygen.
> The two young men, faces white with shock, call a halt to the bloody
> fight.
>
> Sure, it appears a long way from line verse like this but I could
> imagine it as line verse, too. This is another aspect of free indirect
> discourse. The distinctions between verse and prose can get lost.
>
> Must go... more later.
>
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