William Burroughs

I had just read The Western Lands, brilliant, his greatest  novel.  His 80^th birthday party was held at the Limelight, a recently opened club in what was formerly a church. 

The Limelight  was the epitome of the decadent, swinging Manhattan of  the early 80s.  The stained glass windows were in tact;  the massive organ pipes painted  and lit in strong, vibrant colours.   Allen Ginsberg sat at our table; later I was introduced to Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe, whom I would get to know better, later. 

I needed to go the loo, which was on a scaffolding high up in the club.  As I entered the toilet, Burroughs came out, buttoning up  the fly of his trousers.

Only he and I up there.  No one else.

So what does one say, could I say?

“Hallo”, I mustered.

“Hallo”, he answered.

A few days later I flew to Los Angeles  and was invited to Timothy Leary’s  house, who was giving a party to honour Burroughs 80^th birthday.   Leary was a charming host.  I had met him in the 70s, in Afghanistan, whilst he was on the run from the FBI.  Lauren Hutton and another model, who I now cant recall were sitting on the floor, smoking a joint. Barbara Leary took Nathalie and myself into the kitchen and brought out some hash cookies from the fridge. 

The evening progressed, but there was no Burroughs.   “He is probably having difficulty finding a vein’, Barbara quipped. 

Nathalie’s toothache was bothering her and she wanted to go home.

We opened the door and one of those strong winds blew up the valley into the Beverley Hills.   And there he was, as if being blasted by the wind, surrounded by about six  young men, in billowing flamboyant clothes.   A modern version of Satyricon. 

I let Nathalie go home alone and stayed.

For what  happened after that you will have to wait for my memoirs.

Libya

Tony Blair called Gaddafi brilliant, a great leader + said that Britain should be proud to have him as a friend.

Salome

I had always thought that Salome’s dance, dropping one veil after another, is about revealing more + more of herself.  Recently I reconsidered that in fact she is actually exposing herself with each sequence to a greater version of [what may be the same] Truth. 

Hua Kola

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ib3NvsWFYlw&feature=related


1989:   We built a tepee, the dark womb,  with willow branches. leaving tobacco in exchange.   We collect  dry twigs for kindling. The Inipi starts at sunset.  Rocks, each energized, first by the sun, now by fire, are passed through the east-facing entrance into the centre pit.  Hua Kola.  Red Crow chants and passes the pipe, the smoke the breath that carries our prayers to the Great Spirit. This is the beginning of Life, the violent copulation between Fire and Earth.  It is agony, the heat unbearable. I dig my body  into the inner loins of the hot mud to seek cool refuge.  Thank you sun, moon, seasons, plants, birds, insects,  ancestors.  We are joined by everyone and everything that has gone before.  We fall out of the womb into the entrails of the morning star.  The spirits rejoice, with us, within us, around us.

Manifesto by the youth in Gaza

Fuck Hamas. Fuck Israel. Fuck Fatah. Fuck UN. Fuck UNWRA. Fuck USA! We, the youth in Gaza, are so fed up with Israel, Hamas, the occupation, the violations of human rights and the indifference of the international community!

"We want to scream and break this wall of silence, injustice and indifference like the Israeli F16s breaking the wall of sound; scream with all the power in our souls in order to release this immense frustration that consumes us because of this fucking situation we live in...

"We are sick of being caught in this political struggle; sick of coal-dark nights with airplanes circling above our homes; sick of innocent farmers getting shot in the buffer zone because they are taking care of their lands; sick of bearded guys walking around with their guns abusing their power, beating up or incarcerating young people demonstrating for what they believe in; sick of the wall of shame that separates us from the rest of our country and keeps us imprisoned in a stamp-sized piece of land; sick of being portrayed as terrorists, home-made fanatics with explosives in our pockets and evil in our eyes; sick of the indifference we meet from the international community, the so-called experts in expressing concerns and drafting resolutions but cowards in enforcing anything they agree on; we are sick and tired of living a shitty life, being kept in jail by Israel, beaten up by Hamas and completely ignored by the rest of the world.

"There is a revolution growing inside of us, an immense dissatisfaction and frustration that will destroy us unless we find a way of canalising this energy into something that can challenge the status quo and give us some kind of hope.

"We barely survived the Operation Cast Lead, where Israel very effectively bombed the shit out of us, destroying thousands of homes and even more lives and dreams. During the war we got the unmistakable feeling that Israel wanted to erase us from the face of the Earth. During the last years, Hamas has been doing all they can to control our thoughts, behaviour and aspirations. Here in Gaza we are scared of being incarcerated, interrogated, hit, tortured, bombed, killed. We cannot move as we want, say what we want, do what we want.

"ENOUGH! Enough pain, enough tears, enough suffering, enough control, limitations, unjust justifications, terror, torture, excuses, bombings, sleepless nights, dead civilians, black memories, bleak future, heart-aching present, disturbed politics, fanatic politicians, religious bullshit, enough incarceration! WE SAY STOP! This is not the future we want! We want to be free. We want to be able to live a normal life. We want peace. Is that too much to ask?

the fool, le fou, the joker

fool1

  • noun 1 a person who acts unwisely. 2 historical a jester or clown.

• verb 1 trick or deceive. 2 (fool about/around) act in a joking or frivolous way. 3 (fool around) N. Amer. engage in casual or extramarital sexual activity.

  • adjective N. Amer. informal foolish or silly.

facebook 2

As I said Facebook belongs to the young.

Amongst the hags + hustlers who sought me out, there was some joy: Dylan + Hugo [brothers] who I knew in France.  Memories.   Before supper, they would give - sunglasses and air guitars - do a punk gig. After supper, they would get bathed + come down in flannel pajamas,  to give sloppy good night  kisses.

They are now teenagers.   Under politics + religion Dylan wrote rien à foutre'.  I don't give a fuck.

I informed them that I have resigned from facebook and asked them to e mail me.

I fear they won’t. 

As  I said they live in Facebook world, which isn't for me. 

Assange, the next stage

The power of the flow of information on the internet may be greater - much greater - than we think, and this could be a powerful force for democracy.

"First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win"  - Gandhi. - TM

Boere oorlog

"... deprived of clothes ... the semi-starvation in the camps ... the fever-stricken children lying... upon the bare earth ... the appalling mortality.". "In some camps, two and sometimes three different families live in one tent. Ten and even twelve persons are forced into a single tent. Most had to sleep on the ground. These people will never ever forget what has happened," "The children have been the hardest hit. They wither in the terrible heat and as a result of insufficient and improper nourishment ... To maintain this kind of camp means nothing less than murdering children."

... A six month old baby [is] gasping its life out on its mother's knee. Next [tent]: a child recovering from measles sent back from hospital before it could walk, stretched on the ground white and wan. Next a girl of 21 days lay dying on a stretcher. The father ... kneeling beside her, while his wife was watching a child of six also dying and one of about five drooping. Already this couple had lost three children.

[the women] "never express a wish that their men must give way. It must be fought out now, they think, to the bitter end." - Emily Hobhouse.

I remember many things that happened on the way back from Mafeking. There was no moon. And the stars shone down fitfully on the road that was full of guns and frighetend horses and desperate men. The veld throbbed with the hoofbeats of baffled commandos. The stars looked down on scenes that told somberly of a nation’s ruin; they looked on the muzzles of the Mausers that had failed the Transvaal for the first time.

Long afterwards I spoke to an Englishman about this. He said it gave him a queer feeling to hear about the other side of the story of Mafeking. He said there had been great rejoicings in England when Mafeking was relieved, and it was strange to think of the other aspect of it – of a defeated country and of broken columns blundering through the dark – Charles Heman Bosman, Mafeking Road.

Liewe Elza

Ek het jou gebel om te sê dat jy jy kwesbaar gelyk het toe ons Sondag by jou was.  Nee, het jy gesê.

Ek het weer daaraan gedink.

Jy was kwesbaar.

Dit is die werk wat jy nou doen oor die Boere oorlog. Wat jy ook vir my doen. Ek bedoel dat ek 'n deel daarvan is. Ek bedoel dat ek 'n deel daarvan wil wees.

Sondag sê ek dat dit 'n wrede oorlog was. Alle oorloë is wreed, het jy gesê. Later toe ek met Rossetta en Margery daaroor praat, sê Margery dieselfde ding: elke land het sy eie geskiedenis, sy eie oorloë.

Natuurlik is dit so. Ek glo dit was 'n defleksie van jou kant af.

Dit was in my leeftyd, + in joune ook 'n onlangse skurwe pyn.

My ouma was in 'n konsentrasiekamp in Burgersdorp gebore. My pa het die Rooinekke gehaat.

Ek was in elke aspek, volgens hom, 'n misluk. Die groot verraad was om na 'n Engelse Universiteit te gaan. Wat my vreugde gegee het. Nou was dit my tyd om hom te sny.

En ek sou veel, veel verder gaan.

Hy glo nie in Apartheid nie, sê hy vir my swaer, met minag. Die uiteindelike teleurstelling.

Nie dat ek ooit vergeet het van die oorlog nie. Daar is meer hiervan + van my in Mafeking Road. Met Toorkuns doen ek navorsing in die oorlog, en kyk rond. Die Vroue monument. Die eerste – en enigste? - monument toegewy aan vrouens.

Ek praat nou net van myself.

Andries Botha wou altyd 'n reis, 'n pelgrimstog met so pa [ook van Burgersdorp] deur die gebied maak. Sy pa is toe oorlede en Andries het die reis alleen gemaak . Ken jy die series wat hy gedoen het, kaarte van die verskeie konsentrasie kampe? In jukstaposisie met apartheid sluipmoord plase.

Die Boere oorlog was natuurlik nie 'n gewone oorlog nie: ons praat van 'n strooptog, soos ons in die laaste twee dekades gesien het in Irak en Afganistan.

Het jy ook die volgende geweet?

Dat Van Gogh die Boere ondersteun het? Sy broer, Cornelius, wie vir 'n Nederlandse Spoorwegmaatskappy in Lourenco Marques gewerk het, het met die verklaring van die oorlog onmiddellik homself aangesluit by die Boere. Vincent wou hom besoek het, maar het siek geword en gaan toe na Arles. 18 maande later is Cornelius dood van 'n enkel koeël en is in 'n ongemerkte graf in Brandfort begrawe.

Dat daar vrouens was – soos Mevrou Krantz – wat die geweer aangevat het?

Dan ook in sy herinneringe skryf Ben Bouwer: “Daar kan ’n lang lys van vroue soldate in mansklere gemaak word.” Onder die gevangenes wat deur Britse magte by Colesberg gevang is was drie Boervroue wat mansklere gedra het. Dit is eers etlike weke later, dat die waarheid in ’n Kaapse tronk ontdek is . Hillegas, ’n Amerikaanse oorlogskorrespondent, het geskryf van hordes Boervroue deelgeneem aan veldslae. Onder andere, Helena Herbst Wagner van Zeerust wat vir vyf maande in die laers en loopgrawe geleef het voor daar uitgevind is dat sy ’n vrou is. Ek het jou vertel van die transkripsie van die storie van die Boer soldaat, wat ek in die argiewe in die Bloemfontein museum gevind het. Nadat die oorlog oor was, loop hy, honger, verward en verlore. “Toe ontmoet ek 'n Kaffer in die pad, en ek het hom my storie vertel. Die Kaffer was jammer vir my en het my na sy hut geneem, waar hy my kos gegee het. Ek het die aand in die Kaffer se plek geslaap.” Die Boere oorlog is in die kern van die Afrikaners. Die feniks het van die asse uitgevlieg en die res is geskiedenis. Vertel my nou van jou Oorlog.

absence

I haven't written anything for 6 weeks or so -  being incapacitated with a wretched sinus infection, which necessitated a rather gruesome operation.  I am on the way to recovery and hope to now post regularly.

Those who believe absurdities will commit atrocities - Voltaire

Vir Kobus: Gelukkige verjaarsdag. alpha + omega. Le Pendu, die opgehangde man

Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel

And here is the one-eyed merchant, and  this card,

Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,

Which I am forbidden to see.  I do not find

the Hanged Man - T S Eliot, The Waste Land.

The Tarot uses Christian archetypes - The Pope, the Devil, The Final Judgement -  but was banned;  anyone who was in possession burned at the stake for heresy.  For heretical it was.  The heinous Inquisition and the Witchcraft trials sought to eliminate anything that didn't accept monotheism: one religion, one book, one god.   The Tarot encouraged questioning, the Church demanded blind faith.

Le Pendu, the Hanged Man,  has no Christian relevance as such.  He isn't hanging with a noose around his neck, or crucified..  Was he strung up like this or did he do so himself?   Is the  poised crossing of his leg an arcane sign?

It is the most intriguing + also the most disturbing card.  We can't make  sense of it.  The Fool had just gained Strength [11]. + will, after this die [13].

His world has been turned upside down.  It is brimful of paradoxes, but it is in paradox + contradiction, rather than in simplification that the Truth is found.

What the Fool experienced until now is now seen from a totally different angle.  It is an emotional expurgation, letting go of former beliefs.  It is a reversal, + it is the ultimate sacrifice, of the Fool’s sanity.  He is free of trying to be in control.

 Al-Hallaj was a 9^th century Sufi mystic + writer and revolutionary heretic : Ana al Haq [ أنا الحق‎]  – I am God – he proclaimed.  

 He had a long drawn out public trial, during which he refused to retract his statement and  was sentenced to 11 years imprisonment.  He still refused to recant, still repeating  his mantra: I am God, I am the Truth. He was sentenced to a public execution, whereby they hung him upside down, cutting  off his legs.   My legs are what I used to travel the earth, he said, now I am one step to Heaven.  He smiled throughout, chanting Ana al Haq.  They cut off  his hands.  He took the stumps  of his arms to his face, covering it with the blood.  When asked why he was doing so, he replied that the blood was being drained from him, making his face yellow, and he didn't want to appear as if he  was afraid.

They proceeded to cut his body into small pieces, burned it + scattered his ashes into the wind.

 In rural France the local gendarmerie tried to arrest me on a preposterous charge.  I told Monsieur le Capitaine  to sit down and took out my note book.  Can I have your name + number?

He looked at me as if I were mad.

Can I have your name + number?, I repeated, more sternly.

He shook his head in disbelief.  The world has turned upside down.  It is normally we who ask he questions. 

That is right.  The world has turned upside down.   I am asking you for the last time, what is your name + number?

obama

Dear TM

My friends thought I was being reactionary, difficult  when I didn't join in the in the euphoria at his election Now I would gloat - I told you so -  if it weren't so serious, so depressing.  I was surprised at everyone's naivety.  A reason for the attraction was that he was black.  I know that sounds banal, but it is so.  And understandably so.  In the way that one supported women leaders.  surely they can only do better?

Of course he is attractive. I laughed when I read the most attractive since Kennedy.  [!]  Of course he is intelligent.

Suaveness has become the criterion for choosing a leader.  Celebritising, mediatising spin.  Like Blair, Cameron, Clegg  [let us leave Brown out of this], the Millibands.  What work did any of these people do before standing for election?  

Maybe if I had a child like you I would want to believe in a saviour, someone who would save her and her generation from the dismal ugliness that stares one in the face.  But I also am amazed at the naivety of you all.

But did you really  not know that Amerika is ruled by obscene capitalists, and by the military?  Manipulated by the right wing media.   When you visited I kept on asking you -  tiresomely at times - how you could live there?  18 % of Americans believe he is a Muslim!  [and as such a condemnation.  Does it matter if he were?  A few years ago, my physiotherapist, an intelligent guy, told me a previous patient had told him that Mandela had secretly converted to Islam.  What nonsense I said:  why would he -of all people -  secretly do so?  You convert because you are convinced it is the truth.  He would have changed his name, accordingly. ]

When I asked you [+ others]  at the time why you saw it about a choice between Obama and McCain, when there is Nader:  you [all] said he doesn't stand a hope in winning.  But wasn’t he the only sane choice?

Both you + Q are right.  What I said at the time of his election was that he would be devoured by the machinery of America.

Yes, Afghanistan.  Yes, they will wage war on Iran.  He said that he would close the iniquitous Guantanamo camp within one year.  There is no sign of this happening.    The ghastly thing is that we, who thought we were intelligent and sensitive,  have become immune to what has happened, and is still happening there.  Do you hear me:  it is a fucking outrage.  

The most terrifying thing is that the next card will be Palin.  No not suave.  Ignorant, yes.  Dangerous, yes.  And you thought Bush was bad....

I was after the sinus operation at a small bay. Isak was there to help me.  It is interesting to learn the Coloured folklore.  To see his relationship to the sea, because he is rooted where it is not.    He told me – I thought Conrad [+ you] would approve -  that you should never take a pack of cards near the sea.  That night it will come crashing down through the walls.  I suspect to bring in a game of chance in the presence of the unpredictable Poseidon.   Wasn’t Ulysses instructed to pour wax in the ears of his men, +  he bound to the mast to prevent them being bewitched by the sirens?  Paradoxically,  for one who is obsessed with knowing, this all appeals.

Mais, mon ami, dedans tous la laideur je cherche encore pour  la beauté.


Je t-embrasse

die huis van God

you know what it is like.  one forgets.

Rossetta asked me why I was conversing with the synod of the NG Kerk.   when I heard .  twice.  when I hear about the rumours, that we were Satanists and that the sculptures had caused the floods, I invited the dominee to discuss the matter.  He snubbed my letter, as he would do the 2nd one I wrote a few months later, asking him if he was afraid of the Devil.  Now I am in contact with the synod.  They don't quite know what to do. Why am I doing this?  Götterdämmerung?  salvation?  flexing a muscle?  needing to know, see, hear judgement. 

Beauty is mysterious as well as terrible. God and devil are fighting there, and the battlefield is the heart of man.  Dostoevsky 

What I had forgotten is that it is the individual that matters to me, more than anything else.