4i47: infinitemercy: Alien Existence by Philip Best (Infinity Land Press, 2016) Extracts:WALKING W
4i47: infinitemercy: Alien Existence by Philip Best (Infinity Land Press, 2016) Extracts: WALKING WOUNDED I sing of war, of holy war. (Torquato Tasso, Gerusalemme liberata, 1581) The state is to get hold of those who never had — or no longer have — a right to live in the state, and the state must turn their strength while it lasts to the good of the state. They must be fed, sheltered, and treated in such a way as to use them as much as possible at the lowest possible cost. (Charles Reznikoff, Holocaust, Black Sparrow Press, 1975) GOD’S NAME EVERYWHERE We must accept the eventuality of bringing the USA to its knees; accept the closing off of critical sections of the city with barbed wire, armored pig carriers crisscrossing the streets, soldiers everywhere, tommy guns pointed at stomach level, smoke curling black against the daylight sky, the smell of cordite, house-to-house searches, doors being kicked in, the commonness of death. (George L. Jackson, Blood In My Eye, Random House, 1972) REPETITION REINFORCEMENT ‘Do you hear that blubberer?’ said Korablyova, drawing Maslova’s attention to the strange sound coming from the other end of the room. It was the smothered sobbing of the red-haired woman. She was crying because they had called her names and hit her, and not given her any of the vodka she wanted so badly. She was crying too because all her life she had had nothing but abuse, jeers, insults and blows. She tried to console herself by thinking of her first sweetheart, a factory hand whose name was Fedka Molodenkov, but when she thought of this first love of hers she also remembered how it had ended. It had ended one day when this Molodenkov was drunk and for a joke had dabbed vitriol on the most sensitive spot of her body and then roared with laughter with his mates while she writhed in agony. She remembered this and felt so full of pity for herself that, thinking no one could hear her, she burst into tears and wept as children do, moaning and snuffling and swallowing the salt tears. (Leo Tolstoy, Resurrection, 1899) THE PUSH woe to the bloody city full of lies and robbery today i hear the beat of death in all things i hear it in the streets and in the parks you will all die you will all die you will all die from mayfair and westminster to camberwell and peckham rye riverwheel aflame london capsized and at night father when i pray you are not there you are not there you are not there all hail to the creatures and the sluts and the poor in guarded isles of midday devils all prancing to war money may fall and towers may fall and bodies will fall but they’ll still want it all and they’ll still take it all politicians profiteers all poison the well ride their rough horses headlong pell mell over layer upon layer of metropolitan sick it’s a trick it’s a trick it’s a trick so, woe to the bloody city that covets fresh fields and flesh within the cauldron this time is evil woe to the bloody stage and final blank page of the failed state that hoards its wealth and arms itself against the stranded and lost at whatever the cost whatever the cost whatever the cost o gods, break their teeth o gods break their teeth i mean it’s the attitude that counts as well as everything else it takes you with me? i mean we should never compromise we won’t get anywhere in life accepting second best you get it yet? if you don’t taste it if you don’t feel it, baby we haven’t come a very long way have we? so what exactly is it? this grand unified theory of female pain and wet cement could it be the face that would sell condoms in a cunt? or better yet i had a lover once some men came by shot up the house she lived in tore up the place broke every fucking window burned her out she couldn’t tell me why i hate men and their violence their weak murderous minds MIRROR WORLD Julie was curling a young girl’s hair when I came in. She was styling it to be just like her own: wavy all round the sides and flat at the crown. But the girl’s hair was shorter and brown in colour; Julie’s was pure blonde. They were grouped around the mirror. Julie smiled over. He was a mechanic, but he’d always wanted to try his hand at writing. He was telling me this, and fixing coffee, as the girls continued to do their thing at the mirror. There were pictures of dolphins and killer whales on the walls. VOICE-OVER: I’d been having a recurring nightmare. I’m three years old dancing on my mother’s grand piano. I’m wearing her gold spiked heels. The grownups are clapping, stomping in rhythm. My ankles twist in the big shoes. I want to stop dancing but they cheer even louder. IMAGE: PRESCHOOLER IN UNDERSHIRT AND UNDERPANTS, DANCING FOR THE CAMERA VOICE-OVER: I don’t know what they want from me. The shell landed near a food queue and several children died. A burning bus with a scattering of limbs and blackened body parts. Later in the day the queue formed again and the government forces fired again. I am so fucking up to my neck in debt & so badly need to do well. This is not a bad thing to do with JJ & I’m really happy for him. JJ gets everyone falling over themselves — I get fake numbers & stood up. Johnny’s so well into it — making heaps of friends & as usual no matter where I am — I feel alone. It’s not San Francisco, it’s me. I can’t explain this feeling to anyone, this feeling of COMPLETE DETEST for myself & this feeling of being so average. I’ve tried so badly to understand why & to make mother & JJ understand — but they think I’m being so silly — but I really feel like this so much. It’s a feeling of being so invisible, being no-one, feeling like I’m never a part of something & never quite fitting in. I know Johnny has been all over the place since leaving, but he never has that feeling of no self worth. The most beautiful people become spellbound. He always feels he deserves the best & BECOMING MORE RADIANT and confident all the time. I really am not joking & this sounds stupid but I am so exhausted with feeling this shit & feeling so lonely despite being with JJ every day & feeling so low & so up to my eyeballs with debt — I sometimes really can’t be bothered to wait & find out what happens. I just want to disappear. I feel like I’m reeling & I don’t know what to do. I feel so outside. I’ve nothing anywhere. For whatever reason they decided their themes were going to be abuse and sexual violence, but Peter Sotos and Philip Best can be some incredibly talented artists at times. I remember picking up a copy of Index at Forbidden Books in the 90s and me and all my friends were immediately struck by the raw uniqueness of it. It was like nothing we’d ever seen before, and we we already reading Burroughs Kareouc Breton etc.Anyway I heard from none other than Jonathan Cash of Austin noise that Philip was considering a move to ATX at some point?!!! -- source link