Losers' Library

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Never let it be said that Spaghettiman is politically correct!

Darkness, darkness my old friend...

On my way home from my ex-lover I noticed something a bit spooky. As my ex lives close to the red-light district on Lyell Ave., the same place Arthur Shawcross lurked for a very long period, I (unsurprisingly) saw a hooker doing some kind of an empty robot-dance. Mind you I have no interest in women at all and would not even think of talking to her, besides there were cops down the street which makes it more likely she was just a decoy. But even then there seemed to be something degrading and otherworldly about how she danced. A rocking motion back and forth that seemed less sexy than just creepy. Like the dolls on the artwork of Whitehouse's Halogen album. Somehow I thought about going to the Adult Book Store on Mt. Read Blvd. -- no, there aren't peep-show booths there, but unlike Peter Sotos I've had no desire to go to those places. Anyways I went there and found nothing I really wanted. Just the same old crap...

Maybe I'm just being reflective of all the transgressive music I've listened to and the transgressive literature I've read. As much as I was initially horrified by much of Whitehouse's work, I just kept coming back inspite of it. All for the better -- to think I'd continually dismiss it or protest it when it was so much more than on the surface. And the whole Sotos back catalog as well as even Samuel Delaney's Hogg however not up to par. The more I read the more there seems to be a vacant stare of a very dark enigma -- not quite an abyss, because what's there is quite human, if alien all the same... Sure, as they say, it gets to the point where nothing's shocking anymore because supposedly everything's been done. But why do I return? It doesn't become dull, it just becomes very very creepy! The ultimate nihilism where the human condition becomes the mechanisation of automatrons and routine, when there is the expectation of something more special. The idea that there is nothing behind the facade, well I don't see it as a disappointment but I'm fascinated by it all. I came out of a bizarre S&M relationship which seemed "Is that all there is?" But then how many were as lucky to experience something that rare? Do I really need to search for any meaning? I already know about spirituality. I've been there! I know it exists, whatever force it is. So I know nothing is meaningless however it is made to be. But even in that, it is something to step back in awe to wonder how it all came to be...

Hogg

Yet another book review, but this one taking me considerably longer than most of Peter Sotos' work or most literature in general... The book in question is Hogg, written by an author (Samuel R. Delany) more known for Fantasy and Science Fiction and long unpublished until now for obvious reasons. A book detailing child sexual abuse, hired rape and killing and a heavy dose of scatological humor. However this doesn't seem to be just an author slumming-around necessarily, but not necessarily high-art either...

You need to know inspite the official descriptions of this book this is not proto-Sotos, nor an attempt to rehash DAF De Sade at the time when he was becoming more popular (1969)... Again, taking me longer to go through than Sotos -- very little of the same lucid mock-objectivity and obsessive scenario -- I think if there is anything this book could be lumped in with it would be Zap Comics and S. Clay Wilson in particular, with the combination of depravity and slapstick biker/pirate tales. Sotos himself would call this book merely a Tom of Finland knockoff, and I could see some vague comparison with that kind of work as well, with the usual inflated vurility, machismo and genitalia... Maybe also some "Funk Art" mixed in -- ie the later work of Phillip Guston about the same time-frame when Hogg was written... And maybe also Harlan Ellison, which would be inevitable coming from a Science Fiction writer anyways.

This had also been lumped into typical Black Experience literature of that late 60s and early 70s vintage, but the only way it would be is that the 1st-person protagonist either is described as white or black and is theoretically a black person with white skin. Most fiction of that sort was either about civil rights or urban concerns such as addiction, crime or merely lack of self-esteem. (I.e. A Hero Ain't Nothin' But A Sandwich.)

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Just coming from the No Fun Fest -- too much to write a whole review of, but the most notoriety coming from Macronympha's unexpectedly violent but otherwise excellent set. Strong performances by SJ, Bloodyminded, Prurient, Daniel Menche and Smegma amongst others...

Whitehouse in Buffalo

This wasn't the first time William Bennett went to Western New York. Around '00 or '01 he did some DJ sets in Rochester when he toured with his Extreme Music From Women show. Mostly playing MB, Esplendor Geometrico and NWW between sets. I was lucky enough to get my copy of Quality Time signed by him. He kinda sneered about not having a decent pen but luckily I had a better one in my pocket. Otherwise he seemed affable and humble if a bit shy...

Of course I didn't really get to talk to either him or Philip Best in Buffalo but that's alright. I did nearly have a chance to meet Best, but oh well... I would've liked to hear him say some snarky things about that town and its urban decay -- whatever he's had to say about anything has always been worth hearing anyways...

Well I got to Buffalo by 4 o'clock and managed to hit the Albright-Knox gallery before closing time. Glad to see they bought back Lucas Samaras' Mirrored Room -- featured on No Pussyfooting of course... Kinda went early towards the Icon so I made sure I knew where it was. Surrounded by unbelievable eyesores just like the old Backstreets. (Looked like Backstreets on the inside too.) Well I decided to go to Diablo for a couple of drinks and had a discussion with a guy concerning punk. I got to ask him about the Michale Graves show only 'cos I've always hated him and was hoping he got hit by rocks and bottles. Well no but I found out his band's gear was stolen, and anyways Diablo isn't even a very large club which just goes to show...

Anyways the show starts with All Have Numbers, None Have Names -- mostly this guy Dave from Cleveland with Ben of Locust Sympathiser guesting. Seemed like taking the idea of the 'Cle scene associated with Pere Ubu but bringing it a bit further by only playing tin-cans. Seemed definitely like a surreal David Thomas-written scenario, that!

And of course Pengo. John Schoen talked alot like this was the show of his dreams! Bringing the band on good form, with Nuuj even dusting off those old hot-wired metal sheets from Hilkka and Sheet daze, for old-times sake. William and Philip looked at the band from the balcony a number of times...

And Whitehouse's Buffalo set was even better and louder than the one I saw at Rothko! Being close to the stage those low frequences made my guts feel like they were falling out. Did get a good look at the usual stage set also -- seems they set their equipment on a Victorian table with a really nice paisley tablecloth (who said they didn't have taste?) and Bennett was dressed like something out of the Story of O. They did repeat that mike-cord entanglement trick, but two more songs from Asceticists and Philip plays "Tit Pulp". Whatever happened to Mary Dowd? Bennett has to be the most charismatic performer I've ever got to see! And even the hands-in-the-air bit at the end seemed less stagey...