I saw a headline proclaiming something like “Gay Author Gore Vidal Dies”. Uggh!
Some people leave us with a lot to think about.
I haven’t read any of his books yet but I plan to. I heard him speak on c-span a few years ago and he struck me as authentic. He certainly spoke outside the context of the mass media and I always appreciate that. I probably haven’t read him because he writes stuff that could be categorized as historical fiction but perhaps his choice of time periods and characters were just a way of getting his points across obliquely.
When I get old will I have to wear purple to get peoples attention? Will I have to have money?
Perhaps it’s already like that. Here I am alone in a room with a computer. I’m not communicating with anyone accept Mary. Do people actually ever talk to each other anymore. Does anyone listen. Why should someone listen to you tell them all the pain their in unless your getting paid or laid for your time?
I just watched the film Schenectady, New York and it made be cry. All people are lonely and grasping and destined to die. No one can be who they are or anyone else. The closeness you feel is imaginary- No that’s not it.
What is it?
I am afraid of talking to people and I feel like a failure. In the film the main character gets a MacArthur genius grant so he can do whatever he wants without worrying about whether their is an audience. He uses the money to build a replica of the city he lives in and he hires actors to perform as all the major characters in his life himself included. Of course it’s not him he sees as him it’s another person acting like him but then the actor of that character in the film(Phillip Seymour Hoffman) is perhaps playing the part of the director and writer. None of this matters really except he gets to portray a character from a lot of different angles. The character is all of us and you end up feeling like you’ve just read some french existentialist who can really talk to you. It’s a sad and intractable position to be a human.
Why do i feel i need to define things and think about them properly and sort them out on paper or express them in art. Where does that get you? what do you read after you’ve read Dosteoevsky? A book written without using the letter E? or perhaps one where the main character has no interior life.
In the end isn’t the message of all great writers that one must write. What does that mean? Perhaps writing a real book requires one to psychoanalysis themselves. So in the end they can come to the well thought out and personally experienced realization that we are all going to die alone.
Posted in Direct Experience, Self Portrait, slice of life, soraxtm
Tagged Arts, Casting Society of America, Dosteoevsky, Feature film, Film review, How I Live Now, interior life, Meg Rosoff, New York, psychoanalysis, Schenectady, Schenectady New York