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Utopian Turtletop. Monsieur Croche's Bête Noire. Contact: turtletop [at] hotmail [dot] com
Saturday, July 21, 2007
I was struck with rubber-necker-ism and hopped in the car at 10 to midnight to swing by the bookstores to see the masses -- and they were massed massively -- well, some dozensly -- waiting to get in to buy the new H. Potter tome. And -- heck, it makes me want to read books 4 through 6!
Went to the used bookstore that's open late Friday night and gives a 25% discount after midnight and happily browsed for Too Long. Spent under 3 bucks and got a collection of mid-20th-century African poetry and a Penguin edition of late essays and aphorisms by Schopenhauer.
My decadent happy habit -- driving around listening to music. Made it most of the way through Bowie's Low, which I'd never heard. Beautiful and interesting textures, and the guy is tuneful. Enjoying it. Very Eno influenced, but tunefuller than Eno.
He was such a glamorpuss. Bowie's pictures -- the star's face is opaque and smooth, blank like a mirror reflecting back the observer's own desire. The star knows the viewer -- knows that the viewer desires the star -- and so the star's typical expression is disaffectedly knowing. And stars know a great secret they guard with tremendous secrecy: The secret of being desirable.
"If the immediate and direct purpose of our life is not suffering then our existence is the most ill-adapted to its purpose in the world." -- Arthur Schopenhauer, trans. R. J. Hollingdale
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