The mind goals being spoken of are part of a fantasy and what is the fantasy?
1) That I lived in Paris in the 1930s and had sex with Anaïs Nin.
(but she died of vaginal cancer many years later quite lonely in California)
2) That I am a great master, an enlightened man who wears robes and walks with his followers until he gets tired, then I sit down under a tree and drink wine and worry not, worry not.
(someone told me that Gandhi beat his wife, I hope it’s not true. heard the same of Sam Shepard.)
3) Book change, book offering, book give, book take, book head, book death, book life.
4) “What was life on the solid earth to us who were decapitated and forever joined at the genitals?” (Henry Miller)
Oh really? then just listen, it’s a theory and it starts with a coined moniker (oh, hush) the coined moniker is: “therapeutic fiction.”
The idea is this: we need help inside our selves.
Entertainment doesn’t stop the bleeding.
Cleverness? no, that won’t work either.
And where are all the philosophers?
At a conference at the Marriott in Kew Gardens but you can’t get in without a doctoral degree
The New Yorker . . . the internal bleeding
The idea, therapeutic fiction. what would it look like?
I’m not talking about The Da Vinci Code or The Shack.
I’m not talking about Dave Eggers.
Graphic novels and young adult fiction won’t save us.
Henry Miller and all those coming women.
Boxes in the back of B Daltons and Target.
Book trash in scrapyards, dog food, sidewalks, lovesick sex.
To actually matter!
(worried not)
