Ancient Evenings, Norman Mailer

Really Norman? An anal and incest fetishist's interpretation of the whole Osiris myth? Not only is that disrespectful to Egyptians, but obscene to people who care about mythology. I didn't care to read it long enough to find out if Menenhetet was just putting his own filthy twist on the myth, or if Norman really thought it was ok to have their Gods corn-holing each other just because Egyptian pharaohs wanted to keep their genes pure by copulating with their own family. This ghastly choice of context only reiterates his own twisted psychology. Holly was right, dude has issues... many many issues. 

Gave it an extra star for the style. 

Josephine Wall

 Josephine Wall is one of the most talented painters I've come across.  She's a fantastical surrealist, the combination of which is most likely to catch my eye, and her use of colorful detail is used to perfection.  I really can't get over the way some of her paintings move me.  It's almost like we've both eaten slices of that same magical pie that few people would dare to even try.  Every child on Earth eats a piece of the pie when they are born, but they digest it before reaching adulthood.  Then they are offered seconds once the buildings of growth are fully constructed; and should one eat it again, the buildings become festooned with climbing topiary that reverts the industry of adulthood back to an embryonic perspective.  Josephine can eat all the pie she wants, and I'll have another slice myself.  Below is a link to her webpage where you can find her galleries, and I've also updated my Top Paintings page to accommodate her additions.  Also added to the list are some paintings by other contemporary surrealists that were introduced to me lately, like the political humorist Mark Bryan and the wonderful animal-environments of Ilene Meyer (thanks Paul).

http://www.josephinewall.co.uk/art_gallery.html

http://rateyourmusic.com/list/airman13579/top_paintings

Collected Poems 1947-1980, Allen Ginsberg

When he’s not writing about big cocks and homosexual exploits while stoned out of his mind, Allen Ginsberg’s surreal poetry is as enchanting as magical cake. Cross-country traveler, all-encompassing pantheist, anti-imperialist radical, extremely eccentric metaphorical associations. Ginsberg and I come from the same planet, and it’s probably not Earth. Right now, he might be my favorite poet, but I haven’t read much poetry, so that’s likely to change. 

About the poems: let me say that while Howl was deeply moving and spoke for an entire generation, I think Wichita Vortex Sutra- a powerful critique against the storms of industrialization and the Viet Nam War, using the Great Plains of Middle America as an allegorical backdrop for the vortex of Kali Yuga- earns an equal stake as masterpiece. Contrary to a lot of opinions that suggest his work in the 50s was the best, I think in the late 60s he really hit his stride, mostly due to world events and the cultural gravitation to his personality traits. Most of his poems from the early 60s and late 70s are highly homoerotic. It seemed like he couldn’t write a poem without at least one reference to his dick. Plus, they didn’t flow very well, possibly due to a high amount of puffin’ the magic dragon. 

 

My top Ginsberg beats: 

Psalm II 

Hymn 

After Dead Souls 

Siesta In Xbalba 

Howl 

Sunflower Sutra 

Europe! Europe! 

Lysergic Acid 

Man’s Glory 

Wichita Vortex Sutra 

Bayonne Entering NYC 

A Vow 

Holy Ghost on the Nod Over the Body of Bliss 

An Open Window on Chicago 

Wales Visitation 

Pentagon Exorcism 

Chicago To Salt Lake by Air 

Past Silver Durango Over Mexic Sierra-Wrinkles 

Friday The Thirteenth 

Thoughts Sitting Breathing 

Mind Breaths 

Plutonian Ode