Little Caesar Press (1976 – 1982) Editor/publisher/designer/typesetter/distributor: Dennis Cooper 3373 Overland Avenue, #2 Los Angeles, California 90034
‘Dennis Cooper started Little Caesar Magazine in 1976 as a literary journal with an anarchist, punk rock spirit. From its humble beginnings as a skinny, low-tech zine dominated by poetry, it grew into a book sized magazine featuring poetry, fiction, portfolios of art and photography, essays, special theme issues, and interviews with a wide range of writers, artists, and pop culture figures (ranging from teen idol Leif Garrett to musicians like Johnny Rotten and Gram Parsons to porn director Toby Ross, to name but a few).
‘In 1978, Cooper started Little Caesar Press, which wound up publishing 24 books of poetry and fiction by young and established contemporary authors (Joe Brainard, Amy Gerstler, Eileen Myles, Peter Schjeldahl, Elaine Equi, Ronald Koertge, Gerard Malanga, Tom Clark, et. al.), as well as the first and only English language translation of Arthur Rimbaud’s final work, “Travels in Abyssinia”.
‘By the time the magazine ceased production after twelve issues in 1982, its contributors included such people as Andy Warhol, Lou Reed, Nico, Debbie Harry, Brian Eno, and many others.
‘These days, issues of Little Caesar are highly sought after and have sold on the collector’s market for as much $800.’ — DC.net
Books
Dennis Cooper TIGER BEAT (1978) poetry
Limited signed edition w/ art insert: 15 copies 1st edition: 500 copies 2nd edition: 350 copies 3rd edition: 500 copies
Gerard Malanga 100 YEARS HAVE PASSED (1978) Cover photograph by the author prose poems
Edition: 800 copies
Arthur Rimbaud TRAVELS IN ABYSSINIA AND THE HARAR (1979) Translated by Scott Bell previously unpublished non-fiction
1st edition: 1000 copies 2nd edition: 1500 copies
Tim Dlugos JE SUIS EIN AMERICANO (1979) Cover photograph by Richard Elovich poetry
Edition: 800 copies
Ron Koertge SEX OBJECT (1979) poetry
Edition: 800
Oswell Blakeston JOURNEYS END IN YOUNG MAN’S MEETING (1979) Cover photograph by Peter Warfield prose poems
Editions: 800 copies
Dennis Cooper, editor COMING ATTRACTIONS: AN ANTHOLOGY OF AMERICAN POETS IN THEIR TWENTIES (1980) Cover art by Duncan Hannah featuring Charles Baxter, Donald Britton, Peter Cashorali, Kevin Jeffery Clarke, Joel Colten, Dennis Cooper, Tim Dlugos, Elaine Equi, Cheri Fein, Bob Flanagan, Brad Gooch, Steven Hall, Steve Hamilton, Wayne McNeill, Eileen Myles, Anne Pitrone, Jerome Sala, Jack Skelley, Stephen Spera, David Trinidad, Diane Ward, Bernard Welt
Edition: 1000 copies
Elaine Equi SHREWCRAZY (1981) Drawings by Steven F. Giese poetry
Edition: 800 copies
Joe Brainard NOTHING TO WRITE HOME ABOUT (1981) Cover art by the author poetry
Edition: 1000 copies
Donald Britton ITALY (1981) Cover art by Trevor Winkfield poetry
Edition: 1000 copies
Kirby Congdon FANTOCCINI: A LITTLE BOOK OF MEMORIES (1981) Cover photograph by Nita Bernstein prose poems
Edition: 1000 copies
Peter Schjeldahl THE BRUTE (1981) Cover and drawings by Susan Rothenberg poetry
1st edition: 1000 copies 2nd edition: 800 copies
Tim Dlugos ENTRE NOUS (1982) Cover photograph by Rudy Burckhardt poetry
1st edition: 1000 copies 2nd copies: 800 copies
Amy Gerstler YONDER (1982) Cover photographs by Judith Spiegel poetry
Edition: 1000 copies
Ron Koertge DIARY COWS (1982) Cover art by Bill Womack poetry
Edition: 1000 copies
James Krusoe JUNGLE GIRL (1982) Cover art by Henri Rousseau poetry
Edition: 1000 copies
Michael Lally HOLLYWOOD MAGIC (1982) Cover photograph by Lynn Goldsmith poetry and prose poems
Edition: 1000 copies
Lewis MacAdams AFRICA AND THE MARRIAGE OF WALT WHITMAN AND MARILYN MONROE (1982) Cover art and fold-out poster by Henk Elenga poetry & prose poems
Edition: 1000 copies
Eileen Myles SAPPHOS BOAT (1982) Cover art by the author poetry
Edition: 1000 copies
Jack Skelley MONSTERS (1982) Cover designed by Stephen Spera and Sheree Rose poetry and prose poems
Edition: 1000 copies
Planned but never published
Steven Hall NEW AND IMPROVED (1983) Cover photography and design by Sheree Levine poetry
Brad Gooch JAILBAIT AND OTHER STORIES (1983) Cover photography by Rainer Werner Fassbinder. stories
Anne Pitrone THE POVERTY JOURNAL (1983) Cover art by the author fiction
Little Caesar Press Catalog (1982) Cover art and design by Henk Elenga
Edition: 1500 copies
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p.s. Hey. Author/musician/d.l. Jeff Jackson recently kind of suggested that I make a post about Little Caesar Press, the little publishing house I ran in the late 70s and early 80s. So here it is. I don’t have copies of the books here with me or any illustrative evidence, so the post is pretty bare boned. But maybe it’ll be of interest if any of you are curious to see what the press put out during its short existence. And feel more than free to ask me anything about the press or the individual books if you want. As I don’t have copies of Little Caesar Magazine and would need to have them here or do research that I can’t at the moment to represent them adequately, I’ll save that for a future post about the magazine itself. Anyway, hope there’s something here for you. ** David Ehrenstein, Hi. Disturbing about your high school friend. I think the fact that porn could only be watched in a theater where one had no control over the manner of its presentation in those days made all the difference. And that context suggested that porn could try to compete artistically with non-porn films. Viewers allowed the porn to go off in narrative or experimental directions and accepted them because they had no choice. There are some very indie, experimental porns being made out there in the margins, and it wasn’t that long ago that there were a few ambitious porn makers like the Czech company Man’s Best who made huge, elaborate, multi-part historical costume epics starring young street hustlers, but it does feel like a lifetime ago now. ** Armando, Hi. The multi-posted comment didn’t bother me in the slightest. I only mentioned it because commenters often can’t see their own comments here so you would know that happened. You can relate whatever you want to me. if you don’t want me to respond honestly to something you write, just let me know. I hope your mood and the world around you have improved or will ASAP. ** _Black_Acrylic, Hi. Ha ha, weirdly, weirdly even to me, I read the Guattari book under recently lockdown and it totally hit the spot. Don’t know why, yeah. Aw, good on you guys for rescuing the poor hedgehog. Paris has this really great pigeon rescue group that collects injured or ill pigeons when you alert them and nurse them back to heath. Considering the general disdain for pigeons, that’s pretty cool of them. ** John Christopher, Hi. Oh, wow, that’s a curious Bresson to start with. Interesting. It’s a fave of mine. No, Bresson’s performers are always only in one film. He wanted the performers to always be unknown and unfamiliar so viewers would watch the films with no outside associations or foreknowledge that they were going to be watching an actor act. None of his performers were trained actors. The main guy in ‘FNoaD’ I met and spent an evening talking with him about 10 years ago. He’s a physicist. Extremely nice guy. That was his only acting gig ever, although he did stay close with Bresson and work behind the scenes with him on later films. Happy you’ve had your first Bresson experience! ** Misanthrope, Well, yeah. You know me: I personally find no value whatsoever in trying to understand or assess someone using the filtering of preset categories, generalisations, collective identifiers, and so on. For me that approach is the enemy of true understanding of people and what they do, but that’s just me. Ha ha, yes, I say go Horshack while you’re still young enough to pull it off. ** Jeff J, Hi, Jeff. Hope this post fills the bill even in a rudimentary way. It’s a terrific book — the Guattari — if you’re ever in the mood. Also, he’s kind of hilarious. Ah, I think I remember you telling me about those filmmakers you know when you were here. I’ll go try to hunt down other works by them, and maybe I’ll get lucky and meet them here somehow. Because of the COVID thing, Jeremy’s Klossowski book was delayed and isn’t out yet. I actually made a trip last week to After8 specifically to buy it, and they said copies won’t be available until the beginning of June. You can preorder it now. ** Steve Erickson, I know about the Evangelion film, but I haven’t seen it yet. Yeah, I’ve heard it’s fascinating. I’m waiting/looking for an opportunity. Uh, I have no idea whether that happened for MUBI Europe. Wow, I’ll go check. That would be amazing. Thanks for the alert. ** Okay. Little Caesar Press is your blog meal today if you’re hungry for it. See you tomorrow.
‘I just wanted to throw out there that I have finished the bulk of translating Guattari’s The Machinic Unconscious: Essays in Schizoanalysis. Now begins the revision stage of my project, and a few interpolations of quotes from Proust’s In Search of Lost Time (I’m using the new Penguin editions, which are fabulous translations btw).
‘I hope this excites some people. I, too, am pretty thrilled about this work appearing in English. It has been a difficult work for me to translate, let alone read, but I feel that it is infinitely more valuable to me for all the efforts I have put into it. This book wasn’t necessarily received well in France (one of his interviewers mentions the obscurity and difficulty of this work specifically), perhaps because it is so closely tied to A Thousand Plateaus in scope and timeframe (it was published about 6 months before the latter, being a sort of work book for A Thousand Plateaus, as Gary Genosko puts it). But I hope that this is different for the English, especially with all the work that has gone into translating much of Guattari’s work already, and the Deleuze phenomenon, etc.
‘Let me just note in passing that this work has helped me overcome one of my own crises. As an English graduate student-dropout, I sort of rebelled against literary criticism, rebaptizing my field of research as philosophy. I gave up on its uses to evoke radical political change, and I felt like it played with the binary oppositions of established culture, not to truly dismantle the phenomena, but to reify them and sediment them more thoroughly.
‘I can only note with great fervor that the second part of the Machinic Unconscious, which is dedicated to a reading of Proust’s novel, is really something extraordinary, because it takes the obscure theoretical conceptualizations of the first half and propels them into concrete situations, deducing the abstract relations from this reading. But it goes further because it is not just an intellectual exercise: Guattari’s thought, if anything, is so radically enrooted in the outside that every phrase has a rhetorical-micropolitical bent to it. He proves the validity of literary criticism to really illuminate the inner machinisms of reality, bearing out its political potential in a systematic and pragmatic way.
‘This book has changed my life. I hope you get a chance to read it.’ — Taylor Adkins
_____________ Graeme Thomson & Silvia Maglioni In search of UIQ (2013)
‘The opening sequence of Graeme Thomson and Silvia Maglioni’s new film, In Search of UIQ, looks out from a hidden bunker onto a desolate, terracotta beachhead, below which a plane of azure sea stretches toward the horizon, while a lithe, raven-haired woman – the only visible human presence – strolls, Monica Vitti-like, across the frame. A voice-over reads from a letter Félix Guattari wrote to Italian film director Michelangelo Antonioni in the early 1980s, on the then-current status of his new film treatment: ‘[I want] to give you the outline of a science-fiction screenplay I’ve written, Un amour d’UIQ … it would be a great joy for me if you should be interested in becoming involved.’ The sequence mimes the oceanic imagery of Antonioni’s classic film L’avventura (The Adventure, 1960), but also establishes the fascinating conundrum inherent in Guattari’s great cinematic adventure: if the philosopher was requesting Antonioni’s collaboration on a science-fiction film, its unconventional aspirations can be assumed.
‘Despite UIQ’s sci-fi trappings, its speculative focus resides in its analysis of modern epistemology, at the moment when the collective screen of the counterculture was being replaced by the shrinking interfacial screen of the digital (i.e. the computer), the laptop and the pda. A rupture was clearly visible by the conclusion of the 1980s. As Guattari writes in the script’s initial treatment: ‘The drama evoked here runs parallel to the one our societies are currently undergoing, where […] the digitalization of a growing number of material and mental operations is not always easy to reconcile with the existential territories that mark our finitude and desire to exist.’ While the character of UIQ is not human, its desire to access and embody human subjectivity mirrored the evaporating gradient between technology and ecology in the post-human world.
‘‘UIQ’s tragedy is that it wants to be recognized, individuated,’ explain Thomson and Maglioni, in a recent email exchange from Paris. ‘It wants a face and then a body. Power needs to facialize everything […] The question of whether one is a one or a zero in any given social field. It’s one of the core elements of the binary system that structures our access to reality.’
‘In the absence of any extant film footage, In Search of UIQ endeavours to not only reconstruct Guattari’s aborted attempt at filmmaking – with voice-overs from the script and Guattari himself, protracted sequences on computer screens and a noir-ish procedural on other recent UIQ-inspired productions – but to meditate on the political, social and cinematic milieu of the late 1970s through the mid-80s, when the possibilities of financing and realizing such an abstruse film on an international level were deemed feasible.’— Erik Morse, Frieze
Excerpt
_____ Interview from Blackout
CHARLES J. STIVALE: In terms of capitalism in the world, I’d like to consider the question of the Americanization that penetrates everywhere, for example, the “Dallas” effect. There is even a French “Dallas”, “Chateauvallon” . . .
FÉLIX GUATTARI: It’s not bad either. It’s better than “Dallas,” I find.
CS: Of course, for the French. But when you like J.R. . . .
FG: That’s true. J.R. is a great character, quite formidable.
CS: But what strikes me in your writing, especially in Rhizome, is the impression of a kind of romanticism about America, references to the American nomadism, the country of continuous displacement, deterritorialization . . .
FG: Burroughs, Ginsberg . . .
CS: Right, and one gets the impression of a special America, and we Americans who read your texts, we know our America, and here in France, as a tourist this time, I see the changes, the penetration of our culture that has occurred over the last few years, the plastification, the fast food restaurants everywhere . . .
FG: Ah, it’s incredible. And in the popular social strata, among the youth, they babble this kind of slang, they’ve completely identified with it, it’s incredible. It’s all over Europe, everywhere, the linguistic phenomenon of the incorporation of American rock. It’s really surprising.
CS: So there are two conceptions of America: this nomadic conception which you present in your works, but that is finally a romantic conception in light of the practice of Americanization, the penetration of America and, of course, of capitalism. It seems that one does not go with the other, so how do you explain this difference? It’s not really a contradiction, but simply a distance between two conceptions of America.
FG: Well, that’s complicated. I’m not very clear about that because . . . I went to America occasionally, especially during the ’70s, and then afterwards, during the ’80s, I’ve gone to Japan, to Brazil, and to Mexico a lot, and I’ve no longer wanted to go to the United States. I haven’t considered it well, I haven’t understood why.
You know, it’s not certain that this is a romantic vision. Americans are often jerks; they have a pragmatic relationship with things; they are dumb, and sometimes, this is great because they don’t have any background as compared to Europeans, Italians, but there is an American functionalism that makes us pass into this a-signifying register, that transports a fabulous creationism, fabulous anyhow in the technical-scientific domain, because they are really a scientific people; they don’t look for complications, it works or it doesn’t, they move on to something else.
I met an American last summer, I was in California, at Stanford, I don’t know where. I was on a tour to study the problems of mental health, a mission for the Ministry of Exterior Affairs. Americans are people who receive you very well, who take time to talk, which isn’t the case here, not the same kind of welcome. So, each person that I met gave me an hour for discussion, and there, this young psychiatrist explained what had happened after the Kennedy Act, the liquidation of the big psychiatric hospitals and the establishment in his sector of half-way houses, a kind of day hospital to replace the big hospitals. He made a diagram chart, I remember, there was a graph with double entries, there were all the dimensions of these establishments, a remarkable organization of what had been developed. So, he finished presenting all that to me, and then the conversation finally ended, but there still remained ten minutes because we had an hour for our discussion, so there was no reason to leave. And I asked him a final question: “And so, how did all that work? What was the result?” He broke out laughing: “Nil. Zero. It didn’t work at all!” I said: “Oh, really?” He said: “Yes, it’s just a program we made, but it didn’t work at all!” That was like a thunderbolt for me that this guy had made this entire development, and then it didn’t work, so let’s do something else. We see this well in Bateson’s work: he makes a program on something, it works, but that doesn’t matter, they move on to something else because they were on contract.\20 That’s what I find to be the marvelous a-signifying freedom, going on to something else, going on to something else. They massacre Vietnamese for years, then afterwards, oh, well, no, that was stupid, let’s go on to something else.
So I wonder if that isn’t the rather invading, yankee side of Americans that makes us ask what they’re up to, what they’re looking for. But one shouldn’t try too hard to discover what they’re looking for or what they’re up to. It’s the same for the Japanese, but with an entire background of mysticism, of religiosity, that also exists in the United States, but without being structured the same way.
CS: But where could we insert this question of nomadism? We have this “go on to something else” nomadism, so perhaps that’s it, Kerouac, going on to something else . . .
FG: And next, and next, and next, constantly, constantly, and now, and now.
CS: . . . but his kind of incessant deterritorialization only exists in extreme cases, so to speak.
FG: But, no, that’s not true. Jean-Paul Sartre, when he made his trip to America — that must have been in 1947 or thereabouts — wrote a magnificent article about American cities. He explained that American cities aren’t cities in the European sense, i.e. they have no contours. They are crisscrossed by avenues, they have no limit. In my terminology, this means that these are deterritorialized cities. America is entirely deterritorialized. “Deterritorialized” means that instead of having obstacles or having land, things, curves, there are lines, trains, planes, everything crossing, everything sliding, demographic flows sliding everywhere, and on top of that, there are extraordinary reterritorializations. Henry Miller in Brooklyn, Faulkner in a certain sense, because for Faulkner, to what extent isn’t it a misreading to situate him as an archaic writer of American life? Isn’t he rather a mythical reterritorialization about deterritorialized America? We’d need to debate that; I’m not able to undertake it about Faulkner. Anyway, how does one make oneself a body without organs, how does one make oneself a little territory, a life, a warmth, a childhood, in this American mess, in this whole mishmash spread out all over? Look at the extraordinary poetry of shop windows in New York! You know the shop windows in France or in Italy. But there, in New York, most of the windows speak, even on the main streets where you have side by side expensive windows and then places where you find piles of any old thing; one finds there a kind of accumulation of vistas like that, where there are marvelously beautiful things from an architectural perspective, and then there is a dump, a maximum and then a mess.
CS: I do understand the difference between cities, the constant sliding across territorialities between city and suburb. But quite simply, this invasion, the body snatchers, America as body snatcher, the grip of capitalism in other countries, for me . . . well, perhaps that all belongs to the same process of deterritorialization: there is no territory, either in individual existence or in capitalistic flows: they invade everything, everywhere, everybody, everywhere in the world, without limits, without borders, crossing and invading France.
FG: But don’t you think that this deterritorialization, catastrophic from many perspectives, is precisely the occasion for extraordinary reterritorializations? That is, it’s difficult to make oneself a territory on the moon, really; it’s more complicated than going out to the French countryside. America is a bit like the moon, it’s very complicated, and precisely these traits create a difference from the Japanese as well because the Japanese have means of reterritorialization, a very ancient civilization, they have insignia, emblems of this reterritorialization, corporal techniques, etc. Whereas there, in America, they are forced to re-invent everything, these kinds of continental Galeries Lafayette, anything. So that becomes a formidable exercise: to create music with a tradition of religious music is difficult, but creating music with just anything, like that, with these piles of metal, it’s something else altogether. And when they succeed, it’s fantastic. But look: take the American mystery novel whose basic material is all this deterritorializing trivia, and look at what warmth of intimacy, of suspense, of subjectivity that you grab to stay warm, to sleep, to feel good, to feel sheltered; it’s really something. With what do they create that? What are they talking about? These aren’t tales of chivalry. American cinema as well has a lot of that: look at the power of American culture to produce a more than tolerable and comfortable subjectivity, warm, passionate, exciting, in this pile of metal, this heap of shit, this load of stupidities, as I said earlier. Isn’t that really quite a feat? It’s nonetheless a civilization that has created some extraordinary forms of subjectivation. Jazz … do you realize? Jazz has a great impact on the level of world culture. Line up cinema, jazz, the mystery novel. I’ll leave painting aside because I find that, in the long run, it’s not a very noticeable success because it really belongs to capitalistic deterritorialization, seriously, with some exceptions, but for me, it’s really a lot less convincing.
CS: I think that the problem for me is that I’m too close to daily life in the States, and I see so much stupidity in all these areas. In cinema, one constantly sees exploitation of the body, of the individual. In music, there is so much shit . . .
FG: That’s true; when one hears the classical music that people listen to in the United States, it’s overwhelming. Won’t you ever get fed up with Rachmaninoff, Tchaikovsky, and all that . . .?
CS: I was really thinking about popular music, where all that might happen, where changes did occur during the ’70s. But what always strikes me is that the music comes from England to invade America, and then America reterritorializes what the English do, and they lose everything. That began with the colonies and continues today. But, perhaps its my own problem, being too close to this daily life, and not being able to see this abstract machine which you are outlining. But, on the other hand, the reproach made by friends who read A Thousand Plateaus and other works is really that in regards to American nomadism, this deterritorialization, they’d like to believe in it, but isn’t the general schizoanalytic enterprise in the long run a utopic dream without any future?
FG: I’m sorry to interrupt you, but in any case, the idea of a utopic dream just doesn’t hold water. A dream is necessarily utopic, in any case. We participated a little in that America, that kind of New West. It was our dream, our very own America. You are telling me that it’s not yours! I find that fascinating, but you aren’t going to reproach me for having dreamt my dream! You have a whole generation of American writers who created a dream about Europe, about Greece, who landed here like these were colonies, but I’m not going to reproach them for having perceived in their own way, “what is this Europe you saw here?”, that’s just not possible! What one has to know is: has it been useful for you that we had that dream? has it been useful for us that you had that dream, that some American writers had a particular dream about Europe before the war? For me, yes, that certainly was useful. I haven’t looked at Europe in the same way because there is this deterritorialized vision by relay from American writers. Miller’s vision of Paris, for me, is enormous, is fundamental! I’m sorry that Deleuze and Guattari’s vision of the United States hasn’t been at all useful for you, but we can’t all have the same talent as Miller! (Laughter)
___ Book
Félix Guattari The Machinic Unconscious Semiotext(e)
‘In his seminal solo-authored work The Machinic Unconscious (originally published in French in 1979), Félix Guattari lays the groundwork for a general pragmatics capable of resisting the semiotic enslavement of subjectivity. Concluding that psychoanalytic theory had become part and parcel of a repressive, capitalist social order, Guattari here outlines a schizoanalytic theory to undo its capitalist structure and set the discipline back on its feet. Combining theoretical research from fields as diverse as cybernetics, semiotics, ethnology, and ethology, Guattari reintroduces into psychoanalysis a “polemical” dimension, at once transhuman, transsexual, and transcosmic, that brings out the social and political—the “machinic”—potential of the unconscious.
‘To illustrate his theory, Guattari turns to literature and analyzes the various modes of subjectivization and semiotization at work in Proust’s In Search of Lost Time, examining the novel as if he were undertaking a scientific exploration in the style of Freud or Newton. Casting Proust’s figures as abstract (“hyper-deterritorialized”) mental objects, Guattari maps the separation between literature and science, elaborating along the way such major Deleuze-Guattarian concepts as “faciality” and “refrain,” which would be unpacked in their subsequent A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia.
‘Never before available in English, The Machinic Unconscious has for too long been the missing chapter from Deleuze and Guattari’s Anti-Oedipus project: the most important political extension of May 1968 and one of the most important philosophical contributions of the twentieth century.’ — Semiotext(e)
Excerpt
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p.s. Hey. ** Armando, Hi. FYI, your comment appeared 3 times. I’m pretty okay, thanks. Not sure about everybody, but I’m digging the new somewhat limited freedom fairly big time. I hereby egg on the ebbing. I haven’t seen the Tarr-related scuttlebutt you mention, but, I mean, the internet is packed with loud mouthed haters of virtually everything, and, I don’t know, just steer clear? Who cares about their attempts to overpower everything with their tiresome and destructive interior lives. Uh, occasionally people ask me if I’m Dennis Cooper when I’m out and say they like my stuff. Usually on the metro. Or someone will say on social media that they saw me at some cafe for walking somewhere or something. The French are very discreet, though. Well, I’m many billion times less famous than Cormac McCarthy, which is to say I don’t get that kind of attention to say the least. Take care. ** David Ehrenstein, Yeah, they’re often quite terrific, and of course his collabs with Pam Grier are almighty. What’s interesting about ‘EttU’ to me is that it has that early 70s thing of the director treating porn as seriously as Rohmer or whoever treated non-porn, but, unlike so much ‘arty’ porn, it’s still as erotic as it must have been back then and you aren’t needing to hit the FastForward button frequently. ** Bill, Hi. The air-conditioner is bought for future use, although it was unseasonably warm yesterday. We’re being told this summer is likely to be as miserable or worse than our last record-breaking summer, so we decided to finally break down and have artificial cooling on hand just in case. Curious as to your thoughts about ‘EttU’ if you watch it. ** Ian, Hi. Ah! I thought so! Well, I’ve only read the piece at the top of your blog so far, but I thought it was really good. I’m planning to go back there dawdle meaningfully. Kudos! Mm, at least in Paris, it looks/feels a bit more like a SteamPunk resurgence so far. Enjoy your books! ** Sypha, I agree! ** Misanthrope, Certainly his simple ‘i’-filled name doesn’t help, but he was also a bit of a genre gadabout, which makes him hard to categorise, as one being able to be quickly categorised is often key to one’s namecheckability (that’s not a word?). You’re certainly not making me want to go back and give Brodkey another try, ha ha. Or you should just wait for full Afro or Hippie mane or whatever your long hair has in store for your image? ** Right. Pretty simple: I read this Guattari book a couple of weeks ago, liked it tons, and thought I should spotlight it. That’s the whole deal. See you tomorrow.
Félix Guattari The Machinic Unconscious
Now available in North America 