DC's

The blog of author Dennis Cooper

Page 90 of 1086

Underground House 2

_______________
‘After searching for photos for Hugh Hefner’s upcoming April 9 birthday, the Playboy Mansion employee uncovered “some Polaroids from 1977 that showed a large excavation project at The Mansion.” When the staff member inquired about the tunnels, the Mansion’s general manager confirmed that Hefner had the tunnels built to connect the “bunnies” to celebrities’ houses. The plans reference the homes of “Mr. J. Nicholson,” “Mr. W. Beatty,” “Mr. K. Douglas” and “Mr. J. Caan,” which is enough information to distinguish the four highly recognizable monikers. All of the men lived near Hefner’s world-renowned home during the ’70s and ’80s, so the underground maps could be legitimate. The tunnels were reportedly closed in 1989, around the same time Hefner married Playmate Kimberley Conrad, and, when asked, the general manager wouldn’t disclose any more information about the hidden passageways.’

 

_________________
‘Have you ever heard about the guy who literally lived under a rock in the Californian desert, where legendary flying saucer conventions were held in the 1950s? We go back to the 1930s, when an eccentric German immigrant called Frank Critzer dug out this subterranean home for himself under the giant rock. He lived there alone, isolated from society with nothing but a radio antenna he set up on top of the rock to stay connected with the outside world. But in 1942, during a showdown with police who came to investigate rumours that he was in fact a Nazi spy, Frank died from a self-detonated dynamite explosion in his own bunker. Locals had reported strange behaviour, several incidents of Frank threatening trespassers with a shotgun and suspicion that he was a spy because of his radio antenna. After his death, Frank’s only friend, a former aircraft inspector named George Van Tassel, became the giant rock’s new tenant in 1947. In a few short years, George went from living a simple existence with his family in the rooms Frank Critzer had dug out under the Giant Rock, to building his own restaurant on the site, a small airstrip, and an extra-terrestrial research centre which would play host to his annual Giant Rock Spacecraft Convention, attracting more than 11,000 people at its peak. The dome-shaped “Integraton” structure still survives today in Landers, California, near the Giant Rock but not as a pilgrimage site for ufologists. After Tassel’s death in 1978 there were plans to turn it into a disco. Instead, the new owners turned it into an 0ff-beat tourist attraction offering “sound baths”, claiming it to be “the only all-wood, acoustically perfect sound chamber in the U.S.”’

 

_______________
‘There are a few places that would be simultaneously terrific and terrifying to explore, and one of those places would be Russia. Everyone knows the history of Russia is brutal, cold, unforgiving, cold, rough and cold. Well there is a guy name Shiey who does all this exploration so you don’t have to. In his latest little adventure, he has found something quite spectacular. He was walking through the territory of a factory, when he noticed a weird concrete block with a metal gate on the side of it. He of course found a way through and explored every inch of what was inside.’

 

_______________
‘A multi-millionaire plans to triple the size of his London mansion by digging down 50ft to create a four-storey basement complete with swimming pool, spa, ballroom and no fewer than 12 bedrooms. Architects’ drawings show how the vast house, originally built as a school in the 19th century, will be created by excavating deeper than the height of neighbouring homes. As well as the spa area, it will have servants’ quarters consisting of five staff bedrooms. There will also be wine cellars, an art storage room, parking for three vehicles and a car lift. Estate agents estimate the property could be worth up to £90million with the work completed. Neighbours who have objected to the plans include novelist Edna O’Brien and the Duchess of St Albans Gillian Beauclerk. The duchess said: ‘These plans are absolutely monstrous and unnecessary. It’s just absolute greed. No one needs that much space.’’

 

_________________
‘Just decrypted this blueprint of the White House from JFK’s term—it looks like he signed off on the construction of a secret safe room under the White House while Jackie O was renovating.’

 

_______________
‘A underground facility and bunker dubbed “The Facility” in Southeast Georgia two hours from Savannah just hit the market for $17.5 million. The property, which is exclusively listed by Sister Hood of Harry Norman, Realtors Buckhead Office, was built in 1969 and fully renovated to government standards in 2012. According to Harry Norman, it is the only hardened and privately owned underground bunker of its kind in the United States. The property features a commercial 3-Phase power plant, in addition to its own 8Kw new solar backup system. The facility is also equipped with a $100,000 CCTV security system.’

 

_______________
‘People taking a train journey in or out of Liverpool may well have caught the faintest glimpse of a tiny house deep underground. The little house sits between the train tracks at Lime Street station, and is easily missed in the dark station cutting. The house is also dangerous and difficult to get to as there are busy, live railway tracks on either side. The house is thought to be more than a century old and no one has any idea who built it or lived there or why.’

 

_______________
‘Worried about the end of the world? For those who can afford them, one company is creating subterranean housing complexes – modern-day super-bomb-shelters across the United States designed to survive any apocalyptic scenario yet imagined. Killer comets, pole shifts, super volcanoes, global tsunamis, extreme earthquakes, biological and nuclear war – each are scenarios supposedly covered in the design plans by Vivos of these luxury underground homes to be built in 120 locations in range of most major US cities.’

 

________________

 

__________________
VERY RARE 2005 HAMTARO SECRET UNDERGROUND HOUSE PLAYSET

 

_________________
‘You’d expect students to know their houses upside-down. With countless hours spent avoiding lectures, hosting parties, and hiding from the world, no crevice goes untouched. My flatmates and I thought the same, until we discovered a secret underground rave room locked away in our student house. We had dismissed the door as a boiler room entrance. But one day we gathered the troops together and managed to pop the door open with a teaspoon. We opened to find this.’

 

_________________

 

_______________
‘An alleged gang hideaway in California hid more than just crime suspects — it included a hidden manhole cover that was lifted to reveal an AR-15 assault rifle, thousands of rounds of ammunition and an underground shooting range.’

 

__________
I was trapped in a car & buried alive..

 

_____________
‘Antonio, a bricklayer from Villas del Prado 1, Mexico, was having an affair with a married woman from the town’s Tijuana neighborhood. In order to make sure no one saw him visiting his secret lover, Pamela, the man started working on an underground tunnel that stretched all the way from his home to the woman’s.

‘Antonio used his experience in construction to dig a tight, but durable tunnel that crossed several streets from his home to that of her lover’s. Once it was finished, they were able to meet in secret, every time Pamela’s husband, Jorge, left to work. The one thing they didn’t plan for, though, was Jorge coming home from work sooner than scheduled…

‘One day, while Antonio and Pamela were consummating their affair, the woman’s husband came home and walked in on them. The bricklayer tried to hide from the furious husband, crawled under the bed and disappeared into the “love tunnel”. Unfortunately for him, Jorge started looking for him all through the house, and when he looked under his marital bed, he found the tunnel entrance.

‘The scorned husband crawled into the secret tunnel himself, and ended up in Antonio’s house, where the desperate bricklayer begged him to keep quiet , because his wife was in the next room and he didn’t want her to find out about his extramarital escapade. That managed to enrage Jorge even more, and the two men got into a fist fight. Seeing a strange man beating on her husband in his own home, the shocked wife called the police, and Antonio had no choice but to confess his unfaithfulness.’

 

_______________

 

_______________
‘This decommissioned military base complex turned silo home-in-a-hole is anything but Top Secret today. Its owners boast the set of converted structures to be the “world’s most unique luxury home. The subterranean launch control center is a cylinder surrounded by an epoxy-resin, steel-reinforced, three-foot-thick structural wall that (particularly given its depth in the ground) is essentially as apocalypse-proof as a home gets. The entire structure is suspended on springs to absorb the shock of a nuclear blast. Forget blueprints and standard floor plans: this historic house comes with its own top-secret, government-certified schematics. 2.3 million dollars might sound like a lot – even for a high-end mansion – but if you consider that the original cost of construction was around ten times that much (in 1950s dollars, without accounting for inflation) the current converted property seems a steal by comparison. Oh, and their FAQ page points out that the Russians are well aware that the silo has been decommissioned, so presumably they would no longer consider it a primary target should an all-out world war come along.’

 

________________

 

________________
‘You wouldn’t happen to be in the market for a 1970s underground family home, equipped to live in for up to a year without resurfacing in the event of a nuclear missile strike that wipes out humanity, would ya? Because it just so happens one has just come onto the market. And this piece of real estate gold could be all yours for the bargain price of $1.7 million. The subterranean Las Vegas home at 3970 Spencer St. near Flamingo Road boasts a 15,200-square-foot basement beneath a two story home above ground. From the street, number 3970 looks like any other American home, except with a few extra ventilation and air conditioning units planted around the yard. Camouflaged by clusters of rocks, an entrance with an elevator takes you down to the underground lair. Another stairway is hidden inside a shed. The house was built in 1978 to withstand a nuclear blast by an arguably ‘paranoid’ wealthy businessman, Girard “Jerry” B. Henderson. The ambitious homeowner made his fortune with several companies including Avon cosmetics and Gulfstream Aerospace Corp.’

 

_________________
‘Today in 1962, the community of Artesia, New Mexico formally opened an unusual elementary school. It was built entirely underground, just in case the Cold War turned hot. The school building was a giant slab of steel-reinforced concrete, designed to withstand the effects of a nuclear bomb. There were 28 rooms, 18 of which were originally classrooms.’

 

_________________
‘In the remote South Australian desert, temperatures reach 125 °F / 51 °C – in the shade. Can you imagine the air conditioning bills? Neither could the residents of Coober Pedy, the world’s only underground town. Coober Pedy was founded in 1915. In this waterless environment, not much activity goes on above ground and instead, the community exists in a network of tunnels underneath the desert earth, inside some 1,500 homes and dwellings they call their “dug-outs”. The town boasts a network of underground bars, shops, museums and churches.’

 

__________________
‘A creepy graveyard complete with a decaying crypt. Inside the crypt are steps leading down to a mysterious underground house (unfurnished.) The lot size is 2×3. This lot contains the following custom content created by myself: 5 original mesh gravestones (Find in decorative/ sculpture. They can be placed anywhere indoors or outdoors.) 3 spooky trees – one being the Maxis spooky tree except it can be placed on floor tiles. The other two are derived from Maxis trees with texture/shape changed. (Find all in decorative/sculpture. They can be placed anywhere indoors or outdoors.) 9 floor textures, including a dead grass texture for floor tiles. 2 terrain textures, including a matching dead grass texture. 21 wall textures, many of them multiple tile textures. The house is not furnished. The one issue with this underground house is that objects that have to be placed against walls can’t be placed against the exterior walls unless you use the “moveobjects on” cheat. I have a furnished version in my game and I found that I didn’t need to use the cheat at all. All interior walls work as usual. The cost of this lot is approximately 27,000.’

 

_________________
‘This Minecraft underground house/base design/ideas build tutorial on Xbox, PE, PS3, and or PC is very easy to do and looks really great anywhere in your world.’

 

________________
‘The author of this plan speculated on building this spherical city in Manhattan bedrock—a structure which so far as I can determine would have a volume of 1.2 cubic miles (5 km3) with its top beginning some 1,200’ under Times Square […] Newman published this in 1969 (?!) after somehow latching onto the idea of clearing out massive underground caverns with nuclear explosions—in this case, the space would be hollowed out under Manhattan. The underground sphere would be a miniature version of whatever was above it—along the medial there would be a “topside” of a regular city with streets and high rise buildings, underneath which would exist an underground city for the underground city. In this honeycomb would exist the means of production and energy, segmented in multi-block-sized enclosures of no charm.’

 

________________

 

________________
‘Deep in the heart of Rio Arriba County, New Mexico lies the tiny town of Dulce, population 2,788 . . . above ground that is. For the tiny town is said to hide a secret, underneath its sleepy streets and quiet homes a secret alien base has been constructed where humans and extraterrestrial beings work together performing bizarre and sinister experiments. These allegations date all the way back to 1979 when claims of the strange goings on first emerged thanks to a businessman called Paul Bennewitz who claimed to have very high resolution official NASA U2 CIR (color infrared) photos in addition to low level and ground photos showing the base in total detail. He was ignored, and in 1988, he published a paper called “Project Beta” where he detailed how to expose the base, as well as how to launch an attack on it. Sadly, most people labeled him as delusional, and sadly he suffered a mental breakdown years later. He died on June 23, 2003, but the mystery of what really lies beneath Dulce remains unsolved.’

 

________________

 

_________________
‘A luxurious underground mansion is being built beneath the grounds of Limehurst, a Victorian property converted into flats. The entrance to the two-storey, three-bedroom mansion, named the Earth House, is a front door disguised as a 2.6m-high garden folly, leading to a central spiral staircase down to the main hallway and living area on the lower ground floor. ‘I am confident that this house in Bowdon will become an architectural landmark – albeit one that most people will never see.”

 

___________________
‘While Jerry was fixing his driveway, he noticed a metal grate he had never seen before. Intrigued, he tugged on it and discovered it was actually a trapdoor. What he found inside was more astonishing than he ever imagined.’

 

_________________
‘Underground at Disney World are the vast tunnels and mazes of the Disney utilidors. The utilidors were constructed after Walt saw a Disneyland Frontierland Cowboy moving through Tomorrowland during his route to work. Walt was all about maintaining the illusion and magic, and an old timey cowboy in the future ruined that illusion. When Walt was planning Magic Kingdom in Florida, he came up with an idea to maintain the illusion of each themed land while helping staff and materials make their way around the park. The utilidors were constructed in a large circle underneath every land located within the park, with a section going through the middle and directly underneath the castle.’

 

________________
‘I ran into the Hal B. Hayes residence, formerly in Hollywood, California, which Popular Mechanics Magazine described as a House For the Atomic Age. Ever practical, the magazine notes how Mr. Hayes designed the house to withstand or flex against the stresses of an atomic bomb blast. The outer walls are “fluted to resist shock waves” and the large front glass window, pictured above, will sweep away in the same blast. There is a secret underground sanctuary accessed only by swimming underwater, as well as another hidden underground room equipped with bottled oxygen.’

 

_________________
‘Relieve your daily stress at Unusual Underground U2 a hidden subterranean attraction in Osaka, Japan. Choose from 20kg or 25kg of stuff to break and enjoy! Price is all inclusive. No need to bring anything just a towel to wipe your sweat after!’

 

__________________
‘Two teenaged boys, ages 18 and 13, found themselves so bored during Covid lockdown that they stole money from their parents and built an underground movie theater in the vacant lit next to their Connecticut family home. Speaking from the incarceration facility when the 18 year old is spending a year, he said, “Yes, we missed going to the movies. There is this vacant lot by our house that’s been vacant for twenty years or something, so my brother and I just thought, ‘Wtf’ and built a movie theater underground there. but it ended up taking us much more money to complete than I anticipated, and we go caught. We spent a lot of time getting all of the components right … there are four speakers in the ceiling, in addition to capacity for five more around the room. The screen ended up at 130” (330cm), so the whole thing really envelops you. It wasn’t worth it, but it rocks.”

 

_________________

 

__________________
‘You may have heard stories about people renovating their homes, only to stumble upon a secret room. Perhaps it’s a play room? A cellar? A place to stash sensitive documents and treasures? All that mystery can be pretty scary yet exciting. But back in 1963, a resident of Nevşehir Province of Turkey found a secret room behind one of his walls. This secret room led to a tunnel … which led to an incredible discovery: the ancient underground city of Derinkuyu. Derinkuyu is not the largest nor oldest underground city. But at 18 stories, it is the deepest.’

 

__________________
‘The Underground Home was the brainchild of Jay Swayze, a Texas home builder with a knack for understanding the fears of the American public. The demand for ultra-secure dwellings and fallout shelters in the wake of the Cuban Missile Crisis spurred Swayze to start the Underground World Home Corporation, and market his product with a full-size model home at the 1964 World’s Fair. The 12,000-square-foot home was built inside of a 15-foot ditch near the New York Hall of Science, and was extolled by The Wall Street Journal as “a new frontier for family living.”

‘Fairgoers willing to pay the admission price of $1 for adults or fifty cents for children could make their way down a staircase into the ten-room residence, but what they stepped into was much more than just a bunker. The Underground Home’s luxurious living room was decked out with a Steinway & Sons piano and a “terrace” and a combination of real and fake plants lent the space an airy feel despite its subterranean location.

‘So the million dollar question (or rather the $80,000 question, as that was the house’s pricetag at the time) is, did Jay Swayze destroy the home after the World’s Fair, or is it still there after all these years underneath what is now a soccer field? In 2012, journalist Nicholas Hirshon took a deeper look into the mystery with his article “Is it Down There?”. The piece chronicled the efforts of people like Dr. Lori Walters, a professor, and Steven Quinterno, a graduate of Carnegie Mellon University, who believe that the home may still exist below Flushing Meadows-Corona Park.

‘Walters pointed out that her goal was not to dig up the site. “Ground penetrating radar would be a non-invasive first step to determine what might remain of the underground structure,” she explained. “Soil type may not permit us to conclusively determine the structure’s existence. The goal is not to uncover the Underground Home nor to provide full access to it. The greatest extent of exploration would be through an endoscopic camera and should that reveal an interior that is traversable, I am proposing a small robotic device that the children could navigate and explore.’

 

________________
‘Some of the Jorvik Viking Centre underground ride is interesting but the smell and feeling inside the main area was overwhelming and claustrophobic. I didn’t understand until reading through the reviews that the smells are part of the experience. If anyone is sensitive to sensory overwhelm I would recommend to avoid this attraction. If you don’t enjoy it, you can’t leave when you want to. I was desperate to get out and had to use a lot of patience to wait until the ride ended. My abrupt description would be it felt like a touristy ride through a weird fake village with overpowering smells that made me feel nauseated and claustrophobic.’

 

________________
‘In September 2004, French police discovered a hidden chamber in the catacombs under Paris. It contained a full-sized movie screen, projection equipment, a bar, a pressure cooker for making couscous, a professionally installed electricity system, and at least three phone lines. Movies ranged from 1950s noir classics to recent thrillers. When the police returned three days later, the phone and power lines had been cut and there was a note on the floor: “Do not try to find us.”‘

 

________________

 

________________

 

_________________
‘Soon its name will join the ranks of Britain’s great stately homes. Already, in the most elite of circles, it is being whispered in awe: ‘Witanhurst. Do you know it?’ The residents of London’s Highgate certainly do, for this mammoth property has caused an ongoing row, as planners have repeatedly rejected lavish plans for its development. The Georgian-style mansion is London’s second-largest private residence, after Buckingham Palace.But following a short-lived renaissance in 2002 as home to the BBC’s Fame Academy, it had been allowed to decay. Now, the planning issues having been resolved, it is being turned into a modern-day Xanadu, the palatial mansion immortalised in the film Citizen Kane.The glittering 65-room palace will include 25 bedrooms and 12 bathrooms and an imperial walnut-panelled Grand Ballroom. A vast two-storey subterranean extension will almost double its size, making room for a 70ft swimming pool, sauna, hairdressing salon, massage parlour and a huge cinema suite. Diggers are carving an enormous cave beneath the house, which will make the property just 2,000 sq ft smaller than Buckingham Palace. Staff accommodation and a 25-space car park will complete the £50million expansion. Mystery shrouds the mansion, however. For despite being the size of ten generously sized detached homes, nobody knows who owns it.Indeed, it is said that even Robert Adam, the celebrated architect behind this extraordinary project, does not know who his client is. He receives his instructions via an intricate web of companies and advisers, designed to give the owner absolute anonymity.So just what is Witanhurst and who is behind it? It is perched above North London, on the verdant hill of Highgate, an ancient village that is one of the capital’s most sought-after addresses. Overlooking Hampstead Heath, the area once was home to the highwayman Dick Turpin, and philosopher Karl Marx is buried in the nearby Victorian cemetery.’

 

________________

 

 

*

p.s. Hey. ** jay. It’s a goodie. Yeah, hm, I’ll wait to see if a ‘Longlegs’-specific mood arises. It easily could. Psst: that raised eyebrow gives you power. ** Dominik, Hi!!! Yes, the film stuff is just kind of beyond belief terrible at the moment, and my suffering is its offshoot. I’m seeing ‘Twisters’ this afternoon, and my thoughts about it, you bet. (It probably won’t be a whole more than ‘fun’ or ‘only sort of fun’, but we’ll see.) I don’t know if it’s the Olympics, but Paris is stinking more than usual. Love just needs to set up a profile on the masters/slave sites, and his wish will granted very quickly. Love hiding from me in the basement, G. ** Lucas, Hi. Yeah, it seems to be o.o.p. in English now, which I didn’t realise. I wish there was a way to interpret dreams without getting all mystical or Freudian or symbolist. Oh, gosh, I’ve been to so many hundreds of haunted attractions, they end up kind of blurring together. I make these posts showing the haunted attractions I’m most excited to check out every year, maybe that would help? Here’s the one from last year. Wonderful about your family members’ acceptance! Was the visit yesterday with one of them really interesting, I mean did you guys talk about it, or was it just understood and relaxingly not addressed, or … ? That’s totally normal: phases where you overthink things, especially when you’re in evolution mode, and you’ll find the right spot in your thinking and forge ahead, I’m completely sure. For now, don’t sweat it. Totally regular. ** _Black_Acrylic, Hi. I loved the latest PV episode (of course). It had a really nice wavering zippiness to it. That opening Beau Wanzer track is a total find. Loved the L-Vis 1990 track. What’s the track where the voice sample says ‘it is is is’? I loved that, the Shackleton, African Ghost Valley, the whole thing. Another notch in the old belt, maestro. Nice shirt, yeah. Really pleasing yellow and blue hues too. ** Dom Lyne, Okay, sorted. Being looked at like you’re crazy has its charms. Yeah, precisely: what you said about script vs. fiction. You know. Very interesting form. Nice being excited about it while not feeling totally comfortable in it. Hugs/love back. ** Uday, Interesting. Thanks. I’m a bit allergic to writing that relies on the psychological. I do my best to avoid it. Seems like just a generalising emergency exit in most cases. Enjoy your American friends and the ‘seeing everything anew’ via their innocent eyes aspect. That’s always interesting. Haha, a rich guy three decades older than me would most likely either be mentally incapable or judged mentally incapable of making decisions about the their fortunes unfortunately. But, hey, benefactors come in all ages, or they must? ** David Ehrenstein, I did know that about Fassbinder, probably from you at some past point. I did have a Cammell Day. I think it’s too recent to restore, but I’ll check. ** Cletus, Really glad you liked it. Yeah, it’s a lovely book. ** Malik, Hi! Those are wonderful stories. And the contrast with your grandad, totally. It’s interesting and strange how aging turns people into these storehouses of very specific knowledge and very particular narratives — the wise older person holding forth and all of that. Life’s so weird. (Obvious thing to say.) You’re working on a new theater piece, am I remembering correctly? I hope you had a very inspired, output-y day, whatever you expelled. ** Steve, Have fun with he podcast, or, rather, I hope you did. I look forward to overhearing. ‘Twisters’: Because I actually really like disaster movies as opposed to only feeling somewhat curious about other blockbusters. I also want to see it in 4D, and that needs a theater. I think we’re finished with festival submissions. I think the next option is trying to find some kind of distribution and letting them decide/help with the film’s public face, but I don’t know, we’ll see. Thanks! ** Misanthrope, Oh, right, ‘I could walk 500 miles’. Those bros must be very rich if they signed the right contract. That song just will not die. Ear isn’t better, but maybe it’s trying to be. Early happy b’day to Mr. Alex. And to you too, you pedo. (Haha, joke, need I say). ** Deisel Clementine, Weird to think of people reading the blog on the bus. I like that. Yes, the first fiction I ever wrote was a 1000+ page ‘fanfic’ placing my friends and enemies and the faculty at my school in a ‘120 Days’-like narrative. I had to burn it, as you probably know. What you’re imagining is not so far from what I wrote in that juvenilia, but mine was a lot more XXXXXX-rated. Congrats on the ooze acing. I knew you could do it. Yes, you can certainly email me a copy, but just know I can be very, very, very slow. Exciting prospect! Reading your thing, not the slowness part. ** Prze, Hi. I don’t own property, I’ve worked every day of my life, I’ve had lifelong money problems, … you’re making a lot of assumptions about me and my work and thinking pretty strictly within those assumptions, and I’m not in the mood to argue or defend myself, so just think what you think about me and my work, and let’s leave it at that. ** Poecilia, Thank you. ** Thomas H, Hi! Oops, sorry I missed your comment. My pleasure about the post, of course. Yeah, amazing rich time, movement, generative progress, etc. My tolerance for Franco is super low — although he was really good in ‘Spring Breakers’, and that’s pretty much it for me. In the ‘River’ film he basically just stitched together existing footage, so there’s no Franco footprint in it really. Let me know what the Reeves/Miéville book is like. I sort of can’t begin to imagine what that’s going to be. The French police, or maybe it’s the army (?), carry machine guns around with them here on a normal basis, so it’s not so unusual other than there being a ton more of them right now. They’re usually just in the train stations and so-called ‘dodgy’ areas. Thanks, I’m very much hoping for a week of turning around too. What else are you hopefully happily up to? ** Harper, I noticed the US publisher of ‘Ingrid Caven’ liked the post on Facebook, so that means they’ll re-up it into print. Oh, god, sorry about the landlord and, just as much about your asshole ex-roommate. They’ll just fade away, but that doesn’t help right now. Ugh, sorry, pal. ** nat, No big. Thanks, glad it settled into you. Hm, so does your reader think the bikini implies, I don’t know, something too politically based or something? Test your instincts. Theoretically, it just seems like a nice, jumpy detail to me. Your town is labyrinthe? That sounds exciting, I gotta be honest with you. I love letting things in other mediums influence my writing. You have to transform them to use them, so there’s no rip-off worries, I think? I’m almost never clear about where my novels take place except with rare exceptions, but everyone can tell they’re happening in LA because of all the cars and stuff, and I like that. If surroundings don’t interest you that much, don’t force it, I say? Biggest day ever to you! ** Charlie, Good, good, about the experimenting and the trusted support! So great and so lucky to have an interested friend whose brain you can trust. I think if performers could turn their lust and erections on and off with the snap of a finger, it might be possible to attempt a ‘Citizen Kane’ of porn, but they can’t, not even with help from Cialis and meth. I don’t know ‘Way Down’, but obviously I will hunt it. Curious. Thank you, Charlie. ** Justin D, Hi, Justin! I think today your mix-tape will finally unfurl in my ears, or at least in my good, non-clogged ear. Film festivals, and I know I’m generalising, are really a racket. They want you to think what they’re looking for is something new and original and exciting, but they aren’t. It’s all very political and compromised, and if something comes in that doesn’t have some kind of official show of approval or pre-existing clout already in place, you don’t have a chance. For instance, one of the big festivals that rejected our film said they really liked the film, but they rejected it because it didn’t have French theatrical distribution in place yet, and they didn’t want to support a film that they’re weren’t absolutely sure would have a wide release and make them look good for having supported it early on. It’s a racket, like I said. The new film has gotten a lot stronger, more positive response from festivals than ‘PGL’ did, but not enough to make a difference. My day was pretty drab. But hey. ‘Au revoir les enfants’: nice. Maybe I’ll try that. Me too: bring October on this very fucking second! ** Oscar 🌀, Hi. More kick, exactly. I used to chew Doublemint in my youth. I feel like everybody did. Is it a dead duck? I can’t tell over here in France. Haha, being alternated with ‘Brat Summer’ just may be the greatest compliment I have ever received. No wonder he’s a preacher. Today I command you to walk by this no doubt fine establishment @ 1 Kilmarnock Road and wave at it in a friendly manner as you pass. Awesome about the email directive. I hope your commanded walk today filled you with vigor and pride. ** Okay. Today I’ve made a sequel to an old post that outlays some underground buildings (mostly houses) for you to view and think resonantly about. See you tomorrow.

Spotlight on … Jean-Jacques Schuhl Ingrid Caven (2000) *

* (restored)

 

‘”I have a very small cult reputation to protect,” Jean-Jacques Schuhl protested to me a few months ago in Paris when he learned that he’d been nominated for the Prix Goncourt (and the four other top French literary prizes) for his first book in twenty-three years. Now that he’s won the Goncourt, this avatar of Duchampian wit and encyclopedic misanthropy will just have to live with a much bigger cult. Ingrid Caven, his novel, is named for the celebrated singer he lives with, the former wife of Rainer Fassbinder and muse of Yves Saint Laurent; La Caven returned to the concert stage in November, at the Theatre de I’Odeon, in postmodern triumph, as a fictional character who sings. Ingrid Caven is not her biography, however, but a phantasmagorical riff on the social, political, and artistic history of our times, filtered through a meditation on stagecraft, the voice and attitude of the singer, the diva, the personae of history’s actors.’ — Gary Indiana

 

 

‘Jean-Jacques Schuhl was born in 1941 in Marseille. In 1972, he published Rose Poussière  mixing pop collages (extracts from newspapers, scores …) and descriptive fulgurances on real characters (Mao, Marlene Dietrich, the Stones …), elevated to the rank of myths unique and yet all interchangeable. Rose Poussière will become the fetish book of a whole generation. And the next one. His second text, Telex n ° 1 (1976), remains unavailable for a long time before his reissue this spring at L’Imaginaire. In 2000, Schuhl, after 24 years of absence, signed his great return to the literary scene: he received the Goncourt Prize for his novel Ingrid Caven, around the life of his companion, German singer and actress in the years 1960-70 . His latest book, Entry of the Ghosts, was released in 2010, again at Gallimard, in L’infini, the imprint of his friend Philippe Sollers.

‘Jean-Jacques Schuhl is an esthete who perceives the mutations of society with a deliciously feigned distance, at the periphery, that of the half-world. His taste for the observation of majestic decadences and his writing, elegiac or luminous, always chiseled, made him one of the most precious French authors (in the sense of sacred). And rare. So valuable. We are careful not to tell him, fearing to pass, like his alter-ego against Fred Hughes in the news of Vanity Fair, for “a complacent memorialist” (passage that will be cut in the course of the numerous discussions and corrections which will enlace the Elaboration of the text.) One evokes his readings of the moment: Reverdy therefore, and Proust, regularly. In the face of our avowed reluctance, he suggests that the best way to approach the work of the author of  Swann is to leave aside all the sociological and theoretical analyzes “rather boring, it must be said” To the benefit of descriptions of atmospheres, portraits and dazzling associations of ideas.’ — Jean Perrier

 

 

‘Jean-Jacques Schuhl was only 50 francs (about £5) better off yesterday after winning France’s top book award, the Prix Goncourt, for a difficult and experimental novel based on the life of his lover. But his back manager will not be worried: Schuhl can expect to sell up to 500,000 copies of his book, Ingrid Caven, such is the prestige of the award. And the real Ingrid Caven, a German singer and actor, will not do too badly as a result of the book’s success, either. She tells this morning’s Le Monde that she has received several film offers as a result of its publication earlier this month.

‘Schuhl, 59, is hardly a well-known writer in France, not least because Ingrid Caven is his first novel for nearly 25 years. “It’s been a long time since I’ve written, and it’s a dramatic turn of events,” he told France-2 television after winning the award. “I didn’t expect it.” Caven was married to the film director Rainer Werner Fassbinder, and starred in many of his pictures. She was later a lover of Yves Saint Laurent. Caven was last seen in Britain in Raoul Ruiz’s movie adaptation of Proust, Time Regained.

‘The choice of Schuhl’s novel is certainly a vote for French literary iconoclasm at a time when the country’s literary prizes in general, and the Goncourt in particular, have been widely criticised for not rewarding literary merit but bowing to the pressures of leading publishers. But Schuhl’s award was described as the “a vote for quality” by Michel Tournier, one of the judges and a previous winner of the prize. “Jean-Jacques Schuhl’s novel isn’t a commercial book and it won’t be displayed prominently in bookshop windows,” he said. That last point may well be an exaggeration, since the award of the Prix Goncourt usually guarantees huge sale, the winner’s book often bought as a Christmas gift in France.’ — Stuart Jeffries

 

 


au fond, jean-jacques schuhl, c’est moi

 

Interview
from Purple Magazine

 

OLIVIER ZAHM – Do you still belong to the underground?

JEAN-JACQUES SCHUHL – The underground, it does not exist any more since now everything is in the light. It’s horrible ! It’s no longer attractive … It’s like poetry. In France, a poet is someone who has not known how to make a novel … In Germany, it is different: poetry has another status. Kafka, for example, is considered a “dichter”, that is, a poet in a very strong and wider sense … In America, too, with the poets of the Beat Generation … Even Edgar Allan Poe is Curse, but with all that entails prestige. Here, it is still and always head in the moon! The underground, no longer exists because it was recovered by the mainstream. And it is no longer erotic to say underground in the current context of the unprecedented cult of money and power.

OLIVIER ZAHM – Is the term “novelist” better for you?

JEAN-JACQUES SCHUHL – I received the Goncourt prize with Ingrid Caven  … I have no problem with it. At the bottom I have almost written nothing … Three books in all and for all … That I am hardly classifiable, I want … Well!

OLIVIER ZAHM – You have written little, yet you play the figure of the novelist for a whole new generation.

JEAN-JACQUES SCHUHL – Maybe it’s because I’ve disappeared! After Rose Poussière came out in 1972, I did not write for very long. There was indeed Telex No. 1 . Then I left in the stratosphere: radio silence … But I returned with a literary brilliance and a price for Ingrid Caven.

OLIVIER ZAHM – Your trajectory is enigmatic, mysterious, very unusual today. It has an elliptical shape that enhances the “Schuhl myth”.

JEAN-JACQUES SCHUHL – In silence and absence are made fantasies … What has he done all this time? Where was he ? If I had definitely disappeared, we would no longer ask the question, but I came out of the silent desert to make a surprise mediaatic-literary hold-up! A beautiful booty indeed! Surveillance cameras have not spotted me! Stories of ghosts, it works
always…

OLIVIER ZAHM – But this mystery has been linked with your vision of writing and probably with the decline of literature which is now a machine to reveal everything from the author (memoirs, autobiography, autofiction …).

JEAN-JACQUES SCHUHL – For there to be an echo or a resonance, there must also be a little emptiness around. The music resonates with silences that count as notes, as in printing, the white has value in the typography of signs in its own right. We must never lose sight of silence. One always thinks of the full, it is the fault of the West. Without silence, without emptiness, things do not resonate or very badly.

OLIVIER ZAHM – This silence for more than twenty years has not been deliberate?

JEAN-JACQUES SCHUHL – There is undoubtedly a share of powerlessness in that or the requirement of something I could not develop after Rose Poussière . This narrative was intended as a manifesto for a sort of impersonal writing, made up of a mosaic of genres, quotations, observations, press articles, poems made of AFP dispatches, telexes with horse names Or hotel listings … It was something very personal. And impersonality leads quite normally to withdrawal and silence. I wanted to capture the air of the time without being too present. It was about being a simple sensor-transmitter … It was three times nothing, hardly a book, and that wrote itself, without me … I should not have signed it!

OLIVIER ZAHM: But why have not we pursued other texts?

JEAN-JACQUES SCHUHL – As of 1975-76, for me things are a little extinct. I was no longer stimulated as I had been in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Perhaps I could no longer observe, seize, listen to or see all these frail indecisive indices, but it was That I had no more matter. It was perhaps an alibi to justify a personal state. Perhaps a laziness. Take fashion in 75-76 for example, it has already swung into what it has become now: a market, economic powers, a kind of globalization and standardization, the dictatorship of commercial demand. Already was foreshadowed the resumption in hand by new forces … All that there was of savage and which had interested me, a kind of spontaneous emergence, was diluted … Everything that had fascinated me also in the English musics , Or the stuff that came from the East – including the history of the Chinese Red Guards – all this happened without warning, strikingly and unpredictably … It was very clear in fashion. I remember one of the first parades of Claude Montana in 1976-77, room Wagram, an old boxing room. There was an effect of unpredictability, of sudden emergence. I do not want to be nostalgic, say it was better before! Not at all ! But today we see quickly where things happen: revival, cloning, return of the same, reinterpretation, mixing weakened … So in more and more stifling … We see where it comes from! Not that before, it did not come from somewhere, but there was a dazzling and subversive rise that blurred immediate comprehension. What inspired and fascinated me was the savagery of something remote or foreign. Maybe I can no longer see or hear him. I always ask myself the question. Is it me or the world?

OLIVIER ZAHM – This is the question that despairs everyone …

JEAN-JACQUES SCHUHL – Hence the persistent fascination for the 60s and 70s. It is this period of emergence that keeps coming back to the heads and phagocytating us. Retro fashion and disembodied technology. But I’m still alert. In Search of the Present Time!

OLIVIER ZAHM – During all these years of silence, I have the impression that you have never given up, nor stopped observing, refine your perceptions. One feels it in Ingrid Caven which finally covers the time of this prolonged silence. As well as in your next novel of which I have read a few pages.

JEAN-JACQUES SCHUHL – Rose Poussière was made in chance. It is an assemblage of things that were in the air: the newspaper, the English fashions, a few dialogues of films, short portraits, a personage that I had wanted a little futuristic, Frankenstein-le-Dandy. All that made scarcely a book, between the manifesto, the narrative, the newspaper. Rose Poussière was directly connected to what can be called “reality”. With Ingrid Caven , I told a biographical romanticized story. Now I write through the screen of artistic elements, with filters. I look at David Lynch. I dive into Edgar Poe. Whereas at the time I read very little, and almost not … except the press, France Soir and magazines … I went out at night in clubs, I watched the street, fashions, styles, clothes … The Red Guards wanted the books burnt … Today I keep looking around. I read fashion magazines, but I’m less interested. I return to literature and cinema … In the excerpts of my next novel you read, I placed a character of mannequin with a certain reluctance, because it interests me less than before. It’s just the idea of ​​the mannequin, this automatic, inhuman or say non-human and manipulated thing, that always fascinates me.

OLIVIER ZAHM – How do you explain the confidential and persistent success of Rose Poussière through the years?

JEAN-JACQUES SCHUHL – An extract from a newspaper can be as important as a book. I like what passes and leaves very little trace: an extract of article, fugitive tracks on newspapers or magazines, words on the sand … But precisely, Rose Poussière which was hardly a book, Crossed the time. Before it was published, I brought some fragments of texts to Gallimard, like that, without thinking of anything … It was made of bric-a-brac, a kind of ephemeral collage of telex, newspapers, film dialogues and a few Texts from me. I am glad that this thing has become a little cult book … A friable and light thing that first sold to a hundred copies and then a few thousand and more. You yourself asked me to use the title for an exhibition on French art at the Grand Palais, La Force de l’Art . One day I was at a parade of Christian Lacroix. I did not know him personally and he whispered in my ear: “Rose Poussière” … Like a password … I had wanted to put in

Featured accessories. Pink Dust was a shade of make-up I’d seen in London: Dusty Pink . My title is a makeup! Now, accessories have become the essential, 70% of the brands revenue. They clutter up everything, they see nothing but themselves. They too are in full light. I do not care. What I like, these are the stars in the shadows! Personally, I prefer Ingrid Caven , I think it is a novel more accomplished.

But what made it so that Ingrid Caven shot 350,000 copies and Rose Poussière became a cult book with so much resonance, the great echo of a little thing …

OLIVIER ZAHM – It’s the butterfly effect!

JEAN-JACQUES SCHUHL – Yes, it’s relatively hushed for years and it’s growing and spreading. In fact objects found came to fit in a book and I was medium of the times. The best of arts is a medium. People are barring this today with the cult of “Me I”. If one is a medium, as the fisherman tends the net, things come to it.

OLIVIER ZAHM – You still have to know how to throw the net, because you are a great stylist.

JEAN-JACQUES SCHUHL – Yes, of course, you have to open your ears and your eyes, be there without being there … Everyone can be a medium at times on his zone. Go for a walk in the night for example and let things pass through you … Intermittent medium, voila!

OLIVIER ZAHM – There are very few writers who, like you, go out at night, read fashion magazines, are interested in modern and contemporary art. In Paris, it is the self of the writer, self-fiction and psychology that predominate …

JEAN-JACQUES SCHUHL – I really like journalism. Mallarmé directed and wrote his own newspaper, La Dernière Mode , all the sections, including under feminine pseudonyms … I put my rare articles on the same level as my books. I do not make any difference. A writer should be at least a little journalist in the twist: openness to the world, capture of what is happening, precision of copyist, scribe …

 

 

Jean-Jacques Schuhl Ready-made & cut-up: on William S. Burroughs (1975)

The cut-up exists without Burroughs. It’s the newspaper. The agency dispatches were torn and then shown. It is enough then to read his daily life without bending to the references on the inside page (the suite, that is what it is next to), that is to say like a book, sweeping the whole page, and By connecting the various items. It’s a ready-made-cut-up. For my part, I work from the newspapers which are what best reflects the official discourse – especially France Soir. But rather than break the meaning, as Burroughs does, I prefer to mining it from inside, betraying it, pretending to play its game, and blurring it. I take a newspaper clipping that seduces me as a beautiful symptom, and puts it in relation with other cuts, or other cuts (all around), or with what is on the back of the page (I cut With the chisel the page and then looks at what is on the back, materially what is related to what I wanted to cut), or transparently in the light of a lamp, to obtain a spectral text (see-through ). We can say that it is a reorganization of the newspaper, a redistribution of its elements, with thin games, quotes hardly displaced, slight lags, slides, transparencies, telescoping, mine of Nothing, a “serious” (political) heading and a “frivolous” heading (turf, set of 7 errors). It would have to be seen almost as a fire, only this evening almost.

The cut-up of Burroughs breaks the circuits of thought. I prefer to try to pervert them gently, in a non-repairable way.

The reservation I make about the cut-up is that it’s a little too cut, I prefer a more sneaky disassembling where one mimes the traditional narrative and the mine. Slips, short circuits, shifts, whites, small squeaks inside the academic discourse, rather than breaks (it must not break anything). Example to follow: Lautreamont. I would like us to say: that’s it, that’s right, it’s only nice news, and yet! And yet! But we do not know what is going on, where the trouble comes from. Something like the voice or gesture of a transvestite, a synthetic robot, or W. Burroughs in a fake Anglican clergyman. I would like to write a book with a single journal, a story that does not look like anything, that comes from the recomposed headings of the newspaper: there is something wrong, but what? Obviously, the ideal would be to enter the marble of France Soir at night, and to operate swiftly a recomposition which, in the morning, would make the city say a little embarrassed: “There is something wrong, but what ?”

But there are other betrayals …

 

 

 

Jean-Jacques Schuhl Ingrid Caven (City Lights Books, 2004)
(Buy it)

‘A novel about the life of German cabaret singer and film actress Ingrid Caven, who was once director Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s star, and his wife, muse to Yves Saint Laurent, and a protege of Pierre Berge. Consisting of memories, mixing real and invented people and events, Ingrid Caven reveals the cold heart of the European counterculture of the 1970s, an era of celebrity glitz, cocaine-fueled excess, gay bathhouses, and young idealists-turned-terrorists. Ingrid Caven was an immediate bestseller in France, where it sold over 235,000 copies in its first year of publication. It has been translated into 18 languages.Jean-Jacques Schuhl is a Parisian dandy who lives with Ingrid Caven and who had not published a book for twenty years until this one.’ — City Lights

‘Singing for the Führer’s troops at age five makes material for Ingrid Caven’s lifelong running gag—and the definitive event novelist Schuhl returns to again and again in recounting her life. Ingrid is a plucky girl from Saarland with a terrible skin problem and a wondrous voice, which propels her through classical training and on to accolades on the Munich stage (that’s when she meets a lonely boy in black leather who wants to make films—the Wunderkind of German film). Over the years, Ingrid will mingle with the likes of Andy Warhol and Yves Saint Laurent, and even become embroiled with the Baader Meinhof Gang. A sensational Paris debut and suddenly the “little hurting girl in borrowed clothes” becomes really famous, meeting Bette Davis and Satie, flying about the world as the wife of Fassbinder, who turns out to be a drug-using homosexual. In telling Ingrid’s story, Charles is a kind of misanthropic alter ego: he follows the singer around, has affairs of his own, reports a lot of hearsay and snatched dialogue, but provides little sense of interior life. The climax comes at Fassbinder’s untimely funeral (he was 38), when, with all his actresses linked up front as if at a premiere, a posthumous piece of paper is discovered detailing Fassbinder’s outline for a script about the life of Ingrid Caven, “the woman he loved.”’ — Kirkus

‘Adolf Hitler, Rainer Werner Fassbinder, Yves Saint Laurent — German-born cabaret singer Ingrid Caven’s life flowed around these icons of 20th century European counterculture. Caven was married to Fassbinder and starred in many of his movies; she was Saint Laurent’s model and muse. At 4 1/2, she sang “Silent Night” in the barracks for the German troops. This novel, by her current lover and based on her life, is a collage of that strange postwar period in Europe of high artifice, drugs, terrorism, leather jackets and cinema. Behind the glamorous backdrop of hotel rooms, the Brasserie Lipp, the Rue de Bac, the clothing by Saint Laurent, Issey Miyake and others, you can still smell cities burning, lives decaying. Artists drape themselves over rich American producers and patrons. The “era of Potsdam and Sans-Souci … matching plates and Meissen dancers” is over. But so is the era of cabaret, and Caven finds herself a relic: “The time of stars and divas was long gone, and haute couture was disappearing, too…. Why go on singing when all the voices have been flattened, standardized, synthesized?”‘ — Los Angeles Times

 

 

Excerpt #1

The sheet of paper was 8 ×11, crumpled, spotted with splashes of coffee, wine, maybe nicotine; they found it on the ground by the side of the dead man’s bed, lying there to be picked up by anybody, the cop, the maid, the doctor. The writing that covered it was like a speech given in a single breath, no punctuation, only one real erasure, two words now illegible at the end of a correction and a little arrow for cross reference. Eighteen paragraphs in the sequence, as though he had the whole text already written in his mind, all he had to do was write it out, the words had been etched in him forever and he had only to read and copy them; but the writing was just phrases, telegraphic, not exactly literary stuff. He had jabbed the paper, gashed it, raised welts and sores, made hard signs as though with a stiletto and not a ballpoint: it was something raw and brutal. The writing was firm, but still it shook like the needle of a seismograph, shaken up, rickety, words on the slant: like a child’s writing, like an old man’s writing, each letter formed with force and great attention, as though writing was slipping away just as life was and he tried to trace the letters, especially the capitals. The words blew about, had their own life, and none of the phrases lined up neatly; these were words thrown onto paper, as you write a note when you’re in danger, page torn from a notebook, no time to punctuate or take a breath, someone is after you… Numbered 1 to 18, the paragraphs were the stages, the chapters, images, scenes, synopsis, who knows—there was no title—of the life of Ingrid Caven. What follows is a literal translation, with the punctuation and the syntax of the original:

1 Birth + hatred of mother + start of allergy (Germany needs canon fodder)

2 First song, silent night holy night

3 Allergy much loved

4 University + worsening of allergy, decision for psychiatry you need courage to live

5 End of allergy, love with psychiatrist, high-class woman in rosewood, end of love

6 Flight skilful very disheartened for the terrible chic Revolution [sic]

7 Short life alone with many stories of men

8 Plays theatre, lives in commune, electronic love (GVH)

9 Marriage, fear of marriage, divorce

10 Africa

11 Second strategy

12 First appearance at Pigall’s

13 Jean-Jacques Schuhl + some bad films

14 Catastrophe with Musical, end with Jean-Jacques

15 Time of loneliness, appeal of suicide, drugs, schnapps and boys and cockroaches in the Chelsea H

16 Attack in waiting room, knowledge of great love

17 Sex and crime and black eyes

18 Dispute fight love hate happiness tears pills death +a smile

Just a wretched scrap of paper, found and kept by sheer chance, someone might have thrown it out despite the lines scrawled on the back. On the other side of page, the ‘right’ side, there is dialogue in neat electronic typing from the script of some movie Rainer had already made—big budget, six, seven, eight million dollars, big historical reconstruction, period sets and costumes, the Second World War—he must have used this particular piece of paper because he had nothing else available in a sudden emergency, he didn’t have the strength to get up and he lived very much alone at the end. On the reverse of this big historical movie, Rainer wrote his last words: the story of his wife, real, imagined.

The big budget project was pushed to the shadow side of the page, hidden away, the kind of production that he complained at the end was keeping him prisoner: and on the new ‘right’ side, these words he had scrawled, almost cut into the paper with such force and application, the life of the woman he loved. It was almost nothing, but only almost: a simple sheet of paper… just like fifteen years earlier and the cut of the Yves Saint Laurent dress, Ingrid Caven claimed the ‘wrong’ side, the second side, the reverse of the black satin cloth and now the paper, its secret side turned round, the dark, forgotten, secondary, shadow side of things turned to the front. That was where he wrote her ‘life’ and where she too had ‘written’ her life, not on the grand, fixed side of things but rather on the rootless side which she made grand with her songs.

Once again it was like the cloth you turn over because it’s the back side that counts, and you don’t know any more which is front and which is back, the Moebius strip, everything changes and comes back, what’s noble becomes vulgar and comes back, cloth that shows its lining, flags that beat in the wind. On what was once, and is no longer the ‘right’ side of the page, this scrap of dialogue: But, tonight, in front of the men, it will work, I am sure, and then I will realize something you desire. Something that you desire…

It was a troubling page because episodes 1 to 13 referred to facts and events, but 14 to 18 were entirely from his imagination. He saw her life as tragedy, a melodrama from an airport novel, and he had finished it. He did it as if she, too, were finished, deciding even her violent, scandalous, ignominious ending,; but Rainer was the one dying that way, sometimes he was found alone, outside, stark naked in front of his door on the landing, asleep in his shit, full of alcohol, drugs, sleeping pills, and at the height of his fame. In 14 to 18, was he taking revenge or playing tricks or just assembling the threads like a skilled writer for the screen? Or like a fate that he was trying to ward off with his words? She had got away, and on his deathbed he invoked her, he evoked her, took her back with words, with this skeleton story of her life. It was extraordinary: he wrote the life of the woman he loved, part real, part imagined, part elliptical, and on the way he made a picture of himself, and then he died.

Fascinating, worrisome, even very worrisome: you think about it, it couldn’t possibly be a film project. How could he shoot Ingrid’s disastrous end, her terrible fall and ignominious death while she was still living, and more alive than many others? He could have filmed 1 to 13, but not 14 to 18. Never. So what was this thing? A malevolent prediction, tempting fate like the voodoo priest pricks the doll with needles; but Rainer’s needle was a ballpoint pen.

 

 

Excerpt #2

It wasn’t the sight of the saucepans, it was the noise they made that seemed so unholy, such a vulgar noise for a singer and such a seedy noise, too, as though her whole past was dragging behind her, and above all the sound was so entirely out of place, nothing at all to do with the luxurious and old-style setting – carpets, wall hangings, such well trained staff: the hotel was like a ventriloquist’s dummy, letting out a cry that didn’t belong to it, something irritating, agonising, making the brain falter. Maybe Ingrid also remembered Sundays at home, her mother cooking in the kitchen with a clatter of pans that mixed with the Liszt, ‘Hungarian Rhapsody,’ that her father used to play over and over in the next-door drawing room. That, too was in her mind, making it tilt like a pinball machine. A saucepan bumped up against one of the metal bars on the stairs, and came to rest, dumb.

There’s a photograph of Marlene Dietrich, which she once gave to Hemingway (1): She’s all legs, sitting, like in those famous shots for the Blackglama furs, her head is down, so all you can see is the line of nose, mouth, chin: enough to identify her at once like a logo, a Chinese pictogram, a coat of arms, and, alongside those long, bare famous legs that were insured for $5 million at Lloyds, she’s written: ‘I cook, too.’ Were they lovers, friends, loving friends? The old story keeps the crowds agog: the writer and the actress, or the singer, D’Annunzio and la Duse, Miller and Monroe, Romain Gary and Jean Seberg, Sam Shepard and Jessica Lange, Phillip ‘Portnoy’ Roth and Claire ‘Limelight’ Bloom, the marriage of word and flesh, intriguing, puzzling, riotous.

Hemingway? Maybe, if it comes down to it, the picture wasn’t dedicated to him at all but to one of her other men – Erich Maria Remarque, or Alexander Fleming who discovered penicillin? Jean Gabin, perhaps? Or to Mercedes d’Acosta, that exotic lesbian? Or just to some nameless fan? Doesn’t matter, it’s all ancient history, the young woman with the saucepan is also a chain smoker, but she uses a common black plastic cigarette holder, Denicotea, only twenty-five francs from your neighbourhood tobacconist.

She’s still laughing in the elevator and when, with the manager going ahead, she enters her suite, she’s amazed by what she sees: white lilies, on the night table, on the desk, the vanity, in the bathroom, in the entrance hall, everywhere white lilies. Yves paid tribute to his queen with a suite in white. After saucepans, lilies, after the hausfrau, the vamp. Pans and lilies – a good title if one day she wrote her memoirs; Eva Gabor, sister of the more famous Zsa Zsa, called her book Orchids and Salami.

From the ridiculous to the sublime, could be one of those surprising productions of her friend Werner Schröter whose nickname – but why on earth? – was ‘The Baron’: Oscar Wilde’s Salomé, The Death of Maria Malibran … she was bound to arrive in Paris under this particular sign, because, truth to tell, her real range of mind is more from lilies to saucepans, if you see what I mean, just as at the end of some exquisitely turned sentence – like this one – you need a break, but even the break is still too exquisite, those lovely rhetorical cadences I never quite escape. On stage with a flourish of her hand followed by a broken wrist, a back kick in the air that was a wink at flamenco, she knew just how to break up all that virtuosity, that panache, to do it neatly and dryly, to cut things short, never to make them too rich, yes, that was it, heading for the world of lilies and orchids, then turning back abruptly to saucepans and salami. Lupe Velez was engaged to Johnny Weismuller, but she fell out with Tarzan, wanted to kill herself, but looking lovely, image before everything, even when dying, hours and hours of fixing her makeup and her hair. She had no luck at all, pills and booze upset her guts and so it was that they found her, in her loveliest frock, immaculately styled, powdered, bejewelled, virtually embalmed, but stifled on her own vomit with her head down the toilet. That’s the art of breaking a mood, a right-angle turn of mood, art upside down, the leftovers restored, and anyway a kitchen utensil is always handy: John Cage wrote a concerto for mincer and beater.

 


4 Ingrid Caven songs in one video


Ingrid Caven ‘Alabama Song’


Ingrid Caven ‘Polaroid Cocaine’


Ingrid Caven ‘The Wonderful Widow of 18 Springs’

 

 

Further

Jean-Jacques Schuhl Website
Buy J-J Schulh’s ‘Ingrid Caven’
‘Jean-Jacques Schuhl, mythe majestueux’
‘Telex n°1, come-back du mythe signé Jean Jacques Schuhl’
‘Profonde superficialité’
J-J Schuhl ‘Apparition de Werner Schroeter’
J-J Schuhl ‘JLG, rapports secrets’
Video: ‘Jean-Jacques Schuhl – “Entrée des Fantômes”‘
‘Laure Adler reçoit Jean-Jacques Schuhl, écrivain’
Jean-Jacques Schuhl Facebook page

 

 

 

*

p.s. Hey. ** Lucas, Thanks, pal. Yay to my subconscious. Interesting about your dreams. As I’m sure I’ve said, I almost never remember my dreams, but, when I do, they always involve me trying to escape from someone or something that’s trying to kill me. Odd since I’m very non-paranoid in real life. My thrill at igniting a love in you for Halloween must be very obvious. With haunted houses, just stick to the ‘home haunt’ type. They tend to be fun and admirable without being actually scary or invasive. I want to be in Japan for Halloween too. Badly. But it’s hard not to gravitate to Halloween attraction central aka LA every year. Tuesday wasn’t so hot, but I’m finally seeing ‘Twisters’ tomorrow, so I’ll just hang in there until then. How’s everything going? Are you working on your art and writing and stuff? ** David Ehrenstein, Hi. Thanks, my health is okay apart from my fucked up right ear, but it’ll clear, I suppose. Ah, I’ll pass your piece along. Everyone, Speaking still today re: yesterday’s Black Panther shebang, the honorable David Ehrenstein wrote a piece about, in his words, ‘Leonard Bernstein, the black panthers and the racist scumbag Tom Wolfe’ That should be of considerable interest. It’s here. I did a River Day. It’s not old enough to restore/repost quite yet, but one of these years. ** Jack Skelley, Hi, J. I’m feeling better health wise, it’s just the entire rest of my existence that’s fucked up, haha. Excited to hear about the Myth Lab Goes to NYC goings on. More soon from moi too. Love, me. ** _Black_Acrylic, Very indeed. Today is my PTv2 enhanced day at long last. ** Malik, Hey, Malick! That is so incredibly cool about your maternal grandparents. They must have amazing tales. A friend of mine in high school joined the LA chapter of the Panthers, and he showed up at school in full Panther garb one day and was expelled within 5 minutes of his arrival on campus, the fascists. The coloring book is totally nuts, right? I saw your email! Im going to open it today. Yesterday was kind of swamped. Thank you so much! I’m excited for it! I hope you have an amazing Wednesday. Is everything going well? ** Steve, I’ll go re-listen to ‘Small Talk’. I haven’t in ages. That’s great to know. What a genius. Urgh, well, keep that laptop firmly plugged in and pray for no power blackouts. Everyone, Entree from Steve: ‘Here’s my review of Caden Mark Gardner and Willow Catelyn Maclay’s trans film history CORPSES, FOOLS AND MONSTERS.’ No, no breakthroughs with the film whatsoever. Quite the opposite. We heard back from the fall festivals. They all rejected the film, albeit always with high praise for its uniqueness and originality. It’s clearly not a big festival film. It’s just too offbeat. So we’re re-strategising about how to give it a proper birth. Thank you for asking. ** Dominik, Hi!!! Cool, glad you were intrigued by it/them. Minor but effective joy is the most I feel like I can hope for at the moment. I’m seeing ‘Twisters’ tomorrow. Maybe love has a cameo in it. Love curing the entire human race of underarm B.O., with apologies to musk fetishists, G. ** Darbyy (●’◡’●), Is that right? I don’t know what I meant in that ‘death’ vs ‘God’ comment either. I was just tripping. I have seen Mayhem but in the post-Dead era with Attila Csihar as singer. I like Bathory too, yes. I’m definitely strangely stoic. I guess I do bob my head a little and maybe rock from side to side. I think the only time I actually ever let loose and went physically wild was at a Gang of Four gig in 1979. Been a while. I like Pockies, but I don’t think I’ve tried strawberry. Will do. Maybe even today if I can sneak through the Olympics barriers. Bon day! ** Joseph, Hi. My health’s basically okay except for my clogged, painful right ear. It’s just life stuff that sucks. Wow, I remember when fallen trees hitting power lines, etc. would turn your house into dangerous, lightless obstacle course. Sweet. Sorry, though. I love the fixing and revising part most of all by kind of a million miles. I just read a quote by Lydia Davis yesterday where she said she liked translating more than writng because everything was already there and she just had finesse. I relate to that. Anyway, just keep in mind how worth it it is. Okay, I’ll move ‘Longlegs’ back up into the maybe/probably category. Thank you. I haven’t seen the Olympics uniforms yet, but I was reading something yesterday by some fashion expert who said they wouldn’t look out of place on a Chanel runway, so I’m curious. ** Prze, Hi. Film stuff. And one of my ears. Um, no, my writing isn’t wish fulfilment, or not for me. The things I write about fascinate and scare and confuse me, and I’m trying to explore that and figure it out. But there’s no interest in realising or enacting what I write in a real space. The real and the imagined are very clearly separate and defined for me. I don’t see the area I work in as narrow, I see it as focused. The area I write about seems very vast to me, like outer space vast. There are lots of people who think my work is weird to put it mildly, trust me. I hear and read about that all the time. Uh, I’m not a rich guy and I certainly don’t live like one. Not sure where that’s coming from. I’ve read the dystopian Ballard (Crash, High Rise, The Atrocity Exhibition, Concrete Island) but not the sci-fi stuff. Thanks. Very interesting to talk with you too. ** Charlie, Yes, I know popper training videos. I had a brief period of really kind of studying them. They seem totally ridiculous but formally interesting for sure. Yeah, going that route formally seems like a really interesting idea. Cool, yeah, that seems fruitful. How’s it going? I used to think I could make the Citizen Kane of porn, but then I realised I couldn’t whatsoever, but the Citizen Kane of popper videos … that seems much more achievable somehow. Pray tell. ** Harper, Welcome back to the homestead. Good news about the warm welcome from your writing. Two times when I was young I got sunburned so badly I had to go the hospital. I’m scared of that stuff ever since. Same here: you can only buy cigarettes in Tabac stores or sometimes in cafes that have mini-Tabac shops inside them. Me either re: seeing a hero on a stamp. But, gosh, I can hardly remember the last time I even saw a stamp. That oblique strategy actually makes a lot of sense, and I don’t even know why. I’ll meditate on its mysterious wisdom, thank you! ** Poecilia, Hi! 700 pages without a writing style … uh, no thank you, haha. 700 pages with an amazing style is still a book-shaped warning light to me. Interesting to know. Okay, I am kind of curious to try that neutered adaptation. I’m always interested to see how filmmakers decide to visualise things that are only made to be effective in passive neutral wordage. Hm. Maybe I’ll google a query re: it. Thanks a lot. I hope all’s extremely good on your end. ** A, Hi. Oh, Paris is okay, not too stressful. Everyone’s left town until the Olympics are over, so it’s quiet. The stress is all inside me. Fun: the event on Friday. Is Lily Lady involved in that? If so, give them my love. It’s nice to write to you too. Enjoy LA, man. I know you can. ** Dev, I definitely will. But it’ll be a while. I’ll probably try to come whence on my way to or from LA. That’s the logical way. Trumper parents … scary. Trumpers are so loud and so proud. Oh, to feel so confident and knowledgeable. Only in fairytales. Ugh. Very best of luck steering clear of the onslaught. Thanks, I’ll be fine, there’s always a way. Hang tough. ** Jeff J, Hi, J. I did see that doc, and I too liked it a lot. Okay, I’ll watch for your email. Crazy that the trilogy is almost finished! Wow, man, that’s nuts. That’s awesome. Zac’s away on a summer thing with family, so the script is frozen until I get his feedback. I like it. We’ll see what he thinks. No, I want to think about the horror novel idea, but everything is so chaotic with our film right now that’s really difficult to think about anything else. ** Bill, Hi. The coloring book, I know, wow. You’re home! Welcome back to the friendly climes and the differently mountainous landscapes! I want to get that new edition of Eugene Lim’s first book too. Apart from almost everything in my neighborhood having impassable barriers surrounding it and eagle-eyed groups of police stationed on every corner, things are still mellower than you would think. ** Ника Мавроди, I can ask him that question, yes, and I will. ** Okay. I decided to restore the spotlight that fell years ago on this wonderful novel you see up above there. See if you can figure out why. And see you tomorrow.

« Older posts Newer posts »

© 2025 DC's

Theme by Anders NorénUp ↑