$$$

“The tooth is still viable,” he said. I picked up my coat in the hot floral waiting room – two people there, indistinct and self-sufficient, like all ghosts in waiting rooms. I paid the chick who lurks with knitting in her windowless stall: fifteen pounds, cash, and a video cassette. No receipt. Black economy. I run Selina on the black economy. We don’t keep any books: there is nothing, no letter, no notes. There is no gentleman’s agreement. There isn’t even a handshake. But we both understand(76).”
Amis’s style thus far can be characterized by two distinct features, which are illustrated above. First, Amis’s character John Self likes to stick to the facts. Not just any facts, but the essential ones that are in some way definitive of his character, who seems to be portrayed in a continually doomed light. This pressing reality is something John seems aware of but only in a way that continues to push him to the edges of his physical limits. As if he is racing the clock, banking on the success and finances of his new film in order to begin remaking himself, or find ways to prolong his bad habits. To this point the cold hard facts that sum up his dental visit is that the tooth which has been causing him pain is “viable”(or capable of living). It is not healthy, but viable, a fact he seems unconcerned with as he makes no future plans to address his “upper west side”. As he leaves the office, the lack of descriptions of those in the waiting room serves to reinforce not only his description of those things relevant to him, or quantitatively significant, but also bolsters the second characteristic of the narrative.
This second characteristic is similar to the first in that it is matter of fact in its content, but more importantly is the way in which it is delivered. He pays the women and begins explaining, his economic methods, indeed a habit of his with which we are not unfamiliar. The way in which it is delivered not only demonstrates John’s obsession with these facts and the way they operate in his life, but also affords him a tone of total assurance in his methods. There is no hesitation and the tempo of such short punctuated sentences gives the reading an almost directive quality- as if he is trying to endow the reader with some wise words on how to live.

Getting Paper

Money,

“Oh man sometimes I wake up and feel like a cat runover. Are you familiar with the stoical of hard drinking, of heavy drinking? Oh it’s heavy. Oh it’s hard. It isn’t easy. Jesus, I never meant me any harm. All I wanted was a good time. The disease I host called tinnitus – more reliable and above all cheaper than any alarm call – woke me promptly at nine. Tinnitus woke me on a note of high exasperation, as if it had been trying to wake me for hours. I let me sapless tongue creak up to check out the swelling on my upper west side. About the same, yet tenderer. My throat informed me that I had a snout hangover on too. The first cigarette would light a trail of gun powder to the holster, the arsenal in my chest”(16).

The quotation above exemplifies a style of narration that is consistent throughout. First and foremost John’s drinking problem is referenced. Not only is it referenced, but in a very personable way as he asks us if we are familiar with these feelings associated with overdrinking. John often directs questions at the reader directly, especially in more vulnerable moments, i.e. the one mentioned above and the one in which he talks about Selina and his uncertainties about her whereabouts. The effect though, of his substance abuse and his reference to readers makes him seem like a distant character, almost impenetrable and unstoppable due to his high consumption of “heavy fuels”. As if he is drowning, willingly, because that is the only way he knows how to carry on. Not in a mellow dramatic way though, but rather in a very candid, almost comedic way. As if we were shooting the shit with George Carlin at the bar and he offhandedly mentioned a drinking problem but gave us no time to respond. This over consumption, followed by more consumption which will almost certainly lead to more over consumption is characteristic of this book and the recurring element of extreme states of being. However I think overconsumption, or overindulgence also does a good job of naming the recurring theme, especially in context to drugs and money, two very complimentary objects in this book and in life in general. Another element to briefly mention is his constant sickness and the way in which he refers to his ailments. The tinnitus is a bit uncharacteristic of tinnitus itself as real tinnitus is usually not so diverse in its projection of sounds. Moreover, the disease is more often than not found in elderly people. His teeth and their degeneration remind of a passage in which he describes how he would like to replace his whole body. The teeth also though are an interesting choice because of how they make the head hurt. That is, it is almost like the roots of his teeth have been so degraded by his habits that the damage is one of the many that extend into his brain.

Bloodstains- Speed Kills

Cronenberg’s adaptation of Crash was an ill-conceived notion to begin with. When first reading Crash, I was, hyper stimulated by the visceral imagery and demented qualities of the books narration. It was initially an experience of science fiction that Baudriallard characterizes as “hyper real”. However, the systematic nature of Ballard’s descriptions seems to produce two affects. What makes the story real at first is the hyper physical descriptions of things we are all accustomed to, but are not usually paired so intimately. However, as the story continues what was once jaw dropping and unbelievable takes on a more real quality, a more human quality, a systematicity so to speak. That is, the fetish burgeons into a world of its own with recurring words and a distinct style that serves to almost create a vague logic behind the new sexuality. More succinctly I think I mean to convey that similar to A Clockwork Orange, the reader adapts to a hyper stimulated world by acquiescing a distinct jargon and thus predictable pattern for how events will be scrutinized by the narrator. A new way of knowing the world, whether through NADSAT, or dashboard panels and semen is bestowed onto the reader. Unlike A Clockwork Orange, the jargon implemented desensitizes, in my opinion, the reader to this fetish. Therefore, what was initially a dark and strange fetish becomes almost comical as we learn what to expect and how reactions will play out. That is not say that it loses its potency as a piece of satire, but what is being satirized becomes more evident. I think the problem with doing a film about the book is that without the narration to guide us into this new rationale, we inevitably experience a world far different from the one we experienced in the book. More specifically, Cronenberg’s world is too dark and less abstracted because of its medium from our own. Consequently, the film’s tone comes across as a mellow dramatic and ungrounded in its exploration because it offers no explanation of the inner monologue guiding this new fascination. Had I been in charge of the film I would have set in the 1950’s, somewhere where kids race cars along desolate stretches of land in southern California. It would take on the innocent demeanor so easily associated with the 1950’s and include a cast of characters and soundtrack reminiscent of American Graffiti. In doing so, a seemingly dark, hyper-sexual and masochistic love of new technology would be underscored and brought into its comic actuality by a benevolent spirit of youth and hope so readily associated with era. Plus the cars would be way more fun to play with.


In conclusion: I offer the song which underscored my own reading of the book, (with a 1950/60’s surf rock element of its own), Bloodstains by Agent Orange.






they can make things worse for me
sometimes i'd rather die
they can tell me lots of things
but i can't see eye to eye
well, i know they know the way i think
i know they always will
but someday i'm gonna change my mind
sometimes i'd rather kill

bloodstains - speed kills
fast cars - cheap thrills
rich girls - fine wine
i've lost my sense - i've lost control - i've lost my mind

things seem so much different now
the scene has died away
i haven't got a steady job
and i've got no place to stay
well, it's a futuristic modern world
but things aren't what they seem
someday you'd better wake up
from this stupid fantasy

Lets At Least Admire The Beauty of Our Demise

As the story progresses, there is indeed a sense that Vaughn is unreal. Not necessarily that he does not exist, but as we come to know him through the eyes of the main character there is a prevailing aura surrounding Vaughn that one might read as mystic in nature. He seems to embody a hypersexual nihilistic and futuristic Rasputin, bound by the fates for tragic infamy. I think it would be too simple to reduce Vaughn’s demeanor to some hyperbolic character foil dreamt up by Ballard’s main character. The nature of the work is satire and therefore I would argue that it is essential to explore what Vaughn means to humanity. Ballard appears to be suggesting something about the nature of human progress. More specifically, about the limits to what we create. In a sense, ideas that are earth shattering like the wheel for instance, transgress what is accepted to be normative. These are the transgressions that inspire progress and they can be understood more simply as creations. Simultaneously, there is also this very visceral desire to create by ramming one’s genitals into the appropriate and corresponding(or not) genitals of another. These two functions have brought us to the world of Ballard, which is the pinnacle of technology, or transgressive creations, and transgressive sexuality. (And perhaps more relevantly in discussing satire, the modern world with all its capabilities and still huge deficiencies.)These two things are realized in Vaughn’s character as he represents the future of humanity and moreover the inability for the world to continue upon such a trajectory. His popularity within the world constructed by Ballard is due not only to how he arouses this truth about the nature of things in the other characters, but moreover how he stoically accepts the truth he bestows to the degree that he does. That is, Vaughn realizes, and helps others realize how the next step is the last step, the marriage of man and machine, an unnatural and doomed relationship. Therefore, in order to truly transgress he must die with his transgression. Not to stray from the topic at hand, but in 1972 MIT published a groundbreaking study about the actuality of human progress on a global scale. The studies significance is self-evident in its title: The Limits To Growth. Perhaps Ballard is suggesting then that ultimately the drive to create, to transgress, must at some point be reconciled with the baseness of our more visceral tendencies such as violence and sex or else the human race is bound for a crashh.

Biting some serious styles

Jordan Pilato
Transgression in British Literature
Two months ago today I began my new job. I received a promotion for my excellent work and was awarded a position of higher status, co-Director of Administrative Affairs for the DMV with reign in all municipalities within the grouping of 5950C. Of course, before I could actually begin my new position the essential details had to be taken care of: i.e. proper forms were necessarily filed, all transition mandates signed, notarized and postmarked by the correct date, and lastly a request was sent to the bureau of labor for their seal of approval.

My first day I arrived a few minutes early as I was unsure of the security protocol at my new work place and the amount of time it would take me to get through. Although my instructions explicitly stated that I should first meet with my new director on the fourth floor before beginning any other first day formalities; my new assistant Janice Apple had received orders counter to that from the director himself to greet me in the lobby of the building. Janice had my new ID, which enabled me to bypass the security measures.
She was well put together and I appreciated her freshly waxed upper lip. I could tell by the look of her that she was naturally hairy and had to remain attentive to this detail or else she would appear unkempt and slovenly.
I was excited to begin my new job, I could tell because I kept flexing my buttocks in the elevator in order to maintain focus and look more collected. On our ride up Janice informed me that the director would be late this morning and that she was to show me to my new room where I would wait for him until he arrived. When we reached my new floor I was greeted by the familiar scent of industrial strength cleaner and the shine it left on the profoundly simple yet elegant white tile squares. I was brought back to the memory of the first day of school and my first experience with the scent of institutions, a scent that would give me a sense of belonging for the rest of my life. There was a reception desk and waiting area furnished with a large metal filing cabinet and chairs of a composite material that imitated wood.
The receptionist’s name was Karen. She was obese. That is essentially all I remember about her because that is all I saw. I loathe obese people. The very fact that they are obese means they have no appreciation for the natural order of things. I remember hoping very specifically that she would get eaten by a shark. That would restore some order and dignity to the planet. I would have her fired by the end of the month. There was no room for imperfection in my organization.
As we walked toward my new space of work I read the placard on the door, “Simon Stolin” the sight of it confirmed that this was in fact reality. The door opened and as I stepped into my new domain the head of my penis swelled. My balls tingled in excitement as I thought of how jealous my former colleagues would have been to see me in such a position of power. The first thing I saw as she flipped on the lights was an enormous filing cabinet with literally every form, mandate, directive and so on that the DMV had produced in the last twenty years regarding every aspect of motorized travel. I felt faint. I would be unstoppable with such an immaculately organized and well equipped space. I was now on an upward trajectory and felt certain that within a few years I would move on and head an even larger organization of peoples. Perhaps most exciting to me was the fact that I didn’t have a window. I hated windows. Windows got dirty, and dirt is disorder and disorder, well that has no place in the real world. Instead, on the far wall was a flat screen TV with the image of a window and a world outside. Janice must have sensed my excitement and proceeded to inform me that I could even change the weather on the TV to match the seasons.

Post Crash Reflections

After the crash our main character undergoes a definite shift in perspective. This much is self evident in the text with lines like : "in my eyes, the image of the car had changed, almost as if its true nature had been exposed by my accident" & "the crash was the only real experience I had been through for years". Not only does Ballard's main character become obsessed with all that is automotive, but perhaps more specifically during his recovery becomes hyper-conscious of the interplay between traffic, its patterns, and people. The world through which we know the main character seems to become increasingly surrounded by the infrastructure that facilitates car movement. More interestingly though is the way in which Ballard describes this world of traffic as almost bound for certain destruction. The way in which our main character gazes at the flow, or lack thereof in certain instances, of the surrounding traffic paints a picture that is reminiscent of the world of Hot Wheels I once played with. I am continually brought back to the image of all the cars connected by string, invisible string, and when one moves the whole world is set into motion. In this way, I get the impression that the obsession with crashing vehicles is perhaps the most romantic and subversive act in a world bound to move to their death, slowly,- machinations of a certain systematicity.... To win the game you must induce others to this realization by your example, the bigger your deviation from this order, the better.

Sexy Sexy Nagasaki

Human sexuality is a strange thing. From “Furry” porn, to the dudes who jerk off on Chatroulette, what turns people on will never be unambiguous in its rationale. I in no way mean to come off as if I am quantifying the value of these acts, or any others, I only mean to point out that there is a large spectrum of subjectivity when it comes to one’s ideas about what is sexy. Ballard’s Crash, seems to be playing on this, but also on an equally mysterious human fixation on destruction. Maybe its masculine conditioning, but I can certainly say that my affair with destruction began at age thirteen. Discarded TV’s on the side of the road would make long journeys through my neighborhood to the train tracks at the southern end, where my friends and would watch them get annihilated. I know these were not safe or productive things to do and moreover, that they are illegal, but the sight of a seemingly large object such as a TV smashed into oblivion by a CSX train hurdling at 60 M.P.H.’s an hour is a site to behold. Back to the topic at hand, although Ballard doesn’t use the term in our first four chapters the notion of rubbernecking seems as though it served as an implicit starting point for his explorations. That is, rubbernecking seems to demonstrate humanities perverse relationship with what happens when our mode(s) of transportation is revealed to be in actuality a rather dangerous practice. The beginning of the book launches the exploration in the most absurd of ways as it exemplifies not only the awe that accidents inspire but this ridiculous sense of mourning people feel when celebrities, elevated to the level of deities at times, are proven mortal in this most tragic way. I suppose to conclude I would say that sex, although enjoyed by all in various ways, for most is a means of creation. Ballard’s choice to juxtapose our drive to create and the actuality of our creations is accomplished thus far in very visceral and somewhat bleak way. That is, with technology limits are pushed, however, the limits of our bodies remain the same. Moreover, the choice to use accidents, regardless of their intent, speaks to the nihilistic nature behind civilization as it continually unfolds to produce a new reality in which the drive to progress, to create, combined with human fallibility might divorce our race from earthly existence entirely.

Natasha...no borris

Nabokov seems to explore the subjectivity of reality in context to the narratives inherent to the human condition. That is, we come to know ourselves through others and perhaps more relevantly, the stories surrounding others and ourselves. These stories are on the whole taken at face value. There is a definite ambiguity however as a result of this habit that seems most directly tied to the inner workings and actuality of the narratives constructed in the social process. The parts, regardless of how familiar we are with them, will never add up to the whole- the whole being the person. Bakhtin discusses this as a relevant aspect of Dostoevsky’s work and refers to this as “a genuine polyphony of fully valid voices”. It seems that in this way the story Natasha, dives head long into this style of narrative. That is, readers are presented with two main characters whose stories about themselves,(although differing in how they are projected to their worlds) are in a sense conflated, yet nonetheless, true to each character’s idea about themselves. More strikingly however is the way in which Nabokov ends the short story. There is a certain ambiguity pertaining to Natasha’s story of self in that, her final interaction with the only certainty of life- death- demonstrates the potential truth behind her sense of mysticism. Perhaps Nabokov is suggesting that not even death is a certainty in our realities, but rather the end of a story for one person and perhaps a climax and moment of realization for those it leaves behind.

Cut Up

He was a replacement major, (he switched from business after his first year)
A perfectly suited cog.
He was to uphold the glossy syntax
The sheen church of order that bestowed upon us
Soldiers upon the maggoty shelf: fear
Societal side vet, so to speak
The second or third tier, it didn’t matter how far up he went once upon a platform,
The vantage was the point
The waning floor and test bungalows below
He would lose connection with mankind
Not even a ripple relation “hallelujah”- he would exclaim
His was the type not ever raring circulation- bio-engineering, bread-winner
Grown rectitude: want editorialize
That is, raised to such height in “rightness”, his wants would make news
He would matter in that way, although his only contribution was a major replacement.