August 08, 2005
THAT ROPE AROUND THE NECK OF LUCKY...
On April 22, 1956, I wrote in my notebook: One day I'll write a book about this Thomas Becket guy.I had no idea who Samuel Beckett was when I first saw Waiting for Godot. And I didn't understand a damn thing about what was going on, or not going on in that play. And I didn’t really care, one way or the other. For that day, I felt as if I had had a revelation. Not a very clear one. Not one that specifies the way to go now. But something clicked that day. Or, as Arsene explains to Watt, something slipped ... suddenly somewhere some little thing slipped some little tiny thing ... It was a slip like that I felt .... millions of little things moving all together out of their old place, into a new one nearby, and furtively, as though it were forbidden.
In the French version Beckett put it this way:
... soudain quelque part il glissa quelque chose, une petit quelque chose, un infime quelque chose .... c’est ce genre de glissement que je ressentis ... des millions de petites choses s’en allant toutes ensemble de leur vieille place dans une nouvelle tout à côté, et sournoisement, comme si c’était défendu.
When I first saw Lucky enter the stage with that long rope tied around his neck which extended off-stage before Pozzo appeared, and as I stared at Lucky bent under the weight of what he was carrying and the rope pulling at his neck, I thought, what courage, what daring, what guts this writer has to show us something so horrible and yet make us laugh.
Yes, I heard laughter in the theater when Lucky entered on stage. He was such a preposterous figure. And I heard that laughter every time I saw Lucky enter on stage with that rope around his neck. I think that’s what caused the slip in me. That rope around the neck of Lucky.
It felt as if that rope was around my neck. Holding me back from where I was supposed to go. And yet, I too laughed.
This is how Beckett wrote the stage directions: Pozzo drives Lucky by means of a rope passed round his neck, so that Lucky is the first to appear, followed by the rope which is long enough to allow him to reach the middle of the stage before Pozzo appears. Lucky carries a heavy bag, a folding stool, picnic basket and a greatcoat. Pozzo a whip.
It took many years for me to understand what had slipped in me when I first saw Waiting for Godot. But when I understood what it was, I also understood how I must write my books – write them with a sense of the horrible mixed with laughter. What I eventually called Laughterature.
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July 29
Straitjacket
claus·tro·pho·bi·a (klôstr-fb-) n. - Abormal fear of being in narrow or enclosed spaces.
Claustrophobics are pansies. Just kidding. Well, sort of. I was claustrophobic at one time, back in the day. You want a cure for claustrophobia? Try being paralyzed. Seriously. That will alleviate all of your concerns about confined spaces. There is no tighter space to be trapped inside of than your own skin. It's enough to make the strongest mind go crazy. It's like a straitjacket for your entire body. You can't feel much of anything, and what you can feel is extremely hypersensitive. I swear I have some sort of Spidey-Sense in the parts that I can feel. Every sound is magnified, every taste glorified, every vision clearer, every touch intensified.
Before I was injured, most of the things I notice now I had never even thought twice about. I lay awake at night, driven absolutely crazy by the smallest itch I can't scratch. For example, with any sort of air movement, I can tell you precisely where I have a piece of dry skin on my face. At any given moment, I can also tell you exactly how many eyelashes have fallen out onto my cheeks, as well as their exact location. I can tell you literally every part of my shoulder blades that touch the bed at all times. Just the slightest discomfort can bring you to tears at times, because you lay there helpless, with no way to fix whatever the problem is.
Since that is the situation I find myself in quite often, and mainly around three in the morning when everyone is asleep, I have become a master of my own style of meditation. I have somehow figured out how to ignore the things that make me want to claw my eyes out, for the most part. And I thought I was a strong-willed and focused person BEFORE I got hurt. Now that's laughable. I should be a Buddhist monk by now, considering what I am able to endure. It's amazing what you can handle when you when you literally have no choice. Become a quadriplegic, and you become a freakin' Zen master, I swear.
6:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (9) | Trackbacks (0) | Blog it | On paralysis
Straitjacket
claus·tro·pho·bi·a (klôstr-fb-) n. - Abormal fear of being in narrow or enclosed spaces.
Claustrophobics are pansies. Just kidding. Well, sort of. I was claustrophobic at one time, back in the day. You want a cure for claustrophobia? Try being paralyzed. Seriously. That will alleviate all of your concerns about confined spaces. There is no tighter space to be trapped inside of than your own skin. It's enough to make the strongest mind go crazy. It's like a straitjacket for your entire body. You can't feel much of anything, and what you can feel is extremely hypersensitive. I swear I have some sort of Spidey-Sense in the parts that I can feel. Every sound is magnified, every taste glorified, every vision clearer, every touch intensified.
Before I was injured, most of the things I notice now I had never even thought twice about. I lay awake at night, driven absolutely crazy by the smallest itch I can't scratch. For example, with any sort of air movement, I can tell you precisely where I have a piece of dry skin on my face. At any given moment, I can also tell you exactly how many eyelashes have fallen out onto my cheeks, as well as their exact location. I can tell you literally every part of my shoulder blades that touch the bed at all times. Just the slightest discomfort can bring you to tears at times, because you lay there helpless, with no way to fix whatever the problem is.
Since that is the situation I find myself in quite often, and mainly around three in the morning when everyone is asleep, I have become a master of my own style of meditation. I have somehow figured out how to ignore the things that make me want to claw my eyes out, for the most part. And I thought I was a strong-willed and focused person BEFORE I got hurt. Now that's laughable. I should be a Buddhist monk by now, considering what I am able to endure. It's amazing what you can handle when you when you literally have no choice. Become a quadriplegic, and you become a freakin' Zen master, I swear.
6:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (9) | Trackbacks (0) | Blog it | On paralysis
# posted by 
: Monday, August 08, 2005 1:27:00 PM
: Monday, August 08, 2005 1:27:00 PM
Yes, Laughterature -- you may want to consult Federman's Take It or Leave It to learn more about this wonderful thing [and enjoy the amazing effects of laughterature while reading about laughterature by reading laughterature].
*L*
*L*
# posted by : Wednesday, August 10, 2005 3:04:00 AM
: Wednesday, August 10, 2005 3:04:00 AM
SEE 'FRAGMENTS OF WRITING'
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# posted by : Saturday, August 13, 2005 2:42:00 AM
: Saturday, August 13, 2005 2:42:00 AM << Home
