Directory of Lost Causes (By Quentin S. Crisp)

Let the Dead Bury the Dead

I'm tired of forcing myself to take an interest in trivia. I don't want this to be a negative post. I don't feel in a 'flowing' mood, and no doubt there will be no elegant flow to what I have to say.

Look, it's over.

Forget your mortgage, forget your pension, forget saving up for your next car, forget living to see your grandchildren grow up, forget the dating game, forget plastic surgery, forget who's marrying who in Hollywood, forget it all...

Human civilisation is over.

I don't know if we deserve it or not, but we cannot deny, anyway, that we have been stupid enough to make it happen.

How stupid are we?

In the same few days we have the strongest rains ever recorded in Indian history, and no one on the news asks whether there's a connection to climate change. We have a freak hurricane in Birmingham, and no one asks whether it's to do with climate change.

Instead the television invites us to watch a group of tedious morons trying to grab the limelight in order to appease the eternal aching of their insipid little egos. We are promised a delightful modern fairy tale starring Hilary Duff. And when these emetic celebrities pass from our screens they are replaced by respectable leaders of men inviting us to support them in an endless war upon people we have never met. And between their speeches we are sold washing machines and cars and chocolate and toilet fresheners and all these other things that we need so much that its worth destroying the entire planet for.

By rights we should be ripping the heads off these various celebrities, politicians and advertising executives and puking down their execrable necks.



I suppose, instead, we shall be gathered around our televisions watching the tidal wave on the screens as it crashes through our windows. How's that for reality TV?

I've just got one thing to say - get out of the insurance business NOW. You're onto a loser.

Rule Dementia! Hits the Net

Well, someone told me recently that they'd spotted a new novel of mine in the catalogue of an Internet bookshop. I was surprised to hear this as, so far, I haven't published any novels. I have written one, mind you, but so far no one seems willing to touch it.



Anyway, I checked out the claim, and it seems that they were probably referring to Rule Dementia!, my collection of short stories and novellas, which is available to purchase now from Shocklines.

Of course, you could always order a copy from Langton's Bookshop, or direct from the publisher.

All I need now is for someone to review it.

BBC Scum

I used to have a vague respect for British newsreaders. I used to think they were probably alright people - decent, impartial folk with a bit of nouse. But no more. I really do believe that the television news has gone downhill in recent years.



I think I'll start by reproducing here an extract from an e-mail I wrote to a friend recently. I hope she doesn't mind. I have all the bad habits usually associated with writers, and one of them is storing correspondence to be used later as raw material for writing. Anyway, here is the extract in question:

It's true I do have a lot of anger (as our American cousins would say). For some reason it tends to come out on my blog. Probably because I hardly ever express it in my daily life. I was watching the news today, and I wanted to kill the reporters. They're such morons. The news has really gone downhill in recent years. They say things like, "With the fleets of three nations here, the sea resembles some ancient ocean." Why does many ships equal "ancient ocean"? And it's just such a redundant comparison. "The sea" resembles "an ocean". Are these people really professional reporters? They are cunts. And this evening one of them talked about a nuclear reactor being "a ring of metal shaped like a doughnut". Shaped like a doughnut? So, that would be a ring, then, like you said in the first place, you despicable cunt. I hate these people. Worst of all is the way they all say "Briddish" now, instead of "British". They should definitely be killed for that. And their reporting just isn't objective, anyway. There was a report about Emperor Akihito visiting Saipan to pay his respects to those who had fallen in battle there, and the reporter said something like, "But the event became merely another celebration of nationalism, with Shinto priests flown in from the notorious Yasukuni shrine, which glorifies war. There are young Japanese coming to the beach to swim, but they are not thinking of the horrors of war, and they are not interested in the lessons of history." How the fuck does he know? Has he personally interviewed them all?

So, I get very frustrated when confronted by evidence that the world is being run by morons. And it comes out on my blog. Please forgive me.

And I hate Tony Blair. If any further evidence of his evil was needed, we have the ID card bill that he's trying to force through.

I would very much like to 'name and shame' the news presenters in question, because it seems to me they are representative of a new rotten-ness in our society, but unfortunately I can never remember their names. I believe all the above examples, however, to come from BBC scum, because that is the channel we normally watch for news in our house.

I would like to conclude by saying that what prompted me to write this entry was not the BBC, however, but tonight's ITV news. On there, a Muslim cleric was interviewed by the presenter.

If anyone can tell me the names of the cleric and the presenter for sure, I would be very interested. The presenter asked the cleric if he unreservedly condemned the recent London bombings. He said that he did, and that he condemned all violence, whether committed by the terrorists or by Western powers in foreign countries. At the end of the programme, this presenter stated that the cleric had refused to condemn the bombings unreservedly on the ITV news. In other words, the presenter is a liar. Whatever the cleric privately believes, he certainly condemned the bombings. I suppose the implication is that if you condemn our Western violence, too, then you are not condemning the bombings, because our violence is good, and no one should dare to put it on an equal footing with the terrorist violence. In other words, the presenter is ITV scum.

This kind of thing seems to be more and more common recently.

Anyway, at least Ken Livingston has the balls to stand up and tell the truth - the bloody obvious truth. Good on yer, Red Ken.

Pore Self Morotion

I'm afraid that my recent entries in this blog have not been of a very high quality, if one can talk about quality in a medium designed for letting off steam and being self-indulgent.

Anyway, this is another entry that is not particularly exciting, but that serves a purpose nonetheless.

I should really give a report of how my reading went on the 14th of July, and that kind of thing, but I'm too tired, and I don't have much time. Let's just say that I had hoped more people would turn up, but we had a good time anyway. Apparently the shop turned a profit, thanks to me, and, apparently, that does not always happen on these occasions. So, I suppose I should be satisfied.

Anyway, the point of this post is, there are still copies of Rule Dementia! available for purchase at Langton's Bookshop. So, if you're in the vicinity, why not pop in and buy a copy. On the other hand, if you're not in the vicinity, you can order a copy by post, by sending an e-mail to the following address:

orders@langtonsbookshop.com

The price is fourteen quid a copy. That includes postage and packing. At least, it does within the UK. If you are ordering from overseas, you'll have to enquire about that in your e-mail.

Whaling

Now, some time back, good people, I told you of my discovery of a wonderful poet by the name of Kaneko Misuzu. Well, since that time I have translated a number of her poems, and one of my translations has been published in Magma Poetry Magazine. I went along to the launch of issue 32 and gave a bilingual reading of the poem in question. It seemed to be very well received, which was heartening.



I did not choose to translate this poem because it is topical, although, of course, it is. Hopefully the fact that this is arguably an anti-whaling poem written by a Japanese poet should help to defuse some stereotypes.

As for my own position on whaling, well, I am a (not very disciplined) vegetarian, so currently I do not eat any meat. I find pictures of whaling rather repulsive, but I don't think it's any worse than what happens in any abbatoir bringing people their daily helpings of pig, cow and chicken meat.

Do I support a lift on the whaling moratorium?

In a word, no. Animals need all the protection they can get.



Now, for the poem in question, please click on this link. If it doesn't work, you may have to register with the Magma Poetry site.

If all else fails, scroll to the bottom of the front (home?) page, and you will find my name there, next to the title 'Whaling'.

What's In a Name?

As some of you may know, I am booked to sign my latest book at Langton's Bookshop. Langtons is my local and preferred bookshop, and I often go in there just to have a chat with Jon Foulkes, for which I'm sure I must apologise to him. It can't be good for business. Anyway, there is now a sign up in the shop giving details of my reading on July the 14th. Also, recently, every time I've been in I have asked if anyone has phoned up to enquire about the reading. Apparently no one has. That's so discouraging. Indifference is the enemy of art.

Anyway, apparently, a great many people have seen the sign in the shop advertising the appearance of Quentin S Crisp and have complained that it is false advertising, because I am not the 'real' Quentin Crisp. If any of those people are reading this now - and everyone else, please forgive my vulgarity - you are a tedious cunt! I AM the real Quentin Crisp. How many times do I have to explain this? I've even explained it before on this very blog.

However, this controversy has led to a conversation between myself and Jon on the matter of whether I should use a pen name. It is certainly ironic that I should have to change my real name because Dennis Pratt changed his name to mine. In fact, Jon suggested I could change my name to Dennis Pratt. But no, there are very good reasons that Dennis changed his name in the first place. He knew very well that my name was better. However, Jon does seem to think I might have a better chance of finding a major publisher if I use a pen name. Probably because publishers are mainly of the same ilk as the tedious cunts who complain about my name being false advertising.

This is something that has occurred to me before, but I have quite simply never been able to think of a pen name with which I am satisfied. Then there's the fact that there are now people who have read the works I have published so far and are eagerly waiting for more. Jon laughed at this suggestion, which was very remiss of him, but it's true, damn it! I'm even mentioned in Wikipedia, the online encyclopaedia.

However, I have decided that, because I am always wrong, it's probably best to throw the question open to the public. So, I want you all to think of a good pen name for me. Male, female or unisex - I don't mind! If there is one that I decide actually to use - even if only experimentally - then I will send the author of that name a free copy of my latest book, Rule Dementia!. Also, I will be his or her friend forever. However, if all the names are crap, I won't send a prize to anyone.

Now, if you need anything to go on, I suggest you read something I've written. My latest story, 'The Fairy Killer' is currently available free online as a sample. Also, if you need a visual clue, well, there are not many photos of me online, but I'll try and find one to link to.



As usual, I expect there to be zero response to this entry.

Thank you very much.

7/7

For what it's worth, which is, I suspect, very little, I shall now transcribe my diary entry for the seventh of July, 2005:

Tanabata and L---'s birthday. Mixed rain and sunshine.

Shortly after I arrived at C--- House, before beginning my first lesson, I heard ----Sensei mention something about explosions on the underground. Or was it beween lessons? Anyway, during my second lesson he came in and said that due to explosions on the underground transport might not be running today.

After lessons had finished I asked if there were any news. The Japanese staff put on the radio and we stood around and listened as it became clear that a number of bombs had been exploded in Central London - one on a bus and the rest in the Underground. The staff busied themselves in phoning students and telling them not to come in for lessons today.

It all felt a little as I would imagine life during wartime to feel. I received a text message from M--- asking if I was okay. I had no way of answering, since there was no money on my phone. I thought, however, that if there was no transport, I might try and walk to M---'s home in G---.

I had lunch in the canteen area downstairs. The black lady said she now knows I don't like tomatoes. I had left all the tomatoes out of my salad last time. This time she made sure there were no tomatoes in my salad.

I sat down with some of my students. ----San showed me a book of vocabulary she was collecting from her lessons, and perhaps elsewhere. It was full of expressions such as 'yob', 'chav', 'ASBO' and so on. Her favourite expression, however, was 'butterflies in the stomach'.

I finished my lunch, and it seemed the rain had stopped. I rose to leave.

I walked down to the station. There was a notice board next to the ticket office saying that due to "power surges" on the Underground, normal services had been disrupted. I was going to ask the man in the office why the sign said "power surges" rather than "bombs", but instead I simply asked if I would be able to get back to Twickenham. It appeared that I probably would. Indeed, I have.

I have had a number of e-mails from people checking if I'm okay.

Apart from the obvious strangeness, it's been a quiet day. I was very tired and slept on the train a little, I think. I also had a nap when I got back.

I wrote two pages of Domesday and one of Antiquarian - not in that order. Also, I have finished reading The Passion of the Western Mind. It's quite possible that it will change my life.

On the train, thinking about this, and perhaps about the bombs, too, I had an idea for a story called 'The Agent'. I must write it down when I get some time. Strangely, one part of that idea appeared in the end of Dean Koontz's Sole Survivor, the last forty minutes or so of which I watched on video this evening as I ate my dinner. The idea as it appeared in the film was the necessity of the fear of death. I wonder if spiritual well-being will destroy my sense of purpose?

Work in Progress

Here's a little glimpse of the songwriting process at work within the Dorothy fold.

Recently - I think it was on Friday - I completed a new lyric and sent it to Pete Black via e-mail. I got a brief e-mail back saying he liked the lyrics a lot. Since I know that Pete doesn't give out praise willy nilly, I had the feeling that this lyric might soon be put to music. Sure enough today - Sunday - I received another e-mail from Pete which simply contained the URL for a file containing a song idea that he is working on with the lyric in question. The link is here.



I gave it a listen. I liked it. I asked if I could share the demo with readers of my blog. The answer was yes, although I was told that the end product might bear little resemblance to this doodle. Well, I am certainly looking forward to it. So far six original Dorothy songs have been recorded, and all of them are very fine. I can't wait for the album.

Below are the lyrics:

Home

This is the same song
I will be singing
On the day of the happy disaster
When everything stops
'Cause we can't go any faster.

This is the same song
I will be singing
When the world market collapses
And suddenly we fall
Back to the beginning.

Drink with me
Laugh with me
Talk with me.
And wouldn't it be
A wonderful surprise
If there in the shell of the library
You see what's always been
Right in front of your eyes
And quietly you turn to me,
Your fingers curling on my knee,
And say, "Let's go home."

This is the same song
I will be singing
When we sit round a bonfire at last
Burning page after page
Of Proust's Remembrance of Times Past.

Drink with me
Laugh with me
Talk with me.
And wouldn't it be
A wonderful surprise
If there amidst the fallen bodies
That are history's only end
You decide that you actually
Want to know me,
And there's nothing left
Except to be friends.

These are my hands,
The lines smudged with ash
A book by anonymous
My favourite hack.
This is my education,
And scrawled here all that I know,
This is my station in life and my home
I care about you loads.

By the way, I stole the wonderful image about Proust's Remembrance of Times Past from a story by a friend of mine, the very brilliant Mark Samuels.