Monday, February 20, 2017

in re: Milo.

The film has scenes with boys in Morocco, but they're older of course. It was written by Alan Bennett who played along with the clean-up. It's based on Lahr's Biography, which is explicit, and of course the diaries, which Lahr later edited.
We were hailed with 'Hallo' from a very beautiful 16 year old boy whom I knew (but had never had) from lest year. Kenneth wanted him. We talked for about five minutes and finally I said. 'Come to our apartment for tea this afternoon.' He was very eager. We arranged that he should meet us at the Windmill beach place. As we left the boy Kenneth said, Wasn't I good at arranging things?' This astounded me. 'I arranged it; I said You would have been standing talking about the weather for ever.' K didn't reply... (9 May 1967)
Milo is a self-hating homosexual and political reactionary in a long line of self-hating homosexuals and political reactionaries, and also a long line of comedians. His is a form of reactionary honesty in the face of a bourgeois moralism and hypocrisy. It's the reactionary honesty of de Sade and Houellebecq, of Rock and Roll and High Fashion, the ghosts of monarchist freedom, of libertines that earnest liberals celebrate without knowing what they're celebrating. That cluelessness applies to academia as well.  If I say that Foucault obviously was an arch conservative from an arch conservative tradition, the response is confusion.

A girl I knew in 9th grade had an affair with our English teacher. She pretty much destroyed him.
Another English teacher at the school married one of his ex-students, the year after she graduated from Yale.

The couples below are Verlaine and Rimbaud, and Isherwood and Bachardy. The image on the right is annoyingly perverse. The older one isn't.

I searched the blog for a reference and found this, which wasn't what I was looking for but it made me laugh. Looking elsewhere I still didn't find what I was looking for but found this.
“Germany cannot be what she used to be, because there are not enough Jewish people. My mother always said there was some sparkle only the Jewish culture could bring. Germany without Jews is a boring, materialistic country.”

I was looking for this.

Bruce: What were you like as a child?

Karl: I was very much like a grown-up. I have photos of me as a child wearing a tie, and it's the same as I am today. And of course I was very successful with pedophilia [sic]. I knew about it when I was ten.

Bruce: So you used it consciously?

Karl: Well, I wouldn't go that far. It was impossible to touch me. I would run away and I would tell my mother about people she knew, like the brother of one of my sister's husbands. Nothing happened, but my mother said, "You know, darling, it's your fault. You see how you behave."

I should add a tag for fashion.
More on Morocco from the BBC, including Burroughs and Ginsberg
Malcolm Forbes was outed a year after this was published. It was never that secret.

update, appropriately enough, from Artnet:
The ‘Twinks4Trump’ Guy, Who Organized a Pro-Trump Art Show, Is Now a White House Correspondent.
"His initial claim to fame was a photo series showing shirtless young men in "Make America Great Again" baseball hats."
See also Richard Spencer and Caravaggio. Follow the links back to Ginsberg again, and others. repeats of repeats of repeats: 

The relation of art and fascism.

There could be no more poignant contrast to this confidence in the spells of art [in the perceptual "objectivity" of hieroglyphs] than a passage from Plato's older contemporary Euripides that also deals with tomb sculpture. When Alcestis is going to die, her grieving husband Admetus speaks of the work he will commission for his solace:

And represented by the skillfull hands
Of craftsmen, on the bed thy body shall
Be laid; whereon I shall fall in embrace
And clasp my hands around it, call thy name,
And fancy in my arms my darling wife
To hold, holding her not; perhaps, I grant,
Illusory delight, yet my soul's burden
Thus shall I lighten...

What Admetus seeks is not a spell, not even assurance, only a dream for those who are awake; in other words, precisely that state of mind to which Plato, the stern seeker after truth, objected.
Plato, we know, looked back with nostalgia at the immobile schemata of Egyptian art.

Gombrich, Art and Illusion, p.126
"I want the illusion.
Do you want the illusion or do you want the illusion to be real?
What’s the difference?
One means that you have an appreciation of the arts. The other means that you’re a fascist."

We tell ourselves stories in order to live.

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