Merriam Webster to be precice. Pynchonesque. Its a word. The English police said so.
Oddly enough though there are films, sentimental personal effects, a beautiful old projector and other rare and valuable things coming to me soon in an old chest, the thing I think I’ll be most excited to break out is my copy of Gravity’s Rainbow. Pynchon you son of a bitch – its been far too long.
I’ve just read two reviews of the author’s newest book, one from the New York Times claimed it felt more like a homage to Pynchon by a wannabe than a great work of art. The other review from some obscure UK publication painted a picture in all of Pynchon’s proper colour and forms. Pynchon’s books aren’t literature as we know it. They’re something else. Forced to classify I’d almost rate them as psychotropics and anyone who’s a true conniseur of drugs knows that you need to go into the trip with the right intention and mindset.
I think digging my oculars into a Pynchonian tome is just what my mushy little mellon needs about now, after being shrink wrapped, freeze dried and custom cut for the corporate world I’ve been inhabiting for the past few months. Its causing the death of me. I feel like I’ve been eating mental cardboard. Here I’m trying to be creative and witty and this is all I can produce. Laughable. But still…
I was inspired by skimming the contents of an inferior book, if you can call things that dont’ really inhabit the same genus superior or inferior to each other. Anyhow after reading a few pages of tripe and imagining better ways to write the same thing I realised I needed some literary sniffing salts. So I looked up Pynchon on the web.
But let’s break from all that to something not altogether unrelated. Burning Man. Speaking of disconnected narratives, the human menagerie, drugs, sex and alternate scientific possibilities for the soul – Burning Man. Has Pynchon ever gone? Considered it? Bah! Useless to ask. Just go on with the story. Okay.
I’ve noticed that when I dream of Black Rock City (and this happened only last night) that nowadays there is a pervasive impending threat. Out there by the trash fence, at the edge, where there and here meet. What do I see? Condos. No word of a lie. Legoland condo developments with their legoland inhabitants – you know, the ones with the switchable hair/hats? Yeah. Fucking condos man. They steal UE and they’re threatening to steal Black Rock.
Its interesting that for me the condo is the embodiment of all things banal, conformist and evil. Mass produced huksterism with nary a thought for the actual future or quality thereof. Am I a throwback or what? And to think I almost bought one. Holy Shit! That’s a great art project!
This terror can’t be mine alone! What about a giant billboard at the trash fence advertizing the pre-sale of Black Rock codominiums! Oh motherfucker what brilliance! Eris send me horrors that I may make them into art!
Further proof that ANYTHING can be reframed.