January 19, 2021, by Tosh Berman

 

January 19, 2021

It's the fate that Patricia Highsmith shares the same birthday date as Edgar Allen Poe. Two horror writers understood a troubled psyche and how that can cause an atrocity in one's life and fiction. I first discovered Highsmith's work just right before I made a massive trip to Europe in 1986. "The Talented Mr. Ripley" made an impression on me as a realistic study of a sociopath personality. Throughout the years, I felt I have met or known a version of Tom Ripley. They are more common than one thinks. They usually lurk around the fringes of the wealthy and powerful. 

Identity as an issue or subject matter lingers in my mind for many years now. I'm struck by how people adapt to their and other cultures by imitating genuinely not their behavior. Suppose you were not born in a specific class or social placement. In that case, therefore, you either re-do your personality or identity to fit into a social setting. One notices this in the art world, and I have to presume in the music and film world as well. Highsmith work's unique thing is that she doesn't take a moral stand on a crime or the conflicted personality who commits the crime or act of violence. The reader put themselves into the plot, and there is always that creepy feeling that you are in compliance with the crime.  

My father and I didn't have many serious talks, but I remember when I was a teenager, and he told me that I should never feel guilt. If I caused someone harm due to an accident, never feel guilty. Why he brought this up to me is still a mystery. Whenever I read Highsmith, I think of what my dad told me. They're five-years in the age difference, and I suspect if Wallace (my dad) knew Patricia, he would like her. Even though she was not crazy about Jewish people, I guess that there would have been some form of friendship between them. 

Highsmith wrote a book of short stories about animals who commit murder, "The Animal Lover's Book of Beastly Murder." Her love of animals was not on the same plain as cute kitties and smiling dogs; no, her animals have a sinister quality. And she was an animal lover. Highsmith raised and traveled with snails. She would put them in her purse, with some lettuce, to feed themselves on trips.  I suspect that she lived a life without anyone around her. Highsmith wrote characters that were so real, with all the duality aspects of a figure who can't develop or deal with the lack of identity. Murder and violence in her books are, in a funny manner is a transgression of an intimate feeling between two people. When I was in Europe doing the travel thing, I would find her books used mostly in the Penguin editions. I brought them home with me, and reasons I don't know why, but her work makes me feel human. 

The Sunday Series: Sunday No. 2 (January 18, 2015)

Photo from https://www.etsy.com/shop/VintageMadeByDucky/about?ref=l2-more-about

Sunday No. 2

It took me awhile, but I think I arranged a chance to fuck “her.” It seemed like it took forever to get her to my point of view, that I was desperately trying to convey to her.   Her beauty has been a consistent heartache as well as a pleasure of sorts.  To want something, and being so close to “it, ” is like walking across two skyscrapers on a thin rubber-band in the wind.  She is standing perfectly still in front of me, but the wind is pulling me back, sideways, and this time, I hope forward.   She would often drop hints of sensual adventure, but once I try to act upon them, it is like it never happened.   Either by design, desire, or just a cruel version of torture, she would wear this piece of jewelry on her body that is like waving a red cape in front of a horny bull.  It was a thin chain that is connected to her waist and goes up to the back, and then around her beautiful neck.  If she was wearing a blouse it would appear to be a thin necklace around her throat.  But when she is wearing her backless black dress, you can see the full design, except the part that is connected to her, what I imagined, is her perfect waist.  When I was with her, especially in public, I could barely stand it.  

I’m consistently on the telephone with her, and she slipped in the information that she was planning to wear the “necklace,” in case I was planning to come over her house - which it seems she will be alone.  My reaction is like the wolf in a Looney Tunes 1940s cartoon, where my eyes are jumping out of my sockets, and my tongue is rolling over my thick lips.  I told her for sure I will be there, and since it’s Sunday, I’ll bring some things over.  Neither one of us works in the sense of “work,”… like Monday you have to go to work type of thing.  Personally I was daydreaming that I would be spending a week in her bed, while I trace my fingers against her jewelry.   In fact, I wanted to remove her jewelry piece, and with a felt pen, draw another version on her skin.   For the whole week beforehand, whenever I saw a felt pen on a table, or in a stationary shop, I would get an erection.  While we were talking and arranging a meeting just now, that is exactly what I was thinking.   Before I left the house I took at least three pens with me and put it in my bag.  

I knew she had a turntable in her apartment, so I stopped at Amoeba to locate Brian Eno and Robert Fripp’s “Evening Star” on vinyl.   Some years back, I remember having sex with this music in the background.  Side two is “An Index of Metals, ” which lasts for the whole side.  I think 28 minutes.   Perfect time length for intercourse, as well as climaxing at the end of the track.  Knowing this piece so well, I can use it as a guide of sorts, while actually fucking her.   I did find the album, although used, and looking at its surface, I did see scratches on the vinyl.  In theory, I thought this will be OK, and may even add creative tension in the sex act, with this in the background.  

As I was heading out towards the line to purchase the Eno/Fripp album, I saw a 45 single by Timi Yuro called “Interlude.” I stopped.  I turned around and picked the single up. This was a song, that I wanted like forever.  Timi was a favorite singer of mine, and often I felt, mine alone.  She was an American, died young, and had a big voice for a little girl.  This song, for me, is the ultimate doomed love song.  I often cried when listening to it, and that was embarrassing because a friend of mine had the single.  I tried to buy it off him, but he refused. He told me that once I find it, the song will bring new meaning to you.   I looked at the grooves of the vinyl, and it looked like it never has been played.  The store wanted $12.99 for it, and who am I to argue if the price is too high.  What I’m buying is not only art, but something that is essential to one’s life, or even identity.  With that in my hand, I started to walk towards the cashier, when all of sudden something caught my eye.

It was the front cover of an album by an artist or band called Perfume Genius.   I was struck by the beauty of the young man on the cover, and I immediately went to the record like an abandoned cat in a rain storm approaching a neighbor’s cat food plate.  The song titles were intriguing to me, especially the one called “Queen.” With my I-Phone, I found the track on YouTube, and watched and listened to it at that spot.  It was the glam rock song of my desires.  I gave up hope of ever hearing a new glam song, and this one with its pansy sexuality, was superb.  I played found another video of his, called “Body, ” and that too was magnificent.  When one discovers a new record or a new sound, it is like falling in love.  One wants to go around and shake people from their shoulders and tell them to listen to this.   Common sense told me that this was not a good idea.  So I took that album and put it under my arm with the Fripp/Eno album as well as the Timi single.  While standing in line to purchase the goods, she called me and told me if it is ok to come later over her house.  I said sure, and she said that she is really looking forward to seeing my face.  I felt good hearing that.  Also it gave me a chance to get back home and listen to the records.

Every time I play a record on my turntable, it takes me five minutes or so to clean the needle.  I’m obsessed with getting the best sound possible on my set-up, and I actually enjoy the procedure in preparing a record listening session.   I quickly checked the Eno/Fripp record to see if it’s in a good condition, and for a used album, it looked like it wasn’t played a lot.  There was a crackle here and there, but overall it sounded good, and therefore perfect for tonight’s planned love-making.    I then put on Perfume Genius “Too Bright” album.  

“I Decline” is the first song on side one.  At this moment, I ‘m taken to another place in my world.  I don’t even recognize where it is, but I know I like it.   Then comes the song “Queen.” It is like someone put a knife on my chest and cut it open, and released all the tension within me.  “No family is safe when I sashay.” I keep lifting the needle after the song is finished and replaying it.  I remember in Jean Cocteau’s “Orpheus” when the main character, a poet, would sit in his car parked in his garage listening to messages on the car radio from the underworld.  I feel the same way when I hear this song.  “Queen” is communicating with me directly.  Slowly, as I meditate on the song, it becomes clear to me that life is so multi-dimensional.  

Once the whole album was over, I immediately went into my work-space and got my head-phones and played the whole record again.  One of the things I admire about the record is its sonic textures.  The melodies are all strong, but there was something ‘ugly’ about the sound as well, which brings out the beauty of the lyrics and melody.  Due to the cord attached to the mixer, I couldn’t sit on the couch, so I got a big pillow, and lay on the wooden floor.  As the sound overcame me, I fell asleep and I had this odd dream of me being in bed and someone entering the bedroom.  It was a ‘she’ and I presumed it was my desirable obsession with the jewelry.  As soon as she got in bed in total darkness, I reached out and said her name.  She then told me that it wasn’t her, but someone named Sue. I didn’t recognize the voice, and I didn’t do anything. I just pretended that I fell asleep.  When I woke up, I hear the needle going back and forth at the end of the record. 

I then put on the 45 rpm single of Timi Yuro’s “Interlude,” and time truly became a dream.   I slowly realize that my desires are a dream.   There is my life as a living being, but beyond that, and through music, I realize that I am something more.   Not necessary a  better person, but I’m not the same guy that morning, then I am now this evening.   Time is like a dream, and my lust for her, has changed into a beautiful melody. 

January 18, 2014

January 18, 2014

Two things made a huge impact on me and my wife was the Northridge Earthquake and the night before purchasing our first computer, the Macintosh Classic.   As a couple or even as an individual we never spent so much money on an object such as the home computer.  At the time I didn't even know its full use.  I was thinking of it as a typing machine with a screen.  But we went to the local electronic shop, purchased the computer after talking to everyone for some sort of advice, and we settled on the Apple computer. The other computer brand seemed too macho or nerdy, I just wanted to turn it on and do its magic for us.  I remember at the electronic shop we purchased a computer game called "Alice" illustrated by Kuniyoshi Kaneko, whose illustrations reminded me of paintings by  Balthus.  

We set the computer up no time, did the registration thing, and added the "Alice" game into the computer.  The game itself bored me (all games bore me) but the images were so great.  My wife and I were thrilled to have "Alice" as well as having a computer.   We went to bed that night happy and content.

Around 4:30 in the morning I felt a dropping sensation as well as a roar that seemed to come from the gates of Satan's home.  They said the earthquake lasted for seconds, but it seemed longer to me.  Without a doubt I knew instantly that this was a major incident that was taking place, that may kill us as well.   The odd part was the quietness after the quake, maybe a second, and then the car alarms went off.  It was almost a musique concrete piece because there were so many alarms being set off at the same time.

It was pitch dark, and we just stayed in bed.  I remember trying to fall asleep but that was impossible.  Once daylight broke out I got out and surveyed the damage.  The first thing we thought of, more than lost life or what happened outside the house was our computer.  I went into the office area and books from the shelves were dumped on the floor, but standing perfectly proud on the table was our computer.  Nothing but chaos around the computer, but there was something almost spiritual about it not being harmed during the quake.

The worst thing about the quake was the aftershocks.  I remember for at least a month I had a deep fear of walking down the street, thinking an aftershock will happen any moment.  Therefore I avoided walking by brick walls as well as telephone poles with wires up above.  I imagine if a quake happened the wires would land on me and of course I would die a painful death from electrocution.  Odd enough that didn't happen.