Tosh's Journal - September 10 (Georges Bataille)

TOSH'S JOURNAL

September 10

I have weekly meetings with the College of Sociology, which usually takes place at lunchtime at various cafes and from time-to-time, in people's homes. We had a meeting last week, which took place in my living room. The one thing we all have in common is that we strongly disagree with the theory of Surrealism. We all feel that the surrealist's focus on the unconscious privileged the individual over Society, and therefore ignores the social dynamic of experiencing the human that works in various social groupings. As a group, we're interested in "Sacred Sociology, and we study all manifestations of social existence where the active presence of the sacred is quite clear." We have studied and critiqued the army, Marquis de Sade, English monarchy, literature, sexuality, Hitler and of course Hegel. Each one of us must present an essay or a lecture every week.

Within this group, there is a secret society where we meet on a monthly basis, always late at night, in the nearby forest. Our meeting place is by an oak tree that was once struck by lightning. The "acéphale" (greek for headless) Society is devoted to performing certain practices, including nudity and eating raw meat of some sort. Using a flashlight in the pitch blackness of the forest, we read aloud passages from Sade and Nietzsche. We see these two writers as liberators of the human spirit, and therefore in great secret, we celebrate their thoughts as it is written in their books. For purity, we read the works in its original language: German and French (for Sade). We all discuss carrying out the human sacrifice, but we couldn't agree on who the executioner should be. Every one of us in the group wanted to be sacrificed, and none wanted to be the executor.

We were fascinated with the art of "slow slicing," or better known as "death by a thousand cuts." It was a type of torture and execution used in China from AD 900 until it was banned in 1905. During the execution, a knife is placed on the body, where the executors would cut pieces of the flesh, till the prisoner dies. Opium would be applied mostly to prevent fainting of the criminal. The criminal must be conscious of his or her body being stripped slowly. In general, these executions took place in the public square, where the citizens can watch the drama that is taking place in front of them.

"We have in only two certainties in this world - that we are not everything and that we will die." The ritual of death is fascinating and sharing our thoughts within this group, is something that I treasure greatly. "Sacrifice is nothing other than the production of sacred things." We tend to stay by the oak tree till the lightness of the dawn, and then we wander back to our homes, thinking it was just a dream. Alas, we know it isn't because we all shared as series of moments reflecting on death.  Therefore becoming more alive knowing that the moment will happen eventually. A good friend of mine told me once that "work is making a living out of being bored." Thinking of death somehow frees me from boredom, and knowing that, makes living way much more intense. And on top of that, I don't have a job; therefore, I'm never bored.

September 12, 2018 (Paris)

September 12, 2018 (Paris)

The jet-lag is better, but not completely gone.  Still, it's a considerable effort to wake up in the morning, where it's morning.  Everything in my body tells me to stay in bed, but then I get nagging anger at myself for allowing more bedtime when I should be out and about to enjoy the magnificent city that is Paris.   For me, the pure enjoyment of this city is due to walks.  We arranged to see our friend Dennis at the used bookstore/cafe "Merci" on bd Beaumarchais.  For one, the cafe is just around the corner from our residence, and therefore no excuse to be late for such a meeting.  We did get there on time, which was 2 PM.   Dennis had bread that is called bouche, and its served with butter and jam.  I had a cappuccino and Lun*na had a cold drink of some sort.   

Dennis is a friend from Los Angeles, and I have known him for years.  A brilliant writer, he's now making films and for the past ten years doing theater pieces as well.   For me, he's the classic example of the American who goes to Paris and everything becomes great for him and his art.  I have to presume that the road to this greatness is a bumpy one, but he wears it well, and he's genuinely one of the few people that I much admire.  In other words, he's everything that I'm not.  For instance, I'm sluggish, and I'm trying to tell the difference between my waking and dream life.  Since I  have been in Paris, I have been having these odd dreams of being at work (which is weird enough, because I don't go to work) nude.  Everyone is dressed, but I try to act normal like it's OK for me to be at my occupation and space and to be in the nude.   I feel in the dream that I know this is wrong, but if I act like it is not wrong, then the problem or feelings will go away.   I then wake-up in the middle of the night, thinking "why do I have dreams like that?"   This, of course, keeps me up for numerous hours and then depressing comes over me, because I fear it will ruin the rest of the day, and my day is here in Paris.

After the coffee break, I take Dennis over to the Frank Elbaz Gallery to see my dad, Wallace Berman's artwork.   Frank was there, and he showed me a work by Wallace which I haven't seen in years.   It's a strange phenomenon to see a work by your father that you have no connection with, yet, it's very much part of one's DNA.  The narration is that artworks get sold, and they go out into the world.  The collector or buyer may have it for a few years or forever, but mostly they did get re-sold and moved somewhere else in the world.   So, to locate artworks is sometimes a detective story.   The thing is, as a member of the family, I have no control over how these pieces move from one owner to another.  It's an odd feeling to be associated with a work, just due to family, and come upon something that is almost new to one.  It is a rock sculpture by my dad, with Hebrew writing and it's one of the rock pieces that has a metal chain attached to the rock.   A beautiful piece.  I remember seeing it as a kid.  Beyond that, I don't know what happened after my dad originally sold the piece. 

We walked Dennis to the metro.  Then we decided to go to a supermarket, Carrefour Market (88 Rue Amelot 75011 Paris), and buy food for lunch.  I purchased a cheese sandwich which was tasty and straightforward, and Lun*na purchased a vegetable wrap.  For me, to go to a neighborhood food market is a delight. Especially a foreign (to me) food place.  I'm easily amused to wander around the potato chip section of the store.  We got back home with our lunch, and after we ate it, we had to figure out how to use the laundry machine, that is also a dryer.   A rocket scientist could figure this out, but sadly I failed every science class in Junior and High School, and therefore I wasn't much help.  But we did find a YouTube post regarding how to use this type of washing machine.   If nothing else, YouTube is great for instructional videos.

It's now around 6:30 PM, and usually, this would be our happy hour at home (Los Angeles), but we decided to go out and walk around Paris.  We strolled down Bd des Filles du Calvaire to Bd Beaumarchais.   On this Bouvard is a series of motorcycle shops.   When I look at these machines, I think of them as being fetish objects.  Every type of machinery in France or in Paris looks like a highly aesthetic object. The same goes for the buildings or architecture.  I'm not used to being in a city that has such high visual standards.    We eventually reached Place de la Bastille.  I get goosebumps by going to this location because Marquis de Sade was in prison here.  Of course, the prison structure doesn't exist anymore due to its destruction during the French Revolution.  Still, to think such a great man as Sade being in the same location as I.  I shudder in delight.   

Lun*na and I then went onwards to Bd Henry IV where we ended up at Pont Sully.  We looked over the Seine River and wondered what it would be like to jump into the waters.  It's odd that we think of suicidal thoughts on a holiday, but there you go!  The highlight of this street is a statue of Arthur Rimbaud, the great poet.  It's a new statue, meaning something made this century.  The bronze statue is located on the Place du Père-Teilhard-de-Chardin, on the right of boulevard Henri IV, and is the work of Jean-Robert Ipoustéguy (1920-2006).  The work is called L'homme aux semelles devant (à Rimbaud) (Man with soles in front, to Rimbaud).   

Walking down a street and to come upon the memories of Rimbaud and Sade, can only happen in Paris.  - Tosh Berman

"The 120 Days of Sodom" by The Marquis de Sade / Translated by Will McMorran & Thomas Wynn (Penguin Classics)

ISBN: 978-0-141-39434-3

What is there not to like about the new translation of Marquis de Sade's "The 120 Days of Sodom?"  Will McMorran and Thomas Wynn translate it, and their work brings Sade's language/writing to the contemporary world.  This doesn't mean it's full of Urban language slang words, but it reads extremely well.  And oddly enough this is the first time I've read "The 120 Days of Sodom."  

What's interesting is not the sex, which of course it is a big part of the book, but the Sade organized his series of narratives that reflect on a society falling apart.  It's not precisely a turn-on type of book or even a 'dirty book,' but more of a work that deals with the structure and how it tells its tales.   On one level, it's a book that takes place in an imaginary landscape, especially regarding the castle that the action takes place. One has to walk to the location, so therefore it is highly unlikely no one will come unannounced.   Also, the four main libertines are a duke (royalty), a bishop (religion), a judge (the law) and a financier (economy).  After that, then we have groupings of family members, Harem of young girls, Harem of young boys, and Eight fuckers (all well-hung men).  It's very much a stage-set with everyone in the story playing an essential role in a social structure. 

The sex is crazed and usually exposed in a frenzy mode of action, with lots of poop offerings of all sorts.  So it demeans people which is part of the turn-on but also to expose the power system in place as well.  Or at times, playing with the 'role' of power and it plays in a sexual context.   For sure, Sade's book doesn't read like a sex book, but more of a critique of overall power, family structure, and political power.   It's a dangerous book because it works on different levels.  One as a sex book (which it is, but as mentioned not that sexy) and two, a political/social critique. 

The Penguin edition (2016) is a handsome book, with a cover image by Surrealist/DADA Man Ray, and interesting endnotes at the end of the book.  Very close to being an annotated edition, and readable.  For those who admire narratives like Anthony Burgess' "A Clockwork Orange," or even a 1960s William S. Burroughs novel, Sade's work is very much a cousin to those works.  Burroughs and Burgess expose a system in place, and Sade did that a few centuries ago.    A brilliant book that needs to stay in print forever, because like "Gulliver's Travels," "Candide," and others of that style, this is a remarkable political / social observation.  

- Tosh Berman

September 10, 2014

September 10, 2014

I have weekly meetings with the College of Sociology, which usually takes place at lunch time at various cafes and from time-to-time, in people’s homes.   We had a meeting last week, which took place in my living room.  The one thing we all have in common is that we strongly disagree with the theory of Surrealism.  We all feel that the surrealist’s focus on the unconscious privileged the individual over society, and therefore ignores the social dynamic of experiencing the human that works in various social groupings.  As a group we’re interested in “Sacred Sociology, and we study all manifestations of social existence where the active presence of the sacred is quite clear.” We have studied and critique the army, Marquis de Sade, English monarchy, literature, sexuality, Hitler and of course Hegel.  Each one of us must present an essay or a lecture on a weekly basis.

Within this group, there is a secret society where we meet on a monthly basis, always late at night, in the nearby forest.  Our meeting place is by an oak tree that was once been struck by lightning.  The “acéphale” (greek for headless) Society is devoted to perform certain practices, including nudity and eating raw meat of some sort.  Using a flashlight in pitch blackness of the forest, we read aloud passages from Sade and Nietzsche. We see these two writers as liberators of the human spirit, and therefore in great secret, we celebrate their thoughts as it is written in their books.  For purity, we read the works in its original language: German and French (for Sade).  We all discuss carrying out a human sacrifice, but we couldn’t agree on who the executioner should be. Everyone of us in the group wanted to be sacrificed, and none wanted to be the executor.

We were fascinated with the art of “slow slicing, ” or better known as “death by a thousand cuts.” It was a type of torture and execution used in China from AD 900 until it was banned in 1905.  During the execution, a knife is placed on the body, where the executors would cut pieces of the flesh, till the prisoner dies.  Opium would be applied mostly to prevent fainting of the criminal.  It’s important that the criminal is conscious of his or her body being stripped slowly.  In general, these executions took place in the public square, where the citizens can watch the drama that is taking place in front of them.

“We have in only two certainties in this world - that we are not everything and that we will die.” The ritual of death is fascinating and to share our thoughts within this group, is something that I treasure greatly.  “Sacrifice is nothing other than the production of sacred things.” We tend to stay by the oak tree till the lightness of the dawn, and then we wander back to our homes, thinking it was just a dream.  Alas, we know it isn’t because we all shared as series of moments reflecting on death, and therefore becoming more alive knowing that the moment will happen eventually.   A good friend of mine told me once that “work is making a living out of being bored.” Thinking of death somehow frees me from boredom, and knowing that, makes living way much more intense.  And on top of that, I don’t have a job, therefore I’m never bored.