There is something so honorable about taking a stand in life, no matter what happens. I don't usually pray, but first thing in the morning, even before a cup of coffee, I knell in front of my full-length mirror and silently repeat to myself:
"I believe that to have a friend,
A man must be one.
That all men are created equal
And that everyone has within himself
The power to make this a better world.
That God put the firewood there
But that every man
Must gather and light it himself.
In being prepared
Physically, mentally, and morally
To fight when necessary
For that which is right.
That a man should make the most
Of what equipment he has.
That 'This government,
Of the people, by the people
And for the people'
Shall live always.
That men should live by
The rule of what is best
For the greatest number."
Many years ago, a bad man did an awful thing to my father, and ever since then, I swore that I wouldn't allow evil to come upon my house nor my neighbors. Usually around 9:00 PM, I go to my closet and get an outfit that resembles a Texas Ranger uniform, and with the cloth, from my father's leather vest, I made a mask to go with the outfit. I carried a pistol, but I swore to myself that I would never use it to take another's life. If anything, I would use it to signal help, or at the very least shoot a weapon out of the villain's hand. Sometimes I have missed, and I shot a finger or two off, but alas, it was a miscalculation of taking the wrong aim. Nevertheless, I use only silver bullets to remind myself that life is precious and not to be thrown away.
Also, as much as possible, I want to use perfect grammar and precise speech devoid of slang. If one is going to bring justice to the area, one has to set high standards, in case any children are following my career or my duties as a fellow citizen. Therefore I don't smoke or drink. I enter into the night because I embrace the darkness that surrounds the area. It is usually in the dark where bad men do evil things, but for me, I want to take the night back and bring it to its natural poetic, beautiful soul. I tend not to soil myself in such a fashion where I refuse to drink alcohol or eat fatty foods, but instead, I think water to purify my damaged soul.
As I wander into the night, I have to deal with the idea of revenge, but I do know that this is a fruitless form of activity, because that thirst can never be satisfied. If you go to that well, you will always find yourself back to that well, trying to drain the last drop at the very bottom. I did retire once and found someone else taking up my role or identity. If he followed the above creed or promise, I would be more understanding - but this man or creature decided to take the law into his own hands, by committing massacres one after another. So obviously, I had to go back into the night to clear my name.
After putting on the recording of "William Tell Overture" on the turntable, I approached the mirror again, and slowly put my costume on, knowing that I will never be able to leave my identity as the figure who fights for justice. I declare to the night and to all those who feel a false sense of security in the nighttime. I'm back.
There is something so honorable about taking a stand in life, no matter what happens. I don’t normally pray, but first thing in the morning, even before a cup of coffee, I knell in front of my full length mirror and silently repeat to myself:
“I believe that to have a friend,
A man must be one.
That all men are created equal
And that everyone has within himself
The power to make this a better world.
That God put the firewood there
But that every man
Must gather and light it himself.
In being prepared
Physically, mentally, and morally
To fight when necessary
For that which is right.
That a man should make the most
Of what equipment he has.
That 'This government,
Of the people, by the people
And for the people'
Shall live always.
That men should live by
The rule of what is best
For the greatest number. ”
Many years ago, a bad man did a very bad thing to my father, and ever since then I swore that I wouldn’t allow evil to come upon my house nor my neighbors. Usually around 9:00 PM at night, I go to my closet and get an outfit that resembles a Texas Ranger uniform, and with the cloth, from my father’s leather vest, I made a mask to go with the outfit. I carried a pistol, but I swore to myself that I would never use it to take another’s life. If anything, I would use it to signal help, or at the very least shoot a weapon out of the villain’s hand. Sometimes I have missed, and I shot a finger or two off, but alas, it was a miscalculation of taking the wrong aim. Nevertheless I use only silver bullets, to remind myself that life is precious and not to be thrown away.
Also as much as possible I want to use perfect grammar and precise speech devoid of slang. If one is going to bring justice to the area, one has to set high standards, in case there are any children who are following my career or my duties as a fellow citizen. Therefore I don’t smoke or drink. I enter into the night, because I embrace the darkness that surrounds the area. It is usually in the darkness where bad men do evil things, but for me I want to take the night back, and bring it to its natural poetic beautiful soul. I tend not to soil myself in such a fashion where I refuse to drink alcohol or eat fatty foods, but instead I think water to purify my damaged soul.
As I wander into the night, I just have to deal with the idea of revenge, but I do know that this is a fruitless form of activity, because that thirst can never be satisfied. If you go to that well, you will always find yourself back to that well, trying to drain the last drop at the very bottom. I did retire once, and found someone else taking up my role or identity. If he followed the above creed or promise, I would be more understanding - but this man or creature decided to take the law into his own hands, by committing massacres one after another. So obviously, I had to go back into the night to clear my name.
After putting on the recording of “William Tell Overture” on the turntable, I approached the mirror again, and slowly put my costume on, knowing that I will never be able to leave my identity as the figure who fights for justice. I declare to the night and to all those who feel a false sense of security in the nighttime. I’m back.
Like all writers, I have an obsession with what is good and what is bad. But for me, it’s a blurry line at times. Which makes it even more evil. When one looks away from evil, is it because you prefer evil over good? I never read the works by Paul Morand, but he was an aristocrat wealthy man who counted Jean Cocteau as a friend and actually dined with Marcel Proust. Yet, he was very much part of and supported the Vichy government. He was also seen as a modernist and a member of Imagist. That was a literary movement that favored precision of imagery and clear, sharp language. Which one can gather by now, is not exactly my aesthetic!
On the other hand I have a deep interest in artists who went along the facist route, and I try to think if that is also in their own work as well. Cocteau was a real mystery to me in a sense, because he was the poet who sees everything as an extension of poetry. In other words, an art for art’s sake. Which to be honest is what I pretty much follow. But if that art leads one to a darker political path, is it good for the soul? Is the soul important? Often participants on both sides of the road, when it involves art, are trying to find a moral ground to stand on. But I am not sure if that is what art is about. I think it's about a lot of things, and it’s best to accept the good, but one has to acknowledge the evil as well. Like Robert Mitchum’s character in “,The Night of the Hunter” when he grasps both hands to show the tattoo “love” and “hate” on the other.
What I can’t fully understand is why Morand would be for a government that would want to stop the zazous from having a good time listening to jazz and records from America? Why would he want to hunt down children, who eventually will turn out to be Serge Gainsbourg or Roman Polanski? In my mind, there are two different types of “art for art’s sake” groupings. There is the Oscar Wilde, who for sure was a man involved in his world, and acknowledge the political affairs of his time and age. Then there are people like Morand and perhaps Cocteau, who ‘ignore’ the shit around them. One uses art to build a wall between the outside world and themselves, and Wilde I think just wanted to make a difference or to being in a world of shit, and somehow stand beyond it. Celine (who I love as a writer by the way), Cocteau and Morand seemed to love the company of power, or at least acknowledge that power as almost as a turn-on for their art. Well, let me take Celine back, I reckon he was just nutty. But Cocteau and Morand were not nutty. They must have understood what was happening at that time, and while Cocteau’s role is sort of cloudy in those years, what was Morand’s excuse?
What’s interesting is the Imagist movement, because of its need to see things clearly. Art to me is naturally messy, like nature. The need to make order out of a mess is a very strong aesthetic, which I have to admit, I share. But alas I think that need is also the root of an inner-fascism.
Around the same time, Lee Falk, who was a theater person, created the comic strip “The Phantom, ” and “Mandrake the Magician.” As a kid I loved both comics, and to this day I have an obsession with Mandrake. Again, for me, the visual clothing Mandrake wears - the top hat, the tuxedo, and cape is very extractive to me. Also in those comic strips there was evil, and evil had to be destroyed. There were not any gray areas, and it makes one life easier to grasp. I pretty much follow the comic strips and Oscar Wilde!
I’m also intrigued by someone like L. Ron Hubbard, who was a science fiction writer who somewhere down the line decided to be something much bigger than a pulp writer. Yet, I feel the organization he started is very much in a pulp tradition. Its history reads like a noir Southern California fantasy. It’s interesting how an artist can make a utopia of sorts, and perhaps Morand wanted one as well, to express his wealth, and his stance in the 20th century. Oddly enough, only one of his novels is available in English. I must read it!
Happy Birthday Elliott Gould
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Happy Birthday to one of the all-time greats and one of the coolest of the
cool Elliott Gould. From my 2019 New Beverly interview with Elliott Gould
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