Gabe, you are writing to me from Tokyo.
Whenever I think of Tokyo, I can’t help but think of the film Lost in Translation. And I’m going there now (mentally) because Bill Murray starred in that film, and one of his great contemporaries, Robin Williams, tragically removed himself from this planet this past week. This also transitions into the questions you’ve asked me about my work, most relevantly, Spiny Retinas, because before Williams’ death, he was interviewed specifically about the perception of the “sad clown” archetype: what did mean to him, how did he relate (sadly, he fully committed to that life role).
I think of this specifically because I often use humor to confront personal challenges and I use it in my work to address the “darkness” of our times, which is what I believe Spiny Retinassomewhat deals with. In past work, I have let this sardonic voice come through a bit (e.g. my e-book from 2012, HONEY IS A SHE, often trails off into dark humor [it deals with going through a divorce]). More so with Spiny Retinas.
—Why is Spiny Retinas called Spiny Retinas?
The title refers first to my own past eye troubles: near-blindness due to two retinal detachments (both eyes: 1996 and 2000). With detaching retinas, one is slowly going blind, so it becomes an inadvertent way to slowly “unsee” the world (seeing what is there by seeing what is it not–perhaps like a Magritte painting?). That being said, the post-surgical feeling in the eyes is almost unbearable: I compare it to having tiny spikes sewn into the inside of one’s eyelids, facing inward, and, every time a blink occurs, these spikes rake across the smooth surface of the corneas. Thus, “spiny”.
Also, “spiny”, the word, is a way to relay the feeling one may have living in our volatile times: times plagued with violence (think “living on pins and needles”). And this spread of violence is mostly committed and perpetuated by men, so it is a way to see things through “prickly” lenses (using that term in a masculine sense, as the tendency in society to do so often occurs–whether it be our American arrogance, our “extreme” everything [food, sports, etc.], or the blatant, testosterone-driven language/imagery appropriated by the media and advertising): See genius George Carlin (RIP) speaking about men and war…my thoughts exactly! All of this underscores the exasperatingly archaic gender stances in the US (though patriarchy/sexism obviously exists everywhere throughout the world in many
cultures).
Further: a retina’s function is to flip images right side up within the eye, and in this scenario, masculinity is the raw, the primitive, the (t)horny, “upside-down” way to see things in society (or at least how it is presented to the rest of us via the mediums mentioned above).
So to answer your first question about the title of Spiny Retinas—and I encourage you to use the above explanation/intro as part of our transcontinental dialogue—Spiny Retinas is somewhat titled in homage to our prick[led] times. The industrial military complex has ensured that we will live in a perpetual state of war for almighty profit.
Also, another thought on Spiny Retinas: as the author, my intent was to create hyperbolic, stereotypical male characters (I named them “generic” names to emphasize their role as two-dimensional: thus, The Major, The General, The Cardinal, etc.) I placed these cardboard cut-out characters in bizarre, darkly humorous situations, and some sad truths emerge: Mother Earth is ravaged by wars in the name of religion, individuality (socially) slowly dissipates, and, just like a twisted Broadway show, the war must go on.
—I know your influences when working on Spiny Retinas were very broad and I was wondering if you would talk about a few of them, specifically: I Dream of Jeanie, John Ashbery’s Girls on the Run, David Lynch’s Lost Highway, and Richard Brautigan’s Trout Fishing in America?
The Ashbery influence: The ways in which John Ashbery’s Girls on the Run inspired me were, first and foremost: the masterful way the poet tells a story without specificity, yet, with the most intricate, unexpected imagery; most importantly, Ashbery does this often through the lens of something very specific: in this case, artist Henry Darger’s Vivian Girls. I am haunted and enamored with Darger’s work (and had the great fortune to see his work up close in Toronto and in Chicago during an Outsider’s art exhibition in which his entire apartment [of all its original contents] was re-created). The Vivian Girls informed my poetic statement: “the electrocution/execution of lively girls”; it is a mantra that I created which drove me and resonated throughout the writing of Spiny and my first book, THE RANGE OF YOUR AMAZING NOTHING. These girls were feral yet intelligent, they were wolf-children with charm. It comes from this: the obsession in society, it seems, to use women in media, ads, and film as accessories and/or only as visual stimulation as counterpart to males. Any fun-loving, “lively” girls are depicted as pixies (unreal beings): cute and funny without having much substance (not sexy nor strong, as if intelligence and humor do not contribute to a woman’s strength.) I felt compelled to follow this mantra down the rabbit hole when writing Spiny, and Ashbery’s book served as a great reference, specifically as to how he structured the verse and used the girls as an eerie reminders of these nonliving (lively) little girls, giving them dialogue and personalities.
I Dream of Jeanie was an inspiration because, obviously the plot of the show—a scantily-clad, sexy blonde woman who is slave to her “master” (a military man)—is a prime example of the sexist themes explained above. I had flipped on the television one day and discovered that the particular episode I was watching was entirely about Jeannie having to go back and deny her roots (family) to bind herself completely to her “master” for life (a metaphor in itself). I then became fascinated by what plot lines I could’ve created as a writer on the show back then. I decided upon Major Nelson telling Jeannie she must create an element—a pill—something the entire female population would be forced to take to render them emotionless; (this is often jokingly perceived as a man’s fantasy—even in this day and age!) Anti-depressants are clearly the contemporary equivalent to what this magic “element” might be.
Brautigan’s Trout Fishing in America inspired me mainly because of form of the book. They are little vignettes that intersect, and he crafts the imagery so well. Just a good, solid read.
David Lynch because his unique cinematic vision is always inspirational. How does one tell a dark story better than Lynch? Well, Jodorowsky is the only one who has him beat.
—As someone who has used automatic writing, specifically in writing Spiny Retinas, do you see yourself as a surrealist? What is the place of automatic writing in the twenty-first century? Do you believe you are exploring an “unconscious” when you utilize automatic writing?
Automatic writing: I really love using this method as a starting point for all of my work. It all originates with the notion that words in their purest form exist in our “brain soup”, driven by fear or love: our base instincts. We ultimately do/don’t do all things out of fear or for love/acceptance. We all try desperately to find some meaning in all of this. I’ve often quoted philosopher Avital Ronell: “It’s been very devastating, this craving for meaning” (without exception with Spiny). Really: what do we know about where our words come from…our deepest fears, our ancestors, our most secret fantasies or joys, our need to create a label for something (call it something), our quest for inner peace? This method of writing, especially when creating Spiny, became important to me later in the process, as I examined what was transpiring in my life at the times I wrote it. To me, the base feeling of being somehow “gypped” as a young woman came through this piece: a young woman in “[con]temporary America” (<--this phrase an homage to the incomparable poet Barbara Barg) who has followed rules, gone to school, did everything "right", and yet, still, the system has flattened this lively girl: socioeconomically, physically, psychologically. A male-dominated society, it seems, will do anything to quash a bright spirit, full of positive potential. Women cannot thrive intellectually without negating all parts of themselves that make them unique, it seems.
It seems.
I believe that Spiny Retinas was a great self-exploration, a necessary exercise via two major mediums (book: Girls on the Runand television: I Dream of Jeannie, mostly). It is bizarre, random, steeped in charged language and imagery. It purposefully stretches out the metaphor of man like a hide in a tannery. And here, then, to close, is a poem I wrote dedicated to that elusive metaphor:
The Metaphor of Man
“My hand was a speaking flower.”—William Fuller, Aether
Cape me, place the headdress
upon my brow, be my sister—spooned
and shrimped. The paper is a man,
man is bare, a window shade hung
with trout carcass, feathering flesh.
The velocity is man, man is his signature.
Man bites dog in Virginia, leaves the ribs,
the ornaments of movements,
a ditch in which this ferocious man comes,
a grass weasel. Man is the outside world—
sic the messenger. Man makes raspberry
tortes, grounding spikes. Man in voltage
suit ravaging my neck’s tender. The cost
of man, foaming bills, c-notes, parcels in a bath.
Man or astroman? I have not yet decided.
