Happy Birthday, Samuel R. Delany, born 1 April 1942
Seven Quotes On Writing
- It’s frightening for one artist to see another one, any other one, turn away from art.
- The pulp hero, though he may be a renegade, is a guy who doesn’t feel. Anything. Ever. And for the adolescent male — pummeled by emotions left and right, whether arising from sexuality or resulting from his necessary encounters with authority — this hero is a blessing, a relief and a release. The world he lives in, where feelings are totally under control, looks to the adolescent boy like heaven!
- The story process is like taking up such a piece of gossip, hunting down the people actually involved, questioning them, finding out what really occurred, and visiting pertinent locations. As with gossip, you can’t be too surprised if important things turn up that were left out of the first-heard version entirely; or if points initially made much of turn out to have been distorted, or simply not to have happened at all.
- The factors controlling a writer’s popularity are as mysterious and ultimately as unknowable as the number of stars in the sky
- Words mean things. When you put them together they speak. Yes, sometimes they flatten out and nothing they say is real, and that is one kind of magic. But sometimes a vision will rip up from them and shriek and clank wings clear as the sweat smudge on the paper under your thumb. And that is another kind.
- Good writing is clear. Talented writing is energetic. Good writing avoids errors. Talented writing makes things happen in the reader’s mind—-vividly, forcefully.
- As a prose writer, I work with language; and those who work with language turn to poetry for renewal.
Delany is an American author, professor and literary critic. His latest novel, Through the Valley of the Nest of Spiders was published in 2012.
Source for Image
by Amanda Patterson for Writers Write
When sex is so available and plays such a large part in life, sexual activity ends up fulfilling many, many psychological functions — as chosen recreations often do: it helps you deal with any number of tensions and becomes a stabilizing and balancing force — and it provides an object for as much or as little intellectual analysis as anyone by temperament might require. (Sex and death, William Butler Yeats wrote somewhere, are the only subjects truly mysterious enough to engage the serious mind.) Still, when life tensions get high, it’s almost impossible to avoid the logic: Well, I probably have it anyway. I might as well go out and do at least some of what I was doing before. At this period, people who cruise with any frequency are not gambling on the possibility of avoiding it. Largely, they are gambling on what strikes them as the much higher probability that they already have it — so that, in terms of their own eventual health, their activity makes no difference. The argument is there at one level of consciousness in us all, believe me, who do.
Yet another of the strongest realizations I had while walking up and down one or another aisle of the Variety was that this was precisely what the situation was for me — when I first started cruising as an adolescent, living at home on Staten Island. AIDS had put us in the same situation I’d been in when the only information I had about homosexuality was what I found in an outdated psychology book by Erich Fromm from the 1950s on a shelf of the local library, whose appendix told me that to indulge one’s homosexual urges was to foredoom oneself to an unavoidable career of alcoholism, devoid of any “rewarding” or “mature” relationships (whether sexual or of any other kind), with an almost-certain probability of suicide sooner or later! It was a non-win situation, in which to be concerned about it all was, in itself, to be doomed; thus I went out into the world carrying a mantle of death and resignation as heavy as Childe Harold’s. And what relieved it was not the flowering of gay rights — which, frankly, seemed so distant from me I wasn’t even sure if what I did (I mean, I didn’t have a “life partner”; I wasn’t dreaming about “coming out”; I wasn’t a happy homosexual — I was scared shitless!) was even concerned with what they were doing. But it was only through a few years of doing what I was doing and looking at the people I was doing it with, many of whom seemed no less happy than anyone else, that I began to ask that most empowering of questions: Could all these people around me be both crazy and damned? When one is dealing with the satisfaction of an appetite, you relegate the Erich Fromms et alia to the place where one stores those abstractions that don’t particularly relate to the systems of the world around you.
I did that.
And I ceased, somehow, to be terrified.
(It was only when I ceased to be terrified that I could even pick up a flyer, a pamphlet, a book about Gay Liberation and read it. And, by then, I was already converted, as it were.)
samuel delany, the mad man (via fluvicoline)
BARKLEY L HENDRICKS
Family Jules, 1974
Oil on Linen
72 x 66 inches
Tidiou M’Baye & Corey Baptiste by Mark Shearwood | Glass Magazine Spring 2014
Gay marriage advocates brush aside generations of queer efforts to create new ways of loving, lusting for, and caring for one another, in favour of a 1950s model of white-picket-fence, “we’re just like you” normalcy.
Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore - There’s More to Life Than Platinum: Challenging the Tyranny of Sweatshop-Produced Rainbow Flags and Participatory Patriarchy (via homo-online)
Tropical TurnUp #PoleDance #AussieBum #red #jockstrap #thebodyisnotanapology #blackboys #queerboys #qtpoc #touchmybody #consent #corporeal #dance #empowerment #juicy #thickness #jingletown #primetime #janellemonae #selfie #agency
#NP ‘Clerk (Prod. By Jeremiah Meece)’ by Don Christian
If something burns your soul with purpose and desire, it’s your duty to be reduced to ashes by it. Any other form of existence will be yet another dull book in the library of life.
Charles Bukowski (via psych-facts)