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Portrait of a Young Man in an Artists Studio
Jamar was a young painter who assisted Gericault durring the work on Medusa in 1818-1819 and lived in his studio at the time. The picture seems to have been known to Gericult’s friend Ary Scheffer who adapted for one of the figures in his painting of The Death of Gericault (1824, Louvre). The signature “T. Gericault” appears on one of the rungs of the chair.
Go here. Write the dialogue. And then Batman and Robin will say it! Weirdly fun. Here’s mine:
It’s funny, in a way, because a Plagiarist has already written a play about this. We’re on the cutting edge here, people!
So, this whole thing is a response to this article. So you can skip my blathering and just read that. Or you can read this and then that or that and then this. I would not recommend just reading this and not reading that, because that is really interesting. But you’re free to do as you like.
Vladimir Nabokov is one if the great titans of 20th-century literature (or maybe any century), and in English, certainly only Conrad competes with him when it comes to writers for whom it was a second language. In religion, it is often the converts who are the most passionate and dogmatic, more so than those born into the faith, and it has been said by much smarter people than me (though often repeated by me) that Nabokov approached English and loved it with the devotion of a convert. I read Lolita over a summer during college and found it to be a profound, funny, sad, and beautiful novel. And deeply moral – those who think the book is some pedophiliac fantasy are in for a rude surprise.
Anyway, enough about that book, anyone can go and on about that book. We’re here to talk about this book: The Original of Laura. This book has been sealed up for over 30 years, kept for a time in a literal Swiss vault, under an order of execution from its author, who demanded it be burnt upon his death. The romance of such self-deluded demands has been punctured somewhat for me, as few literary heirs seem to follow these commands. If you’re famous enough, it will be printed eventually. The only defense is to be a “literary” author – this ensures that your work will suffer editorial interference, but not actually be “completed” by another author as books left behind by authors of “popular” fiction often are (see posthumous works by Robert Ludlum, Frank Herbert, J.R.R. Tolkien – wait, no, don’t).
Sometimes, this can be a blessing: most of Kafka’s best-known work was unpublished and supposed to be destroyed when he died, the “original scroll” version of On The Road reveals details (especially about the sexuality and sexual exploits of him and his companions) that add tremendously to our understanding of Kerouac and his companions. But this tendency to idolize and make dogma of every journal entry, every offhand scribble, every unexpected fart, has a new entry in its Hall of Fame.
The Original of Laura was the book Nabokov was working on when he died in 1977. There are various & conflicting accounts of how far along he was in creating it, but what was extant was a stack of 138 index cards (Nabokov wrote all his work on index cards). Those cards have now been reproduced, verbatim (both sides!) in a new book, which claims to be mostly complete. Rather than re-state the case to be made against this (absurd) claim, I direct you here, to an excellent and entertaining examination of the facts and the work itself.
The point for me, though, is the author’s contention that by becoming a puffed-up shadow of his father, by indulging in pretension and assumption and poor metaphor, by claiming knowledge from beyond the grave, and by becoming part of a bizarre post-modern game of reflexivity (is that a word?) and suspect literary analysis, that Dmitri Nabokov has become a character straight out of Nabokov novel. This is one of the most deeply funny things I’ve ever heard. I hope someone writes a play about it.
PS – What is up with the children of literary giants going into the posterity business rather than the writing business? Can anyone think of the child of a great writer who wrote in their own right and didn’t spend their lives continuing their famous parent’s career in some way?
Two Babies With An Old Ass Computer in a Plain White Room
A brief play by Sean Mallary
The scene:
A well lit, plain white room. Mid Day. On the floor is a white sheet, or possibly a white plastic drop cloth in the case of accidental urination. An old Apple 2e desktop computer sits in the middle of the room. Two babies, dressed only in Huggies brand disposable diapers sit near this machine.
Characters:
Baby #1 (B1): Male. Less than 2 years of age. Pale skin, thick with baby fat around the middle. Light colored hair with very early signs of male pattern baldness. The elder of the two, and somewhat of an intellectual with great working knowledge of the world around him.
Baby #2 (B2): Male. Also less than 2 years of age. Pale skin, blotches of pink coloration around his face and chest with an athletic build. Dark hair that is kept cut short for a just got out of bed look. The younger of the two-with a curious nature, quite gullible and susceptible to outside influences.
A note from the “playwright”:
The dynamic of the two characters falls somewhere between Laurel & Hardy and Pinky & the Brain. The pace should be quick, with few dramatic pauses, unless deemed necessary. This is a rather serious piece that must not be played for cuteness, slapstick or cheap laughs. The babies are meant to be played by lifelike, fully animatronic puppets. Failing that, real babies can be used if made to look like they are speaking, not unlike the old TV show Mr. Ed. Failing that, two grown actors in diapers is acceptable, as long as they are entirely free of body hair, tattoos other physical blemishes. This should only be done as a last resort. Ideally the dialect should be upper class British for baby #1, and poorly performed cockney for baby # 2, but this is not mandatory.
(Lights up)
B1: Psst. Hey you. Kid.
B2: Huh?
B1: Hey. Are you deaf?
B2: I don’t know.
B1: I’ll take that as a maybe.
B2: Did you just talk to me?
B1: Of course not. We are only toddlers.
B2: But I heard you.
B1: No you didn’t. You just think you heard me.
B2: No. I’m pretty sure I heard you. Then you talked again, then I talked, so that means we can both talk and hear each other.
B1: Can’t say I follow your logic. Anyway, it’s impossible-we haven’t developed those skills yet.
B2: Then how are we communicating?
B1: Depends on what you consider communication.
B2: I believe it’s the imparting or interchange of thoughts, opinions, or information by speech, writing, or signs.
B1: Never heard of it. There’s absolutely no speaking involved.
B2: That’s absurd.
B1: Not really.
B2: How do you explain the dialogue we’ve been having?
B1: Nope. It’s not real. It’s some kind of internal monologue bs they made up in the 80’s for movies where babies took on the personas of grown adults for comedic effect.
B2: So basically it’s a story telling mechanism that imposes sophisticated themes and concepts on to characters (ie-babies) whom could not possibly conceive those notions on their own?
B1: Sure. That’s the gist.
B2: So it’s like when they make a lizard talk to sell various goods and services?
B1: That’s something different, but the idea is the same.
B2: I see. So in our minds we can speak?
B1: Sure
B2: The tall fat ones can’t hear us?
B1: I don’t think so. It just sounds like Chinese or something to them.
B2: Interesting. I’m Blayne, btw.
B1: BTW? What’s that?
B2: Sorry. I meant, by the way.
B1: I’m Mark. You use the phrase LOL and I swear to god I’m going to smack you in the face with my pudgy little hand
B2: Ok ok…Nice to meet you.
B1: Yeah. Ditto. What kind of moniker is Blayne?
B2: What do you mean? I think it finds its roots in the Celtic term…
B1: No, it’s not a proper name.
B2: It’s not?
B1: No, it’s one of those new fake names that the tall fat ones make up to feel superior about their offspring. I bet it’s spelled strangely too
B2: How should I know? It’s not like I can read!
B1: Probably the name of some Hollywood twink of the week. I’m so sick of parents today.
B2: Parent
B1: How’s that?
B2: You said parents. For me it’s just parent. Single. Only mommy.
B1: Oh I get it. A bastard ay?
B2: If you must be so common. Yes, father made his, uh, contribution and then left the picture.
B1: Wow are you in trouble.
B2: Huh?
B1: A crappy name. No dominant male presence in your household. The numbers are not in your favor my friend.
B2: Numbers?
B1: Mathematical objects used in counting and measuring.
B2: Oh, I see. And they’re against me?
B1: I’m afraid so. Statistics show that young males that grow up without a father figure are ten times more likely to fail out of school, sell drugs and commit hate crimes.
B2: I had no idea. How about you, how do you fair?
B1: Good Christian name. Two parents-both employed. I’m set for the white, middle class dream.
B2: I would say so
B1: Well maybe there’s hope for you yet. Are you on the sauce?
B2: I beg your pardon?
B1: You know. The sauce? The pale horse?
B2: Uh, no
B1: The good stuff? The nectar of the gods? The white river of life?
B2: Oh, you mean milk?
B1: Well yes, if you insist on being crass.
B2: Of course I drink milk.
B1: But what’s the source?
B2: How am I to know? I take a bottle four times a day, sometimes five depending on the humidity levels…
B1: Hold on there. A bottle? You don’t get it from the tap?
B2: What do you mean the tap?
B1: The tap!? The fountains of youth? The, uh, mammary glands of your birth mother? Her breasts man-where milk is made!
B2: That’s disgusting! I’m a strict vegan. I don’t eat dairy. Just soy
B1: Wow. You really are in trouble buddy. It looks like you are going to be gay too.
B2: I find that very offensive!
B1: Well I’m sorry. The numbers don’t lie. Stats show that something like 80% of guys that don’t drink mother’s milk as infants turn out as homosexuals.
B2: Can we please discuss something else?
B1: Fine. Suite yourself, but you are living in a state of denial.
B2: Change of topic.
B1: What do you have in mind?
B2: Well, where are we?
B1: Right here.
B2: Obviously
B1: Is it-are you sure?
B2: I think so, yes
B1: I don’t know if I can believe a kid that’s not on the sauce?
B2: Please don’t be so crude!
B1: Ok then
B2: So we are here?
B1: If you say so
B2: But where is that? There don’t seem to be any visual cues to suggest that we are anywhere at all.
B1: A valid point. Now that you mention it. Just this infinite white background.
B2: It does seem infinite. Maybe we are in a cloud
B1: I don’t think so. A cloud wouldn’t have the density to support our weight, even though we are quite small for our species.
B2: Right. Speaking of species. I don’t see anyone else around.
B1: Exactly.
B2: What is?
B1: We’ve clearly been left alone. No sane adult would leave two babies un-attended, trapped in an infinite white abyss.
B2: I hope not. But at least they left us this thing.
B1: I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.
B2: Why is there meat in it?
B1: Don’t be ridiculous!
B2: Well, what is it then?
B1: I’ve been working on a theory about that
B2: I’m listening
B1: I don’t know. It might blow your tiny mind.
B2: I can handle it. I just turned 14 months
B1: Alright, but you can’t tell anyone
B2: How? In my special Chinese sounding baby language? There’s no one else here
B1: Well played. Ok-here goes. I think it’s an ancient alien technology left here to control human civilizations remotely from a far away galaxy.
B2: And?
B1: That’s it
B2: Right. I want to touch it!
B1: No-don’t!
B2: Too late. How can you justify your theory?
B1: I can’t
B2: You can’t?
B1: Nope. Just what I believe.
B2: I call bull shit!
B1: Oh come on! What else could it possibly be?
B2: Lots of things
B1: Such as?
B2: Well let’s see…A time machine, perhaps a masturbatory aid, or some type of crop harvester
B1: No-I don’t buy any of that! I’m telling you it’s an extraterrestrial mind control device
B2: What makes you so sure?
B1: Have you ever seen adults with these things. They are everywhere. All different sizes. But get this-the shape is always the same
B2: The shape?
B1: Yes-it’s always a light emitting rectangle that produces images for communication and entertainment. Very complex-no way humans could have created this…
B2: I’m beginning to see where you are coming from.
B1: Finally.
B2: So where do the aliens come in?
B1: They get humans addicted to the glowing rectangles, then make it so we can’t live without them. Then-they come down and drink our blood when we are asleep.
B2: Oh, I get it now.
B1: I thought you might
B2: My query than is what is this one doing in here with us? Two babies in an infinite white abyss?
B1: Ah ha! Now we are getting somewhere
B2: We are? But we’re still here then?
B1: Well it is possible that at least once, we where here but not anymore.
B2: Explain
B1: It all fits into another theory I’ve been contemplating lately
B2: Alright. Shoot
B1: Ok…So here we are with a complex device that doesn’t belong here
B2: It doesn’t?
B1: No more than the infinite white background.
B2: Touché
B1: I mean think about it. We’re both less than 2 years old.
B2: 14 months
B1: 19 for me. But what I’m saying is they’re trying to get us hooked early you see
B2: Who are?
B1: The aliens!
B2: Right
B1: But the thing is, we’ve not yet developed the brain function, nor the motor skills necessary to the device’s operation!
B2: Well that is quite ironic!
B1: My point exactly! Our mere proximity to this machine is intended to be humorous, a total fallacy. Which, seems to be why we are here!
B2: But not now?
B1: Yes. But perhaps we were at one time
B2: That’s the part I don’t get. Everything else makes complete sense.
B1: Clearly, our likenesses have somehow been captured in still life, here against this infinite white background.
B2: For comedic purposes?
B1: I believe so yes. Suppose the humorous juxtaposition of our infantile selves, attempting to make use of this device creates a precious image designed to evoke a certain feeling or response towards the device itself!
B2: But to what avail?
B1: It’s a trick by our alien overlords to force the tall fat ones to purchase more mind control devices-therefore sealing their fate as the aliens’ oblivious but willing food supply
B2: Oh boy. I can see the full picture now. Let me recap.
B1: Sure-feel free.
B2: We are here?
B1: At some point in time-yes
B2: Right. We were here, made to sit against this infinite white background together with this mind control machine, that allows aliens to feast on our blood while we sleep.
B1: Yep. And then?
B2: Alien technology was used to somehow freeze this moment forever, so that the image it produced would encourage others to exchange currency in a free capitalist market for these machines themselves.
B1: Yes-doesn’t it make perfect sense?
B2: Certainly. So it is like the talking lizard in the advertisements?
B1: Well I think you are over simplifying it. Except, WE are being exploited for sinister intentions on the basis that we are perceived as cute, next to this tool of our own race’s destruction! Unbelievable isn’t it?
B2: Wow, I you really did just blow my mind. I have a headache and need to take a nap. Playing Beckett is hard…Let’s do something else.
B1: Yeah, I’m pretty tired too. How about we turn this baby on and look for free porn?
B2: Thought you’d never ask
(Blackout)
Change in appetite, especially a craving for sweets or starches
Weight gain
Fatigue
Tendency to oversleep
Difficulty in concentrating
Irritability/anxiety
Avoidance of social situations
Increased sensitivity to social rejection
This morning. Waking up. Waking up to the gray. In the winter, we are warriors, each deciding what armor we will need for the day to combat the winter’s chill and also the winter’s depressive conditions. Last night I rode my bike and it felt wonderful. It felt like a powerful declaration to the winter, “YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!” My cheeks were red and the layers of clothes were many. And it was good. Great, even.
It’s hard to feel motivated to do much in the winter for anyone, but it is particularly hard when you are a “two-life person.” The term “two-life person” is a term I made-up to refer to those who do a day job full-time and also maintain some sort of “second life” after hours when their real strengths and loves come out to play. In the winter, I find myself struggling as a “two-lifer.” It’s a victory to get out of bed and get through my day without drinking so much coffee that my eyeballs hurt and eating cereal by the boxful. In winter it’s hard to maintain the sort of energy it takes to keep producing the things in your second life to make the 1st life seem worth the time. But we all find ways to do it.
In the wintertime we re-discover blogs established once upon a summer. We try to make good on promises made to ourselves to stay home more. We try to make good on promises to ourselves to get out more. We try to learn how to bake bread. We try to learn how to love the snow. And we try to come out of the winter with some good ideas for new plays, hoping that we’ve maybe started work on some of those blue-sky notions. Wintertime, how I love to hate you. And hate to love you.
8 winter mood-boosters from Dr. Howard (who the hell, Dr. Howard is? I don’t know. I couldn’t tell you. But I’m willing to listen to anybody who might have answers to the winter.)
1. Take the best preventive action next fall—before winter begins. Between October 1 and October 15, go somewhere with a lot of sun and spend time outside four hours a day, four days in a row. This really works, says Dr. Howard.
2. Get a Lights of America desk lamp. Put it right next to your computer and use it at least one hour a day, especially in the early evening. This is easier to fit into good old “real life” than using those expensive light boxes that you’re supposed to bask in front of for 45 minutes in the morning, says Dr. Howard.
3. Exercise at least four to six times a week for 30 to 45 minutes. This can be a 2-mile-an-hour walk on the treadmill, or you can even walk through the halls and up and down the stairs of your house or building. Do something, anything. (someone, DO something!!!)
4. Acupuncture and Chinese herbs work well for some people, but have to be tailored to the individual by a TCM practitioner.
5. Try SAM-e (S-Adenosyl-L-Methionine). This naturally occurring bodily compound helps produce and regulate hormones, including the neurotransmitters dopamine and norepinephrine; low levels of these are associated with depression. Dr. Howard recommends taking 400 to 800 milligrams daily. Brands that passed the independent tests for potency, conducted by ConsumerLab.com, include GNC, Natrol, and NutraLife. St. John’s wort, which has been touted as a SAD remedy, doesn’t seem to be effective for relieving seasonal affective disorder, Dr. Howard notes.
6. Take a fish oil supplement with at least 600 milligrams of combined EPA/DHA daily. (MMM…FISH!)
7. Take 500 milligrams of vitamin C three to four times a day with plenty of water, and a B-complex vitamin.
8. If you feel hopeless or in a state of deep despair during the winter, see your health-care practitioner. You may need an antidepressant medication during the November to April season, says Dr. Howard. Low-dose Zoloft or Lexapro can be good choices, she says.
I know those feet!
I want to say this was inspired by Salinger’s death, you know, seeing how his seclusion turned out, but probably not. Anyway, here it is:
http://www.cleveland.com/living/index.ssf/2010/02/bill_watterson_creator_of_belo.html
Plagiarist Lindsay
11:45 am on February 4, 2010
Permalink
B1: Nope. It’s not real. It’s some kind of internal monologue bs they made up in the 80’s for movies where babies took on the personas of grown adults for comedic effect.
LOOK WHO’S TALKING!!!!!!!!!
yesssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss….