my polite trumpet mistress winks collectively... (salsburysteakjr) wrote in dalinian,
my polite trumpet mistress winks collectively...

Am I the only one who fathoms profoundly Dali to be as magnificent a marksman of pen as he ever was a painter of excesses otherwise unrepeated?

'The Secret Life of Salvador Dali' is by far his most singularly fantastic fanatical creation, evermore so than his various and violently vivid brushstroke masterpieces. The tangled knots of sentences and thought never one feel forced, and always brim to the top of the pot, bubbling over with thousands of thoughts leering and firing like harpoons into your skeleton. Oh my!

The book (and his later ones, albeit to lesser degrees) also exhibit these sensation at-large. As a fanatic myself, I've always felt very related emotionally to the composure of his stream of consciousery. I'm walking a fine line here, don't worry, I'm not comparing myself to him, nor suggesting I'm of his particular height of hellish imagination. I will however imply his writing contains a certain familiar familial notion. I'd allow his mind into my bed for the night, if it so offered. What a carnal carnival of incoherency and hallucionary merriment!

The Secret Life is my specific favorite. Does anyone have another gold medal deserving selection due for screaming aloud about? Hidden Faces, maybe? Either of his two companion volumes to Secret Life?


It saddens me his middle-aged film projects with various collaborators, Walt Disney and the Marx Bros (Harpo in particular) never got off the ground. Have you any of you seen the Disney paintings animated to replicate as best as possible the script-notes Dali had written in preparation for the movie? Very interesting, f'sure, despite it's rough form and all.


I'm afraid of buying a straightforeward bio of Dali. I love his self-invented legacy and absurdist timeline of achievments and involuntarily psychotic reactions to those around him, physical or verbal. I know a clear thinking, rational writer would most quickly dash my hopes and blow out the candle of my imaginated grasp of his mammoth existance. Of so far I've found far more fun in reading only from HIS side of the story concerning every story he had to live to tell about.

Those of you who've mustered the courage to go by the way of the actual, did it make you any happier? Did it dash any wonderful beliefs you had held strongly in reserve for his character? I don't find any shame in living in the cloudy delusions. They mean just as much to me as any true version of a story would. If not MORE. What's so wrong with leaving your imagination to fill in the gaps? I can't rightly argue with my point. I vastly prefer it.

What'yall think?

PS: Everybody go out and get 'ORPHANS', the new Tom Waits 3 disc set. 30 brand new songs, just recorded. The rest all rarities and tribute recordings and outtake material. 56 tunes in all. A Dali fan would love it.
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