Category: writing

A “toxic” essay and more

driverEnduring a spring cold at the moment, my neck glands throbbing like the bass line of a Eurotrash pop song.

Never mind, if we are to believe the Buddhists, “life is suffering” and there ain’t a whole helluva lot we can do about it. Just pop plenty of Tylenol, drink green tea and hope for the best.

A philosophy perfectly in synch with our do-nothing times.

A lovely bit of news this morning, Hollywood North has posted (in two parts) my critical essay on the films of Canadian auteur and enfant terrible, Alain Marchant. You can find the article here–Hollywood North is an on-line site devoted to Canadian film-making and thus I was pleased that they recognized the merits of “The Toxic Cinema of Alain Marchant”.

I’ve followed Marchant’s career with a kind of sickened fascination for the past 8-10 years and in terms of sheer hubris and poor taste, only Danish director Lars von Trier can compare with Marchant. Have a look at my feature, you’ll see what I mean.

Great weather of late, which helps pick up the spirits. Hard to stay inside, slaving over a desk, with the sun shining and birds singing.

Sigh.

But such is my lot.

Back to work…

Disappearing people (poem)

Liam:photo

Los Indignados

Maybe you were a subversive.
Part of a cell.
Or you ordered some questionable books.
Matching some profile.
Compromised by a friend.
Betrayed by a rival.
Brought in for routine questioning.
Vehemently denying all charges.
Tragically expiring while in custody.
The official inquiry tactfully deflecting blame.
A closed casket, to spare your poor mother.

 

© 2016  Cliff Burns (All Rights Reserved)

Photo credit: Liam Burns

Writers are “hungry gods”

cross“How little of ourselves we give even to the writers we love best, compared to what they asked and expected of us. Genuine admiration and respect for a writer’s work is very intermittent; usually, we think only about ourselves and how we can use what we’re reading. But this must be considered a legitimate technique of self-defense, since if we opened ourselves to all the just demands for attention made by the dead, we would be totally overwhelmed, placed permanently in the wrong. For dead writers are like gods who are always hungry, no matter how many sacrifices they inhale.”

Adam Kirsch, from his essay “Rocket and Lightship”

New verse–check it out

The Forgiveness of God

you have so much to answer for
your immunity hereby revoked
escorted to the dock
subjected to a brutal cross-examination
            where were you?
            when were you aware?
            what did you do?
            complicit or negligent?
your answers unsatisfactory
disavowing responsibility
throwing yourself on the mercy of the court
contrition the last refuge
once all other appeals are exhausted

© 2016 by Cliff Burns (All Rights Reserved)

What happened to February?

minerGone in a flash.

Or, at least, that’s how it seems.

Where did the past month go? Well, I’ll tell you:

Mostly it was swallowed up by a 12,000-word novelette set in my “Ilium” universe. At one point I spent eighteen consecutive days slaving away on said project, from eight in the morning until eight at night. Fun, fun, fun.

Because for me to be at my most creative I have to be fully immersed in a work, utterly incognizant of the “real world” around me.

And so it’s been with this latest piece.

I’ve barely been reading, just some essays from a posthumous collection by the great Tony Judt. So burned out the most I can manage in terms of entertainment the last few nights are a couple of old Gene Autry westerns. I kid you not. The singin’ cowboy a balm on my brain.

But yesterday I finally printed up my “Sherron Draft” and this weekend my devoted and long-suffering wife will go through the novelette and render her verdict. And from there: revisions and more revisions until at last I’m satisfied I’ve got it as note perfect as I can.

The ceaseless grind. That’s the part they don’t tell you about in those helpful “how to” articles in Writer’s Digest or that expensive creative writing class you just enrolled in. Creation, getting words down on paper, that’s the easy part…it’s the process that comes afterward that tests your mettle. How much effort are you prepared to expend to make your story or poem the best it can possibly be? Meticulous, tireless editing.  That’s the difference between genius and wannabes.

Somehow I also managed to complete an overview of a fictional Quebecois film-maker and enfant terrible, a 2000-word “mockumentary” that’s the best piece of satire I’ve written in ages. I have some plans for that one and will likely release it in the next week or so. I’ll update you as soon as there’s anything to report on that front.

…and like everybody else, I’ve been watching the political shenanigans south of the border with growing incredulity.

Here’s my two cents worth:

hillary

Hilary Clinton, “progressive”, consorting with Henry Kissinger, war criminal

First of all, this talk of a “contest” on the Democratic side is a joke. Hillary has the money and power, Bernie is a nice guy with some cool ideas. Bernie represents a movement; Hillary is a fucking machine. She’s got this one wired tight. End of story.

Regarding the Republicans, I’m starting to see shades of Barry Goldwater in 1964.

Name not familiar to you youngsters? He’s the dude who famously said: “Extremism in the defence of liberty is no vice”.

Still doesn’t ring any bells?

Never mind. The point is that in 1964 Goldwater and his followers were like today’s Tea Party—pissed off about special interests and insiders controlling Washington, the whole thing in need of a radical overhaul, etc. Richard Nixon and the GOP hierarchy came to the conclusion that Lyndon Johnson, wearing the mantle of an assassinated president (JFK), was unbeatable in 1964 and decided to let Goldwater and his lunatic fringe seize the reins of the Republican party. Once they were annihilated, they would go slinking back to their rat holes and the true king-makers and lever-pullers could take back the party in time for 1968.

Which is exactly what happened.

Makes me wonder if today’s Republican poobahs aren’t intending the same thing in 2016. Let Trump and his dickhead followers lead the party to certain ruin against the Hillary juggernaut, and then regain control in time for congressional and senate elections and a run at the presidency (hopefully with a more proven, viable candidate) in 2020.

Right now the GOP establishment is spooked—their two star candidates, Jeb Bush and Marco Rubio, have failed to produce any excitement or momentum. Bush, in particular, never looked statesmanlike and comfortable in the spotlight and clearly wasn’t interested in making a serious bid. Hopefully, we’ve seen the last Bush in the Oval Office (my daily mantra). Rubio’s been rallying of late but does he have the balls to go toe-to-toe with the Donald? That remains to be seen. He needs better gag writers and he has to take the gloves off. Marco, if you can’t manage to engage with and whup a coiffed, spoiled blowhard, frankly you don’t deserve a shot at the big chair.

I’ve been a political junkie for as long as I can remember and that sphere (especially south of the border) just keeps getting weirder and weirder.

Money has distorted the process and attaining power and stature have become the primary motivations of those seeking to represent us.

Public service? Accountability? Transparency? Ethics?

Mere words, lacking currency or value in a world increasingly fixated on satisfying selfish desires, while consciously and arrogantly absolving itself of the consequences of its greed and stupidity.

Reform? Revolution?

Don’t make me laugh.

People, it has been said, get the form of government they most deserve.

In that sense, today’s theatrics and hijinks don’t say much about us as a society and civilizing influence, do they?

barry

 

 

Flash Fiction

lights

2020

Endless processions of driverless cars.

Delivering their contents to automated houses.

Under the constant scrutiny of cameras, overhead drones.

Smart appliances reporting preferences, behavior, patterns; mined for data, narcing to their corporate masters.

Election night: voting by remote control, hardly bothering to check the results.

Keeping your head down, mouth shut.

Addicted to livestreaming porn sites.

Disgusted by the state of affairs but powerless to effect any change.

Buying stupid trinkets to fill the void.

Drugs when nothing else works.

An epidemic of suicide in your age bracket.

Desperately lonely and neurotic, verging on anti-social.

In your solitary rooms, secured by triple locks.

Talking to yourself and the listening walls.

Waiting for the knock on your door.

satellite

 

© Cliff Burns (All Rights Reserved)

Poem of the day: “Absent Father”

Absent Father

God the eternal scold
withdrawn judgmental
not the touchy-feely type

No wonder we’re so
lousy in relationships
denied parental approval

The times we needed
you offering stilted prayers
on sore bended knees

While you sulked in the
Aether using the ol’ guilt trip
to try and get your way

© 2016  Cliff Burns (All Rights Reserved)

sistine